"What do you mean, we can't go home?" Blair demanded as they drove back toward Simon's home. "'Till when?"

"'Till I'm satisfied Reano's goons aren't planning on a second visit," Jim answered evenly.

"I have office hours tomorrow, Jim."

"Cancel them."

"JIM!"

"I'm not discussing this, Sandburg," Jim insisted, reaching for his cell phone that was ringing in his pocket. He considered pulling over. Driving Simon's personal car was nothing like his Ford. The rain soaked streets were treacherous and the wipers needed to be replaced. "Ellison...really? Thanks, Simon, yeah... that's perfect. We'll be there soon."

"What?" Blair pressed.

"That list of towed vehicles from August is being faxed to Simon's house," Jim answered.

Jim glanced at the rear view mirror. Did that car behind them run a red light? Dialing up his vision, he caught sight of an elderly woman following them, her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, a frown on her face. He smiled to himself, someone else who didn't enjoy driving around in the rainy darkness. Still, Jim signaled and turned right at the next intersection. It paid to play it safe.

"You said you went to see Reano, certainly he knows it's useless to threaten us, man. We're not hiding his daughter," Blair stated stubbornly.

"I'm not taking any chances. We'll stay with Simon until the dust settles."

Simon's garage was wide enough to hold two cars. Jim used the automatic door opener to raise the garage door, but waited until his senses told him the house was empty before driving inside and parking. The fax was waiting for them in Simon's office. Blair flopped bonelessly into an overstuffed chair, one leg hitched over its padded arm. Recognizing a pouting Blair when he saw one, Jim chose to ignore him.

The list in his hand was long. It appeared quite a few vehicles were towed within the two mile radius of the abandoned building last August. Hello? This one was interesting.

"What?" Blair was out of the chair and at his side instantly.

"A 1982 Chevy van was towed on August eighth," Jim said. "It's registered to Northwest Food, Inc."

Blair took Jim's hand and tilted the paper so he could read the fax. "As in Gethro's restaurant? Did anyone pick it up?"

"It doesn't say." Jim handed the fax over to his partner and pulled a thick phonebook off a wall shelf. "I'll call the tow company and ask."

A half hour later, they learned the van was indeed picked up by a Michael Loggen. He had produced the proper paperwork proving he represented Northwest Food. In fact, he'd signed the paperwork as the night manager for Gethro's.

Jim checked his watch, contemplating the possibility of driving over to the restaurant. Walking into Gethro's could be equivalent to walking into Reno's turf. Should he risk it? Plus, there was Blair to think about. He didn't want to leave him behind and Simon wasn't due home for a few hours.

"Let's go over there right now, man," Blair suggested. "Maybe this Loggen guy is working."

Jim pulled on an ear lobe, giving the idea some thought.

"Come on, Jim." Blair flipped his left hand in the air. It looked strange to see him do that with only one hand. "Reano's probably home at his estate right now. Besides, what's he going to do?"

"It's not Reano I'm worried about," Jim admitted with a sigh. "Just stay close, okay?"

If lunch time was busy for the popular restaurant, dinner was a zoo, even for a Thursday night. Jim found parking several blocks down from the packed building and used his badge to get them inside. The hostess was a heavy set woman with a neat brown bun and a plump face. For all the hustle and rush of the crowd, she seemed in her element and actually smiled at them.

"How can I help you, detective?"

"We're looking for Michael Loggen," he told her, absentmindedly drawing Blair closer as a laughing party of four pushed by, bumping Jim in the ribs and giving him a quick and breezy apology.

"Michael's back in the office. Why don't you boys wait in the bar? I'll send him to you."

The room was packed with diners waiting for tables. Jim spotted a couple getting ready to leave and forged a path through the crowd to take possession of their table.

"Wow, this place is hopping," Blair said as he awkwardly climbed onto the high four-legged stool.

"Yeah, too bad the profits are going to a criminal," Jim said, keeping his voice low.

Blair leaned an elbow on the table. "You know, man, from an anthropologist's point of view, the idea of organized crime is a fascinating concept. You can make an argument that..."

"Let's get a something to drink, Professor. You want one of those Italian Slurpees?"

"Subtle, Ellison." Blair smirked. "And, just for the record, a Slurpee is something you get at a 7-11. But I will take a beer."

Jim shot his friend a disapproving glance.

"What? I'm not working - you are."

"I know that, Darwin. But you will be taking a pain pill when we get back to Simon's." Jim caught a waitress's eye. She came over, taking his order of mocha coffee and a raspberry Italian soda for Blair. Scanning the crowd, he spotted a tall man with thinning grey hair making his way towards them. Something about the way the man seemed to carry himself told Jim he was counting glasses and checking for cleanliness. The manager had arrived.

"You're both with the police?" the man asked quietly, pulling an extra stool over from a nearby table and taking a seat.

Jim reached for his badge. "Jim Ellison, Major Crime. This is my associate, Blair Sandburg. Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

"What about?"

"A white van you picked up from All-Pro Tow last August," Jim answered, noticing the way the man's heart rate increased as he made the announcement.

Chewing briefly on his lower lip, Loggen raked a quick eye over the crowd. "It would be better if we stayed here. Just keep your voice down, okay?"

"Okay," Jim said. "What can you tell us about the circumstances surrounding your van being left on that street?"

Loggen looked like a man dancing with the devil. He opened his mouth, the answer aborted midstream as the waitress returned with the ordered drinks. After she left with a nod to her boss, the manager answered. "Before I go into that, what are you investigating?"

"A murder. The priest found in the wall this week," Jim answered softly.

"Oh... shit." Loggen's face was white.

"Hey, you okay?" Blair asked quickly.

"Ah... yeah." Loggen swallowed hard and rubbed his forehead as he studied the table. "I'm just... I didn't expect that. I heard about the priest, it just never occurred to me." He looked up, his eyes filled with sorrow. "Father Nathan?"

Jim nodded. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere here. "Were you there?"

"No." Loggen straightened as the waitress returned with a tall glass of ice tea. "Thank you, Ruth."

After she left, he took a sip and seemed to settle into his explanation. "My son, Jeff, left the van."

"Was Jeff seeing Teresa?" Blair asked.

Loggen glanced at the younger man in surprise. "Y-yes, they were dating."

"Mr. Loggen, have you had contact with your son lately?" Jim asked.

Loggen was looking scared now. "Only one body was found, right? The news only talked about one."

Jim nodded. "That's right. Only the priest. We've made a positive I.D."

The manager relaxed. "Good. My God, this is a nightmare." His hand was shaking as he gripped his glass. "No, to answer your question, I have not seen or heard from my son since August. He used to work here as a waiter. I know he's an adult. He just turned twenty-one last March. But I still worry. I expected a phone call by now telling me he and Teresa got married."

"Is that what you wanted?" Jim asked.

Loggen eyed the cop knowingly. "I'm a good manager, Detective. This is a fine restaurant. But I am aware of who its owner is. When Jeff told me he'd fallen for Teresa, I was less than pleased, but she's a nice kid. And she deserves a chance for a happy life. So, before you ask, I have no idea where they are." The man grew tall on his stool. "And if you're in Reano's pocket, you can tell him the same thing."

Jim smiled at the man's sudden show of spunk. "Don't worry. Reano and I aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment."

"Why didn't you leave me a note or something?" Simon demanded hotly as they walked into his kitchen. "I've been worried sick!"

Blair shrank back from the outburst in surprise, getting the impression Darryl would turn out to be a pretty tough kid if he survived that sort of response whenever he messed up. Jim seemed to take it in stride.

"Sorry, sir, spur of the moment sort of thing. One of the impounds traced back to the same restaurant that Father Nathan had gone to a few weeks before he was killed. Turns out it's owned by Reano."

Simon harrumphed, taking plates down from a cabinet and setting them on the table. "Learn anything?"

"I think we found the man that Teresa ran off with. They may be the reason Father Nathan was at the rendering plant," Jim said slipping out of his coat and draping it over a kitchen chair, then hooking his Jags cap on its corner.

"But why would they leave the van, Jim?" Blair asked, shrugging out of his own coat one-handedly.

"Maybe the priest set it up as a switch. The kids took his car and he would either take the van back or find another way back to his apartment," Jim guessed. "Or maybe a third party was somehow involved and he transported them. Who knows? I'm more interested in who killed Father Nathan. I say let the kids stay hidden, with my blessing." Jim sniffed the air. "Do I smell pizza?"

Simon opened the oven and pulled out a large pizza with white sauce, chicken and garlic. "Dinner is served, gentlemen. You didn't eat at that restaurant, did you?"

"Nah." Blair eagerly eyed the pizza. "The wait for a table was as long as my arm, the non-broken one."

"Is it possible the kids killed Father Nathan?" Simon asked. "There's drinks in the fridge, help yourselves."

Jim opened the refrigerator and perused the choices, pulling out a beer and an individual-size plastic bottle of orange juice. "I doubt it. He was the one helping them get out of town."

"What better way to stay hidden? Burn the bridges as you leave," Simon pointed out, setting several slices on Blair and Jim's plate before filling his own.

It was surprisingly difficult to eat pizza with one hand and deal with stringy hot cheese. Blair set his piece down and picked cheese tails off his chin. "I bet Reano's bruisers killed him. Probably trying to find out where Teresa and Jeff went."

"A bullet in the head is hardly the way to get a man to talk," Jim said, opening the orange juice and putting it next to Blair's plate. "Dan didn't find any broken bones. That's usually on the agenda with those types."

"Tell me about it," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of pizza.

The home-baked pizza disappeared quickly. Even with his midday nap, Blair was hard pressed to keep his eyes open. His right arm was throbbing again, pressing against the cast as if trying to break out. When Jim set the white pill out next to the juice bottle, Blair didn't even comment. He downed the pill with the last of the juice and stood.

"Night, Simon," Blair said.

"Night, Sandburg."

After finishing his nightly routine in the bathroom, Blair headed for Darryl's room. Jim was waiting inside.

"I talked to Simon. He's going to send Joel to Rainier with you tomorrow. Can you cut your office hours down?" Jim waited until Blair had the sling off before reaching for his shirt. He lifted it carefully over Blair's head and worked it down off the cast.

"Four hours?"

"Two."

"Three?"

"Done."

"Thanks, Jim." Blair left his jeans in a pile on the floor and crawled between the Incredible Hulk sheets with a yawn.

"See you in the morning." Jim started building the pillow wall.

"We going to the station in the morning?" Blair asked as he adjusted the pillow under his left ear.

"Yeah, I've got other cases I need to catch up on," Jim said. "You up to coming in with me?"

