No such thing as simple when you're called "uncle" by one Blair Sandburg.

Numbly, Blair hung up his desk phone.

He let his attention wander around his artifact-room-turned-makeshift office. His coffeemaker needed scrubbing. A baked-on ring of old coffee stained the bottom of the carafe. Thick dust blanketed the shelves that crowded his space. The windows needed cleaning, or at least needed to be wiped with some solution that did not leave grimy streaks for the afternoon sunbeams to spotlight.

Unwillingly, he looked down at the note he'd scribbled and slumped back in his chair.

He knew, he just knew how this was going to play out. How could he say no?

Jim was going to be so pissed.

"Come again?" Jim swiveled one-eighty in his desk chair, the phone cord wrapping one side of his neck as he frowned at the rubber wall boards. They were dirty again. The janitor never got behind his desk. Jim hated that. "What are you talking about, Sandburg? We had plans. You insisted, remember?"

"I know, I know. And I feel real bad about this, Jim," Blair said.

Jim's scowl deepened, recognizing Blair's `humor the cop' tone. He tried picking up the background noise but failed. The connection was poor. "Where are you? Doesn't sound like Rainier."

"Ahh, still on campus. I'm in the student union building," Blair answered in a rush. "Look, gotta run. Sorry about canceling. Honest. I'll make it up to the group. Later, Jim."

Something was off. Jim twisted, facing forward again, deep in thought. This was the third time this week that Blair had pulled some last minute change-of-plans.

He was up to something.

"Problem?" Rafe asked from his own desk on the other side of the bull pen.

Jerking his chin at the phone, Jim picked up the bright yellow squeeze ball. It was supposed to relieve stress, according to his absent roommate. Jim didn't know about that. He just liked to picture the neck of whoever had pissed him off and... "Sandburg is canceling on tonight's poker game. Wants me to call Rickert in Auto Theft to replace him."

A smirk passed back and forth between Rafe and Brown. "I do believe I have a chance at getting rich tonight after all," Brown joked.

"But tonight was Blair's turn to host," Rafe said. "He acted pretty excited last week."

Jim shrugged. "Plans change. We'll manage."

Without another word, they returned to their work. Jim tamped down his irritation. It wasn't so much the poker game that had his neck hairs bristling, it was the suspicion that Blair wasn't telling him everything.

Jim stroked the quarter-inch long, still tender scar on his jaw thoughtfully.

Yeah, Blair was busy. Jim saw the armload of books the kid brought home each night. He listened to keyboard tapping long into the early morning hours. The loft was a refugee camp for exams needing to be graded. Returning from the nearly fatal fishing trip to the Olympic Mountains a month ago, Blair had thrown himself back into his role as teaching assistant. Like spring, tender buds of normalcy returned to their life.

So why did Jim feel like checking the sky for snow? Reluctantly, he got back to work.

Swallowing the last of his fear, Blair waited for the electronic click before pulling back the heavy metal door. Something sticky had been left behind on the handle and he wiped his palm on his jeans absentmindedly then signed the log book and accepted his visitor's pass. The underground hallway was windowless and brightly lit, but Blair couldn't shake the irrational feeling of pressure. It was stupid, really.

"You're becoming a regular," the young woman commented from behind the mesh and glass. She had freckles and an eyebrow piercing. The jail system was recruiting all types.

Blair nodded, dodging the small talk.

She seemed to understand. "The doctor said he'd be right down."

"Thanks."

The closet-sized waiting room lacked any of the typical magazines. Blair avoided the two grey metal chairs bolted to the glossy floor. If the door handle was sticky, he didn't even want to try the furniture.

There was a time he never would have entertained that thought. Hell, now he channeled Jim. Blair smiled, calmer.

"Doctor Sandburg!"

Blair turned. "Not a doctor, yet. Still working on it."

The approaching tall man wearing the white lab coat chuckled. The while plastic name badge labeled him Doctor Morton. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time, son." He acted like he wanted to clap Blair's shoulder, but stuck out his hand at the last possible minute.

Blair kept the greeting short. He didn't like this guy, but he couldn't put his finger on why. The first impression had stuck. "How is he?"

"The same." Morton sobered. "I was hoping you had a few other ideas. Maybe this time you could...?"

"I... I guess I should take a look at him." The admission stuck sideways in his throat.

"Wonderful! Thank you, Mr. Sandburg." Morton waved a hand down the hall. "This way."

Licking his dry lips, Blair followed obediently. His stomach was suddenly home to a hundred winged insects, all looking for a way out. God, was he really going to do this? He'd made himself a promise that he'd only consult, and then only once. Now, here he was on his third visit. He needed to grow a backbone.

Jim would pass a yard full of bricks if he ever found out.

"We had to start an IV," Morton said. "The fits seemed to lengthen. His weight loss took the decision out of my hands."

"You tried the white noise generators?" Blair asked dully. Every advancing step was painful.

"Yes, you were right. He responded, but only for a few days." Morton nodded to the guard holding the door open as they passed.

"You backed off the sedative?"

"We did. He stopped throwing up. I thought he was on the mend. But this last - well, you'll see." Morton stopped at a plain looking door and lifted a medical chart from a pocket mounted on the wall next to the doorjamb. "I'm hoping your extensive research into senses will help us. I read your papers." Morton hugged the chart to his concave chest like a schoolgirl with a crush. "Fantastic reading, really. I found myself unable to set it down."

Blair's hand shot out to stop the man from opening the door. "Wait!"

Morton paused. He frowned in concern. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Pressing the heels of both palms against closed eyes to help focus, Blair cursed his racing heart, his phobic reaction to the underground, high-security, medical ward of the prison; his stupid panic attacks. He dropped his hands and blinked up at the medical man. "Just... give me a minute, okay?"

"Oh, of course. How stupid of me." Morton stepped away from the door as if the handle had burned him. "I'd forgotten." He sounded sympathetic, looked understanding.

So why did Blair still feel like the fly nearing the spider's web?

"Whenever you're ready."

Try... never.

"This is a mistake." Blair backed away, painfully aware of the way his shirt stuck to his shoulders with clammy moisture. He wiped his brow.

"Mr. Sandburg. This man is in a coma. I have no idea what's going on. Surely you can take a look at him for us." Morton raised a hand, palm upward like a priest in supplication. "I appreciate your position."

"No, I don't think you do." Blair patted his empty pocket, belatedly remembering the prison policy about visitors with cell phones. Blair wanted to hear Jim's voice. More than anything he wished the sentinel, his sentinel, was standing at his side. "I can't, okay? I just can't go in there."

The first guard acted as if he wouldn't let Blair pass. Before Blair could throw up on his shiny uniform shoes, Morton was at his elbow granting permission. At the parking garage, the doctor risked a light touch on Blair's arm. "Please reconsider. Call me. I'm not sure how much time we have left to turn his condition around. I'm sorry to push this."

Blair nodded. "Okay, okay. I'll call." He hurried away, his hand ready with his car keys, fully aware he would have promised anything just to escape the artificially lit hallway and the unexplainable way his skin crawled.

The drive back to Cascade was a blur. Parking crookedly, Blair hurried up to the third floor, interrupted the poker game in progress, bolted for the bathroom and tossed his cookies into the toilet.

"Sandburg?" Jim called through the locked bathroom door.

There wasn't much to flush. Blair had skipped dinner. He rocked the handle down and watched the foul water swirl down the spotlessly clean toilet bowl. Jim always cleaned the bathroom before poker night. The man tri-folded his towels. He wiped down the window frames once a week to keep the mold from forming. He filed his bills in date-due order. Blair's stomach settled.

"Blair?" Jim asked again, beginning to sound pissed.

"I'm fine," Blair said, rising wearily to his feet, rinsing and wiping his mouth with a hand towel before tossing it into the hamper.

"Then unlock the door."

Blair did.

Barricade-Jim looked down with irritated concern. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." Blair slipped around his sentinel. All he wanted was his futon.

Simon, Rafe, Brown, Joel and a few faces he only knew by sight quietly watched from their makeshift poker table. "Sorry, guys," Blair called out, waving a hand. "Something I ate tonight probably needed another ten minutes on the grill." Blair made a bee-line for his room.

The poker game was over, the guests gone. It was nearly two AM. Simon had stayed to help clean up. Jim tipped the trash can against the edge of the table and swept his arm over its surface, gathering and depositing empty paper plates and plastic beer glasses. He extended his hearing to make sure Blair was still asleep. Picking up a wet wash cloth, he wiped down the tabletop.

"It's only been a few weeks," Simon chided gently. "Give him time."

"I'm telling you, sir. It's more than post stress," Jim countered firmly.

"He's been acting weird all week; disappearing for hours and shit. He jumps like a scalded cat at the slightest sound." Jim gave the table one last swipe and chucked the wash cloth at the sink in frustration.

