One more load to carry down to the Ford and Jim was ready to start his vacation. He eyed the assortment on his bed; fishing pole with case, soft sided tackle box, and his lucky fishing vest. As an afterthought, he tucked his favorite pillow under his arm before gathering up the equipment and heading downstairs. Looking over the railing, he spotted his roommate.

Blair still sat at the kitchen table, industriously typing on his laptop. He hadn't moved an inch from that chair since Jim had arrived home after a full day of court appearances and paperwork.

"This is the last of my stuff, Chief. You ready?"

Blair leaned back with a heavy sigh. "Oh, man. You know what? I'm gonna have to pass."

Here it comes. Jim glanced at his watch. It was after six. They had a five-hour drive and that was only if the Friday night traffic wasn't too bad. Since the following week was spring break just about everywhere, Jim expected the traffic to be bad.

Blair continued to play the part of the frustrated and reluctantly duty-bound student. "It's just I've got so much on my plate. What was I thinking? I can't take off for a week. I've got obligations and deadlines. Just this morn-" Blair's head spun in surprise. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Jim was halfway back to his bedroom. "I'm putting my fishing stuff away."

The sound of a kitchen chair scraping the floor made Jim wince. The hardwood floor was overdue for a sanding and varnish. If Blair kept that up, he was going to get the job. He tossed his pillow back where it belonged and carefully stowed his equipment in the closet.

Blair's upper body became visible through the railing, having backed up until he could watch Jim. "Why?" he called up in exasperation.

"You just canceled the trip, Einstein," Jim answered lightly. It was important not to look upset or disappointed.

"No I didn't!" Blair threw both arms up, dropping them theatrically to his sides again. "I just said I can't go. You can still go. Simon and Uncle Buck will be disappointed."

Jim jogged down the stairs. He unbuttoned the cuffs to his flannel shirt and carefully rolled back the sleeves. "They'll have a good time. Maybe they're still in cell phone range."

Blair's hand slammed down over Jim's, sending the cordless back into its charger. "No! Don't do this, Jim!"

"Do what?"

"This!" With hands on Jim's chest, Blair shoved hard.

Jim allowed himself to fall back a few steps. "Sandburg, knock it off," he growled.

But his roommate showed no signs of backing down. "You... go... fishing... without... me! Got it?"

"Gee, Blair," Jim replied, frowning. "Last time I checked, I was an adult, too. If I don't want to do something on my vacation, I don't have to."

Blair crossed his arms. "This isn't about you doing what you want. You're guilt-tripping me into doing what you want."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Blair opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut. Executing a turn worthy of a marine sergeant, he marched into his room and closed the door.

Damn, for a minute Jim thought it was going to work. He returned to the cordless. It appeared he really did need to call Simon Banks and explain they weren't going to be showing up. Frankly Jim wasn't too surprised.

Tonight was the three month anniversary of the day Blair had been forced to fire a gun. It was a righteous shoot. Jim had been shot and was down, unable to protect them. If not for Blair's actions, neither one of them would be alive. Although Blair's victim - a VA doctor - had survived and been listed as stable, he ended up dying a few days later from complications.

To put it bluntly, his roommate was not the same.

Blair had thrown himself into his studies; into helping Jim with his enhanced senses and helping out at the station. Dates, dinners out, anything that bore a resemblance to recreation in any shape or form had gone out the window. At first, Jim figured it was because Blair felt compelled to play nursemaid. But even after Jim had returned to full time duty, things didn't change.

With a sigh, Jim hit the speed dial button for Simon's cell phone. Maybe he'd send Henri. Jim could cover his shifts, thus save his vacation time. It was a shame to waste a perfectly good fishing trip, especially a one week cabin rental on a blue ribbon steelhead river.

God, this was going to be a tough phone call.

The door opened, Blair reappeared with a duffle back slung over one shoulder. Mouth in a tightlipped line and scowling, he brushed past Jim and threw his duffle bag down by the door. "Fine! Let's do it!"

Jim set the phone down with a sigh. It was shaping up to be a swell week.

Simon Banks stepped off Amtrak's coach car onto the city of Tacoma's station. With fly rod case in one hand and suitcase in the other, he searched the outside waiting area for a familiar head of silver gray hair.

Buck Stevens leaned casually against a far pillar that supported the slanted roof, thoughtfully in place to keep rain from reaching the rail commuters. Raising a tanned hand in a silent two finger salute, Buck grinned at him from across the milling mass. Two men that stood head and shoulders above over most folks had no problem seeing each other. Simon raised his fly case to return the gesture.

"Thanks for picking me up, Buck," Simon greeted after crossing the crowded platform.

"No problem." Buck led the way toward the adjacent parking lot.

The surrounding noise of the city traffic and smell of industry only made the promise of the coming week that much sweeter for Simon. Nine days of not acting like a police captain, of no pager, no faxes, no emails or phone calls. Simon had been buried under paperwork for so long, the concept of vacation had neared extinction.

"Toss your stuff in the back," Buck instructed.

"I'm surprised you left all this unattended," Simon told him, swinging his suitcase into the open bed of an older model dark green Jeep truck. Boxes, firewood, tools, fuel bottles and a large green Coleman camp stove fitted into the bed like an intricate puzzle. He had just enough room to slide his luggage in, and safely tuck in his fishing equipment. Behind the truck, Buck was towing a large drift boat on trailer. More fishing equipment and strapped down plastic Rubbermaid containers were on board.

"I was keeping one eye on this and one eye on your train," Buck explained as he unlocked Simon's door and walked around to his side.

Before Simon knew it, they were westbound on highway sixteen, crossing the Narrows Bridge on their way out of Tacoma. He stretched his long legs out with a sigh. It was still early in the morning and they had a long drive ahead. The weather was pleasant for April, overcast but not cold.

"If you feel that urge to pollute your lungs, just crack the window."

Simon turned in surprise, catching evidence of a lingering grin on the orchard grower's face. "Seriously?"

"Sure."

He couldn't get a cigar out fast enough. "Jim never lets me smoke in his Ford, the department passed a policy of no smoking in the building. I may change occupations and start an orchard."

"As long as you don't need an income for the first few years and you have lots of money to spend, go for it."

Simon's deep guffaw filled the truck cab. "My Ex is in charge of spending my money. I'd better stay put. At least let me treat you to lunch in Port Angeles. I know a place that serves fantastic chowder."

"You're on," Buck said.

Simon enjoyed his cigar and watched the scenery change from shopping malls and condo's to miles of thickly growing evergreens. To the south he spied occasional glimpses of Hale Passage and Henderson Bay. This area of Washington was riddled with salt water canals and passages, a virtual playground for boaters. They arrived in the small town of Gorst. From here, drivers had a choice of either turning left and circling the Olympic Peninsula from the south or continuing north and arriving from the opposite direction. Buck headed north, toward the promised chowder house.

"What's your take on Blair's recovery from January's little debacle?" Buck asked, breaking the silence.

Simon gave that question some serious consideration, knowing his driving companion wouldn't rush him and would prefer a thoughtful answer. "Tell ya the truth, I'm not seeing much of Sandburg. He's either not coming down to the station because he doesn't want to or Jim's keeping him away."

"Why would Jim do that?"

Why indeed? Simon had a few guesses, but that's all they were. "I just know Jim's been acting off himself, lately. He's short tempered. He's handling his caseload, but his attention isn't what it could be. If I were to guess, I'd say he's worrying about Sandburg."

Buck seemed content to puzzle over that news. They arrived at Hood canal. The floating bridge waited for them, spanning the water between the peninsula and Salsbury point, the dividing point between Jefferson and Kitsap Counties. The two-lane bridge had the ability to swing a portion of the span sideways to accommodate large ships and passing Navy submarines. The Bangor Naval Submarine base lay just to the south of their position.

Off the bridge and back into forest, Simon felt a bit more relaxed, as if the further he got from Cascade, the more he was able to leave the constant burden of his responsibilities behind.

One AM and Jim was still looking for the correct turn off. He glanced down at the map in his lap. After Blair had fallen asleep, Jim had slipped it from under his hands. It was just as well, the kid couldn't navigate his way out of a sandbox.

"Where are you?" he muttered quietly.

The narrow dirt road they needed just didn't seem to be there. Somewhere between Bogachiel and Queets was a route that would lead them up into the Olympic National Park. Promising to be remote and ruggedly pristine, Buck had assured them they could look forward to a week of peace and quiet.

And good fishing.

Jim turned the SUV around and retraced his tracks. He used his sentinel abilities to compensate for the inky blackness beyond the high beam's reach and soon spotted the narrow dirt road tucked into the outside curve of a sharp turn. It hugged a steep hillside that followed a ravine. Jim could hear the light splashes of water over rocks though the closed windows of the Ford. He pulled over onto the narrow shoulder and double-checked their position.

