The truck driver let them off in Portland. It was morning, the sun appearing as a red ball filtered by the cloud cover. Blair raised a hand in a final farewell as the eighteen wheeler pulled out from the parking lot of the shopping mall.

"What a nice guy," Blair commented. "Normally they just drop you off on the freeway ramp or at the truck stops." He eyed the large shopping mall, wondering why Jim had asked to be dropped of at this particular place. "So, we going to call Simon now?"

"Nope," Jim headed for the nearest building, a Denny's restaurant. "Let's get some breakfast."

Blair trotted along. He could eat.

They asked for a booth near the back and Jim made Blair take the side that allowed the cop to keep his eye on the front door. Blair had a feeling Jim already knew all the exits and had a plan. They ordered and drank coffee while waiting for the food.

"I can't remember the last time I was in Portland," Blair said around a suppressed yawn. He hadn't slept during the drive down, even though the driver, a friendly man named Stu with fifteen grandkids, had offered the sleeping birth. The time had passed quickly and Blair found himself enjoying the old man's stories of his family. Pictures of kids had been taped to every available surface in the cab, easily visible from the driver's seat. Stu had admitted he wasn't supposed to take riders, but would often break the rules if the mood struck. Even Jim seemed to relax during the ride down.

"Do you know anyone down here?" Jim asked.

"Ummm... no, I don't think so. Why?"

"Just wondering, it's better to be somewhere that neither of us have family or friends," Jim answered, his attention drawn to a large van parking. They watched a family of five climb out of the van and head for the entrance.

Blair pondered their situation. "We're not going back for a while, are we?"

Jim didn't answer right away. The waitress reappeared to fill their mugs. Jim spoke after she left. "Until I know what's going on, we're just going to lay low."

"On sixty bucks?" Blair asked with raised eyebrows. They'd be through that in two days, easy. "What kind of `low' are you talking about, man?"

Jim smiled.

After breakfast was finished and Blair carefully wrapped up the uneaten toast and stuffed it into his backpack, they crossed the large parking lot towards the shopping mall. Once inside Jim checked the directory. Blair watched as the different store employees begin to roll up the metal gates and get ready to open for the day. After a moment, Jim snagged his arm and headed off down the center of the mall.

"We're not exactly in the position to buy new shoes, Jim," Blair said as they walked. "What are we doing here?"

"I want you to contact Jack Kelso, you know his email address, right?"

"Sure... but Jim, I don't have my laptop. It's back at the loft," Blair explained.

"I know. There's a cyber caf here. You can log on and contact him. I'll tell you what to say. With his..." Jim glanced around carefully as he spoke, "...experience, he's the perfect person to contact Simon, without asking a lot of questions."

The caf wasn't open. They waited ten minutes before a young woman in jeans, a peasant blouse and sandals appeared with a key. She chatted as she let them in, turning on the lights and powering up a computer for their use. A high counter ran along the side-wall holding three computers. Jim stood patiently by as Blair perched on a high stool, took out his glasses, put them on his nose and logged into his account.

"Okay, ask Kelso to contact Simon in person. Not to tell another soul we've sent this. We'll contact Simon tomorrow evening at six. He's to wait for us at McDuff's and sit in the back table the Major Crimes group always sits at. Simon is not to let anyone know we've made contact," Jim instructed, keeping his voice soft.

Blair looked over at the shop keeper. Two men in business suits had appeared and were ordering coffee. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them. "Jim, with that explosion... Simon's gonna think we're dead. He may not believe Jack," he whispered back.

"Tell Kelso that I said Simon still owes me front row tickets for the Jags game for losing the bet."

"Okay," Blair typed in the message, not bothering with spell check. "How's that?"

"Good. Send it," Jim ordered.

"Okay." Blair climbed off the stool, tucking his hair behind an ear and adjusting his glasses. "What now?"

"Let's grab a bus schedule and get familiar with Portland," Jim answered.

Jim waited for Blair at the magazine display. He was tired and his feet hurt, but mostly he was hungry. They'd spent the day walking around downtown Portland; each ate a hotdog from a street vendor for three dollars and learned the locations of the cheaper hotels, none of them cheap enough. Unfortunately, it looked like they'd be spending the night on the streets. The day had warmed up, but Jim worried about the night. How cold was it going to get?

"Okay, we can eat like kings for a little over six bucks," Blair said, appearing at his side with a large paper bag in hand. "And... I got a hot tip on a decent place to sleep," he added with a grin. "For free, almost."

"Where?" Jim returned the Woodcraft magazine and walked at his friend's side toward the main doors to the Red Apple grocery store. They turned left and walked down the sidewalk towards a small park that stretched along the banks of the Willamette River. The homeless were already claiming the best benches and picnic tables. Jim led the way toward a free table further down.

"The guy at the deli said we might be able to get a spot on Twelfth and Grison. We'll have to sit through an AA meeting, but afterwards, folks are allowed to crash till morning." Blair straddled the picnic table bench and began to pull out containers of food, lining the seat between them.

"You bought all this for six dollars?" Jim asked in wonder.

Blair chuckled. "I think the guy liked me. He said I was skinny and needed fattening up. Plus, a lot of this was going to be tossed anyway." Blair pulled out two plastic spoons and removed the wrapping, handing one to Jim. "Dig in."

They feasted on tough fried chicken that had sat under the heat lamps too long, stale bread with butter and potato salad. A large container of chocolate pudding was shared as both men scooped out large spoonfuls to enjoy. Jim had to admit, he was full. He'd enjoyed better meals, but food was food. They needed the calories.

"Jim." Blair's attention seemed drawn toward the river and Jim tracked his gaze.

A man was strolling along the path, his left hand jerking in a fast repetitive motion up and down his front. His tan coat was frayed at the cuffs and a large dark patch of dirt crusted where his hand rubbed his coat spoke of a habit that seemed years in the making.

"You full?" Blair asked, looking down at the uneaten food.

Jim sighed. Blair was forever trying to save the world. "Go ahead, Sandburg. But be careful."

Flashing a grin, the younger man gathered up the chicken, one roll and the leftover salad and pudding. "Be right back."

Jim watched as his guide cut a path across the grass, approaching the strange man in a non-threatening manner. Dialing up his hearing, he marveled at Blair's quick way of making friends. He even got the man to laugh as he accepted the food and waved back at Jim.

Jim lifted a hand in return and waited for Blair to come back to their table. "You're amazing, Sandburg."

"Hey, do unto others, man, good karma sent out returns in spades, and all that other stuff." Blair pulled a string out of his pack and tied his hair back. "So, you want to try a little ten step program? I'm tired."

The found the mission without problem. The room was crowded with homeless men. Quickly dialing down his sense of smell, Jim managed to get two folding chairs side by side and they sat down to listen. When the roster arrived for signing in, Jim faked a signature and passed it over Blair to the next man. During the break, they grabbed a cup of bad coffee and talked to the man in charge about the possibility of sleeping inside.

"Oh... sorry, guys," a man with thin hair, overdue for a haircut, said. "We're full up for tonight. I can put you on the list for tomorrow, though."

"Okay." Jim gave him two alias names and they returned to their seat. The sun had set, the streetlights were blinking on outside. It was better to be sitting inside, than walking the streets. Blair had made yet another friend, the man sitting next to him, an ex-music teacher that had become an alcoholic when his wife had died five years ago.

"You two need somewhere to stay?" the man asked.

"Yeah, we're passing through," Blair explained. "No money for a hotel."

The man nodded knowingly. "You can get fairly comfortable under the bridges. Keep out of the weather that way," he said softly as the meeting started. "But, you should leave now, get a good spot before it fills up."

"Thanks, man." Blair patted his arm while reaching down for his pack. "Good idea."

Outside again, they headed back towards the river. Jim kept his eyes open, making sure to check out each dark doorway and alley as they walked. The streets were empty of cars, the stores closed up. Portland became another city after hours.

"At least we got some free coffee," Blair said.

"Yeah, if we're lucky, we'll only be here for another forty-eight hours. We'll know more when we've talked to Simon tomorrow." Jim pointed towards the enormous old iron bridge above. "Let's try this one."

They followed the grassy slope up to where the bridge anchored to the land. In the crevice under the supports a man could walk without having to crouch. The ground was scattered with flat pallets of cardboard. A few men were already curled into balls under filthy blankets. Jim steered his partner towards a far corner that was still available. It was dark and Jim was forced to dial his sight up to almost a ten to see. He located a nest of cardboard and urged Blair to move towards the back, up against a concrete wall.

Jim was no fool. He'd been aware of the curious looks directed their way during the meeting and while they walked the streets. Their clothes were still too nice looking, they didn't fit in with the other homeless. If he'd thought they would be living on the street for more then a few days, he'd insist they hit the thrift store for more suitable and warmer clothing. Depending upon what he learned from Simon, he might still do that.

"Use some of this cardboard as a blanket, Chief," Jim whispered as Blair sat down. They shook off a large piece and shared.

"Night, Jim."

"Good night." Jim felt Blair curl up close to his back and relax almost immediately. Jim, however, was not so quick to sleep. As tired as he was, the soldier in him refused to drop his guard. With Blair between the concrete bank and his back, covered by cardboard, he was invisible. More importantly, no one would be able to get to him without first getting over Jim. The familiar, hard pressure of his gun against his back was an additional comfort. If Rossetti managed to learn they were in Portland, it was doubtful that he'd think to look under a bridge.