"Sure..." Blair's ability to think begin to slow down. The warmth of the blankets, the softness of the pillows and the relief of his arm being raised all combined to draw him towards the Land of Nod. He barely heard Jim speak as he fell asleep.

"You never did tell me how you originally broke your arm."

They were late to arrive at the station the next morning. Blair knew he was the reason. It just took twice as long to get ready in the morning. Simon had already left for work by the time Jim woke him. They had the house to themselves as they showered and ate a quick breakfast of cold cereal. It was just after nine when Blair followed Jim into the bullpen, each man carrying a mug of hot coffee.

"What the heck?" Jim asked the room at large.

A large basket of baked goods sat on Jim's desk. A large blue bow was tied to the wicker handle. Muffins, scones and donuts overflowed from within its confines. It was obviously affecting the men and women of Major Crime as they tried to work with the intoxicating smell of baked goods permeating throughout the room.

A small card was tied by a narrow blue silky ribbon to the handle. Jim opened the card up and read out loud. "For you kindness and hard work, Saint Peter's Church."

"Jim! You gonna share the wealth, man?" Henri exited Simon's office with a beaming smile. "A real cutie dressed in Mother Earth threads left this for you this morning. Said she worked with a Father Clark."

Blair covered a blossoming smile with his left hand. That secretary from the church had it bad for Jim.

"Help yourselves, in fact, take it into the break room. I've got work to do." Jim waved at the basket, snagging a buttermilk donut and a blueberry muffin before Henri removed the treats. "Here, Sandburg and not one word."

The muffin was delicious.

They worked side by side for several hours. Jim's typing skills were nowhere as fast at Rhonda's but he wasn't shabby. Jim pulled out his small notebook filled with case notes, referring to it as he typed. Blair grabbed a red pen out from a desk drawer and went to work proof reading as Jim printed out his reports, considerably slower as he tried scribbling left-handedly. Just after eleven, they had everything about the case written up, proofed, edited and ready to deliver to Simon's office.

The Captain was elbow deep in paperwork of his own. His phone was cradled against his ear by a shoulder; both sleeves were rolled up his forearms. Spotting the report in Jim's hand, he pointed to his in-basket with a pen.

"Very good, sir. Thank you. I'll let you know, good-bye." He returned the phone to its base. "I was just going to ask you for that, Jim. How are your other cases doing?"

"Good. I was going to start on them next. Is Joel still available to escort Sandburg to Rainier?" Jim asked, letting the report rest on the top tray.

"I spoke to the Chief. He agrees the attack in your loft is related to your current case. He's willing to authorize the additional protection." Simon turned to Blair. "You make sure to follow Joel's orders. Am I clear?"

Blair nodded, starting to feel a little guilty for keeping his office hours. Anyway, what could happen? He was going to be at a crowded college university. It wasn't like he was walking through a dark alley on the seedy side of town by himself. "Gotcha, Simon."

"See that you do." Simon leaned back in his chair and slipped his case of cigars out from a desk drawer. "So, what's with the Betty Crocker routine on your desk this morning, Detective?"

"Jim's got a girlfriend," Blair sang softly, ended with a snicker and dodging a gentle backhand from his friend.

"It's just the secretary from the church Father Nathan belonged to," Jim explained. "She was upset the other day and Blair and I took her out for coffee. Actually, she was the first one to tell us about Teresa Reano." Jim pointed to the report. "It's all in there."

Simon beamed. "She bakes a mean scone with raspberry filling." He gave the men in his office a lopsided grin. "I helped myself before you arrived. Captain's prerogative."

"Understood, sir." Jim grinned. "You up for some Mexican for lunch?"

"Absolutely." Simon checked his watch. "Give me another forty-five minutes and we'll leave. Oh, and give me your truck key. I'll have one of the uniforms bring it down to the station for you."

Jim dug into his pant's pocket and nodded. "Thanks. I for one will be glad when everything gets back to what passes for normal around here."

After lunch Blair found himself sitting in Joel's car on his way to Rainier. Joel drove slowly through the wet streets. Up until noon, the clouds seemed content to drop a heavy mist down on the city. Now they deposited large raindrops that hit the asphalt so hard, the water bounced in a little dance.

Classes were normally light on Friday. Blair realized as he surveyed the nearly empty parking lot that the rain must have caused a higher than normal absenteeism today. Guilt weighted heavily on his shoulders.

"Don't go there, Blair," Joel said with a chuckle.

"What?"

"I can practically hear your thoughts," Joel told him as he killed his engine. "You're thinking up reasons to send me back to the station."

"Joel, man. This is stupid," Blair said, running his left hand up and down the sling nervously. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

"You're correct. Because I'm here to see it doesn't."

"You're gonna be so bored."

Joel reached over his seat, bringing forward two furled umbrellas and handing one to Blair. "I ever tell you about the time I did a stakeout at a golf course?"

Blair chuckled, checking to make sure his backpack had all its zippers closed before sliding a strap over his left shoulder. "No, don't think I've heard that one."

They walked towards Hargrove Hall side by side, twin black umbrellas bumping gently together. It felt good to be back on campus, like returning to visit an old friend. Blair loved his work with Jim, but a part of him only seemed to feel at peace at the university.

"Yeah, I actually got paid to watch the grass grow," Joel said with a deep laugh.

"Thank you, Mr. Sandburg."

"You're welcome, Bruce." Blair stood as the student rose and gathered up his notebooks in both arms. "Just keep at it, and this time, don't wait until the night before to work on it. Set aside at least an hour a night for your assignments. Just turn off that idiot box during the sitcoms, okay?"

The student snickered. "You got it. I promise this won't happen again."

After the student was gone, Joel set his magazine aside and stretched his arms out. "You done?"

"Yep, that should be all of them," Blair said checking the clock on his computer screen. "Wow! It's late. I thought Jim said he'd be here before four."

"He did. Something must have come up." Joel stood.

Blair picked up his phone. "I'll call." After dialing both Jim's cell phone and work numbers, he set the phone down with a frown.

"Try Simon," Joel suggested.

"Okay." This time the connection went through right away.

"Captain Banks' office."

"Hi, Rhonda. Is Jim there?" Blair asked.

"Ah... no. I think he left about an hour ago," Rhonda answered.

"Did he say where he was going? He's not answering his cell."

"Let me ask Simon."

Blair waited as he overheard the conversation between the secretary and police captain. A tendril of fear grew in his chest.

"Sandburg?"

"Simon, where's Jim?"

"He told me over an hour ago he was on his way to pick you up," Simon said with almost an accusing tone. "We're checking with dispatch now. Is Joel there?"

"Yeah."

"Put him on."

Handing the phone over, Blair realized too late he'd just allowed himself to be taken out of the loop. Now reduced to watching Joel's face for clues and hearing only half the conversation, Blair fiddled one-handedly with the tape dispenser on his desk.

"Simon?" Joel bent his head and studied the floor as he listened. "Ah huh... right, sir. I understand. No, everything was quiet on this end. Nothing whatsoever... okay." Brown eyes flicked briefly to Blair, as if making sure his assignment was still in the office with him. He was obviously waiting for something. Then his eyes snapped back to the floor; Simon was back on line. The news wasn't good. Joel's shoulders slumped from whatever Simon had told him. "Okay, we're on our way."

Not waiting for the cop to hang up, Blair gripped his arm. "What?"

"Don't get worked up, Blair."

"Joel, come on, man! What happened to Jim?" Blair nearly shouted in frustration.

"We don't know, kid. Dispatch can't raise him."

"What does that mean?" Panic flooded his bloodstream, pumped in by a turbo-charged heart. "No one knew what he was driving, right?"

"Simon said he took his truck," Joel explained, looking around the office. "Do you have everything? We need to get back to the station."

"But, what are they doing to find Jim?"

"We've got an APB out on his Ford, Blair." Joel picked up the leather pack from the floor and headed for the door. "Come on."

This was a nightmare. Blair's brain was trapped in a mental tornado, his fears and insecurities spinning around and around. A constant thought weaved throughout - this was Blair's fault. If he hadn't insisted on keeping his office hours, Jim wouldn't have been on his way out to meet him, alone.

"Blair!" Joel stood in the open doorway, his hand on the knob. "Let's go."

Sharp spikes of pain drilled into Jim's skull, somewhere above his eyes, directly in the middle of his forehead. Jim groaned in misery. His thoughts disjointed, fractured images of swirling colors and flashes of light tormented him. His stomach made its unhappiness known. The light show was doing a number on him. He felt sick. He was going to lose his lunch.

"Easy... it's going to be okay. Roll over, just in case."

Strong hands turned him, just in time. Eyes still squeezed closed in pain, he emptied his stomach and shivered. A cool, damp terrycloth cleaned his face when he finished. Jim winced as the individual loops of cotton seemed to tear at his skin.

"Easy."

"...Blair..."

"If you don't park your butt in a seat, mister, I'll park it for you, in a cell."

Blair wanted to scream. Jim had been officially declared missing now for twelve hours. And Simon wouldn't let him out of his sight. They'd been holed up in the man's office all night. To make matters worse, Simon had turned into the watcher from hell.

"Simon, I'm telling you, we need to arrest Reano!"

"I'd love to, Sandburg. Only I lack a little matter called `probable cause," Simon answered, matching volume for volume. He pointed a long, dark finger at an office chair. "Sit!"

Intellectually, Blair knew it was the lack of sleep, the lack of good food, too much caffeine and way, way too much sugar - but he still wanted to take that finger and bend it backwards until it snapped off.

He was saved from a trip to the holding cell by Simon's phone. The captain answered instantly, not even letting it finish the first ring.

"Banks!"

Releasing a shaky breath, Blair forced himself to calm down. He paced the office, ending up at the window. The early light was trying to filter through the rain clouds, the wet street below empty. Where was everyone? Some people were sleeping in. Others might have already driven over the mountains to Eastern Washington to find sunshine. Blair rubbed his head, angry with himself for having stupid thoughts. Only one question really mattered here; where was Jim?

"I'm on my way. Don't touch anything." Simon slammed the phone down and raised his voice. "Brown!"

Henri was in the doorway before his boss could draw air back into his lungs. "Yes, sir?"

"You're with me, that APB just paid off." Simon pulled his small handgun out of a desk drawer and pushed it into his holster.

Scooping up his backpack, Blair was ready. "Jim's Ford?"

"No," Simon answered, looking at Blair as if remembering he had a civilian observer to deal with. "The dead priest's Toyota was just found outside the city limits, in a gravel pit."

Disappointed, Blair edged away from the door. "Oh... I'll just stay here and wait."

"Like hell, Sandburg!" Simon growled, shrugging into his raincoat. "You're coming."

