"Mr. Sandburg? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Blair Sandburg smiled at the man standing in the doorway, any distraction preferable to the article he was being forced to co-write. He happily pushed it aside and waved to the empty chair in front on his desk.

"Sure, have a seat."

The tall, young man entered, stumbling over the rock placed to hold the door open. He dropped into the seat with an apologetic grin.

"Sorry, `bout that. My parents couldn't afford finishing school," he joked.

Blair laughed. "No sweat," he said. "There's a rumor that I brought it back from the Andes, but it's really from a hole behind Hargrove, maintenance dug up the waterline last spring and I snagged it for the job of door prop. So, what can I do for you? You're Sam, right?"

"Right, you work with the police, right?"

Blair's smile waned. "Yes, I ride with a detective in Major Crimes... why?"

Sam pulled out a small box and set it on the table. "I was hoping you could listen to this and give me some advice."

Blair recognized it as a miniature recorder. He'd seen several of his students use similar ones in his class to record his lectures. Wondering what he was about to hear, Blair leaned forward and crossed his arms on the desk to wait.

Jim thumbed the button for his cell phone.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim. Whatcha doing?"

Jim cradled the small phone against his shoulder as he uncuffed the woman he'd just transported to Cascade's main jail. She made a show of rubbing her wrists while shooting the tall cop a hateful glance. Jim rolled his eyes; glad he was transferring her custody to the jail staff.

"Nothing, H and I just finished the Jackson case," Jim said, returning his cuffs to his pocket and handing the paperwork to the booking sergeant.

"Good, can you swing by my office? I have someone I want you to meet," Blair asked.

Fifteen minutes later, Jim entered the small office that doubled as a storage room for the anthropology department at Rainier University. A tall, thin student with thick glasses stood, looking at Jim nervously. Blair came around his desk to make the introductions.

"Jim, this is Sam Abernathy. Sam, this is Jim Ellison; he's the detective I was telling you about. Jim, Sam has a tape recording you should hear." Blair perched on the edge of his desk while Sam rewound the small tape recorder and hit the play button.

"Uh... it's kind of noisy for a few seconds. I was at the bus station yesterday when I recorded this," Sam explained.

Jim waited as the tape played sounds of people calling out to each other, an announcement for a departing bus was made, a young child was crying. Jim raised his eyebrows, giving Blair a look that said, `You brought me over here for this'?

Blair waved a hand, mouthing the word `wait' as the tape played on. Then the noise seemed to settle down as two male voices came out of the small box.

"Just like we agreed, half now and half when the job's done."

"Fine, you get me the blue prints like I asked?"

"It's in there. Just remember to make it look accidental."

"Look, you hired the best."

Another announcement for an arriving bus blared over a loudspeaker. Sam pressed a button and ended the recording. "That's all of it."

Jim eyed the young man carefully. "Did you make that tape?"

Sam nodded, swallowing hard before replying. "Yeah, I run the web site called `Overheard Quotes'. I was getting some sound bites for my next posting."

"Overheard Quotes? What kind of site is that?" Jim asked.

"It's real interesting, Jim. It started off as a study in human behavior and it's turned into a cool site where actual conversations are posted on the web. Some really funny stuff, man. Every major campus has one. I first heard about one like it down in Berkeley.

"Sounds like invasion of privacy to me," Jim said with a frown. "Did you see the men talking?"

"No, the recorder was on voice activation, that way I don't have to hold it. I got busy helping a lady with her luggage. I didn't even know I had taped it until I reviewed it. It sounded strange, so I thought I'd let Mr. Sandburg hear it," Sam replied, then stood straight, looking Jim in the eye bravely. "I'm not trying to invade anyone's right to privacy, I only record in public places. I checked with the Law department, and it's not illegal in Washington."

"What do you think, Jim? Doesn't it sound like a crime about to be committed?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, Chief, it does." Jim held out his hand. "I'd like to borrow your recorder and play this for my Captain. I'm going to need to keep the tape, but I'll have Sandburg return the recorder to you as soon as I can."

"Sure, I wasn't sure what to do, it just sounded too hinky, you know? Just like something out of a movie," Sam said handing the small box over.

"I'll go with you, Jim. I'm finished for the day anyway." Blair gathered up some papers and stuffed them into his backpack. "I promise your recorder will be safe, man."

Sam waved a hand in the air. "No sweat. I've got a back up that I can use. I just hope you guys can use the tape. I'd hate it if something bad happens and I had a chance to see it stopped and didn't."

Once Jim and Blair reached the station, most of the detectives in Major Crimes had gone home for the day. The light was still on in Captain Simon Banks' office. The large man answered their knock with a gruff acknowledgment, returning a framed photograph he'd been holding to the corner of his desk. Curious to see what Simon had been looking at, he recognized the young man in the photo as Simon's teenage son, Daryl.

"We've got a possible crime on tape, sir. I'd like to look into it, might be big," Jim said without preamble.

"What's going on with the Jackson case?" Simon asked. "You've got a full plate right now, Jim."

"I had enough PC to book the manager. Brown and I arrested her. He's already dropped the report off with the DA."

"Gee, maybe I'd like to be included in the loop next time, detective. I was under the impression that I'm your supervisor." Simon commented sourly.

"Wow, what's wrong, Simon? You're like... real crabby today," Blair asked.

Jim rolled his eyes. Leave it to Blair to state the obvious. The guy probably waves red bandanas in front of bulls for kicks. Before Simon could gather enough steam to vent a scalding retort, Jim set the recorder down and hit the play button.

"Listen to this, sir."

When the tape finished, Simon leaned back in his seat and pursed his lips in thought, his earlier irritation gone. "Where did this come from?"

"A student was taping conversations at the bus station yesterday. Apparently he has some Internet site that he puts them on." Jim shrugged as if to say `who knows why' when Simon looked at him in surprise. "He didn't see the two men talking, but I think if I tried, I might be able to pick out some more conversation at the end."

"Really? Wow, I didn't think of that, Jim. You heard something else?" Blair asked, catapulting off the conference table he used as a seat to stand by Jim's side.

"Yeah. I thought maybe you could talk me through it," Jim said, looking down into Blair's excited blue eyes.

"Sure! Let's wait till we get home, I want you to be in a comfortable environment before we try," Blair suggested happily. "I've been thinking about using aroma therapy. It might help you focus."

"Okay, whatever, Chief," Jim said returning his attention to his supervisor. "So, what do you think?"

Simon nodded. "Go ahead, but I want a copy of that Jackson case report on my desk before you leave today, Ellison."

"I'm going to print it right now, sir," Jim promised.

"You know, I think a few scented candles in here would help you with your temper, Simon," Blair mused, glancing around the office, oblivious of Mount St. Simon getting ready to erupt.

"Come on, Chief," Jim said quickly, hooking a hand around Blair's arm and towing him to the door. "Thanks again, sir. I'll get you that report."

Once he parked Blair in an empty chair, he powered up his computer. "Chief, we've got to talk about your survival skills."

"What?" Blair questioned; eyes wide in bewilderment. "I'm only saying Simon is wound up tight. God knows what his blood pressure is like."

"Just do yourself a favor, Doctor Health-nut. When you see Simon looking like an enraged bear, you'd do best by keeping quiet," Jim advised. He found Henry's supplemental report and quickly added it to his own, then sent it to the print domain located in the adjacent room.

