PART ONE

"Morning, Jim."

"Joel," Jim Ellison greeted the large ex-captain, stepping off the elevator and falling into step by his side. Both men worked on the seventh floor of the Cascade Police Department.

"How's Blair's leg?"

With a sigh, Jim opened the door to Major Crimes and allowed Joel to go first. "He would be better if the little twit would listen to his doctor and stay off it," Jim commented as he set his coffee cup down on his immaculate desktop. "He's only been home for forty-eight hours and he's already giving me grief about `loft-fever'."

"Face it, Jim. Your roommate can't sit still for more than ten minutes at a time. Why would you expect a mere bullet wound to keep him down?" Joel said with a chuckle.

It was early, the bullpen empty except for the two men. A hasty handmade banner still decorated the outside wall of Captain Simon Banks office, a leftover from the small `welcome back' party the detectives had thrown for their boss, commemorating his rescue a few days ago from an escaped convict named Quinn. The small party had lasted about twenty minutes, long enough to eat fresh pastries from the local Starbucks and present a child's pair of water wings. Apparently, the cops had heard about the business with Simon in the well and thought the gift would be handy if the situation ever arose again.

Simon had laughed, and accepted the wings with grace. Jim had thought it tacky, knowing better than to tell his roommate about the gag. Blair was still getting used to cop humor; it was definitely an acquired taste.

"He'd better follow the doc's advice if he wants to walk without a permanent limp," Jim groused as he punched the power button on his computer. "He's supposed to stay off his feet till Monday except for trips to the john. Then he's got physical therapy to look forward to."

Joel thumbed through a stack of reports on his desk, finding the one he was looking for and carefully pulling it out. "Tell him I said `hi', will ya? I've got to get this to the D.A.'s office. I'll catch you later."

The door wasn't closed for more than a minute before Simon Banks entered with his head down, nose buried in an open file. The tall dark captain wore a long unbuttoned raincoat that flapped around his legs as he walked. Jim covertly studied his face. He looked rested, the physical signs from Quinn's attack beginning to fade.

"Morning, Simon," Jim said.

"Good morning, Jim, you're here early," Simon noted, looking up from his reading. "How's Sandburg?"

Smiling, Jim wondering how many times he'd have to repeat himself. Maybe he should print a newsletter and pass it out. His roommate may not be on the payroll, but after riding with Jim for over a year, he'd been accepted by the tightly knit group of Major Crimes.

After updating his boss on Blair's condition, Jim spent the next two hours working on his pending cases. Coworkers appeared for work and soon the sounds of clicking keyboards and ringing phones filled the room. By ten, Jim stretched his spine and decided he needed a snack from the vending machines. But first, he wanted to call the loft and check up on Blair. Just as he reached for his phone, Simon walked out of his office, frowning at a fax in his hand.

"Listen up, people."

The room quieted.

"I've got an opening for a four-day conference on inter-agency emergency preparedness that starts tomorrow. Abernathy was supposed to go, but the judge moved a high profile case up on him. Do I have any takers?" Simon watched as each detective suddenly found something fascinating to study on their desks. No one returned eye contact with the big captain.

"Brown? What about you?" Simon pressed.

"No can do, sir. I've got that Blakely interview, the one we've been trying to set up for months, remember?" the detective wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt announced, failing to hide his obvious relief on his face.

"Ellison?"

"Give me a break, sir," Jim moaned. "I did the last conference that came down the pike, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Simon nodded with a sympathetic expression. "I'd forgotten. The state's review on archiving official documents, wasn't it?"

"I keep the manual by my bed," Jim deadpanned, "just in case I can't sleep."

"Well, I've got to send someone, the money's been spent. Knowing those vultures in accounting, if I don't follow through with a body, they'll squeal to the Chief and I won't be able to pass enough funding next year to keep us in sticky notes," Simon prophesied as he headed for the door. "Maybe burglary can spare a body. I'll be right back."

