Jim Ellison looked up from his paperwork to see the Tristan Cahill striding into the bullpen. The man wore wrinkled dark khaki pants, black leather bomber jacket and a battered brown canvas ball cap over his dark, wavy hair. A person would be hard pressed to know he was really the number two bigwig with the Central Intelligence Agency.

"Jim," Tristan glanced around the crowded room as Jim's fellow detectives looked on with interest. "Can we talk somewhere in private?"

A familiar sinking feeling, starting up high, near his heart caused Jim to scowl. This was not going to be good news, he just knew it. He stood with a nod and wordlessly led the way to Simon's empty office. If anyone in the bullpen had objections to Jim using the boss's office, they kept it to themselves.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, closing the door, proud of the way his voice sounded normal, the way he casually leaned against the conference table when what he really wanted to do was pick up the phone and call Blair at Rainier.

`God, he'd better be at Rainier,' Jim thought to himself.

"Naomi's missing," Tristan said bluntly.

Blair jogged up the last flight of stairs to the third floor. The elevator was working fine, but he had energy to burn this afternoon. His classes had been good - awesome in fact. He had finished his work and could look forward to the entire next week off.

Spring break ruled.

Humming a silly tune his mother used to sing to him, Blair unlocked the door and entered the spacious loft he lived in with his best friend and Holy Grail. He smirked to himself, remembering the time he'd called Jim Ellison that. He'd been such a dweeb back then. It's no wonder the cop had threatened to search his office for drugs. Hard to believe that was only a year ago.

He tossed his textbooks on his bed and headed for the kitchen, in the mood to create something different for dinner. The loft was warm and it felt nice for a change. Having windows with a western exposure had its benefits. For that matter, any windows were a plus considering Blair's last quarters; warehouses were not big on storing heat. April had arrived holding promises of a great summer. Sure, it still cooled off in the evenings, but the daytime rocked with warm breezes, new leafy trees and flower boxes everywhere. Maybe he could talk Jim into putting a few on the balcony, something blue and yellow, those colors looked terrific together.

The phone rang, bringing Blair's head out of the refrigerator.

"Hello?"

"Sandburg, don't make anything for dinner."

"Hey, Jim! I'm ju---"

"Meet us out front. We're on our way to pick you up. Be there in five."

"Okay." Before Blair could say anything more the connection was terminated. "I guess I'll ask when I see you," he muttered, returning the handset.

"Probably another stake out," he explained to the empty loft before pointing at the phone. "But you're buying dinner, man." Blair headed for his room. He needed to gather all the things he liked to bring on stake outs; a mini-light with extra `AA' batteries, and some books, paper, pens, granola bars, bottled water, and his emergency `Sentinel-repair-kit'. The kit was basically an old shaving kit of Jim's that he'd stocked with sentinel-friendly items. Hefting the full backpack to his shoulder, he glanced around to see if he'd missing anything. His mail was sitting unopened on his desk. He snatched up the envelopes and stuffed them into the outside compartment before heading out.

True to Jim's word, the familiar Ford Expedition turned the corner as Blair exited the three-story brick building. It was identical to the one that had been driven over the cliff eight weeks ago. Jim pulled up to the curb, his window down, and pointed to the back seat with his thumb.

"Climb in, Chief."

That's when Blair realized Jim had said the words `we're on our way' not `I'm on my way'. A man sat in the front passenger seat with aviator sunglasses and a brown cap over dark hair. Something about the shape of the face looked familiar.

"Tristan!" Blair said with surprise as he climbed in behind Jim. "Wow, what are you doing in town? How are you feeling?"

Blair's last glimpse of his biological father had been when the government loaded him into a special hospital-equipped private airplane to fly back to Washington DC. The man had been pale and barely conscious at the time. Blair barely had time to click his seatbelt before the Ford was moving again.

"I'm good, Blair," Tristan answered, turning sideways in the seat as he spoke.

"You know, I meant to call you before now. I mean, it's not like I was avoiding you or anything, but we've been kinda busy and I knew you recovering from getting shot." Blair paused to take a breath, mentally cringing at his pathetic sounding excuses. The real truth was harder to vocalize. He just wasn't used to having anyone other than Naomi for family, and she never was one for phone calls. He'd get a card or a message on his answering machine from his mom. Sometimes it was just to say hi, other times it would be to let Blair know where she could be reached. Each time she initiated the contact, leaving Blair free to do his thing until she came into his life again.

Tristan held up a hand. "I understand, believe me. I'm afraid this visit isn't social."

"It's not?" Blair's mind raced for other options, not liking the first one that popped up. "Oh, man," he moaned. He knew he'd regret telling Tristan about Jim's sentinel abilities. "Listen, Tristan. You can't be seriously thinking about recruiting Jim."

Tristan removed his glasses, blue eyes heavy with sorrow that caused Blair's world to turn upside down. Words died in his throat. A rushing noise filled his ears. This wasn't about Jim. Hell, it wasn't even directly about him.

"Mom?" he asked, barely getting the word out and not recognizing his own voice. He glanced to the left; Jim's hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. Although Blair couldn't see his partner's face, the set of his shoulders told Blair he'd scored a bull's-eye.

"Blair, your mother's been missing for over a month," Tristan explained in a somber voice.

Blair cut him off. "Is that all? God, man! You scared me to death for a second." Blair released a gust of air and tucked long strands of hair behind both ears. "She's always taking off. I sometimes go for months without hearing from her. Believe me, thirty days is nothing!"

Tristan didn't look relieved, in fact, he looked even sadder. "Blair, those were times she was working for me. I always knew where she was - even when you didn't."

Blair felt like a yo-yo. His fear returned in triple strength.

"Your mom has totally dropped out of contact, with no word or reason. I've had operatives working twenty-four seven over the last week trying to find her," Tristan explained. "I sorry, but I have to assume she's either dead or been captured."

Blair heard the words; he watched Tristan's lips move as he spoke, yet somehow the meaning didn't sink in. It was the strangest thing. Blair wondered if Tristan had slipped into a different language without realizing it. Definitions suddenly didn't make any sense. His mind froze. Then Jim was talking. He had turned sideways in his seat, like Tristan, staring at him in concern.

It wasn't safe to drive while twisted around in the seat like that. Jim knew better. Blair stole a glance out the side window and realized the Ford wasn't moving. They were at a park or something. A group of young kids were tossing a softball back and forth. Blair became lost in watching the ball sail from hand to hand.

"Blair!"

Blair reluctantly took his eyes off the kids. "What?"

"Did you hear what Cahill said?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded, his attention straying back to the kids with the softball.

"Mom's missing," he said dully.

Jim cursed under his breath. This was not going well.

"What now?" he asked, looking at Tristan.

The other man nodded his head forward. "We continue as planned."

Jim twisted back around and dropped the gear lever into drive. He hadn't been pleased with Tristan's plan when he first heard it and it wasn't looking any better now. When Blair realized what was happening, it was really going to hit the fan.

Problem was, on which side of the fan would Jim be standing?

Tristan seemed content to remain silent. He sat with his back pressed against the door; half watching the road, half keeping a watchful eye on Blair. The drive was over before Jim wanted it to be, and still Blair had not uttered a word. Jim parked in front of a small white building that housed the office to a private airpark located on the outskirts of Cascade. An orange windsock on top of a flagpole flapped in the light breeze. He killed the engine. Tristan gave him a nod before opening his door and heading towards the office.

`I should just drive off,' Jim thought darkly watching the man walk away.

"Jim?"

Unbuckling his belt, Jim turned in his seat. "Yeah?"

Blair looked thoughtful, as if he'd been pondering some ancient Aztec riddle for the last thirty minutes. "He's wrong, you know. Mom's okay."

Jim remembered having similar thoughts one day long ago when his father had told him his mother had left. He'd held out for nearly a week, living in his own world of denial.

"Remember? It's like that time in Texas, she had to make everyone think she was... but she wasn't." Blair's head bobbed as he explained. "Sure, it was hard at first, because we didn't know. Tell Tristan, Jim. It's just the same thing, man."

"Blair," Jim began with a sigh, finding it harder than he ever thought it would be to crush Blair's fragile hope. "It's not like the time in Texas. The agency knew about that hoax, Cahill is trying to tell you that they don't know where your mom is now, or if she's even alive."

"Then he's lying," Blair said suspiciously. "I don't trust him, Jim. How to we know this isn't some trick?" He leaned forward in his seat, eager to pull Jim into the new theory. "We should just leave, man. I can make some calls. I found her last time. I know I can do it again! Just ask Simon." Blair waved both hands in the air to make his point.

Jim reached over the back of the seat and snagged Blair's right wrist. "Sandburg, listen to me! Cahill has tried every possible way to find Naomi. He explained it all to me. Any phone number you know... he knows."

"No!" Blair yanked free. "I'm not buying this crap!"

"Okay, calm down." Jim recognized the next stage: anger.

Leave it to Sandburg to work through the first stage in mere minutes.

Blair was looking around, noticing their location as if for the first time. "What are we doing here? This is the airport he uses to land his plane. What? He thinks he can just fly in, drop his little bomb of cheer and split?"

Jim was seeing a rare side of his guide, anger so raw that it hurt Jim to witness it. Blair had been angry before, plenty of times in fact, but this was directionless, a raw fury searching for something to pinpoint as the cause.

"Cahill believes whatever threat took Naomi out, might target you next," Jim explained. "He wants you to fly back to DC with him."

"WHAT!" Blair looked horrified, taking his eyes off Jim to stare at the small airplanes in the far field. Suddenly, he was fumbling for the door handle. "No, man! No freaking way!" The door was open now and Blair tried throwing himself out of the seat, only to be caught up by his seatbelt still fastened in place.

"Blair!" Jim wrenched his door open, thankful for the delay of the belt. He caught Blair two steps away from the vehicle. "Wait a second, Chief!"

"Let me GO!" Blair hissed, twisting in Jim's hold. "I'm not going, Jim!"

"Sandburg! Just listen to me!"
It was like trying to corral a whirlwind. Blair shoved and kicked until Jim was forced to lift him bodily, pinning his arms and trapping him against the side of the Ford with his own body. He waited for the Blair to recognize his struggles were pointless, using the time to glance around the parking lot. Thankfully, no one had bothered to investigate. Finally, Blair's movements were reduced to gasps for air and the squirming, bucking body stilled.

"Let me explain, Chief," Jim whispered into one ear, tasting a salty scent in the air. Jim loosened his hold, letting Blair's feet touch the gravel again. He raised his arms to wrap loosely around Blair's shoulders from behind, no longer restraining him. "You could be in danger. Cahill doesn't want to see you hurt, and neither do I."

Blair's entire upper body began to shudder. It hadn't taken long for his friend to race through all the stages of grief to the final conclusion - acceptance. Jim didn't even know the right words to say. He turned Blair around and drew him close, not surprised when he felt arms circle his torso in a strong bear hug. He could feel Blair's muffled sobs against his shoulder.

God, this was hard. Even though he had agreed with Tristan at the station, it didn't seem like the right course of action anymore. What proof did they have Blair was being targeted? If their roles were reversed, would Jim get on a plane with a virtual stranger minutes after learning his mother was more than likely dead? Would he leave his job, his home? Would he leave Blair?

The sound of someone clearing his throat caused Jim to look up.

Tristan stood a few feet away, looking on in concern.

Jim made up his mind, or rather, he un-made up his mind. Tightening his hold, he raised his chin and looked Blair's father squarely in the eyes.

"Scrap plan `A', Cahill. Sandburg's not going," he stated bluntly. "It time we work on a plan `B'."

In the end, they called Simon.

Blair found himself in the backseat again, the passing scenery a blur. He knew his eyes were red. His nose was probably red as well. He never could cry without looking like an idiot. Jim had silently passed over his clean handkerchief back at the airport, just after he'd stood up to Tristan. Jim hadn't even given the guy a chance to argue either. He'd just guided Blair back into the seat and closed the door.

Blair couldn't believe how close it had been.

Shit, he never would have stood a chance. If they'd wanted, he would have been on his way to DC. For his own good.

Yeah, right! As if!

Somehow, Jim had come to his rescue. Blair didn't understand why, but he was thankful. Normally at the first sign of danger, Jim was all for hustling him somewhere safe. First it was `You're not a cop, Sandburg' and then it had become `Your mom said to keep you hidden, Sandburg.'

So why was Jim going against Tristan?

Blair knew one thing for sure, he wasn't going to allow himself to be locked away. He needed to be free so he could find his mother.

The Ford turned into an exclusive looking neighborhood of two story homes. Each house sat in the center of a quarter of an acre of grass, beauty bark and flowering shrubs. The roofs were cedar shingles. The house had been painted with a similar muted color of blue, tan or off white. It all looked very uniform, a perfect starter home for a rising executive and as predictable as taxes. If Naomi had been in the car, she would have laughed and driven on, preferring to live in a shack on the beach selling handmade bracelets to tourists than live on this block. Or so he used to believe.

Blair's eyes begin to sting.

Man! He needed to get a grip here. If he was going to find his mom, he couldn't be falling apart each time his mind started to wander. Jim had promised they would only be here long enough to form a plan. He couldn't appear all weepy, like a blubbering two-year-old. Especially in front of Tristan.

"Okay, this is the right number." Jim pulled into the long curving driveway. The garage door opened, revealing space large enough to park two cars. The left slot was already taken. "Good, Simon's here."

Entering through the garage door, the heady smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted them. The kitchen was nice, airy, and equipped with all sorts of cooking paraphernalia. The room smelled of bleach and pine cleaner. If Simon was surprised to see Tristan walking in, Blair noticed he didn't show it.

"You said this was important, I didn't realize it was this important." Simon stepped forward to shake Tristan's hand warmly. "How's the injury?"

Tristan smiled. "Good, hardly feel it these days. Thanks for providing the safe house in such short notice. I'm impressed, this is nice."

Simon looked around the room with a critical eye. "We just made a deal with Quadrant homes. We get a few of these a year. Cascade is experiencing a building boom right now, after we've used one a few times, it gets sold and we'll get a new one." He pointed to the coffee maker. "Why don't we sit down to a cup of outrageously priced coffee and you three can tell me what's going on?"

Later, in the bonus room next to the kitchen, the four men sat around the oak table conversing.

"Damn!" Simon cursed with feeling, his eyes on Blair. "Sorry, kid."

Blair swallowed, unable to move the lump that had formed in his throat. He dropped his eyes to study the last few ounces of dark colored coffee in his mug. Thankfully, Simon didn't seem to expect a reply from him.

"Do you have any idea what Naomi was working on before she disappeared?" Simon asked, returning his attention to Tristan.

"No, Naomi is semi-retired. She picks her own days to work, and mostly trains the new operatives," Tristan explained. "After we got back to DC, she spent a few weeks with me, then took some time off. She was back for only a few days when she disappeared without warning."

"Where did she go during her time off?" Jim asked.

"Here and there, she saw some friends in Italy. I think she said something about being in Florida." Tristan rubbed his chin and smiled sheepishly at the men at the table. "Naomi is used to going where she wants to... when she wants to," he admitted.

"Exactly!" Blair blurted out, pounding the table with his mug and causing the last of the coffee to spill. "That's it exactly, man. How do you know this is any different? She could be in Nepal or St. Thomas or - I don't know, anywhere! And we're all freaked out?" He leaned back in his chair and raked his hair back with both hands. "I'm not buying this! She's just traveling. It's what she does."

"Blair, even when she's traveling, we have procedures," Tristan explained calmly. "She knows to check in. She just wouldn't drop out of contact like this. She knows what kind of situation that causes."

Jim rubbed his head as if it hurt. "Situation? What does that mean?"

The CIA executive shifted uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding the eyes of the others. "We have procedures for possible compromises, as well as decisions Naomi and I made together over twenty-five years ago."

Blair had a feeling he was not going to like any of those decisions. In fact he resented the man's whole attitude. "Naomi is not just a loose end, man! She's not a compromise! She's a person! And she's not dead!" He pushed away from the table and snagged his backpack from the floor. "I'm out of here!"

Jim caught him before he could make the front door with a light hand on his arm. "Chief..."

Blair whirled on his best friend, ready to rip and tear his way out if he had to. This was too unreal. A virtual nightmare and he could find no way to make it go away. "Jim, don't stop me!"

Jim cringed as if in pain, frown lines appeared between his eyebrows. "I can't let you walk out alone," Jim stated calmly. "If you go, I'm going with you. We can do that if you want, but I think the better option is to use the resources available by working with Cahill and Simon."

Blair dropped his head, suddenly exhausted. Shit, it wasn't like he had a car to jump into, and he doubted the bus came anywhere near this nice of a neighborhood. He was miles away from the loft, from the phone numbers that might reach someone who knew where his mom was. A large hand cupped the back of his neck and he found himself tugged forward till his forehead rested on Jim's shoulder.

"I'm not your enemy, Chief," Jim whispered.

Damn! Blair refused to start crying again. He didn't have time for this. And Jim was right; he needed all the tools available. "I know," Blair muttered, closing his right hand into a fist and gently bouncing it off Jim's solid chest.

"Then stop running away and let me help." Jim's hand was massaging his neck now. Blair felt some of the tension ease. "Why don't we stay, for just one night? We'll eat some take-out and listen to Cahill. Then, if you want, we'll leave in the morning."

Blair sighed, the last of his anger melting away. "She can't be gone, man. I'd know it, I'd feel something." He knew he was being childish, but he wanted Jim to agree, as if just hearing Jim say the words would make it so. It was a terrible position to put his friend in, but Blair couldn't help it. Jim was the only person he trusted, the closest thing he had to family. Plus, he was ex-covert ops. He knew things. Blair pushed off Jim's chest and risked staring directly into those light blue eyes.

Jim might show his stone-face image to the world, but Blair could read him like a textbook.

Determination was staring back at him, and strength. For those things, Blair was grateful, but what he really wanted to see was the shared hope. It wasn't there. Jim thought Naomi was dead, too.

"I'll tell Simon we're going upstairs to rest until dinner arrives," Jim said calmly. "One of the rooms should have a double bed, we can bunk there tonight. I'll be up in a second."

Blair nodded, too tired to fight anymore. He let his backpack hang from his fingers as he climbed the fancy circular staircase. He found the room right away. It faced the back of the house, the second door on the right, past the bathroom. Falling face first on the farthest bed, he let his mind empty. After a few minutes, Jim entered and sat on the other bed with a sigh, reaching down to remove his shoes.

"Chicken okay with you?"

"Sure," Blair whispered into the quilt, then remembering Jim's earlier look of pain, he rolled to his side to study the man. He still looked like he was hurting. "Headache?"

Jim nodded, caught in the act of rubbing his forehead.

"I've got some buffered aspirin and bottled water, man," Blair said, reaching down over the edge of the bed and dumping the contents of his pack onto the quilt. "I brought a spare sleeping mask, too."

Jim took the pills, water and mask without question, which caused Blair to think he was being humored. Whichever the case, Jim stretched out on his bed, mask in place and gave every pretense of looking forward to a nap.

As Blair began to repack his things, he picked up the handful of mail he'd grabbed. Since he doubted he was going to be able to sleep, he began to sort out the important stuff and toss the junk, finding the domestic job soothing. Two credit card applications were opened quietly and discarded. Blair never could toss mail - even junk mail - without at least opening it.

Ever since he was a kid, and his mom gave him all the mail marked `resident', he'd loved opening envelopes. The next letter was his credit card bill, as much as he'd love to toss it, he didn't. At least the balance was looking better, thanks to Jim's reduced rent. He opened another; finding one of those vacation opportunity things. Fun to look at and dream, but Blair wasn't in the dreaming mood. He gave the contents a passing glance and added it to the pile with the credit applications. A student newsletter was next, and promised to be more distracting. Blair moved the pile to the floor between the beds and settled back on the pillows to read.