"Jim, Simon's our friend. He's not going to bite my head off for just giving some friendly advice," Blair insisted with a stubborn look.

Shaking his head, Jim stood with a sigh. "He's also my boss, which means he can make my life miserable if he wants to. So keep your `friendly advice' to yourself when we're at the station and he's in a mood, okay?"

Blair slumped in his chair with an expression of reluctant acceptance. "Yeah, whatever. I still say some scented candles and prune juice would help."

Jim paused from retrieving the printed report, turning to Blair with a look of surprise. "Prune juice?"

Blair nodded. "I think he's constipated or something, it would explain his foul mood. He doesn't eat enough fiber. A man his age..."

Holding up a hand, Jim interrupted with a look of horror. "Do not, I repeat, do NOT mention the words `prune' or `constipation' to Simon, period. You got that? I like my job, Sandburg. I don't want to end up back on patrol for the rest of my career."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Okay, I got it already."

"I mean it, Chief," Jim repeated, pointing a finger at Blair. "Not. One. Word."

"Chill already, Jim," Blair said, holding both hands out. "I promise."

The old man dozing on the sidewalk was close enough to the street entrance of Jim's building that one had to step carefully as not to tread on the man's feet. Jim frowned. It was too cold for anyone to be sleeping on the streets, let alone some guy wearing nothing but a surplus army field jacket for a coat.

"Oh, man. He's gonna freeze out here, Jim," Blair said softly at his side.

"Yeah, let's see if we can send him to that shelter on Sunset," Jim said. "It's less than six blocks away."

"Maybe I can drive him over."

"Let's see how sober he is first, Chief," Jim suggested. "You don't need a drunk swinging on you while you drive, just because he's fighting some demon only he can see."

As they neared, Jim used his sentinel vision to pierce the dim light, taking in every detail. The man's clothes were dirty, but sturdy looking. In fact, Jim would guess them to be expensive brand names, judging by the quality of the material. No stench of alcohol drifted off the still figure, his breathing and heart rate seemed normal.

"I think he's just asleep," Jim said with surprise.

"Let's get him awake, maybe he's sick." Blair leaned down to gently shake the man's knee before stepping back out of range. "Hey, fella! Can you wake up for us?"

With a grunt, the body shifted and a gloved hand reached for the thick wool scarf wrapped around the man's mouth and nose. He looked about seventy, with a head of silver hair, three day old stubble of a beard and robin-egg blue eyes that blinked awake. He sat up, revealing a battered looking duffle bag hidden under his body.

"CJ?" Jim gasped.

"Jimmy?" the man asked, his voice strong and rough sounding, like someone fighting a cold. "About time you got home. I've been waiting for more than an hour."

Jim knew his mouth was open, he could feel the cool air chilling the back of his throat, but for the life of him, he had forgotten how to form a single word.

Blair moved forward, assisting as the old man struggled to stand. "Hey, easy, man. Let me help."

CJ nodded his thanks, towering over the younger man by a good six inches. "Thanks, I get stiff if the ground's cold, real nuisance. Let me warn ya, kid, don't get old - it sucks."

Blair grinned widely and stuck out his hand. "I'm Blair Sandburg. You know Jim?"

"Not as well as I should," CJ commented before smiling fondly at Jim. "Although I remember him as being more vocal than this."

Jim snapped his jaw shut, irritated with himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," the old man said. "Wanted to see you. Stephen's on some business trip. William's home, but he's such a horse's ass, I wouldn't spend an hour with him if you paid me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Blair get that quizzical expression, his entire body poised, ready to ask a dozen questions. "Let's go inside," he offered, not wanting to continue this discussion outside.

Hell, he wasn't sure he wanted it period.

Up in the loft, CJ nodded in an approving manner as he surveyed the open apartment. "Nice place."

Jim rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache beginning to build as he hung his coat next to Blair's and headed for the kitchen. Blair had remained blissfully silent on the elevator ride up. Considering the palpable excitement vibrating off his roommate, Jim was impressed with the show of restraint.

"Are you thirsty?" Blair asked their guest. "We've got juice or milk. I can make coffee."

Jim noticed Blair had left out the imported beers they both enjoyed occasionally in the evenings. He probably still thought the old man was an alcoholic.

"I'd take a cup of coffee," CJ told him, standing in the center of the loft. "I'd sit, but I've got half the state of Nevada in these clothes. You mind if I use your shower, Jimmy?"

Jim waved a hand towards the bathroom. "Help yourself, towels in the cupboard. I'll have dinner made when you get out and we can talk."

"Thanks." CJ disappeared into the bathroom.

Blair appeared immediately at Jim's side.

"So? Who is this guy?" he hissed. "I mean... at first I thought he was just a bum, but - his eyes... that jaw line. He looks like you, man!"

Jim pulled out the steaks he'd intended to grill later in the week. Closing the old refrigerator's door gently, he nodded wearily. "Yeah, he's my grandfather, Chief. You think you could make that salad with the apples and walnuts?"

"Sure, Jim." Blair began to set out a cutting board, knife and a large bowl. "Wow, you're grandfather! What's his story? You acted like you'd been sucker punched when you saw him."

"It's just been a while, that's all," Jim told him. "He only seems to drop in when something bad happens."

"Bad?" Blair asked, pausing in the act of chopping cheese into small cubes.

Jim shrugged. "When my mom left home... fights with my old man. He showed up when I came home from Peru. Thought the army was going to arrest him," Jim remembered, smiling for the first time. His grandfather had irritated every officer on that base until he'd been allowed to see Jim. "The last time he dropped by was when Carolyn and I got divorced. Just showed up at work, took me to lunch and then left."

Blair returned to his salad preparations. "So, what was that about someone being a horse's ass?"

"William is my father, those two never got along." Jim lightly peppered the steaks and added a liberal dose of garlic salt before sliding them beneath the flames of the broiler.

"Why not?"

Jim grimaced. Knowing Blair wouldn't stop asking questions until his curiosity was satisfied, which frankly, could be considered a rare occasion. Jim just wasn't up to it tonight. His headache wouldn't go away, he could feel it gaining ground like an advancing enemy. "Look, Sandburg. Let's just drop it for now, okay? I just hope CJ's not staying past dinner. We've still got that tape recording to work on."

"Right, right. Sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to pry," Blair said with ease. "But, you got to admit... CJ is not what I'd expect for your grandfather." Blair paused and shot Jim with a disapproving look. "What do you mean `not staying past dinner', man? He was sleeping on the sidewalk!"

"Don't let the look fool you, Chief. CJ does alright for himself."

"You don't know that, you just said you haven't heard from him in years," Blair insisted, pointing the blade of the knife at Jim in reproach. "He can sleep in my room; I'll take the couch... Or I can make some calls and crash somewhere else."

"Sandburg, you're not leaving," Jim sighed. Hell, Blair was right. "Fine, he can have my bed. I'll take the couch."

In the end, CJ took the couch.

The old man was a different person when he emerged from his shower. His face, free from stubble, was more like the grandfather Jim remembered from his childhood, only older. His thick hair was completely peppered with silver and cut short. Wrinkles criss-crossed his face, converging near his eyes, with the distinctive cheekbones and high forehead that had obviously been passed down to Jim. He wore clean, but wrinkled clothes, no doubt dug out of his duffle bag. His tall frame still had serious muscle tone and he stood straight and true without the hunched over shoulders Jim had seen on other men his age. He moved like a man in his fifties, causing Jim to wonder if he would have as much luck with his own health in thirty years.