Jim dialed the number to the loft, chuckling as the men in the bullpen sighed in relief. After several rings, he gave up. Dropping the phone back into its cradle, he rubbed his forehead wearily. Where had his roommate disappeared to now? None of the other residents in his building stayed home during the day, so he couldn't be visiting a neighbor.

His cell phone.

He dialed that number and waited for the connection to go through.

"Blair Sandburg."

"Where are you?" Jim demanded, not wasting time with polite greetings.

"Umm...oh, hey, Jim. Did I miss your call or something?"

Jim's eyes narrowed. Something about Sandburg's tone put him on alert. "Yeesss. I just called. Are you staying down?"

"Oh, yeah. No problemo, man. I'm just chilling. You know? Goofing off on the computer and stuff."

"Okay, thought I'd check in. You need anything?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks for doing the big brother thing and all, but I'm cool." Blair's voice sounded nonchalant, but Jim had been living with the younger man long enough to know how Blair operated, this was his `escape and evade' voice.

Just before the connection ended, Jim dialed up his hearing and heard the deep voice of Simon Banks. Jim's eyes hardened. "Got cha', partner," he muttered rising to his six foot plus height and striding out of the room like a large cat on the hunt.

One floor down, Blair Sandburg pointed to a computer screen. "See, now you have a shortcut for your spreadsheets on the stolen merchandise and your addresses, now if you want, we can---"

"Jeez, run for the hills, guys. Ellison looks ready to kill," a short rotund detective whispered from two desks over.

Blair looked up to see his roommate advancing. "Oh, shit."

"What's wrong?" the detective sitting at his side asked, distracted from his computer.

Jim stopped in front of the desk, his face hard as he eyed the new set of crutches leaning against the wall. The room quieted as a few cops paused in their work to watch the upcoming drama unfold. They'd all seen Ellison in action before, both on the street and in the station. His temperament was the stuff legends were made of; slow to anger but once he reached boiling point - watch out!

"Sandburg," Jim said.

"Hey, Jim!" Blair answered with an enthusiastic smile. "I was going to come see you next. Lloyd and I are working on a spreadsheet for his auto shop break-ins."

"Uh huh. You told me you were at the loft."

"No, actually, I only asked if I'd missed your call. You just assumed I was at the loft."

Jim looked Blair over, he was dressed in sweats, probably the only thing he owned that would fit over his swollen thigh. The flannel shirt layered over a cotton Henley seemed too warm to be wearing in May, but this was Blair - always cold in Washington. His long hair was combed back into a ponytail. Jim noted the pale face and fine creases on the wide forehead. Jim knew he was in pain, probably from the foolish stunt of coming into the station, which caused Jim to wonder...

"So how'd you get here?"

Cops rose out of their seats, suddenly finding an excuse to be somewhere else. Blair watched as more then three quarters of the room's occupants left.

"It's no big deal, Jim. I drove in," Blair explained as Lloyd muttered something about needing a fresh cup of coffee and abandoned ship.

"Sandburg, your Volvo is a stick."

"No kidding, really?" Blair joked, then shook his head as he laughed. "Would you relax, man? You've got the natives here freaking out. I'm fine - bored - but fine!"

Jim bent down and scooped up the backpack from the floor by the desk. Unzipping the outside pocket he rummaged around and pulled out the set of keys. "The doctor told you no driving for a week, Chief. I heard it as plainly as I can see the pain lines on your face. I'm revoking your driving privileges as of now. The Volvo can sit in the parking garage until you get the okay to drive."

The smile slipped off Blair's face, replaced with a scowl. "I'm not staying at home, man. Keep the keys if it makes you feel better, I can still get around."

Jim fought the urge to jerk his guide out of his seat and shake him until some common sense broke free and began to function in that curly head. Sandburg was already hurt - because of Jim - couldn't he see his body needed time to heal? Jim unclenched his fists and scrubbed his face. Would he get away with cuffing Blair to his futon during the day?

Blair leaned back in the chair, arms folded across on his chest, a clear signal of his position on the argument.