After nearly two hours of waiting, and watching a few more men straggle in to find a place to sleep, Jim closed his eyes and gave into his exhaustion enjoying the soothing sounds of the river.

The attack came suddenly, without warning. Jim woke swinging. Something hard hit him in the head; it felt like a steel-toed boot. Bright stars appeared in his graying vision and he wanted to throw up. He was being dragged, strong hands gripped his arms, bands of steel seemed to wrap around his legs and knees. There were too many of them.

"Hey! Leave me..." Blair's panicked voice pierced Jim's confusion. Harsh slaps echoed off the concrete, cutting off any further pleas.

Jim bucked, fueled by sheer fury as he twisted and fought the hands that held him down. Someone was pulling his wallet out of his jeans' pocket. Another blow to his head, right above his ear knocked him senseless. A long ripping sound of cloth being destroyed came from Blair's location.

"No!" A desperate whisper now, Blair's plea was answered with more hard slaps. A violent volley of resistance sounded as Blair cursed, thrashed and seemed to fight back with everything he had.

The sheer weight of the attackers kept Jim pinned down, unable to help his guide. Strength wasn't going to work. He needed a plan, fast. Going limp, Jim acted dazed, as if weakened from the second blow to his head. As he listened to Blair fight, Jim got a good look at the men that held him, having no problem seeing their faces in the darkness. These were not Rossetti's men. The strong odor of unwashed bodies filled his nose, nearly making him gag. Along with the stench, the growing smell of male arousal told Jim he needed to act fast. As the sound of Blair's fight seemed to wane, additional sounds of tearing cloth met the ears of Jim's captors and they became interested in what their companions were doing. The hands that held Jim down relaxed.

"Don't!" Blair's loud shout of outrage was smothered by a hand. "Ji-mmmppth!"

Just as Jim was about to make his move, a tall shadow rose up and swung a heavy rock down hard on the head of one of Jim's attackers. The hands pinning his left arm to the dirt disappeared. Jim exploded into action. He shot out with a crushing blow to the exposed throat above him. Another hit from the rock-wielding rescuer and Jim's left leg was free. He kicked out, snapping the head of his last captor backwards. Jim rolled up on his knees and finished him off quickly before launching himself towards the men who were starting to get serious with his partner.

The fight was over almost too soon. Jim and his silent helper were the only men left standing. A strong desire to kill still pumped through the sentinel's veins. His chest heaved in rage. Jim raked his gaze across the immediate area for any other threats. His wallet was resting in the lax hands of one of their attackers and he quickly retrieved it as he eyed the man who had helped him. It was the same man that Blair had shared their food with earlier that evening. A low moan interrupted Jim's thoughts. Blair curled into a tight ball in the dirt and Jim to drop to one knee next to his partner.

"Blair. " Jim brushed a clump of tangled hair back, smearing blood across Blair's cheek and bringing a violent shudder from the younger man. Blair's shirts hung in long strips, his back jeans' pockets were ripped off. They'd managed to get his leather belt opened as well as the fly to his pants. The waistband was half way down his hips. Jim had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep from cursing. A sudden, intense impulse to finish off the surviving attackers caused both hands to shake. Jim took a deep breath.

He had to get back in control.

"Sandburg, look at me," he ordered. They didn't have much time. The likelihood that someone heard the attack and Portland Police might be en route was too strong. "How's your jaw?"

Another shudder accompanied by a quiet sob answered, but Blair allowed Jim to turn his head, keeping his eyes tightly closed while his face was checked. Jim used his thumbs, pressing down to feel for fractures. Thankfully, his friend's jaw was still in one piece. Judging by the damage, most of the blows had been higher, giving him a bloody nose.

"It's okay now, Chief. You're safe. It's over," Jim told him. "Sit up."

Blair didn't resist as Jim pulled him up. As if realizing for the first time he was still partly undressed, Blair scrambled to raise his jeans and re-buckle his belt with awkward movements.

"We've got to leave," Jim said quietly, stripping off his own outer shirt and draping it over Blair's shoulders to warm him and hide the ruined clothes. "Can you walk?"

Blair shook his head, his long hair swinging out from his head. He was shaking like an old man with advanced palsy. Cursing the fact he couldn't give his friend time to recover, Jim hugged him tightly as he stood, bringing his partner into a standing position. Blair swayed like a drunk and Jim held him close until he recovered enough to stand on his own.

"Come on, Chief." Jim bent down to snag Blair's pack before tucking the younger man under his arm. Seeing their mute ally standing off to one side, still holding the rock in his hand, Jim nodded his appreciation, unsure if the man could see him in the darkness. "Thank you."

But the man returned the nod, dropped the large stone and resumed his nervous, jerky motion, his fingers rubbing the stain on the front of his coat as he wandered off into the night.

Blair stumbled at Jim's side as they walked; his death grip on Jim's arm almost painful as they moved away from the bridge. Once Jim was satisfied they'd gone far enough from the sight of the attack to be safe, he found an empty bench next to the back end of a building and pulled Blair down to sit at his side, keeping his arm around the younger man's trembling shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Chief."

Blair remained silent. Jim set the leather backpack in his partner's lap and he released Jim's arm to hug the pack tightly to his chest. With his arm free again, Jim did a quick inventory; the money in his wallet was still there, his gun was in its holster, even his badge and ID had been left untouched. Jim had a feeling that robbery was secondary in their attacker's minds. Pulling a semi-clean handkerchief from his pocket, he folded it to expose the cleanest section and carefully started cleaning the blood off Blair's face.

All of the blood was coming from Blair's nose. Satisfied he'd gotten as much of the blood off as he could, Jim gently pinched Blair's nostrils with the cloth and patted Blair's far shoulder with his other hand. "Hold this in place till the bleeding stops."

The eastern sky was just starting to lighten up, dawn was less then an hour away. Jim sighed and rested his head on the rough brick wall behind the bench. He was starting to cool off from the fight, his bare arms registering the chill in the predawn air. Maybe a large city was not the safest place to stay hidden from Rossetti. They should move on, perhaps towards the ocean beaches. Jim knew at least three of the seven attackers now lay dead under the bridge. Jim had no problems with the fact he'd killed them, but their deaths were likely to bring much police activity into the river park.

No doubt about it, they needed to move on. First, they would find a second-hand store and spend more of their sparse funds for clothes. Then they would thumb a ride west.

Blair lowered his hand.

Jim gently took his friend's chin in hand and turned the bruised face for inspection. "Bleeding's stopped. You okay?"

"Yeah... I'm good. Thanks, Jim," Blair muttered quietly, clenching the bloody cloth in a tight fist. He wasn't shivering as much as before. A faint flush of embarrassment was creeping up his neck. "I ... couldn't fight them."

"Neither could I, Chief." Jim briefly squeezed the shoulders under his arm. "If you hadn't been generous with our dinner last night, I have a feeling neither of us would be alive to enjoy the sunrise this morning."

"Which tag is seventy-five percent off?"

Blair peered up at the sign over the rows of used clothing. "Blue."

"Good... how's this?" Jim held up a long sleeve black shirt for inspection. "The fabric's heavy cotton. Should keep you warm."

"Whatever, man," Blair muttered, wishing they were gone. He wanted to be out of Portland, not on a last minute shopping trip that Jim was insisting they take.

After leaving the river park that morning, they'd headed north-west, finding a nice, sleepy neighborhood of middle-class income families. Jim had purchased a box of day-old donuts from a corner convenience store, insisting Blair eat at least one. Eating the stale pastry had been similar to choking down pillow stuffing. It still sat in his gut like a brick.

"This should do it." Jim headed for the counter with Blair's new clothes draped over his arm. The girl at the checkout counter rang up the purchases and doing a poor job of acting nonchalant about Blair's appearance. Blair cringed when Jim handed over the twenty dollar bill and only got a few coins back for change. That money was needed for food. He hated the fact he needed clothes. At least Jim was getting a sweater for himself.

"No bag, miss," Jim told her.

She handed the receipt over with a smile. Blair could feel her eyes follow him as Jim ushered him towards the dressing room. Jim carefully pulled the stapled tags off by opening each bend in the metal carefully, as if the clothes had been brand new from Nordstroms. Blair pulled the curtain closed, tossed the change of clothes on a bench and started to undress. His eyes caught the reflection in the full-length mirror.

"Sandburg?" Jim whispered after a few seconds.

Blair dropped his gaze. "It's cool, Jim. Be out in a second."

Damn, he looked like hell! No wonder the woman had stared. His face was red from the abuse, his nose swollen, and his hair looked like someone had taken an eggbeater to it. He removed Jim's shirt and started peeling off the remains of his own clothes, purposefully keeping his mind blank. He was sore, along with the slaps, they had punched him repeatedly. After pulling on the long sleeve black T-shirt, the blue thermal Henley and the button up flannel, Blair donned the jeans. They were a little long and loose around the waist, but he didn't care. He folded the hems once and pushed his feet back into his sneakers.

"Here, Jim." Blair handed the shirt back, then scooped the ruined clothes and bundled them into a ball. "What now?"

Jim slipped back into his shirt and pulled the brown cotton sweater over his head. "We leave."