"I'd suggest a vacation, but God knows where that would end," Simon joked. He dropped the grin and rolled his eyes when Jim's frown deepened. "You're serious."

"As a judge." Jim folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen island, his gaze on the tightly closed French doors. "He had a smell on him tonight."

"I can imagine." Simon wrinkled his nose.

"Before he threw up." Jim tilted his head. "I don't know what he's up to. But I'd swear he was at a hospital or something."

"Well, there you go." Simon reached for his coat and slipped his arm into a sleeve. "He went in for a check up."

"This time of night?"

"You've heard of emergency wings?" Simon shrugged the coat onto his broad shoulders and pulled out a fresh cigar. "Lighten up, Jim. The kid's fine. He's got the flu." He dropped his fat wallet into his outer coat pocket with a satisfied smile. "I'll see you both Monday. Night."

"Good night."

Simon's footsteps faded. Alone in his living room, Jim frowned at the Red Heron poster. Simon was wrong. Jim knew it. He couldn't prove it, but he knew it.

Blair was obviously lying, as well as keeping something from him. A few years ago, Jim might have just written it off as a sign of stupid youth and not given it a second thought, but not now. Blair was more than just a roommate.

He was family.

Jim contemplated his options as he made his nightly patrol of his home. The windows were locked, the upper one open for fresh air. The balcony door was secure. None of the appliances were plugged in, save the TV and stereo. Jim slipped into the small bedroom on the ground floor and checked Blair's window. Sometimes he left it open. Jim hated that. Too many head-cases liked to slip into people's homes during the night, not caring if they were occupied or not.

Blair's window was locked. Jim glanced down at the futon.

Blair slept on his side, back to the wall, facing the door. His face looked too pale. Were those dark circles around his eyes? When had those appeared? Jim checked for a fever and found none. The room wasn't cool, yet Blair had the blankets up to his chin like he was sleeping in the Arctic. He acted sick, but he didn't smell sick. There was a scent on him, though. Jim frowned as he recognized it. Blair was terrified.

Decision made, Jim soundlessly slipped from the room. He took the cordless handset and his small book of phone numbers up to his bedroom. Turning to the `S' page, he dialed the long-distance eastern Washington area code.

Jim allowed a grim smile as he remembered the first time he'd made this call in the middle of the night.

The phone was answered on the third ring.

"Whoever this is, it had better be damn important."

Jim shook his head. "Buck, your phone manners are atrocious."

Buck Stevens paused before releasing a measured sigh. "What's the runt done now?"

I can't believe I'm back here. Blair watched as his shaky hand signed the prison's guest log.

"Doctor Morton will be right with you," said a new woman behind the mesh glass, wearing reading glasses that looked at home on the tip of her nose.

Blair dully nodded, gripped the edge of the counter with both hands and took a deep breath. Less than five minutes later, he was standing in front of the closed door leading to Robert Lanfers' room, Dr. Morton at his side. The doctor acted subdued as if worried he might push too hard and send Blair running again.

No.

Blair steeled himself. It had been two nights since he'd been here last and he hadn't slept for more than four hours combined. His school work was behind, his lectures a joke and Jim had probably forgotten what he looked like.

He had to do this.

Blair reached out and turned the knob.

The hospital room appeared stark and bare compared to others Blair had visited. There were no flowers, cards or stuffed animals. The bed was standard issue. Anything that could be used as a weapon was bolted into place. That was weird. Blair made himself look at the person lying on the bed.

Robert Lanfers, his own personal nightmare.

Blair stepped closer. Morton cleared his throat and spoke. "We've been monitoring his vitals. Heart rate is lower than we'd like, but pressure is acceptable. He stopped reacting to painful stimuli." When Blair shot him an incriminating look he hurried to explain. "Just a pinch on the earlobe. Nothing extreme."

"Can I see his chart?" There. That came out sounding pretty `in control'. Blair allowed a grim smile of satisfaction. He could to this.

Morton quickly handed it over.

Reading the findings, Blair's memory flashed back to his first meeting with Jim at Cascade General Hospital.

"We can't find a medical explanation for his unconsciousness. Frankly, you're our last hope."

Blair cringed. No pressure here, eh, doc? But the guy was right about a medical cause. Scanning the pages, it was obvious they had tried. Cat scans and blood work up all yielded nothing. So, was this sentinel-related? Blair set the chart aside and stepped closer to the head of the bed.

Lanfers still looked dangerous, even in a coma. He had a week's worth of stubble on his jaw. His unwashed, long stringy blond hair spilled over the crisp, white pillowcase. Cruel, angled cheek bones and a small mouth caused a gaunt effect - the hungry look of a starving coyote. His chest rose and fell with a languid rhythm. A light blue hospital gown covered his broad chest. Someone hadn't bothered to retie the ends. They lay on the pillow at either side of his neck.

What the hell was he supposed to do here? Blair caught his lower lip with his teeth, seeing the ridiculousness of the situation. Who was he kidding? He wasn't here to help Lanfers. This was about his own need to conquer his fear, born that day on the mountain as Lanfers' prisoner.

A quiet voice in his brain took issue.

No, as worthless as this person was, Lanfers still needed help.

Dr. Morton stood by, watching as if captivated.

Blair dismissed him and reached out a reluctant hand. Lanfers' skin felt repulsive. He forced himself to check the pulse beneath. It pounded like enemy drums in a dense jungle. Closing his eyes, Blair tried to think. What would Burton do? Was there anything in the old manuscript that might work?

Try and think of Jim, the small voice said. Anything we learn here today might be used for Jim in the future. A small gasp from Morton caused Blair to open his eyes...

... to see Lanfers staring back, his left hand reaching to capture Blair's wrist.

With a weak cry, Blair jumped back, stumbled, and hit the wall, the only thing that saved him from landing on his butt.

Dr. Morton swooped in close to Lanfers' bed, blocking the convict's view of Blair.

Groping for the door handle and finding it locked, Blair turned and slammed his fist against the door. "Let me out!"

The electronic lock activated. Blair didn't look back. This time, the guard did not stop him.

Jim snatched the desk phone before it finished its first ring. "Ellison."

"Who's he know at the Monroe State Prison?" Buck asked.

Dropping his voice to keep from being overheard, Jim searched his memory in disbelief. "You're telling me he's going to the prison? Why?"

Buck was quiet for a half minute, which gave Jim enough time to realize he was not going to get an answer. "He went in about twenty minutes ago, just ran back out like an enemy platoon was chasing and peeled out of the parking garage."

"You still with him?"

"If I don't get arrested for reckless driving. He's like an Indy contestant."

Jim scrubbed his head. "I don't get it. Why go to the prison?"

"Look, Supercop, I need both hands if I'm going to keep this tail. What say you be a detective and make a few phone calls? Get back to me."

The line went dead. Exasperated, Jim hung up. Buck could be a horse's ass when he set his mind to it.

Buck Stevens rubbed his achy eyes and set aside his book. The light had become too dim to read by. He glanced at his watch, wondering how long college libraries remained open on Mondays. Ellison had to be back at the loft by now. He hit the redial button on his cell phone.

"Ellison."

"We're still at the library."

"You might be a while."

Buck frowned. "Afraid you'd say that. Where you at?"

"On my way home. Sandburg checked in with me, begged off coming into the station today."

Interesting. "He say anything else?"

"Not really. Just how behind he was on his schoolwork. Some paper is due this week and he hadn't started."

"You sound skeptical."

"Hard to say. Blair's so used to being on the edge with his deadlines. It's probably true."

Buck frowned. The Blair he remembered had his school assignments ready with plenty of time left over. "So, how late does this place stay open?"

"You've got another hour," Jim answered. "Listen, I think I have a line on why he's going to Monroe. Lanfers is there."

Buck felt pole axed.

"Stevens?"

"I'm here." He scrubbed his face with his free hand and tried not to shatter the cell phone case in the other.

"I called a guard I know at Monroe. He checked the log book. Blair's working with a Doctor Morton."

"What did you find out about Morton?"

"Still digging." Jim muttered a curse under his breath about a stupid driver. Buck waited until the minor road rage was gone. Jim continued, "I think we should confront Sandburg tonight about this."

"Blair's going to be pissed," Buck predicted.

"I know. That's why I figured having you in the room might even the odds."

An unexpected bark of laughter surprised them both. Buck shook his head. "You scared of a little grad student, Ellison? Tough ex-ranger and all?"

"You and I know Sandburg could kick our asses seven ways to Sunday and we'd let him. Bring a six pack. Something tells me it's going to be a long night."

Buck flipped the phone shut and dropped it back into his pocket. His memory of last month was still vivid, the desperate race down the river to get in front of Lanfers, using the Jeep as a barricade and having Jim's truck crash into him. The worst part had been the hours of waiting, wondering if Blair was still alive.