The steak and salad disappeared with alarming speed. Blair had located a pop-n-fresh can of breadsticks, adding the fresh baked bread to the table. CJ ate almost two-thirds of the batch. The dinner conversation was sparse, with Blair trying unsuccessfully to get the older man to talk about his travels. As soon as the meal was finished, CJ accepted it the invitation to spend the night and claimed the sofa as his own.

"CJ, Blair and I need to work on a project for a new case," Jim explained. "You okay by yourself for a few hours?"

His grandfather nodded, already turning the blankets and pillow that Blair had brought him into a nice bed. "Ignore me, Jimmy. I'm just going to sleep for twelve solid hours and catch up with you tomorrow. We'll talk, okay?"

Jim nodded, handing Blair's coat to the younger man and heading for the door. "Come on, Sandburg. Bring the recorder."

Blair trotted along beside his roommate, not surprised when Jim headed down the sidewalk towards the shops rather than the parking lot across the street. A few blocks away sat a coffee shop they sometimes frequented. If they were lucky the place would be empty.

"Jim, I'm not sure we'll be able to do this outside the loft, man."

"Let's give it a try. I'm not going to perform a dog and pony act in front of CJ," Jim said simply, checking over his shoulder before jogging across the street toward the coffee shop. "Come on."

Blair followed. "You're paying the jaywalking ticket, man."

Inside the stylish shop a fireplace snapped happily against the far wall, giving the place a warm, homey atmosphere. Comfortable chairs were scattered about with magazines and low tables that held chess game and playing cards. As suspected, the only occupant was a young woman wearing a formal looking white shirt, black dress pants and a hunter green apron that fell past her knees. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a single attractive ponytail. She looked up with a customary smile, which widened when she recognized them.

"Blair! Jim! Great! I needed someone to watch the shop for a few minutes. You two mind if I run to the ATM real quick? I need some cash to pay the babysitter."

"Go ahead, Julie. We'll watch the place," Blair offered. "Is the decaf fresh?"

She had the apron off and her purse in hand. "I just made it, enjoy. I'll be right back."

Jim held the door open as she left.

"Perfect, Jim. We've got the place to ourselves," Blair chortled as he fixed two cups of coffee and carried them to the chairs by the fireplace.

"Let's do this before some one comes in and asks for the flavor of the week, candy bar coffee," Jim ordered, taking the seat next to Blair's.

Blair cued the tape to the beginning. How was he going to talk Jim through this? The cop looked far from relaxed and was looking at Blair as if expecting a switch to be thrown and a solution to fall into place. Far from it, Blair thought to himself glumly. Half the time, Blair didn't have clue how to proceed.

"Okay, play the tape." Jim motioned impatiently.

"Wait, man. You're not ready," Blair said. "Lean back and relax a second."

"Sandburg, we don't have time."

"Jim, it's not a race, man. You can't just order your senses to obey on command. You're still learning to use them," Blair insisted. "Now lean back and take a deep breath."

With a look that said `I'm not happy about this' Jim did as instructed. After a few moments of breathing exercises, Blair started to notice the muscles in Jim's jaw begin to smoothen out. The powerful shoulders dropped slightly and the lines above his eyebrows disappeared.

"Okay, I'm going to start. I want you to mentally think about the tape. Imagine you're already hearing the guy on the loud speaker... when it comes on, you're just going to override it, okay? You're taking control over what to listen to. Just let the loudspeaker float over you. Expect it and dismiss it at the same time."

Holding his breath, he hit the play button. The voices of the two men filled the small coffee shop.

"..accidental... Look, you hired the best..."

Blair watched Jim closely. The loudspeaker was next. Jim barely flinched. The loud, booming voice came next; Jim shook it off and closed his eyes. He took a slow breath through his nose.

"Play it again."

Blair did as instructed. "Override, Jim. You're in control," he said softly. "Here it is again."

They repeated the process two more times before Jim opened his eyes and dazzled Blair with his broad smile. "Got it, Chief."

Blair perched on the edge of the wingback. "What did you hear, Jim?"

"He called himself Firefly. They talked about the Waterford District." Jim said, picking up a pad of score sheets left out for customers wishing to play card games. "Play it again, I want to write it down word for word."

A few minutes later, Blair read Jim's transcript.

`The firefly doesn't make mistakes.'

`Just make sure it's within the next forty-eight hours.'

`What's so special about this Waterford Gallery?'

`That's none of your business. You're being paid, what do you care?'

Blair reread the four lines again. "Wow, this doesn't sound good, Jim. We've got a short window here."

"I agree, and half of it's gone." Jim said.

Julie entered the store, waving at them happily. "Thanks guys, coffee's on me tonight. Any customers?"

"Nope, been quiet," Blair answered.

Jim stood, handing Blair the recorder before pulling a few bills out of his pocket. "Come on, Chief. Let's go call Simon." He stuffed the bills into the tip jar on his way out. "Thanks, Julie. We'll see you later."

"Bye, guys."

Simon took a deep breath and counted to a slow ten. With difficulty he managed to keep from screaming over the phone to his teenage son on the other end.

"Darryl, my decision stands. You're not going and that's final. Please put your mother back on." He leaned against the wall in his small kitchen apartment and waited for the surly child to hand the phone back to his mother.

"Joan? Are you sure everything's okay there? I can drive down and deal with this in person if you want me to."

"No, I think we're okay now, Simon. Thanks for backing me up on this." Joan Banks answered quietly.

Simon found the strength to smile. "Anytime, babe, you're on the right track with him. I'll trust your judgment on this one."

"Thanks, I'd better go check on him. I'll call you tomorrow."

After hanging up the phone, Simon rubbed the back of his neck and wondered when his life had become so difficult. Raising a teenage son was hard, hell, he knew that. They had both talked it over before deciding to have children, but dealing with the same child now that he and Joan were getting a divorce had to border on lunacy. What kind of chance did his son have with a set of parents that couldn't even make their marriage work?

A knock at the door brought him out of his spiraling decent into self-recrimination. He checked the peek hole before unlocking the door. The apartment he'd moved to was supposed to be in a safe neighborhood, but it paid to be careful.

"Wonderful," he muttered, unlocking the door and opening it to let Jim and Blair in.

"Sorry we didn't call. The line was busy," Jim said, giving his boss a guilty look.

"I suppose this is an emergency?" Simon questioned.

"It could be, we think there's gonna be a big arson fire tonight or tomorrow morning," Blair blurted out.

"What?"

"The tape, Simon," Jim explained. "I listened to it, someone's hired some guy named `Firefly' to target a building in the Waterford district. The fire is supposed to happen sometime before noon tomorrow."

Simon groaned. "Do you know how many high priced galleries and converted warehouses there are in that area? Where are we supposed to start?"

"Well, the tape said it had to be an accident," Jim said. "Are any of the gallery owners having financial problems?"

Simon reached for his raincoat draped over the back of the sofa. "Something tells me I'm not going to get a lot of sleep tonight."

Cascade Communication dispatchers toned the fire out at two in the morning. By the time the first engine arrived on location, the building was seventy percent involved, causing the Lieutenant riding in the officer's seat to request a three alarm response to aid in the attack.