Rebellion raised a sleepy head and whispered into Blair's ear. Simon wasn't `his' boss. He was a civilian. He didn't even have to be at the station. Hell, he could be out there right now, searching for Jim. He didn't need anyone's permission.

"I'm giving you a choice, kid. You ride with me or I drag you downstairs to that holding cell I was warning you about."

Rebellion decided to go back to sleep. "I'm with you," Blair answered evenly, heading out when the taller man made small impatient motions with his hand.

For now, anyway.

The gravel pit was next to a railroad track, miles outside of Cascade's city limits. It was far enough off the road not to be seen by passing motorist. Apparently, it was the dark column of smoke that had caught the reporting party's eye. When Simon arrived and parked his car, the pit was already crowded with a fire engine, two county sheriff's cars and a county fire investigator. Everyone's attention was on the remains of a compact size Toyota Celica.

"Oh, man," Blair groaned as he saw the extensive damage. "We're gonna get jack squat from that car!"

The rain was slacking off again, back to a heavy mist. Blair followed Simon and Henri to the Fire Investigator's SUV. A pleasant looking man in green overalls stood at the open rear hatch, putting away an expensive looking camera. After the men introduced themselves, they got down to business.

"Nothing much left to look at, Captain," the investigator told them. "We ran the license plate and got a hit on your APB. Who knows how long it sat back here before some kid decided to torch it."

"You believe kids did this?" Simon asked.

"We've been having a real problem the last few months."

"Mind if we take a look?"

The county official shook his head. "I'm finished here anyway. If you'd like, I'll fax a copy of my report to your department."

"Thanks. That would be great." Simon told the man.

Blair could see the car was totaled, a blackened hull of its former existence. Not even the original color of the paint could be determined. Both the front hood and back trunk stood open, probably by the firemen as they worked to put out the fire. There would be no fingerprints, no letters of confession, no nothing.

"Coming?" Simon asked him.

"Nah, I'll wait in the car," Blair replied gloomily. He watched the two Cascade cops walk around the firemen rolling up the fire hoses to put back on the truck.

A nearby slam of a SUV's rear hatch startled him out of his dreary thoughts. The Fire Investigator was getting ready to leave. Blair got an idea.

"You heading back to your office?"

"Yep, back to Cascade. Why, need a ride?"

Blair grinned as he realized Simon and Henri were totally involved in looking over the burned car. This was perfect. Simon was not going to be happy with him, but Blair figured the man would have to catch him first.

Not even the flavor of his best cigar could lift the dark mood draped over Simon Banks. This car had been burned down to the metal frame, leaving no clues behind. It wasn't just a murder investigation anymore. His best detective and close friend was missing. Even though he had to put the skids on Blair's enthusiasm to arrest the crime boss, Simon agreed that Jim's disappearance had something to do with Reano. He had a friend in the FBI working hard on gathering everything the Feds had on the man. With luck, they should know something this afternoon.

"Simon, look at this."

Henri had been searching the gravel in a widening circular pattern around the car while he'd been talking with the firemen. None of them could say how long the car might have sat out here. "What do you have?" Simon asked, going to the detective's side.

"What do you think?" he asked, holding out his gloved hand to reveal a small bead.

It looked identical to the bead found in the skeleton's coat pocket. "Great work, Henri," Simon told him. Maybe the man had a little of Jim's sentinel abilities. What would it be like to have an entire crew of full sentinels? Simon chomped on his cigar as he puffed, wondering how many Sandburgs he'd need to keep them all from doing the little mini coma bit Jim sometimes fell into.

"I don't think we'll find anything else. You ready to head back?" Henri dropped the wooden bead into a small plastic baggie and marked it with a felt pen.

Simon nodded, checking his watch. He hadn't realized the time. The fire engine was long gone. One county police officer was left, patiently waiting for them to finish. He waved to the officer as they headed back to where he'd left his car.

"You think Ellison is still alive?" Henri asked quietly.

"It's been less then twenty-four hours," Simon answered, keeping his own voice low. "Jim said the man was obsessed in finding his daughter. Jim doesn't know where she is. If Reano did take him, he'd keep Jim alive to get the information."

The rain was falling hard again, making the wet gravel hard to walk on. Simon kept his eyes down, not wanting to fall.

"I thought Sandburg was waiting in the car?"

"He was." Simon wrenched open the driver's door, bending in to see the car was empty. He straightened to look around at the evergreen forest that surrounded the large pit. "Sandburg!"

The deputy was driving past them. He stopped and rolled down his car window. "That long haired guy left with the Fire Investigator right after you guys got here," the man informed them helpfully before leaving.

"Simon, why would he do that?" Henri asked in confusion.

Barely keeping his temper in check, Simon answered as he climbed in and slammed the door forcefully. "Son of a... he went after Reano!"

Blair blessed his near photographic memory. Well, that might be a bit strong. He just knew he was really, really good at remembering things. He'd studied Reano's files at Simon's house that first day and remembered the crime boss' home address. The trick was getting the Fire Investigator to drop him off on a major bus route before Simon figured out he'd escaped. What with radio communications with outside agencies so easily obtained, the Captain only needed to make a call to dispatch to reach them. Thankfully, no contact was made and Blair got dropped off as requested.

He had caught a bus within five minutes of waiting. Pulling on the metal wire running the full length of the bus, Blair stood and made his way to the rear exit. It was also handy knowing the bus schedules by heart. That had nothing to do with a good memory and everything to do with having a car that had its own idea of what reliable meant.

A half hour walk got him to the front gate of Reano's estate. White painted thick pillars of brick framed a high iron gate. A number pad on a metal post waited for drivers to punch in the proper code for entry. Only, Blair had no idea what to punch. He peered through the iron bars. The rain was falling, making it hard to see down the drive. He could see a vague outline of a colossal-sized house in the mist. Maybe if he walked the perimeter of the man's property and followed the high brick wall, he'd find a way in. In the James Bond movies, Bond just slipped over the wall. They always made it look so easy.

"Man, this guy must have his own zip code!" Blair mumbled, pushing wet hair back from his eyes as he ducked under another low cedar branch. So far, he'd seen no way in. He'd been walking for what seemed like hours. Something told him he hadn't even reached the halfway mark. Reano's property must extend on this side of the wall as well, forming a greenbelt between his place and the neighbor's property.

A snapping sound caused Blair to turn suddenly.

Four men stood behind him in a half circle. They had the hard look of soldiers, devoid of humor. Blair made sure to keep his movements to a minimum, knowing these guys were dangerous and not wishing a demonstration.

"You're trespassing," one of the civilian dressed soldiers stated flatly.

Blair licked his lips, his mind racing. How should he play this? Act dumb? Would they buy it? There was no doubt these walking GI Joes worked for Ethan Reano. It occurred to him that his and Jim's pictures had already been shown to all of Reano's employees by now.

Well, he had wanted to get in.

"Take me to Reano," Blair demanded, silently amazed that his voice remained squeak-free. His knees were about to turn into Jell-O.

"You're in no position to demand anything," the same person responded. He looked older than the other three and Blair pegged him as the guy in charge.

"Oh yeah? I hate to be in your shoes, man, when he finds out he had a chance to talk with one of the guys working with the police on trying to find his daughter and you kept me out." It was an empty threat, because Blair didn't really have any information. He just wanted inside. If Jim was being held somewhere inside, maybe he could slip away and look for him. Hell, who was he kidding? Still, if he could just talk to Reano, make the man see the stupidity of holding Jim...

"Walk," the leader ordered, pointed down the wall over Blair's shoulder. Toward the direction Blair had been heading.

"So... we're going to see Reano?"

"Walk or be carried."

"Walking is good." Blair turned and headed off in the designated direction, acutely aware of the sounds of the four men behind them. How in the world had they managed to creep up on him? The wet underbrush was thick with blackberry vines and Oregon grape brush. These guys were obviously skilled covert stuff like Jim.

An iron gate appeared ahead in the wall. Mr. Walk-Or-Be-Carried punched in a number sequence on a recessed ten-key pad and the gate swung open on perfectly oiled hinges. Inside the wall, the grounds were landscaped like a pro golf course. Blair was shoved forward and they began to walk up a gentle grassy incline.

Simon smoked like a chimney when he was furious. Ignoring Henri's polite coughs, he cracked his window a little, enduring the rain in a meager effort to release some of the blue smoke from the interior of the car. Some idiot semi driver had jackknifed his rig on the road two miles ahead and they were caught in the back up.

There was nothing to do but sit and wait for the traffic jam to break. Simon had already contacted the Fire Marshall's office. The investigator had been contacted and relayed that he'd dropped Blair off downtown. Another call to the station had told them the missing grad student never showed up.

"You think he went after Reano?" Henri asked, breaking the silence.

Simon nodded, so angry he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Why would he do something that stupid? I don't get it," Henri continued almost to himself. "I mean, sure, Blair's okay and all. But he's in this for his thesis, right? Closed societies? I know they're roommates and friends, but no one with half a brain would walk up to a suspected organized crime boss and ask if he kidnapped a cop."

Simon nearly bit his cigar in two. Never before did the desire to share Jim and Blair's secret to another person feel this strong. He longed to share his burden of knowledge with another living soul.

The red brake lights ahead flicked off and traffic began to move forward. Simon returned his attention to his driving, ignoring his subordinate's comments. He let himself think of what he'd say to Blair when he caught up to him.

Too bad Jim wouldn't be there to protect the kid.

Reano stood, legs slightly apart, breathing hard. Dressed in grey sweats, he looked up from his task of pummeling a suspended punching bag senseless.

Wonderful, Blair thought to himself as he was shoved into an indoor gymnasium, Reano turns out to be a wannabe Rocky boxer. Taking his time to memorize the large room with its high gloss wooden floor and its thirty foot high ceiling, Blair ignored the man and wondered how much a house like this cost. It would take him all day to search for Jim. The place was huge.

"Who the hell is this?" Reano demanded, lifting the black towel from around his neck and blotting the sweat from his face.

"We found him walking the perimeter, boss. Says he's with the police, knows about Teresa," the man shoving Blair along said.

Reano dropped the towel into a nearby bin and eyed Blair with open curiosity, his eyes falling on the cast. A slow grin spread over his face. "Mr. Sandburg."

Blair felt an instant dislike for the man. "Where's Jim?"

"Excuse me?"

"Jim Ellison, detective with Major Crime? Your men visited our place a few days ago, conveyed a few vague threats about us finding your daughter?" Blair rolled his left hand in the air in a circular motion as if urging a student to respond with the correct answer to an essay question. "Any of this ringing bells?"

Reano responded with an angry look, his eyes narrowing with disapproval. "You are not very intelligent, Mr. Sandburg. Look around you. Do you think I'm a man that allows anyone to disrespect me in this manner?"

