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.

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