"Sandburg?" Jim lifted his mask, puzzled.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?" Jim sat up, seeing the newsletter in Blair's hand.

"Reading my mail, Jim. Why?" To Blair's surprise, Jim began to sniff the air. It would almost be funny if it weren't for their circumstances. "Jim, what do you smell?"

Jim was off the bed, zeroing in on the pile of discarded mail on the floor. He picked up a page, sniffed it, and sneezed, twice.

"Where's the envelope this came in?" Jim demanded, sorting through the rest of the papers.

"What? What is it?" Blair rolled off his bed and joined his partner. Jim found the one he was searching for. It was the vacation flyer. "I don't get it; you want to take a vacation?"

Jim ignored him, his eyes flying back and forth as he read the letter.

"Jim, it's just junk mail, the type sent out by the hundreds trying to get people to visit at a reduced rate or free, just so they can listen to some spiel about a time share or something. I got the same one last week, man. Look, they didn't even spell my name right, see? It's addressed to a Sandberg." Blair pointed to the heading.

"Blair." Jim looked up from his reading, his expression serious. "I can smell sage on this. It's the same stuff your mom burned in the loft. I thought you were reading an old letter of hers or something."

Blair's lungs forgot to work, he was sure his eyeballs were bugging out of his head. What was Jim telling him? He forced himself to breathe. "You mean... you think... hell, Jim! What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure." Jim sat on the edge of his bed, going back to studying the letter. "But I'm picking up weird scents off this. I'd swear the sage is mixed in with that perfume your mom wears."

Blair's knees refused to hold him up and he dropped down next to Jim on the bed, reading the letter in the cop's hands. It didn't make any sense, it was just an advertisement. Wasn't it? Blair's eyes caught another misspelled word. "Jim, even if mom somehow managed to send me this letter, she's a heck of a lot smarter than whoever typed this. Not only is my name misspelled, but they can't seem to spell. I can see at least three other typos."

Jim was nodding his head. "Exactly! Give me a pen, Sandburg."

After finding the pen, Blair watched Jim grab one of the credit card applications and use the back as a scratch pad. "Okay, starting with your name, point out the other misspelled words."

"Okaaaay." Blair decided to play along. "Umm, this one is wrong, `endeavor' - they used an `m' rather than an `n'. And this word, `semiretirement', it has one to many e's."

Jim was writing each letter down. "Any others?"

Blair scanned to the bottom, years of grading making the task easy. "Yeah, looks like this is the last one. The word `enterprise' - they spelled it with a `c' not an `s'."

"Okay, that's four misplaced letters," Jim said.

Blair looked at Jim's notes. "Emoc? That's not a word, man."

"Turn it around, Junior," Jim said with a small smile.

Blair did. "Come." Blair met Jim's eyes, seeing that hint of hope he was looking for earlier, down by the front door. "Really? You think..." he asked softly.

Jim's smile remained. He looked back down at the paper and studied the return address. "I think we're going to spend your spring break on the Pacific Peninsula, Chief."

Simon had left to pick up dinner when they trotted back down the stairs to explain what they'd found. Tristan was surprisingly open to the idea. Careful not to touch the letter that Jim now held by a corner, the man read it carefully. Blair stood nearby, unable to keep still.

"Well?" Blair asked, apparently unable to wait a second later. "Is it mom? Did she send this?"

The older man pursed his lips thoughtfully, eyeing Jim. "You say you smell her perfume and what else?"

"Sage. She burned it in the loft when she first visited," Jim answered.

Tristan leaned down and took a sniff. "I can't smell anything."

Jim took a second to swap an incredulous look with his partner. "Cahill, you ate peanuts and drank a Mountain Dew before arriving at the station today, you use wood spice scented deodorant, your toothpaste is peppermint flavored and you haven't changed your shirt in a while." Jim didn't have time for niceties, and he hated doing these `dog and pony' tricks. It makes him feel like a performing seal.

To give the CIA agent his due, the man simply nodded. "Point taken. Let me make some phone calls. We'll know everything there is to know about this resort by morning."

Now if Jim could only keep Blair from running off in the middle of the night.

They updated Simon over a simple dinner of baked chicken, steamed vegetables and apple pie. Simon had been looking for take out when he found a neighborhood market that catered to the yuppies. The food tasted homemade, a pleasant change from the regular take-out fare they ate. In no time, the bird was reduced to bones, picked clean.

Jim just wished a few more bones had ended up in his partner's plate. As it was, over half his vegetables sat untouched. "Pie, Sandburg?" He held a small plate up, ready to pass it over.

Blair shook his head, content with pushing the broccoli bits around with his fork.

Simon and Tristan took their desserts to the small office off the entryway. The agency had promised to fax all the reports found as soon as possible. With a sigh, Jim sat down next to his roommate to eat. "I got one of those letters last week, Jim," Blair admitted with a glum voice. "What if Mom's been trying to get my attention and I've been totally ignoring her, going to school, to the station. She could be---"

"Chief," Jim interrupted. "You have not been ignoring her. If this turns out to be from Naomi, she's being very subtle. That could be a good thing. It may mean that the situation is stable. She's nothing if not resourceful. For whatever reason, she mailed that letter knowing I'd smell the sage and we'd figure out her code."

Some of the despair seemed to ebb out of Blair's eyes. He bit his lip before answering. "Really? You think so?"

"Yeah, I do." Jim pushed his plate a little closer to Blair. "Help me with this, I cut a larger piece than I intended to."

Blair reached over and forked a healthy bite into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes stared out the kitchen window to the darkening backyard. "So, whatever she's doing..." He paused to swallow before continuing. "Maybe she needs someone with heightened senses to help. But why did she go without telling Tristan?"

"Believe me, Junior," Jim said as the pie rapidly started to disappear. "That's the first question I plan on asking her."

The expected reports on the lodge arrived while Jim and Blair were cleaning the kitchen. The four men spread out the faxed pages on the table, taking turns as they read each piece of information over carefully.

"Well, it seems legit," Simon noted, setting the last report down. "I visited that area a few years ago with Joan and Daryl, not much around. I don't think this Olympic Shores Lodge was open back then."

"I remember the building," Jim commented. "It's old, right on the lake, used to be a spa or something. Isn't there a hot springs there?"

"So, we're going, right?" Blair asked. "If mom's there, she needs help. We could leave right now and be there first thing in the morning."

Jim shook his head. "No, we can't just barge in, Sandburg. We need to set up a cover, make it look natural."

Tristan picked up a photocopy of the letter Blair had received. "I think we should phony up one of these letters and make reservations under an alias for you two. Then you'll be free to move around as guests. If Naomi feels safe, she'll contact you."

"How long is that going to take?" Blair demanded, his patience obviously running on the lean side.

"Not long," Tristan assured his son. "We need to take the time to do this right, Blair. So, you up for a little undercover work for Uncle Sam?"

Blair tried not to fidget. They were approaching the town of Aberdeen and still had over an hour's drive before they reached Lake Quinault. Located north of Ocean Shores, the road was reduced down to two lanes that wandered through miles of forests in different stages of growth, from recently logged clearings to tall trees that seemed to touch the clouds. Quick glimpses of blue ocean played hide-and-seek through the trees growing to the left. The road glistened from earlier rains, low clouds promised more in the near future.

"This thing has lousy acceleration."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim, would you give it a rest?"

"I'm just saying it's a sad state of affairs when all the CIA can come up with is a Chevy," Jim groused.

It was all Blair could do not to snicker at his friend. A dark blue Chevy Tahoe had been delivered to the safe house that morning, along with all the documentation for two new identities for both of them. Blair thought it was kind of cool; he'd never had fake ID before.

Well, except that time when he was fifteen and traveling alone in Europe.

"I know you have a hard time believing this, man, but some people actually like vehicles that are not Fords," Blair said.

"You're right, Chief," Jim answered. "I do have a hard time believing that."

Rain was falling by the time they arrived at the lake. The lodge they'd be staying at was visible from nearly every point on the shoreline. It was a large three story, wooden structure, sporting a new coat of white paint with dark brown trim work. They drove through a small town with a gas station, a grocery store and a post office before following the shoreline road that would lead them to the resort. The lake sat in a wide valley formed by the Quinault River, which flowed between the high ridges of the Olympic National Park to the north and the Quinault Ridge to the south. All the waters of the lake and the river that flowed to the Pacific Ocean belonged to the Quinault Indian Reservation. The shores of the lake were in the national park, but they leased the lodge to the resort owners.

"You know, usually about now, you're rattling on about tribes and customs and stuff," Jim said breaking another long stretch of silence.

Blair smiled. Jim was right, he did. Somehow, none of that seemed important right now. All he wanted to do was find his mom, see she was okay and give her a large piece of his mind, then drag her back to Cascade. His uncharacteristic silence must be making Jim nervous. "Ummm, okay, the Quinault Indians were mostly fishermen, who used spears and nets to catch their food," Blair explained, searching his mental files for more obscure facts. "Salmon were their most favored fish, which they caught during the spawning runs up the Washington Coast rivers on weirs."

"Weirs?"

"Sort of like a wooden walkway they'd build in the calmer parts of the river," Blair explained watching Jim seem to turn that information over in his mind.

"Uh huh. Listen, we need to have a talk before we get to the lodge," Jim said, changing the subject. "You may see your mom, but you can't let on that you know her. We don't know what she's involved in, so we can't blow her cover. We need to let her make the first move."

Blair sighed. Did all the cops think he was an idiot? "I figured that much out, Jim. Believe me; I'm just hoping we do see her. But she did send a clear message, man. She wanted us to come out here."

"If that message was sent by her, Chief," Jim said.

Now that was something Blair hadn't stopped to think about. Could this be an elaborate trap? But for what? Jim? Did someone like Brackett want to lure Jim way out here?

Crap.

"Sandburg, don't start getting all freaked out. I'm just saying we may be seeing something that isn't there," Jim explained as he signaled for a left turn and slowed. A newly painted sign was pointing toward the turn off to the Olympic Shores Lodge.

"But you said it was from Mom."

"I said I smelled sage and the perfume that your mom wears," Jim explained.

A new idea began to form in Blair's mind. He didn't like it. "This is about getting me out of the way, isn't it?" Blair demanded, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up. "You're in this with Tristan. It's because I wouldn't get on that plane, right?"

"Would you knock that off? You're worse than a yo-yo. All I'm trying to do is prepare you for either possibility. We'll either see your mother or not. Whatever happens, just keep in character, got that?" Jim shot him an irritated look.

Blair felt his face burn even more. He knew he was being emotional. He needed to chill. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Blair scrubbed his face before attempting to apologize.

Jim spoke first. "Look, I know you're worried. I'm sorry to be a hard ass. I'll admit this trip is convenient as far as Cahill and I were concerned. But this is a viable avenue to investigate. Besides, how could I pass up a chance to act the part of your father?" He ran a hand through his recently dyed short gray hair. Along with the non-prescription glasses on his nose - complete with bifocals - Jim looked like a man in his early fifties.

The tension evaporated and Blair had to smile. "Like anyone's going to believe I'm your son, Jim."

"I'll just play the part of the exasperated parent. Besides, you look a lot younger than your true age. Keep your glasses on and we'll be fine."

"I don't see why we can't just go as roommates."

Jim snickered with disbelief. "The idea is not to attract undue attention, Sandburg. We can't give the normal line about you being a police ride-a-long because we don't want to broadcast I'm a cop. If we don't tell folks we're related, they're going to think we're more than fishing buddies, if you get my drift."

Blair cringed, not willing to act out that particular scenario. "Okay, pops. I get it."

They had arrived at the lodge. The parking lot was nearly full. Jim found a safe spot to park and killed the engine. "Pops? I think dad or father would be more appropriate for a man of my distinction. After all, I'm the rather wealthy CEO of a software company on a bonding vacation with his nerdy son."

"Nerdy? NERDY?" Blair huffed. "I'm not a nerd, man. And I'll have you know, the chicks love the glasses, it makes me adorable."

Jim chuckled, then turned serious, his hand resting on the door handle. "Okay, from here on out, I'm dad and you're Junior."

"Another thing, man. That's a suckie name."

"Don't sweat it, Junior. Hopefully, we're only here for a few days. Long enough to contact your mom and see if she needs the cavalry."

"James Polson, I made the reservation yesterday." Jim leaned against the antique oak counter, gazing about the large lobby with interest. The room was spacious. Groups of couches and chairs formed small pockets which allowed folks to have private conversations. The walls were lined with large windows. The view was less than spectacular with the current weather conditions, but Jim could still see the lake and distant shore. A large stone fireplace held the main focal point of the room. A cheery fire was currently chasing away any cold draft that might have followed them inside.

"Yes, here you are." The clerk pointed to the ledger. "Double occupancy, but we have you listed twice, must be an error."

"No, it's correct. I'm with my son. He's James, Junior." Jim pointed to Blair standing by the rack of tourist brochures.

"Oh, certainly, sir. Let me give you your keys." The clerk lifted two keys off a large pegboard and slid them over along with a form for Jim to fill out and sign. "The key will also work for the indoor pool and sauna. You can pick up the towels here at the desk. I see you're both staying for a week. Will you be needing any fishing guides? The reservation has a number of excellent guides to choose from. I'll get that number for you as well." The man added several more brochures and a page that showed the rooms and locations of all the services.

Jim finished signing his name and traded the form for the key and information. "Thanks, we'll look into it. Will the desk be staffed twenty-four hours?"

"Yes, sir! Come any time - we'll be here to help. Your room is through that door. You've got one of the best views in the lodge."

"Very good," Jim nodded with approval. "Come on, Junior, I want to get settled in and get to the restaurant before they stop serving lunch." Jim ignored the dark look from his partner as he led the way down the hall toward their room.

They'd been given a lakeside room on the ground floor. Jim unlocked the door and let Blair go ahead. The room was nice, large and open, two queen-size beds against the left wall. On the right, a fireplace and two leather wingback chairs created a comfortable looking sitting area.

"Let's finish getting our stuff from the car," Jim said, tossing his carry bag on the nearest bed.

"Okay, then we can start looking for..." Blair snapped his mouth closed at Jim gave him a stern look. The younger man gave a sheepish silent apology.

Although Jim doubted their room was bugged, he wasn't taking any chances. For whatever reason, if Naomi was really somewhere on the grounds, she hadn't felt safe to try and contact them by conventional methods. Jim took that as a sign there were serious issues about privacy involved.

"Lunch first, kiddo. Then you can start looking for dates," Jim said in a serious `I'm-the-parent' voice.

"Oh, brother," Blair whispered softly, following Jim out.

They unloaded the Chevy with one trip between them. Each man had brought extra changes of clothes, but the bulk of the luggage consisted of extra `toys' that Tristan had provided. Jim shoved them under the beds, hoping that they would be sufficiently hidden from curious maids.

The restaurant was easy to find. One of the two wings of the lodge had a completely built-in porch. The owners had converted that into the dining area. All the windows along the front gave a view of the grassy lawn down to the shoreline. Jim picked an empty table out by the windows and settled in to check his choices on the menu. The selection was large, and judging by the dinner plates loaded with food on the other tables, the portions were intended for starving lumberjacks. When the waitress arrived to take their orders, Jim folded the menu and pointed to Blair.

"Go ahead, Son."

"Ah, okay, I'm just going to have a pot of your mint tea, please," Blair told her, without even looking at his menu.

"Junior," Jim drawled in a disapproving manner. "You didn't eat breakfast; you need to eat some lunch."

"I ate breakfast, Dad." Blair sat up straight, leaning forward in his seat. "I'm not hungry."

"A banana is not breakfast."

"Yes, it is. It's what I had, remember?"

"You want to end this trip before it starts?" Jim warned.

Blair did a perfect job of a young adult trying to keep his cool when dealing with a parent. In fact, Jim felt it worthy of an Oscar, if he'd actually thought for a second Blair was acting.

"Fine. Please bring me a bowl of chowder," he said through clenched teeth. As soon as she took Jim's order and left, Blair leaned over the table. "Would you knock it off?" he hissed.

Jim placed both elbows on the table and peered over his clasped hands at his roommate. "Excuse me? Can't a father express his concern? You're obviously wasting away, not eating properly while you're at college. I'm going to have to see about moving your place of higher learning to a closer University. Then you can stay with me and live off campus."

Blair groaned in exasperation. The waitress was back with their drinks and salads, setting them down in front of each man. "Here you go." She gave Blair a friendly look of interest. "Did I hear your dad say you're going to college? Which one?"

A flicker of panic appeared on Blair's face. "Ah, University of Washington. I'm getting a degree in computer science."

"Oh, wow! That's where I want to go!" she exclaimed, absentmindedly drying her hands on a hand towel tucked into her apron. "Do you like it?"

Blair nodded, gracing her with a smile. "It's awesome. When do you start?"

"Maybe next fall," she answered with a wistful expression. "I want to be a doctor, but it's so expensive. I'm working two shifts through the summer. I should have enough for the first year."

Blair nodded. "But there are loans and scholarships available. Have you applied?"

She bit her lower lip and giggled. "I tried, but I'm an idiot with paperwork."

"It always looks overwhelming, but it's not really that hard. Maybe I could give you a hand," Blair offered. "I can practically fill them out in my sleep."

"Oh! Could you?" She hugged herself, looking back over her shoulder towards the kitchen. "I'm on duty tonight at the main desk in the lodge. I start at nine. I could have them with me - if you're available."

"No problem." Blair looked over at Jim, as if suddenly remembering the man was present. "Ah, right, Dad?"

Jim tried not to roll his eyes. "That's fine with me." After she gushed thanks and headed back to the kitchen, Jim propped up his chin on his palm, his elbow still on the table. "And why would the only son of a wealthy CEO need to fill out loan paperwork, Darwin?"

Blair shrugged, pouring his tea into a cup. "The only son of that `control-freak' CEO has lots of poor dorm-mates that need tons of help with loan and grant applications, Pop."

They returned to their room after lunch. Blair watched as Jim removed his fake glasses before closing the blinds in front of the sliding glass door. He started a fire in the fireplace, and began pulling out the equipment from under his bed. Tristan had given them both a quick lesson on how to operate the laptop and connect with the satellite for messages. It was a powerful, high tech computer, but it looked much smaller then any he'd ever seen in Circuit City.

"Come here, Chief. Show me how this works again. It's okay; I swept the room for bugs."

They spent the next hour going over how to contact Tristan. Blair was in awe. He couldn't fathom the cost of this thing. He knew there were no cell phone sites for miles around. The lodge was proud of the fact that the main building didn't have phones, radios or televisions, yet here they were, sending messages to Tristan and Simon by way of satellites.

Wow.

"Okay, that's that. They know we arrived okay," Jim said powering down the computer and getting ready to pack it back up. "We'll check in again tomorrow night. Now I want to walk around a bit, maybe we can check out the pool before going to dinner."

The rain was still falling, soaking the luscious greenery with more moisture. Fog was settling low over the land, obscuring the view of the lake. After walking through the lodge and locating the pool and sauna, they ran for the mercantile building across the street, shaking most of the water off their parkas before entering. The store had a little of everything. Blair left Jim to wander the aisles as he headed for the espresso counter. He ordered a tall Americano and met Jim at the counter, not surprised to see the older man loaded down with snacks.

"For later," Jim said, setting the cookies and chips down before digging out his wallet. "You want anything else?"

Blair shook his head as the young man clerking took Jim's twenty and counted out the change. "So, man," Blair said to the clerk. "Does it always rain so much?"

The clerk chuckled as he handed Jim his change. "If I had a dollar for each time I get that question," he said. "We get nearly twelve feet of rain a year."

"Holy smokes!" Blair said. "You're kidding!"

"Nope, it's God's own truth." The clerk began to bag Jim's items. "Our weather is not seasonal either. We can be wet and foggy in July and clear and sunny in January. You learn to be prepared."

"I'll bet." Blair eyed the weather through the store's window with a frown. Why was `cold and wet' always his world?