Buck hadn't been kidding when he said the cabin was off the beaten track. Setting the map aside, sure he was on course, Jim navigated the vehicle off the pavement. Blair grunted in his sleep as Jim eased over the worst of the potholes and washboards. He picked up signs of fresh tire tracks, another vehicle.

Good, Buck and Simon would already have the cabin sorted out. Jim looked forward to a night's rest. The trip had been tiring in more ways than one. Turns out, the only thing worse than being trapped in a car with an excitable, talkative Blair Sandburg was being trapped with a surly, pissed off and totally non-responsive Blair Sandburg. Jim was not ashamed to admit he had wanted to cheer out loud when Blair's head tilted onto the window and his breathing evened out in sleep. Something his friend hadn't been getting much of over the last few months.

A particularly vindictive pothole jarred the SUV's frame.

"Wha...?" Blair sat up with a startled snort.

"Last leg of the trip, Chief."

"Oh." Blair blinked and arched his back, stretching both arms out. "Oh, that was fast. What time is it?"

"Little after one, sleep okay?"

"Yeah, guess so."

His answer petered out as he stared dully at the surrounding darkness. Jim wondered what was so fascinating beyond the glass. The night was overcast; there was no `city light' backdrop to illuminate the tree lines, unless a person had sentinel abilities, of course. Risking a quick sideways glance, he caught Blair gaze in the reflection and realized it was focused on him.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry I was an ass."

"Yeah, no argument there. Wanna share?"

Blair leaned back and adjusted his jacket over his chest, he'd been using it like a blanket earlier and it had slipped down during his sleep. "Not sure. I - I think I'm just tired."

"Maybe you should try sleeping during the night. I hear it works wonders," Jim teased, then continued more seriously. "You've been pulling the longest string of all-nighters I've ever seen. Does Doctor Stuth know?"

"She knows everything," Blair said dully. "That woman could pull a confession from OJ Simpson."

"She's a good shrink, you were lucky Simon got you in. She doesn't take many new patients," Jim explained. This was an old conversation. They both knew it by heart.

"Yeah, well. There's a reason for that, man, she can freeze you with one look."

The front tire hit a deep pothole and Jim devoted all his attention to driving for a few minutes, letting Blair fall back into a moody silence. What he wouldn't give to have `normal-Blair' back. He knew his friend needed time, but the waiting was getting thin.

"So, how much further?"

Jim appreciated the effort, not expecting any more conversation. "Buck's note said over an hour of dirt road. We're going pretty deep into the mountains. We pass over a low saddle into the next valley. Hopefully the snowline isn't going to be an issue." Jim switched over to four-wheel drive. The road was becoming muddy and he didn't want to risk going over the ravine. They were following a creek, flowing about twenty-feet below them.

"Wonder how he found this place."

"You can ask him, someone else has been on the road today. I imagine it was them."

"So they'll be there when we arrive?"

"Looks that way." Jim glanced over again. "Are you still wishing you'd stayed home?"

Blair shrugged, his head turned away again. "I told you, man. I'm just busy right now. I've got stuff that I should be doing."

"Blair, you're on spring break. You've been burning candles at both ends and in the middle for months now. You've done more work then a platoon of TAs. You deserve a week off."

"There's always stuff that needs to be done, Jim," Blair reasoned without the usual enthusiasm Jim normally heard. "I've got to stay on top of it, you know?"

Jim gave up. All this discussion was doing was pissing Blair off and giving Jim a headache. They lapsed into an uneasy silence as the Ford made its way. The road climbed until the trees thinned. Jim took a moment to enjoy an incredible view of the mountain tops at night before they started their decent into the adjacent valley. This one was wider at the top, more of a `V' shape at the bottom, carved over the decades by the power of the river that flowed at its base.

One unique aspect of the many rivers on the Olympic Peninsula was the fact they were still wild. They flowed from the glaciers high in the mountains to the ocean without any manmade structures to control them, like dams. All year long, the steelhead returned to their spawning waters, laid their eggs and went back to the ocean. The country was wild, a beautiful example of how things used to be before civilization arrived.

Almost exactly an hour and a half later, they arrived. The road had dwindled down to two parallel tracks, with brush that scraped the undercarriage as they drove. Jim's instructions were to look for a large pile of stacked rocks and take the next turn. A quarter of a mile later, they found a rustic cabin, spotting Buck's truck and drift boat.

"Light's on inside," Jim commented as he parked next to the Jeep.

"No phones here, right?" Blair asked.

"Nope, no cell phone coverage, either. Just a week of fishing and relaxation." Jim killed the motor and released his seatbelt.

Blair was still eyeing the cabin. "No power, no heat, no hot water, no TV, no internet."

"Your point?"

"No wonder burgers."

Was that the beginning of a smirk playing at the corners of Blair's mouth? Jim could only pray. "You having fun, Junior?"

Blair's seatbelt snapped back and he leaned forward to shrug into his coat again. A square of light appeared as the front door opened and two men walked out onto the front porch. "Yuck, Simon's already smoking those cigars. Hasn't he heard of secondhand smoke?"

"We'll kick him outside if he lights up, okay?" Jim opened the driver's door and raised a hand in greeting. "Let's get our stuff inside. I'm ready to crawl into a bed."

Now that Blair was breathing fresh mountain air and caught up in one of Uncle Buck's bear hugs, he felt better. He was still clueless as to why he'd been such a jerk to Jim, maybe Doctor Stuth would know.

"Hi, Uncle Buck," Blair whispered, crushed in a warm embrace.

"Hi, yourself. Simon and I were beginning to think you two would never show up." Buck released him in time to take Jim's hand in greeting. "Howdy, Jim. Any problems finding us?"

"Nah, once I lulled Sandburg to sleep and took the map reading over, everything was fine." Jim flashed a broad smile.

Still tucked under Buck's arm, Blair rolled his eyes. "Jerk. Hi, Simon."

"Sandburg," Simon answered. Looking like a model from a Land's End catalog, Simon patted his corduroy vest with one hand. "Isn't this place fantastic? Wait till you two see the river. We got here just before sunset and walked down to take a look." He set his cigar down carefully on the railing and held both hands out about twenty-five inches from palm to palm. "Saw one this big, gentlemen."

"Come on inside," Buck invited, pulling Blair along as he moved toward the door. "I figure we'll sleep in tomorrow, look around some first. I want to check out the river first before we run it."

"I like that part about sleeping in," Blair admitted. "Wow, this is nice."

The main room looked cleaner than he expected. The owner of the cabin had a good idea how to keep things simple. A staircase followed the left wall to an upper loft; its railings built from peeled logs, the stairs were half-sections of larger pieces. A fireplace built from river rock dominated the room's center, its chimney bisecting the railing separating the upper room. The burning logs within warmed the room comfortably. Beyond the fireplace, still on the lower floor, was a small kitchen. It looked like another bedroom was tucked under the loft, just to the right of the kitchen.

"The bathroom is two hundred yards out the back door." Buck pointed. "Take a flashlight from the counter before you go, Sentinels excluded, of course," he added.

"Of course," Jim said.

"Why's it outside?" Blair asked. He saw the way the other three men were grinning and answered his own question. "Oh. Never mind."

"Buck and I have already claimed the loft. First come, first served." Simon rubbed his hands together. "If you all will excuse me, I'm going out to finish my smoke. Good night."

"Night, Simon." Jim nodded toward the door off the kitchen. "That one's ours?"

"Yep, bunk beds okay?" Buck asked.

"If it's soft and horizontal, it'll work." Jim handed his overnight bag to Blair. "I'll go get our sleeping bags."

The bunks were metal framed and strong, looking like something out of an institution or old-style hospital. The mattresses might have been new when a Roosevelt lived in the White House. Blair wondered what `neat-freak' Ellison would say. But Jim's only reaction was to cover both old mattresses with white sheets he had brought along from the loft. Afterward he picked up an extra blanket and dropped it on top of Blair's sleeping bag. "Here, Sandburg. Just in case."

"Thanks." Blair made short work of getting his bed ready.

The tiny room was several degrees colder compared to the living room. Blair started peeling off clothes. By the time he was under the covers, Jim was already in boxers, standing by the small dresser, ready to blow the lantern out.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, night, man."

Darkness swallowed them. The bed shook as Jim climbed into his upper perch. Blair blinked in surprise. It had been a long time since he'd experienced complete darkness like this. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut. He held his hand out, palm inches from his nose. He couldn't see it.

A familiar pressure circled his chest and squeezed. What the hell was he doing up here? He'd forgotten to pack his laptop. There was no power even if he had. No TV to distract himself with. He'd packed without planning ahead. He didn't bring any books.