Inside the single storey library, students milled between the rows of bookshelves, visible through the rows of tall windows. A few times, Buck had seen Blair inside, but that was early on, hours ago. He had not seen his young friend in a while. The Corvair was still parked at the opposite end of the parking lot. Buck settled back in the cab of his late eighty vintage, black Chevy truck and waited.

Even after spending half the day researching, Blair was no closer to figuring out why Lanfers chose that moment to wake up. He drove back to the loft in a depressed state of confusion. One decision made however, was that he was not having anything more to do with Doctor Morton, Robert Lanfers or the special research project Morton had tried to get him involved in.

It was after nine by the time he unlocked the front door. Had it been his night to cook? He couldn't remember. The oily smell of Chinese takeout turned his gut. Jim raised a hand in greeting from the sofa.

"Hey, man. Sorry I wasn't much help today." Blair dropped his key ring into the basket. "Sorta busy."

"I saved some noodles for you. The fried rice tasted off," Jim offered, accepting the apology.

"No thanks. I'm beat." He had just enough strength to lug his books into his room.

To his surprise, Jim followed to the double French doors where he lingered hesitantly.

"What's up?" Blair caught a look on the older man's face that scared him.

Jim looked like he carried bad news. Crap.

"You okay?" Blair tossed the backpack on the bed. "Something happen at work? Why didn't you call, man? I had my cell -"

"Easy, Cronkite, nothing's wrong." Jim jerked a thumb at the door. "We have company."

Someone knocked on the door. Blair groaned as Jim went to answer. Jim gestured the guest inside.

"Uncle Buck?" Blair hurried forward, savoring the older man's embrace. He caught a shared look between Buck and Jim. "What are you doing here?"

Buck set a six pack of beer on the table and rubbed his hands together. "Looking for a sofa to crash on. Thought I'd save a few bucks and come here."

"Sure," Jim slapped his shoulder. "No problem. Our sofa is your sofa."

Was that just a little forced? Blair took the light carry-all from Buck's shoulder. "Yeah, man. Stay as long as you need."

"You look like ten miles of bad road, Blair," Buck admonished gently, catching his chin and tilting it upwards to catch the light. "You could tote rocks in those bags under your eyes."

Blair lifted his face away. "I'm fine. School's been intense. Seriously, what's with you traveling? I thought this was a busy time for the orchard."

"It's handled. I have a family staying on the other side of the lake, small single-wide mobile for now. Might work out permanent. They're watching the place." He sniffed the air.

"We have leftovers if you're hungry." Jim was the perfect host. "I'll get a plate."

That's when Blair saw the cartons on the table. He did the math. "Wait a sec," Blair barked out. He set Buck's carryall down. "Jim, you knew Buck was coming."

"What are you talking about?" Jim froze in the act of fishing out silverware.

"Man, tell me you didn't," Blair muttered. Crossing his arms, his feet braced for a fight, Blair dug in. "You are not the only one that can figure out when someone's lying. You're doing that twitch thing."

"I don't have a twitch thing." Jim's hand reached for his left eyebrow without realizing it. He caught himself, yanking his hand behind his back. "Oh, that, just a reaction to the MSG."

"Nice try," Blair snorted. He turned to Buck. "And you! You're clicking your thumbnail and ring finger together. You only do that when you feel guilty about something."

Buck glanced down at his hand.

"Seriously, you two, I'm really tired. I've had a bad day. I don't need head-games. What's going on?"

Buck waved a hand at Jim. "You can do the honors, foot soldier."

"Thanks," Jim bit back through clenched teeth. He set the fork on the table and gripped the back of a chair. "Why are you visiting Lanfers, Sandburg?"

A blast of frigid water could not have stolen Blair's breath any faster. He stepped back in disbelief. "You... you followed me?"

"No, I didn't." Jim's eyes flicked briefly to the third man in the room.

Blair looked at Buck, betrayed. "Uncle Buck?" he whispered.

Buck crossed his arms. "Jim's worried about you, Runt. Now that I see you, so am I."

Jim leaned forward, his knuckles white. "Well?"

Dumbstruck, Blair's anger expanded until it had him trembling. He wasn't sure he could talk. "I'm... going to pretend this conversation... is not happening," he hissed. Dropping his arms, he curled fingers into tight fists, "because there is no way any friend of mine would interrogate me. I'm going to bed." He turned on a heel and did just that.

Jim waited until the sounds coming from within the room told him Blair was settled onto the futon. He raised a finger to the ceiling and mouthed, `roof'.

Buck nodded.

Pocketing the keys, even though Blair normally wouldn't be mean spirited enough to lock him out, Jim led the way. The cool evening inland breeze dried the damp traces of guilt from his face and neck.

"That went well," Buck remarked dryly.

"I didn't see that coming." Massaging closed eyelids with his fingertips, Jim sighed heavily. "He's turning into a decent detective."

"You two fight much?"

Jim snickered. "That's not a fight. That was just Blair holding his temper in check."

"True." Buck leaned against the waist high brick parapet and looked over the edge. "Other than the view, what are we doing up here?"

"I did some checking." Jim perched on the wall, oblivious to the drop off behind him. "Morton is an industrial-organizational psychologist, with a medical degree."

"What's an industrial-organizational psychologist doing at a state pen?" Buck asked,

The way the man's mouth wrapped around the title made Jim think Buck had the same opinion on shrinks that he held. "Good question. I had my contact ask around. Seems Morton came in special, just to see Lanfers."

Buck's gaze was fixed on the distant horizon to the east where the Cascade foothills lifted up and disappeared into the clouds. "I don't like this. Find any military connection?"

Jim tracked the sporadic flight of a bat flying near the tree line a mile and a half away. "No. His background is in big business, mega corporations. Then I had a mutual friend of Blair's and mine, Jack Kelso, do a deeper check. This guy's a local genius at finding stuff out. He unburied a connection between Morton and Alexander Durkin."

"Wonderful." Buck stepped back from the wall, his stony face expressionless. "What else?"

"I'm still looking. Waiting to hear from other contacts. Until I do, I want a tight perimeter."

Buck's eyes flicked to Jim's face and away. Contemplating Jim's unspoken comment carefully, he gave a slow nod of acceptance. "Kid's going to be pissed."

"A given." Jim sighed. "But it's unavoidable."

"We going to tell him?"

That was the question to which Jim had no answer. The result could go either way, both bad. He didn't want Blair pissed off, but he didn't want Blair caught in the cross hairs of unknown hostiles. Again. Durkin may have had questionable military support, but Morton's backers could also prove dangerous.

Buck asked another question. "Why Blair? Why's he being pulled into Lanfers' treatment? Is this more of that Sentinel hocus-pocus you were telling me about?"

The reproof stung. Jim pushed back the instinctive urge to defend himself. It moved just a smidge. "Blair found me, Stevens. I didn't go looking for him, okay?"

Waking after a peaceful sleep, finding himself in his room, on his futon with the subtle morning sunlight filtering in through his window, Blair felt better, calmer.

Perhaps he had overreacted. Even if he had issues with Jim, it was cool that Buck had come to visit. Blair just wished it hadn't been a result of an overprotective, delusional sentinel.

He made plans while showering. He'd fix Buck a huge breakfast and cut his afternoon at Rainier short. Maybe they could hit the street fair up in Bellingham, just the two of them. Jim wasn't working on anything major right now, didn't need him. Blair toweled off, feeling smug with his plan and actually looking forward to the day.

When he emerged, Buck was standing at the stove.

"Hey, I was going to treat you to breakfast," Blair whispered.

Buck shrugged and made shooing motions toward Blair's bedroom with the spatula. Dressing quickly, Blair rejoined him. A batch of the famous Steven's hash browned in the frying pan. Blair inhaled deeply. "Oh, yeah."

"Any leftovers we can use?" Buck asked.

"I'll check." Blair foraged around in the ancient refrigerator and found half a pork roast. "I'll chop."

They worked silently for a several minutes. Blair frequently checked above, seeing the top of Jim's head still motionless on his oversized pillow.

"Sorry you got dragged over for nothing, Uncle Buck," Blair said. "Jim's been acting weird." He hesitated to say anything more. Living with a walking, talking sonar scope that picked up everything within a quarter mile had taught him restraint.

"I was ready for a breather. The orchard can do without me for a few days." Buck stirred the hash as Blair carefully slid the diced meat in. "Should we wake him?"

"Let him sleep." Blair didn't add that he was still pissed off. If he played his cards right, he could be gone by the time Jim woke. "I'm free this afternoon; feel like going up to Bellingham? There's a thing going on up there all week. Booths, shows and stuff. They close the streets and dress in medieval costumes."

"Okay." Buck scooped out healthy servings onto two plates that Blair carried to the table. "I'll pick you up around noon at your office?"