"Frankly, Reano, I don't give a shit," Blair responded. "I'm not a cop. I don't care if you call the Mayor or the President, even. You can't get me fired. I just want Jim."

Reano rolled his eyes. "What makes you think I even have him?"

"He's missing."

"So?"

Blair blinked. The guy seemed truly baffled. Frowning, Blair looked around. "You don't have him?"

Pure amazement warred with disbelief on Reano's face. Suddenly, a deep rumble of laughter boiled up from the man, filling the large room. After a few seconds, the guy actually wiped his eyes.

Blair got pissed. "You done?"

More laughter.

Blair was seriously getting mad. He wished he had two good arms so he could cross them. He settled for an annoyed look.

"Oh, God!" Reano gasped with a snort. "You're priceless! The cops have no idea you're even here, do they?"

Blair started to answer then closed his mouth with a snap, not sure which answer benefited him in his current situation. Reano responded with more laughter.

"Listen, Chuckles," Blair said hotly. "If you did something with Jim, you took out the best chance of finding your daughter!"

Reano nodded his head in agreement, taking an obvious effort to sober up. "I already figured that much out, kid." He shook his head and looked at his men as if sharing some private joke. "Come on, I need a drink."

Blair had no choice but to follow him down a long hallway, through several rooms that seemed to have no purpose except to hold large, ugly paintings and stupid looking vases. Finally they all ended up in a sitting room with a long chrome and red lacquered wet bar along the far wall.

"What can I fix you, Mr. Sandburg?" Reano stepped behind the bar and started setting out bottles of amber colored liquid and glasses.

"Nothing... maybe some water," Blair said.

Reano nodded, taking a glass to the small sink and filling it was water from a fancy chrome faucet. "I gotta tell you, you've got guts. When Ellison came to my office and warned me what would happen if..." the man nodded his head at Blair leaving the rest unspoken as he set the glass out on the bar, "... I figured you were some helpless wimp. I even took the time to check into the two of you. You ride with Ellison for your dissertation, right?"

Blair picked up the glass and took a long drink. All this was making him extremely thirsty. It was becoming very obvious he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion here. Jim wasn't with this guy. Which begged the question, how the heck to get away?

"I've got a few, ah, contacts with the department. I know about Kincaid and Lash. Nasty stuff. Then you had those run-ins with Brackett and Hector Carasco." His own drink prepared to his liking, Reano took a big gulp and saluted Blair with his glass. "Serious shit, kid. But you and Ellison come out smelling like roses. I'm thinking the two of you are just the guys to find my daughter."

"What if she doesn't want to be found, man?" Blair asked, finishing his water and returning the glass.

Reano grew serious, leveling Blair with an honest gaze. "Just tell her... tell her to call me. She can continue to do whatever it is she's doing, okay? I just want to know she's okay."

Blair could almost see the change. Reano was stripped to the bare, all pretense of power gone. This was a father in pain. Without meaning to, Blair's soul responded to the pain. "Yeah... I can tell her that for you," he whispered, then added with certainty, "but I need to find Jim first. If you didn't take him, who did?"

Reano blinked again, looking at the two men guarding the doorway in stunned amazement. "Can you believe this guy?" he muttered, looking again at Blair. "Okay, okay. Let's pretend - just for the sake of argument - that I'm some big bad guy that would have a cop kidnapped. I didn't, okay?"

Blair nodded. "I get that, man. So, who did?"

Reano tossed his hands out in an exasperated gesture, reminding Blair of Simon. "Oh, hell? I don't know! What about the guy responsible for snuffing the priest and stuffing him inside that wall?"

"That wasn't you either?" Blair asked.

"No!" Reano bellowed. "I can't believe I'm even having this conversation! My attorney would shit a brick if he even knew!"

Blair slumped in defeat. This was very disappointing. He was back to square one and no clue where to look next. "Damn, you were my only suspect."

Reano snorted. "Sorry to disappoint you, kid! Now sit down before you fall down and break that arm for a third time." He waved a hand at his men. "Go get him a towel. He's dripping all over my floor."

Simon waited at the front door. The large mansion looked unreal in the dull, filtered light of the storm. Rain pelted the walkway and circular drive behind him. A gothic fountain was filled to overflowing in the middle of the landscaped patch. He had opted to drive straight to Reano's rather than take time for a search warrant. To his shock and amazement, the front gate to the posh estate was standing open. As Henri moved to lean on the door buzzer again, the front door swung in to reveal a tall man with a crew cut and a leather jacket that Simon suspected hid a holstered firearm.

"Yes?"

"Captain Banks, Cascade Police." Simon showed his ID. "This is Detective Brown. We're here to see Ethan Reano."

"This way." The man swept an arm in invitation.

Barely acknowledging the rooms as they walked through, Simon couldn't help but visually search for evidence Jim might have been held somewhere inside these walls. As if Reano would leave his friend's Jags cap on a chair or something. He saw nothing.

"Simon!"

"Blair?"

Blair was sitting on a black leather sofa, a red-black plaid towel around his neck. The kid looked exhausted, both eyes bloodshot, his face dark with a five o'clock shadow. Simon's eyes immediately went to the cast, it looked in one piece.

"And you are?"

Simon recognized Ethan Reano instantly from the Fed's file. "Captain Banks, Major Crime," he answered, keeping his voice as neutral as he could.

"Then this one belongs to you." The man nodded his head toward Blair. "My men found him trespassing. We've been having a chat. You've saved me from calling for someone to come get him. As you can see, he's hardly in any condition to walk back to your police station."

Simon could see. He watched Blair struggle to his feet, managing to look like a guilty teenager who had snuck into a movie theater without buying a ticket. "You okay, Blair?"

"Yeah," Blair said, his gaze sliding off Simon's face to study a large painting of red circles on the wall. Simon didn't have to be a sentinel to see the way he swayed on his feet.

Simon turned back to Reano. "Are you pressing charges?"

"No," the crime boss answered with what Simon would have sworn was fond amusement on his face.

What the hell happened here?

"Since I'm here," Simon began. "I'd like to ask a few questions."

Reano held up a hand. "Stop. You can call my office on Monday and make an appointment with my secretary. She'll check my attorney's schedule and set something up if you insist. Now... if you would be so kind as to drive Mr. Sandburg home or wherever, it is Saturday and I have appointments."

Simon nodded impatiently, not surprised with the response. "Come on, Sandburg." He watched Blair fold the towel neatly and hand it to one of Reano's men before walking out with Henri at his side. With one last nod to Reano, Simon followed.

He waited until they were through the main gate before pulling over onto the gravel shoulder, releasing his seatbelt and twisting around to pin Blair with an angry look. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Si---" Blair started.

"No! Don't EVEN try it, Mister!" Simon cut him off. "I can't believe you just waltzed into that man's home! He could have arranged your body to be diced into little cubes to fertilize his yard, you idiot!"

"Sir," Henri interrupted gently. "He was just thinking about Jim."

"No, I don't think so," Simon retorted hotly. "He wasn't thinking at all!" Taking a second to calm down, Simon drew a deep breath and counted to five.

Ten was just not possible. He hadn't been this mad since he caught Darryl with a six pack of beer. The short timeout helped and Simon felt his blood pressure return to somewhere close to normal again. He took a hard look at the person in his back seat.

Blair was huddled against the door, his body curled around his broken arm. His wet hair and equally soaked coat and jeans made him look like a riverfront homeless runaway. Pain was evident on the young man's face. And Simon suspected not all of it was from the arm.

"Look," Simon continued in a softer tone, aware he was still sounded gruff and angry. But, damn it all, he had to make him see how dangerous the situation had been. "I know you just want to find Jim. We all do, okay? But you can't ditch us like that. And for Christ's sake! Don't go running into the lion's den!"

Blair raised his chin, his face looking stubborn and ready to break at the same time. "Reano doesn't have Jim."

"And, you know this - how?" Simon asked.

"He told me."

Simon could only stare at the young man in total bewilderment.

A hand brushed against his forehead and Jim cried out in pain. Every inch of his skin hurt, as if someone had dressed him in steel wool. Pain marched around his skull, wandered up and down his spine, playing havoc on his rib cage whenever he breathed.

"It's okay... you're going to get better. Drink this."

Someone lifted his head and bitter tasting warm tea was poured into his mouth. Trying to open his eyes, the light drove hot spikes into his head and he choked. With a groan he moved into a fetal position, enduring the scouring effect it caused on his body.

He wanted to die.

Blair was seriously tired and if Simon hit one more bump in the road, he was going to puke. Drawing deep breaths in through his nose, he cradled his bulky right arm close and smiled. That would finish it, puking in Simon's back seat. The man would have a melt down.

The car stopped. Looking up from his pain-dulled contemplation of his knees, he saw they were back at Simon's, waiting for the garage door to open.

Crap.

"What are we doing here? Did you forget something?" he asked.

Simon drove into the garage and killed the engine. The heavy double-wide door began its trek downward behind them with a deep rumble.

"We can spare a few hours to recharge our batteries." Simon opened the door and stepped out.

"What!" Scrambling to exit, Blair ignored his own pain and cut the captain off before he could get into his house. "We've got to find Jim! We don't have time for this."

"Sandburg." Simon laid a surprisingly gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder. He paced his words out, "You are exhausted. I am exhausted. We can't find Jim if we're falling over chairs and running into walls."

Blair liked the cop better when he was yelling at him; at least he had energy. Shrugging off the hand, Blair couldn't help but wince. "Fine! Then I'll go alone. Reano's men aren't trying to follow us anymore; he called them off. So don't go quoting that protective custody crap!" He tried brushing past the bigger man to get into the house, with plans to change his wet clothes and split. He didn't make it. The hand was back, holding him in a hard grip.

"You're not going anywhere."

"You can't stop me."

"Yes... I can."

Blair had obtained equality by standing on the top step that led into Simon's kitchen. Both men stood nose to nose, staring hard at the other. It had been a long time since Blair had felt this much anger. He wanted to hit something or someone. Anger seemed to boil within.

A feeling of panic hit. This wasn't just anger...

Blair never knew how Simon figured it out. Maybe it was the fact he was a father with previous experience or maybe Blair's face had turned a funny shade of green. Whatever the reason, Blair was practically lifted off his feet and rushed into the house to be dumped in front of a toilet.

Just in time, too. The earlier evidence of bitter coffee and too many pastries eaten without thought hit the inside of the bowl in a violent wave of vomit. Blair's head was pounding by the time the ordeal was over. His throat was on fire. On his knees with one hand on the seat of the toilet, he felt emptied out, useless and painfully aware that he missed Jim.