Nine nights of this? God, he was trapped with nothing to do but lay in the darkness... and remember.

He needed out.

Ask Jim to drive him home? Sure, another six driving hours on top of what he'd already done. Wait, though. Jim wouldn't come back; he'd feel obligated to stay in Cascade.

Okay, scratch that, hike back to Highway 101 and hitchhike home. Wrong, Uncle Buck would have a fit. Maybe if he asked, Buck would let him take his truck -

The bed frame experienced a mini earthquake. Blair sucked in his breath. A minute later, a match flared to life and the lantern was relit. Jim looked down on him in obvious exasperation.

"What?" Blair asked.

Jim scrubbed his face with a single light pass of a hand. "You. Your heart rate's got more peaks and valleys than these mountains we're in. What's wrong?"

His blanket pulled high, bumping his chin, Blair feigned an innocent air. "Nothing."

"Riight." Jim turned to his oversized tote bag. "Listen, Sandburg. I'm ready to drop here. You want to stay up all night, fine with me." He pulled something out. "I picked this up in case we had rain. Enjoy."

Feeling something heavy landing with a bounce on his chest, Blair lifted his head. A book, a real thick paperback. He snatched it up and brought it close to read the title. A techno-thriller.

"You'll probably ruin your eyes reading by lantern light," Jim grumbled as he climbed back into his bed.

Blair grinned. "Thanks, Jim." He rolled on his side, allowing the faint light to pour over his shoulder. Opening to the first page, he started to read.

"Ellison, if you're awake. I'd like to have a word."

Jim opened his eyes, instantly recognizing Buck's voice. He lifted his head and scanned the room with all senses on maximum setting. The air in the room was cold, tiny heat tentacles from the burning lantern below touched his face. Fresh coffee smells leached under the closed door and teased his taste buds. Morning light bounced off the rough lumber that paneled the walls of their room. Blair's soft breathing below him told Jim the kid had finally dropped off to sleep.

He checked his watch. It was after eight. Six hours of sleep. Easing his head over the edge, he looked down. Blair snored softly through his open mouth, his fingers keeping the paperback open on the last page he'd been reading before dropping off. Jim checked the split. More than two-thirds... Blair had read more than two-flipping-thirds of the book! He must have just fallen asleep.

Moving with the grace of a covert operations expert, Jim slid down to the floor and fished out a pair of heavy sweats and thick socks. He dressed quickly, then opened the door and eased out, closing it with a soft `snick'.

"Morning." Buck sat at the small pine table. Light poured in through freshly cleaned windows. On a side counter, a green Coleman stove worked a low flame under a large enamel coffee pot. It had been years since Jim had seen a pot like that.

"Good morning." A clean metal mug was in easy reach. Jim used a beat-up hot pad to lift the pot and pour. The black brew looked rich with bean oil. "You wanted a word?"

"Good to know your hearing's still sharp." Buck nodded to the empty chair opposite him, waiting until Jim sat before continuing. He got right to his point. "Why's Blair looking like last week road-kill?"

"He's not eating, not sleeping and doing the work of three men," Jim told him.

"Since when?"

Jim shrugged. Probably since before Jim even noticed. But to be fair; he had been healing from a gunshot wound during the first month. He worked to keep from feeling defensive. "He's seeing a councilor. The Feds got the perps from the McVey kidnapping case to roll over, so Blair's off the hook having to testify on that."

"So, it's Durkin," Buck guessed.

"That's the way I read it. He's been told the shooting was justified. The fatal embolus was a fluke, it happens. Intellectually, he knows it wasn't his fault. In fact, he even told me he would do it again, but..."

"He's letting it eat him up."

Jim sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Right."

Buck looked like a man struggling with a bitter medicine. He carefully turned the coffee cup in his hands. "You know, Blair's whole life, folks have been telling him how smart he was. He grew up fast, started college young. Naomi probably thought she was doing him a favor by raising him like she did, but everything needs balance."

Jim knew when to comment and when to listen. He drank his coffee and waited for Buck to marshal his thoughts.

"You probably already figured this out, but the first days Blair stayed with me were difficult."

"I'll bet."

One side of Buck's mouth curled up. "To put it bluntly, he was turning into a king-sized brat in a small package. Strong willed, stubborn and not about to be told he wasn't going to get whatever he wanted."

"I'm surprised he survived," Jim said, wondering where this conversation was leading.

"I'm sure there were days during that summer he figured he wouldn't," Buck admitted. "I was just out of the military. Used to having my orders carried out. Never had much time for kids, anyway. But something about Blair touched me. He's special."

"I know."

Buck pinned him with a steely look. "Do you? He looks twenty pounds lighter. His color is shitty and he's got more red in his eyes than a sunset."

Jim rocked back. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish on land. "He's an adult, Buck," Jim finally got out. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You could have picked up a damn phone and called me, for starters," Buck snapped, then softened. Looking down at his mug, he sighed. "Sorry, Jim. I'm not sure who I'm more pissed at. Me, you or that stupid kid in there." He nodded toward the closed door.

Forcing himself to relax his stranglehold on the coffee cup, Jim dropped his eyes to the table. "No, you're right. I've been watching this go on for weeks now. I guess I'm putting all my hopes on the shrink he's seeing."

"Seems to me, Blair needs more." Buck tossed back the last swallow and stood. "Maybe we'll figure it out this week."

"I hope so," Jim admitted. "You have no idea what it took to get him here."

By nine-thirty, all cabin occupants were awake, fed and ready to begin the day. Buck wanted to check out the river. Jim took a good look at his partner in the mirror as he drove. Blair still looked like road-kill. Jim realized, with no small amount of self-loathing, the evolution had been so gradual, he hadn't measured the damage.

"Pull over, Jim," Buck ordered.

Jim obeyed, parking his Ford. There wasn't really a shoulder to pull on to. But it was unlikely another vehicle would be along. The clouds had continued to float in from the ocean all morning, bringing a damp mist that accounted for the surrounding lushness. Not even a crayon box had this many shades of green. Moss hung from tree limbs in large clumps, grew on rocks and carpeted the forest floor. The surrounding ferns, bushes and trees emitted rich earthy-scented oxygen unlike any found in Cascade. Jim was reminded of Peru.

"I need to study the river here." Buck opened the door.

Jim turned the key and got out. The Kloochman River was lost below them in a maze of giant trees. The dirt road generally followed the river's path. Sometimes the water was in sight, other times the road wound high and away. This was one of those times. It would appear a hike awaited them.

Jim locked the car out of habit and fell into line behind Simon as they all scrambled over the side of the bank. "Sounds like rapids," he called out to Buck.

"Yeah," Buck answered over his shoulder. "River drops here. I need to make sure it's passable. No sweepers."

"Sweepers?" Simon asked as he stepped over a downed tree slowly decomposing back into the forest floor.

"That's what they call trees that land on the river. They stay in position and you get swept underneath them if you're not careful," Jim explained after a few seconds, when it was obvious no one else was going to answer. He hoped Blair would pop up with a wordy discourse, but that hadn't happened in months.

"Okay, so I'm guessing that's a bad thing," Simon quipped, he held a tree limb long enough to allow Jim to pass safely. They had fallen behind a bit and Simon lowered his voice to keep the next part just between the two of them. "Buck's pissed. What's wrong?"

Jim watched Blair continue to trail behind Buck and let the gap between the two teams widen. "You notice how washed-out Sandburg's been lately?"

Seeming surprised, Simon nodded. "I figured it was school."

"He's punishing himself over Durkin," Jim said. "Buck about took my head off this morning because of it."

They walked in silence a few minutes, both focused on keeping their footing solid. After a bit Simon sighed. "Okay, so what do we do?"

Jim smiled as some of the heaviness in his chest lifted. It was nice having good friends.

They stood on the edge of an overlook, the water fifty feet below. The majesty of the river and the forest that protected it was breathtaking. Clear water where the river ran shallow spoke of a purity only seen in nature. Where the water was deep, the color became a rich teal blue, contrasting with the light green around them. The constant sound of moving water, like a gliding murmur, soaked into the vegetation around them, the way some ceilings seemed to deaden a noisy room.

"God, this place is..." Simon made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

"Yeah." Jim nodded his head. "I agree. Will we be able to drift down this part?"

Buck eyed the river with a detail for the route his boat would take tomorrow. The Kloochman narrowed here. The familiar vehicle-sized boulders were pretty much as he remembered, but the bank looked different.

"Part of that bank washed away," Buck said pointing. "Still... shouldn't be a problem."

"What about those boulders?" Simon asked.

"Those I can see. It's the stuff just under the water's surface that makes the float interesting." Buck pointed down the ravine. "Why don't you two walk that way? You'll get to a rock slide, don't go any further. Just let me know if you see any obstructions that completely block the river. Blair and I will head upriver."