Sweeter words were never spoken.

It was noon before they found a ride, a young couple driving an old station wagon on their way to the coast. Blair and Jim spotted them struggling to change a flat tire. After offering to help, they were repaid with a free ride. The backseat was littered with empty pop cans and newspapers. After the man, an overweight computer programmer from Camas, Washington hastily cleaned out the clutter, they were on the road.

Blair settled into the seat with a sigh. His body was beyond sore. After leaving the thrift store, they'd found a gas station that was willing to hand over the key to the men's room. They'd cleaned their faces and Blair had done his best to comb his dirty hair. They must have walked ten miles that morning. His left knee felt swollen and stiff. His head was pounding. He opened his pack and pulled out an aspirin bottle, shaking out two white pills and dry swallowing them. When Jim held out his hand, he tipped the bottle. The final two pills and a sprinkling of white dust landed in the cop's palm. Jim had taken a beating under that bridge, too. Blair had been shocked when the sun had risen and he saw the lump on the side of the other's man's head.

"You two guys on vacation?" the woman asked, turning in her seat as she talked.

"Sort of," Jim answered wearily. "We're looking for jobs, thought we'd try the coast."

She nodded. Her long brown hair was in a beautiful French braid, framing her pretty, plump face. "I remember what it was like before Lamont and I found our jobs. These are hard times." She pointed a finger towards the back. "Can you reach that ice chest? That flat tire sort of screwed up my plans for a picnic, we have to be in Astoria by three. You two are welcome to share lunch, I packed plenty of food."

Jim reached a long arm over the seat and popped open the white plastic lid of a large Coleman ice chest. "Sure, what can I pass you?"

"The sandwiches are in the plastic bag, there's grapes and chips and Pepsi," she instructed.

Jim handed up the items and she passed out the food. Blair looked at the sandwich he'd been given. He really didn't feel like eating, but knew it was stupid to pass up a free meal. He took a bite, knowing without having to look that Jim was keeping an eye on him. The car was quiet as they ate. Soon the suburbs of Portland fell behind them and they were driving through green fields with grazing cows and stands of tall evergreens. The Columbia River flowed on a parallel course to their right, its water rushing towards the ocean.

Blair finished his sandwich and waved off any more food. Jim pushed a water bottle into his hand with a look that said `not an option'. He took small sips as he stared out his window, leaving the small talk to the other three in the car, aware of Jim's concerned looks. After an hour of driving, Jim slept. Lamont turned on the radio, filling the car with country-western music.

Just as they passed a road sign advising thirty miles to Astoria, the radio switched to news.

"In the local news, Portland Police are investigating a possible gangland murder rampage. The bodies of four men were found under the St. John's Bridge this morning. Police are requesting any persons that may know of information regarding the incident to call nine-one-one. Downtown business owners are renewing their demands that the city address the issue of the homeless population, feeling this latest incident is just another indication of ... "

The woman flicked off the radio with a sigh. "God, I'm glad we don't live in the city anymore."

"Yeah, it's not getting any better, that's for sure," Lamont answered.

Blair's mind tuned out their chatter as he turned over these new facts. Jim still dozed next to him, his shoulder and head leaning against the door, arms crossed.

Four dead.

The river blurred and Blair pressed his fingertips into his closed eyes. Jim hadn't told him. Not that Blair expected him to, but still...

He glanced over at his sleeping friend. There had been no shots fired under that bridge, Blair would have remembered, the attack was still vivid in his memory. One minute he'd been curled up, his back pressed up against Jim's and drifting into a dreamless sleep. The next thing he knew, hands were hitting, pulling, grabbing. The terror had been so intense and complete that Blair could do nothing but fight the hands. There was no time to process why, or who, or even where Jim had gone.

But Blair was certain that Jim had not fired his gun. His eyes rested on Jim's arms, one hand was partially tucked between his forearm and chest as he slept.

Jim killed four men with those hands.

Wasn't there someone else, though? Didn't Jim say that man by the river had been there and helped? Yes, the man he'd given the rest of their dinner to. Maybe he's responsible ...

Blair scrubbed his face hard and turned to look at the river again. What's the point? Four men are dead. It seemed wherever Blair went lately, death followed. Granted, this was different, those men were bent on taking what they wanted. Blair hugged himself with a sigh, remembering the promise Jim had literally forced from him back at the loft. Running seemed like such a good idea. It was just a matter of time before Jim slipped up and got hurt. Blair knew one thing for sure, he'd never forgive himself if that happened.

The seaport town of Astoria sat perched on the south bank of the mouth of the Columbia River. First claimed in 1792 by Robert Gray for the United States, the land had been fought over by the British, Russians, Spanish and Americans until Thomas Jefferson commissioned Lewis and Clark on a three-year journey.

Jim had never seen Astoria before, even though he could remember the facts of Lewis and Clark's expedition from hours of childhood reading and imaginary role-playing with his younger brother. He read everything he could get his hands on. On the hill above the river, he could see a tall tower and knew it was called the Astoria Column. Detailed murals of the expedition had been painted on walls. A person could climb to the top and look out for miles up and down the coast.

Lamont and his wife let them off in downtown Astoria, near a large maritime museum located on the shore of the river. Blair buttoned up his flannel shirt and slipped his pack onto his back. A cool breeze was blowing off the wide river, making Jim realize the nights would be colder here than in Portland.

"We have three hours before we can call Simon," Jim announced looking at his watch.

Blair didn't have a comment. In fact, Blair hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd woken in the backseat of the station wagon.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," came the subdued response.

Jim wasn't convinced. More than likely, his roommate was still sore from the attack. That caused Jim to remember they were out of aspirin. He pulled out his wallet and counted the bills. They needed more money. "Come on, Chief. I've got an idea."

Jim found the store he wanted a mile walk west. A small pawn shop displaying knifes, guitars and power tools looked like the perfect place. Inside the store, a pleasant looking man in his fifties, built like a fireplug nodded a greeting as they entered. Two women were peering into a glass case asking to see the display of rings. Finally when the women left without making a purchase, the shopkeeper approached.

"May I help you?"

Jim slipped off his watch, knowing its value was close to three hundred. "I'd like to pawn my watch."

"Jim! No, man!" Blair hissed, grabbing Jim's arm to keep the watch from being offered.

Jim looked at his friend in surprise. Where was this coming from? "Relax, Chief. It's just a watch."

"No, you've already done too much," Blair insisted. He looked near tears.

"Excuse us a minute." Jim took Blair's arm and pulled him away from the counter. "Sandburg, what's wrong with you?"

Blair bit his lip. "You love that watch and I don't have anything to pawn, Jim. We're using your money to buy the food and my clothes. I can't help, it's not right," he blurted out breathlessly. "You made me promise to stay with you, but I'm nothing but trouble. Those guys wouldn't have tried anything if you'd been alone. You're going to get hurt..."

Blair's voice had risen until a deaf man would be hard pressed to ignore the outburst. Blair was like a burst dam, gushing with pent-up fears and concerns. Jim carefully cupped a hand over his partner's mouth to stop the protests.

"Calm down right now, Chief," he whispered keeping his smile in place for the sake of the clerk and hoping the stern look in his eyes carried a clear message to his friend. They did not need to attract attention. "Trust me, okay? We'll talk about this after we get outside. For right now, just wait quietly while I finish this."

Jim returned alone to the counter. The man had a knowing smirk on his face.

"Trouble with the little woman?"

Keeping his face expressionless, he laid the watch down. "How much?"

The man picked it up, gave it a quick glance and shrugged. "Twenty bucks."

Jim knew enough about pawnshop deals to know he was being screwed over. "I'm sure there's more than one shop in a town this size." He plucked his watch out of the man's palm.

Out on the sidewalk, Jim turned to his friend, ready to demand an explanation. Although he was sure another shop was around somewhere, he wasn't in the mood to canvas the city. One look at the younger man's face though and Jim held his tongue. If Webster's Dictionary decided to print an illustrated copy, a picture of Blair's face could appear next to the word `miserable'.

"Shit, man. I'm sorry."

Jim cast his gaze skyward, his anger evaporating. "Come on, kid. Let's find another shop, the guy was probably going to screw us over anyway." He gently cuffed the back of Blair's head as they headed down the sidewalk.

An hour later, Jim was putting his wallet away. The third pawnshop owner had taken one look at them, mostly at Blair, and handed over enough cash to make the pawn worth it. The fact that the owner was a grandmotherly type that looked ready to ply them with milk and cookies probably had a lot to do with it. "Let's get some dinner while we wait to call Simon."

Blair fell into step at his side. It was obvious he was still berating himself for the outburst. Jim spotted a caf that looked adequate for their needs. Once inside, they were led to a corner table partially hidden from view by a row of plastic palm trees. Jim couldn't have asked for a better table. Spending a few moments to look over the menu, he glanced up at his partner. Blair hadn't even opened his menu. Jim closed his with a sigh, it was time to sort this out. When the waitress returned, Jim ordered two fish and chip meals with orange juices. After she left, he folded his arms on the table and eyed his friend.

"Okay, Sandburg. Spill it."

"What?"

"Whatever is bothering you. It's not as if we don't have a truckload to choose from," Jim answered with a grin.

Blair's responding grin was faint, but present.