"Perfect." Blair could take the bus to Rainier and save on gas.

By the time Jim stirred, Blair was halfway to Rainier. Arriving early, he began to sort out his work for the day. Taking off the afternoon would cost him, but spending quality time with Uncle Buck was worth the effort. Blair answered emails, finished a report due on Friday for the Admin office and cleared all the messages left on his voice mail. By the time his first class started, he was ready.

Between the start of his ten-thirty lecture and the end of his class in `special topics in sociology', Blair could enjoy close to thirty minutes of down time. He headed toward his office with purpose. A visitor hovered by the locked door.

"Blair Sandburg?"

"Yes?" Blair did a quick inventory. Attractive female; middle thirties; too old to be a student; dressed wrong anyway; clothes too expensive; hair too groomed and perfect.

She had what Hollywood called `classic beauty'. An inch taller than him, the visitor held out a manicured hand in greeting. "Doctor Emily Chardonnay."

Blair shook her hand. Her palm was cool silk. "Medical?"

She brushed a golden lock of spiral curl behind her ear. "PhD in psychology. I work for Paraho International. I was hoping we could talk privately? The department secretary said this would be the best time to catch you."

"She'd be right," Blair said with a nod as he unlocked his door. "Come on in. Excuse the mess. I multitask."

She followed him into the small office. "I have two offices, one for show and one for work. I prefer the one I work in. I thrive under messy conditions." She whispered the last part as if taking Blair into her confidence.

"Well, it signifies individuality and identity. You're just marking your territory," Blair answered while his brain sorted data. He couldn't place her company. He owed student loans and currently had a couple of active grants, but nothing involving Paraho International. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks." She accepted his gestured invitation and took a seat. "I know you're busy. I'm an associate of Doctor Morton -"

The penny dropped. Blair's smile slid off, replaced with a firm frown. "I'm sorry, Doctor Chardonnay, I hope you didn't have far to drive and all, but I'm not interested."

She leaned forward, her hand reaching out to lie on his desk. "Please, I can assure you this is an opportunity you wouldn't want to miss."

Blair had just settled into his seat, but he stood up abruptly, shaking his head. "No, seriously. Not buying today. Thanks for stopping." He angled toward the door, glad now that she had not taken him up on the coffee invitation. All he wanted was her designer-clad body out of his office.

"But, Mr. Sandburg, surely you want to listen to my offer." She made no move to rise from the wooden chair.

Glancing briefly at the tall ceiling, Blair did a quick five count before speaking. "Listen, I'm certain you mean well, okay? But I don't want to play. The man Morton is treating kidnapped me, twice. He threatened to kill all my friends, hell, even my family. He thought he had killed my best friend and then bragged about it!" Blair tamed his waving arms by crossing them over his chest. He brought his voice under control. "I don't want to be in any way connected with him, ever again. Period. No way. Am I clear?"

Her expression softened to one reserved for those infirm, mentally ill or just stupid. Blair didn't care what she thought. He opened the door. With a tiny sigh, she stood and walked out, her head high.

Blair swung the door closed. He lasted three seconds before the desire to drive the deadbolt home was too strong to resist.

"I don't recall giving you a new assignment, Detective Ellison," Captain Banks asked with an ominous, mock sincerity that made Jim feel like he was ten again, caught in possession of a questionable magazine.

Jim closed the browser window. The Cascade Police department logo filled the screen. Simon didn't go away, his looming presence demanding accountability. Fellow detectives were caught up in the usual midmorning rush, oblivious. Jim preferred to keep it that way.

"Um, sir? Can we talk in your office?" Jim stood, gathering up his narrow notebook and pen, a useful prop.

"Please." Simon led the way, closed the door after Jim and did not offer a cup of coffee. He waited until comfortable in his chair before he spoke, "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Jim settled in across the desk. "Blair's been visiting Lanfers in the Monroe State Penitentiary."

The older man froze. He blinked twice, his eyes wide. "Impossible." After a few seconds, he leaned back. "Why?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Jim nodded toward his desk. "That's what I was doing."

"Ask him."

"I did."

"And?"

Jim studied the faint stain in the ceiling over Simon's head. It looked like an old water spot that had been painted over. "He got... irritated with me. I called Buck Stevens over to keep him under surveillance. Blair figured it out. He's not talking to me right now. He slipped out of the loft before I got up this morning."

"Buck is in Cascade?"

"Yeah."

Official capacity warred with friendship. "Jim, as curious as I am to learn what's going on in that kid's head, I cannot overlook misuse of work time in my department. You have a case load. You have victims counting on your ability to bring a little justice, if not closure, into their lives. You get two breaks and a lunch hour every day. You following?"

"Yes, sir." Jim pushed out of the chair. "Won't happen again."

Picking up his gold pen, his eyes on his report, Simon nodded. "See that it doesn't." He looked up, his expression softening. "What you do during those breaks and lunch hour are another matter. Find out what's going on. Let me know if I can help."

Properly disciplined, Jim returned to his desk. He knew Simon was within his rights. If Jim were still a captain in the army faced with a similar breach of protocol by one of his men, he'd have done the same. No, that wasn't true. He'd have chewed out his man twice as long. Simon had let him off easy.

Jim sat back down behind his desk, opened the top file of his impressive stack of open cases and ignored the protest that hammered for attention from within his head. In a less civilized world, Jim might have paid it more attention. But this wasn't the jungle.

Jim allowed a small, feral smile. Besides, Buck had the watch.

At ten minutes before three, the call was transferred to Major Crimes. Jim and Brown returned from interviewing a witness on an auto theft ring a few minutes afterwards. Simon filled the doorway to his office, his face grim.

"Jim, Bellingham PD just called."

Blair.

Jim's mouth formed the word, but no sound came.

Simon was handing him a pink memo. "Some type of civil disturbance. Buck called from the hospital, seems okay. Blair's missing."

Caught in the act of taking off his light jacket, Jim shrugged it back on, snatched the note and glanced at the wall clock.

"Go. You've got plenty of comp time," Simon ordered. "Call us with updates!"

Jim caught the last part from the stairwell.

Bellingham was a college town. A few minutes south of the Canadian border, the city's police had their hands full. Jim listened to the news as he drove, eating up the eighty miles between Cascade and Bellingham.

The riot had started when a scheduled protest had turned ugly. The hatred for a large gas pipeline was well known. The locals had lost several of their own a year ago when that pipeline had burst. The college students had started a grass root effort to shut the company down. Everyone had laughed them off, dismissing the cause as idealistic youth in action. Gas and oil companies had money and power backing them. How could a few hundred kids stop business?

Unfortunately the gas company had been a major sponsor of this year's medieval carnival. From what Jim could learn over the radio, the fight had started when gas company employees were recognized by the kids as security for the event.

Bellingham's hospital was a shiny architectural trophy built with layered wooden beams and glass. Jim parked, breaking into a jog as he neared the front doors. He navigated the unfamiliar crowded corridors, unchallenged until he found Buck leaning up against the nurse's station. The older man had a black eye, swollen lip and a white gauze square taped behind his left ear. The staff had shorn a tiny area just above his hairline. The ends of the black stitches poked out through the grey stubble.

"Ellison." Buck waved him over. "Tell these folks I'm not driving alone. That it's okay for me to go."

The pretty nurse behind the counter turned her steely blue-gray eyes to Jim.

"Detective Ellison, Cascade Police. I'll take care of him, ma'am. Is he free to leave?" Jim showed his badge.

She clucked, a frown marring her forehead. "The doctors wanted him to stay for observation, but Mr. Stevens is checking out against their orders." She pushed back an errant strand of hair off her face impatiently.

"Nurse! I need that chart, stat!" a male voice called from a nearby trauma room.

The place was hopping. Obviously Buck was not the only casualty from the riot being treated. She pushed an official looking form toward Buck. "Okay, fine. It's your life. Sign and leave the original." She was gone with the chart clutched in her hands.

Jim stepped out of the way of a team pushing a heavily loaded cart down the aisle way. "Busy."

Buck finished his signature. "You should have seen it an hour ago."

Spying the familiar looking backpack at Buck's feet, Jim picked it up with relief. At least Blair had been at the hospital at one time. "When'd he leave?"

"They told me I came in alone," Buck answered angrily striding for the exit.

Jim matched his pace. "What? What the hell happened?"

"We were watching some guy hammering on a broad sword when the fight broke out. I got clobbered from behind. Woke up here. No Blair. Someone thought the pack was mine and tossed it in the ambulance." They exited the hospital, squinting at the sunshine. "Where you parked? We need to get back and start looking around."

The bench was hard. Blair shifted, searching for and not finding comfort. His head hurt, throbbing with drunken rhythms that made no sense. None of this made any damn sense.

This wasn't Cascade.