Jim started to say something, but caught Buck's gaze and nodded. "Meet back at the Ford?"

"Right."

They parted company. Buck let Blair enjoy the scenery for ten minutes, studying the river as they walked. The hill was steep and required careful concentration if a hiker wanted to keep the knees and seat of his pants clean. Another five minutes of walking and Buck caught Blair's arm. He really didn't need to go any further. The river leveled out past the next turn, providing a slow and easy current.

"You don't look good."

The younger man shrugged in a matter-of-fact way. "Busy, that's all. Guess I just needed this break."

"I've seen you busy, kid," Buck said. "This is different. You're too skinny. Your eyes are troubled. You're not acting like yourself."

"Just... don't!" Blair dropped his head and held out both arms like a baseball umpire making a call at home plate. "Okay, man? Just don't go there."

"Excuse me?" Buck remembered this attitude fourteen years ago. He hadn't tolerated it then and he didn't plan on starting now.

As if suddenly realizing he'd crossed an invisible line, Blair switched gestures. No longer the umpire, he mimed pushing unseen forces down with his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to start ragging me."

"Ragging? How about a word that makes sense?" Buck crossed his arms.

Blair found sudden fascination in the river below them, offering his back to Buck. A tickling suspicion nudged the older man, a memory of another time when Blair had completely shut down. He'd only been twelve years old, but the pattern was the same.

"Has Naomi been around?" Buck asked, knowing he'd scored a direct hit when Blair's back stiffened.

Blair turned back, a sickly smile in place. "She's on a retreat," he explained, shrugging his parka closer around his neck. "Actually, it was a real honor for her to be selected. But you know how it is. She's cut off from contact - that sort of thing."

"Uh huh," Buck commented, letting his gaze drift back to the river. "So, does she know about this Durkin thing?"

Blair did a perfect imitation of a deer caught in a pair of strong high beams at night. "N-no, no, she doesn't. She couldn't, right? She's on a retreat."

"Right." Buck had his doubts. "Let's head back.

Jim was enjoying himself. The cabin was rustic in every detail. Everyday things like turning a handle for water or flipping a switch for light didn't exist. Taking a second to hand position a half section of log, he flexed his muscles before swinging the splitting maul through the air and sending firewood splits in opposite directions. He leaned over, cupping a hand under each quartered piece and tossed them one at a time to the growing pile next to the cabin.

They had finished surveying the river and returned to eat a late lunch of chili and crackers. With a long week ahead of them still, there were chores that needed doing. Buck had made a list, which split four ways would be finished in no time. Later, they planned on getting their fishing equipment in order, eating dinner and hitting the sack early.

Buck and Blair were out of sight, working on the ancient looking hand pump that serviced the cabin. A pipe stretched to the river below them but required drafting. Something was wrong with the system and Buck was investigating.

Simon had drawn the short straw.

Jim looked up. "How's it going?" He squinted into the blue sky behind his friend. The clouds were gone now, leaving a picture postcard day behind.

Scowling down from his lofty perch next to the chimney, Simon continued to run the chain attached to the wire brush up and down as he cleaned. "Just wonderful, you?"

"Great. I'm thinking about selling the loft and moving up here to be a professional hermit. You see Blair and Buck?"

"Yeah, they're still fooling with the water pipe," the new chimney cleaner reported.

"Tell you what. I've only got a few more pieces to split. I'll start cleaning out the fireplace and help you tackle that stove."

"Deal," Simon agreed eagerly. "I'll buy the beer on our first food run into town." He grunted as he pulled on the chain with a hard tug.

Jim grinned, making short work of the firewood. Apparently, each person that came up brought a load of firewood. Since the cabin was technically within the National Park borders, they couldn't use any of the numerous downed trees that surrounded them.

Jim pondered the cabin as he finished stacking the wood. He'd been half serious about living up the mountains. Sure, the winters had to be harsh, but the payoffs were worth it. The solitude and tranquil settings were a balm to his senses. He envied the lucky stiff that owned this place, knowing the National Park would make sure the area around it wouldn't be developed into a resort or worse.

He tossed the last of the wood on top the neat stack by the back door and leaned the maul against the wall. It took just a second to brush off his clothes. Simon looked nearly done up there. Going inside the small cabin, he checked the fireplace. Yep, it had filled with broken creosote bits and ash. Jim was on his second bucket load when Buck entered the cabin.

"Need a wrench," the man explained, heading for an open toolbox on the table. "How's it going?"

"Good, almost done. I can hear Simon getting ready to come down," Jim answered.

"We've got that prime figured out. I wasn't looking forward to hauling water buckets up from the river all week." Buck paused by the doorway. "By the way, I wanted to ask you something without Blair around. Now's as good a time as any, I suppose."

"What?"

He tapped the wrench against his palm. "By any chance did Naomi talk to Blair about Durkin getting shot?"

Jim thought back. "I know they talked at least once. A couple of days after you left for Dry Falls. Yeah... I'm pretty sure they were talking about Durkin dying. Blair was still pretty torn up at the time. Why?"

Buck nodded grimly. "She been by since then? Or called again?"

Jim played the last few months over in his mind. Now that he thought about it, Naomi normally called once, sometimes twice, a month. She hadn't. "No, not that I've seen. Blair normally mentions it. He hasn't."

"Then, I think I know what's happening." Buck scowled as he opened the front door. "I'll explain later."

Jim frowned at the closed door. He wanted to know now, not later. Simon entered through the kitchen area, his shirt covered in black soot. Jim wished he'd carried a camera.

"Not a word, Ellison!" The big man passed on his way toward the stairs leading to the upper bedroom. "I'm changing shirts. Be right back."

"Yes, sir."

Jim watched as Blair's head lost the battle with gravity. Eyelids heavy with exhaustion refused to stay up. Each man was stretched out comfortably around the fireplace, enjoying the heat. Buck had a beat-up recliner. Simon sat in a heavily padded rocker. Jim shared a short couch with Blair. The furniture was thrift store vintage, but clean.

The evening temperature outside the log walls had dropped. They'd dined on German kielbasa with fresh rolls bought by Simon yesterday when he and Buck had driven through the nearby town of Forks.

The hours after dinner had been spent cleaning fly fishing lines as well as rigging a few spinning setups. As Buck had explained, the spring steelhead run was not normally known for fly fishing. Just to be safe, they planned on using spinning tackle and home cured salmon eggs, otherwise known as roe.

Buck had brewed a pot of decaf coffee. The talk had turned to fishing stories. As was the new custom of late, Blair had done more listening than talking, until his head started to droop.

"You should hit the sack," Buck suggested lightly.

Blair's eyes flew open. "I'm good." Then he proceeded to show off his tonsils in a long, jaw cracking yawn. "Okay, maybe you're right." He stood.

"I'm right behind you, Sandburg." Jim held up his coffee. "Just going to finish this cup and visit the facilities. Probably should have just poured the stuff into the pit toilet and saved my body the effort."

That brought a smile from his friend's face. "That's sacrilegious, man. Night, Simon... Uncle Buck."

After Blair was out of earshot, Jim raised an eyebrow in Buck's direction. "You had a theory?"

"A theory?" Simon asked.

"Why Sandburg isn't getting over the shooting," Jim expounded.

"Oh."

"Well," Buck pulled on an earlobe. "This is just a guess. But, back when he was twelve, Blair decided he didn't want to be a vegetarian anymore."

"I didn't know he was one," Simon muttered.

"He's not," Jim interposed.

"Let me explain." Buck sighed. "Naomi is a vegetarian, has been all her adult life, I guess. She raised Blair the same. Only, when he stayed with me that first summer, he decided to try meat and liked it. I didn't know it was an issue. He didn't tell me Naomi had forbidden him to eat it."

"I take it she wasn't happy when she found out," Jim guessed.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Let's just say I got an earful. For all her talk of free spirit and expressing oneself, she doesn't seem to apply that to her son."

Simon snorted. "Yeah, we noticed that."

"She has a..." Buck searched for the word he wanted, "... technique of getting him to toe the line without raising a finger. If he did something she didn't like, she'd make it clear he had screwed up in her eyes, then drop out of his life for a while." Buck's face became hard. "I watched her manipulate a twelve year-old like a pro. He was devastated."

"But, he still eats meat," Simon pointed out after a moment of listening to the wood in the fireplace crackle.

"After he went to Rainier, he ate whatever he wanted." Buck shifted in his chair. "I was proud of him. She finally saw he wasn't about to change back again. Made a big deal about accepting his decision."

"I hear that," Jim said, the words tasting bitter.

"Exactly," Buck said.