"Look it's only four days..." Simon's voice floated across the silent room.

Jim got an idea. Turning to his captain, he called out, "Simon, if you throw in lodging for two, I'll take that conference off your hands."

Simon was at his side in a second, clapping his back and smiling broadly. "Wonderful! Hi, Sandburg, aren't you supposed to be at home? Jim said you had to stay off your feet for a few days."

"Jim's being a little over protective, Simon," Blair explained. "What's this about a conference?"

Simon handed the faxed page over to his best detective. "Enjoy. You're taking Sandburg along?"

"Yes," Jim answered over Blair's protests.

"Hey, you can't commit me to some---" Blair started in.

"Relax, you're not due back at Rainier till next week. I'll attend the meetings, you can watch TV and rest," Jim ordered with a wave of his hand. "Where's the class at, Simon? Seattle? Portland?"

"Jefferson County is hosting it. It's in Port Townsend," Simon answered as he clapped Jim's back one final time before leaving.

Frowning at the facsimile of the brochure on the conference, Jim recalled what he knew about the small Washington town of Port Townsend; filled with old Victorian homes located near Point Hudson in the far northeast corner of the Olympic peninsula. The residents were known for their liberal views and interest in the arts. Swell.

"Port Townsend! Oh wow, that rocks!" Blair's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Thanks, man!"

Given the choice of taking two ferries or driving down to Tacoma and fighting the traffic over the Narrows Bridge, Jim picked the ferries. He scheduled their departure on Wednesday to allow them enough time to arrive at the ferry dock early in the morning. Blair sat in the passenger seat of Jim's new loaner Ford Explorer, surrounded by papers, books, bottled water and a box of Fig Newtons.

"So, you gonna to get one of these if the insurance totals your truck?" Blair asked as they parked with the other vehicles waiting for the ferry's arrival.

"Maybe. I'm eyeing the new Expeditions, though," Jim answered, holding out his hand.

Blair slapped three cookies in the waiting palm. "You should get a classic like my Volvo."

"Yeah, right."

"No, seriously. They have `personality'!" Blair declared. "Wonder which ferry we're gonna get."

"What's it matter, Chief? As long as we get there." Jim popped a soft cookie into his mouth and chewed. The distinctive tang of fig exploded on his tongue as he crunched the small seeds between his teeth.

"Jim, each ferry has its own history. I did a little reading last night on the web. Did you know the original passenger ferry is at Lake Union?" Blair asked pulling his laptop from the floorboards and opening it up as he spoke. "I saved some information here."

Jim eyed the computer, recognizing all the classic signs of `Blair getting ready to lecture'. What Jim desperately needed right now was a distraction.

And he found it.

Down the row of parked cars, a woman was working her way toward them, selling newspapers. Jim dug into his pocket for change. The woman spotted the sale and zoomed in to deliver the paper.

"Here, Chief." Jim offered the paper, keeping the sports section for himself. "Relax and catch up on current events."

"Real subtle, Ellison," Blair snickered, returning the laptop to the floor. "As least you didn't just tell me to shut up." He snapped the paper open and began to read.

Jim allowed a small smile to stay on his face, safely hidden behind the Mariners' scores.

Blair watched as Port Townsend's waterfront approached. They had the first position on the deck, allowing them a spectacular view. The ferry navigated across Admiralty Inlet, a heavily trafficked waterway between Whidbey Island and Port Townsend. The morning was beautiful, like a postcard, with blue skies, white fluffy clouds, multiple sailboats, and the snow capped Olympic Mountain range to the south.

"Come on, Jim. Let's go to the upper deck. I brought my bird watching binoculars," Blair said, holding up a small, but powerful pair of binoculars.

The electric lock slammed down before Blair could open it.

"No. It's a short crossing, you can watch your birds from here," Jim said, reading the newspaper.

Blair pursed his lips in thought. "I have to go to the bathroom," he declared with a sincere look.