Fingers found a tender spot in his hair, his right temple area. He fingered the lump again for the tenth time, wondering how it happened. At least there was no blood. He didn't want to draw any attention. Something told him that would be a bad thing.

Across the street was an Amtrak station. Blair looked at the people going into the terminal, dragging their luggage on wheels and sighed. He patted his pockets, feeling a loss, of what he didn't know. A crumpled up ten dollar bill was stuck deep into his jean pocket. Another pocket had a stick of gum.

No wallet. No ID.

Blair didn't need ID. He knew who he was. It was the other details that were fuzzy. His hand lifted again to his head. This had to be because of the lump. The swelling would go down and he'd remember more. He would wait for that to happen. He'd just lay low.

Keep out of sight. Don't attract attention.

Other than his name, Blair was sure of one other thing.

Monsters walked the streets.

"It looks like this place was hit by a platoon of Sherman tanks," Buck commented dryly as they walked under the police tape.

The city center held a large park complete with benches, trees and twisted pebbled paths. Large, garish tents looking as if they sprang from a child's fairytale book filled the acre-plus park. Buck's Chevy had fared the riot, with the worst damage being a chip in the paint on the tailgate from a rock or bottle. There was no time limit on the street, so they left it.

Jim held out his badge for the group of bored cops to see. They were admitted. Traffic barricades were being packed away, the media had their cameras loaded as guys with beards and baseballs caps rolled thick, black cables up into a large spool.

"Looks like the party's over," Jim murmured. He searched the thinning crowds hopefully. Was it too much to ask for to see his roommate standing at the fringe, waiting for him?

Probably.

"Show me where you last saw Blair."

Buck took off across the park, ignoring the riot fallout. Stands of candles and jewelry littered the grass. Tents had collapsed. Their fabric walls with large rips, broken poles and stakes pulled from the earth told a grim story.

Jim hurried to keep pace with the injured man, tucking his badge on his belt. He felt a brief twinge of guilt. He had no official standing here. Hopefully, they'd find Blair and be gone before the Bellingham police learned he'd overstepped official protocol.

"Here." Buck stood in front of a totally decimated blue and yellow tent.

"Looks like ground zero," Jim commented.

Buck pointed to the tent facing the ruined one, which had fared slightly better. "The gas company had a booth there."

The sun was low in the sky. Bellingham City Street personnel had pulled up in large, white trucks. The street fair was ending early this year. They would have to move fast.

Jim stood, arms akimbo. "Okay, tell me what you remember."

Buck shot him a sour look. "I did."

"Elaborate," Jim answered evenly, trying to keep his jaw from locking in place.

Buck rolled his eyes. "We stood there and there." He pointed at the grass in front of Jim. "Someone started shouting. Blair got shoved. Five or six guys started fighting behind us. Blair wanted to break it up. One came at him. I stepped in. We fought. I got clobbered from behind. That's all."

Jim's eyes searched the trampled grass. Wordlessly, he squatted down on his haunches and ran a light touch over the grass with his fingers. "His knee hit here." He took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he stood and sniffed the air. "Polish sausage with sauerkraut... mustard." Jim sniffed again, opened his eyes to look at the grass again. "He had a beer in his hand. It spilled."

Buck's jaw had dropped open. Blair's pack slipped off his rounded shoulder and he caught it with curved fingers before it hit the ground.

Jim moved down the path in slow, careful steps, his focus on his guide's scent. The trail was faint, but he had it. It cut left, crossing the grass between the remains of a stand selling chicken meat on sticks and a booth where a glass blower had amazed the crowds. Jim left the park proper, ducked under the tape, crossed the street and headed into the city. Buck followed silently.

"Oh god, that's so sick. Why can't these kids learn to hold their liquor?"

A warm flush of embarrassment washed over him. Blair stood, leaning heavily against the brick wall. His eyes avoided the mess he'd made. He waited until the two older ladies hurried away from the mouth of the alley before emerging back on the street.

He felt better. The nausea subdued, his gut rumbled hollowly, his head pounded with red pain. He was remembering more and more. In little pieces, though, not in complete story lines. For instance, he knew he was in danger, serious danger, like before, like when that man had been shot.

Blair shuddered, remembering that touch. Once in Africa he'd seen the corpse of a gazelle covered in red ants. That's what the touch was like.

He was back.

A triple homicide at the Mayor's country club, Joan wants to talk about alimony, his mechanic just called tossing about four digit numbers and he was out of coffee.

Could Simon Bank's afternoon get any worse?

His intercom buzzed. "Captain, you've got a call. Line three," Rhonda announced.

"Banks," Simon barked into his phone.

Naomi Sandburg's voice sailed over the optic fibers, bringing visions of rainbow colored silk, gauze and lace. "Simon, you sound awful! Did you try that supplement I recommended? Really, all physical illness comes from the emotional body."

Simon dropped his head to his open palm. "What can I do for you, Naomi?"

"I'm looking for Blair, have you seen him?"

"Well?"

Jim glanced at Buck. The light was fading. Street lights had blinked on fifteen minutes ago. The streets were filled with folks heading for home after work. His feet ached.

"Well?" Buck repeated doggedly.

"You said that already," Jim responded.

"So, try answering." Buck rubbed his neck, moving his head from side to side stiffly.

"Give me that." Jim took Blair's pack, feeling a twinge of guilt. Buck looked like a refugee from a boxing camp. He ignored Buck's surly tone. "The scent just stops here."

Buck made a slow turn. They stood in front of a train station. A small cluster of travelers waited expectantly on the covered platform. Buck cupped his mouth. "Blair!"

Shaking his head, Jim held up a hand. "Stevens, don't you think I'd know if he was within hollering distance?"

"Why hasn't he tried calling us? You have your cell phone."

"We also have his cell phone." Jim jerked a thumb to the pack now resting on his shoulder.

"He had money. There are payphones around." Buck plopped down on a bench.

"This is a bus stop." Jim read the schedule posted on a pole. "He probably got on." The other possibilities scared him. But it was clear that Blair had not walked away from this location. The trail definitely ended here.

Jim's cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. "Ellison."

"Jim?"

"Naomi?"

"Oh, shit," Buck groaned.

Dark.

Blair did a slow turn. He was getting confused again. Had he already been on this street? The stores were closing. He really needed to find a safe place to rest. But where?

His precious ten was gone. He had hopped onto a city bus, bought a granola bar from a corner store and begged for a glass of water to go with it. Now he had a five and some ones and a hand full of change. Nibbling his lip, he spotted a payphone. A strong voice told him to call...

God, his head hurt. Who was he going to call? Naomi? Where was she now? Close by? Blair slipped into the booth and picked up the handset. The solid feel of it made him homesick. Blair read the instructions printed on a gummy sticker. He'd save his money and try calling collect. He knew lots of phone numbers.

Didn't he?

Sure, he did. Naomi made him memorize them all the time. It was like a game. Blair was good at it. He followed the instructions, getting a nice lady to make the first call. No one answered. Blair rattled off a second number and a male voice picked up.

"Will you accept a collect call from a Blair Sandburg for a Naomi Sandburg?"

The answer was short. "Never heard of her."

Panic began to rise.

The third number was out of state and a woman picked up. The request was repeated and Blair held his breath.

"Oh, my. There's a name from the past."

"Will you accept the charge, ma'am?"

A sigh of regret. "Nothing personal, but I'm married now. I've got a family. Those days are gone. No... no, I'm sorry."

"Wait a second!" Blair blurted out. What the heck was she saying? This was the number for Bethany, mom's closest friend. Didn't they just get back from a trip to the Grand Canyon together?

But the operator had already cut off the connection. She was polite but firm. When she asked if he had another number, Blair shook his head, numb. Something was weird. "No, thanks anyway." He replaced the receiver and let the cool glass of the booth soothe his forehead.

If not Naomi, then who else?

Blair picked up the handset again. He might have to spend some of his coin, but it was worth it.

Jim spotted a Denney's Diner. He poked Buck's shoulder and nodded to it. They might as well take a break.

"What happened? Where's my son?" Naomi demanded when Jim explained they were looking for Blair.

A young waitress, obviously a college student, judging by the Cliff Note booklet peaking out of the top of her apron pocket, stopped at their table, order book and pen held ready. "What can I get you all?"

"Just coffees," Buck answered.

No, they were going to be searching all night. They should eat. Buck needed something on his stomach in case he decided to take those pain pills the hospital had given him. Jim's own gut felt hollow.

"Hold it a second, Naomi. Make it two specials," Jim said, ignoring Buck's disapproval. He let his attention return to the cell phone in his hand. He hit the speaker phone option and set it down on the table. "We've searched the immediate area. We're just beginning to plan a strategy on the best way to canvas the city."

"Why would he leave Buck?" she demanded. "Blair's loyal; he wouldn't leave him like that. Something's wrong, Jim."