Jim thought back to that scene in Simon's office, when Naomi had ranted about Blair in police work. She'd gotten ugly with that crack about parading around in a blue uniform and jack boots. Right before she'd stormed off.

"It's happening again, isn't it? That's why she hasn't called him, or dropped by." Jim asked, feeling his blood pressure rise.

Buck rubbed the back of his neck. "Blair said she was on a retreat. But he also lied to me. Said she didn't know about Durkin."

A hand on his shoulder woke him to near darkness. For the life of him, couldn't understand why Jim was in his room. Head heavy with sleep, it took Blair a few seconds to remember they weren't in the loft.

"Time to get up, Chief." Another shake followed.

God, Jim sounded excited and happy. Blair wanted to go back to sleep. For the first time in a long time, Blair had actually achieved that deep state of slumber, without the nightmare. His body wanted more, please.

"We got the job of cooking breakfast," Jim went on to explain as Blair sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Simon and Buck are making the ferry run."

Visions of half a dozen winged woodland creatures being urged into a race by the two older men came to mind. Blair yawned. He knew what Jim meant. They were starting the fishing trip here at the cabin. At the end of the fishing day, they would arrive at the `take-out' location. Buck was driving his Jeep and the empty boat trailer down to the take-out now to leave it. Simon must be following in Jim's Ford, in order to bring Buck back.

"So, what's for breakfast?" Blair reached for his jeans and sweater. The room was cold. He hoped Jim planned on using the wood burning kitchen stove. That old monster should do a decent job heating the cabin.

"Don't have a clue." Jim waited by the door, holding the hurricane lantern. "That's why I woke you up, thought you might have some ideas."

Blair longed for a hot shower and his coffee maker. Once in the kitchen he waited for Jim to light another lantern. The cabin windows looked like they'd been covered with black paint. "What time is it?"

"Four-forty."

"Man, I keep forgetting that comes around twice a day," Blair complained as he checked the food supplies.

Under the countertop were tip-out bins instead of drawers. Blair found one that had been filled with potatoes and onions. He looked over at the large icebox. "Do we have any more kielbasa?"

"I think so," Jim replied as he opened the lid.

The ice box was one of the largest ones available for camping and took two men to carry. Dry ice lined the bottom. Jim pulled out a package wrapped in foil. "What's the plan?"

"Dry Falls Hash." Blair reached into the bin and selected a fat yellow onion. "We need to start a pot of water boiling and build a fire in the cook stove. You can peel potatoes. I'll take care of the rest."

"Make a big batch, Chief," Jim said. "I'm already looking forward to second helpings."

"Yeah, I figured meat and potatoes for breakfast would get your attention." Blair unhooked a large cast iron fry pan from the wall.

When Simon and Buck returned from jockeying the vehicles around, the cabin was warm, the potatoes and onions sizzled and a faint blush of light tinted the eastern sky above the mountain peaks.

"What am I smelling?" Simon demanded taking a deep breath and patting his stomach.

"Smells like my secret hash recipe," Buck answered in mock anger.

Jim and Blair exchanged a quick, furtive glance.

"Secret?" Jim asked.

"He thinks, man, but I was watching." Blair grinned as Buck slipped an arm around his neck from behind. "What makes you think this is your recipe, Uncle Buck?"

The older man pretended to squeeze as he took an appreciative sniff over the frying pan Blair poked at with the spatula. "Smells like it, looks like it." He plucked a small potato off the top. Blowing first to cool, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. "Only, it needs a little more garlic salt."

Blair snickered. "Told you, Jim."

"It's fine the way it is, Sandburg." Jim glared at Buck. "Step away from the cook, sir. Give the professionals room to create. You two can set the table." Jim opened up the small door in front of the stove and pulled out a tray of biscuits. "Ready, partner?"

"Ready." Lifting the skillet from the stovetop with the help of two heavy-duty hot pads, Blair carried the meal over to the table. "Dig in, guys."

Thirty minutes later, Simon buttered the last biscuit with a happy sigh. "I'm going to need to visit my tailor by this time next week. Excellent grub, men. Sandburg, I want that recipe."

"Sorry, Simon." Buck used the last of his biscuit to wipe his plate clean. "That stays a secret." He tossed the flaky bread into his mouth and wiped his chin with a paper towel.

"But Sandburg knows it," Simon protested.

"Yes, and if you start calling me Uncle Buck, I might share."

Simon still looked doubtful. "Jim probably knows it now. He watched Blair make it."

Jim chuckled. "Sorry, Simon. He had me peeling potatoes. I didn't see what he used for spices. We're just going to have to keep Julia Childs with us forever."

Simon pursed his lips, his attention returning to the now empty frying pan. "We should have saved some to have analyzed."

Buck stood up. "I suggest we clean up later. Let's fish!"

Jim held the tip of the drift boat while the others climbed in. The predawn light was sufficient for even non-sentinels to see by. They were directly downhill from the cabin where a rough track had allowed Buck and Simon to drive the trailer down over an hour ago and launch.

The boat was all metal with a diamond patterned floor. The middle seat was a sling-like affair without a back, the rower's seat. The boat's front and back looked identical with tips that rose up like the ends of a rocking chair runner. Jim knew that if Buck needed to, he could navigate the current with either end pointing down stream. Two side-by-side chairs had been set up in the front and a single chair in the rear. It would be crowded, but they planned on making it work. No one got left behind.

"Okay, Jim, push off." Buck had each oar handle in hand. He was dressed in green waders that came up with a bib. Underneath he wore a wool plaid shirt over a green thermal, with an unzipped polar fleece blue jacket over the top.

Simon sat in the back, still looking like a outdoor enthusiast model in wool and fleece. Jim took two steps into the shallow water and shoved, using his upper arm strength to cantilever his body into the front of the boat. He wore waders similar to Buck, allowing him to feel the water's chill, but his feet would remain dry.

"Remember, guys," Buck warned. "No fishing until we clear the park. I'll tell you when."

"How'd you manage to get permission to use a cabin inside a National Park?" Blair asked. He wore one of Jim's heavy sweaters over two cotton thermal shirts. Without waders, he had donned two pairs of sweatpants for warmth. His hair was tied back into a ponytail and he wore that stupid looking Fargo hat.

Buck worked the oars and the boat slipped along silently in the current, bobbing in the dips and ridges caused by the uneven river bottom. Jim felt each muscle relax as his body responded to the gentle rocking.

"There are a few cabins, like this one, that predate the park. The original owners are given leases, a person can assume the lease," Buck said.

Simon was lighting a cigar, one of the reasons he had offered to sit in the back, no doubt. "So, you know the lucky SOB that has this lease, huh?"

Buck was looking at Jim as he answered with a mischievous grin. "No, you guys know the lucky SOB that owns the lease. I forgot to tell you my rental rates."

Blair spun around. "That's your cabin?" he exclaimed. "Too cool!"

The predawn lit wall of trees flowed by for twenty minutes. Jim let his hearing reach out and explore their world, visiting animals large and small. The rainforest was alive with heartbeats. His nose could identify the freshness of a growing fern and the slow decay of a fallen tree, an earthy reminder of the never-ending cycle of the mountain's ecosystem.

"Okay, men. I give you the Kloochman River," Buck proclaimed. "Your steelies await."

Jim and Blair each had a spinning reel setup. A plastic square container filled with bright pink salmon eggs between them. The eggs were attached to each other with thin membranes. Jim reached in and used his fingers to gently detach a small grape size cluster. He handed it to Blair, then returned to the container for another.

"Watch, Sandburg."

The fishing line attached to the large hook in a way that allowed the fisherman to create a noose. Jim slipped the clump of roe into the loop of line and gently closed it. If a fish took a pass at the tempting meal, it was likely he'd take the hook. Blair watched and copied the motions.

"Simon, cast at forty-five degree angles," Buck ordered. "Left bank coming up is a nice spot. Boys, you can let your eggs bounce anywhere that looks good. Be mindful of Simon's fly."

"Bounce?" Blair whispered to Jim. "As in `off the bottom'? Won't the hook get snagged?"

Jim shook his head. He flipped his line, weighted down with a thin piece of lead on a short section of rubber tubing attached to the swivel a few feet back from the hook. "Sometimes, yeah. But the current will keep you moving. If you do snag, you might lose some lead, but your rigging should still be there. Go ahead and try. Feel for the bounce."

Jim kept one eye on his own line and the other on Blair. The new steelhead fisherman was clumsy, but he managed a half decent cast.

"Okay, yeah. I can feel the bounce," Blair said. "Now what?"

"When you get an idea of the rhythm, wait for a missing bounce. It might be a fish taking your bait. Set the hook."

"Ooo-kay." Blair sounded dubious.