Jim's eyes flicked to his face for a second, then back to the paper. "Yeah, right. We both went on the Cathlamet. You just want to use ogle the blonde you saw going up the stairs."

Blair snickered softly. When had Jim gotten so adept at reading him? Settling back in his seat, Blair watched as a sailboat changed directions, moving out of the way of the larger ferry. It felt so great to be out of the hospital and the loft, heck, even out of Cascade.

"Did I tell you the meaning of Cathlamet, Jim? It's from the Kathlamet tribe, the Chinook word calamet means `stone'. It was given to the tribe because its members lived along the rocky stretch of the Columbia River. Isn't that cool?" Blair asked, remembering his reading from last night.

"Uh huh."

"You know what this ferry's name means?"

"mmmm..."

"Klickitat. It's a Native American/Chinook word for `beyond'. This boat was built in San Francisco back in nineteen-twenty-seven," Blair explained. "Just think of the history this baby has seen, man."

"Uh huh..."

Blair turned face Jim. "You're just letting me ramble, aren't you?"

"What ever keeps you happy, Chief...and in the vehicle," Jim answered without looking up.

"Jerk."

"Uh huh..."

The pilings from the original Port Townsend ferry dock stuck out of the water like soldiers from an old, forgotten war. A few blocks south, the currently used dock received the old boat like a welcomed friend.

"Jim, turn right," Blair ordered as they left the ferry and stopped at the first intersection.

"Why?"

"I want to check out a book store I read about. It's supposed to be totally awesome."

"I guess we have time before registration, but I want to get checked in to our room before it gets too late." Jim turned north as requested. Tall turn of the century brick buildings lined each side of the narrow street. The sidewalks were filled with shoppers and tourists.

"Wow! Look at that building, the one on the corner." Blair pointed to a blue and white structure. "It looks like it belongs in Dickens' Christmas Carol! I bet it's over a hundred years old."

Jim bent down to stare up at the large building. "I'd guess late eighteen hundreds."

The building was at least four stories high, with a circular room on the corner of the second floor that reminded Blair of a turret from a castle. The ground floor held an old fashion tavern, complete with pool tables. Ornate cornice pieces and carved work decorated the building.

"Wouldn't it be cool to live in a building like that?" Blair breathed.

"Sure, old plumbing, faulty wiring, drafty rooms - I can hardly wait. Where's this bookstore you want to look at, Chief?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Sheeze, man. You are such a mood killer," he teased. "There! On the right. The Charles-Franklin."

Jim slowed as they passed. The store was sandwiched between a clothing boutique and a florist shop. A short concrete ramp led up to a pair of tall wooden doors. Windows on each side of the entrance were filled with old and new books on display.

"Let me out, man. You can pick me up after you register for the conference." Blair was suddenly anxious to get inside, caught up in his dream of finding more manuscripts by Sir Richard Burton.

"Wait, Sandburg. I'll find a place to park and go in with you."

A few minutes later, Jim held the door open as Blair swung in on his crutches. The old bookstore was narrow. Two long aisles ran down each side, filled on each wall with shelves reaching to touch the high ceiling. Each shelf overflowed with books. A glass case stood directly in front of them, displaying the rarer, more valuable finds. A short wooden counter with a cash register sat to the right. A young Asian man with short dark hair and an athletic build looked up from behind the counter, greeting them both with a smile.

Blair froze as he stared at the shop; wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling, literally filled with books just waiting for his fingers to pull down and leaf through. He was in heaven.

"Shut your trap, Chief. You'll catch flies," Jim teased. "So, which section are you interested in?"

"What?" Blair shook himself from his musings.

"I asked `which books are you interested in'. You can go sit in that chair and I'll bring you the titles you want to look at." Jim pointed to an overstuffed green chair half way down the right side aisle.

"You don't have to..." Blair's words died out as he saw Jim's expression. Oh, boy. Jim was using `that' look again. Better to take a seat and let the man do the fetch and carry thing. Besides, Blair reasoned as he maneuvered his crutches down the narrow aisle towards the chair, at least Jim had stopped. He had half expected to be driven straight to their motel room and locked in for four days.