"Chief, we're down but not out," Jim pressed. "The watch is not a big deal. If things go well, I'll be able to get it back in a few days. What was all that crap about `fairness'? What's fair about what happened to you under that bridge. For that matter, this whole thing can be traced back to Simon breaking your jaw a few months ago."

"That wasn't his fault, Jim," Blair answered as he played with his fork.

"You're so quick to forgive everyone, except yourself," Jim pointed out. "Another thing, what was that comment in the pawnshop about you being `nothing but trouble'?"

"It's true, man," Blair said, glancing up in surprise as the waitress returned with two large bowls of steaming clam chowder. She set them down on the table and added a long basket of saltine crackers.

"Excuse us, miss," Jim said quickly. "We didn't order this. We're having the fish and chips."

She brushed her apron, avoiding Jim's eyes. "I know, your meal's being prepared. I was thinking you men could try out our new recipe for chowder... let us know what you thought."

Jim broke into a wide smile, causing the woman to blush. "We'd love to, ma'am. Thank you." Jim waited till she left before picking up his spoon and starting in. The chowder was excellent. "Eat up, Chief. You're going to like it."

After trying a sample, Blair began to eat.

When both bowls were empty and several crackers had been consumed, Jim returned to their conversation. "I do not consider you trouble, Sandburg. You have a tendency to find trouble, true, but mostly due to the fact you work with me. I can't help but feel responsible for some of it."

"Well, you're not."

"Neither are you."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"I am, man."

Jim shook his head and rubbed his brow. Somehow, he'd lost the thread of the conversation. "Sandburg, you're wearing me out here. Knock it off," he joked.

Blair sat back in the chair, folding his hands in his lap, his face stony and non-responsive.

Great. Jim realized he'd managed to piss his partner off.

"Sorry," Jim added quickly. "Let's try this again." Jim scratched his scalp, feeling the tiny granules of dirt mixed in his hair. "We're both tired. Let's just agree to table this for now. Everything will seem easier after a good night's sleep." Seeing the look of surprise, he continued. "Yeah, I think we deserve it, Chief. Depending on what Simon tells us, we're not risking another night under a bridge."

Their fish baskets arrived, piled high with fries. The waitress removed the empty chowder bowls on her trip back to the kitchen. The smell of fried fish was intoxicating and Jim broke a large fillet in half to dip in a side dish of creamy tartar sauce. The first bite was hot, causing Jim to dial down his sense of touch while dialing up taste.

Blair was chuckling softly as he squirted a mound of ketchup next to his fries. "You look like you want to be alone with your food, man."

Jim grinned; little did his partner know how much better good food tasted to a sentinel.

Another yawn appeared out of nowhere, causing Blair's eyes to tear up. Between a full stomach and lack of sleep, he could get a job in Hollywood as an extra in a zombie thriller - Night of the Living Dead. He let his eyes close and leaned a shoulder into the brick wall next to the phone booth. Jim said it was time for the call.

Then they were going to find a hotel for the night.

Blair really, really liked that part of the plan.

"Okay, it's time." Jim palmed the change he'd gotten from the diner and began to feed quarters into the payphone. After a few seconds wait, he punched in a phone number.

Was Jim calling Simon's cell phone? If so, why make the man go to McDuff's?

"There's a tall, black man sitting at a table to your right. May I speak to him?"

Blair blinked, frowning as he listened. What did Jim do? Call the phone booth between the men's room and the big round table that the Major Crime gang always occupied? Blair had to admit anyone would be hard pressed to trace the call that quickly.

"Simon? Yeah... I know, believe me, it's good to hear your voice, too." Jim turned to smile at Blair. "He's with me... yeah, we've been better, but we'll live. Tell me about the explosion. I woke up in the middle of the night to find the damn Feds had split... oh... okay."

Jim's face got a pained look and Blair knew the news was going to be bad. More dead bodies, he bet.

"Damn... yeah. How many people knew we were there?" Jim rubbed his head as he listened to his boss. "Simon, I'm telling you, something stinks. I'm sure we've got a mole and my money's on the Feds. I don't trust them, they can have a bad penny just like any other agency."

Blair shifted, his feet beginning to hurt from standing in one spot too long. Simon must be saying something that Jim didn't like because Blair was reading all the early warning signs of an `Ellison Explosion.' He laid a light hand on Jim's arm and squeezed, hoping to send a silent message of support. It must have worked because Jim took a calming breath and flashed him a sheepish grin.

"Okay, okay. I see your point. But only the DA... and make them swear to keep it to themselves. We're in Astoria, Oregon. There's a Motel Six in town. We'll be staying there, at least for tonight...yeah, we could... okay, hold on a second." Jim turned to Blair, making writing motions. Blair quickly pulled out a pen and a pad of paper from his pack. "Okay, go ahead, sir...got it. You sure it's safe? No, if Kelso gave it to you, it's probably okay. I'll talk to you then." Jim hung up the phone.

"Well?" Blair pressed, returning the pad and pen while Jim folded the paper he'd used and pocketed it.

"Let's get a room, Chief. I'll fill you in there."

Later, Blair dropped into the padded chair with heartfelt thanks. His feet echoed the feeling. Jim had gone in alone and booked a single room. Then, later, he'd snuck Blair in. Even though they'd broken the law, technically, Jim said they had no choice. The deception allowed them enough money for food tomorrow.

The room was clean, not a four-star by any means, but to Blair it looked like a palace.

"You want the first shower?"

"Yeah, but first I want to know what Simon told you," Blair said.

"Okay," Jim toed of his shoes, his nose wrinkling.

It must suck sometimes to have a heightened sense of smell, Blair realized.

"The safe house was completely destroyed. Whatever was used, caused such a high heat that they're having problems sorting out how many bodies were inside. Simon hasn't told anyone about Kelso's contact yesterday. He will let the DA know we made it out okay. He has to; they were considering dropping the charges against Rossetti."

"What!" Blair shot to his feet. "They can't do that!"

Jim held up a hand. "I know and keep it down, Chief. I'm supposed to be the only one in this room, remember?"

"Sorry."

"It's okay, I understand. Anyway, I told Simon it was okay to let just the DA's office know we're alive and well."

"So, you think the leak is someone in the FBI?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, I do. Nothing happened until we got to the safe house."

"But ... he'd be killing his fellow agents, too," Blair said in disbelief.

Jim nodded. "I know. Rossetti must be using some big bucks to keep you from testifying." Jim's eyes narrowed. "Which is kind of odd, now that I think about it. Why go through all that stuff with the roses and messages, then turn around and try to blow you up?"

Blair saw his point. Rossetti had made it very clear at their first meeting what he intended. The roses, the song, even Higby's death all spoke of that same intent. Why the bomb in the house? "Who knows man, I can't begin to figure out a mind as perverted as his." He folded his arms across his chest, not able to suppress his shivers. "I'm gonna hit the shower now."

It was still daylight outside, yet both men longed to sleep. It felt fantastic to be clean again and Jim even went so far as to hand wash both his and Blair's socks after he showered, not caring if forced to wear damp socks in the morning.

Blair crawled into the queen-size bed with an audible sigh. "Oh, man... I think I'm going to sleep for a month, Jim."

"I'll give you till one tomorrow." Jim triple checked the locks on the door, then moved a chair from the small desk and tilting it, so the back of the chair was wedged firmly under the handle. He went to the window and tested the locks. Their room was on the second floor with a view of the water.

He let the curtain drop, blocking the sunlight and went back one more time to check the door.

"Jim..."

"What?"

"Would you give it a rest?" Blair said, sitting up in bed. "You've checked that door a hundred times, man."

Jim finished checking the door before turning back to pin his partner with his best `don't-mess-with-the-ex-ranger' look. "And your point is..."

As usual, the effect was lost on his young friend. "I'll spell it out for you, Joe Friday. Go. To. Sleep."

Jim flicked off the light. He had made a point to avoid commenting on the multiple bruises that covered his friend's arms, legs and torso. He knew he sported a few of his own, nothing like Blair's but enough. Each blackened patch of skin was a visual reminder of his failure to keep his partner safe. He wasn't taking any chances tonight.

"Try not to kick me, Sandburg."

Blair's snort was the only answer. Before Jim could find a comfortable position on the cheap mattress, Blair was asleep.

The darkness was so thick he felt as if he was fighting while submerged in Jell-O. Hands grabbed him, held him down.

"No! Stop it! JIM!"

The hands seemed fashioned from steel. They cruelly dug into his muscles while the sounds of tearing cloth filled his ears. Why was it so dark? He'd known fear before, hell, he was on first name terms with a thousand demons, but it all paled when compared to this. He knew what the ripping sounds meant, what he was unable to stop from happening.

"Jim!"

Hands... so many...

"Jim! Wake up! You're dreaming!"

In a flash, Jim opened his eyes, cutting through the darkness. Memories of the dream clung to his brain like streamers trailing a rising kite and he plucked the hand from his shoulder, bending it backwards.

"Oww! Shit!" Blair blurted out in a strangled voice. "Jim! Stop!"

Jim blinked down at his friend. He'd rolled over, flipping Blair on his back, one hand gripping his throat, the other a breath away from breaking his wrist.

"Chief!" Jim pulled his hands away in horror. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Blair rasped, rubbing his throat. "Remind me not to wake you up within reach of those arms."

Jim fell back on to his side of the mattress. "Damn it, Sandburg. I'm sorry..."