Word arrived to Simon by way of a desk sergeant who had been monitoring the fire channels on his break and knew Simon and his men were in the building working on a possible fire threat with the arson unit captain.

Jim followed Simon's car, parking his Ford Expedition inside the barricades. Police units had closed the narrow two lane street that led to the expensive Waterford District. Once a warehouse district, the two by three block district had been converted into a high-brow area of galleries and conference centers back in the eighties by a business man with a vision, and the guts to make it work. If any well known art exhibit came to Cascade, it was a sure bet the show was in Waterford.

"Oh, man. Look at that," Blair moaned as if in pain. He pointed to a single story brick building with heavy black smoke pouring out the windows and doorways. Fire engines parked at the corners. Hose lines ran from each engine, littering the street line in loops and curves. Each corner of the warehouse had tall, thirty foot metal ladders leaning against the roof's edge. Crews of firefighters labored to cut a long trench down the roof to stop the spread of fire from taking the entire building.

"It looks bad, Chief," Jim admitted. "Let's look around. Don't forget to display your police ID."

"You've got to stay out of the smoke, man."

"I know, I will," Jim promised as he killed the engine and opened the door. He knew enough about arsonists to know they sometimes stayed to watch the fire attack. Even though he had no idea who `Firefly' was or even what he looked like, he did know what he sounded like. "Okay, lets start with the `uh-oh squad'. Let's see if we can recognize Firefly by his voice."

Blair looked up at Jim in confusion. "Uh-oh squad?"

"Yeah, the crowd of rubber-neckers that always show up to stand around and say helpful things like `uh-oh'," Jim said heading for a view of the barricades that held the crowds back.

"That's cold, man," Blair commented as he followed.

Jim scanned the crowd from a position behind an extra command officer's truck. Civilians, mixed with members of the press alerted by fire and police scanners, watched from a safe distance. About thirty people crowded the closed off street. Traffic units had to be dispatched to standby and keep them safely back.

"Too much noise," Jim muttered, closing his eyes against the flashing red and blue lights of the fire and police units.

A steady hand gripped his arm, just below his elbow.

"Override, Jim. Select the sounds you're looking for. Ignore the sounds that belong here. Look for people who are talking in the crowd and target those voices."

Jim never could understand how Blair's words seemed to right his world. No matter what his roommate said - he could be reading the back of a cereal box - still, Jim's focus would sharpen. Suddenly, the bright lights dimmed. Police and fire radios quieted and Jim was able to zoom in on the faces behind the police barricades. Standing off to one side, a young man in his twenties watched the fire like a sinner fixed on salvation. His lips moved in fevered delight. Jim concentrated on picking out his words.

"...Burn baby, burn baby..."

Although Jim was convinced the man was a few sandwiches short a full picnic, this was not the voice from the tape. Knowing fire crews were risking their lives to extinguish the same fire that seemed to give this man so much delight, he frowned and forced himself to move on.

The world was full of sick-o's.

Nearer to the front of the crowd, an older man stood like a statue, watching the fire with almost an analytical detachment. Just the expression on his face caused Jim to wonder why he was there. The rest of the faces had a common look of amazement, horror or fear; but this man was different.

"Sandburg, check out the guy in the black leather jacket."

"Yeah, he looks out of place. Almost like he's bored," Blair commented.

"Let's see if we can get him to talk," Jim said, moving forward. A hand on his arm stopped him.

"Let me, Jim," Blair said.

Jim turned. Intending to say `no, way, Stay behind me', he saw Blair's look of eager confidence and sighed.

"Just get him to talk, Junior. Nothing else."

"Got it."

Jim tucked Blair's ID inside his coat and patted his cheeks. "Go to it, Ace."

Rolling his eyes, Blair gave a thumbs up before edging around the side and working his way through the crowd to end up standing next to the man in question.

Jim's ears had no problem picking out Blair's words over all the noise.

"Wow, too cool!" Blair said eagerly.

The man in the jacket shifted away, not acknowledging the newcomer's comment.

Blair tried again.

"I've seen better fires than this, though. Probably started by a few punk kids with a book of wet matches."

Jim chuckled. Go for the pride, he thought, agreeing with Blair's tactics.

Leather Jacket turned to frown at Blair. "Excuse me? I heard this was a very technical arson."

Blair smiled at the man. "Really? How'd you hear that?"

Jim was already moving. It was the voice from the tape. But before he could get close, the man caught sight of Jim's movement. With a curse, Leather Jacket turned to run, shoving people out of his way. But the crowd was thick, slowing his progress.

Jim jumped over large diameter supply hoses that fed water from the hydrants to the fire engines. The hoses seemed intent on tripping him, forcing Jim to glance down repeatedly as he ran. As Jim cleared the last fire hose and picked up speed, Blair latched on to the fleeing arsonist's arm.

Leather Jacket turned, his face twisted into an ugly mask, a cornered rat fighting for his freedom. Throwing a punch hampered by the tight quarters, the arsonist managed to sink his fist into Blair's stomach. Even from a distance, Jim could hear the air rushing out of his friend's lungs. Blair doubled over in pain and both men disappeared from Jim's view.

A primal part of Jim's brain screamed. It was as if Jim's very chance for a normal future was at risk. He cursed the fire hoses for slowing him down as he plunged into the crowd of gawkers forming a circle around the two men on the ground. Two uniformed officers guarding the street became alerted to the disturbance and were running to assist.

Jim shoved his way through. Amazingly, Blair hadn't lost his grip on the man's arm. He'd somehow managed to land on Leather Jacket's back, pinning the criminal to the asphalt.

"Cascade Police!" Jim yelled. "Everyone back!"

The crowd fell back, giving room. Jim reached down and pulled Blair off, not letting go until his friend was well clear and out of danger. The two uniforms had arrived and Jim nodded toward Leather Jacket, who was still trying to stand. "Ellison, Major Crimes! This guy may be the arsonist."

The officers had the suspect back on his stomach, his arms pinned behind his back, the first cop snapping on the cuffs while his partner patted the suspected arsonist down.

Jim turned to check out his partner. Blair sat on his butt, breathing in short gasps, one arm wrapped around his middle.

"You okay?"

Blair nodded, holding up an arm to let Jim pull him to his feet. Once standing, Blair bent over at his waist, one hand braced on a knee, the other still guarding his abdomen. "Give... me... a sec... man."

"What happened to `just getting him to talk?" Jim asked quietly when it looked like Blair could breathe again.

Blair shrugged, then groaned and wrapped his arms around his stomach again. "Oww, don't do that, man."

"Ellison?" Simon's voice cut through the noise of the crowd and firefighting efforts.

"Back here, Simon," Jim called out, spotting his boss approaching. He pointed to the suspect being helped to his feet by the uniforms. The shorter officer was holding what looked like a set of blueprints in his hand. "I think we've caught ourselves a firefly, sir."

It was four AM when Jim dropped Blair off at the loft to get a few hours sleep before classes. He entered the apartment, exhausted and sore... and exuberant.

God! What a night! He still felt the rush from his part in catching the arsonist. It was just too bad they hadn't been able to prevent the fire. But still, they caught the guy. Sure, he wasn't talking, but between the blue prints and voice match with the tape recording, it wouldn't take much to convince the DA.

Blair shrugged out of his coat and hung it on his hook, not bothering to turn on the light. A cup of chamomile tea would help calm him down enough to try and sleep a few hours. Navigating to the kitchen through the shadows of the loft, he pulled a face. He wasn't sure he had the energy to put a kettle of water on to boil.