To his ultimate horror, his eyes filled with hot tears.

"Blair?" Simon's voice sounded gentle and completely baffled, all the normal gruffness gone. "You okay?"

A wet wash cloth passed over Blair's face. The captain of Major Crime was crouched at his side, crowded into the small space of his bathroom taking care of a civilian observer that normally he'd rather yell at. Blair peeked up at Simon's face, expecting disgust, but not finding it. Simon looked perfectly normal, like the two of them had meetings in front of toilet bowls all the time. It would be funny; except for the fact Blair was losing a battle with the sobs that rose up from his gut, causing him to tremble like a wino in detox. He fell over onto his hip, pulling his knees in close to his chest and tried to bury his hot face into the crook of his left arm.

"Go...away," he pleaded brokenly. Damn, even his voice was falling apart.

Only Simon didn't listen, he got closer. Blair's humiliation couldn't grow anymore profound. He couldn't remember a time his body had betrayed him this completely. Tears refused to obey, they fell from his eyes, his breath was getting that stupid hitch he used to get when he was seven and - shit - his nose was clogging up and snot was starting to drip.

"Blair, it's okay," Simon coaxed.

With his face burrowed into the wet sleeve of his coat, Blair had to disagree.

"Listen, kid. This is just your body saying `enough.' Understand? It's reached the end of the rope."

A large hand was patting his shoulder.

"Simon? Everything okay?"

"Wait in the kitchen, H," Simon hollered over his shoulder. "We're fine."

The sound of flushing water filled the bathroom and Blair welcomed the sound, any sound that covered the pathetic sobs his body was forcing out against his will. At least he was being spared the additional humiliation of being on display to Brown.

"Stop fighting, just get it out. You'll feel better, I promise," Simon told him frankly.

Blair took the advice. A few minutes later, he felt a mass of softness pushed into his left hand. Tissue. Good idea, Blair realized to himself. He'd need to dryclean his coat; his sleeve was definitely needing it. After wiping his nose, his breathing back under control and the tears reduced to merely weighing down his eye lashes, Blair looked up.

Simon was the picture of patience, sitting on the closed seat of the toilet, all previous signs of their fight gone. "Better?"

"Yeah... shit, I'm sorry, man," Blair mumbled, using a clean side of the tissue to wipe his sleeve.

"Me too."

"I'm worried about Jim," he continued softly.

"Yeah, me too," the big man sighed, rubbing his wide forehead. "Blair, Jim's a survivor. If we want to help him, we've got to use our heads. And I gotta tell you, my head is killing me right now. Let's give ourselves about five hours of sleep, okay? I'm going to call for a squad car to pick up Brown and take him to the station. He'll continue to work the case and let us know if anything breaks. We've got an unmarked car watching the loft, every possible base possible is covered, unless you and Reano came up with something new during your little chat?"

Blair leaned his head back, resting on the glass closure of the bathtub he was sitting against. His face was starting to cool down. He had to admit, he did feel somewhat better. "Nah... he did admit to me his men had a hard time finding us and when they did, Jim must have sensed them and shook their tail, `cause they kept losing him." He dropped his eyes and clenched his fingers around the tissue in his hand. "Jim's hurting, Simon. I can't really explain...it's like I can feel him."

Simon scrubbed his face hard with both hands, holding any comments he might have to himself. The bathroom became quiet for a moment.

"What do we do?" Blair asked.

Shrugging, the cop looked down at Blair. "We go back over everything again. We don't have a choice. It's basic police work."

"Okay." Blair nodded. It was a plan and since he didn't have one, he trusted Simon to know how these things were done.

"After you eat a few crackers, take a pain pill and sleep."

"Sandburg!"

The earthquake was getting bad now; Blair could barely stay on his feet. Somehow he had regained use of his broken arm and was trying desperately to pull Jim to safety. The cop was comatose, covered with red welts and barely breathing. Hell of a time to have an earthquake.

"Wake up!"

With a snort, Blair woke, his dream becoming just that - a dream. He was in Darryl's bed. His arm was still broken. Simon stood over him, obviously getting impatient.

"Wha..."

"Get dressed. We've got to leave."

Clean jeans were tossed on top of the blankets. Blair sat up cautiously, surprised his arm didn't hurt. A glance at the small clock next to the bed told him why. He'd only been sleeping for just under an hour. The pain pill was still working strong. No wonder he was slow to climb out of that dream. Simon was retrieving tennis shoes from under the bed and rooting through the duffle bags, pulling out a pair of clean socks, talking the entire time.

"Brown just called. Father Clark has been trying to get a hold of Jim. He finally contacted Major Crime. We've got to get over to the church."

"W-why?" Blair struggled one handedly into his jeans. They'd been simple to take off an hour ago, but putting them on with only one working arm was another matter. Without asking for permission, Simon reached over and finished the job, ignoring Blair's startled yelp as he finished fastening the fly. Blair felt his face start to burn with embarrassment, but Simon was already onto another task, pulling out a sweater of Jim's and tossed it on the bed.

"I'm not sure, he couldn't say over the phone. Only said it's about the case and it might be important. This may be the clue to finding Jim. I'm just going to get my wallet; can you meet me in the garage?" He eyed Blair critically. "You up for this?"

"Ah... yeah, man," Blair stammered quickly. "I'm good. See you in the car."

With a blur of motion, the cop was gone. Blair finished dressing, taking Jim's sweater last and pulling it over his head awkwardly. He had to stretch it some to get his right arm into it, but he managed. Finishing with the sling, he headed for the garage, socks and shoes in hand. He could put them on en route.

Father Clark met them at the front door. It was raining lightly, just enough to keep the concrete walkways wet. The priest went so far as to check the church yard carefully before pulling them inside and leading them into his office. This time Blair noticed they used a passageway connecting the office to the large sanctuary where mass was held. Neither man had time to appreciate the rich wood gleaming with polish or the marble statues of the Saints that lined the walls. Cindy's desk was empty as Father Clark guided them towards his office, ushered them inside and closed the door.

"Where's Detective Ellison?" the priest asked, looking at Blair for the answer.

"Um... he's..." Blair looked up at Simon, unsure what to say. No one knew Jim was missing except those police personnel involved in the case.

"Father Clark, I'm Captain Simon Banks." Simon held out his hand and greeted the priest formally. "I spoke to you on the phone. Detective Ellison's whereabouts at the moment are unknown. Frankly, we're hoping whatever you have to share might help us find him."

"What? He's missing? Like Nathan?"

An icy fist squeezed Blair's heart. Oh, God, please not like Father Nathan.

"I certainly hope not," Simon responded fervently. "Now, what do you have for us?"

"Oh! Of course!" The priest hurried to his computer setup in a corner of his office on a battered oak table. "Okay, please understand. I never knowingly withheld information from the police." He checked his watch and nodded as he woke the computer monitor from its automatic sleep mode and clicked on an internet connection. "After you both visited me, Mr. Sandburg, I received a cryptic message. I, ah, can't go into detail; you understand... anyway, I'm just a means to set up this interview."

Blair noticed the small computer camera sitting on top of the monitor. The entire set up looked expensive and relatively high-tech, reminding him the members of the church must be very generous with their incomes. After a few moments, the connection was made and the screen showed a corner of a room with white, bare walls. The top of a wooden chair could be seen low on the screen.

"Okay, we're here. I have Captain Banks and Blair Sandburg with me," Father Clark said in a loud, clear voice.

"Where is Detective Ellison?" a young woman's voice asked over the computer speaker sitting on the table.

"I'm afraid he's not available. Captain Banks is here on his behalf," Father Clark answered.

Apparently, that bit of information did not go over well with the woman. The monitor remained empty and the speaker was quiet. Blair took a chance. Already guessing who was speaking, he moved in front of the camera.

"Teresa? Is that you? Please talk to us. We're trying to find out who killed Father Nathan. They may have my partner, Jim Ellison. You might know something that would help us catch them." Blair heard scraping sounds on the floor behind him, like a chair being moved. Sure enough, he felt the chair bump against the back of his legs and he sat, knowing the camera should be able to capture his face now.

The screen remained empty, but the woman's voice returned. She sounded distressed. "I-I think I know... who k-killed him. My..." She seemed unable to continue.

"No," Blair leaned forward. "I think you're wrong, Teresa. I spoke to your father just this morning. He assured me he didn't do it. Or have it done. And I believe him, I really do."

The words had a magical effect. A pretty girl appeared from off camera and took a seat, her sad, brown eyes daring to hope again. "You spoke with my father?"

Blair nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind his left ear. "I did. He gave me a message for you. He just wants to know you're okay. He misses you. He promised me he wouldn't make you come home. He just doesn't want to be excluded from your life."

She smiled, her chin trembling slightly. "God... I miss him, too. I hate what he does; b-but I love him."

"Hey, isn't that what it's all about? Unconditional love?" Blair suggested, leaning forward. "Please, Teresa. Tell us about the day you met Father Nathan in that rendering plant. What happened?"

Simon was simply amazed. Not only had Blair correctly guessed what this whole meeting was about and who was waiting on the other side of the link, but he managed to get the girl to open up and talk with them. Absentmindedly, he wondered what it would take to get the guy enrolled into the police academy.

The young woman - Reano's only daughter, he guessed - looked off camera, as if waiting for some unknown decision. Then she looked back at Blair and began her tale.

"I met Father Nathan at that place to pick up the papers I needed." She paused and swallowed before continuing. "He set up the entire thing for us - for me." She blushed and dropped her eyes. "I'm not very good at this."

"It's okay, Teresa. Please don't stop," Blair urged gently.

She chewed briefly on her lower lip, but nodded and continued. "I'd forgotten... something. So, we agreed to meet a few hours later at the same place. But when we...I got back..." her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes filled with tears. A young man appeared at her side, pulling her into a fierce hug. He looked at the camera as she turned to bury her face into his sweater.

"He was dead. Shot once through the head. We found him on the floor." He squeezed Teresa to his chest as he spoke. "We had everything we needed. It was my decision to put him in the wall. There was nothing anyone could do for him anyway and I was afraid a police investigation would lead her old man to us. We thought for sure he was the one behind the murder."

Blair leaned forward. "No one else was around?"

The young man shook his head. "No, no one."

"What about...did Father Nathan say anything, anything at all that might have suggested someone was after him?"

Simon felt the only solid lead they had slipping away. Blair's questions were valid and as fine as any experienced cop could think up, but it was becoming painfully obvious these two kids had no idea who pulled that trigger back in August.

They had reached another dead end.

After getting the couple to promise they'd set up another internet talk in a few days, Blair ended the connection and helped Father Clark erase any evidence on his hard drive that might lead back to the young couple.