"We'll keep looking," Buck announced. "Jim and I will split up, search twice as fast."

Jim identified the flaw in the man's logic. "You're in no condition to drive."

The coffees arrived. Jim palmed the mug, gauging the temperature.

"You need to tell the pi-police," Naomi insisted. "Get the entire force looking for him."

Jim caught Bucks gaze. They shared a brief moment, wordlessly exchanging opinions of naive hippies that only needed the cops when they were in trouble. "Naomi, missing person reports don't kick in until twenty-four hours has passed. Bellingham's just had a riot that made national news. They're not going to help us tonight."

"That's absolutely insane!" she fired back. "What's the point of having a group of repressed, ego bloated, gun toting, uniformed lunatics with badges if they can't help a woman find her son when he's missing?"

It took a few seconds for Jim to realize the woman had been describing the police force. Jim rolled his eyes. Naomi was worried about Blair. He would cut her some slack. "Where would Blair go if he's hurt? Who would he call?"

She paused before answering. "I'm not sure anymore."

Buck slapped the table. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" He slipped out before Jim could offer his cell phone. "Be right back. I'll check my messages."

"Naomi, give me a number I can reach you," Jim said as he picked up the phone again and turned off the speaker setting. He fished a pen and small notepad from his jacket pocket.

"It's international. Ready?"

Jim dutifully wrote down the long series of numbers. Buck was back in a flash.

"Ellison, come listen to this! I can't make it out."

"Okay, call you soon." Jim slapped the phone shut and bolted for the back, where the payphone hung between the doors leading to the restrooms. The phone was off the hook, sitting on a narrow shelf next to a stack of timeshare advertisements. He picked it up and pressed it to his ear.

Buck hit a three digit number sequence to replay the taped message.

"... oh, please answer..." a stifled sob sounded. God, it was Blair. "... Uncle Buck? I'm somewhere... shit, I don't know ..." Several deep breaths, like Blair was trying to bridle his emotions. Jim caught one more phrase before the tape ended. "... the monster is back..."

Mystified, Jim hung up. Buck waited, studying the cop's face for answers.

"I'm not sure he even knew were he was. Can we find out when he left the message?" Jim asked.

Buck shook his head. "Not without driving home. It's old. I just use it when I'm away for more than a few days."

Jim opened up his cell phone again. "I've got some favors I can call in. I'll get a trace." Jim led the way back to their booth and sat, dialing a new number. He looked out the window as the phone rang. Cars drove by, their headlights piercing the darkness. He was glad it was spring, glad this hadn't happened in the wintertime.

The connection went through. "Hi, may I talk to Estelle? Thank you. Sure, Jim Ellison."

Buck carefully pressed his finger tips to his temples, wincing. He started a slow, gentle massage and closed his eyes. He didn't touch his coffee. Jim couldn't blame the man, not sure he wanted to add any more acid to his own gut. The food arrived. It tasted like warm cardboard with butter.

A car slowly rolled down the street. Seeing the outline of the emergency police lights on top in time, Blair ducked behind a large utility box, the move coming automatically, reinforced by the sudden grip of strangling fear. He waited for it to pass and waited another full minute before continuing his way down the sidewalk.

Naomi didn't trust the pigs.

A dark shape shot out from between to huddled buildings and across the street. It ran too fast for a human. Blair stifled a scream and jerked back before he recognized it as a large mutt. The streetwise dog ignored him, preferring to sniff around the base of a dumpster before bolting into an alley.

Sniffing. Tracking.

Blair broke into a cold sweat.

The monster knew how to hunt like that.

"He's still in Bellingham." Jim snapped the phone shut. Once he found Blair, he would to have to hit every scalper in Cascade to come up with those season tickets. "At least he was two hours ago when the call was made."

"Did we get the exact location?" Buck asked.

"No," Jim answered as he took out his wallet and tossing a twenty on the table. Both of them had managed a few bites before giving up. "She could only narrow it down to the city."

Outside, standing in the parking lot, Jim made Buck endure a quick pupil check. The man's eyes were equal and responsive. He reported no pain and seemed alert.

"We'll go back and get our trucks. Got a cell phone?" Jim asked.

"In my truck," Buck said. "I have you on speed dial."

"Take this." Jim handed over a city map they had picked up earlier at a Seven-Eleven. He had his part memorized. "Call if you see anything."

Splitting up at the park, Jim started the Ford and cruised the city blocks slowly. Traffic was sparse. Shop owners and clerks had found their way home, settled in for a quiet Friday night. He took a deep breath.

Focus.

The first hour produced no sign of his partner. Jim covered the business district using a crisscrossing grid pattern. Cab windows down, he listened to the alley cats howl, one drug dealer make a sale, three young prostitutes soliciting and a group of winos talk about politics. This city was only three-quarters the size of Cascade, but it had all the amenities.

Then it grew too confining and Jim parked. He locked the Ford, pocketed his cell phone, holstered his gun and tucked his badge inside his light jacket. He'd repeat the search on foot. A familiar and welcome feeling drummed through his veins. It wasn't the jungle of Peru, but it was. He didn't have his crossbow strapped to his side, but he could almost feel it bumping against the back of his thigh.

If he'd brought his bandana, he'd have tied it around his head.

Within four blocks, he was approached.

"Lonely, man? Just a fifty will buy paradise."

Jim frowned. She was barely twenty. Scrawny, but well endowed, she made a pathetic sight. "Get off the streets before you end up in a body bag."

She cursed, flipping him off.

Jim moved on, angry with himself. He'd blurted the first thought that had come to mind. He should have talked to her, asked if she'd seen anyone matching Blair's description. Blair had once said Jim `screamed' cop. Yeah, he probably did. But this town wouldn't know him. He would ask the next prostitute.

The next block held several bars and the sidewalk was thick with kids, some underage. They laughed as they mingled. Pounding music rose and fell as each bar door opened, belching out noise. Jim slowed, taking his time to check each face as he passed.

No Blair.

His cell rang and he slipped around a corner to stand by a dumpster. Dialing down his sense of smell he answered. "Ellison."

"Anything?" Buck asked.

"No, I'm on foot now. Just started."

"I'm not having any luck," Buck said. "Maybe we should go to the police."

"This is our best option. I wasn't kidding before. The police are not going to take action yet. If we don't find him by morning, we'll call Cascade. The guys will come and help us."

"Right, I'll check back in an hour," Buck answered.

A block further, Jim caught a familiar scent. He froze, the skin on his neck tingled. Scanning the crowd ahead carefully he reached out with his hearing. Further yet. There! A heartbeat.

Impatiently, Jim jogged into the street to avoid a clutch of college kids crowded together. Several underaged held beer cans. Any other time he'd be flashing his shield, but not now. Paralleling the line of parked cars, Jim spotted a shadow leaning against the brick wall on the other side of the street.

"Sandburg!" Jim waited for a car to pass.

The man looked up. It was Blair.

Breaking into a wide grin, Jim started across.

Without warning, Blair bolted for an alley.

"Blair!" Jim hollered, pouring on the speed. He never saw the motorcyclist until they collided.

Blair finally stopped running. The pain in his side crippled him. Bent over at the waist, he braced an open palm against the rough brick and sucked in the cool night air. His heart pounded.

Who? Why?

He'd run without thinking. The terror had returned. A nightmare of gigantic proportion.

It knew his name.

Blair stuffed a fist into his mouth. He bit down. The pain helped to clear his head of the childish fear that swamped him.

He needed to get a grip.

That wasn't a monster. That had just been a man. The lighting had been poor, casting shadows. The shape of the head... The voice... Was it the same guy? How could that be? He felt like he should know the difference.

He wanted to remember. Until he knew who the players were, Blair wasn't going to take a chance.

Breathing easier, he glanced back. He'd lost him. For now anyway. Could he track like the other one? He'd have to use the same tricks he'd used before. He had to buy time until he could find Buck or even Naomi.

Buck would be better.

"You really shouldn't move, dude."

Jim rolled, rising up on his right elbow and wrapping his left arm around battered ribs. They weren't broken. He knew broken ribs and these weren't it. The group of well-intentioned Good Samaritans blocked his view. "I'm fine. Did you... see him?"

"Who?" The speaker was a young man with long blond hair he had teased into dreadlocks. Jim could smell the chemicals that had ruined his hair.

"My friend." Jim tried to push off the asphalt. A hand pushed, holding him down. "Get back!" he growled. "Let me up, damn it."

They fell back. The majority lost interest, soured by Jim's attitude. Unkind comments were muttered as they walked away. Jim ignored them. The blond kid in dreadlocks had been the motorcyclist. He stayed.

"Hell, I didn't even see you. What's the deal running out in front of me like that?"

"Sorry," Jim answered. He scanned the street, looking for Blair. "He's gone. Shit, he's gone. Why'd he run?"