A snort from behind Blair almost stopped his heart. He spun and slammed backwards, then collapsed against the counter in relief as he spied the shape of Jim's grandfather sleeping on the couch.

Oh, man! Blair had totally forgotten about the old guy. Softly laughing at himself for being frightened, Blair forgot the tea and headed for his bedroom. He toed off his sneakers and fell into his bed, pulling the covers up to his shoulders and falling instantly into sleep.

"Hey! Your alarm's going off."

Blair rolled over, facing the wall and groaned. "'nother ten minutes, Jim."

"I don't care - but could you kill the alarm?"

Blair opened his eyes, frowning at Jim's hoarse voice. Was his roommate coming down with a cold? Then the piercing alarm registered in his confused brain and Blair silenced it with an out flung hand, expertly nailing the button from experience.

"Jim? You okay?" he called out. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the loft and Blair traded the idea of extra sleep for a cup as he tossed blankets aside.

"He's not here," CJ called from the kitchen.

Blair fumbled for his glasses and checked the clock. Seven. Jim must still be at the station, finishing the report on the arsonist arrest. Seeing a perfect opportunity to talk with Jim's grandfather - meaning, Jim wasn't here to stop him - Blair finger combed his hair into a ponytail and entered the shared living area.

"Hey, good morning!" Blair said cheerfully. "You want some breakfast?"

CJ sat at the table with a cup of coffee and a battered notebook. He looked up from his writing to nod. "Sounds good... Blair, right?"

"That's right." Blair opened the refrigerator to take a quick inventory. "How about eggs?"

"Whatever you're having is fine."

Blair chuckled. "You might rethink that if you knew, man. But, I can make a mean omelet."

"Count me in, then," CJ set his pen down and eyed Blair. "So, what are you doing living with Jimmy?"

"I'm doing my dissertation on the police. Jim lets me ride along to collect data," Blair started slicing mushrooms and bell peppers, keeping his eyes on task as he glossed over his history with Jim. "When I ended up losing my place, Jim let me rent the lower bedroom here. It just worked out."

"Dissertation?" CJ asked. "You're a college kid?"

With effort, Blair managed to not roll his eyes. CJ seemed sharp for an old guy, he would have noticed. Reaching up for a hanging omelet pan, Blair explained. "I'm a teaching assistant at Rainier; I'm also working on my doctorate in anthropology.

CJ nodded. "Defending is tough. Maybe I can give you some pointers, if you'd like."

Blair almost dropped the pan on his foot. "You... you're a ... you mean, you've defending a dissertation before?"

CJ's face was a mask, devoid of expression, yet Blair thought he saw a trace of humor showing in the old man's blue eyes. Damn, this guy could give Jim a lesson on poker face. Hell, Blair realized with a start, Jim probably inherited his ability from this guy.

"I had to; otherwise I wouldn't be a history professor," CJ explained carefully clipping his pen to the notebook and rewrapping it inside a worn leather case. He stood and walked around the island to take the knife out of Blair's hand. "I'll chop, you start on the eggs."

Blair found his voice again as he whisked the eggs. "I've gotta ask, man. What's a professor doing sleeping on a sidewalk, looking like a bum sleeping off an all-nighter?"

CJ chuckled. "Waiting for his grandson to come home."

Blair shot him a look. "You know what I mean."

"I do. I've been traveling the last few years. I'm working on a theory that led me here. When I travel, I keep my expenses to a minimum. So I sleep where I can, eat what I can. I need my money for transport and books."

"Oh yeah, I so hear you there, man," Blair commented earnestly. "There's some cheddar in the fridge, look in the right bottom bin. We can add some on top if you'd like."

CJ retrieved the cheese and started slicing thin sections. "When I got into town, I thought I'd spend some time with my grandsons."

"That's great. If you want, you can take my room. I'm okay on the couch. That way you can stay as long as you want." Blair was already looking forward to long conversations with this man, getting some insight into Jim's earlier years. He tried to remind himself he was just being friendly to Jim's family. It helped him deal with the nagging little voice inside his head.

CJ brought the cutting board filled with neat piles of chopped vegetables and sliced cheese to Blair's side. "I'm fine on the sofa. You keep your room."

"If you say so... so, what does CJ stand for?"

"Charles James."

"Cool, Jim is named after you then?" Blair asked.

"That's what I'm told."

The omelets tasted good, some of the best ones Blair had ever made. When Jim walked through the door, Blair stood to start a new one.

"Thanks, Chief." Jim washed his hands at the kitchen sink, eyeing his grandfather as he dried them on a kitchen towel. "How are you feeling this morning, CJ? You survive Sandburg's interrogation okay?"

"I was the first to fire a question, figured a preemptive strike was needed," CJ said as Blair sputtered with indignation. "You just now getting in?"

Jim nodded taking the hot coffee from Blair with a smile that carried an amused apology. "Yeah, we had a lead on an arsonist. The guy torched the building overnight."

Blair heard the tone of self reproach in the cop's words. "Jim, we had like no time to figure it out. All we knew was Waterford District."

CJ's fork dropped to the table with a clatter, causing both roommates to turn and look. Blair's earlier assessment of the older man's ability to keep a poker face was shaken when he saw the look of horror on CJ's face.

"Waterford?" CJ whispered.

"You okay?" Blair asked quickly.

"You said the fire was in Waterford?" CJ said, his voice stronger. "Where in Waterford?"

"A gallery called `The Silverwood'," Jim told him. "Why? What's wrong?"

"That's the reason I'm in town. Silverwood is owned by a friend of mine. I'm here to study some papers that emerged recently."

"Oh man, you think these papers might have been destroyed? That fire looked pretty bad last night," Blair said, folding Jim's omelet in half to trap the sliced vegetables.

"I need to use your phone, Jimmy," CJ said, forgetting the last few bites of his breakfast to accept the cordless phone from Jim's hand before moving to the far corner of the living room to make his call.

Blair met Jim's gaze and shrugged.

"How's the gut this morning?" Jim asked quietly after watching the eggs cook for a few minutes.

"Fine, just a little sore. I did that thing that Simon told me about," Blair explained.

"What thing?"

Blair slid the omelet onto Jim's plate. "He told me once if someone is about to hit you in the stomach; turn and clench your abdominal muscles."

"Simon told you that?"

"Yeah, after the fight I had in the loft with Lash."

"And you remembered?"

"It just came to me. I'm not into pain, man," Blair admitted.

Jim gave him an approving chuckle. "We call that `survival instincts', Darwin. Glad to know you have some. Maybe we should sign you up for some self-defense classes at the academy."

Blair shrugged. "Whatever." He looked over to where CJ was speaking softly into the phone, the old man's face pinched with worry. "I can't believe your grandfather is a history professor, Jim. That is so... cool!" he hissed. "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

Jim shrugged, forking the eggs into his mouth as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "I didn't know. I remember he taught somewhere."

"He's not just a teacher, Jim. He's got a PHD." Blair straightened, a sudden thought bursting into his consciousness. "Hey, Rainer has an opening in the history department; maybe I should introduce him to a few people."

CJ finished his phone call and returned to the table to finish his breakfast. "I'm retired, Blair. Thanks, anyway."

"What did you find out?" Jim asked.