"Come on, Junior," Jim teased lightly. "You're not going to melt."

They made the trip back across the street to the lodge and dropped off the snacks in their room, then changed into swimming trunks and headed for the indoor heated pool. This time of the afternoon, only a few people were using the facility. Blair swam a few laps with Jim before heading for a sauna room to enjoy some dry heat.

He'd just managed to get the temperature the way he liked it, when Jim opened the door, a towel around his waist and joined him.

"Cripes, Chief. This hot enough for you?"

"Sorry about that." Blair lifted his legs and stretched out on the upper bench, giving Jim the lower one to use. "I like my saunas set on high. Did you shower? You can't let the chlorine stay on your skin."

"Yeah, I showered." Jim sat sideways on the bench below, his legs stretched out, his back against the wall and eyed Blair. "Thought maybe I'd try using a little sentinel Mojo and eavesdrop on as many of the guests as I could. You up for watching my back?"

"Go for it, man. I'm here."

Jim closed his eyes, his breath evened out.

Blair watched closely, almost seeing Jim stretch out with his hearing, registering every noise as it happened. What was it like? Did Jim have any idea how special he truly was? Blair doubted it. The cop seemed to spend most of his time grousing about the downside of being a sentinel. He even wanted Blair to make it go away the first time they'd met. No, make that the second time they'd met.

Blair continued to watch Jim carefully, making sure his breathing remained steady and he didn't start to list to one side. Jim's hair did make him look a few years older, not much. Tristan had somehow come through with loose fitting clothes for the cop, in reserved colors someone older might favor. The effect was subtle, but with the glasses, when Jim was in full disguise, he did look in his early fifties.

Which meant Jim would be fighting off the babes for many years to come.

Finally, Jim opened his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"Anything?"

"Just what I'd expect to hear."

"Did you hear Naomi?" Blair had to ask. He knew what Jim's answer would be, but the words came out of his mouth anyway.

"Sorry, Chief. Not this time."

Blair tried not to look disappointed. He'd spent the entire afternoon trying not to crane his neck in every possible direction to catch sight of his mother. Still, every flash of red made his heart skip a beat. Every woman in flowing, loose apparel caused him to catch his breath.

"Let's head back." Jim swung his legs over the edge of the bench and stood, adjusting his towel firmly about his waist.

Jim smelled Naomi as soon as they walked into their room, but it was Blair who found what she'd left on his pillow.

"Jim!" Blair fell on the small braided wreath, swooping it up gleefully. "Look! Look!"

"Calm down," Jim told him, catching his friend by the arm and pulling him into the bathroom. He turned on the water, letting it flow down the drain.

"Jim, the room isn't bugged, remember?"

"The way you're hollering, the bad guys don't need to bug it. Besides, if someone's been in here while we were out, they could have planted a listening device. Let me see that." Jim examined the small object. It was only a few inches around. Golden wheat stocks folded and braided to form a circular wreath. "I'm guessing this is from your mom?"

"Yeah, she used to make these in Frisco and we'd sell them to the tourists for money... at least that's what she told me." A flicker of sadness and doubt appearing and vanishing so fast on Blair's face that Jim wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Well, I can smell your mom's perfume," Jim muttered.

Blair slapped a palm on the counter, suddenly angry. "Why didn't she stay and tell us what's going on!"

Jim handed the wreath back to Blair and clapped him on the shoulder. "Easy, Chief. We're in her world now. We have to wait and see."

"Right, right - it's just hard, you know?" Blair admitted. "I'm still not used to Ninja-Naomi."

Jim chuckled, turning the water off. "Me either, kid."

They dressed and enjoyed a fine meal of seafood in the resort's restaurant. Finding the gift from his mother had lifted Blair's spirits, even bringing a few laughs from the younger man. Jim ordered wine, worthy of a man used to the finer things in life. The excellent food and fine wine, followed by a berry cobbler with vanilla bean ice cream was enough to make him forget for a moment that he was working. As they wandered back to their room, Jim had an idea. He waited until they were behind closed doors before mentioning it to his partner.

"So, all I have to do is keep Susan occupied while you slip behind the counter and ransack her office?"

"I'm not `ransacking'," Jim corrected as he pulled the black cases out from under the bed again. "We have equipment that will allow me to quickly scan the guest ledger and get names of everyone that's checked in. We can send them to Cahill and maybe get a handle on what your mom's up to." He located the correct palm size scanner and slipped it into a pocket.

"What if she sees you?" Blair asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, turning the wheat wreath over and over in his hands.

"Your job is to make sure she doesn't," Jim explained, peering over the top of his glasses at his friend fondly. "She's a young girl, you're a young man. I think the two of you can come up with something to focus on."

Blair chuckled. "I should've become a super spy years ago."

"Go on, Double-Oh, I'll give you about thirty minutes head start."

The lobby was empty when Blair approached the desk. The sometimes waitress, sometimes hotel clerk, Susan, was waiting for him with a cheerful smile and a pile of forms.

"You remembered!" she said happily.

"Of course, I never forget a damsel in distress. Especially when I might get free, future doctor visits," Blair answered in a teasing tone.

"Wow, I like the sound of that," she laughed as she picked up the forms. "Let's go sit by the fireplace."

Perfect. Blair happily followed and settled into the soft couch as she spread the forms out on her lap. He didn't need to woo her. She was very serious about her future. The teacher in him recognized her determination and responded. He wanted her to meet her goal now as much as she did.

Thirty minutes flew by as they worked on the applications. She'd brought a file with all her financial history and current information. As they completed one of the more complicated forms, Blair realized Jim would be appearing any minute.

Susan's head was bent down as she concentrated on her work. None of the other guests had appeared.

This should be a piece of cake. He risked a look over his shoulder.

"What is it?" Susan asked, turning to look and nearly giving Blair a stroke.

"Nothing!" Blair blurted out, kicking himself for the move. What had he been thinking? "I, ah, was just thinking how quiet it gets around here."

She smiled. "I know, it's why we call this the graveyard shift. Everyone's in bed. No phones ringing. It's great for getting your school work done."

To Blair's relief, she returned her attention back to the forms. He'd learned his lesson. Don't look.

At ten-thirty, he was back in their room. Jim was stretched out on top of his bed, shoulders and head propped up by pillows. He looked up from his paperback, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

"Okay, okay. So I'm not cut out for this stuff," Blair admitted sheepishly, combing his fingers through his hair. "Did you get it?"

"Yep, and I already sent it off. Enjoy yourself?" Jim laid the book face down on his chest.

"Oh sure," Blair toed off his sneakers and started stripping for bed. "She only had eyes for my brain and my ink pen, man. She did ask a lot of questions about you, I think she has a crush or something."

"Ah, I approve of her already. When are you going to bring her by to meet the old man?"

Blair pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and wandered into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "You already met her, remember? Don't worry, she's not gold digging for the family fortune. Besides, she's just a kid," he said from the bathroom.

After brushing his teeth, he changed into sweats for sleeping. All the lights except the one between the beds had been turned off and his pillow returned to his bed. Blair crawled under the blankets with a sigh. He was tired. Being worried about his mother for the last two days had taken its toll on him. Even though he was relatively assured she was okay, he still wanted to see her, just to know without a doubt that she was safe.

"So..." He broke off with a huge yawn before continuing. "Anybody's name look familiar?"

Jim leaned over and switched off the light. "Not to me, but we should know tomorrow night if Cahill recognizes them. Now go to sleep, we've got an early day tomorrow."

Blair rolled over and searched for his friend in the darkness. "How early?"

"Early."

"Wonderful."

Jim woke to darkness. Before falling asleep, he'd told himself they needed to be up before first light. As often happened, his body obeyed and he rolled out of bed at four-thirty. The room was cool, perfect by his standards; yet he started a fire before showering. When he returned to the room, clean and ready for the day, the room was warm enough to coax Blair out of bed.

"Sandburg, move your lazy butt," he ordered quietly, giving the lump under the covers a shake.

"Go away."

"No can do, Junior, we have a date with the fish."

"Whaa?"

Jim grinned. Today was going to be so fun.

When Blair finished his shower and dressed - in several layers, Jim had already visited the front desk, reserved a boat for the day and ordered two brown bag lunches to go. They ate a quick breakfast in the dining room before returning to their room to put their gear together.

"Wow, we got some pretty neat looking gear," Blair commented as he looked over the fishing poles and tackle.

"It's nice stuff. Replacing the poles alone would run us about six hundred."

Blair dropped the pole back on the bed. "No way!"

"Yes, way." Jim finished stuffing the CIA laptop into the bottom of a tote bag. Since they were planning on being on the water most of the day, he was not willing to leave it behind. "Ready?"

They found the young man in charge at the boathouse. Soon they were on the water, piercing the fog with the bow of their twelve foot Livingston, fiberglass boat with a nine-point-nine horsepower gas motor.

"Burrrrrr. Why didn't you warn me? It's freezing!" Blair hunched down on the forward seat, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets.

"You're wearing every bit of clothing you brought," Jim commented. "It'll get warmer when the sun comes up." The sky was lightening up enough to safely see, but the sun had not yet made an appearance over the top of the tree line.

Jim studied their location, checking with the copy of the map the clerk had given him when they'd purchased fishing licenses from the Quinault Indian Nation yesterday. He wanted to try an area of shoreline where a small creek flowed into the lake. Fish were smart, knowing that incoming water also brought food. Jim hoped that trolling a few lures behind the boat would tempt a few of the larger fish to strike.

"Which type of fish can't we keep?" Blair asked, his back to the wind as they moved across the lake. Long strands of brown hair flapped around his face.

"Blueback Salmon," Jim answered. "Or Sockeye, depending on who you talk with. They're also called Red Salmon. We'll have to release any we catch."

"That's what I ordered last night for dinner," Blair admitted. "Too bad we can't keep a few."

Jim slowed the boat down and began to rig the first pole. They had arrived at the location he'd picked out. "I'm not willing to face jail time just for a tasty snack, Chief."

Their boat came equipped with an electric motor for use when slower speeds were needed for trolling, as well as a small down rigger to take the fishing line deep into the lake. Once a fish was on, the line slipped out off the downrigger and the fisherman could enjoy landing the fish without the extra weight.

Jim set Blair's line up on the downrigger and ran it fifty feet down. He kept his lure closer to the surface. This way, whichever depth the fish were swimming today, they had a decent shot at catching one. Since both fishing poles would be in holders, he and Blair could each hold a warm cup of coffee. The morning light was becoming stronger as the last of the night's shadows receded like a vague dream. High clouds floated by harmlessly, promising a dryer day. Patches of ground fog hung low over the lake and shore, completely obscuring the distant trees in some places and making others parts of the shoreline look out of focus. Forest birds called to each other, creating a symphony of sounds that reminded Jim of the days in Peru. These were the times he realized how harsh and ugly living in a city could be.

"Can we fire up that laptop and check to see if Tristan found anything on those names we sent last night?" Blair asked, finishing his cup of coffee after they both spent a few minutes enjoying the stillness of the early morning.

Jim nodded, looking back towards the lodge to make sure no one was watching them. "Keep it low and out of sight."

Blair had the laptop running and connected quickly. "Looks like he's still working on the names. Simon says hi."

"Back at `em," Jim answered automatically. A miniscule jerk of his fishing pole caught his eye. Was a fish nudging his spoon?

"I'm going to check my emails." Blair became lost in the world of the Internet.

Jim steered the boat through several lazy figure eights, enjoying the silence and solitude of the rain forest. Neither pole had repeated any jerking motions.

"What's your favorite color, man?" Blair asked, hunched forward, shoulders curved over the laptop on his knees.

"Blue."

"Which class did you like the most when you were in school?"

Jim frowned. What was the kid doing? Working on his dissertation? Here in the Olympic National Forest?

"I don't know, math I guess."

Blair snickered. "Figures... must be the inflexible rules." A few seconds later, he was softly laughing.

"What are you doing?"

"One of those internet quizzes. I'm figuring out which Pooh character you are."

"Pooh?"

"Yeah, you know, Christopher Robinson and Pooh." Blair looked up from the screen with a huge grin. "Cool, man. You're Tigger. Listen to this; you enjoy the company of your friends, and would much rather have a good laugh than focus on a problem. However, if a friend is in need you are always there for them... Because Tiggers are wonderful things!"

"Let me get this straight, Junior. You're using a high tech satellite link that belongs to the US Government to take a Winnie the Pooh quiz?" Jim asked.

Blair shrugged shutting down the laptop and returning it to the case. "I was checking a journal by a friend and she likes to take all these quizzes. She puts the link in her journal - so it's an easy jump."

Before Jim could explain why using equipment provided by the CIA to surf the Internet was not a good idea, the reel that he'd decided would be Blair's began to strip off line with a loud whir. Jim killed the throttle. "That's yours, Chief."

Blair lifted the pole out of its holder with an excited grin. "Wow! It's gotta be huge!"

"Let it tire. Keep your tip up," Jim blurted out as he gathered up the large net they'd brought and finished stowing the extra gear out of the way. The Livingston boat had a broad beam for its size and was very stable in the water. Jim had been pleased to see the resort rented them out. Capsizing in the icy, glacier fed lake would not be an event he would want to experience.

The fish seemed to tire quickly and Blair started his retrieval, cranking the reel carefully. Jim watched the fishing pole's tip with a frown. Something was wrong. This was not the reaction of a fish on.

"You might have a submerged branch or something, Junior," Jim commented, removing his glasses to peer into the water.

"Or something, man. Cuz this thing isn't fighting back at all." Blair grunted as he lifted the pole, cranking as he lowered the tip down again. "Whatever it is, it's heavy."

Peering into the water, Jim zoomed deeply into its depth. A dark form was rising. An icy fist clutched his heart, squeezing tightly. "Give me the pole, Sandburg," he whispered, taking it from Blair's hands without waiting. If Blair was surprised by the sudden move, he didn't show it.

Jim tested the line; the hook seemed to be holding fast. This was good; he didn't want to lose their catch. He considered just leaving it down there and towing it back to the resort, but disregarded the notion. The fishing line wasn't that strong.

"Jim, what's up, man?" Blair asked, frowning at him. "You're not going to bring it in?"

Shit. There didn't look like a way around this.

"It's not a fish. Or a branch for that matter." Jim resumed cranking. "It's a body."

"What!" Blair's face turned several shades lighter. He swallowed convulsively, his eyes darting from Jim's face to the surface of water. "A body?" he whispered in horror.

It was near enough to the top that they could see the body was clothed in pants and a snug T-shirt that showed fully developed breasts. This was not going to be pretty, Jim decided. The body was slender, small delicate wrists and fingers telling him it was a woman. As it broke the surface, Jim saw the face for the first time.

Not pretty at all.

He leaned over and caught a flaccid arm, catching sight of the heavy links of chain around the bare ankles. If the mass of pulpy tissue that used to be a woman's face didn't point to a violent murder, the chains would have. With a heave, he brought the body into the boat, laying it at his feet. Blair scrambled backwards, ending up at the very front of the boat. His face changed from pale to a mottled green tint. He looked ready to leap into the water.

"Easy, Chief," Jim said soothingly, pulling a waterproof tarp out from under his bench and quickly covering the ghastly sight.

"No...no, no, no." The tarp seemed to break the morbid spell over Blair, who took his eyes off the body to pin Jim with a desperate plea. "Jim, please, man, tell me it not..."

Jim was busy with the other fishing pole, bringing in the lure at a fast speed, then replacing it in the holder. "I don't know, Blair." He started the motor with a jerk of the rope. He turned the throttle and the boat's bow lurched out of the water as they surged forward.

Blair gripped the gunnels of the boat tightly, keeping his eyes diverted from the bright green tarp at Jim's feet. He felt ill. Seasickness had never been a problem for him in the past, and he felt sorry for all the people who suffered from it. His breakfast acted like boiling acid in his gut. Each time the bow of the boat slapped a wave; he felt it work higher and higher in his throat.

When the boat finally reached the short dock, Blair couldn't hold back. With a violent convulsion, he leaned over the edge and fed the fish.

A strong hand snatched up the back of his shirt, keeping him from following his breakfast into the water. After another set of heaves, he straightened back on his seat, wiping his mouth with a sleeve.

"You okay?" Jim had one hand still in his shirt, the other clutching the large `T' shaped piece of metal bolted to the dock used to tie the boats securely.

"No," Blair muttered quietly, feeling like crap. He stood and weakly hoisted himself onto the wooden dock with arms that felt like cooked pasta. The young man in charge of the boathouse trotted towards them with a concerned look. Blair stood, heading for dry land without a backward glance. He felt the guilt mix with the nausea until he was stumbling, but it wasn't enough to make him turn back to stay with Jim. He needed distance from that woman in the boat, afraid of what he might learn.

His mom...

No! That wasn't Naomi! She was alive, damn it. She'd snuck into their room just last night!

We don't know that, Blair's right side of his brain reasoned calmly. Jim only said he could smell her perfume. It's not exclusive, lots of women bought it. Blair used to save his own money to buy her a bottle for Mother's Day.

I don't care, that is not Naomi he pulled up with a fishing hook.

Oh, God!

Blair dropped; sinking his knees deeply into the wet lawn and threw up again. Not much had been left, thank goodness and Blair didn't feel any guilt as he stumbled back to his feet and left it behind. Somehow he managed to find their room and pulled the old-fashioned key out of his pocket. He slammed the door behind him and fell into one of the chairs in front of the cold fireplace.

Crossing his arm tightly over his gut, he rocked at the waist while staring unseeingly into the ashes. His mind felt numb, as if this second possibility that his mother was dead had hit him like a bucket of freezing ice water. Had it really been just three days since Tristan had first planted this seed in his thoughts? Could fate be so cruel as to give him hope and then squash it like a cockroach a few days later?

Was Naomi really gone?

Jim was never so glad to get away from a crime scene. A plethora of uniforms and suits flocked the boathouse within a few hours; Tribal Police, County Sheriff Deputies, even State Police. Jim repeated his story for the final time and accepted his fake ID back from the Deputy. They knew his room number. He was finally excused.

Gathering up his and Blair's equipment, he headed for the main lodge as quickly as he could. He'd seen his partner stumble up the lawn when they'd first docked. Hopefully he'd gone straight to their room.

Jim opened the door, frowning at the fact he'd found it unlocked. "Chief?"

The room was cold. They'd left the thermostat dial turned off. The shades still covered the sliding glass door, keeping the room cloaked in shadows. He spotted Blair's head over the back of the nearest chair. Jim quickly dumped the equipment on the carpet and circled around to get a good look as his guide.

Blair was staring at the fireplace, arms capturing his torso in an exaggerated self-hug.

Jim squatted down in front of the chair, alarmed when the blue eyes remained unfocused. "Chief?" he whispered, reaching out to grasp a shoulder and still the rocking motion. "Come on, Junior. Look at me."

Blair obeyed. "Jim?"

"Hey," Jim teased softly. "Remember the deal? We don't call your father by his first name."

"Ji---" Blair swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Sorry, man. I... ah, kinda bugged out on you."

"It's okay, I understand." Jim didn't like the fact Blair's face was still too pale. He'd seen his partner get sick a second time. Pulling Blair out of the chair, he realized Blair was cold, his skin cool to the touch. "Go get in the shower and warm up. I'll go down to the front desk and order us some soup for lunch, then send an update to Cahill."

Blair allowed himself to be herded into the small bathroom. Jim checked the rack on the wall. Good, the maid had been by. There were plenty of clean towels for his friend to use. He gave Blair's back one last pat and left him to his shower.

After making a quick trip down the hallway to order the soup first, Jim set up the laptop to send a long and detailed message. The lake belonged to the Tribe. He already knew the Feds would be coming to investigate the murder since technically the tribe did not have the authority to do so by themselves. Maybe they could use this to some advantage. Whatever the case, he needed to know as soon as humanly possible who the victim had been. If it turned out it was Naomi they'd retrieved from the bottom, he wanted to get Blair back to Cascade as soon as possible.