"Who?" Dreadlocks picked up his helmet. With Jim on his feet again, he relaxed. "I've got some free time. Who do you need to find?"

Jim studied the kid in surprise. The bike he'd collided with rested on its side in the gutter, a few scratches in the paint, but otherwise okay.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I caused this. Let me pay for your bike." Jim reached for his wallet.

The kid waved him off. "Forget it. The bike's a junker. Just a ride to class, ya know? I'm not going to take your money, man."

Since when did a college student pass up a hundred bucks? "You sure?"

"Totally. So, who's this guy you're looking for?"

The crowd had dissipated to just the two of them. Jim limped to the sidewalk with the fellow. Suspicious, he fibbed, "Someone I thought I knew. I must be wrong. Are you okay? You went down pretty hard."

Dreads slapped at the dirt caking his jean-clad leg. "This? Shit, this was nothing. Any landing you can walk away from, right?"

"Right." Jim nodded at the bike. "Need help?" If he could get the kid back on his bike, maybe he'd leave. He couldn't pick up Blair's heartbeat, but he was confident he could follow his trail. He needed to get moving.

"No." The biker stepped off the curb and leaned over his downed bike. "So, you're okay?"

Jim nodded. "Thanks." He watched the bike righted. For a junker, it started on the first kick. Dreadlocks fitted the helmet over his head and casually looped the chin strap through the double `D' rings. With a nod, he toed it into first gear, released the clutch and was gone.

Jim waited long enough to make sure the bike was out of sight before limping to the dumpster where he'd last seen his roommate. The kaleidoscope of smells curled his nose hairs. Blair had run into the alley. Jim followed. Away from the garbage he smelled a hint of Blair's shampoo.

The hunt was on.

"What do you mean you lost him?" Buck asked in amazement. "Are you sure it was Blair?"

Jim leaned wearily against the side of Buck's Chevy. It was midnight and his feet hurt. "I lost the trail. Every damn dumpster in this town is overflowing. When do they pick up the garbage around here?"

"I don't get why he ran," Buck muttered, folding the brim of a straw cowboy hat in his fingers. "Doesn't make any sense. Are you sure it was Blair?" he repeated.

"I'm sure," Jim replied then thought about Buck's comment. "He's hurt, has to be. He's talking about monsters and running away. He's hurt."

"Monsters?" Buck's hands froze. "What?"

"The message he left on your machine, he mentioned monsters." Jim really needed to sit down. His ribs hurt whenever he breathed. He was willing to swear someone had lined the inside of his shoes with sharp stones.

Buck's knuckles beat out a tattoo on the Chevy hood. "Monsters... why is that ringing a bell?" He set the hat back on his head, crossed his arms and dropped his chin to his chest. "I remember... his second visit."

"What?" Jim forgot his aches.

Buck didn't answer directly. "Call her back."

Jim dialed the numbers Naomi had given him, she answered on the first ring, breathless and sounding frantic. Jim handed the phone to Buck.

"Naomi, remember when Blair was having those nightmares and talking about monsters?" Buck demanded.

"What?" she responded in disbelief. "He never... What does this have to do with you finding my son?"

Buck quickly grew exasperated. "Naomi! You showed up in the middle of the damn night. February. He was unresponsive."

Naomi's tone went cold. "He was not unresponsive, he was sleeping. Anyway, I tried to call you to say we were coming. It wasn't my plan, Buck. Blair wanted to visit. You were the only person he would stay with." She paused. "Why, is beyond me. I offered him a perfectly restful retreat in -"

Buck slapped the hood. "Naomi! Try and focus for once."

She huffed. "I resent that, Buck Stevens."

"You handed me his suitcase, gave me a lame excuse about him needing some space and left," Buck answered. "The kid had nightmares for two weeks straight. He was shouting about monsters."

Naomi's voice shook. "No, that's impossible. Cosmic used the best methods. Blair's treatment was perfect. He couldn't have remembered any of that. He was fine when I picked him up."

Buck's face was red, his voice dangerously soft. "Ten weeks later, Naomi."

"I offered to take him! He didn't want to go!"

Jim stepped close so she could hear him. "People, let's get back on track here. Naomi, what are you talking about? What treatment?"

"Trasnscendental meditation," she answered. "In the meditative state, the mind is not cluttered with thoughts or memories of the past."

Jim was doing his best to get to the facts. Naomi sounded as furious as he'd ever heard her. These two were obviously volatile when joined. Jim reached for his phone, Buck turned away possessively.

"You hypnotized him?" Buck demanded, his voice loud in the night air.

"Shut up, Stevens!" Jim called out. "Naomi! Talk! What happened to Blair? Why'd he need this treatment?"

"Blair is very open, it's perfectly harmless. Mothers today put their children on drugs just to keep them quiet!"

"Get off your soapbox and answer Jim's question!" Buck said.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going to call and get a flight back to Cascade," she firmly announced. "I'll call when I'm back in the States. Blair is fine. He's probably just gone somewhere to be alone. One week with you, Buck Stevens, must have his aura completely black."

Shit, she was going to hang up on them. "Naomi, no!" Jim shouted.

"Right!" Buck hollered. "This is a complete shock, lady. Go ahead and live in your dream world, as usual."

She was gone. Buck punched the `end' button angrily.

Furious, Jim jerked Buck's arm to face him. "You idiot!"

"We don't need -"

The rest of Buck's statement was cut off as Jim's fist squarely connected with Buck's jaw.

The cruising police car picked that moment to shatter the night with its siren and piercing blue revolving lights.

The hand crushed his throat. Fingers dug into the side of his neck, pinching off his artery, the calluses on the thumb felt like the serrated edges of a knife.

He couldn't breathe. He was dying.

Blair woke, gulping air and swinging at empty air. What was that smell? He gagged helplessly as his brain sorted out the rancid stenches. It was dark, but he made out the bulky, square shapes of the garbage dumpsters that formed a semi-circle around his nest of flattened cardboard. Pounding music flowed like a current through the brick wall at his back.

It was a miracle he'd managed any sleep at all between the smell and the noise. Yet Blair knew both had kept him safe. The monster had only found him in his dreams. He stood, slipping on the cardboard. He needed a phone.

Standing for the longest time at the alley's corner, Blair gnawed his lip. The streets were nearly deserted now. The party goers had migrated into the clubs. Blair didn't like that. He preferred the safety of the crowds. The monster was good, but got confused sometimes.

Blair's brain supplied a picture a big man and a sailboat. His hair was long. No, wait. Shorter. Not a sailboat, they walked through a forest. Blair had been afraid. He shook his head. Hair slapped his cheek, he finger-raked it back. Why was everything so confused?

A moment of clarity hit and a friendly, blue eyed face rose to the forefront. He could almost say the name. Abruptly, pain flashed behind Blair's eyes and the face changed to the monster, flat cheekbones, and a cruel pair of green eyes and a bushy set of blond eyebrows. Blair wanted to scream. How the monster loomed overhead! Godzilla-like, his head must brush the ceiling.

Weak, he was small and pathetic faced by such an adversary. Blair wanted to hide again. He wanted Naomi. He wanted Buck and to be in his room at Dry Falls.

Why was he standing here in the dark?

"Captain Banks vouched for you," the police officer said with a hint of annoyance. "He said to tell you that he'd like a word at your earliest opportunity."

Jim had a pretty good idea what Simon's word would be. "I'm sorry for this inconvenience."

The senior partner of the two man patrol team folded his arms with disapproval. "If not for Mr. Steven's refusal to press charges, you'd be the one inconvenienced. I don't care what department you're from."

The two police officers returned to their patrol unit and drove away. Buck stood at Jim's shoulder silently. Jim sighed, feeling more than stupid. "Sorry, Buck."

"Forget it. I was the ass. I can't believe I let that woman get to me... again."

"Yeah, she has a talent." Jim hooked a hand under the other man's elbow. "Come on. Let's get back to my truck. You can tell me more about Blair."

Back in the Ford, Jim drove the now familiar streets. He took his time at each alley entrance, each corner or dark doorway. They still had over an hour until the bars and nightclubs closed. Buck studied the sidewalk intently.

"She literally appeared in the middle of the night," Buck said without prompting. "Blair was asleep in the back of some beater car. Naomi had two other women with her, all dressed like..." He sighed. "... anyway. Blair looked bad. He'd lost weight. Someone had hacked his hair, butchered one side shorter than the other."

"What the hell happened to him?" Jim demanded.

"She wouldn't tell me." The pain was still evident in the man's voice. "Harped some crap about negative energy and cleansing aura. Asked if I could keep him for a few weeks. I said yes. Hell, Jim, there was no way I would have let him out of my sight."

"What did Blair say when he woke up?" Jim forced his fingers to relax.

"Nothing."