"The papers are safe. He doesn't get to pick them up till tomorrow," CJ said picking up his fork.

"What a relief," Blair said. "You sure about the position at Rainier? I could show you around the campus some before you make up your mind."

"Speaking of Rainier, Sandburg, isn't it about time for your first class?" Jim asked before CJ could answer.

"CRAP! I'm gonna be late!" Blair exclaimed.

"No, you're fine. I'll clean up in here. You have just enough time to shower, just keep it short," Jim said as Blair raced into the bathroom and slammed the door.

When Jim woke later that day, the loft was empty.

He spotted a handwritten note by the coffee pot as he headed for the bathroom.

Jimmy,

I'll catch up with you later.

CJ

PS - heck of a roommate

Jim smiled to himself as he headed for the shower. He'd told Simon to expect him at one. They had an appointment with the arsonist and his attorney at two-thirty. Simon had put Brown and Rafe on the case as well. By one, they should have the info on the owner of the gallery.

Who was also a friend of his grandfather. What if it turned out the owner did arrange to torch his own place for insurance money?

Jim tested the water before stepping under the spray. He was out of his shampoo and reached for Blair's herbal concoction, knowing he was going to spend the afternoon thinking Blair was in the room with him.

It was hard to believe CJ was back. He liked the old man, if truth be told, he liked him a lot. And Blair and CJ seem to be getting along fine. But how long was he going to be around this time? He dropped in and out without warning, sort of like someone else he knew.

God, there was a scary idea - Naomi and CJ in the same room.

Jim rinsed the last of the suds from his hair and finished his shower with the precision of a man trained by the military. Taking the last clean towel from the cupboard, he dried off and used it to wrap around his waist before heading back up the loft to dress.

If he stopped at Wonder Burger on the way in, he'd get to work on time.

Once he reached the bullpen, Simon waved at him from his office. Jim snagged a clean mug, making plans to snitch a cup of Simon's expensive brew.

"What's new with the Firefly case, sir?" Jim asked, indicating the coffee pot in the corner with his empty mug.

Simon nodded as he opened the file on top of his stack. "Help yourself. Brown just filed his report on the gallery owner, a Mr. Albert Davenport. He's insured with Cascade Mutual for basic replacement cost of the contents and minimum cost to rebuild."

"What was inside at the time of the fire?" Jim asked as he dropped into the chair in front of Simon's desk.

"That's just it, he was between shows. Basically he gets enough to rebuild," Simon reported, handing the report over for Jim to look at.

"Not much of a plan. Why hire a guy to torch your building when you're not set up for a large payoff?" Jim mused as he scanned the figures. "What do we know about this Davenport guy?"

"Well, for starters - he's a self made billionaire and into the civic duty thing in Cascade. He's a big sponsor at the Children's Hospital, foots the bill on several scholarships in town and financed the new Veterans' building last year," Simon explained, leaning back in his chair. "Brown also reports the guy has a southern accent thick enough to slice with a knife."

"The guy on the tape didn't have an accent," Jim said with a sigh. "So, he didn't hire Firefly."

"Doesn't look that way," Simon said, flipping open a second file and passing it across. "The Firefly, also known as Chester Stinger. Fourteen priors, only one other felony."

Jim picked up the file and settled in for a thorough read as Simon went to fill his own coffee cup. Stinger was new to arson work, from the looks of it. Jim noticed he had just finished serving six months for felony trespassing. "You know, if we threaten him with arson and first degree assault on Blair, we can rattle his cage a little with the `three strikes-you're out' law. Maybe he'll roll over on whoever hired him."

"Might work, let's run it by the DA and give it a try this afternoon when we interview him," Simon said approvingly.

Blair watched the last of his students file out of the classroom. Another hour of Anthropology 101 taught. How many future anthropologists in this group? Blair snorted softly at the thought, try... none. He didn't need a crystal ball to know his class today was far from inspiring. He'd just been too preoccupied with other things.

Gathering up his notes, he made a mental promise to make it up to his students next week.

"Blair? You done for the day?" CJ asked from the doorway.

"CJ! What are you doing here?" Blair asked in surprise. "You interested in looking around?"

CJ shook his head, entering the room with the same fluid grace that Jim exhibited. Blair was taken back with the similarities between the two men. It was like looking into the future. Jim was one lucky guy, Blair thought.

CJ picked up one of Blair's textbooks. "I enjoyed anthro when I was a freshman."

"You wouldn't have today, believe me," Blair admitted. "What's up?"

"I'm looking to mooch a ride, took the bus here hoping you were free."

"Yep, I'm all yours. Let me just drop this stuff off in my office." Blair led the way. "Where are we going?"

Thirty minutes later, Blair pulled into the exclusive neighborhood outside Cascade, overlooking the waters of the Puget Sound. Multi-million dollar estates on five acre lots of perfect landscaping bordered both sides of the street.

"The country club should be up on the left," CJ said pointing to a two story structure. Tall glass windows revealed high ceilings with open beamed cedar construction.

Blair parked his car and bit his cheek in apprehension. "Maybe I should wait out here."

CJ turned in surprise. "Why?"

Waving at his shirt and jeans, Blair rolled his eyes. "Hello... I'm not exactly dressed for this, man."

With a classic Jim Ellison frown of disapproval, CJ opened the door. "You're fine. Move out, soldier."

With a sigh, Blair climbed out of his car and slowly followed. "I'm not going to make it past the front door, man," he muttered under his breath.

At the entrance, a uniformed doorman opened the glass door and smiled broadly at CJ. "Mr. Davenports' guest?"

"Yes, with friend," CJ answered calmly, acting like he belonged.

"This way, please."

Inside a leggy brunette offered to take their coats. Another man, looking like waiter at a fine French restaurant led them into a spacious room with a large stone fireplace, and several expensive leather couches and chairs. Authentic Northwest Indian artwork filled the walls. A tall Alaskan totem pole stood in the middle of the room.

"CJ! You dirty dog! How you doing, kid?" a loud voice with a heavy southern accent boomed out across the room.

Blair blinked in surprise. Kid? Someone is calling Jim's grandfather a kid? This should be good.

A short man, almost as wide as he was tall crossed the room to slap CJ's back while shaking his hand up and down like an old-fashioned water pump. CJ smiled down at the man, putting up with the attention patiently.

"How are you, Sarge?"

"Hell, I'm great. Doctors can't believe I'm still alive. I'm making it my business to prove all those health food nuts wrong," the shorter man said. "I'm on the downhill side of seventy now. Why didn't you answer any of my letters? I would have met you at the airport. You're staying with me, right? I've got plenty of room. Damn, kid. Wait till I tell the fellas you're here."

CJ held up a hand. "Slow down, Sarge. I'm not staying with you. My grandson's putting me up with his roommate," he turned to Blair, pulling the younger man forward. "This is Blair Sandburg, Jimmy's roommate. He's a teacher at Rainier. Blair, this is Albert Davenport."

"Glad to meet you, Sandburg," Davenport said, shaking Blair's hand. "Now, y'all are staying for dinner, right? In fact, why don't you call Jimmy? We're having cedar planked salmon tonight."

CJ nodded. "I can't speak for Blair... or Jimmy, but I'm willing to eat your food."

Davenport turned his green eyes on Blair, who nodded. "Me too. I'll call Jim."

"No need, Chief. I'm already here."

Blair turned at that familiar voice. Jim stood in the entrance, under a large coastal carving of a bald eagle in flight.

"Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. My department interviewed you earlier today about the arson?" Jim said, flipping his ID case open for the older man to read. "I'd like to accept your invitation for dinner, if it's still open."

While the club prepared their food, Jim led Blair into the restroom to wash up.

"What are you doing here with CJ, Sandburg?"

Blair held Jim's gaze in the large mirror behind the marble countertops as they washed in side-by-side sinks. "Your grandfather showed up at Rainier asking for a ride. I'm just helping out. How does Davenport connect with the arson case?"

Pulling several paper towels out of the chrome dispenser, Jim leaned a hip against the counter and began to dry his hands. "He owns Silverwood. Don't worry, we're pretty sure he didn't hire Firefly."

"He doesn't sound anything like the guy on the tape, Jim."

"I agree. Simon and I interviewed the arsonist this afternoon. With a little push from the DA, he admitted the guy that hired him was an out-of-towner. He's agreed to work with a police sketch artist. Unfortunately, he has no idea why he was hired to burn down the gallery," Jim said, tossing the crumpled up towels into a matching chrome waste can.

"If it wasn't for insurance money, then what?" Blair pondered out loud. "Do galleries have rivals?"

"Sounds like a bad novel to me, but I guess they could."

"So, you talk to Davenport some more? Maybe he knows something he doesn't know he knows?"

Jim cracked a half smile, crossing his arms as he studied his friend. "Knows something he doesn't know he knows? Are you watching channel nine again, chief? The English mysteries, maybe?"

Blair lightly punched Jim's arm. "You know what I mean, wise-ass."

"Yeah, I know." Jim opened the door and waited for Blair to exit first. "Come on, let's eat."

The salmon was incredible. Jim enjoyed the hint of cedar as he used his fork to expose a hard white bone from the meat before taking another bite. A generous portion of steamed, fresh asparagus was served on the side, along with rice.

"How did you two guys meet?" Blair asked. He looked relaxed, oblivious to the subtle stares from the other club members.

Davenport took a long sip of wine before answering. "CJ was fresh off the boat when I met him. He was so green we checked behind his ears for mold."

"What boat?" Blair asked.

Jim notice CJ's fingers tighten on his fork. An invisible veil seemed to drop behind his eyes, making Jim realize he was about to hear a rare thing - part of his grandfather's past.

"That's just an expression we old-timers - God, what a laugh, old-timers? I was twenty-three then. Anyway, those of us that had already seen battle, called all the new guys `just off the boat'."

Jim did the math. "Are you talking about World War Two?"

"Yep, sure am. And I pray to God you boys never experience another like it," Davenport said, pointing his fork at Jim and Blair. "Me and my buddies were sent to the ghost front to rest. General Bradley mixed us experienced guys with the greenhorns. I got CJ." He smiled at his old friend; his eyes warm with long past memories.

Being an Army Ranger, Jim has done his share of reading about World War Two. He knew enough to hold his own in an in-depth conversation. Sorting through the odd facts in his mind, he searched for anything he recalled about a place called the ghost front. The only General Bradley he remembered was...

Oh my God, Jim thought, rocking back in his seat as if struck. "You both fought in the Battle of the Bulge?"

CJ snorted. "If you can call getting nearly massacred a battle."

Blair's eyes were wide. "Wow, I remember reading about that in school. But why did they call it the ghost front?"

Now that the subject had been broached, CJ seemed willing to talk. "The seventy miles of the Ardennes Mountain Range didn't have a lot of roads for tanks. It was filled with deep gorges and thick woods. Both the Allies and the Germans had a gentlemen's agreement not to shoot each other. That's why Bradley didn't need a lot of men to guard it. The army used it to rest the weary and give us newbie's some field training."

"Imagine our surprise when, on December sixteenth, tens of thousands of German infantry men, backed by swarms of panzers, rolled right over the top of us on their way to Belgium," Davenport said, the humor in his voice contradicted by the pain visible in his eyes.

Blair swallowed hard, his voice breathless sounding in Jim's ears. "How... how did you survive?"

Davenport shrugged, going back to his meal as only a man who'd lived a lifetime with this incredible story could. "Let's just say I became a believer that night. God is great, that's for sure. CJ and I were on patrol, freezing our nuts off..." He broke off to laugh. "Then CJ tells me he hears movement. I tell him he's crazy, but damn if he doesn't insist. Now, I'm not hearing a thing, but he's got me spooked, so we try and reach our men, but the radio's crap and we end up running back to warn them."

The table was silent for a long second. Jim has a vivid picture of his grandfather trying to run through the snow hampered by clumsy clothes and his heavy semi-automatic rifle. He knew few men on the frontlines survived that fight in the Ardennes.

"That attack shouldn't have been a surprise, damn it!" CJ said angrily, throwing his linen napkin down and standing.

"Calm down, kid," Davenport soothed. "I'm on your side, remember?"

Running a hand through his gray hair, CJ nodded, avoiding the eyes of the men at the table. "I need some fresh air, excuse me."

Before Jim could say a word, his grandfather was gone.

"He'll be okay," Davenport told the two men. "He always gets like that when ever we talk about the old days. In many ways, he's still fighting the war."

"Maybe now would be a good time to ask you about the fire," Jim said, disturbed by his grandfather's sudden anger, Jim turned the conversation to the issues of his job. "Do you have any idea who would pay to have your gallery burned?"

Davenport pushed his empty plate away. "No, I don't. But I don't appreciate the timing."

"Timing?" Jim asked.

"I was going to use it for a reunion. It was perfect for displaying my collection of war memorabilia. I even managed to get some recently discovered items loaned for the showing," the old man said, glancing around the spacious room. "I guess I'll have to use the clubhouse after all. Not my first choice, but I don't have time to find another suitable location. I'll just have to hire more security."

"What sort of reunion are you having?" Blair asked.

Davenport grinned. "Just a few buddies from the war. Their jaws are going drop when they see CJ. I've never been able to get him to come to any of these."

"Why not?"

Davenport shrugged. "He's modest I guess. We tend to gush when he's around. Most of us are alive because of him. He's a true hero, but he's too obsessed to see it."

Jim found himself unable to keep quiet. "Obsessed? What about?"

But Davenport shook his head. "I'm gonna have to let CJ explain it to you, if he wants you to know."

Jim could respect that decision, but he wondered if he'd ever get a chance to ask his grandfather. They didn't exactly have a history of long, heart-to-heart family times. "Fair enough. So you planned on using the gallery for the show and the reunion? Any chance you have an enemy that would like to see the reunion stopped?"

"Other than an old Nazi soldier, you mean?" Davenport said with a laugh. "No, not really. I've been having these reunions for years now, never had a problem before."

"What about these new artifacts?" Blair asked. "Anything special about them?"

"No... just some papers, journals and letters." Davenport filled his wine glass again. "A historian came across them in an estate auction. Recognized a few signatures and realized he had some stuff from General Eisenhower's camp in Paris. I imagine they're the reason CJ's here, now that I think about it."

"So, if you don't have any enemies and you're not pulling an insurance scam, then why would anyone pay to have your place burned down?" Jim asked.

Davenport grinned, as if the thought of being a criminal intrigued him. "That's what you get paid to find out, Detective. If you're anything like your grandfather, the bad guys don't stand a chance."