Each cast created an arc. The bait would start at a fifteen degree angle to the front of the boat. As it sunk, it slowed and the boat would move ahead. The current moved the bait along, but at a slower rate then the drift boat, until the person holding the pole was forced to reel in the line and recast.

This continued for more than fifteen minutes. Jim could hear the swishing sound of Simon's fly rod, the gentle dipping of the oars and Blair's muttering. He extended his hearing into the water, not surprised to hear the faint clunking of the lead on rocks. Every once in a while the clunk wasn't there and Jim jerked back on the pole. Nothing. He could see Blair doing the same.

"I don't know, man. I think Simon's got a bet - Whoa!"

"Fish on!" Buck called out.

Blair was suddenly on his feet. The tip of his fishing pole arched down toward the water. Jim hurried to crank in his own line.

"Ohmygosh! He's a torpedo!" Blair nearly shouted. "Look! Jim, look!"

Jim worked to tuck his pole into the sidewall, out of the way. Things were likely to get interesting and he didn't want it broken. Buck put his back into the job of rowing, keeping the drift boat from the current's grip as he moved them toward the slower moving water near the shore.

"Don't fight him!" Simon called out, equally excited. "Let him run!"

"I know! I know!" Blair called back, grinning like a fool. "God, he's strong!"

With the boat out of the current, Buck moved boxes around and reached for a large folded net. "You're doing good, Blair. Let him tire out some."

Jim couldn't help but zoom in on the shadow underwater. The fish had been moving upstream like a rocket, stripping the line off Blair's reel. "He's a big one, Chief. Maybe twelve pounds."

"Woooo hoooo!" Blair cheered, his voice shaking with excitement. "We can keep the hatchery fish, right? Whoa! There he goes again!"

Buck was watching as well. He dropped the net and reached for the oars again. "He's a fighter," he muttered as he quickly moved the boat back into the current.

The steelhead headed downstream now, instinctively reacting to the line's tug; if one direction wasn't working, try the other. With the help of the current, the fish would make short work of all Blair's line. They had to follow or lose the fish.

Jim looked down river. "There's some slow water coming up. But you've got a tangle of downed trees to get by first."

"This fella knows his home water," Simon exclaimed. "He's going to try and shake you, Sandburg."

Buck coached as Blair fought the fish. Jim listened, appreciating the guide's knowledge. Between keeping the boat positioned and telling Blair when to take in line, when to hold, and when to turn the fish, they moved past the snarl of submerged trees and into a pool of almost slack water behind it. The fight had lasted several long minutes.

"Bring him in, runt." Buck reached for the net again. "Good job."

Blair was silent as the fish came alongside. Buck leaned down and neatly netted the prize. Jim was ready to take his partner's fishing pole when it was passed over. Simon was in the back, disposable camera in hand. The fish was a beauty. Buck gently removed the hook with stainless steel forceps.

"It's a keeper. Looks like fifteen pounds," Buck stated.

"Picture, Sandburg," Simon ordered.

But Blair had gone from jubilant to pensive and Jim's own elation slipped. Briefly licking his lips, Blair removed his hat and scratched his head. "I... I'd rather let it go. We can do that, right?"

"Absolutely," Buck said. "He's fine. This is a perfect place to let him catch his breath. He'll be back to swimming up river by nightfall."

"We have to at least get a picture!" Simon was insistent.

Buck carefully scooped the fish out, supporting his body and teaching Blair where to hold him. Blair wore fingerless wool mittens that Buck assured him wouldn't hurt the fish's skin. Simon snapped two shots and Blair got the pleasure of returning it to the water.

"Hold him loosely," Buck advised. "Let the water flow through his gills. He'll know when he's ready."

Sure enough, after a minute, the fish arched his long steel-colored body once and Blair let him go. He stood and Jim could see the thrill back in his blue eyes. "That was... awesome!"

Buck chuckled as he pulled against the oars and guided the boat back into the current. Jim already had Blair's hook ready and handed it back. He was surprised when Blair nudged him in the ribs.

"Jim..." Blair leaned close, his voice too low to carry beyond the two of them. He cleared his throat as if nervous. "Thanks, man. Thanks for not leaving me back in Cascade."

"You're welcome, Sandburg." Jim tugged on the disheveled ponytail. "Nice job with that fish. I'm glad you let it go."

Blair grinned, his eyes shining with glee again. "Did you see the size of that monster? I'm never going back to trout."

Buck heard the last part and laughed. "Watch out Simon, Blair's on a roll. Sounds like he's going to catch all the steelies today."

"In a pig's eye," Simons growled, pinning Blair with a look when the police observer turned in his seat. "Don't start, Sandburg. No cop jokes, okay? We're on vacation."

Jim caught the next steelhead later that morning, but lost it. He switched places with Buck on the oars after that, enjoying the feel of the boat. It was surprising how easily the craft could be maneuvered in the currents. Just before lunch, Simon's skill with the fly rod paid off. The fight was magnificent and when it came time for the picture, Jim had never seen his boss look happier. The fish was larger than Blair's, but a native. Simon carefully returned it to the river with a sigh.

"Why do I get the feeling your office is getting a new framed picture on the wall?" Jim teased his boss.

Simon tilted his head. "Maybe a portrait done in oil. I'll have to hire an artist to work off the photo."

Lunch was a simple affair of sandwiches and bottled water, followed by a choice of trail mix and candy bars. They ate and joked. The weather had warmed enough that all men were down to the last layer of clothing. Sweaters and shirts were rolled up and stuffed into the box that had held the lunch. In less than half an hour, they were back on the water again.

Blair and Simon took turns on the oars whenever Buck seemed satisfied the river was safe for a novice to handle the boat. Jim's second fish was a native and a small one in comparison, only five pounds. Jim returned his fish to the river.

"Hey." Blair looked up after a while, his eyes traveling over the high banks on either side. "This is where we got out and walked yesterday."

"Yep." Buck was back in the middle seat. "You boys hold on, the river's about to get interesting."

He wasn't kidding. Knowing Buck was experienced was the only thing that kept Jim calm. It was one thing to look down at the river from above, but quite another to be in a boat.

"Shee-iiitttt!" Simon hollered from the back. "I'm too old for this!"

The water gave them a rollercoaster ride, with stomach dropping dips and fast speeds. Unexpected splashes of cold water slapped their arms and a few faces. After one such dunking, Blair sputtered and broke into laughter which lasted until the water flattened out and the huge boulders were behind them.

"Having fun, Chief?" Jim asked drolly.

"Oh God, yeah!" Blair wiped the water from his face. "Let's do that again!"

"Oh, man. I so needed this," Blair leaned over the large basin. Shirtless, he waited for Jim to pour the lukewarm water over his soapy mass of hair.

"No kidding. We were all getting ripe," Jim answered. "I'm just now dialing up my smell."

Blair had to chuckle. He had taken the last turn with the wash basin, a stainless steel round tub about the diameter of a rain barrel but only twelve inches in depth. Water was warmed on the stove, enough to keep from shivering. After Blair did a thorough sponge bath with washcloth and soap, he called Jim in to help wash his hair. Thankfully, Jim had brought along one of those shampoos with the cream rinse already added.

Head upside down and water dripping into his nose, Blair finished squeezing the water from his now clean locks. He felt a towel dropped around his neck and shoulders. "Thanks, man."

"Welcome." Jim busied himself with recapping the shampoo bottle and returning the bar of soap to the blue plastic container.

"Were you always this organized?" Blair asked, straightening and toweling his hair dry. He turned his head, searching the kitchen counter and tabletop.

"Is this another start to a Tupperware joke?" Jim held the hair pick out.

"Nooo," Blair took the pick and started combing through the long strands. The wet ends rained on his shoulders. "I just noticed you're always prepared for camping. I never see how you get prepared, you just are."

"I wait until you fall asleep and sneak down from my bedroom to organize," Jim answered with a teasing motion, his hands held in front and mimicking tiptoe motions.

Blair sniggered. Jim joined in briefly before pushing him toward their room. "Finish dressing. I'm playing chef tonight and I need to get started."

"What's for supper? Simon's steelhead? Hey, I've got a recipe."

"Scram! I'm the chef tonight. I'm still inspired by your purloined hash recipe this morning. Now, go."

Blair slipped into their room, donned a sweatshirt and headed for the living room. His hair stood a better chance of drying in time for bed if he stayed close to the fireplace. Simon was already comfortably stretched out on the sofa, reading a fishing magazine.

"Where's Uncle Buck?"

"Took a walk."

Blair perched on the stone mantle, not directly blocking the heat from the fire, just off to the side. The heat felt fantastic and he let a dreamy smile steal over his face.

Simon set the magazine aside and grinned. "You look like a new man, Sandburg. Fun day?"