Blair flipped back the covers and slowly rolled out of bed. "Forget it. I should have been more careful. You want a glass of water or something while I'm up?"

"Yeah... thanks."

Jim flopped an arm over his eyes, cursing himself silently. He figured he'd be waking Blair from nightmares, not the other way around.

"Here you go," Blair said, sounding back to normal as he handed Jim the plastic cup of water and sat his own down next to the bed. "Want to talk about it?"

"What?"

"Your dream. The way you were cussing at those guys in your sleep, I figured you were dreaming about last night. By the way, Jim. You've got a serous case of potty mouth happening here." Blair lay back down and pulled the covers up to his chin.

"Nothing to talk about, Sandburg," Jim answered in a flat voice. "I screwed up, you got hurt. End of story."

Blair didn't answer right away, causing Jim to wonder if the man had gone back to sleep. And he should be asleep, not dealing with Jim's subconscious fears.

"Jim, we were both running on fumes last night with - what, three hours of sleep in the last forty-eight? So, you fell asleep, big deal, man. You can't be expected to stay awake for days on end, you're just as human as the rest of us, Oh Mighty Sentinel."

"I should have heard them coming."

"The river."

"What?"

Blair rolled to his side, propped his head in his palm as he talked, his eyes bright with discovery. "I've been thinking about that, and I have a theory."

Leave it to Blair to get scientific at a time like this.

"The sound of the river was amplified under the bridge, the noise sort of bounced around in there. I think it acted like a white noise generator on your hearing, man." Blair's eyes darkened with guilt. "Crap! Of course it did, I should have figured that out before we went under that bridge. What was I thinking?"

"You can't know every little detail, Chief."

"But my job is to help you with your sentinel problems, I totally dropped the ball on this, Jim."

Jim shook his head. "Okay, here's the deal. I'll forgive myself for falling asleep, you forgive yourself for not realizing the river would lull me to sleep."

"But it's not the same..."

"Sandburg," Jim warned, pushing Blair gently on the shoulder to get the other man to lie down. "The mighty sentinel has spoken. Go. To. Sleep."

Blair enjoyed a lazy stretch, then gasped in pain as his body reported in for the morning.

Damn, he hurt. Why did bruises always feel worse the second day?

"Here."

A hand appeared and Blair squinted at the four Advils within.

"Whaa `ime izit?"

"Little after eleven. You hungry?" Jim asked after watching Blair fumble to get all the pills in his mouth and wash them down with the water he'd left by the bedside.

Blair dropped his head back down into the pillow. He was starving, but he craved the warmth and comfort of the bed more. Then there was the whole `get-up-and-moving' thing. That was going to hurt. On the other hand, room service wasn't an option, and they didn't have any money even if it was. Still, if they...

A gentle nudge woke him. Blair opened one bleary eye, seeing a fuzzy outline of a fully dressed sentinel.

"Time's up, Chief. We've got to check out."

The blankets lifted, and Blair waited for the cold to hit his skin. It never happened, the room was warm. A pressing issue low in his abdomen screamed for his attention. He needed to move, bruises or no bruises, otherwise it was going to get embarrassing. A guiding hand on his upper arm helped him become vertical without too much pain, probably due to the Advil Jim had given him.

"Thanks, man." He headed for the bathroom, his voice rough from sleep, his mind fuzzy. "I thought you said it was eleven. We have until one, right?" Blair liked the room. The thought of returning to the streets was enough to make him cry.

"I did say that, about an hour and a half ago," Jim said just before Blair closed the door. He flashed a smile, waving his hand in a shooing motion when Blair froze in confusion. "Go on, we've got just enough time for you to shower. Then we'll get some food."

Standing on the sidewalk at Jim's side half an hour later, Blair tilted his head back and let the sun warm his face. The weather seemed perfect. A light breeze blew off the water, keeping the bright sun hanging in the cloudless sky in check. Blair enjoyed the feeling of being clean again. They'd shared a disposable razor, used up a bar of soap and emptied two small bottles each of shampoo and conditioner. Blair didn't even mind the fact his socks were damp. He was rested and on his way to a hot meal.

Blair found it impossible to recapture yesterday's feeling of despair. Sure, being attacked hadn't been high on his list of `fun things to do', but it was history now. Jim had done what needed to be done to keep them both safe, Blair would trust his partner's decision and not bring the matter up again. It was time to file the incident in his mental drawer labeled `Memories Best Forgotten.'

He rocked up on his toes a few times to warm up for whatever the day was going to throw at them. "Where to, Jim?"

"I called Simon while you were in the shower, he's in Astoria. He'll meet us at the restaurant," Jim announced.

"Simon! Here?" Blair quickly captured his damp hair into a ponytail, using a rubber band he'd found in the hotel room. Simon had money! Blair knew he was grinning like an idiot, but didn't care. The day was definitely looking up. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Jim caught his arm before he could go more than two steps. "Hold on, Meriwether. You're going the wrong way."

"We're not meeting him at the fish 'n chips place?"

"Nope, I didn't want to risk going back to the same location, we're heading for another restaurant. I saw it in the phone book while I was at the corner mini-mart this morning. It's on the other end of town. You up for a walk?"

"Lead the way, William. Hey, that makes us both captains, man. We're Simon's peers now," Blair snickered as they headed the other way.

"Let's keep that between ourselves, Darwin."

Blair fell into step next to Jim. If Simon was in town, they had access to a car again. No more walking! Blair felt like dancing a jig at the thought. Maybe they could head back to Cascade after eating!

Life was more than good. It was fantastic!

As they crossed an alley entrance, Jim tugged him sideways. "This way."

At the back of an old, two-story brick building, the ground sloped up at a sharp angle. The city had built a wooden flight of stairs to allow pedestrians to climb up to the neighborhood built into the side of the hill. The houses above looked as if they'd been around for over a hundred years and Blair began to appreciate the history behind the old town.

He climbed behind Jim, his eyes on the old houses above and his mind drifting. Astoria must be old. Probably a major port for the clipper ships during the eighteen hundreds. He knew from stories he'd heard that the mouth of the Columbia River was one of the most dangerous waters to navigate in the world.

Reaching a landing wide enough to hold a bench for weary pedestrians, Jim stopped. Blair barely avoided bumping into his back. Jim studied the street below, his hands gripping the railing.

"What's up? Where's the restaurant?" Blair asked.

"Over there," Jim pointed to the left. "We need to recon, Chief. I'm not ready to walk in there without making sure Simon wasn't followed."

"Oh." Blair copied Jim's position and looked over the view. The roads were heavy with traffic. A long line of cars, trucks pulling camping trailers, and expensive motor homes traveled a long, steel bridge that spanned the wide river. On the Washington side, the bridge was low, maybe twenty feet above the water. But when the bridge reached the Oregon side, it rose up to a breathtaking height to allow the tallest of ships to pass beneath, then coiled into a large, lazy loop to drop the vehicles back down to street level. Blair had never seen a bridge quite like it.

After a long fifteen minutes, Jim rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I think it's safe. I don't see anything that looks suspicious."

"Can we eat now?" Blair asked eagerly.

"We'd better, before your stomach gets arrested for disturbing the peace," Jim joked as he led the way back down the stairs.

Blair rolled his eyes and followed.

Simon was sitting in the back of the `Pig-N-Blanket' restaurant drinking coffee and watching the door. His face lit with pleasure as they walked in. Jim was pleased to notice he remained seated however, acting nonchalant.

"Good to see you, Jim...Blair," he said as they sat down on the opposite bench. When Blair reached out in greeting, the gruff captain's mask slipped just a little as he clasped the younger man's hand in both his and squeezed. "You okay, Sandburg? You look like shit."

Blair nodded, his smile wide and answer full of choked emotion. "Hey, Simon. I'm so glad you're here, man."

"Me, too." He released the hand and turned to search Jim's face. "You look marginally better, Ellison. What happened? You both said you were clear when the house blew, but you look like as if you'd both got banged up."

Ignoring Blair's muffled snickers, Jim opened up his menu. "Tell you later."

"Yeah, after we eat!" Blair added.

The waitress appeared with coffee and took their orders. They passed the time listening to Simon share trivial station news, then switched to how his son, Daryl, was trying out for softball. Finally, their food arrived. Jim had to smile at Simon's amazed expression as he watched Blair eat. The food was good, and in no time both his and Blair's plate were wiped clean.

"Well, gentlemen. Is that going to hold you or should we order more?" Simon asked as he folded his paper napkin and laid it on his empty plate.

"No, I'm good," Blair said, patting his stomach. "Can we go home now?"

Catching Simon's look, Jim squeezed his roommate's shoulder. "Chief, you're still in danger." It was like watching a kid find out Santa was a myth. Jim felt like Scrooge. "I know it feels like our adventure is over because Simon is here, but we still need to keep ahead of Rossetti. At least we've got help now, right?"

"But," Blair swallowed hard before continuing. "But, I've got to get back, Jim. I've got things to take care of."

"Listen, Sandburg," Simon interrupted softly. "We'll go someplace quiet and talk. I'll catch you two up with what's happening and we'll go from there. How's that sound?"

For a moment, it looked like Blair was going to argue further. Jim nudged his shoulder. "Come on, Chief. Let's go listen to Simon."