Simon pulled a cigar out of his case and chewed on the end as he waited. Disappointment weighed heavy in the air.

"Damn," Blair muttered softly, then looked guiltily over at the priest.

Father Clark waved a hand in dismissal. "So, I take it that didn't really help."

Simon dropped into a vacant chair. "Well, it does clear up a few matters. Like how the body got inside the wall. But we're still lacking a suspect. The only one we really had seems to have cleared his not so good name." He shot Blair a glance, catching the reluctant shrug from the man. "Nice job with the witness, by the way, Sandburg."

"Thanks," Blair replied in surprise.

"Nothing else turned up so far in your investigation?" Father Clark pressed. He looked slightly abashed as he continued. "I have to confess, I love a mystery. This one is personal, of course. But, still, if I can help in anyway..."

Simon blew out a lungful of air as he rolled his cigar between his fingers and thumb. "Well, we don't have much in the way of what you'd call clues. We found a grocery receipt and some beads in Father Nathan's pockets."

"And a restaurant stub in his apartment. For Gethro's. Now we know that connection," Blair added. "But we still don't know who cleaned out Father Nathan's apartment."

"So far, no one had tried that with the loft," Simon added.

"What type of bead did you find?" Father Clark asked.

"I think it's a rosary bead," Blair said.

Simon remembered the one that Henri had found that morning. It was still in his pocket. Maybe the priest could give them some further information. Forensics had already given their confirmation of Blair's theory. He pulled it out and handed it over the desk to the man. "This one was found by the burned out remains of Father Nathan's car."

The priest let Simon drop the small bead into his palm. "His car? Burned? Oh, my... yes, this is a rosary bead." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a long rosary. "These beads are common, I'm afraid. I have the same set. A parishioner returned recently from Italy with gifts for both of us, as well as for a few of her own friends that attend our services."

Wonderful, another clue basically rendered impotent. Half the church probable owned exact duplicates. "Well, I guess we'll get out of your hair and back to the station," Simon announced, breaking up the meeting. "We do appreciate what you've done here."

"What about the kids?" Father Clark asked, walking them to the door. "Are charges going to be filed against them?"

Simon shook his head. "I can't say, but I'll talk to the DA's office. I think these are special circumstances, to say the least."

"I'm glad you understand, Captain." Father Clark opened the door.

A young woman sat behind the outer desk, maybe the secretary that Blair had been teasing Jim about. Simon remembered the baked goods as they passed. "Miss? Thank you for those treats you delivered the other day. They were delicious."

She looked up in surprise, her face flushed with delight from the unexpected praise. She really was very pretty, Simon thought. Sort of like someone Blair would be interested in dating, maybe a little too old for him, though.

"I'm glad you liked them," she answered.

"Cindy's deserts would cause the most pious to sin," Father Clark said fondly. "I put on a pound just from their aroma."

Simon smiled. "Lucky man. My secretary is efficient, but always on a diet. Never brings in any treats." He turned to the woman, noticing the way she nervously fingered her rosary. "Couldn't convince you to switch your allegiance to the police, could I?"

She smiled, blushing deeply.

"Thou shalt not steal, Captain Banks," Father Clark quoted, patting the woman's shoulder. "I'll call you about that meeting we talked about."

"Thank you, sir." Simon nodded again to the woman and followed Blair through a side door that let them exit directly outside.

As they reached the corner and turned, Blair pulled Simon to a stop.

"Simon!" he hissed, his expression one of excitement. "OhmygodIcantbelieveit!"

"Relax," Simon interrupted. "I was just kidding. I'd never replace Rhonda."

"No!" Blair smacked him on the arm.

"Sandburg!"

"Listen to me!" Blair leaned out, checking the direction they'd just come from. "She had a rosary, man!"

Simon nodded. "Riiight, I saw that. So?"

"It was the exact same type of beads and..."

"Whoa, didn't you hear the man? All the staff probably got them as gifts."

"No! Not the secretary, Simon. She not even Catholic. But that's not the point. The beads, did you notice? The string was short."

"What?" Simon wondered if Blair was spiking a fever. Maybe he'd been wrong to wake him and pull him back into this weather. He placed a hand on the younger man's forehead. "Let's get you out of this rain."

Blair slapped his hand away.

"That's twice, Rocky," Simon warned, pointing a finger at his companion's nose. "Stop hitting the Police Captain."

"Simon, I'm serious. This is important." Blair snagged a handful of Simon's raincoat and tugged like a puppy with a rope toy. "A rosary is made up of beads in groups of ten. Always groups of ten, man. Hers was short! It's not a complete rosary!"

Realization struck, like a two-by-four between the eyes. Simon sucked in his breath and pulled Blair back from the corner. "She restrung the beads," he finished with a hiss.

"Exactly!"

"She's the killer."

"She's got Jim! Think about it, man. She was all goo-goo eyes the first time she saw him! We gotta go make her tell us where Jim is!"

Simon snagged the sweater, reeling the smaller man back. "Hold it!" he whispered urgently. "No, we wait and watch. The hours were posted. The office closes in just under two hours. We'll check out her residence first. If Jim's not there, we'll follow her."

Blair looked less than pleased. "How? We don't know where she lives."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Cut me some slack, kid. I may not be a sentinel, but I'm a damn decent detective."

Jim opened puffy eyelids and cursed, closing them abruptly. Where was he? Why did his entire body ache?

He recognized the burning, itching sensation that marched up and down his arms. He was reacting to something on his skin. Damn these sentinel senses. What was the advantage when the slightest contact with some remote substance sent him into wacky land?

Wait a minute?

Jim pulled on his arms, ignoring the tingling for a moment.

`Oh... wonderful,' he thought. He was gagged and tied hand and foot. Dialing down his vision, he cracked open his eyes and looked around, finding himself on his side on a bare mattress on an earthen floor in some sort of barn. He was in a corner, opposite a sturdy looking door. He could smell the musty dampness of the rain outside. He tested the ropes behind his back. Whoever had tied him up had done a decent job of it. He wasn't going anywhere soon and he seemed to be tethered to something solid.

What had happened? His memory searched for the answer. He had been at the station with Simon. He'd left to pick up Blair at Rainier. Was he somewhere close by? Did they take him as well? No, wait... he'd never made it to the university.

He'd seen Cindy on the sidewalk after he left the station, just like before. She was standing in the rain, getting wet and he'd stopped to offer her a lift. He didn't remember anything after that.

"This is taking too long, man."

"Patience, Sandburg, patience."

Blair chewed the inside of his cheek, keeping the comment for that little tidbit to himself. He wanted action, not sitting. But there was no point in telling that to the man next to him. Simon had already explained in crystal clarity why they shouldn't walk back into the church and confront Cindy. They simply did not have enough for an arrest. If they tipped their hand this early, she could clam up, disappear, and they'd never find Jim.

"Look, there she is," Simon said, looking out the windshield.

They were parked half a block down the street. Sure enough, Blair could see the familiar form of the woman walking briskly down the sidewalk. She was dressed in the same cape she'd had on that time they'd picked her up outside the station. "Looks like she's leaving early today."

"Yeah, we didn't even get enough time for Brown to get us her address. Looks like we follow her." Simon turned the key, firing the engine to life.

But the woman didn't walk far. She stopped at the nearest corner and waited under the bus sign. Ten minutes later, a Cascade Metro bus approached and she was inside. Simon pulled out from the curb and followed. It was a lot easier to follow a slow moving bus than some of the chases he'd experienced while riding with Jim. Blair carefully watched at each bus stop, making sure the woman wasn't getting off.

"We've got to be reaching the end of the line soon, we're outside the city limits," Simon said.

Sure enough, at the next stop she got off.

The road was narrow, two lanes without shoulders. Simon kept back, having pulled off at a wide spot that looked like a rural school bus stop. A rundown wooden shelter for kids used to keep dry in while waiting for the school bus stood alongside the roadway. Cindy never even looked their way, which was good. Following a person on foot in the countryside was not easy.

The rain was slacking off, going into a light mist again. She walked along the road a few feet, then crossed over to a rusty looking bike leaning against a section of fencing that surrounded a pasture filled with grazing dairy cows. After twisting the hem of her broomstick skirt into a knot, she straddled the bike and was off. Blair had the crazy urge to hum the song from the children's classic `The Wizard of Oz.'. The one they played at the beginning where the witch was riding the bike on her way to take Toto.

"Well, you certainly can't accuse her of adding to the pollution problem," Simon said dryly as he slowly followed at a safe distance.

She rode the bike for miles, taking them deeper into farm country with rolling pastures. Small white houses sat at the end of long dirt driveways. Each house had acres and acres of farmland around them. This was not a community where a family argument would likely be overheard by the adjacent neighbors. Finally she turned off the road and pedaled up a dirt driveway in obvious disuse with knee high weeds growing down the middle.

Blair leaned forward, gripping the dash with his good hand, his eyes searching the farm she was heading toward. The house was small, less than a thousand square feet. Large, overgrown bushes nearly obscured it from the road. The roof was visible. Blair wondered how the old house managed to keep the heavy moss that covered the ancient tar shingles from caving it in.

"No cars, I wonder if she lives alone," Simon said quietly as he drove by the farm. "We'll have to find a place out of sight to hide the car and come back on foot."

"Drop me off, I don't want to lose sight of her," Blair suggested quickly, his hand crossing over to reach the door handle.

Simon snagged his good arm. "No. We'll go back together, Blair."

"Simon..."

"No! Or I'm cuffing you to the steering wheel and going alone." They were past the farm and Simon singlehandedly turned the car at the next intersection and pulled over. "Maybe I should do that anyway."

Blair went perfectly still, holding his breath.

Simon released his arm and manipulated the car into park.

"I'll stick with you, Simon. I swear, man. Let me come," Blair pleaded.

Shaking his dark head and rolling his eyes towards the roof of the car, Simon relented. "Okay, I should have my head examined, but you can come. I'm holding you to your promise, Sandburg. You do what I say, got it?"

"Right, right," Blair clawed for the door handle as he did his best to return Simon's glare with one of sincerity.

They backtracked towards the dilapidated farmhouse on foot through the falling mist. Traffic was nonexistent on the road and they reached the driveway without being observed.

"Okay, we go up. Look around," Simon explained in a no-nonsense tone. "We've got no probable cause to be on private property. All we need are trespassing charges. My main concern is finding Jim."

"Right, I'm with you totally on that point, Simon," Blair assured him.

The farmhouse looked quiet, no evidence of anyone moving around. Several long outbuildings sat behind the residence, looking like a place where chickens might be kept. More buildings were scattered around, some large enough to hide a truck. They stayed low, using overgrown hedges and bushes as much as possible. Blair found himself wondering if the place had dogs. Surely a dog would have announced heir presence by now.