"And how. I had no idea steelhead fishing rocked. And moving down the river like that? Scenery always changing, taking a turn on the oars, trying to figure out where the fish are laying - what a rush."

"Yeah, we made a full day of it."

Blair curled his back, enjoying the way his sweatshirt absorbed the heat. He'd have to move in a minute, the fire was almost too warm. "So, Simon. What other type of fishing have you done?"

"Oh, lots. I've gone down to Mexico and chartered for blue marlin, fly fished the Yellowstone and Alaska. But, I hear sturgeon fishing is incredible. Haven't done that yet."

"Did you know," Blair broke in. "Sturgeons are considered as old as the dinosaurs?"

"I'm more interested in eating one. I've always thought I'd take Daryl down to the Columbia River one year. Maybe you and Jim could join us, we can get Buck to come."

Okay, it was time to move away from the fire. Blair switched over to Buck's empty recliner. "We can do that. If we bring Henri and Rafe, we could charter one of those bigger boats." Blair watched the flames, falling silent as his thoughts followed a new path. Sounds of pans knocking together and Jim moving around could be heard around the corner. "Simon? Do you ever wonder sometimes... when you're with Daryl if...?"

Nah, this was too weird. Blair suddenly wished he'd kept the subject on fishing. "Never mind."

Simon shifted, his long legs stretching out. He crossed his ankles. "Just say it, Sandburg. I won't bite."

Blair grinned. "Well, it's just - you're the only real parent here. And I wondered how you handle it - um, when Daryl sort of screws up. And maybe he doesn't. But if he did - big time screw up, I mean - how do you think you'd deal with it? Do you guys, like, talk it out? Or do you just forget about it after he's... grounded or whatever..." Blair pulled a face. He sounded so stupid.

Surprisingly, Simon wasn't laughing. In fact, he seemed to be treating the subject matter seriously. "Blair, I have to admit. Parenting is an art. Unfortunately, a lot of it is on the job training. Sometimes, I think I might have handled Daryl the right way, other times I know I didn't. There's no `one' answer."

Blair waved a hand, embarrassed to have asked. "Forget it, Simon. Stupid question."

But Simon was still pondering. "You know, Joan and I had help. We had access to her mother's experience, and that woman had it down. My grandfather was still alive back when Daryl was born, up until he was seven. He was a wealth of information. Joan and I were lucky."

Blair stared at the flames without seeing them. He couldn't help but comment. "Naomi didn't have anyone like that. We were pretty much a two-person family."

"So, you guys didn't have relatives? No grandparents?"

Blair shook his head. His hair already felt lighter. The fire was doing its job. "Never met any of her family. She doesn't talk about it. She knows a guy that drives long haul truck, calls him her brother. But I think that's an honorary title. They don't look anything alike."

"God, Sandburg. When I consider the screw ups I did with the help I had, I shudder to think what it must have been like for your mom." There was just enough lightness in Simon's tone to keep that from being classified as a dig.

Blair grinned. "She was great, though. I know she's not perfect." A lump formed and he had to swallow hard suddenly. "Actually, I used to think she was pretty perfect, you know? Maybe that's part of my problem."

Simon took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "I remember the first time I screwed up with Daryl. The first time I saw that look in his eyes that told me I was no longer his hero; that I let him down."

"What? I can't see you letting him down. You're a great dad, man."

But Simon shook his head. "Nah, I'm just a guy trying to be a great dad. My first mistake was not admitting that to him. Joan called me on it, and I finally realized that I couldn't bluster by. I ended up sitting him down and apologized. God, I can't even remember now what it was about. But I do know this; parents don't need a child to hero-worship them, Sandburg. Kids need to know that their parents are human, too. We can make the wrong call just like anyone else."

"Yeah, I'm starting to see that." Blair absentmindedly pinched his lower lip, his gaze on nothing.

"Naomi?" Simon asked, then grinned. "Obvious is my middle name."

Blair snorted. "Simon O Banks, huh?" He got serious. "It's probably nothing, really. It's just that she hasn't called lately."

When Simon didn't respond, Blair continued. "It's not unusual for us to go months without seeing each other, but she normally finds time to write or call. If I knew where she was, I'd call her." Only Blair had a feeling that was what Naomi wanted, her being where Blair couldn't find her.

"Well, all I can say is what I just did. Parents sometimes screw up." Simon raised a single finger in mock admonishment. "But police captains never screw up."

Blair snorted. "Riight."

"Here's my offer."

Blair looked up from his sandwich preparations, amused with Simon's insistence. "Give it up, copper. I ain't squealing."

Simon pointed a pancake flipper at him. "It's a fair trade. These pancakes are revered in twenty-nine states. I'm willing to share for your hash."

Blair laughed. "How come you wait until Jim and Uncle Buck are making the ferry run before you try wheedling this information from me? You don't try this tactic with the criminals, do you?"

Seemingly temporarily put off, Simon turned back to his job of making breakfast. Blair continued to snicker as he cut the tomato into thin, sandwich ready slices. They had woken the same time as yesterday, only this morning, Blair couldn't wait to start. He had slept hard and felt rested. None of the typical nightmares that had plagued him the last couple of months had visited. After eating Jim's incredible feast of baked steelhead and winter roasted vegetables last night, the four men had played an hour or so of poker and retired early.

Now Simon and Blair had a turn at fixing breakfast while the others launched the boat and moved the jeep and trailer down to the take out.

"Sandwiches are done," Blair announced. "I'm going to get the lunch cooler."

"Okay, it's out on the porch. I washed it out yesterday, so it's ready to load."

Blair wiped his hands on the kitchen towel and headed for the door. "Still can't believe this place belongs to Uncle - " Blair reached for the front door just as it swung open with enough force to knock him backwards.

Simon's protest registered in Blair's brain as he lost his balance and fell painfully onto his hip. His first thought was that Jim was barreling in because something was wrong, so his brain wasn't quite ready to comprehend what his eyes reported.

"Hello, Mr. Sandburg."

A short scream burst out of Blair's lungs. Scampering backwards on hands and feet, Blair stopped when he hit the back of the couch.

His nightmare had learned how to return from the dead and open doors!

Dr. Durkin walked smugly into the living room, a nasty looking handgun in his right hand. "Nice place you guys have. No! I don't think so, Banks. Keep still or I'll kill your friend."

Blair's eyes refused to leave Durkin's face. "S-simon? Can y-you see him?"

Durkin laughed as another tall shadow slipped into the cabin behind him. Blair barely registered the bigger man moving quickly into a position to better cover Simon. Were there anymore? How many had this guy brought back from the land of the dead?

"Get up, Blair. We have a lot to get done before your friends return." Durkin used the gun barrel to make raising motions.

"What the hell is going on?" Simon demanded. "We were told you died. How did - "

"Please!" Durkin frowned. "If you failed to notice, we have the guns. Shut up and follow orders. You're ruining my fun." He turned back to Blair who hadn't moved from the floor. "Get up." This time the order was menacing.

Blair rose weakly, leaning heavily on the sofa. Simon could see Durkin. That meant...

"Both of you sit in a kitchen chair so Robert can properly tie you up," Durkin commanded.

Simon appeared at Blair's side. Blair looked over at the other man and nearly passed out. Simon's grip kept Blair from falling. Lanfers had cut his hair short. His face wasn't as tan as Blair remembered, probably from too many days inside. But he recognized the man instantly.

"Oh. My. God." Blair's head floated with overload. Suddenly, sitting down seemed very a good idea right now. He let Simon help him over to the chairs, not able to follow the dialogue between Durkin and the police captain anymore, only half hearing Simon growling like an angry bear.

Durkin was alive.

Alive!

Blair mentally struggled with the shock. He had to get it together. But how had the doctor found Robert Lanfers? Blair forced himself to forget about last summer, about when he and Jim had helped Simon restore that old wooden ferry boat.

Returning to the present, Blair found himself in the chair, both wrists being pulled behind his back. A cord bound them together. Simon was still talking, yelling, demanding to know what was going on. Blair turned to check his friend, how had Simon gotten tied up so fast? He closed his eyes, suddenly tired. His thoughts refused to stay away from their adventure last summer. Of falling into the water, getting stung by that jellyfish and being pulled out by...

His hands bound and useless now, all Blair could do was shudder when fingers started stroking his forearm, shoving up his sleeve to brush against his skin. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling sick.

"Isn't that cute?" Durkin snorted. "I have to admit, when I researched you guys and learned about your episode with Robert, I became intrigued. Why would an ex-solder with Robert's impressive history turn kidnapper? We had a nice chat, what with me being a military doctor and all, it was easy. He explained about his enhanced senses and I read your reports to his doctors." Durkin smirked. "Seems Robert is taken with you."

"Leave him alone!" Simon bellowed.