"Yeah... okay, but first we need to get your watch," Blair demanded angrily, turning back to Simon. "We can do that much, right?"

An hour later, Jim was sitting in Simon's car, wearing his watch. They'd crossed the Colombia, turned left and followed the coast north. The small towns of Chinook and Ilwaco had come and gone. Blair's earlier good mood had done the same. The drive was made in strained silence with none of the men feeling up to small talk. Blair sat slumped against the door in the back seat, his eyes on the passing scenery.

"I've got a rental at the north end near Ledbetter Point," Simon advised them, breaking the long silence without warning.

"Hope the owners have insurance," Blair muttered from the back, so low only Jim would hear it.

Simon continued unaware. "The Fed's are aware you're both alive, the DA had to tell them, Jim. But they don't know where either of you are. They're not too happy, but until they can prove to us they have a clean department, they're just going to have to live with it."

"Where's Rossetti?" Jim asked.

"He's under orders to remain in Washington State. I'm told he's still at his estate, but that's just the word of his attorney. He doesn't have another hearing for weeks."

"What about the safe house blowing up?" Blair asked, still sounding peeved. "It's obvious he's the one responsible."

"The judge needs more than our guesses, Sandburg," Simon told him patiently. "The investigation of the explosion hasn't revealed anything to point us to Rossetti. Joel did manage to find some parts of the bomb. He's very impressed. The timing mechanism used lemon juice to dissolve the triggering device. Don't ask me how he figured that out, but he did. "

"He's right, Simon. I remember smelling lemons just before the house blew." Jim scrubbed his face. "I didn't realize..."

"How could you, man?" Blair said, coming to life and leaning over the back of their seat to talk. "It's not like that's a rare scent to pick up inside a house. We use a lemon scented cleaner at the loft."

"Anyway," Simon continued. "Thanks to your friend, Kelso, we've got a safe way to communicate with Joel. The DA's given us an account to draw the funds we need for food and housing. The Chief is aware of our situation. We just need to lie low and keep you alive."

"For how long?" Blair groused moodily. "You guys said this could go on for a full year!"

"The Federal Prosecutors are burning the midnight oil on this," Simon promised. "Motions are being filed to re-address bail. But we'll have to be patient. Try looking at this as a vacation. We've got a secluded house on the shore of Wallipa Bay. We can relax, do some clam digging, whatever; as long as we keep a low profile and don't contact anyone while we're here." Simon caught Blair's eye in the rear view mirror. "That part is vital, Sandburg. No one is to know you two are here."

"But, what about Naomi?" Blair exclaimed as if suddenly realizing his mother might think he was dead.

"It's okay, the only one that thinks you're dead would be Rossetti, since he probably hired the bomber. The rest of the world didn't even know you were in the house. The Chief has cleared your absence with Rainier. Officially, you two are on loan to the Canadian Government for a joint operation involving drugs."

Jim nodded, happy with the plan. It sounded like Simon had thought of everything. Rossetti's sick infatuation with Blair had apparently transformed into a desire to kill. Blair was the last direct link, everything else would be deemed circumstantial. With the man's hoard of high-priced lawyers, Rossetti would likely never see the inside of a jail cell again if Blair died.

"We'll make a stop in Ocean Park and pick up groceries," Simon explained as he pulled into the parking lot for a large store with an old-fashioned western store front. "What do you guys feel like eating?"

When they reached the house, Blair was surprised to see such a beautiful location. Back at the store, Blair had spotted a map of the area, adding it to the cart. He had studied it during the last leg of the trip. He knew they were on the northern tip of the North Beach Peninsula, a long and extremely narrow strip of land that protected the Wallipa Bay. A large wildlife refuge occupied the very tip and they were staying in one of the houses whose property bordered the refuge.

"Hold it, Chief. Stay here with Simon while I check it out," Jim ordered as Blair moved to open his door.

Blair obeyed, using the time to study their new safe house. He half expected another dive like the one that had blown up, but this was fantastic. It was painted slate blue, a boxy looking two stories with a small tower-like room as a third story. The house sat within a stone's throw of a narrow strip of beach.

Blair was itching to explore.

Jim returned to the car, giving an all clear and the men began to carry the groceries inside. Blair liked the house instantly: big open rooms with plenty of large windows that looked out onto the bay. After they put away the groceries, Simon assigned rooms. Blair stuck his head in the room he'd been given, appreciating the cleanliness and view of the water, then explored the rest of the house. He found the stairs to a small observation tower; an airy room set up with chairs and a high-powered telescope. Blair took a peek, getting comfortable on a padded stool. He had a three hundred and sixty degree view over the top of the low scrubby pines. The blue ribbon of the Pacific Ocean stretched up and down the peninsula.

He was still playing with the telescope when Jim found him.

"Simon wants to know what you feel like eating for dinner."

Blair continued to look at the magnified shoreline of the peninsula tip called Leadbetter Point and a small island just east called Grassy Island. "Whatever, man. I'm easy."

"Pasta and chicken?"

"Sure."

"You okay, Chief?"

Giving up his bird watching for a moment, Blair answered, "What do you mean?"

Spreading his hands to indicate their current location, Jim shrugged as he continued, "You're taking this easier than I expected, that's all."

It was Blair's turn to shrug. "Not much I can do about it, is there? I mean, the important thing is to make sure Rossetti goes to trial and pays for all the suffering he's caused. To do that, I need to stay hidden. I'm not thrilled about it, but I understand. I'm just happy we're getting to stay in a nice place for once."

Jim nodded. "I hear that. With Simon here, it's going to be easier now."

Blair stood with a grimace, his bruises still making his movements stiff and painful. "What are the chances of getting some of our things sent out to us? I could use some of my books and my laptop."

"Clothes would be nice, too," Jim added with a smile.

"That too, man. After I get my books and my laptop," Blair insisted. "Hey, maybe we can work on some more tests..."

"Oops, I think I hear Simon calling," Jim interrupted as he turned to jog down the stairs.

"Coward!" Blair called after him.

"Our packages have arrived," Simon announced from the doorway as Blair and Jim returned from another long walk up the shoreline.

They had been living on the peninsula for three days. Jim had to admit to himself, he was enjoying their forced vacation. The last two months had been hectic, and not in a good way. Now they slept in, took leisurely walks in the wildlife refuge, played poker, read a few paperbacks they'd found in the house and took turns cooking. The weather had continued to hold, bringing day after day of warm breezes off the water each afternoon. Last night, they'd driven to the nearby town of Oysterville, looked around, and bought fresh oysters for dinner.

A man could get used to this.

"Great!" Blair covered the last few feet in a sprint, proving his bruises were mostly healed. "I can't wait to get to work on some outlines for new tests. I hope Joel remembered everything."

Simon stepped aside as Blair kicked off his sneakers and padded into the kitchen to open the boxes sitting on the floor. The older men shared an indulgent smile. Apparently, Blair's maximum time for the life of leisure was seventy-two hours. He'd made a few despairing comments at breakfast that very morning about being bored.

Jim helped himself to coffee and watched while his roommate tore into the boxes like a junkie looking for his next fix. Each box brought a different comment.

"Yes! He remembered! I needed this, great. Ah oh, not this one, the green binder! Hey, I thought I returned this one, oh well. Okay! There it is! Where's the workbook that should be inside? Crap, I'm going to need more paper. Oh! Oh! My laptop! Come to poppa, baby. I've so missed you!"

"How was your walk, Jim?" Simon between sips of coffee and Blair's running commentary.

"The same, a few visitors in the refuge. I managed to keep Sandburg from striking up conversations this time."

"Good, those teenage girls looked ready to follow him home like puppies yesterday. You'd think he was a rock star or something," Simon grumbled.

"Are we sure these boxes are safe, Simon?" Jim asked eyeing the shipment.

"Joel assured me that he personally packed each box and delivered it to the DA's office. There is no way they could be traced to us," Simon replied. "I'm just glad they got here. I'm tired of sharing my wardrobe with you two clowns. Besides, a bored Sandburg is a trouble making Sandburg."

"I agree; I even let him work up a few tests for me yesterday." Jim mocked shuddered. "Well, we always have your handcuffs..."

"Ha. Ha." Blair tossed an irritated look over his shoulder. "You two going to help me truck all these books up to my room or what?"

"I believe we've been given our orders, Jim." Simon set his coffee down on the counter and squatted down to lift the nearest box. "Holy smokes! Why is it text books weight three times heavier than a normal book?"

"It's the price we pay for a higher education, man," Blair quipped, lifting the heaviest box and heading for the staircase.

After Blair's boxes had been relocated, Blair remained in his room, happily unpacking and greeting each textbook like a long lost relative. Jim and Simon returned to the kitchen. A few boxes filled with the items Jim had requested still needed to be moved.

"At least you didn't ask for a forest of printed paper, Jim," Simon commented as he reached to pick up the closest box.

"Someone's coming, Simon." Jim looked out the kitchen window, his hand involuntarily reaching for his hidden gun.

"I don't see...oh, it's one of the girls from yesterday," Simon stood at Jim's side. "Who's the man with her?"

"I don't know, maybe her father?" Jim went to the back door and had it opened by the time the two strolled up the brick walkway to the house, the man's arm casually draped over the girl's shoulder. Simon stood just off to one side, covering his back. Using his advanced sense of hearing, Jim checked the immediate area, no other heartbeats sounded. He relaxed a bit.