This sort of thing was much easier when you had a sentinel at your side.

"Okay," Simon whispered, pulling Blair down to join him behind a large rhododendron bush. "I'm thinking we check the barns and sheds first."

"Simon, if we split up, we'll be faster," Blair suggested.

"I don't like it, too risky."

"We'll be faster."

"If she's our killer, she has a gun, remember?"

"But she probably isn't carrying it, man." Blair peered over the brush, the house was still quiet.

Simon apparently could see the logic, but he still didn't look happy. "Fine, we split up. But you watch your back, you hear me? See that far chicken coop? Meet me there in fifteen minutes. Hopefully, one of us will have seen something. I'll go right. You go left."

Blair nodded. "See you in fifteen." Blair was off before Simon remembered he never wore a watch. He kept low, running towards the large barn that Simon had given him to search. He kept one eye on the house, half expecting the woman to walk out the back door and spot him. But he made it unobserved.

The side door was open and he slipped inside. The rain dripped down from above, through large gaps in the roof where wind had removed shingles. The floor was littered with straw, scraps of twine and empty feed sacks. No animals lived inside anymore. At one time the place must have been a working farm, but that was no longer. He'd seen a decent sized garden in the back field; maybe Cindy raised her own food. Blair poked around a broken down tractor and rusted out farming tools. It was obvious Jim wasn't anywhere to be found. It was time to move on to the next building.

The next outbuilding wasn't as large. Hidden from the road by the barn, Blair almost missed it except he happened to look down at the ground and noticed the tire tracks. They looked fresh. The tread had sunk into the dirt about an inch and was filled with standing rainwater. Blair was not exactly an expert on the subject, but they looked like tracks made by a truck. Besides, Cindy took the bus and rode a bike to work. She obviously didn't have a truck or a car. But Jim did.

He followed the tracks and saw the distant building. It looked newer than the barn. The tracks ended in front of a wide, pull down locked door, like the type found on garages. A smaller locked door was off to one side. He quickly walked the perimeter and found no other way inside. It must be close to fifteen minutes by now, he needed to get Simon and bring him back. Something told him Jim was inside.

As he headed in the general direction of the prearranged meet site, he heard a door slamming shut. The noise came from the main house. Blair doubled back towards the locked building and hid around the far corner, out of sight. A few seconds later, Cindy appeared. Dressed in old jeans and a mustard colored parka, she walked towards the door, unlocked it with a key and went inside. The door closed behind her.

Blair left the safety of his hiding place, edging towards the door. Maybe he'd get lucky and hear something that might tell him if Jim was inside. He reached the door. Pressing an ear against the rough, unpainted surface of the wood, he could hear Cindy inside.

"...Awake. I knew you'd come back to me. We were meant for each other."

Blair couldn't hear anyone answer. She was either talking to herself, or the person with her couldn't reply.

Jim had to be inside. Where was Simon? As much as he hated the thought of leaving, he needed to go find him and bring him back here. Just as Blair turned to leave, the door opened up and he was face to face with Cindy.

Shit.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Ah..." Blair felt like an idiot. For the life of him, he couldn't think up a convincing lie. She stepped out and closed the door behind her, cutting off his chance to see anything of importance. Standing this close, he realized the woman couldn't be called fragile. Years of riding a bike and living on this farm kept her strong and in shape.

But she didn't need muscles, Blair realized too late when she pulled a small gun from her pocket, her lips pulled back in an ugly sneer as she pointed it at him. "You won't take him again. I won't allow it. We were destined to be together!"

Where the hell was Simon? Blair slowly raised his left hand, keeping his movements as non-threatening as he knew how. The gun didn't look very big, but he was willing to bet the hole it made in his body would still hurt. He needed to say something before the woman shot him.

"Cindy, it's me, Blair. I was looking for you."

"Why?" Her eyes narrowed.

Good question, Blair realized. Too bad he didn't have an answer. It was obvious this woman in front of him was living in her own reality. Maybe he could use her insanity to his advantage.

"It's about Father Nathan, about his skeleton in the wall. We know how that happened. I thought you would like to know so I came out here to tell you."

Some of the tension in her shoulders eased and she glance briefly back at the door. "I came back, after we'd argued. He was... gone, missing." Her vague expression hardened again and she looked back at Blair. "That doesn't matter anymore."

"It doesn't?" Blair tried to sound sincere. "But I thought you cared about Father Nathan."

"I do!" she insisted.

"Then I don't understand," Blair said. "I want to understand, Cindy. Give me the gun and we can talk."

For a minute, Blair thought she was going to do it. She bit her lip with an assessing look, then shook her head. "I don't think so, Blair. I think he sent you here to take Nathan away from me, like before."

"Who?"

"Satan! You're from the Prince of Darkness." She raised the gun, pointing it directly at his face.

Nothing like seeing your own death pointed at you. Blair pushed down the choking feeling of terror and managed to keep calm. "No! That's not true. I can prove it. Nathan's a man of God, right? Take me to him. He'll know me! I swear! He's inside, right? Let me go in. You can keep the gun."

Miraculously, her trigger finger didn't tighten. Blair felt weak with relief as she nodded, opened the door with her left hand and stepped back through the doorway. "Okay, come in. But don't try anything."

Blair was eager to get inside, praying he'd see Jim, even under the threat of a gun. He searched the large room, spotting the mattress in the far corner.

"Jim!" Forgetting the women, Blair sprinted across the room to drop to his knees beside his partner. "Oh, man! Are you okay?" he asked as he pulled the gag from his friend's mouth.

"Chief..." Jim groaned in despair. "Tell me you didn't just walk in here when she has a gun." He was on his side, his face, and exposed arms were covered with angry looking red splotches. He peered sideways up at Blair from under puffy eyelids.

Blair's hand hesitated for a second, unsure if any place on his friend was safe to touch. "Shit, man. What happened to you? What did this?"

"Don't know... itches and burns like hell." Jim dropped his head back on the dirty mattress.

Blair spun on his haunches to level the secretary with a furious scowl. "What did you put on him?"

Cindy looked truly puzzled. She shook her head slowly from side to side. "N-nothing. But don't you see? That's not your friend Jim anymore. That's not his skin! Father Nathan is inside, I saw him when I looked into his eyes."

"No." Blair stood slowly to stand in front of his friend. "This is Jim Ellison. Father Nathan is dead, remember? He was shot in the head."

"Blair, careful," Jim murmured from behind him.

Cindy raised her gun. "SEE! I knew you'd try this! It is Nathan! God brought him back to me!" she screamed. "I'll prove it."

To Blair's horror, she pulled a large carving knife out of her back pocket. "I was going to wait till tonight, but I'll prove it to you. See his skin? See that rash? God is showing me that Nathan is inside. I'm going to cut the bad skin away. Nathan will be underneath."

Blair's stomach twisted. "No! You can't! Cindy, you'll kill him!"

As bad as his skin hurt, Jim almost welcomed the idea of getting rid of it. But he didn't have time to worry about that right now, his lunatic-for-a-friend was facing a madwoman holding a gun and a knife.

How the hell had Blair found him? And where was Simon? Surely the captain knew better than to let Blair out on his own. Reano was still out there somewhere.

Extending his hearing, Jim picked up footsteps splashing in mud. Someone else was walking around. Maybe that was Simon. Blair needed to stall the woman until help could arrive. Actually, he was doing a pretty decent job of just that.

"Cindy, listen to me. I know you're confused right now, but hurting Jim is not going to bring you any closer to Father Nathan," Blair insisted.

"Blair, move away. I'll show you what I'm talking about."

"No! No, I'm going to explain about the rash on Jim. He's very, very sensitive to things. Did you cover him with anything? Something that may have been used around harsh chemicals or cleaners?" Blair was sounding so casual and sure of himself, Jim wasn't surprised to see Cindy tilt her head as if in thought.

"I didn't... but I used my yard-cart to bring him inside," she replied.

"A yard-cart? Like for gardening, right?" Blair nodded his head as he spoke. "That's it then. Do you use it to transport fertilizer or something?"

Jim wrinkled his nose. Great, he was breaking out from chicken shit.

"Ah... bags of lime. I moved them with the cart last week."

"See? That's what did it." Blair was moving closer to the woman as he talked. She seemed almost unaware of his proximity.

Crap, Blair was going to make a play for the gun. Jim could tell by the way his friend's back and arm muscles were becoming tense, as if ready to jump. He wanted to shout out, tell him not to do it. Simon's footsteps were close now. Jim could even smell the faint aroma from the man's cigars.

Just as Jim opened his mouth to shout, Blair made his move. The sharp crack of the woman's handgun caused Jim to flinch. He heard Blair's grunt of surprise.

"Simon! We're in here, hurry!" Jim shouted as loud as he could, twisting on the mattress to try and sit up.

Jim was helpless, held in place by a rope that anchored him. Blair had fallen to his knees, his left hand maintaining a strong grip on the woman's right arm. The gun fired a second time, the bullet passing through the wall above Jim's head. But Blair held firm.

Cindy raised her left arm, the knife pointed down at her attacker.

"No!" Jim yelled.

She swung hard.

Instinctively, Blair used the only shield he had available. The long blade struck Blair's right arm, biting deeply into the cast. As Jim watched, she raised it a second time, aiming at his friend's throat. It appeared all Blair's strength was being used to keep the gun pointed high, away from Jim. No way would Blair be able to protect himself from the blade's second swing.

"Freeze! Cascade Police!" Simon Banks' large frame filled the open doorway, his service gun pointed and ready. He reached out with his left hand and deftly twisted the knife out of the woman's hand as she raised it high over her own head.

With a screech of outrage, she turned toward the newcomer. Simon must have recognized the insanity on her face, because he transferred his gun to his left hand and balled up his right hand into a fist. With Blair still holding on, Simon pulled back his arm and delivered a strong punch directly into the woman's jaw, dropping her into the dirt.

"Simon!" Jim yelled from across the room as he watched Blair go down. "Blair's been shot!"

"Damn," Simon exclaimed. Kicking the woman's gun away, he pulled her a few feet away and cuffed her before returning to where Blair lay still on the dirt floor. "Sandburg!"

It was beyond frustrating to be forced to sit on the sidelines. Jim needed to be the one to assess his partner's condition, but he didn't dare say anything that would distract Simon from doing it for him. He sniffed the air, not able to pick up any scent of blood.

"Simon! How bad is it?" Jim asked tersely.

"Blair?" Simon carefully rolled the younger man onto his back.