Blair spotted CJ standing by his car, leaning against the passenger door. He nudged his roommate and pointed. "You want him to ride with you?"

"No, he looks like he wants to go with you," Jim answered. "I need to swing by the station. I'll meet up with you at the loft, okay?"

Blair watched his best friend walk towards his Ford. He hurt for Jim. The chasm between grandson and grandfather was enormous. Blair headed for his car. "You ready to head back to the loft, CJ?" he asked as he unlocked his door. Leaning over to unlock CJ's door, Blair waited for the man to climb in before starting the motor.

CJ sighed as he settled in. "Sorry about the drama moment back there."

"No problem, man. I think you're entitled," Blair answered lightly. "So where to?"

CJ turned to study Blair with a wry smile. "No wonder Jim keeps you around, Blair. Any chance you could get me into the University's library?"

Blair started the engine. "Oh, I think I could manage that. I gotta warn you though, Jim claims I refuse to acknowledge the passing of time once I walk through the front door."

"Spend much time there, do you?"

"Let's just say I have my own coffee cup hanging in the librarian's break room."

"A man after my own heart," CJ said with a soft laugh.

Blair joined in as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Are you sure you're related to Jim? I'd kill to have you as my grandfather."

CJ's laugh died a premature death.

God, Blair. Way to kill a moment.

"Sorry, man."

CJ sighed. "I imagine Jim doesn't even consider me a relative. I haven't been in his life much."

Blair knew the correct thing to do was remain silent. Not to pry into Jim's personal life. Not to ask any questions just to satisfy his burning curiosity. The problem with knowing such a thing, it made it harder to rationalize the action to yourself later.

"Why not?"

CJ's face turned to watch the expensive homes pass by. "I tried. Whenever I heard Jim was having problems, I tried to be there for him. I don't communicate very well. Funny, I can talk to a lecture hall filled with students for a full day, but I can't sit in a room with my grandson for more than an hour without wanting to bolt."

"But you came when you thought you were needed, that's something," Blair reminded him.

"Jimmy doesn't strike me as someone who needs help from others."

"Everyone needs help. But maybe it's time you let him help you." Blair bit his lower lip and cringed. Damn, he never seemed to learn when to shut up. Casting a glance to his right, he noticed CJ didn't seem offended by that last comment.

"Maybe..."

When they arrive at the library, CJ headed for the military shelves while Blair reviewed some new textbooks he'd been meaning to look at. Before he realized it, they'd been there for more than two hours. Jim would be worried.

Jim was, but Blair could see he was trying not to show it.

"Sorry, Jim. We hit the library," Blair explained dropping his backpack on the kitchen table and pulling out his laptop. "How's the investigation going?"

"Slow," Jim said. "You two want a beer?"

"Sounds good," CJ said. He'd checked out several books under Blair's name and set them on the coffee table.

Blair read the scene as an opportunity for the two men to talk. "Nah, I'm going to work in my room. Okay if I use the phone line, Jim? I need to get on the Internet."

"Go for it, Chief."

Blair closed the French doors behind him quietly, praying the two men would use the time wisely.

The only sounds in the room were the swallowing of beer.

We're pathetic, Jim thought to himself. CJ stared at his beer as he picked at the label with a fingernail, giving Jim a chance to study him. Now that he had showered and shaved, he looked okay, even healthy. But the man's face could use some filling out, as if he'd been missing a few meals.

Obsession could do that to a person.

"Blair seems like a nice guy," CJ said, starting the conversation.

Jim nodded. "He is. He's more of an official partner than my boss would like to admit."

"Partners are important," CJ said simply taking another pull from his amber bottle.

Silence.

Jim began to wish Blair had stayed in the room. The guy could make small talk with a store mannequin. Jim cleared his throat. He could do this.

"Davenport seems like he was handy to have around."

CJ snorted. "You might say that. When the shooting started, a guy took a hit right in front of me." CJ's gaze left the bottle and skimmed over the far brick wall as he spoke. "I froze. So green I didn't have the common sense to keep down. Sarge knocked my ass down so fast, I was sore for days."

"He said you saved his life," Jim probed carefully.

"You know, I never understood all that talk," CJ said, confused. He turned to Jim and leaned forward. "All I did is hear the Germans moving around in the trees. We managed to hook up with some guys from our company and carried off a few hit and runs. Mostly we tried to stay alive. But the movement was so loud, anybody could have heard it."

Jim's mind started building a likely reason, enhanced sense of hearing. Blair had said the sentinel ability was genetic, maybe it was being carried down through CJ's blood line.

"But everyone keep insisting only I was hearing it. Hell, it could be. I remember my grandmother had good hearing."

Jim set his bottle down. "What about your other senses? Sight... smell... the rest of them?"

CJ shook his head. "They're normal. Although I've never needed glasses and the doctors say I'm better than twenty-twenty."

Wait till Blair found out about this. Jim could picture the hours of tests CJ would have in store for him.

"Want another?" Jim asked.

"No, thanks. Look Jimmy, I'm sorry about how I acted at dinner."

Jim leaned back into the sofa and held up his hand. "Don't... you have nothing to apologize for. I was kinda surprised to find out you fought that battle. No one ever told me."

CJ shifted in the large chair, looking relaxed and ready to talk. "It was not really a secret. Your folks knew, although your mom left when you were young and your dad wasn't exactly on speaking terms with me."

"Do you see mom at all?"

CJ shook his head. "I've made some mistakes during my life, chasing after this mystery. The biggest one was not being there for my wife, God rest her, or your mom and you boys."

"You haven't cornered the marked on mistakes, CJ. I let Carolyn down myself, still fighting my own demons from Peru, I guess," Jim admitted, surprised at himself for speaking so frankly. Something about knowing CJ had seen his share of death and horror gave Jim the courage to speak.

"You tend to carry that stuff around," CJ agreed. "At least I had some fellas with me. You were the lone survivor. That had to be hell, but you finished your mission. God, I'm proud of you, son."

An odd ache tried to climb up Jim's throat and he swallowed it down. Before he could answer, his cell phone chirped from its position in his coat pocket and he welcomed the interruption as he sprang off the couch to answer it

. "Ellison."

"Jim, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need some help." Simon sounded as close to a panic as Jim had ever heard.

"What's wrong?"

"Darryl's run off. He wanted to go with his friends on some stupid challenge, but we wouldn't let him. It looks like he went anyway."

"Challenge?" Jim walked over to Blair's door and knocked. "Come on, Chief. We're needed."

"Yeah, a few of school friends dared each other to explore the fish packing factory on Interurban," Simon continued.

"God, Simon. Those buildings are scheduled to be torn down, their rat infested death traps." Jim said tossing Blair his coat as the man emerged from his room with a puzzled expression. Blair caught it and began to put it on. Jim mouthed the word `flashlight' and Blair opened a kitchen drawer, tucking the lights and batteries in his pockets.

"Gee, Jim," Simon said, his sarcasm rich. "I hadn't thought about that. Can you meet me there?"

"We're closer, hopefully he'll already be found by the time you arrive," Jim said, ending the call.

"What's wrong, Jimmy?"

"What's up, man?"

Both Blair and CJ spoke at the same time.

"My boss's teenage son swallowed a stupid pill tonight and went off to explore a dangerous building. He needs help finding him," Jim said, surprised to see his grandfather move to get his own coat. Jim almost told him to stay, but changed his mind; another set of hands wouldn't hurt.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]