Blair lowered himself into the chair, his crutches safely tucked out of the way. Jim stood at his shoulder and began to quietly read the titles off the spines of each book as Blair pointed to a section he was interested in. Soon, there were several stacks of books on the floor next to the chair. Blair felt a moment of hesitation as he studied all the titles, unsure of where to start. He donned his glasses, then pulled a notebook out of his backpack, along with a pen, and prepared to take some notes.

"How much time are we looking at here, Chief? Before you're ready for me to pick you up?" Jim asked.

"Ummm...at least two hours. Why don't you register and check us into the motel first?" Blair suggested, already reaching for the first book, choosing a green book with a tooled design on the front cover.

"Okay, we can get some lunch. I have my cell phone on, call me if you need anything. And stay put, Sandburg." Jim eyed his friend closely as he spoke.

"Uh huh."

"Sandburg...what did I just say?"

Blair looked up, eyeing Jim over the top of his glasses. "Uh...lunch...cell phone...keep my butt parked in the chair?"

"Close enough. See you in two hours."

Blair raised a hand in a dismissive wave, his head already bent, eyes on the book in his hands.

Jim made a beeline for the clerk behind the counter; aware that the man had been watching during the entire process. He smiled as he neared.

"Hi, I was wondering if you could keep an eye on my friend while he looks over those books. I'll be back in two hours to pick him up," Jim asked, pulling out a business card from his wallet.

"I'd be happy to," the man said with a smile. "He looks like he has enough to keep him busy for the whole summer."

"You'd think, but I've seen him go through twice as much back home, just getting ready for a class. The thing is, he needs to keep off his leg. I'll be happy to replace the books he doesn't buy, but could you help him if he needs any more?"

"Sure, that's what they pay me to do," the young man said as he accepted the business card and read the print. "Police? You're here for the conference this week?"

"Yeah, we're staying at the Bayshore Motel. Any idea where that is?"

The clerk nodded. "You're only three blocks away. Go north, it's on the left. Big three story square building."

"Great, thanks. My cell phone number is at the bottom." Jim pulled the baseball cap out of his back pocket and fit in over his short brown hair. Taking one more look at Blair, happily reading in the large chair, Jim headed for the door. The store did have a certain appeal. Jim made a mental note to check out a few titles before leaving on Sunday.

Jim decided to check into the motel first. The clerk was right, the motel turned out to be close, he could see the top of the building from the front door. Jim checked in and drove the Explorer around to the room to unload their luggage. The manager gave them a ground room floor facing the street. On the other side of the narrow two-lane road, the shoulder sloped down to a small rocky beach with a view of Puget Sound and Whidbey Island. After checking out the room and approving of the two twin size beds, he unloaded their bags and headed for the conference.

On the opposite end of town, a large conference hall sat on a bluff overlooking the old town. Once a large Victorian hospital, a small group of businessmen had decided to convert it into a multi-room facility able to host large conferences. Jim found the registration desk and signed in. Accepting his badge, he looked over the scheduled meeting. It was the usual fare to be expected at an emergency preparedness seminar; earthquakes, flood, fires - typical chaos.

"Ellison, you dog!"

Jim looked up, seeing the heavyset man crossing the crowded lobby. Accepting the warm handshake being offered, Jim smiled at the man. "Martin! What are you doing here?"

Martin Franks laughed, his white teeth a marked contrast against his tan skin. "I work here, Port Townsend PD, bucko. I'm helping with the Jefferson boys organize this wonderful extravaganza. You're supposed to be Abernathy, if I remember my list correctly. What happened?"

Jim shrugged. "Pitch hitting. He had a court docket moved up on him. Last I heard you were working in Seattle."

"I was. Hated it. Transferred again, now I'm Assistant Chief," he barked a laugh at Jim's expression. "I know, I know. I've gone over to the dark side. But it's been along time since we swapped `I hate the brass' stories back in Vice."