Jim could see Blair's face scrunched up in pain. He bent his right leg, raising his knee off the dirt and rocking it side to side. He held his cast with his left arm. The knife, Jim remembered, did it damage the cast? Hell, he didn't care about that. Where had that first bullet struck his friend?

"Simon?"

"I am checking, Jim," Simon muttered darkly. "Give me a chance here. Blair? Open your eyes and talk to me, kid."

Blair responded, even managing a weak smile around pain tightened lips. "Owww..... I can't... believe this."

"What?" Simon demanded, his large hands skimming over the downed man, looking for the injury.

"She shot my cast, man. It's broken... again!"

Simon looked up. "He's right, Jim. There's a hole through his cast." He looked down at Blair again. "Did the bullet hit your arm?"

"Noooo," Blair groaned, then gasped. "Shit, Simon! We gotta get that lime off Jim! He's having a reaction!"

Jim snorted, falling limply back onto the mattress. God, he was getting too old for this.

"How are you feeling, Jim?" Simon asked as he passed over a Styrofoam cup filled with black coffee. "What did the doctor say about your head?"

Jim accepted the gift with a slight shrug. He'd been cold cocked by Cindy yesterday when he'd given her a ride. He never did see what she had used; it felt like a tire iron. The hospital had already treated his rash. His skin still hurt, but thanks to Blair's help, he'd managed to force the pain to the back of his mind. "I'm okay. Nice concussion. Got the usual warnings. The staff was a little curious about my reaction to that lime residue, though. Any problems at the station?"

"She ranted the whole time during her booking about reincarnated priests and demons. She blurted out everything, even after I reread her rights. No one even asked about my probable cause to go onto her property. She's going to get a one-way ticket to the psych ward. Oh, and we found the stuff from Father Nathan's apartment at the farm." Simon took an empty seat next to Jim and made himself comfortable. He eyed the hallway leading towards the exam room Blair was currently in. "How's the kid? I can't believe the bullet passed through his cast without hitting him. Sandburg should buy a Lotto ticket with that kind of luck."

Jim huffed softly and tilted his head as he listened. "He's got the same doctor as before. She's offering him a punch card. Six more visits for a new cast and the tenth one's free."

"Gotta love a woman with a sense of humor."

Jim laughed softly. "Is it okay if I just take him home? We'll come in tomorrow and give our statements."

"And write your report?" Simon asked with a raised eyebrow. "Try not to start this one with something along the lines of, `No shit, this is what happened to me.'"

"Actually, I was thinking of `Once upon a time,'" Jim replied before taking a sip of coffee. He grimaced as the petroleum taste from the cup hit the back of his throat.

"Isn't that the truth? This case is definitely the stuff fairy tales are made of." Simon scrubbed his face with one hand. "Cindy told us she and the victim had an argument. The gun went off accidentally when he tried to take it from her. At least Reano's daughter and her boyfriend have a new life now. I wonder if she's going to call her father. Frankly, I'm surprised Blair kept his promise to Ethan Reano."

Jim nearly dropped his coffee. "What!"

"Oh, that's right, you don't know that part, do you?" Simon grinned.

Blair walked out of the exam room on wobbly legs, sporting a fresh white cast.

"I think I'll let Sandburg tell you this one," Simon added in a low whisper.

"Hey, Simon," Blair greeted him, eyelids at half mast. "Jim, how's the rash?"

Jim carefully tossed the coffee into a convenient trash can and snagged his roommate's good elbow. "Fine, Chief. The rash is fine. Let's get back to the loft. I'm anxious to hear about your adventures while I was at the farm."

Blair shot Simon a wide-eyed look. "My adventures?"

"Yeah," Jim drawled, tightening his hold. "You had a little chat with Ethan Reano?"

"You remember," Simon chortled as he walked along. "After you ditched me?"

"You ditched Simon?" Jim asked incredulously.

"After I made it clear he was to stay with me or get locked up in a holding cell," Simon added happily. "He agreed to stay with me, then he ditched me."

Blair swallowed hard as he was propelled down the hallway and out into the late afternoon rain. "Guys? Can't we just appreciate that everything turned out okay here? Why dwell on the inconsequential stuff?"

Jim smiled his best shark smile, enjoying the way it made Blair's eyes widen even farther. "I insist, Sandburg. I really want to hear all those inconsequential details."

The sun broke through the clouds an hour before Father Nathan's funeral. The stately church was packed with mourners. Father Clark spoke of the celebration that took place in heaven as God greeted their priest with open arms.

Blair listened to the strangers sitting nearby crying softly. A wave of sadness rolled over him, causing him to fumble clumsily for a tissue. He knew he'd slipped one into his sling, where did it go?

Jim handed over a clean handkerchief.

"Thanks." Blair tried to discreetly press the cloth to his eyes, hoping Simon wasn't noticing. The man was going to think he did nothing but cry. Why he had insisted on sitting next to Blair instead of being next to Jim was beyond him. It wasn't like he planned on ditching them anytime soon.

He'd ended up swearing to Jim never to do that again. Nothing was worth sitting through another tongue lashing from his roommate. When they'd finally returned home to the loft from the hospital, Blair had just wanted to crash. He'd been so exhausted and high on pain killers, nothing short of a coma would do. But Jim hadn't even let him take one step into his room, insisting on hearing the entire story about Reano and that little `misunderstanding.'

Jim's response had been nothing short of nuclear. By the time he had finished voicing his unhappiness over Blair's apparent lack of discretion, Blair had been tempted to check for missing chunks of flesh in his ass. On the plus side, Jim had added a couple of new cuss words to Blair's repertoire.

That had been two days ago and Jim was still sticking to his side like glue. After giving it some consideration, Blair realized he had a choice. He could fight Jim or take a page from his mother's book and just go with the flow, for now. Jim was probably just dealing with his own demons. After all, he'd been kidnapped, knocked out and tied up, then almost skinned alive by a woman in love with a dead man.

Wow, was that twisted or what?

With a start, Blair snapped out of his thoughts as Jim and Simon rose to their feet. Reaching out for the pew in front of him, Blair pulled himself up to join them. The service was over.

"Let's wait a bit for the crowd to thin out," Jim suggested as the music played and the attendees filed towards the exits. They sat back down again.

After a few moments, Father Clark walked down from the front, stopping every once in a while to shake a hand or share a brief word with his parishioners. Finally, he arrived at Simon's side and nodded his head at the three friends.

"I'm glad to see you all made it. Jim, you're looking better."

"Thanks, I feel pretty good," Jim admitted. "Nice service."

"Thank you. Father Nathan will be laid to rest on holy ground where he belongs." He offered a sad smile and nodded his head. "There's someone in my office who wanted to speak with Mr. Sandburg. If that's okay."

"Who?" both Simon and Jim asked at the same time.

Blair rolled his eyes. "Guys? I am sitting right here, you know." He looked expectantly at the priest.

"Ah... Ethan Reano asked to speak with you, alone."

"No," Jim said flatly.

"Absolutely not," Simon added.

"Sure," Blair said. "Would you tell him I'll be there in a second?" He waited until the priest was gone before addressing his self-appointed bookend body guards. "Okay, you two..."

"No way in hell are you going back to meet with an organized crime boss alone," Jim hissed in a low voice.

"I agree," Simon added unnecessarily, as if Blair couldn't tell by the scowl on the man's face.

"Glad to hear it, gentlemen. `Cuz I've got news for both of you. I'm going back," Blair said calmly. "Jim, you listen in, I've got no problem with that. But I am going to speak with the man and hear what he has to say. Otherwise, none of us will have any peace. And, I for one, am sick of looking over my shoulder waiting for the return of the goon squad." Blair stood, waiting patiently for Simon to move out of his way.

"I don't like this," Jim protested.

"Look, consider this sacred ground, okay?" Blair said, standing and turning around to lean against the back of the front pew as he addressed the two seated cops. "The guy's not going to try anything at his own church. Besides, I'm sure he's alone. Father Clark would have mentioned otherwise. And, you can wait outside the office, Jim."

"For crying out loud, Sandburg. This is real life, not an episode from Highlander," Simon muttered, but stood to let Blair pass.

When they reached Cindy's empty desk, Blair paused to wipe his palm on his good pants. Sure, he was all bravado and tough talk back in the sanctuary, so where did his courage go?

"You sure?" Jim asked, bending down to whisper in Blair's ear.

Blair nodded, feeling reassured just by Jim's physical presence. He raised his left hand and knocked on Father Clark's door. The man himself opened it and stepped out. Blair could see Ethan Reano sitting inside, alone.

"Just say the word and I'll be there," Jim whispered.

"I know, Jim. Thanks," Blair whispered back, then entered the office and closed the door.

"Mr. Sandburg." Reano stood. "Thanks for meeting with me. I have a feeling Detective Ellison was not very pleased with the idea."

"He'll be fine. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Reano's face transformed from mafia boss to that of a pensive old man. "Ah... I heard from my daughter. She said... she thought I..." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, she said you believed I was innocent of Father Nathan's murder. I just wanted to say thanks."

"You're welcome." Blair stuck his left hand into his pocket and tilted his head. "So, can Jim and I stop worrying about visits from strangers carrying black hoods?"

Reano blushed and nodded his head.

"Even if she never comes back?" Blair pressed.

He nodded again.

"Good, because if I have to come out to your place again, I won't be so easy on you the next time," Blair promised somberly, ignoring the loud snort coming from the other side of the closed door.

Reano looked surprised and chuckled. "I understand, Mr. Sandburg. You know, of the two, I think you could do more damage to me than Ellison."

"Count on it," Blair promised.

"So, Mr. Blair `The Terminator' Sandburg," Jim said with a chuckle from the front passenger seat of Simon's car, "you're the dangerous one of our team?"

Blair laughed. He dropped his voice several octaves and faked an accent. "A'll be back."

"You get my vote for the most accident prone," Simon said when the laughter subsided.

"That reminds me!" Jim turned in his seat to pen Blair with an inquiring look. "How did you originally break your arm?"

"Oh... that." Blair shifted in his seat, fussing with his sling.

"Yeah, quick, tell me before another murder victim pops up," Jim joked as he watched Blair's blush creep up from his neck. This was so much fun. They should make guppy teasing a spectator sport.

"I was in my office..."

"Don't drag it out, Sandburg. The cell phone will ring or something," Jim told him.

"That's what I'm hoping for, man," Blair muttered.

"Spill," Simon growled, glancing back through the rearview mirror.

Blair took a deep breath and talked. "The light bulb was burned out, so I stood on a chair to replace it. Only I forgot I was on the chair when I finished. I was really, really busy with that paper I was trying to rewrite. Anyway, I kinda stepped off the chair and into space..."

Jim flinched. "Ow, that would do it."

"Yeah, believe me. It did."

End.

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