"May I help you?" Jim asked politely, smiling at the girl.

She looked about fourteen. Large for her size, she wore shorts and a cropped top with the words `Spoiled Princess' in pink glitter. Jim remembered her from the group of girls yesterday. She'd been the quiet one, her eyes on Blair the entire time he'd chatted with them. The man at her side was about Jim's age. Dressed in expensive but casual clothes, he looked like a businessman on vacation.

"I'm sorry to bother you," the man said with a smile. "I understand you gentlemen are renting this house for a while?"

Jim felt Simon move to stand at his back. He let his boss answer.

"That's correct, can we help you?"

"Julie said she met you three yesterday in the wildlife park." The man patted the girl's shoulder and dropped his arm.

Jim was becoming irritated with the visitor. Could he just get to the point? Before he could answer, the man reached behind his back with his left hand. It reappeared with an ugly looking silenced automatic which he pointed at the girl's head.

"Both of you move back into the house," he ordered quietly, all business.

Talk about stupid! He should have seen this coming. Jim stepped back, holding both hands away from his sides. The girl looked genuinely terrified, her eyes wide as she stumbled over the threshold, the man's firm grip on her upper arm the only thing keeping her from falling.

"I know you're both cops. I know you've got weapons. Put them on the table or I kill her right now." He shook the girl, producing a single tear from the child's eye.

Jim set his gun next to Simon's on the kitchen table. The man pushed the girl into Simon's arms. Taking a small two-way radio from his pocket, he raised it to his face, his eyes never leaving either man. "Phase one complete."

"What do you want?" Simon asked unnecessarily.

Jim didn't expect an answer from the man. He recognized the precise efficient manner of a hired mercenary. A moment later the gunman was joined by four others, equally armed and silent. Both Simon and Jim were frisked. They found Jim's backup gun strapped to his ankle, relieved him of it and forced them down onto their knees, hands clasped behind their heads. The girl was pushed into a corner chair and told to be quiet.

"Well, well, seems we have finally caught up with you gentlemen." Rossetti walked into the kitchen followed by a sixth mercenary. He looked around the kitchen, displeasure replacing his smug smile. "Where is he?"

"Rossetti, you're going down. Don't make this worse for yourself!" Simon demanded, his eyes squinting in anger.

"Captain Banks, may I just say you are a fool. I do not go anywhere unless I choose to." Rossetti waved a hand towards the prisoners. "Keep them here. If either man makes another sound, kill the girl. Two of you come with me."

Jim wanted to shout a warning up to Blair, but knew the man wasn't bluffing. Rossetti strolled out of the room, looking for all the world like a man on a self-guided tour. Jim tracked the footsteps through the lower level until he heard them on the stairs.

Blair studied his room with a critical eye. No doubt about it. The student desk was okay, but he was going to need more shelves in here. He could switch rooms with Jim, but he didn't want to give up the view of the bay. If he shoved the full-sized bed against the far wall and moved the dresser...

"Hello, Blair."

Spinning on his heel, Blair let the book slip from numb fingers and crash to the floor.

Rossetti.

Oh, shit.

"You seem surprised. Surely you realize if I want something, I get it," Rossetti purred as he entered the room.

Blair swallowed, unconsciously trying to moisten a suddenly parched throat. There was no way Jim would let this monster walk up here, unless...

"Where's Jim? What did you do to them?" he demanded, taking a step backwards. His butt hit the desk and he had nowhere to go. Two men, framed by the open doorway, backed up the criminal and blocked Blair's escape. If it wasn't for the two story drop, he'd risk jumping through the screened window. Something told him two broken legs wouldn't stop Rossetti from doing whatever he wanted.

"Nothing, yet. My men are with them in the kitchen." Rossetti raised a hand to reach for Blair's head, pausing when Blair held up his hands to ward him off. "Unless you want me to change that?"

The hidden meaning was as clear as an interstate road sign and Blair forced himself to drop his arms, letting the man complete his aborted movement. He shuddered as fingers tentatively touched his hair then combed through, catching wind knots he hadn't had time to deal with. Rossetti frowned, his gaze switching from Blair's face to his messy hair.

"From now on, you are to keep your hair perfectly combed for me at all times," the man ordered, clenching his fingers into a tight fist and pulling until Blair's head was tilted painfully at a sharp angle. "Do you understand?"

Blair tried to ignore the sharp pinpoints of pain from his hair roots. "If you don't relax, dude. There won't be any hair left to look at," he muttered obstinately through clenched teeth.

Rossetti seemed startled. He broke into a broad smile and released his hold. "You're even more than I imagined." He broke off from his intense study of his victim and turned to the men standing behind him. "Bring him."

They marched him down the wide staircase, one thug on each side, his upper arms and wrists completely immobilized. When they entered the kitchen, Blair saw the teenager from yesterday sitting tearfully in the corner.

"What the hell?" He looked quickly at Jim and Simon; both men seemed okay as they kneeled on the tile floor, reminding Blair of old war movies where the prisoners were told to keep their hands together behind their heads, their elbows winged out. "What are you doing, Rossetti! Why did you have to bring her into this?"

"She was very helpful," Rossetti answered with a shrug. "But I can't have her telling anyone I was the person that took you."

What? Blair looked back at the girl. She was sobbing quietly now, her shoulders shaking. How could she be responsible for this? Yet here they stood, crowded into the kitchen.

"What are you planning, Rossetti?" Simon demanded.

Rossetti smiled, examining both the cops with an assessing eye. "Nothing much, I have what I want. Under different circumstances, I might consider bringing you two gentlemen for a film I've been thinking of producing. But I don't have time. Once the Feds learn their last witness is gone, my attorneys assure me the case will be dropped. After a cooling off period, I'll change my name, move my operation and open up again." His eyes returned to Blair. "It will be nice to have some free time to enjoy myself."

Part of Blair's brain, the part that wasn't terrified, was madly turning over options to keep the others from being hurt. As much as the thought of going with this creep caused him to hurl chunks, he was willing to try anything. "Okay, you found me. Let's go. You don't have to hurt anyone."

"Sandburg, we've seen him," Jim growled. "He's going to kill us."

"NO!" Blair pulled at the hands that held him. "I promise I won't fight you... just don't...listen, man, you said you're going to change your name anyway. You don't have to..."

"Blair, don't promise this asshole anything!" Jim ordered. "We're dead no matter what he says to you."

The girl sobbed loudly, hugging herself and curling till her forehead rested on her knees.

Rossetti wasn't fazed in the slightest. Looking like a man who was pondering what color tie to wear for the day, he pointed to two of his men. "Take them into the trees and do them. I don't want the mailman to find the bodies any sooner than necessary. The rest of you come with me."

"No! NononononoNO!" Blair kicked out with both sock-covered feet, flailing uselessly in the men's grasp. Lifted off his feet entirely by his upper arms, he was carried out of the kitchen and down the walkway. Rossetti walked ahead of them, staying a safe distance from Blair's kicks. A panel truck waited in the driveway, its back door rolled up to expose a padded bench with straps. Blair tried yelling, hoping to alert a neighbor or passing motorist. A meaty hand that smelled of sweat and gun oil cut off his first word. In no time he was on the bench, held in place with straps, his hands and ankles duct-taped together. Rossetti personally stuffed a cloth into his mouth and held him still while a wide strip of tape finished the gag.

"Can you breathe okay?" Rossetti asked Blair, sounding genuinely concerned, like a dog owner towards his prized pet.

Arching against the straps, Blair tested their strength and found it more than enough to hold him. He gave up, spent and sick with worry, his thoughts on Jim, Simon and the girl. Jim would get them away, Blair's brain insisted, not even noticing as Rossetti began to stroke his hair again. Jim and Simon could take two men easily. Blair closed his eyes as the truck's motor roared to life and they lurched forward.

They'll be fine... they had to be.

Jim listened to Blair's desperate attempts to convince Rossetti not to hurt those left behind. It sounded like they had entered a big van or panel truck, as Blair's muffled protests echoed. The distinct sound of duct tape being stripped off a roll met Jim's ears. There was a short burst of colorful cursing then Blair was quiet.

"Hey! Dick-cop! I'm talking to you!" The nearest gunman cuffed the back of Jim's head with his free hand before stepping back. "I said stand up, are you stupid or something?"

Jim rose to his feet in one move. Seeing Simon had been allowed to lower his hands, he followed suit. The girl was standing within the captain's protective stance, his arms around her shaking shoulders. She was wordlessly crying as she buried her face into his broad chest. The gunmen stood back motioning for the three of them to walk.

Searching the room for inspiration on how they were going to get out of this mess, Jim took a step towards the open doorway. How far were these men willing to walk into the woods? They'd acted professional up until now, keeping out of reach and not standing too close to each other. It was unlikely they'd provide either Simon or himself a chance to overpower them.

Just as Jim reached the doorway, he smelled it.

Lemon juice.

Faint, but there. The smell came from one of the few remaining boxes not carried up to Blair's room, one of the boxes containing his own things. Knowing he hadn't asked Joel to pack anything with a lemon scent, Jim realized a second bomb was about to detonate.

"Go ahead of me, sir," Jim said motioning for Simon and the girl to pass.