Jim found a few messages in the inbox Cahill had created for them. He opened them quickly and scanned the text. The list of names had not been productive. It was unlikely that a man who posed as a threat to the United States would sign in under his true name anyway, but it was worth the risk. A few other wealthy men and women were registered, one from Seattle, another from Canada. Jim was confident that the cover the CIA had built from him and Blair would hold up to any scrutiny. He'd watched as Simon and Cahill had meticulously gone over the fake background, as they'd set this up.

The second email was from Simon, letting him know about his cases and basically just touching bases. Jim smiled, comforted in the unspoken worry he picked up between the lines. He knew his friend, if Simon could have found a way, he'd be here, too.

It only took a few minutes to prepare the report. Jim had always been a competent person with a keyboard. His fingers flew over the keys as he typed out his report and hit the send key. As he started the shut down procedure, he realized no sounds of a shower in progress were coming from the bathroom.

Damn.

"Hey," he called out, tapping on the closed door. "You okay? I'm coming in."

Blair hadn't moved. He still stood, his head bowed, staring at the floor with the same blank expression.

"Chief, don't." Jim started on the buttons of the heavy wool pea coat. Blair had dressed in at least three layers on top of his Henley that morning.

"Was it her?" Blair asked flatly, his voice emotionless, not even caring that another person was beginning to undress him.

Working the coat off the slender shoulders, Jim avoided Blair's eyes. "I can't say for sure. I'd rather wait until the local medical examiner finishes."

Batting the hands away, Blair started unbuttoning the next shirt as he toed off his sneakers. "I'm not asking for conclusive evidence, man. Just give me your gut feeling."

Leaning against the bath counter top, Jim shrugged. "She was about your mom's size, but that's all I could tell. No scents, nothing recognizable. Did Naomi have any marks or tattoos?"

"She thought about getting one once or twice, but I don't think she ever did." Blair paused, his hands still on the buttons. "What did they do to her face? The woman we found..." He swallowed, unable to continue, watching Jim's face as if looking for some clue.

Jim scrubbed his face wearily. "I can't be sure, but I think someone beat her with the same chain they used to weigh her down."

"Oh, God," Blair moaned. He doubled over and stumbled out of the bathroom.

`Shit. Way to go, Ellison,' Jim thought, following his partner. Blair bypassed the chairs and fell onto his bed, curling into a tight ball. A knock on the door kept Jim from going to his friend's side. Soup had arrived.

Something told him he would be eating alone.

The resort had wanted to bring a doctor in from the nearest town. Jim explained to the manager that his son didn't need medical attention. Apparently, when the waiter had arrived with the soup, he'd seen Blair's state of distress and reported it. After assuring all parties that everything was fine and James, Junior would recover from the ghastly experience on the lake, Jim was able to close and lock the door. At least the manager had promised to keep any visitors or - even worse - possible reporters from bothering them.

Jim eyed the huddled form on the bed thoughtfully. Blair still looked cold, but he doubted he could talk the younger man into taking that hot shower. Removing the plush comforter off his own bed, he wordlessly draped it over his partner. Blair didn't comment, content to remain curled and withdrawn from the realities of the day.

Jim started the gas fireplace and sat down to eat the lukewarm soup. Thirty minutes later, Blair's breathing evened out, signaling to Jim that he had fallen asleep.

What a mess. He thought back to the body they'd found. Did he think it was Naomi? He truly didn't know. The hair was the right length, but seemed darker then he'd remembered. It was likely she could have dyed her color to hide her unforgettable red locks. If only the damage to the face hadn't been so brutal.

Jim didn't believe in coincidences. Whatever had brought Naomi to this remote area had to be connected to the body they'd found. The deputies and Tribal Police had been literally shocked at the sight of the body. Violent crimes in the area were not common, obviously. So what had Naomi become involved in? It had to be something important. Since Jim had learned her true character, he'd recognized her as a professional. She would have contacted Cahill if she'd had the chance.

Being weighted down by chains at the bottom of Quinault Lake would be a good reason not to be able to contact one's boss.

Jim woke with a start in the chair. The sound of Blair's breathing, the shadows of the room, added with the heat from the fireplace had caused him to doze off. Now, the sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway signaled they were about to have company. A fragrant scent of expensive tobacco met Jim's nose and he went to open the door expectantly.

The manager, a short man with heavy jowls was just raising his hand to knock. "Oh! Excuse..." he broke off, glancing over Jim's shoulder to the far bed and seeing Blair under the comforter. He continued in a much quieter voice. "...me, Mr. Polson. I know we talked about no visitors, but these gentlemen are with the FBI. I thought, under the circumstances..."

Jim nodded briskly to the manager. "It's okay. Thank for bringing them down." He opened the door and stood aside. "Please come in, gentlemen." He waited until the two agents passed before blocking the doorway again. The last thing they needed was the manager in on the meeting. "Thanks again." Jim closed the door abruptly, anxious to hear what the agents had to say.

Tristan Cahill raised an eyebrow at Jim as he waved a hand around the room.

"It's okay," Jim said. "I swept it a few hours ago."

"Good." Tristan set his briefcase down, his eyes drawn to the far bed. He pulled out a three inch, dull black cube that he set on the side table and pushed a small button on the top. "We need to talk."

Jim met Simon Banks' eyes, happy to have his friend at his side. Something told Jim that he was going to need all the support he could get in a few minutes.

"You okay, Jim?" Simon asked.

"I'm good, Blair's had better days, though," Jim muttered. "I'll wake him."

Blair woke reluctantly. Jim had to repeat himself. "Cahill is here, Chief. Wake up."

Pushing long strands of wavy hair back from his face, Blair sat up and blinked at the guests. "Tristan... Simon." He looked back at Jim expectantly. "Did I sleep all night?"

"No." Jim sat on Blair's bed and waved at the two wingback chairs, inviting the men to make themselves comfortable. "It's still Sunday."

"We got your email and arranged to fly out as FBI agents investigating the body you both found this morning," Tristan explained, pulling the chair around to face Blair's bed. "We've just come from examining the body you found in the lake." Tristan sat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on both knees. He looked at Blair as he spoke. "That's not your mother, son."

A faint cry escaped Blair's throat. Jim doubted that anyone else heard it. Blair was frozen, not even breathing as he seemed to process the information, his bloodshot eyes wide with surprise. A muscle under one eye twitched and he swallowed hard. "You're sure? How can... It's only been a few..." He turned to Jim, his emotions warring so plainly on his face. "Jim?"

"They just got here, Chief. I'm hearing this for the first time, too." He draped an arm around his friend's shoulders and turned to Tristan. "Did you check fingerprints?"

Tristan shook his head. "I didn't have to. The body is missing a few scars that Naomi never bothered to conceal with surgery." He shrugged.

Jim nodded. What a relief. Before he could say anything, Blair flung off his arm and scrambled out from under the comforter and off the bed.

"Just GREAT!" Blair shouted, causing the other men to sit upright with surprise as he threw both arms into the air. "Where the HELL is she!" He raked fingers angrily into his hair, curling them into fistfuls of locks. "Why would she do this to me?"

"Calm down, Chief!" Jim ordered firmly. "Blowing up is not going to help. But you may just screw up any chance to help your mother!" He kept his voice low, but used a tone he hadn't had to use since he was a captain in the rangers.

But it worked.

Blair opened his mouth to reply, but caught Jim's eye and bit back his words. Jim understood only too well. Blair had become fed up with the seesaw effect of jumping back and forth between despair and hope.

"We understand, Chief," Jim said softly, standing to give Blair's shoulder a squeeze. "We'll get through this."

The anger in Blair's face dissipated, replaced by an almost embarrassed look of sheepish fatigue. "Yeah, okay." He dropped back down on the edge of his bed and sighed. "So, do we know who that woman in the lake was?"

"Actually," Tristan answered sadly. "I think I do."

Blair took a moment to use the bathroom. Jim had gone off to order more food. Blair hoped the other three men were hungry, because there was no way he'd be able to choke down anything. Splashing cold water on his face, he took a moment to examine the results.

He looked like something the cat refused to touch - let alone drag home.

His stupid hair was sticking out in every direction. His eyes were bloodshot. Even his skin seemed to turn against him, looking mottled and pale. And to add to his misery, he went and had a temper tantrum in front of Tristan. What was he thinking? It was a good thing there were no windows in here, because Blair was tempted to sneak off somewhere and start a worm farm.

Except he really needed to find his mother.

Gathering his rebellious hair into a ponytail, Blair brushed his teeth to rid the sour taste from his mouth and rejoined Tristan and Simon just as Jim returned.

"Okay, coffee and bagels are on the way," Jim said.

Blair felt the sentinel's scrutiny and knew the man was monitoring him as he sat back down on the end of Blair's bed. Someone had moved the low table into the middle of the room and it was now covered with reports, giving the feeling of a small command post. Blair sat next to Jim, giving the two older men the chairs.

"We may have a reasonable theory as to what Naomi is involved in," Tristan said, beginning the meeting. "When I examined the body from the lake, I recognized a birthmark on her shoulder. I'm fairly sure the woman was Sara Montgomery, one of our agents who disappeared two months ago. She was a field agent whose expertise was communications."

"What was she working on when she disappeared?" Jim asked.

"Without going into a lot of details, we have reason to believe classified software used by the military is being slipped out of the country," Tristan explained. "Montgomery was following a lead when she disappeared somewhere in Florida. Naomi may have picked up that lead and gone off to investigate on her own, then found she couldn't communicate back to us. It wouldn't be the first time."

Something about the way the man talked made Blair think Naomi had been called on the carpet more than once for running off without telling her supervisors. Must be the same gene he had inherited that caused him to go investigate Club Doom after Jim had told him not to.

"So, Montgomery ends up in the lake," Jim said. "Why? When?"

"The cold temperature of the lake is going to make time of death hard," Simon noted.

"True, we can assume that she got too close to the parties selling military secrets," Tristan added. He looked at Jim and Blair as if assessing them. "Your covers are solid. We actually set up the company weeks ago. On paper it's legit. We planned on using the company as bait. I had no idea I'd be sending you both into this scenario."

"But this is good, right?" Blair said quickly. "If the bad guys are around, they'll contact us. We'll know who they are."

Jim grunted, crossing his arms across his chest. "Take Sandburg back with you. I'll stay and wait for contact."

"What?" Blair couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I'm not leaving!"

"Chief, remember that woman's face? These people do not play nice," Jim told him, with a look that told Blair he wasn't going to accept any other plan than his own.

Well, tough. Blair wasn't going to back down. "This is my mom. She sent the message to me, remember?" Blair crossed his own arms to mimic Jim. "I'm staying."

"Here we go..." Simon muttered softly to himself.

"Hold on, people." Tristan held a hand up, commanding everyone's attention. He pinned Blair with an authoritarian gaze. "First off, Blair, Naomi would never intentionally put you in danger. I'm sure she had no idea that you would end up with the cover I gave you. Had I known what was going on, I wouldn't have done it."

"That's the point!" Blair interjected quickly, taking full advantage of his father's pause. "We're here and we should let Mom do whatever it is she needs to do."

"She can do that with me, Chief," Jim cut in. "You're going back."

"I'm not," Blair countered, his eyes narrowing as he leveled his friend with his fiercest look.

"Would you both let me finish?" Tristan demanded, sighing with exasperation. He frowned at Simon. "How do you put up with these two?"

Simon snorted, waving a hand as if to say `don't get me started'.

"Listen," Tristan continued. "Both of you have valid points. Blair, this is dangerous, Jim is right. But I agree that you're both here now and the cover is in place. I suggest we give Naomi another forty-eight hours to contact you, then you both pull out."

Blair nodded happily, ignoring the scowl on Jim's face. Forty-eight hours. They could search a lot of places in that time. He was certain they could find Naomi. Heck, with Jim's abilities, if Naomi was anywhere close, they'd have her back home and safe in half that time.

"However..." Tristan looked expectantly at his son. "You both stay in the role of two people on vacation. No more sneaking into offices to copy information. Just relax, eat the fine food, maybe go hiking or see the sights. If Naomi is anywhere in the area, she'll find you."

Jim's mood seemed to lift some. "I can live with that. We'll keep a low profile and let her come to us."

"Exactly."

It was Blair's turn to frown. "What if she can't?"

Tristan gave his son a knowing smile. "Blair, we're talking about Naomi. She'll find a way."

Jim woke the next morning to the sounds of pages being turned. Blair was up. Judging by the muted glow from his side of the room, he was reading under the covers by way of a flashlight.

"Did you get any sleep?" Jim asked, tossing back the covers.

"Some... you getting up?" Blair's head appeared then his whole body emerged as he darted for the bathroom, beating Jim. "'Bout time, I gotta go, man," he said closing the door with an apologetic look at the slow cop.

Jim sat down on the bed again, popping his jaw with a wide yawn. Blair had been dipping into the caffeine last night, drinking cup after cup of coffee during dinner. No wonder he was up all night. After Tristan and Simon had left, they had memorized more of their cover before burning the pages in the fireplace and going to bed. Jim reviewed a few fake military gadgets that his `company' was supposed to have created. Even the laptop they'd been using was part of the props.

"I'm taking a shower, man."

With a grunt of resignation, Jim gathered up all the pillows on his bed and propped up against the headboard of his bed to wait. He still wasn't happy with the decision to leave Blair here at the resort. These people were ruthless. They killed with brutal methods. If it weren't for the fact it was Blair's mother they were looking for, he'd have never come out here with his friend in the first place.

But it was Naomi, the woman who had dropped everything and come to Blair's aid two months ago when he'd been kidnapped and believed dead. It dawned on Jim that Blair had just gotten over thinking Jim was dead, now he was facing the possibility his mother was dead. No wonder he was acting so emotional.

Shit, when had their lives turned into a Pierce Brosnan movie?

After they'd both showered and dressed, they headed for the restaurant.

"I'm not fishing," Blair stated calmly as he folded his menu to lie on the edge of the table. He looked better today, although Jim was beginning to see the dark circles gather under his eyes.

"The weather is supposed to be nice, let's take a hike up the river," Jim suggested.

Jim ordered a cheese and crabmeat omelet. Blair asked for oatmeal. The dining room held few guests compared to the last few days. Monday morning must not be busy for the resort, Jim mused as he looked around. The weekend crowd had gone home.

"I can do a hike," Blair commented as he folded his cloth napkin into narrow pleats. "But we can't be gone all day. We need to be available, just in case... you know."

Jim nodded. He knew.

They hiked the trail following the Quinault River for three miles after breakfast. The rainforest was a fresh world with thousands of shades of green. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above them, catching the drops of moisture that hung off the Goats Beard Moss on the tree branches. At one turn in the trail, they came upon a herd of Roosevelt Elk munching on the tender shoots of Sword Fern growing alongside the river. Jim paused for several minutes, Blair silent at his side as they both watched the large animals eat without fear.

"Incredible. The Native Americans call them Wapiti," Blair whispered, his tone one of reverent awe. "You know, these guys range as far south as Northern California, all the way up to Vancouver Island?"

"I didn't know that," Jim admitted. Leave it to his partner to have a few odd tidbits of information in his brain.

"Yeah, they say the Olympics hold the last large herd. About five thousand live here, undisturbed by humans."

"That's good. I'm glad they can live in peace." Jim watched as a bull elk lifted his massive head to meet his eye, then looked over at Blair. The bull stood about five and a half feet at his shoulders; his antlers were at least five feet across with multiple points. Jim judged his weight to be a thousand pounds, most of that was hard muscle. The Sentinel waited, ready for anything. He was relatively certain they were no threat this time of year, but it paid to be careful.

The bull elk made the decision to move his herd.

The men waited until the last straggler, a young calf walking on legs that still wobbled, disappeared into the brush.

"Wow," Blair whispered.

Jim clapped his shoulder and moved down the trail again. It felt good to stretch his legs and breathe clean air. Under different circumstances he would have taken this hike with a pack, prepared to spend several days enjoying the wild mountain range. Maybe, when this was over, he could talk Blair into taking a few days off and they could do just that.

"Shouldn't we head back?" Blair asked, breaking Jim's chain of thought.

"Okay," Jim said, knowing the younger man's mood was still overshadowed by his concern about his mother. "Let's just walk a little further. I can hear a waterfall ahead."

They found the waterfall. Gallons of water spilled over a lip about twenty feet above the trail and hit the rocks, splashing the trail and anyone who walked on it with cold droplets. A downed tree, victim from a past wind storm, made a comfortable bench for the two friends to sit on. Jim urged his guide to rest, handing him a small plastic bag of nuts, raisins and chocolate candies.

Blair tossed a small handful into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, watching the waterfall. Looking at Blair's face was like reading a billboard. Jim settled in to wait for the first question.

It didn't take long.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"What do we do when Naomi contacts us?"

"Depends... she'll either feel it's safe to talk to us openly, or act like she doesn't know us and slip us a note. We're going to have to wait."

"We should have a note ready to slip to her." Blair sat up suddenly, as if that thought shocked him as it materialized in his brain.

"Not a good idea. What if it's found on her? It could compromise her position." Jim reached for the bag and helped himself to a handful of trail snack.

Blair slumped again, frowning. "This sucks, man. I hate the fact she's in this much danger."

"I know, Chief. But she is trained for this. It's what she does."

"I don't care, man. It still sucks. I liked it better when I didn't know what she did for a living. How am I supposed to live my life, knowing she's in constant danger?" Blair asked bitterly.

Running a hand over his closely cropped dyed hair, Jim sighed and adjusted his fake prescription glasses better on his nose. "I understand what you're saying, but you're not being exactly fair here. I seem to remember a similar discussion we had in Simon's office. At least, those were the concerns that motivated Naomi when she found how dangerous it was for you to be with me."

"That's totally different, Jim!" Blair insisted.

Jim just raised an eyebrow, casting a sideways glance at his friend.

Blair's argument fell like a house of cards. "Okay... fine, so it's not. I don't care. I'm hating this." He jumped up and dusted his seat with both hands. The bark of the tree was damp and it left a dark spot on the seat of his jeans. After a couple of swipes, Blair gave up and headed back down the trail towards the resort.

Jim stood; he'd made sure his long parka had captured all the moisture, leaving his pants dry. He followed behind his guide, watching the angry movements of the younger man.

"That's okay, Chief. I hate this, too," he said quietly to himself.

The walk back did much to cool Blair's temper. He'd done it again. Why was he losing his cool every time he turned around? It wasn't like him. Jim wasn't at fault, and yet, he continued to be the brunt of his foul mood.

He stood quietly as Jim unlocked the door, waiting for the larger man to go first. Jim froze after taking one step, causing Blair to walk into his back.

"Wait," Jim ordered softly.

Blair's heart began to pound on his rib cage. He held a breath as Jim stood, seeming to survey their room with all his senses. Jim's nose flared, his eyes darted from corner to corner, he tilted his head to one side and opened his mouth as if to taste the air.

"We've had another visitor," Jim whispered so softly that Blair had to lean forward to catch the words.

They found the message left on Blair's bed, the one that hadn't been made with the military-like precision of Jim's. It was a commonplace tourist brochure for a local casino. Blair remembered seeing them on the rack in the resort's main lobby.

"What do you say we play the slots a little this evening, Junior?" Jim said in a normal, casual voice. "I feel like trying another restaurant for dinner tonight." Jim handed the glossy, colorful brochure to Blair.

No hidden message that he could see. Just an advertisement that promised good food, fun gambling and dancing for those inclined. Blair gave Jim a puzzled look. How could he be sure this is a message from Naomi?

"The smell," Jim said pointing to his nose. "Same as before."

Ahhhh.