"Time for the gags, Robert," Durkin said happily.

Blair heard steps on the porch. It was show time. Lanfers and Durkin had been busy. They'd searched the cabin, found Jim and Simon's guns, gone out the back door and returned without them, then turned on a small white noise generator similar to Brackett's. The doctor had even been thoughtful enough to remove the pancakes from the stovetop.

The door opened to the sound of Jim voice. "... They're down at the river or something." Jim had been talking over his shoulder as he entered, then froze when he realized he'd been tricked. "Durkin!"

Blair felt the gun barrel pressed into his temple. He knew Lanfers was standing at the doctor's side, behind Simon. Jim's gaze took in the scene calmly, his eyes narrowed as they fell on Lanfers, with only a few facial twitches to give away the recognition.

"Hello again, Detective Ellison, Mr. Stevens, glad you both could join us." Durkin sounded like a child on Christmas morning. "Please step away from the door and take seats in the chairs we so thoughtfully set out for you."

"What do you want?" Jim demanded.

Durkin sighed. "Oh, lots of things, actually. Right now I want you to do as you're told. Or..."

Blair was forced to bend sideways, as much as he could with the ropes around his chest, as the pressure against his temple increased. He closed his eyes against the pain and fought down a groan. If the guy kept this up, Blair was going to need the barrel surgically removed from his skull. The pain receded and when he opened his eyes, both Jim and Buck were in the chairs, one on each side of the door.

"Robert will be tying you both up," Durkin explained. "I don't have to tell you what would happen if you try anything, right?"

"I'm guessing the military had something to do with that little lie regarding your death," Jim said calmly. "What's the deal? Turning your research into a biohazard weapon?"

Blair waited for the moment Jim and Uncle Buck would spring into action.

"Oooh, he hits the nail on the head. And with your first guess." Durkin waved Lanfers forward. "I'm impressed. But, enough about me, let's talk about you. I understand from Robert that you're in better control of these enhanced senses you both have in common."

Blair waited for the fight to start, but it didn't happen. First Buck was bound, then Jim. Once the last knot was in place, the gun went away. Blair released the breath he hadn't been aware he held.

"Okay, we'll have time for sharing later." Durkin rubbed his hands together. "Robert and I had a most interesting hike in here. But I must say I'm looking forward to driving out. Please tell me you brought that nice Ford back. Nothing against Jeep products, I'm just a Ford man. You know?"

"What the hell do you want?" Buck demanded.

"Revenge!" Durkin shot back, and then seemed to recapture his composure. "The four of you are responsible for taking my life away. Now, I'm a practical man. I have my own golden parachute, so to speak. So I can indulge in a little revenge before I move on. Actually, I've decided my new employees would be very interested in sentinels. Count yourself fortunate, Detective. You get to live, too bad about the others."

Jim's stony expression showed no fear, but Blair's heart was pounding. Durkin had found his letters to Lanfers' doctors! They were so screwed. If Lanfers knew Jim was a sentinel - and he must, because Jim had figured Lanfers was one - then Durkin knew. And if he got access to those letters he wrote to Lanfers' doctors...

Oh, God! Jim was in deep shit!

"I'm not going with you, Durkin," Jim said. "Just take your new playmate and run off to whatever country you sold your soul to. We don't care, we won't stop you."

Blair wasn't expecting the man to have a temper. A stunning blow exploded a light show behind his eyes. He hung limply off the chair's back. Loud yells of outrage blended together, drowning out Blair's muffled groan. He was yanked back by his hair, his arms trapped painfully behind him.

"I'm the person in charge here. I'm calling the shots!" Durkin yelled, his temper climbing again.

It rapidly began to dawn on Blair, this man was nuts.

Jim's voice cut through Blair's throbbing pain, sounding suddenly sincere and persuasive. "Robert, you know this is wrong. Durkin doesn't understand. He doesn't get it, does he?"

What was Jim doing? Blair's head was immobilized by Durkin's fist, but he could see Lanfers standing just to the left of Buck. Why was Jim addressing Lanfers?

And why was Lanfers looking at Blair?

"Shut up!" Durkin demanded, shaking Blair's head from side to side as if to punish Jim.

Blair bit into the washcloth. Thanks so much, big guy.

The doctor continued. "I understand everything. You and Robert are the sentinels here. I have Sandburg's notes, I'll finish his research," Durkin shouted. "I've already helped Robert; all his senses are stronger now. Sandburg didn't do that! I did!"

Jim was shaking his head in disagreement, his attention focused on Lanfers. "See what I'm saying? He doesn't get it."

Blair could see Lanfers getting agitated. The big man had turned his attention to the doctor. If the hand in Blair's hair was any indication, Durkin seemed to be shaking with rage. Blair half expected the gun to get up-close and personal with his temple again.

What kind of game was Jim playing? Piss off the armed head-case?

"Shut up!" Durkin screamed. "Robert, get over here. I want Ellison to see his friends die at the same time, we'll save Stevens for last."

Lanfers did as he was told, but Jim wasn't giving up.

"Listen to me, Lanfers!" Jim insisted. "Durkin's going to kill Blair!"

"No!" Lanfers spoke for the first time, his coarse voice surprising all the occupants of the room.

"You don't need him!" Durkin claimed. "You have - "

Blair cried out in pain as Durkin's hand left his hair, taking several strands along in his clenched fingers. Durkin's statement was cut off by a strangled yell of terror and a loud snapping sound, like a giant hand popping its knuckles, followed by the thud of a falling body.

Blair turned in his bonds to see Durkin sprawled in a heap at Lanfers' feet.

What the hell just happened?

"Robert, untie Blair," Jim instructed, keeping his voice calm. "Untie us. We'll help you."

Lanfers reached for the cord holding Blair's gag in place. Blair didn't even mind the slight scraping feeling as it slipped tightly over his chin. It felt great to get that washrag out of his mouth. He couldn't stop from opening and closing his jaw. Lanfers seemed to understand. He even took a minute to touch the tender lump that had grown over Blair's ear.

"Thanks," Blair whispered after failing to summon enough spit together to swallow. His throat was so parched he wondered if cracks had formed.

"You stopped coming," Lanfers admonished softly.

"Ah..." Blair looked up, giving the man his full attention. When had he gotten that gun in his hand? "Y-your doctor said not to. You responded better when I stayed away."

"He lied."

"Oh." Blair shot Jim a worried look. What now?

"Untie us, Lanfers," Jim insisted, twisting his shoulders as he talked, his muscles straining against his bonds. "We'll get you help."

Lanfers turned, raising the gun to point it at Jim. "No, you'll take him away again."

"No! Don't, man!" Blair yelled, throwing his upper body against his ropes and scuffing the chair on the floor. "Don't shoot!"

"No one's taking you away again." Lanfers looked down at Blair, his eyes filled with determination. "I'm not a lab rat."

"No, you're not. You're so not! I'll help you, I swear. Okay? Just don't shoot." Blair couldn't pull his attention away from the finger on the trigger. Did it just flinch? What was it going to take to get him not to kill Jim? "Listen to me, okay? You're not a cop killer. You're a hero, a marine, remember? You don't want do to this. You saved my life. I owe you."

Suddenly, Blair had a plan. He blurted the words out as fast as he could. "I'll go with you. We can walk out that door now and I swear I'll help you."

That got the man's attention. The gun was now aimed at the floor. Blair pressed on. "I won't try and get away, either. I promise I'll stay with you for as long as you want."

"Sandburg!"

"Shut up, Jim!" Blair fired back, not taking his eyes off Lanfers' hopeful looking ones. "Only thing I'm asking is you don't hurt these guys. Do we have a deal?"

"You won't run away?" Lanfers asked, his forehead lined in disbelief.

"I swear to God, man," Blair promised with all his heart. "Wild horses will have to drag me away from your side."

Lanfers must have sensed Blair's sincerity because, before he knew it, the ropes around his chest and ankles came off and Blair was being urged toward the door. Jim lunged forward; the chair holding him back skidded forward a full twelve inches.

"Damn it, Chief! No!"

Blair swallowed the sudden fear that threatened to buckle his legs. God, Jim was right. What had he been thinking? He didn't want to go through this again. The sudden memory of those hours on that sailboat came to mind. He fought down his fear. There was no other choice.

"Sorry, man," Blair managed before Lanfers propelled him out the door almost faster than his feet could keep up.

Jim's Ford waited for them. Lanfers opened the passenger door, pushed Blair in. Slamming it, he jogged around to the driver's side and climbed behind the wheel. Jim had left the keys in the ignition.

As the Ford started and completed a three-point turn that threw gravel, Blair closed his eyes in despair. His friends were alive, that was the good news. The bad news was harder to swallow; he'd just made a deal with the devil.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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