Simon gave Jim a strange look, but complied. He took the girl out into the sunshine, patting her back and murmuring soft reassurances. Jim fell in behind, knowing both gunmen would follow. How long had it taken the first bomb to explode? Jim thought back to the night he and Blair had fled from the first safe house. Maybe five minutes?

Shit, he needed to slow this down.

"Listen," Jim stopped and turned to talk. "I don't know how much Rossetti is paying you, but we can double it. My father is rich. You stand a chance of making a bundle, plus we can put you into a witness protection program. Rossetti will never find you."

"Jim?" Simon muttered in disbelief.

Jim ignored his boss, keeping his eyes on the gunmen. "What do you say? No one would know."

They snorted, their obvious rejection written all over their faces. "You've got to be kidding, Ellison. You think we got where we are by being stupid? We've heard this shit a hundred times, by men richer than your old man."

"You're willing to kill a child?" Simon demanded. "You could at least let her go. She has nothing to do with this!"

The second gunman looked like he was becoming uncomfortable with the idea of killing the girl. It was obvious, though, that he wasn't the one calling the shots. The first gunman looked at them with cold eyes and sighed. Jim got the feeling he'd gotten his kicks as a kid by drowning puppies.

"Move," Cold-Eyes ordered. "Or I'll do her here and make you two carry her body."

Jim didn't want to risk it. He turned back towards the distant tree line. Catching Simon's eye, he mouthed the words `be ready'. Simon understood. Gathering the girl closer to his side, he walked on ahead.

Ten steps.

Nothing.

Fifteen steps.

Jim lost the scent of lemon now. Had he just been imagining it?

Twenty steps.

They were about the same distance from the house as Blair and he had been when the first bomb had gone off. If it didn't happen soon, it was going to be too late.

Twenty-five steps.

Jim started working on plan `B'. If he jumped the nearest man, he might be able to buy enough time for Simon to get the girl safely away. Jim would more than likely be killed, but at least the girl had a chance.

Thirty steps. They were nearing the trees. Jim prepared himself mentally for the task, sending a quick prayer heavenward for Simon and the girl. Simon had to live; he would be the last person with a chance of getting Blair back.

The soft pop was the only warning Jim got. Dialing his hearing to zero just in time, the house exploded into a billion pieces of wood and plaster. Jim turned on a heel, covering the distance to the first man just as the shock concussion hit them. As the gunman lurched forward from the blast, Jim made sure his fist was in the path of the falling face. The gunman was unconscious before he hit the grass.

The blast knocked Jim to his knees, almost out of reach of the man's gun. Flinging himself full length into the grass, Jim snatched up the automatic from the gunman's open palm and shot Cold-Eyes in the chest with three rapidly fired rounds, making a tight pattern. The final gunman looked down at his chest with wide eyes before crumpling to the ground.

Chunks of house pelted him and Jim took a second to cover his head protectively, waiting out the debris rainstorm. He could feel the radiant heat from the explosion now and realized this bomb was much more powerful than the first one. As Jim sucked in the scent of lawn and dirt, two other facts were apparent.

The person responsible for these bombs wasn't Rossetti.

And the bomb was in Jim's box, not Blair's.

They'd drugged him.

Blair's tongue felt five times too large. All the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth. He was certain his throat had cracks in it, like the time Naomi had taken him to the Mojave Desert when he was seven. He remembered peeling up saucer-sized pieces of ground, fascinated by the way the extreme heat had caused the top layer to crack and shrivel, forming a scale-like pattern for miles.

Some of that desert sand must have found its way into his eyes. Blair blinked painfully at his surroundings, not recognizing anything. The last thing he'd remembered was being loaded onto a boat, still taped hand and foot. Then a syringe had appeared then... nothing.

He took inventory. The tape was gone, he had freedom to move all his limbs. The gag was gone, that was a relief. Ever since Lash, even the thought of a gag made him shudder. He patted his chest, his arms heavy and stiff. He was clothed. Blair took a deep breath.

Okay, he needed to check out his new location. That meant he was going to have to move.

With a low groan, he rolled to one side and pushed himself into a semi-sitting position. He was in a bed. A bed with clean sheets and an expensive looking down comforter. No one yelled at him to stay still, so Blair guessed he was alone. The room was about the size of his own bedroom in the loft, only no window. Swinging both legs over the side of the bed, his toes sank into an expensive carpet.

He never had a chance to put on his sneakers.

Blair rubbed his temples. He must still be under the effects of the drug; his thoughts were ricocheting around like a jackrabbit on speed.

Water. He really, really wanted some water - thank you very much.

Lurching to his feet, he headed for the smaller of the two doors. It opened, much to his surprise, on to a bathroom. He made a beeline for the sink and used his palm to trap the water from the faucet, slurping greedily for several long seconds.

"How are you feeling?"

Blair spun, flinging droplets from his lips and chin. Rossetti stood in the open doorway, two of his henchmen at his back. He was dressed like a businessman, ready for a day in the office.

"What do you care, man?" Blair replied evenly. "You're just going to kill me anyway."

Rossetti seemed truly surprised. "Kill you? Mr. Sandburg... Blair - may I call you Blair?"

"No."

"All right then, for now. Mr. Sandburg, I've spend literally thousands of dollars to ensure that you could be safely brought to me, very much alive. Why would you believe otherwise?" Rossetti gestured, opening his hands as if to encourage an answer.

"You tried to kill us at the safe house in Cascade," Blair insisted.

Rossetti shook his head. "No, I don't even know what you're talking about. I admit I ordered your office destroyed. You won't need it anymore. But I'd never risk killing you. I was told you were somewhere in Canada. I had an Internet website created by a phony company advertising a reward for anyone who reported your location. Your face has been viewed by thousands of people all over the world."

Blair felt sick.

"That's why those girls acted like I was some kind of celebrity," Blair muttered, leaning his butt against the counter top.

Rossetti smiled, folding his arms smugly across his chest.

"Dinner is ready. I've taken the liberty of asking the cook to keep it simple. The sedative in your bloodstream may cause discomfort for a few more hours." Rossetti stepped back, sweeping his arm grandly. "After you."

Blair closed his eyes, pondering his options. He could refuse, but what would that gain? The more he saw of the house they were in, the more information he had on how to escape. Besides, the guy was acting civil. Why rock the boat?

Blair pushed away from the counter. He'd play along, for now.

One thing was obvious; they were in some kind of huge house. If Blair were to guess, he'd pick something along the lines of a castle. The floors were flagstone, the walls either stone or large cinder bricks. But the fixtures and the air handling vents were all new. Someone had spent a lot of money to make the place look old, yet keep the comforts of the twenty-first century. Each window they passed was covered with heavy drapes, making it impossible to see the landscape.

Turning yet another corner in the long corridor and after descending a full level to a lower story, they arrived in a large dining room. Blair took one look at the array of framed artwork and blushed to his roots. Oils, charcoal, acrylics and photographs lined the four walls. Some small, about the size of a single sheet of notebook paper, others large enough to be twice the real size of the subjects, but all had the same theme.

As an anthropologist, Blair had studied many types of cultures and many types of sexual preferences. As an individual, he'd always preferred woman. Over the years, he'd been casually asked out by other men, but had not been interested. His exposure to graphic illustrations of same gender sexual acts was limited, mostly when he'd been young and curious. He still preferred the Playboy magazines, however. When his mother had found one under his mattress, he'd tried the line about `just reading the articles.' Naomi hadn't believed him.

Blair took the seat one of Rossetti's men pulled out for him. Keeping his eyes on the glossy finish of the teak tabletop, he remained quiet, as a large bowl of soup was set before him. The faster he ate, the faster he could hopefully get out of this room. Blair picked up the spoon and made short work of the soup while Rossetti chatted. You'd think they were two old friends spending a weekend together. Once the bowl was empty, Blair finished off the glass of ice water, ignoring the red wine that had been poured for him by a thin man wearing a waiter's outfit. He pushed away from the table, cutting off his captor's trivial chatter about the beauty of the French Riviera in summer.

"I want to go back to my room," Blair demanded, standing up.

A strong hand shoved him down and he landed hard on the chair again.

"Mr. Sandburg, you are being rude." Rossetti tossed his linen napkin down on the table in an annoyed manner and rose. "That was just the first course."

"I'm full," Blair replied bluntly, succeeding in returning Rossetti's unhappy expression with his best stubborn look.

Rossetti sighed, walking around to stand next to Blair's chair. Blair felt Rossetti's hand, stroking the length of his hair, playing with the strands. "You need to relax. We've got the rest of our lives to get to know each other. You have no idea how lucky you are, Mr. Sandburg... Blair. I've never allowed myself to fall in love before I met you. I didn't have time. But I've realized there is more to life then making millions of dollars. I cherish the day Matro brought you into my life."

Blair squeezed his eyes shut, longing to break every one of Rossetti's fingers.

It dawned on him that someone had washed, dried and combed his hair while he'd been drugged. It was too clean, too silky. The thought that they had performed this task while he had been helpless to stop them made Blair furious. He didn't have time for this shit.

Blair did the only thing he could think of under the circumstances. He was outnumbered. They had guns. He didn't even have his pocket knife or shoes. But he knew human nature, and he knew enough about Rossetti to understand how to break the mood.

Blair threw up, covering his shirt and lap in vile smelling vomit.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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