Jim shook his head, unable to prevent the sly smile from appearing on his face. "So how much is it worth to you?"

Franks' eyes narrowed as he hooked both thumbs in his belt and rocked on his feet. "What?"

"To keep me from telling your officers about that little incident with the transvestite midget?"

Franks sputtered for a few seconds, his eyes wide as his face began to darken to a red color, similar in shade to the plush carpet they stood on. "You wouldn't!" he managed to choke out with some effort.

Jim laughed at the reaction, it was better than he'd hoped for. "Relax, all your secrets are safe with me."

Franks calmed down. "God, man. Give me a heart attack, why don't you? Are you still in Vice?"

"Nope, Major Crimes now."

"Wow, fine score there, Jim. That was a nice division to hang with."

"Still is."

"So, let's get some coffee and I'll bore you with my administrative woes." Franks pointed towards a sign advertising the direction of a refreshment room.

Jim glanced at his watch. He still had forty-five minutes before he had to collect Blair. "Lead the way, McDuff."

Time ceased to exist for Blair. The call of the hunt throbbed through his veins making his surrounding fade into nothingness. The books circled his chair now, each one bookmarked with scraps of paper. So far, he'd only found two in the `must have' stack, but the prices on the books were decent and he toyed with treating himself to a few more. Just as he was getting ready to turn the page, a light touch brought him out of his thoughts.

"Huh?" Blair blinked a few times as he refocused his eyes.

"I asked if you'd like something to drink."

Blair recognized the clerk from behind the counter standing next to his chair. "Oh, hi."

"Hello," the clerk said, extending his hand for Blair to shake. "I'm Sam Wah. I'm getting ready to run next door for a soda, do you want anything?"

"Yeah, I could drink," Blair said digging into his pocket and handing the clerk a dollar. "I'm Blair. Thanks for the refreshment run."

"No problem, I have orders from a very big cop to take care of you," Sam confided with a mock whisper.

Blair rolled his eyes. "Tell me he didn't..."

"Yep, I'm to nark if you get out of the seat. He even gave me his card and everything," Sam said with a chuckle.

"I'm like `so' sorry, man," Blair moaned. "He's been over reacting since I got hurt."

"What happened to you?" Sam blurted out, then blushed. "Sorry, that was rude of me to ask."

Blair waved a hand. "Forget it. I was just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, my usual luck."

"Okay, I'll be right back, Coke or Pepsi?"

"Pepsi's good, thanks."

Sam headed for the door. "You're in charge while I'm gone, man."

Blair laughed as the door closed. "Talk about leaving the fox in charge of the chicken coop," he muttered, setting a book down and carefully standing. His body was stiff, joints popping as he moved. Quickly checking his watch, he realized Jim would be coming back in about twenty minutes.

Man, he should have asked for at least three hours, maybe four. Oh, well, they were staying for four long days, plenty of time to return and browse.

Reaching for a single crutch, he hobbled over to the history section. One of the books he wanted was a second volume. If he was lucky, he might find volume one. Having both books would an awesome addition to his library. Blair tilted his head back to examine all twelve feet of shelving. It was hard to see the titles from his position, but a few books might be the one he wanted, if he could reach them. Blair spotted a round step stool. Carefully pulling the stool closer to the shelf, he eased himself up on one good leg. Nearer to his goal now, he saw the book he wanted.

"Darn, how did they ever manage in the old days with these high ceilings?" he muttered quietly as he stretched on his toes.

Blair wasn't sure how it happened, either his center of gravity was off or the floor had a slope to it. But without warning, the stool shot across the aisle and he was falling. With a curse, he tried grabbing the shelf to keep from landing wrong, but his fingers slipped off. Blair landed hard on his injured leg. A white-hot pain seared his body, reaching all the way to the top of his head as his vision faded to gray. He was dimly aware of crying out as his right hip, shoulder and the side of his head bounced off the wooden floor.