Later that evening, Blair found himself sitting at a small, round table watching the people on the dance floor having fun. He'd been on pins and needles all afternoon, anxious to get to this casino. Now that he and Jim had arrived, wearing the best clothes they'd both packed, he was disappointed when a full hour had gone by without a sign of his mother.

He took another sip of his beer and considered switching to something stronger. No. He needed his head clear and too much alcohol had a way of making him sleepy. He fingered the spicy buffalo wing on his plate. Jim had eaten about a dozen, leaving four for Blair. Three were still left. Blair wasn't hungry. He pushed the plate away, his attention roaming the large room again. A long authentic canoe hung from the high ceiling. Black and red painted Indian wooden carvings of salmon and eagles decorated the walls of the game room. Rows of slot machines stood at attention nearby. At the other end of the room people sat around green tables, taking their chances with the card dealers.

"Excuse me, would you like to dance?" A pretty blonde woman smiled brightly at Jim.

Blair hadn't even noticed her approach. It wasn't the first time in the last sixty minutes Jim had been asked. Apparently, a Secretarial convention was being held in the nearby city of Ocean Shores this week and a busload of them had decided to hire a driver to bring them north to the casino tonight. Jim had quickly become the most popular male in the building.

"No, thank you. I'm danced out." Jim softened the answer with one of his lady-killing smiles.

Blair had to hide his smile. He'd never seen a swoon before.

After she was gone, Blair chuckled softly. "Dad, you are one hot ticket tonight."

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's the gray hair, I think. I may never go back." He stiffened, his eyes sliding off Blair to some point over the younger man's shoulder. "Don't look," he ordered sternly.

Blair wanted to turn, but held himself in check. "What?"

"I may change my mind about that dance." Jim stood as a newcomer neared their table.

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Blair gripped the edge of the table to steady himself.

"Care to dance?" she asked, her eyes for Jim alone.

"Love to," Jim answered, lightly taking the slender elbow and leading the woman away from Blair.

They were gone. Just like that. Blair remembered to breathe as he turned to watch the couple enter the dance floor. She was a beauty, with dark hair, the color of midnight. She was wearing a fire engine red dress that clung to all the right places. She moved like liquid mercury on the dance floor and it was easy to see dancing with her was a pleasure as Blair watched Jim hold her tight for the slow dance.

But then Blair knew what it was like, since this was the same woman that had taught him to slow dance nearly ten years ago, that day he'd run home with the news he'd finally asked a girl out on a date.

Naomi Sandburg knew how to sweep a man off his feet.

Waiting was painful. Blair was beginning to regret the single buffalo wing he had eaten. It was trying to burn a hole through his stomach lining. He knew he shouldn't stare, so he worked on acting casual while he nursed his beer and waited. He kept track of the music. Jim and his mom were on their third dance. Blair was about to consider leaving the table in search of his own dance partner when Jim returned to his seat with a sigh.

Alone.

"Where...?" He turned towards the dance floor, she was gone.

"Well, that was fun," Jim said brightly, picking up his drink and downing the contents in one swallow. "Ready to get some dinner?"

It totally sucked being undercover.

"Lighten up, Junior!" Jim slapped his back as they stood to head toward the restaurant in the back of the casino. "Is it my fault none of the ladies here are even close to your age?" He laughed, playing the part of the amused parent as he drew his son in for a brief hug. "Stop looking for her, she's gone," he whispered while they were close. "Let's eat!"

Blair obediently followed.

Their table was next to the large picture windows that faced the beach. Darkness hid the surf; the constant melody of the waves cresting and crashing reminded the diners they were beside the Pacific Ocean. Blair could see their reflections in the glass. Jim was studying the menu, looking every bit the man on vacation. He caught a look at his own reflection.

The term `shell-shocked' came to his mind.

How could his mother totally ignore him? Didn't she understand what the last four days had been like for him?

Right, Sandburg, it's all about you.

He lifted the heavy menu. It looked more like a novel with its thick cover and glossy pages. When the waitress came to take their order, he was still staring blankly at the appetizers.

"I'll have the seafood stew." Jim handed her his menu, looking to Blair expectantly. "Son?"

"I'm not very hungry," Blair replied honestly, giving his menu up as well.

"Bring two stews please," Jim ordered.

After the waitress wrote down their orders and headed for the kitchen Blair leaned over the table. "I hate it when you do that, man," he whispered, feeling his face flush with warmth.

"I can fit everything you've eaten today in a pencil cup," Jim answered, his eyes hard. "You need calories."

Blair knew he was right, but his mouth was like a train heading for the end of the track. "You let me decide what I need and don't need!" he hissed. "I'm not a kid."

"I agree, but you're acting like one," Jim answered with infuriating calmness. "I'm still your father. You may be over twenty-one, but you've still got a lot of growing up to do."

Blair's brain went into a rolling boil. Jim was using their roles to win the argument!

This was so not going to happen.

A million replies fought in Blair's mind for the right to be spoken next. Before he could select the proper one that was sure to peel paint, he realized they had a one-man audience.

He was standing off to the side, his attention obviously on the father and son and the fight in progress. Blair snapped his jaw shut and reached for his coffee with an unsteady hand, willing himself to calm down. The man seemed to see this as an opportunity to approach.

"Please, forgive me." His voice was smooth, refined and elegant sounding. Blair immediately pictured a vat of black oil. "Seeing you two together reminds me of times with my own father." He laughed, holding out a hand towards Jim. "I'm Christopher Staples."

Jim shook the hand coolly, looking like a person ready to rebuke a salesman. "James Polson, this is my son, James, Junior."

Blair nodded, his anger still on a slow boil, yet beginning to become curious about the strange intrusion.

"I won't stay long; I know you two are on vacation. I just wanted to introduce myself. My partner told me you were in computers and that you showed an interest in my business."

Jim waved a hand to an empty seat. "Yes, I have to confess, though, at the time I was more interested in dancing with your partner than in what she had to say."

Staples sat down, a smile playing on his face. "Yes...well, she has that effect on men."

"Frankly, my business is rather small. Most of my contracts are with Uncle Sam. It takes more than ninety percent of my resources to meet them. I doubt I could find the time to work with your business partners," Jim explained.

"That's the beauty, James. We'd be interested in looking at your current contracts."

Jim shook his head with a soft chuckle. "Sorry, those contracts are exclusive. I'm afraid I'm still too small of a fish yet to play with the big boys. I'm going to have to pass."

Staples stood, mirroring Jim's smile. "I understand. It was worth the effort to ask. Well... enjoy your vacation and excuse the interruption."

"No problem, good evening," Jim said, dismissing him while he reached for his coffee.

Blair waited until the man was out of sight before speaking. "You knew he was there."

"Yep."

"So, the fight was just an act?"

"Nope."

Blair waited until they were in the Chevy before grilling his friend.

"Spill, man."

Jim nodded. "Okay, first... she said she's okay. Not to worry."

Blair couldn't stop from snorting. Yeah, right.

"Then she said to pull out, head back to Cascade."

"What! You danced with her for an eternity! And that's all you two talked about?"

Jim shot him an exasperated look. "We talked, Chief. But we talked as if we'd just met. I'm guessing her job is to make initial contact with the targets and see if they are worth Mr. Staples' time."

Blair scrubbed his face hard with both hands. Okay. That did make sense in a sort of `spy-world' kind of way. Still, it irked him that they still knew so little. "When is she going to leave? How are we going to help her if we go home? What about Tristan? He's waiting for us to report!"

"Show down, Sandburg. Take a breath." Jim switched on the wipers. It was starting to rain again. "Remember what Cahill said? She probably didn't expect us to have these covers. I'm thinking it's too dangerous, she did tell me to turn Staples down if he made his move. Cahill knows where your mom is and he'll likely send trained operatives to back her up. We'll get a message to him and Simon when we get back to our room and update them on what happened tonight. In the morning we'll check out."

Blair couldn't answer, if he did, he'd be yelling again. He had to remember this was not Jim's fault. On one level, he even understood what the cop was saying. They weren't CIA agents; they'd probably screw it up somehow. But on a more basic level, the one closer to his heart, he refused to give in to that logic. He wouldn't leave his mother behind.

"I'm staying," he announced calmly, turning away to watch the dark trees pass by.

Jim just sighed, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his chest.

When they arrived at the resort, neither man had said anything more. Blair followed Jim into the room, not surprised to see Jim head for the bathroom and close the door.

What a mess.

Blair pulled the laptop out and powered it up. By the time Jim reappeared, he had it running, ready for Jim to type the message to send to Tristan. They exchanged places and Blair took his turn in the bathroom getting ready for bed. A travel-size roll of Tums peeked out from Jim's shaving kit. Blair frowned as he reached for his toothbrush.

Wonderful. Now Jim's got indigestion. It was always fun to fight with the man when his stomach was launching its own attack from within. Blair studied his reflection in the glass as he moved the brush up and down. His mom used to say she could take one look at his face and know when he'd done something wrong.

Blair had a feeling that look was there now, he felt guilty. This wasn't Jim's fault. In fact, Jim had really been there for him. It wasn't like he asked for a roommate who had a set of spies for parents.

Blair finished and left the bathroom, ready to apologize.

"Jim, I'm sorry." He stopped in surprise. "Hey, man, you okay?"

The older man was sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, the laptop at his side. Deep lines of pain were etched in his face. His breathing was labored, one hand rubbing his chest. "I think something is... disagreeing with me."

Blair moved to his side, alarmed at the sick pallor he saw. When he touched Jim's arm, he realized his skin was cold and clammy. "Describe the pain, Jim."

"Crushing... like you're standing on my chest," Jim answered, then grunted in pain as he doubled over at the waist. "Oh, God!"

Realization hit Blair like a rude slap in the face. Suddenly, being in a remote resort with no phones did not appear so attractive.

"Where's the pain? Just in your chest?"

Jim stayed doubled over, his forehead pressed against his forearm that he'd draped over his knees. He shook his head. "No, it's going... into my shoulder and jaw."

Shit! Shit! Blair raced back into the bathroom and grabbed his bottle of aspirin. Returning to his friend's side, he managed to get the cap off with shaky fingers and spill several out into his palm. He handed one over to Jim, tossing the rest on the covers of his bed. "Take this! I'm going to get help. I'll be right back! Don't get up! Just stay here."

He waited for Jim to nod before flying out the door, running for the main desk. Susan was at the desk and responded immediately. "Okay, I'll call an ambulance from the phone at the store. Go back and stay with your dad."

Blair started to run back, skidding to a halt as he thought of something. "How long till it gets here?"

"Fifteen... maybe twenty minutes." she tossed the reply over her shoulder as she ran for the main doors. "Keep him calm, loosen any tight clothing, like a tie or collar." Then she was gone.

Back in his room, Jim was still on the bed. Blair opened up the two buttons at his collar. "You want to lie down?"

Jim shook his head. It was obvious the level of pain was still high. Blair was terrified. He'd seen Jim in grief, in pain from a sensory spike, even beat up. But this was different. This was Jim's own body hurting him, failing him.

"I told you those wonder burgers were no good, man," Blair said, trying for a joke, but choking on the last few words.

God, he felt so helpless.

"Listen to me," Jim whispered as another spasm of heart pain passed. "Get to Simon, he's staying in Aberdeen." Another bad spell caused Jim to stop and roll over onto his side; his face was white, his eyes scrunched shut. A low moan vibrated deep within the man's chest.

"Jim!" Blair fell to his knees next to the bed, clutching Jim's upper arm in frustration. "Don't talk! Please, please, just breathe. Relax for me and keep breathing." Blair looked over his shoulder at the open door. How long had it been? Where was the ambulance?

Susan came through the door. "How is he? Help is on the way." She was carrying a portable oxygen tank and clear tubing connected to a mask.

Blair was never happier to see anyone in his life.

When the two men wearing white uniform shirts arrived with their medical boxes and rolling gurney, Jim was barely conscious. They quickly started an I.V. of clear fluid, checked blood pressures and pulses. Amazingly, Blair remembered to stay in character. This was to his advantage, because the ambulance crew only let members of the family ride along.

Susan walked them out to the waiting ambulance, squeezed Blair's arm and wished them luck as they loaded Jim into the back. The older man's pain seemed better now, not as extreme and for the first time since it started, Blair began to believe everything was going to be okay.

"Want to ride in the back?" the attendant asked, looming nearly two feet over Blair's head. He looked about thirty, his tree-trunk sized arms stretched his uniform and his muscular chest could be rented out as a billboard.

"Thanks." Blair scrambled in, settling on the long bench next to Jim's gurney. He eyed his friend's face. Jim looked like he was sleeping, his face peaceful again. His color was still much too pale, but he didn't look as sweaty as before.

"So, when did this attack start? My name's Jay, by the way," the large man asked.

"Ah, right after dinner, I guess," Blair answered, not taking his eyes off Jim's face. "He thought it was indigestion at first."

"That happens a lot," Jay said, busy stowing their equipment. The ambulance began to move and he folded into a seat above the gurney, leaving Blair to sit next to Jim. "Your dad ever have heart problems before? He looks pretty fit to me."

Shaking his head, Blair leaned forward as Jim's eyelids fluttered for a second. He nearly blurted out `Jim' before stopping himself in time. "Dad?"

"Chief... go to Simon." Jim seemed so weak, barely able to speak.

"I'll call from the hospital. Everything's going to be okay now. Just rest, man." Blair patted his friend's arm, careful of the I.V tubing.

"He's going to sleep for a bit, that medicine in his drip makes folks sleepy," Jay explained as he wrote on a clipboard.

Blair didn't bother to answer, content to watch the rise and fall of Jim's chest.

When the ambulance stopped, Blair glanced out the two boxy windows in the rear doors. The last few blocks had been rough, like the road was under construction. It was black outside, no streetlights, no sounds of cars passing by. Blair frowned. What kind of backwater hospital would this turn out to be? Jim was right; he did need to get a hold of Simon right way. They could transfer Jim to a bigger hospital as soon as possible, maybe in Olympia.

"End of the ride," Jay announced, leaving his seat and removing the IV needle from Jim's arm then taping a quick cotton ball over the puncture site.

The back doors swung open and Jay's partner appeared. The two attendants released the rolling bed from its clamp and slid Jim out. Blair followed, shivering in the coolness of the night. The rain was falling hard, soaking all of them within seconds. Blair stayed close to Jim's side. The man was asleep, not even the rain on his face waking him.

Adjusting the blanket higher to try and protect as much of his friend from getting wet as possible, Blair glanced up to see how far before they reached the safety of the hospital.

They weren't at a hospital at all.

They weren't even in a town.

"What the hell!" He froze, then twisted his neck, peering around to take in their location.

"Keep walking, kid," Jay ordered, his friendly demeanor gone.

Two men stepped out from the darker shadows holding guns. Blair gripped the gurney's rail hard with both hands, furious with himself for not recognizing what had happened. "We don't have time for this! He needs a hospital!"

One of the gunmen gestured up the slope towards the huge house, the only structure visible in the thick forest they'd driven out to. "Move or we'll drag you by your hair."

Blair moved, keeping close to Jim. The kidnappers took them inside through a side door. They watched Blair carefully as they moved through a large commercial-sized kitchen, as if he planned to lunge for a drawer in search for a butcher knife. The next doorway led to a long hallway. They followed this to the end, emerging in a sitting room of sorts, apparently decorated by a person with an interest in hunting.

Eyeing the animal heads, Blair refused to think of them as trophies. He didn't notice the familiar man in the room until the other man spoke.

"James, Junior... welcome."

It was Staples. Blair released Jim's bed rail and took several angry steps towards him, stopped only by the sudden presence of one of the gunmen.

"Unless you've got a doctor and a complete medical setup for my dad..."

"Relax." Staples held up a calming hand. "Your father's not having a heart attack. I had something added to his stew just to make him think he was."

Blair had heard the expression `seeing red' a million times, but he hadn't realized that it was physically possible, until this moment. With a primal scream, he launched himself at Staples, hands out, reaching for the throat, ready to rip it apart. Staples fell back, a flash of fear ghosting across his face. But Jay moved quickly, cutting off Blair's attack and holding the smaller man back.

"You stupid idiot!" Blair screamed, twisting in the man's hirsute, muscular arms. "You could have killed him!"

Staples took another step back and Blair felt a momentary surge of satisfaction to see the man forced to regain his composure before replying. "Such fierce loyalty! A rare commodity in today's children," he said in a slightly shaky voice. "These men will take you to your room. We'll talk more when your father is awake."

They rolled Jim through another door and Blair stopped struggling. He didn't want to be separated from Jim. Not if he had some unknown drug in his blood. He needed to be watched. Thankfully, he was taken in the same direction. A full size elevator lowered them down one floor. Blair tried to memorize the turns and hallways, but it was hard. The house had been built with a main structure and two wings. He remembered seeing at least three levels from outside.

"Here you go, little man," Jay announced as they opened a metal door. They rolled the gurney into the small room, then, with a sudden movement, upended one side, dumping Jim to the concrete floor. The dull thud of the unconscious man's head hitting the floor caused Blair to flinch.

"You shit-heads!" Blair yelled, furiously trying to jerk free from Jay's iron-like grip.

Blair got his wish as Jay shoved him hard, too fast to catch himself. He fell on his hands and knees into the room. The gurney was being rolled out. In a blur, Blair snatched the blanket off as it left and scrambled backwards to squat next to Jim's body.

Jay laughed. "Keep it, little man."

Seconds later, Blair was alone with his sentinel. The sound of a deadbolt being driven home was followed by footsteps walking away.

The first thing Jim registered when he woke was the absence of pain. The second was the warmth at his side accompanied by the familiar sound of Blair's snores. Thoughts were fuzzy and his mental processing seemed off, like an old computer that had fallen behind in the world of technology. Blinking a few times, Jim noted the bare concrete walls, the cool temperature in the room, the roughness of the wool blanket over his and Blair's body and made a few rapid conclusions.

Not a hospital.

An obvious shortage of beds.

They were in trouble.

Blair faced him, pressed close on the narrow bed, asleep on his side. Neither of them had a pillow, so his head was tilted at an awkward angle. Jim lifted an arm, still sore from the I.V. and gently laid a hand over his friend's mouth. "Rise and shine, Chief," he whispered. Blue eyes opened in alarm, followed by relief as they locked with his. Jim removed his hand. "Hey, son," Jim continued, hoping Blair would understand the unspoken reminder.

"Hey," Blair answered quietly, his eyes searching Jim's face. "Are you okay? They drugged you. It wasn't a heart attack."

"Staples?" He should have seen this coming. Damn, these guys moved fast. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Blair sat up, moving stiffly off the bed. Jim followed. Their prison was small, about ten by fifteen feet, no windows, no rugs, just a bed and a drain in the floor giving off a strong smell of urine.

"I don't think this place is listed in the Northwest Escape Magazine," Blair noted.

The words were meant to be light and casual, but the delivery spoke to the underlying fear. Jim had to give his friend credit, he was trying. But whoever was behind this was expecting the typical reaction of a software business owner.

Going to the heavy metal door, Jim tried the knob, found it locked and kicked it hard with his foot. "Hey!! Open the damn door!" After playing the part of the furious victim for a few more minutes, he gave up and made a show of closely examining the lock to the door, then surveying the walls. Blair stood in the center of the room, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

The result was as expected. They seemed to be in a secure holding area. Jim detected a miniature lens high in a corner, sunk into a rough patch of concrete, unseen by the casual eye. A microphone was probably in the recessed light fixture, safe behind a heavy-duty mesh.

"What happened? How did we get here?" he asked, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his head.

"The ambulance, I don't think those guys really work for the hospital. They gave you something that made you sleep and brought us both to this huge house in the forest." Blair dropped his eyes, as if in shame. "I didn't watch which direction we were going, sorry."

Jim rolled his eyes, pulling Blair back to sit beside him on the bed. "It's not a problem; you had other things on your mind." Draping an arm around Blair's shoulders he realized his friend was shivering. Blair's shirt was damp. One problem with being in a rainforest is the high humidity. Wet clothes took forever to dry, especially if they were forced to remain in this cold room.