"Oh, shit!" Footsteps vibrated on the old wooden planks and Blair felt a hand on his arm. The voice was wrong, though. This wasn't Jim. For a second he couldn't remember the clerk's name.

"Blair, are you okay, man?"

Sam. The guy's name was Sam.

Blair jerked his head, hoping that it was moving in the correct direction. His vision starting to come on line again, the pain was ebbing now, letting him think. He had to get off the floor. Jim was going to be walking in that door soon. If he knew...Blair refused to complete that thought. The weekend would be over before it even started.

"H-h-help me up..." Blair stuttered quietly through clinched teeth.

Sam was stronger then he looked. With little effort, he managed to get Blair back into the chair. Leaning forward at the waist, Blair gripped his thigh with both hands as it throbbed with fresh pain. A low groan escaped before he could stop it.

"Man, you're trashed. I'm calling nine-one-one."

"No!" Bair snagged a sleeve before the other man could get off his knees and head for the phone. "Just...give me a minute. It's getting better, really." He had to get back under control before Jim arrived.

"Should I call your friend? He gave me his cell phone number...just in case---"

Blair shook his head, long hair flying out from his neck. "No, no, no. You've got to swear you won't tell him, Sam. He's going to be here any minute."

Sam looked skeptical. "You sure?"

"Oh yeah. Trust me on this one."

Sam stood; retrieving an unopened Pepsi can from the floor and handing it over. "Okay, the customer is always right, dude. What were you doing out of the chair, anyway?"

"I'm looking for the other volume to this book," Blair explained, starting to breath easier.

By the time Jim walked into the store, all was back to normal. A few other customers had arrived and Sam was busy with an elderly lady looking for the latest mystery by Tony Hillerman.

"Hey, Jim," Bair said as his friend neared. "Ready for lunch?"

"Yep," Jim answered. "How many of these books am I putting back on the shelf?"

Blair pinched his lower lip between his teeth as he studied the stacks. Decision time had arrived. "Well, that one... and those two for sure." Blair pointed to the stacks as he talked. "Sam is going to hold this pile for me until we leave. I'm taking those three with me now."

"Okay," Jim said. He scooped up the nearest pile and began to replace the books. After the last book, Jim paused, his eyes on the floor. Blair shifted nervously in the chair as he watched Jim's gaze swing to the nearby stool and then return to the shelves. Jim turned to pin Blair with a deadly look.

Uh oh.

"Something you'd like to get off your chest, Sandburg?" Jim asked in a lethal tone.

"No...not really. I just need to pay for these books and we're out of here."

"Riiight," Jim drawled; his fists had found their way to his hips. "Did I ever tell you about the time we solved a burglar's point of entry question by the marks he left behind in the dust?"

Blair was reaching for his crutches, his hand freezing for a moment before pulling them to his side. "No, don't think you did. Carry those books to the counter for me?" He positioned himself to pull his body out of the chair with the help of the crutches. A large hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Jim squatted down in front of the chair, his face level with Blair's. "There's dust in your hair, junior. I can smell traces of fresh blood on your leg. How bad was the fall?"

Busted.

"Jim, I'm okay."

The Rock of Gibraltar had nothing on Jim Ellison at that moment. Blair doubted he could get past the older man if he had two good legs to walk on. There would be no escaping this conversation.

"How bad? Were you standing on the stool at the time?"

"Okay, fine. I was on the stupid stool. I slipped and landed on the floor. But I'm okay," Blair insisted. He groaned when Jim reached down and began to work the right leg of Blair's sweat pants up over his knee until the bandage was uncovered. "Come on, Jim. This can wait."

"No," Jim said firmly as he started to peel back the tape. A small spot of red stood out on the white gauze.

The bandage came off the shaved skin easily; the angry looking bullet wound was seeping a thin trickle of bright blood. Jim studied the entry wound carefully. "I don't think you tore any stitches. How does it feel? And don't even think about lying, Sandburg, I can tell when you do."