"Here." Jim took the wool blanket off the bed to wrap around his guide. "We may have a long wait," he whispered. "There's a camera over there in the corner, they're listening in on us, too."

When the guards came for them, Blair had dropped off to sleep again, sitting next to Jim, still wrapped in the blanket. Jim woke his friend and the three gunmen escorted them to an elevator, ending up in a large room with a long oak table, a braided rug and picture windows that gave a full view of a lush rain forest. Bronze figurines of cowboys on horseback sat on shelves next to antique china cabinets.

Staples sat at the table, his back to the window. Two place settings waited for Jim and Blair. The guards pushed them to the table and indicated they were to take seats. Apparently it was time to feed the prisoners. Jim pulled the chair back and sat, Blair copied the movement.

"What the hell is going on? My son tells me I was drugged; made to think I was having a heart attack so you can - what, kidnap us?" Jim demanded, gripping the edge of the table angrily as he talked.

"Calm down, Mr. Polson. I'll explain everything." Staples waved in a heavyset man wearing a white apron. "First, it's time for breakfast. You two must be hungry."

The plates set down before them held a feast for the eyes, golden French toast, two eggs, and four sausages. Jim lifted Blair's plate to his face, taking a careful sniff before returning it. He couldn't smell anything, but then again, he'd never smelled anything in the stew. Jim made a sign to Blair, telling him not to eat yet.

"I want some answers, Mr. Staples. If that's really your name."

"It's not, but that's not your concern. The food is fine, here, let me show you." He picked up his own plate and switched it.

Jim switched it back. "It is my concern. Kidnapping is a serious issue. I want a car, we're leaving, we'll buy our own breakfast on the way back to Quinault."

Staples found that amusing. "So you can call the police and send them back? I don't think so. Here's the ugly fact, Polson." He picked up his fork and started to eat, taking time to pat his mouth with a cloth napkin in between sentences. "I want a look at the software you're designing for the military. We know you have several contracts. We're not greedy; we'll only take those we need. The military will never know."

"I'll know. That's enough," Jim said flatly. "The answer is still no."

"We've done our homework," Staples went on, unconcerned at Jim's lack of cooperation. "You're a widower. You have a single child, rather you had a single child." Staples looked at Blair with a hint of a smile. "Now, I have your son. If you want him back... alive, then you'll do as we tell you."

Jim could hear Blair's heart rate increase and he took a second to look at his guide. Blair sat perfectly still, looking unflappable in face of the obvious threat.

"He's not a traitor," Blair stated calmly.

"Maybe, but he is a father."

Jim never saw the signal, maybe there wasn't a physical one, maybe these people have been in the business of extortion for so long, they'd learned to read each other's minds. Whatever the reason, two of the gunmen hauled Blair out of his chair causing the younger man to yelp in surprise.

"Leave him alone!" Jim barreled out of his chair only to be stopped short, coming face to face with an automatic handgun.

Blair's arms were pinned behind his back by a large, muscular man, allowing the other man to deliver solid blows to his body. Blair grunted in pain as each rock-hard fist sank into his stomach, smashed into his cheek and ribs.

"I want those programs, Mr. Polson," Staples said, calmly resuming his breakfast. "I'll have James, Junior killed, right in front of your eyes and go find someone else you love. A girlfriend, maybe?"

"Tell them to stop!" Jim shouted, cursing the man, not having to pretend to be furious.

Staples seemed to read an adequate amount of terror and rage in Jim's voice because the attack stopped and Blair was dropped to the floor like last weeks dirty laundry. The other thugs stepped back, giving the sentinel silent permission to go to his guide. Jim knocked his chair back, toppling it in his haste. Blair was still conscious, bleeding from a deep cut on his cheek, curled into a fetal ball as Jim reached his side.

"Let me look," Jim demanded, his tone more harsh then he intended. Blair uncurled with a groan, his eyes screwed closed in pain, his breaths coming in short rapid gasps as if normal sized inhalations hurt. Jim pressed gently into Blair's stomach, holding his partner still with one hand on his shoulder. Still soft, but it was really too early to know if anything had been ruptured. Jim looked over his shoulder, his body literally vibrating with anger. "Touch him again and I'll kill you!"

Staples never looked up from his meal. "Take them back to their room. Mr. Polson has a lot to think about."

When the two bruisers moved to take Blair, Jim snarled. "Hands off!" He rolled Blair into a sitting position, ignoring the soft cry of pain it caused. "Come on, Darwin," he whispered. "Stand up for me."

With help, Blair managed to get to his feet. Pulling the injured man's arm over the back of his neck, Jim half supported, half dragged him back to the basement room. Blair held on tight, using his free arm to splint his ribs. Back in their room, Jim laid Blair down on the bed.

"I want first aid supplies, drinking water and more blankets!" he barked at the guards before they could close and lock the door. "You tell Staples I'm not considering shit until I get them."

Alone in their room, Jim turned his attention back to Blair. "Hey, talk to me, kid." He pulled the tail of his own dress shirt out of his belt and ripped a large section off to press against Blair's face. Blair groaned, weakly pushing at Jim's hands as he tried to roll towards the wall. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, Jim captured both of the uncooperative hands in his and continued to apply the makeshift pressure bandage with the other.

"Lay still."

"Jjjiim-"

"Hush, listen to your father," he ordered quickly, freeing Blair's hands and patting his shoulder. "It's going to be okay, they're not going to touch you again."

Blair moaned. He drew his knees up, wrapping both arms around his abdomen. "Oh... God, it hurts."

"I know, you're going to have a few spasms. They'll pass, try and take deep breaths."

"Can't, man... that hurts worse."

Jim reached under Blair's shirt and lightly checked for broken ribs, easily feeling heat from multiple contusions. Blair needed ice, hell, he needed a hospital. Footsteps neared. The door opened; they had delivered the requested supplies. The first thug set them down by the door while the second man covered the prisoners with his gun. After they'd left Jim gathered up the supplies taking a quick inventory; two more blankets, a first aid kit and four small water bottles.

Tearing into the kit, Jim found pre-moistened towelettes to clean Blair's face, and butterfly bandages to close the wound. Blair suffered through the attention quietly, his eyes closed. Next, Jim opened up two packages of aspirin and made his friend take them with small sips of water. He double-checked Blair's abdomen, checking again for hard spots that might hint at a ruptured organ. Still soft. Jim begin to relax, maybe they'd get through this okay, after all, they still had a few hidden cards to play; the biggest one being a certain red-head.

"More water," Blair asked.

Jim picked the open bottle off the floor and handed it over. "Just a few more sips. I want to make sure none of those punches did any real damage."

Blair grunted, took the allotted drink and lay back down. "Not like... they're gonna... drive me... to the hospital."

Jim smiled. "True, but I'm not taking any chances. Let's get those damp clothes off. We've got extra blankets now."

Blair didn't have to be told twice, once out of his damp shirt and black jeans, he let Jim swathe him in two blankets. With a sigh, he settled back down on the bed, curled on his side and closed his eyes. Jim had enough room to sit sideways at the head of the bed, his back against the concrete wall, Blair's curly head just brushing against his thigh. He rested a hand on his guide's blanket-covered shoulder.

"Get some sleep, Junior. I'll wake you if anybody comes."

"'kay. But when I wake up... we need to split," he whispered so softly there was no chance anyone could overhear the words. "I don't like it here."

Jim snickered, patting Blair on the shoulder once and squeezing. "Deal."

Blair slept for three hours, giving Jim time to think about their situation, drink one of the water bottles and use the drain in the corner of the room. He was on his third set of stretching exercises when Blair moaned in his sleep.

The aspirin had worn off.

Jim took out another dose and set it aside. He needed to check his friend one more time for internal injuries. "Time to wake up," he said, easing Blair over onto his back and working at the edges of the blanket.

"Oh... damn, I'm sore."

The beating had left bruises on Blair's face, to including a black eye. Jim quickly checked, relieved to still find Blair's stomach tender but soft. He opened the pill packets and helped Blair to sit up to take them. He let Blair finish the bottle, then helped to finish unwrapping the blankets from around his feet so he could get up to use the drain to relieve his bladder.

Just as Blair finished donning his slightly damp clothes, Jim heard the footsteps.

"Show time," he warned quietly.

The last thing Blair felt like doing was going back upstairs to face Staples. He hurt. But he wasn't letting Jim go with these cavemen alone, so he bit back his groans as Jim gave the warning. The door opened and they retraced their steps to the main floor. This time they were taken to a cozy den, complete with dark green walls, bookcases filled with interesting titles and a state of the art computer system.

"Well, you look like a man that's made a decision." Staples was in the same clothes as earlier that day, expensive gray corduroys and a hand-knit green Irish cable sweater.

Blair snuck a quick peek at Jim, wondering what the man was thinking. He didn't have to wonder; Jim's face clearly showed what was on his mind. If he ever got the chance to follow through, Jim would be serving life.

"Cut the crap and tell me what you want," Jim answered with icy abruptness.

Staples gave a knowing nod and pointed to the computer. "This is Bill Gate's best system. You should be able to access your personal files. I want the files on your miniature long-range wireless communication devices you're doing for the Navy, the ones that work underwater."

Blair bit his lip. Jim was no stranger to computers; would he remember Tristan's instructions on how to navigate the fake files the CIA had dummied up?

"No."

Staples seemed truly surprised. "Really? Your son doesn't look too happy with the prospect of more attention from my men."

Jim crossed his arms. "Then you're more of an idiot than you look. My son is the computer brain of the business. If you want our secrets you'd better stop knocking the golden goose around."

"What?" Staples eyes narrowed. "Your bio doesn't say that."

"Do I need to reveal every fact about my life to the public, I hadn't realized." Jim was really pouring on the sarcasm now and Blair had to work to keep from smiling. "I'll admit, I'm surprised you've manage to last this long, judging by the way you leap to conclusions without getting any facts."

"Enough!" Staples pointed to Blair. "Sit down at that computer and get me those files, or you're going to watch your father get ten times worse than what you got."

Shooting a glance at Jim and getting the okay to proceed, Blair did as instructed. The computer was already on and running. He found the Internet link and started to type. Staple's computer was fast and Blair found himself wishing he owned it. He was aware of the presence behind him as he typed and he shoved the envy aside to concentrate on the task at hand. A few minutes later the file was located.

"Move away," Staples ordered.

Blair stood up with a smile. Lovely thing about the Internet, he thought to himself, it looks at you while you look at it. Now all they had to do was stay alive until Tristan and his people could find them. He returned to stand at Jim's side while their host studied the screen with interest. The man's fingers flew over the keyboard.

"It's not copying," he complained with a frown, then his eyes widened in alarm. "Shit!" Frantically he began typing for a few seconds. He finally stopped and looked up as his prisoners, his face twisted into an angry mask. "You set me up," he accused.

Jim shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest in the typical `what did you expect' stance that Blair knew so well. "Think about it for more than two seconds, Einstein. I deal in government contracts. I'm bound to have something a little more sophisticated than Radio Shack for security."

Blair could see Staples' temper was nearing critical mass. The man rose to his feet. "Take the kid!" he yelled, his earlier cool demeanor completely replaced now with fury.

Jim shoved Blair into a nearby corner, reducing Blair's world to a view of Jim's back. Blair grabbed the cotton shirt with both hands and held on, still aching from the last beating. He wasn't looking forward to more of the same.

"Back off!" Jim commanded. "I'm willing to cooperate; we just can't download the file with a simple remote hook up!"

Miraculously, Jim wasn't knocked aside.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Staples voice answered, still sounding pissed but becoming calmer. "You're getting me that program if you have to walk into your company, retrieve it personally and walk out. That little dog and pony security didn't get past my firewalls. I'm secure here and you'll do well to remember that. Now step aside."

Oh man, here it comes. Blair's hands involuntarily tightened into fists, wrinkling Jim's shirt. He watched Jim's back and neck muscles tense, ready for a fight.

"No, you touch him again and all deals are off!"

Now Jim sounded pissed and Blair realized both of them were likely to end up holding the short stick, or in this case, bruised faces. There was no point in Jim getting hurt, not when it could be avoided. Blair uncurled his fingers and lightly patted Jim's back. "Hey, man..."

Jim interrupted, totally ignoring Blair's whispers. "I can have what you want delivered. I have an assistant that will bring them. I just need my laptop from the resort. It's under the bed."

Staples seemed to consider Jim's offer and Blair risked a peek over one shoulder. Yep, the man did seem a lot calmer now. Maybe this would work and he wouldn't have to be a punching bag for the goon patrol again.

"I can provide that," Staples said with a nod. "Okay, for now we'll play it your way, Mr. Polson." He looked to his men. "Take them back. Have cook prepare a meal and deliver it to them."

Jim pulled Blair out of the corner to walk closely by the cop's side as they were marched back to their room. Once they were safely locked in and alone, Jim turned him free and Blair dropped to perch on the edge of the only piece of furniture available, the bed. Jim sat at his side. They stared at the floor for a moment. The room was probably still bugged; there was nothing to say. Blair fingered the cut on his cheek, the swelling around his black eye kept the lid from opening all the way. His ribs still hurt whenever he forgot and took a deep breath and his stomach... well, it just plain hurt.

Jim lifted his arm and dropped it around Blair's shoulders. "It's going to be okay, son."

Blair knew Jim was acting the part of the protective father for the hidden camera, but it still was kind of nice.

"I know, Dad."

Lunch turned out to be sandwiches, potato chips and more bottled water. Jim carefully checked over the food before either of them ate. He swallowed each bite without tasting. They needed the calories. They needed to keep physically prepared to fight, or run, depending upon which opportunity arose first. Jim glanced over at his friend, noting Blair was eating without having to be told. The kid seemed to be holding up. Jim was proud of him.

Now if they could manage to get through this without any further `beating lessons' ordered by Staples with Blair on the receiving end. He raided the first aid kit one more time and offered Blair the last of the aspirin; just two left, he'd need to demand more.

"Why don't you get some more sleep?" Jim suggested, moving down to the end of the bed to let his friend curl up as before.

"Nah ... I'm good."

"That wasn't a suggestion, Junior," Jim told him sternly.

Under normal circumstances, Blair would remind Jim in clear English `why' he didn't need rest, why he was an adult and could make these decisions on his own, without Jim's help. For a few seconds, the younger man looked like he was going to go into such details, but just for a second. With a nod, Blair picked up a blanket and wrapped up to lie down.

"Wake me if they come, man."

"I will."

Soon, Blair's respirations leveled out and he was asleep. Jim's own eyelids felt heavy and he took his own advice. It occurred to him maybe Staples did drug them, but he doubted it. He just felt like a man who had been through a rough day.

When he woke to the sounds of approaching footsteps, his neck felt stiff. Blair was still asleep, his arm folded under his head as a makeshift pillow. He woke quickly and they both were sitting side by side by the time the door opened and the guards motioned them to exit and escorted them back to the main level.

Staples wasn't alone this time.

"Susan!" Blair blurted out fearfully as they entered the same office they'd been in before.

Jim recognized the young woman from the resort. Dressed in jeans and a light green sweater, she seemed older and it occurred to Jim they'd been set up from the first day.

"Hey, guys," Susan answered with a knowing smile. "I brought your things from the resort."

Blair looked pole-axed, his mouth opening and closing as if he'd forgotten how to talk. He shot a puzzled look at Jim.

"I'm guessing she's the reason we didn't get a real ambulance, son," Jim noted dryly.

"Here's your laptop," Staples said, pointing to the familiar looking computer and cutting the reunion short. "Contact your assistant. I want the software delivered to the resort."

"Don't bother, darling," a new female voice interrupted. "James Polson is really James Ellison."

Shit! Jim turned to shoot a poisonous glare at the newcomer. The gasp from Blair caused him to grab his guide's arm and squeeze, hoping Blair would have the sense to keep his mouth shut.

"What!" Staples shouted, causing the four armed guards to straighten up and look ready to shoot.

She still looked as beautiful as she had at the casino last night. Her hair was still dark and she wore a cream-colored cashmere knitted dress that clung to her curves. She entered the room like an aloof debutante and laid a slim file down in front of Staples. "I just got the information from the CIA a few minutes ago. He's a dead ringer for the real James Polson, but he's a cop from a town called Cascade," Naomi Sandburg said as if discussing the weather. "This is why I told you not to make a move until I had a chance to check them out."

Staples slammed his fist down on his desk. "I refuse to believe they've located us already! It had to be pure chance they ended up at the resort. Who's the other one?" He pointed to Blair. "I'm supposed to believe he's a cop, too?"

Naomi leaned against the desk, eyeing Blair like an interesting sale item at the local market. "No, he's who he claims to be. I'd guess the Feds felt they needed some authenticity for Ellison's cover." She crossed her arms and gave Staples a look of disapproval. "The real issue now is what do we do?"

"Kill them both," Staples stated in a firm, angry voice. "We've got bigger problems than those two."

Naomi shook her head. "Darling, there you go again," she purred. "It's that narrow minded thinking that got us into this mess. Ellison could be a source of information and Junior is our bargaining chip with the real James Polson."

Staples looked doubtful, but he did appear to listen to the woman and Jim felt the roots of hope start to sink into his gut. No doubt Blair's mother had a plan. He just hoped Blair didn't say or do anything to ruin it. For that matter, Jim prayed he didn't screw up. Silence seemed the best way to proceed, so he kept his mouth shut and waited for a signal from the woman who held everyone's attention.

"Ellison wanted Susan to bring his laptop because he planned on signaling the Feds. Let me dispose of it first and then we'll come up with a plan. I've got other contacts in the agency, I can discreetly find out how much they know about us." She favored Jim and Blair with a lovely smile. "It pays to be semi-retired from the CIA."

Staples pushed the case towards her. "Make it fast; I want you with me when I explain this mess to the board. I'll make arrangements right away to call a meeting. Susan, get back to the casino, pull our people out." He turned to the nearest guard. "Take these two back to the room, I'll deal with them later."

The guards motioned for Jim to walk on ahead. Keeping a hand on Blair's arm, he chanced one last look at Naomi. She had completely dismissed them, her attention on the laptop that she'd been ordered to destroy. She'd been correct. Jim had intended on activating a tracking device inside it. Why had she blown his cover now? Why couldn't she have waited a lousy ten minutes to make her entrance?

He was just going through the doorway, Blair at his side when his sentinel hearing picked up the soft whisper coming from behind him. He recognized Blair's mother's voice instantly.

"Be ready."

The waiting was torture. Blair hugged his shins tightly and rested his forehead on his knees. The guards had locked them up and an hour ago. Jim had taken the empty potato chip bag and crammed it into a crack in the corner, then he'd taken the lighter blanket and gathered up the first aid kit, extra blankets and water bottles and formed some kind of crude sling to carry it all in. The entire time, he'd never even looked at Blair.

How could he stand to? He was the son of a traitor.

No, Blair's brain refused to buy it. Not Naomi. Never.

But surely Jim thought she was a double agent. Why else would she do what she did upstairs?

Maybe... maybe she really was...?

He tightened his hold and curled into a tighter ball. Hell, he didn't know what to believe. Anything was possible now. Eight months ago, he'd thought Naomi was just a free spirit, living a lifestyle of meditation and spiritual enlightenment. She talked of auras, karma and cleaning rituals. She traveled the world and sent home trinkets.

It had all been a lie.

And he'd bought it, every last bit.

What was the old saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

The bed dipped and he felt a familiar arm around his shoulders, drawing him off balance and into the solid, warm side of his best friend.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Jim," he muttered miserably.

"I'm not," Jim whispered back, his lips so close his breath tickled the side of Blair's neck. "Whatever happens, Chief, you don't give up, do whatever you have to do, but get away. Understand?"

Blair raised his head, frightened. He'd wondered what Jim would say to him. He'd never expected that. "What?" Jim didn't look mad; he didn't even look particularly worried. None of this made any sense and Blair felt totally alone in his lack of knowledge. "What are you talking about?"

"Just be ready," Jim repeated, squeezing his shoulders briefly before letting go. "Here we go."

The lock was disengaged and Jim quickly stood, gathered up the blanket sling and motioned for Blair to join him. When the door opened he moved forward, dragging the younger man along.

Naomi stood in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder to check the hallway. She was dressed in dark jeans, a black sweater and hiking boots. She passed a handgun over to Jim wordlessly before leading the way. Blair moved as if in a dream. They reached the elevator, walking in single file, Blair in the middle.

"Stairs," Naomi whispered, passing the elevator and continuing. Further down the hallway, a door opened to grant access to a narrow stairwell. Once inside, she paused and gave her son a brief, but warm hug. "Hey, baby."

"Mom..." Blair's throat tightened with emotion.

"We'll talk later." She released him and turned to Jim. "I've deactivated the monitors and motion sensors. I figure we have twenty, maybe thirty minutes before they know we're gone."

"Vehicles?" Jim asked, taking an opportunity to drop the clip from the automatic, check his rounds and slam it back in place. He pulled the slide back; Blair could see the deadly bullet in place.

"Not an option, I'm afraid. Too risky. I'm thinking we go on foot," she answered.

Jim nodded. "It's your show, lead the way."

Once again, Blair was following his mother with Jim behind him. They arrived at the main floor. Jim gave the okay when the route was clear and they continued until they were outside. It was late afternoon; the shadows, cast by the trees, were long. A cool mist floated between the boughs, giving the impression they were high in the mountains.

Naomi followed the exterior back wall of the mansion towards the corner. The back yard had no landscaping except ferns and other low native bushes. It looked like his mother was heading towards the closest stand of tall trees that would lead them into the rainforest. Blair stayed close, not hearing Jim, but knowing the tall man was right on his heels.

They reached the halfway point between the door and the corner when Jim suddenly grabbed Blair and pulled him back. "Wait!"

Naomi froze. Before they could get to adequate cover, two guards appeared around the corner. Blair felt Jim's hand on his shoulder and he dropped obediently. A waist high wooden utility box gave the three scant protection. Gunfire erupted all around him. A bullet ricocheted off the brick wall; chips stung his hand and wrist. Sounds of gravel crunching underfoot warned Blair that more bad guys were approaching and he risked lifting his head to look. Jim was on one knee, intent on firing at two men who had drawn a bead on Naomi. He easily dropped them in the dirt, leaving Naomi to contend with the original guards who were shooting at them from the corner.

Blair was the only one that saw Jay, the fake ambulance attendant, sneaking up behind his sentinel. He didn't seem to have a gun, but his arms alone could be considered lethal.

"Jim! Behind you!" Blair shouted, the warning arriving just as the man swung a meaty fist.

Jim ducked and turned to shoot, but caught enough of the blow to the side of his head to stun him, his gun flying from his grasp. A sharp grunt of pain caused Blair's head to swivel back to his mother. She was down, lying still in the dirt. Only one of the original pair of men advanced on her with a look of intent malice.

Jim's gun!

Blair eyes madly searched the dirt and duff for the dark, dull metal of the gun Jim had dropped. He'd seen it fly towards that shrub. Jim was on his back, locked in hand-to-hand combat with his attacker. Blair scuttled on his hands and knees towards the bush, his fingers scrubbing the darkness beneath.

There! He felt the round tip of the barrel, still warm from firing.

Shouts sounded from within the mansion. More of them would be here soon. Blair's fingers fumbled a second before he recognized the grip and had the gun up and pointed. Which one? Who should he shoot? Both Jim and Naomi were in danger.

Blair's mind froze; then the reality of his situation hit him.

Jim was fighting to live. Naomi might already be dead.

Blair pointed and fired.

A split second later, a second shot rang out. Blair turned to look. Naomi was on her side, her gun in hand. The last man dropped, a bright red blossom appearing on his forehead. The sight of the gunman lying in the dirt, his face turned towards him in death brought Blair's world to a stop. His ears, still ringing from Jim's gun going off in his hands, felt stuffed with cotton, dulling all sound.

Then the gun was gone and Blair turned back to see Jim kneeling in front of him, wearing the strangest look on his face. Jim's lips were moving, but no words came out. Blair felt himself being lifted to his feet and propelled forward. Then Naomi was on his other arm and the three of them were running for the trees.

A part of Jim's mind registered the cooling temperatures, the mist that hung in the air and the spongy ground under his feet as they ran. They'd found an animal path that wound uphill and Naomi had deferred to him to take the lead. Jim kept his pace at a fast jog once they'd gotten out of sight from the house. He knew Naomi had taken a bullet, but wasn't sure where. He was just glad he didn't have to carry her. The rainforest trees were huge, nearly blocking the filtering sunlight. It allowed for easy travel on foot, something they didn't have the luxury of doing in the woods around Cascade where the vegetation could grow too thick to allow a person to easily pass. Another part of Jim's mind was still frozen in shock. Blair had fired a gun. He'd made a kill. Sure, Jim was glad; otherwise they would all be dead. He had no idea where his attacker had come from, but he had some serious muscle. He remembered seeing the man take the bullet high in his chest, almost dead center, just below where his neck attached to his sternum. It was a perfect kill shot and he'd instantly thought of Naomi, already planning on calling the florist to order her roses in gratitude. But when he'd cleared his head to look - his thoughts still fuzzy from having a pair of mammoth-sized hands around his throat - he got the shock of his life, his roommate literally holding the smoking gun.

Jim's thoughts were jerked back to the present by a quiet voice.

"Jim ... I can't..."

The plea was soft and filled with pain. He'd been aware of Naomi's faltering stride for the last thirty minutes. He brought them to a stop. Blair was panting, his face covered in sweat. Naomi looked like death on a stick, her face pasty white. Jim could see the rusty stain darkening her left hip. He transferred the blanket sling to Blair, who took it without comment, then picked up the woman easily and started up the mountain trail again. Naomi sighed, closing her eyes in exhaustion and looping her arms around his neck.

She was light; he could manage until they found shelter.

It came in the form of a shallow cave. They'd been climbing the side of a mountain the entire time and nearing the top. The trail followed the base of a cliff that rose straight up for thirty to forty feet. Decades of seasons had allowed the wind to reduce the face of the cliff to hard rock, preventing everything except for a few hardy trees to grow in a couple of niches. An age-old landslide had deposited a few car-size boulders at the base of the cliff. Jim found the cave behind the boulders. Checking with his senses to make sure it was deserted first with his senses, he carried Naomi in.

"Sandburg, lay one of the blankets down over there."

Blair lifted the sling from around his neck, dropped to his knees in the dirt and did as instructed. When the bed was finished, Jim set the woman down. Blair saw the blood and gasped.

"I'm okay, sweetie," Naomi told him weakly, adding a smile turned grimace as Jim peeled her jeans down to examine the wound. "Jim, aren't you going to buy me dinner first?"

"Shut up," Jim ordered gently, appreciating the woman's attempt at levity. She was probably hoping to ease some of Blair's fears. "Sandburg... first aid kit."

"Oh, right." Blair picked up the white box and passed it over. The cave entrance faced the west, allowing dim light around the boulders. It wouldn't last long, the sun had already set and they were living on borrowed light.

Jim cleaned the wound and examined the damage. The bullet had cut a path in her flesh about two inches long as it passed, painful and resulting in some blood loss, but not lethal if kept clean. This was good; they needed all the breaks they could get. He taped the sterile bandage in place. "You'll live."

"But will I still look pretty in a bikini?" she muttered quietly, nearly asleep.

"Drink." Jim lifted her head and held the water bottle until she'd downed half. After she was finished, he folded the blanket over her slight form and patted her shoulder. "Sleep."

"I had no idea getting you inside a cave... reduced you to speaking like a caveman, darling," she teased lightly before slipping into a healing sleep.

Jim's life was now complete; two Sandburgs had now insinuated he was a prehistoric throwback. Taking the other blanket from the sling, he laid it out next to the woman, holding half of it up. "Climb in, Chief."

"Huh?"

"Your Mom's in shock. She needs to stay warm," he explained, keeping his face passive. "Something tells me she'd rather have you snuggled beside her when she woke than me."

"Oh." Blair toed off his best sneakers, the ones he'd deemed good enough to go to the casino in, and crawled in. "What about you?"

"I'm going to take the first watch, make sure no one sneaks in," Jim said, waiting for his friend to find a comfortable spot on the hard ground next to his mother before tucking them both in.

"Wake me when you're tired, Jim," Blair mumbled, already looking half asleep as he gently draped an arm around his mother and laid his head on her shoulder.

"You got it, partner," Jim said, knowing he was lying. In fact the whole `Naomi in shock' tale had been a stretch. But he felt okay about the misconception. Blair needed to sleep. Jim wasn't above a few well-meaning lies if it achieved that end.

Soon the cave was still, silent except for the soft breaths of mother and son. Jim unrolled the last blanket, the one he'd fashioned into a sling. The temperature had dropped significantly; he could see his breath in the darkness. He and Blair still wore the same clothes they had dressed in for dinner at the casino. They'd dressed for a night on the town, not on a mountaintop. The charge up the mountainside through the mist had caused his damp shirt to stick to his back, making him shiver. Draping the light blanket around his shoulders, he moved closer to the entrance and sat with his back to the rock wall.

It was going to be a long night.

Simon Banks leaned out as far as possible, carefully scanning the treetops below. Tristan sat as his side, behind the helicopter pilot doing the same on the other side. They'd been in the air for two hours now. The heavy ground fog only made it possible to view the tops of the mountains. They looked like chains of islands rising from the white, fluffy clouds.

"There!" Tristan's voice said over Simon's earphones.

Simon eagerly looked in the direction the man was pointing. Three small figures stood in a low saddle-like depression between two mountain peaks. They were waving their arms. Simon closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward.

When the message had arrived from Naomi yesterday with general coordinates and a vague timetable, Simon had been skeptical. But it was their only hope to find the missing cop and observer who had last been seen two days ago when a bogus ambulance had taken them from the resort. Visions of the dead woman's face kept appearing in Simon's overactive imagination and he had prepared himself for the worst.

"Can you set this down?" Simon asked.

"Not a problem," the pilot said with confidence.

True to his word, the helicopter landed without incident. Simon was the first to climb out and run for the threesome, with Tristan close on his heels. The reunion was a happy one, Simon caught Jim in a bear hug, both men smiling widely and pounding fists on each other's back.

"Jim! My god, man!"

"Simon!"

"Naomi!"

"Darling."

Four voices shouted greetings. Simon released Jim and caught Blair up in an identical hug, even lifting the younger man off his feet. It took a second to realize the enthusiastic greeting was not being returned. He set Blair back down, pulling back to gaze down in concern. "Sandburg? You okay?"

Blair pushed his matted, dirty hair back with one hand and nodded, giving Simon full view of the black eye, bruises and cut. "Fine."

Simon shot a look of disbelief at Jim, who shook his head in a hidden message not to pursue the issue. "Okay, then. How'd you all like a ride back in style?"

"Mom needs a hospital, she's been shot," Blair said.

Tristan raised an eyebrow, giving the woman a once over. "Naomi?"

"I could use a few stitches. Jim did a fine job patching me up," she answered, her arm still around Tristan's waist as she patted Jim's arm. "Let's get going, you can tell us all about the arrests... you did get them, didn't you?"

Back in the air, Simon gave his headset to Naomi. There was only three in total, Jim didn't need one. Simon already knew about the arrests the Feds had made yesterday at the mansion, so he didn't need to listen to Tristan retell that part. That only left Blair out of the loop. Simon snuck a glance over at the younger man. He'd retreated into a silent shell, not at all acting like himself. Sure, all three looked as if they'd been dragged backwards through the forest for a few miles, but Simon knew Blair enough to know the difference between a tired Sandburg and a Sandburg with a problem. Right now, he'd guess Blair had a problem.

What had they done to him? Other than the obvious beating?

He met Jim's eye for a moment, both caught in the act of studying Blair. Jim was no help, his face remaining impassive and stoic, typical Ellison behavior. Even Naomi was acting normal, well, Spy-Naomi normal, that is.

The helicopter landed on the roof of the Aberdeen hospital, allowing all passengers to disembark. A gurney waited for Naomi and she let Blair talk her into laying down, holding her hand and basically hovering at her side as the attendants wheeled her down to the emergency room. Simon and Jim followed behind Tristan. Once they got to the trauma desk, both Blair and Naomi became swept up by the nurses to side-by-side examination rooms with Tristan watching on. Simon and Jim held back, peering inside from the doorway. The room was not large enough for two more men.

"Let's get some coffee, Simon."

Simon held up a hand. "Truthfully, Jim, I think you should get checked out, too. You don't look very good."

Jim fingered the bruise on his cheek. "I'm fine, barely damaged."

"I'm looking at those marks on your neck, Jim," Simon added. It was easy to see from the placements of the bruises that someone had tried to choke his detective.

"It's nothing, come on. Let's get that coffee while Sandburg is busy." Jim headed down the hallway, probably able to smell the coffee.

After letting Tristan know they'd be back, Simon caught up with his friend and paid for two large, black coffees. He tossed in a bagel with cream cheese and set it down in front of Jim.

"Thanks." Jim took a large bite and started chewing.

"What happened to Sandburg?" Simon asked.

Pausing in his chewing, Jim sipped his coffee and swallowed. "He shot and killed a man yesterday."

"What!" Simon exclaimed, then looked around. He'd startled more than one hospital personnel on their break and waved apologetically. He continued in a more subdued voice. "How? Why?"

"It was a righteous shoot, sir."

"Okay, start at the beginning."

"Yeah, good idea." Jim rubbed his forehead wearily. "Okay, they faked my heart attack to kidnap us."

"Right."

"Well, apparently, that was against Naomi's recommendation. She was away doing an errand for Staples, she left with one of his men right after we danced at the casino, that's when she told me to take Blair and leave in the morning. She gave me a message to give to Cahill. That CIA agent we pulled out of the lake was dirty. Naomi managed to convince them both that she was willing to go `turn coat' if the price was right. Only the first time she tried to send out a message to tell Cahill where she was, she nearly got caught. She managed to shift the blame, unfortunately the dead CIA ended up looking guilty and Staples killed her."

"Ouch," Simon muttered.

"Yeah... anyway, she sent the messages to Blair, hoping we'd respond and bring Cahill. She never figured Cahill would give us a cover that would attract Staples' attention. When she realized what had happened, she set up the meet at the casino."

"But you didn't get away in time," Simon guessed.

"Right. And it's a good thing Cahill took the time to brief us on our covers," Jim continued after taking another bite, chewing quickly before swallowing. He ate like a man who'd been starved. "According to Naomi, Staples would have killed us both without hesitating. In fact, she made a point of blowing my cover."

"You're kidding? Why?"

"I was getting ready to active that tracking device in the laptop," Jim explained. "I didn't know they had an ability to monitor all outgoing transmissions. She walked in, told everyone I was a cop, but said Blair was really the son of the man I was supposed to be. I guess she figured she could talk Staples out of killing either of us, or at least prevent it long enough to give her time to modify the laptop, send you guys that message, then sneak Blair and me out of the house to meet with you guys on the top of that mountain."

"But..."

Jim pursed his lips, clutching his cup with both hands and staring unhappily into the dark brew. "We got spotted. There was a firefight. I got sloppy, I guess. I didn't hear this guy come up behind me. I lost my gun, dropped it when he chopped my neck, kind of numbed my entire arm. Blair found the gun." Jim looked up at Simon, his face filled with misery. "This guy was gigantic. He had me nailed. Blair put a bullet into his chest, killed him instantly."

"Wow." Simon was stunned. Picturing Blair holding a gun was hard enough, but firing a round? And that single round killing? It was hard to fathom.

"Yeah. He hasn't talked about it, Simon. You saw how he acted when you picked us up."

"Jim, you've both been through hell," Simon told him. "Give Sandburg a chance to process all this shit."

Jim tossed back the last of his coffee and stood. "This is going to take more than his normal session with candles and meditation. I'm just glad the Feds managed to arrest Staples and his people before they escaped. Come on, we've been gone too long. Let's get back."

Tristan was holding court with several `suits' in the hallway, just outside the treatment room. Jim suspected they'd been kicked out by the ER staff. Simon stayed behind to listen in as Jim slipped back into the room. Blair was still on the treatment bed, lying on his side, watching as the doctor and nurse worked on Naomi. Naomi looked asleep, oblivious to the medical attention. The small room smelled of antiseptic mixed with the faint aroma of unwashed bodies. Considering he and Blair hadn't seen a shower in the last three days, Jim had a feeling he contributed to the smell.

"Hey, Chief," Jim greeted his roommate.

Blair raised a tired hand in greeting.

"What's the news?"

The doctor answered, "Mr. Sandburg checks out fine, he's bruised and needs to rest for a few days, but no internal injuries or broken bones. Mrs. Sandburg is almost finished. I'd like to keep her for a day or so, but she's made it perfectly clear that she's not staying."

"Ms. Sandburg," Naomi muttered, her eyes still closed.

"Ah... sorry, Ms. Sandburg," the doctor amended. "I'll be finished in a few minutes."

True to his word, the doctor finished quickly and all agents, police officers and one anthropologist left the small hospital behind. Tristan had already booked a large suite for them at the main hotel in town. It was the size of a small apartment with three bedrooms with separate bathrooms, a kitchenette and a living room. The entire town of Aberdeen was visible from the small balcony as well as the tip of Gray's Harbor. After assigning rooms, Tristan picked up a phone and ordered hot sandwiches, soups and drinks as Jim and Blair each took a long shower. Tristan then ordered Naomi to bed, personally seeing that she followed his orders by tucking her in.

When Jim stepped out of the shower fifteen minutes later, he eyed his pile of filthy clothes with distaste. A knock on the door caused him to quickly wrap a hotel towel around his waist. "Yeah?"

Simon's hand appeared holding a set of clean sweats. "Interested?"

"Oh, yeah." Jim snatched the clothes from the fingers. "Thanks, Simon. I owe you."

"No sweat, Cahill's loaning a set to Sandburg," Simon answered from beyond the door which had closed again. "Your stuff is being retrieved as we speak, should arrive later tonight."

"Great." Jim climbed into the sweats.

He joined Simon and Tristan in the living room and helped himself to a roast beef sandwich sitting on the breakfast bar, nodding his thanks as he began to devour it. It tasted incredible and he eyed the rest of the sandwiches longingly. Tristan had ordered enough food for a small army. The guy certainly had a head for details.

"So, what's the plan?" Jim asked between bites.

Tristan answered from his position on the sofa, his brief case opened on the coffee table and the phone ready at his side. He looked like a businessman setting up a portable office. "Well, we've got Staples and his men in custody. I hope to have enough to tie him to the murder. Naomi tells me our missing agent was dirty, but I can still push for murder one. The ones I really want are the people that Staples answers to. At least now we have faces, it shouldn't take much for us to ID them. We'll work on Staples and get him to roll over."

"At least their operation is shut down," Simon noted. He was relaxed in a recliner, a cold drink in hand.

Tristan nodded. "That's true, it will take some time to sift through all the information in that mansion. We've got plenty with just your three testimonies to hold them for a long time."

Jim sat on a bar stool, keeping close to the food. "Where was that place anyway?"

"Deep in the mountains, but just outside of the National Park. You guys were in the `Colonel Bob Wilderness'. We picked you up on the top of the Quinault Ridge," Tristan said. "Naomi gave us an idea which direction you would be taking. She planned on getting you two out of harm's way while we came in and made the arrests."

"It almost worked," Jim said darkly. "Apparently Staples had armed guards making patrol sweeps, we ran into two of them on our way out. I didn't hear them until too late."