"Aches a little, like when you really stub your toe and it throbs for a second," Blair admitted.

"Okay. We'll get you to the motel and ice it for now. I'll check the exit wound then." Jim replaced the tape, letting Blair work the leg of his sweats back down to his ankle.

Sam rung up the book sale and Blair handed his cash to Jim to make the transaction. After the books were loaded into the Explorer, Jim double parked it outside the door and helped Blair out of the store and into the passenger seat. Sam stood in the doorway, waving as they drove away.

Jim tried to curb his anger as he followed his roommate into their motel room. This weekend away from the loft was supposed to keep Blair off his feet; instead he'd tried to scale the sides of bookshelves.

"Which bed is yours, man?" Blair asked.

"This one." Jim pointed to the closest bed. "Let's check your leg, then I'll get us some lunch."

Blair pivoted awkwardly and slipped out of his sweatpants before sitting on his bed in boxers and a sweatshirt. "Sam told me the pizza down the street tastes decent."

Pawing through a supply of bandage material the hospital had sent home, Jim nodded his agreement. "Yeah, I met an old friend at the conference who recommended it too. Lay down on your stomach, I want to look at the exit wound."

Blair did as instructed, keeping still as Jim removed the second bandage. This wound was larger with more soft tissue and muscle damage as the bullet had tumbled through Blair's leg during its lethal trajectory. The surgeon had spent hours repairing the damage. Jim found himself getting mad again.

"Damn it, Sandburg. What were you thinking?"

Blair sighed, his head pillowed on his folded arms. "I didn't expect to fall, man. It just happened."

"Well, if you don't start doing what the doctor said, you could be walking with a permanent limp."

"I know. I'll be more careful."

Jim let the subject drop as he went out to find the ice machine. Blair did sound miserable and Jim didn't want to end up fighting. He returned to fix an ice wrap for Blair to use. He could lie on his bed and look over his new books; hopefully the swelling would go down. Jim left to get lunch.

Port Townsend's old section of town was seven blocks long, from the ferry terminal to Point Hudson. The main street ran north and south. The large Victorian-style buildings on the east side had water lapping against their foundations. Built in the mid-eighteen hundreds, the town prospered as a major seaport until the crash of 1892, complete with taverns, pool halls, and brothels. Now, as Jim headed for the pizza stand, he passed galleries, fine restaurants and gift shops.

Returning with several large slices of hot cheese filled pizza, they ate while watching the news. Jim used the small round table by the window, while Blair leaned against the headboard of his bed.

"I've got to get back to the conference," Jim stated as he carefully folding the wax papers that had come with each slice.

Blair lifted his right hand as if taking a vow. "I, Blair Sandburg, do hereby promise to stay in this room and off my feet the entire afternoon, so help me God," he recited with somber reverence.

"Add a pain pill to that promise and I won't handcuff you to your bed," Jim said.

Blair made a face. "No way, Jim. I'll fall asleep!"

"Exactly." Jim reached into his overnight bag and palmed the small medicine bottle that Blair had purposefully left behind that morning in their bathroom. Shaking one while pill out onto his hand, he offered it with a smile. "If you take this now, you'll be in shape to go out to dinner tonight. We've been invited to join some of the Port Townsend cops."

Blair took the pill and eyed it with a look of doubt.

"Come on, Chief. An authentic pub, live music, pretty girls..."

Popping the tablet into his mouth and washing it down with a swig from his coke, Blair smirked. "Overweight, balding, backwater cops with nothing but war stories and lies to swap all night, should be a blast."

"Why'd you take the pill then, Darwin?" Jim asked, tucking his wallet into his back pocket and picking up the keys from the table.

"You promised pretty girls, right?" Blair said.

Jim laughed as he headed out the door. "Okay, pick you up at five. Stay off your leg!"

As Jim climbed into the Explorer he continued to monitor his roommate.

"And I'm not talking `four beers and closing time pretty' either, Jim. You'd better know what you're talking about here, man."

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