Tristan gave Jim a sympathetic look. "Don't beat yourself up too much. According to Naomi, there was a lot going on. You did warn her in time. We found five dead bodies behind the building. I assume those were the guards you both took out."

Jim set the uneaten part of the second sandwich down, his thoughts returning to the firefight and how he'd looked up from just being nearly choked to death to see Blair holding his gun. "About that..."

Tristan waited patiently for Jim to finish.

Damn, this was hard. Maybe it wasn't his place to tell. Then again, he was a police officer, technically reporting to his temporary supervisor. Of course it was his job to tell. He just couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. He didn't want to tell this man that his son - a son that they'd tried to shelter from their world of violence - had shot and killed another man last night.

A son that was currently taking a very long shower.

"Excuse me a second." Jim stood and entered the bedroom that had been assigned to Blair and himself. Jim had used the shower connected to Simon's room; Blair had taken the one off their own. A set of sweats had been laid out on Blair's bed. The shower was still running. Jim stood in front of the closed door and listened. Maybe Blair was just enjoying himself. After all, Jim had enjoyed a few extra long minutes himself.

Then he heard the muffled sob and knew Blair was doing more than washing his hair.

Crap.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think. He really didn't want to do this. But he couldn't leave Blair alone. He wished he could wake Naomi up and send her in. But he'd seen Tristan give her some pain medication that promised to keep her down for the rest of the night. And Tristan was not an option; father and son barely knew each other.

The next sob nearly broke Jim's heart, causing him to open the door and slip inside the steam filled room.

"Sandburg?" Jim called out quietly, reaching for a large hotel towel.

The dark form on the other side of the opaque shower curtain was curled low in the tub. "Go away... Jim." The voice was soft and broken.

Jim pulled the curtain aside enough to allow him to reach in and turn the water off. "Come on, Chief. You know I'm not going to let you deal with this alone."

Blair was sitting in the tub, as far away from the faucet as possible. He was curled into a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his shins, his forehead resting on knees. He looked like he'd managed to finish the shower before breaking down. His long hair was clean and Jim could smell the conditioner he'd used.

"Time to get out, Sandburg." Jim held the towel open.

Blair kept his head down. Reaching out and taking the towel, he pressed it against his face. Taking a second towel down from the wire rack, Jim waited to see if his friend was willing to come out. A light tapping at the door caused Blair to jerk and hunch down in an attempt to hide.

"Jim? Everything okay?" Simon asked.

"Give us a minute, Simon," Jim called back.

After Simon left, Jim dropped to a knee next to the tub. Blair's body remained curled, his face buried in the pristine white terrycloth. "I'm going to grab us some food. There's a change of clothes on your bed. Come out to the bedroom and we'll talk about it." Jim draped the towel around Blair's shoulders and left. Simon and Tristan were standing in the middle of the living room, looking worried. "Sorry, Blair's dealing with ... issues," Jim explained. "I'm going to take him in some food and talk to him. It's going to take a while."

"What issues?" Tristan asked, looking angrily at Jim. "What happened to him that you haven't told us?"

"I was going to tell you, just a second ago, in fact," Jim answered as he piled a few sandwiches on a plate and added a bowl of soup. "One of Staples' men managed to get the drop on me; he would have killed me if Sandburg hadn't found my gun and shot him."

Tristan stepped back in shock, his hands curling into fists. "He killed someone?"

"He saved my life," Jim corrected hotly. "And if you even think about copping that attitude in front of Sandburg, I'll knock your teeth out!"

"Jim..." Simon moved quickly, placing himself between the two men.

"He doesn't deserve that, Simon!" Jim hissed. "He saved my life."

"I know," Simon held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Go. Take care of Sandburg. Just calm down a little first, okay?"

Firing one last glare at Tristan, Jim scooped up a can of soda and returned to their bedroom. Blair was just pulling a sweatshirt over his head. Jim set the food on the dresser.

"Sorry, Jim," Blair mumbled, obviously embarrassed. "I'm just a little tired."

Taking the cover off the still steaming soup, Jim transferred it to the bed stand, along with a spoon. "Eat some of this, we'll talk."

"I don't want to talk."

"Then eat and I'll sit here and watch you."

Blair rolled his eyes, which were red from crying. The effect was a lost cause under the circumstances. But the younger man did pick up the spoon. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he cradled the bowl in his other hand and began to eat.

Knowing Blair would actually eat more without an audience, Jim left him to his meal and began to tidy up the bathroom. The hotel left plastic laundry bags in the bathroom for guests to put their dirty clothes into and leave outside the door for cleaning. Jim bagged the Blair's clothes left on the floor.

Let the Feds pick up the bill for their cleaning.

"Be right back." Jim walked through the living room, making a point to ignore Tristan, retrieved his own dirty clothes from Simon's bathroom and added them to the bag. He then left the bag outside, in the hallway. On the way back to his room, Tristan stopped him.

"Jim," the CIA agent said. "You misunderstood. I'd never think less of Blair for what he had to do. I'm only upset that he was in the situation. Naomi raised him to avoid violence."

Jim crossed his arms, not ready to accept the man's apology. "Blair does avoid it, as much as humanly possible. And this incident may significantly affect him in ways I don't want to think about. I just don't want you or Naomi standing by with a righteous frown or even a hint of disappointment on your face when the dust settles. He needs our support, not our judgment."

"Absolutely," Tristan swore. "I was just surprised, I swear. Naomi never gave me a clue."

"She doesn't know," Jim admitted, uncrossing his arm and rubbing the back of his neck. "I was hoping he'd say something to her this morning when they woke up in the cave, but he hasn't been talking. Look, I'm sorry I jumped down your throat, but I've got to get back in there."

Tristan stepped aside. "Certainly. I understand. Blair's lucky to have such a loyal partner." Tristan gave Jim a rueful smile. "Actually, I kind of stopped believing that sort of partnership still existed. Is there anything I can do for him?"

Jim shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I'll let you know."

When he got back to Blair, the soup bowl was empty. Jim eyed the plate of sandwiches. They hadn't been touched. Well, some food was better than none. Blair was using a small hotel comb on his hair. He had half of it untangled.

"Want to talk?"

"No."

"Aren't you always telling me that it's not healthy to keep strong emotions inside?" Jim asked calmly, sitting opposite to his partner.

Blair scooted backwards, as if Jim's nearness might cause him to break. He crossed his legs, Indian-style and resumed his combing, his eyes focused on the blue bedspread. "I don't have strong emotions. I'm just tired."

Jim appeared to give that some thought before replying. "That's odd. After I shoot and kill someone, I always have strong emotions."

Blair froze.

"And I've had hours of training and debriefing under my belt. But I still have problems dealing with it," Jim continued, watching Blair's throat constrict as he swallowed hard and blinked his eyes rapidly. It was painful to watch Blair as he pushed down the emotions that threatened to escape. This didn't make any sense. Jim knew from past experience that his friend was openly vocal with his feelings, even eager to share them on occasion. Why was he withdrawing? The only difference that Jim could see was the fact Blair knew his mother and father were in the other rooms.

Jim tried again. "It never gets easier. If it did, I'd know it was time to quit."

A fat tear broke, rolling down Blair's bruised cheek, leaving a wet trail in his three-day-old stubble. "Jim..." He threw the comb down angrily and fisted his hair with both hands. "I killed someone!"

Jim switched beds and grabbed both Blair's forearms to steady him. "You had to, Chief."

Blair didn't seem to be listening as he began to punish himself by yanking outward on his hair. Jim transferred grips, clasping his hands over both of Blair's fists and pinning them to his head to stop the abuse. "You saved my life, Blair! Understand? If you hadn't shot him, I'd be dead."

Blair's sobs rose in waves, physically breaking him down little by little until he'd curled over his folded legs like a limp rag doll. A feeling of helplessness hit Jim. How was this any better? Blair wasn't hiding behind a wall of denial anymore, but it was still painful to watch him cry as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Not sure what do to, he awkwardly patted a shoulder. He glanced over at the closed door, maybe he should ask Tristan to come in and deal with this.

Long fingers wrapped around Jim's arm as Blair latched on blindly to his partner and cried. Blair was searching for support and the act gave the cop confidence. Jim shifted on the bed until he had his back to the wall, his legs stretched out on the bed. He pulled Blair backwards until the younger man could curl up with his head and upper body resting in his embrace. Blair responded immediately, fiercely holding on with both hands as if he were a drowning man being offered a life ring.

Okay, then. This was better. Weird... yeah, but still better.

Jim ignored the dampness that seeped through his sweatshirt and rode out the emotional storm of Blair's grief. It was the least he could do for the man that had traded his innocence to save a partner's life.

Simon busied himself with the coffee pot. The sounds of distress coming from the other room filled the suite and he knew, had Naomi not been under the effect of the pain medicine, she would have awakened to go to her son. Curious, he snuck a glance at Tristan. The man sat on the couch, all pretense of looking busy with the paperwork around him forgotten. He looked like man in pain, as if each cry from the other room was driving red-hot knives through his chest. He stared at the closed door to Jim and Blair's bedroom, his expression lost.

Simon went with his instinct and fixed a second cup of coffee with creamer as he'd seen Tristan do in the past few days. Taking both mugs back to the living room, he set one down in front of the man and flicked on the stereo unit next to the couch. Soft chords of music from stringed instruments filed the room and broke Tristan out of his trance-like state.

"Thanks." He reached for the coffee. "Banks... are Blair and Jim lovers?"

Simon nearly spewed coffee all over the man's briefcase.

A slow smile found its way to Tristan's face as he watched Simon choke for a few seconds. "Sorry, I guess that answers my question, though."

Simon found his voice while using his fingertips to wipe some of the coffee off his chin. "I can see where Sandburg inherited that little trick," he complained without true animosity. "You two need to come with warning labels, `do not mix with hot liquids.'"

That even brought a brief chuckle and Simon was suddenly glad he'd almost inhaled hot coffee. The mood lightened and some of the tense posturing dissolved in the other man's shoulders. Simon tilted his head as he openly studied the person sitting across from him. He was a little like Blair. Simon could see it in his eyes, his hands and the way the man was always observing his surroundings. But this person had lost Blair's perpetual enthusiasm for living. He lacked the eternal drive to `go forth and make everyone he met a friend.'

"They're just close. Not too different from growing up with brothers, I guess," Simon explained. "I'm the first to admit it happened so fast it made my head spin, but then Sandburg is always making my head spin," he added, shaking his head.

Tristan's eyes returned to the closed door. "I didn't have any brothers... or sisters for that matter."

"What about close friends?"

"I've got friends," Tristan replied, a little too quickly in Simon's mind. "Naomi and I are still very close."

"Uh huh." It was time to let the man talk. If he felt like it.

Tristan sipped his coffee then absentmindedly worried the scar on his face with his left hand. "I had a partner once, we were real close. Did a lot of stuff together off duty..."

Simon nearly held his breath, afraid that even that would break Tristan's concentration and cause him to stop talking.

"We got assigned to go south, help with the mess the CIA had made in Uruguay. It was worse then we'd imagined. Well, than I'd imagined anyway." Tristan paused, his eyes unfocused, as he seemed to remember something from his past. "I didn't think we were going to get back in one piece. I was so glad Naomi hadn't come down with us."

Simon's eyes went to the long scar that Tristan was lightly stroking now. Whatever the guy was talking about, Simon was willing to bet his pension that scar had something to do with it.

"I used to think partners were like family. I'd have been ready to take a bullet for mine, too. Too bad he didn't have the same sense of duty towards me." Tristan blinked, suddenly focused and back in the present. He glanced over at Simon, his face back to normal. "I'm glad that Jim is there for Blair. But if I find out he's just using my son until he's able to control his special abilities..."

Simon shook his head. "It's not like that. I know Jim. Yes, he needs Sandburg, but it's more than that. They share something that's very rare. Sometimes Jim can act like a horse's ass to everyone, even Sandburg. And sometimes Sandburg will pull some hare-brained, stupid stunt. But they always land on their feet and they land side-by-side. They are partners... in every true sense of the word."

This seemed to pacify the other man. He nodded without comment, his eyes straying one more time to the closed door before returning to his paperwork. Simon leaned back in the chair and thought about what he'd just said. Jim and Blair were partners, but would their friendship be enough to pull Blair through this trauma? It was easy to see Blair's father had endured some serious shit in his life that left scars, some obvious, some not so obvious, but just as damaging.

Simon hoped that Blair wasn't about to take the same path his father had taken. Maybe the difference between them was that Tristan didn't have a person like Jim by his side when his ideals came crashing down.

Simon rubbed his forehead. All this deep and philosophical thought was giving him a headache.

By the time Blair worked through his grief and the sobs subsided, the front of Jim's sweatshirt was soaking wet from his partner's hair. Jim shifted slightly. He wasn't ready to turn Blair loose just yet, and the younger man didn't seem ready to move away so he might as well get comfortable.

Blair held the towel he'd used on his hair in both hands, pressed against his face as he cried. The towel lowered as the breathing leveled out with only an occasional hitch.

"Sorry."

Jim craned his head, trying to get a look at Blair's face as he lay collapsed against his chest. "Why?"

Waving a limp hand in the air in both their directions, Blair sighed. "This, man. I fell apart."

Jim tilted his head back against the wall, his eyes contemplating the popcorn-textured ceiling. "Oh, that... no big deal. The important thing is you knew when to fall apart."

"I did?" Blair asked, still boneless, but sounding just a bit curious.

"Of course."

"So... you're saying there's a time to... do this. And a time not to do this?"

Jim had to smile. "Yeeeaaahhh," he drawled in his best Bonanza voice. "You kept it together when it counted, pahd'nah."

"Sheeze, Jim... your accent still sucks."

"Thanks."

Blair stayed perfectly still for a full minute. Jim could almost hear the gears turning. Finally the younger man broke the silence. "So, you're perfectly okay with this."

"With what?"

A light slap against his shoulder spoke of rising irritation. "Me, you doofus, being held by you... while I blubber like a baby. That what."

"Oh... yeah, I'm perfectly okay with this," Jim answered blandly. "I'm not thrilled you're going through this shit, though," he added in a suddenly serious tone. "Because I've been there and I know what it's like. It's not your fault, Chief. And it's perfectly normal for you to be upset. It won't go away, either. You'll have more bad days, but you're going to see someone when we get back to Cascade. With help, you're going to pull through with flying colors."

"You know all this, huh?"

"Yep."

"Am I going to have to do that `shooting inquest' thing?" Blair asked in a small, quiet voice.

"Nope, you're a civilian. That's only for us cops."

"Oh... good." Blair relaxed, his cheek pressed against Jim's chest and the room became quiet except for the melodious sounds of music drifting under the closed door.

Jim waited for the next question to come, knowing Blair wouldn't be able to stay quiet for very long.

A small snore caused the cop to crane his neck again and stare down in wonder. "I didn't say I was all right with you sleeping on me, Chief!" he whispered.

Blair slept on and Jim gently slid out from underneath. After laying his friend down and flipping both edges of the queen-sized bedspread over him, Jim wandered out into the living room with the plate of uneaten sandwiches. Tristan looked up from the reports he'd spread out around him. Simon was just ending a phone conversation with his son.

"How is he?" Tristan asked.

"Better." Jim set the plates down and glanced at his watch. It was early in the evening still, but he was exhausted. "I'm going to get some sleep. Blair probably won't wake till morning. What's the plan tomorrow?"

"I'm going to go out to where Staples' held you two with Naomi. We'll be working on securing the ID's of the men that ran the operation. Your things should be delivered later tonight. Simon can drive you and Blair back to Cascade if you want," Tristan said.

"Sandburg's going to want to spend some time with Naomi first. Maybe we can all have breakfast in the morning?" Jim suggested.

"Good plan," Tristan nodded, returning to his paperwork.

"Okay, then. Good night."

Blair woke slowly, his stomach empty and his mouth dry. Soft morning light filtered around heavy drapes and he remembered he was with Jim in Aberdeen. The last forty-eight hours returned in a rush, causing his head to pound.

God... he'd killed someone!

A strong urge to pull the blanket up and never get out of the bed overwhelmed him. Jim had warned him this feeling wasn't going to go away overnight, and he was right. Blair still couldn't believe Jim's patience with all his tears last night. He'd acted like it was perfectly natural for a grown man to break down completely and cry himself to sleep. Yet, Blair had to admit, he did feel better now. Not great, but better. The darkness that had suffocated him, completely surrounding him until it felt like he had to fight to breathe was now gone.

Unwrapping himself proved more complicated than he first thought, but finally he was out of bed and stumbling towards the bathroom. Surprisingly, Jim was still in his bed. Blair tried to move as quietly as possible, closing the bathroom door before turning on the bright lights.

One look in the mirror was almost enough to send him back to bed. "Oh, man." He eyed his hair with disgust. He'd never finished combing it out last night. Now it stood straight out from the sides of his head like a clown in a three-ring circus. All he needed was the stupid red nose.

He saw his shaving kit on the counter, next to Jim's. Their stuff must have been delivered from the resort. Good, he had a serious crop of fuzz sprouting all over his face and he wanted it gone. But first, he needed another shower if he had any hopes of controlling his curls.

Much later, feeling better with a clean, bare face and combed hair, Blair left the bathroom. Jim was sitting up on his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Leave any hot water?"

"Yeah, plenty. Our stuff is here, too." Blair spotted his luggage on the end of the bed.

"We're all having breakfast together before we head back to Cascade," Jim said, climbing out of bed wearing boxers and passing Blair as he headed for the bathroom.

"I hope they have pancakes, I'm starving," Blair said, rubbing his stomach.

The door to the bedroom opened without warning. Naomi entered, smiling brightly at her son.

"Mom!" Blair blurted, catching Jim shooting into the bathroom and slamming the door out of corner of his eye. "You need to knock," he warned her.

"Pooh, darling. I've seen it before. How are you feeling?" She limped as she neared her son, gathering both his hands in her own and making him feel like he was under a looking glass as she stared.

She knew.

"I'm okay," he replied simply, then shivered. Pulling one hand free he pointed to the towel around his waist. "Kinda cold, though..."

"Oh!" She backed towards the door. "I'll wait in the other room. You boys hurry and dress, Tristan's treating us to breakfast."

Blair nodded, making shooing motions with his hands. "We'll be out in a sec, mom. No more barging in, okay?"

After the door was closed, Jim peered through the partially opened bathroom door. "She gone?"

"Yeah, coast is clear." Blair headed for his luggage.

"I swear, she does that on purpose, Sandburg," Jim grumbled as he walked towards his own suitcase.

"Now, Jim, what are you trying to insinuate?" Blair asked as he stepped into a pair of clean boxers and reached for his jeans. "My mom's a peeping Jane?"

"Or something, Chief," Jim told him, pulling out a pair of dark Dockers and looking them over with a critical eye. "But it's not like I'm a stranger to beautiful woman wanting to catch a glimpse."

Blair snorted and almost fell over as he balanced on one leg to climb into his jeans. "Oh, please!"

"Hey, I'm just calling it like it is. The proof's in the pudding, Junior. The ladies go for the strong, silent ones. Doesn't hurt to have a body like a Greek god." He flexed a bare arm, making his biceps jump while striking a pose.

Blair couldn't hold in the laughter as he collapsed onto his bed. Part of him knew what Jim was doing, but he didn't care. It just felt good to laugh. His mother was alive, Jim was safe, and everything had turned out okay. Sure, he had therapy to look forward to, but Jim had promised he wouldn't have to muddle through it alone.

He'd survive.

He didn't have a choice; he was a Guide to a Sentinel.

"Yuk it up, Darwin," Jim challenged as he stepped into his pants. "I bet I could get Naomi to -"

"Hey!" Blair choked down the laughter and threw a pillow, catching Jim squarely in the side of the head. "That's my Mom we're talking about!"

The End

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