"Tell me she didn't really hypnotize him," Jim demanded. "He was a kid, damn it."

"She must have. Blair acted withdrawn for the first couple of days. I took him to a doctor in town. She couldn't find anything wrong. Just bruises."

Jim's hands strangled the steering wheel again. "Bruises?"

"His neck and arms."

"After a while, he became more like himself. Only clue I had that something was really wrong was at night, when he'd have the dreams."

"How could you have given him back?

Buck sighed. "Jim, I know she's not June Cleaver, but that woman does love Blair. She'd never knowingly let him get hurt. She'd rip your face off with her nails if you tried. Blair was better off with her than in the state's answer for foster care."

But abuse at unknown hands made Jim want to disembowel the attackers. He continued to strangle his steering wheel as he scanned the empty sidewalks. "And he never talked about it?"

"Nope, never." Buck sighed. "For what it's worth, I never saw any other signs of abuse in all the times he visited."

"How often was that?"

"Every summer. Sometimes just a week, sometimes months. Then the occasional school breaks during winter and spring."

Jim found himself picturing how Blair would have looked as he grew. Naomi had her good points, but she was still a flake. The only reason Blair hadn't turned out to be a male version of his mother was probably due to the man at his side. "Listen, I'm sorry I punched you, Buck."

The orchard owner shrugged. "Forget it. You still got her number written down?" He took the slip of paper and pulled out his own cell phone, punching numbers as he spoke. "Lets see if she answers."

She did.

Buck was smooth. He played the injured card to the max until Jim made mock gagging motions. Buck rolled his eyes but pressed his point until she relented and they were back to their fragile truce.

"I'm still coming to Cascade. I'll go to the loft," Naomi's voice explained over the phone.

"That's fine. This way we have all our bases covered," Buck said pleasantly. "Listen, I'm sorry I blew off that TM stuff. I know it helped Blair. He used it a lot. Is it possible something in the riot today triggered a memory?"

Naomi hummed and hawed until she grudgingly agreed. "I suppose. Blair was so young. We might have rushed his treatment too fast. Dupont's betrayal was a shock to the whole group."

"Dupont? Do I know her?" Buck asked.

"It's a him. Paul Dupont. He's the one who took Blair."

Jim's fingers begged to fit around this Dupont guy's neck and squeeze.

"Why?" Buck asked, his calmness forced.

"We never did understand why. Everyone was being arrested, even though we led a completely nonviolent protest."

"Where was this, Naomi? What protest? You never told me."

"The Diablo Canyon nuclear reactors," she explained, speaking in shorthand as if the events were major history. "The fuel loading was scheduled to begin. Dupont worked with a seismologist outfit, there was a fault near the reactor. No one would listen to him. He joined our camp after they fired him."

"Diablo Canyon... that's in California, right?"

"Right." She continued her narrative. "I was so worried. Paul was gone. Blair was gone. The pigs were hassling us because one of the guards had been shot. It was horrible."

"Shot?" Buck shared a wide-eyed look of shock with Jim.

Blair's mind craved sleep. His body screamed for rest. He longed for a place that he couldn't begin to find, a place that haunted his thoughts like the imaginary Shangri-La. It wasn't a large room, but cozy and warm and... safe.

If only he knew how to find it.

Huddled in a smelly nest of cardboard again, he watched the last of the nightclub employees walk to their cars, sharing farewells as they drove away. Blair blinked wearily and dreaded the long hours until the sun would rise again. He was cold.

Cold.

And so dark.

Blair pressed the heel of his palms hard against his closed eyes as fear gurgled up in his chest. He remembered a classroom somewhere, back when he went to school in Florida. The teacher kept a snake in the room. He once walked in while he was putting a tiny white mouse in the snake habitat, sustenance for a cold-hearted monster.

All Blair lacked was the long, naked tail.

He remembered more. His neck ached from being towed by his hair. Tears seeped out. It was hard to catch his breath. Behind his eyelids, he saw the sudden flash from the gun muzzle. Silent and final.

Blair pushed off the ground to stand on numb and shaky feet.

No, he wasn't going back to that darkness.

"Tell me again what I do?" Buck asked.

Jim shot him an annoyed glance. Sandburg did this without even thinking about the whys and hows. "Once more, from the beginning. If you see I'm concentrating -"

Buck cut him off. "How am I supposed to know that? Look for the green glow of kryptonite?"

"Are you being an ass on purpose or is this an uncontrolled reflex left over from your glory days as a Seal?" Jim bit back. He remembered his new oath never to hit the man again. "Just look for any unusual or blank expressions, Stevens. A college kid can pull me out of a zone, I'm almost positive you can manage."

Buck snorted.

Jim turned his attention back to the street. They had parked the Ford, opting to continue on foot. The streets were empty, save the occasional stray dog or cat. Jim extended his senses cautiously, a fledgling trying out its wings on an unsure wind. This was not Cascade. The man standing at his side was not his partner.

A sharp sting snapped his eyes open. "Shit!" He rubbed his forearm and glared.

"You were... quiet," Buck explained.

"I'm not going to break into hosannas while I do this, you idiot," Jim hissed. "Next time, try a gentle shake of my shoulder."

"Army wuss," Buck muttered.

Jim ignored him and tried again. The strange city made noises in her sleep, the hum of hundreds of motors from freezer units to air handling systems. Thankfully, not many people remained behind this time of the morning. The business district was mostly deserted. He tilted his head. Sentinel hearing flowed down alleys and investigated alcoves.

Jim opened his eyes. "Let's move. These two blocks are empty."

They repositioned.

Thirty minutes later, Jim picked up a heartbeat. He was nearly positive it wasn't Blair but they looked. A vagrant man slept wrapped up in a filthy sleeping bag behind a Starbucks.

They moved on without waking him. One block over, Jim heard it. Clear as a church bell on a crisp autumn morning.

"Blair," Jim whispered.

"Where?" Buck hissed, squinting at the dark intersection. Closed businesses edged empty, rundown brick structures near a railroad track that offered numerous places for a man to hide.

Auditorially clutching the heartbeat as if it were his lifeline, Jim pointed. "See where that fencing is set up? Where it looks like that building is being prepped for destruction? He's in there."

"How we gonna do this?"

Jim appreciated Buck's restraint. "He's already run from me once. Let's take this slow."

They moved in. Blair had picked a decent hiding place, filled with strategic advantages. The lot next to the building was uncluttered. There were at least three avenues to run, should he want. A painful ache hammered his chest.

Blair was hiding from him.

"Okay, here's the plan," Jim whispered to his temporary partner. He spelled it out quickly. Buck nodded.

At one corner of the two story building, the doors and windows had been taken out. Blair was just inside. Jim gauged him to be dozing, judging by the heart rate and respirations. He weighed the options of just grabbing him or slipping in, cutting off his escape and announcing their presence.

Blair ran last time.

Jim chose the sneak option.

Buck was moving into his position, a recessed doorway, when Jim heard Blair gasp and scuffle to a standing position. Crap. Somehow he'd heard. Jim hurried, slipping stealthily along the brick wall, his eye on the opening, expecting Blair to come bolting out.

Instead, Blair ran deeper into the building.

"Buck!" Jim shouted. "Go around back!"

Jim didn't wait to see if the older man understood. He ran. Inside, Jim's foot caught a plank angled across the opening and he pitched forward, rolling at the last minute to avoid coming into contact with the sharp end of a metal rod.

What the hell?

Jim pushed off the filthy floor to his hands and knees. The entire room was an obstacle field of rubble, all arranged to where it could do the most harm if a person wasn't careful.

Damn. Booby-traps.

The echoing sound of sneakered footfalls mocked him. Blair was escaping.

Jim bounded to his feet and ran, deftly maneuvering around the dangers: broken glass; boards with nails; and rusty edged metal bits. The next room did not hold as many traps. The room after that had none. Jim ran faster, following the sound of Blair's flight.

Emerging in the alley running behind the building, Jim caught the sight of Buck turning the far corner and disappearing. He was calling out Blair's name.

Jim changed course. He had learned the layout while driving the Ford around in seemingly endless circles. A narrow path between two buildings would give him a shortcut. Putting on a burst of speed, Jim emerged a few seconds later onto a new street. Sentinel ears homed in on Blair's position. The kid still had the lead.

Running a parallel course through the business district, Jim scraped out a slim lead. Blair was fast and when he was scared, the kid was really fast. Buck was doing a fair job of keeping up, but he'd never gain. The ex-Seal was Jim's bird dog right now, flushing out the elusive grouse.

Jim ducked into a recessed doorway and waited. Blair drew closer. The sentinel tracked the ragged breathing and sound of pounding sneakers on sidewalk.

Blair was inches away. Jim leapt out and caught him. The two went down hard. Jim wanted to be gentle. This was his brother.

Blair screamed in fury.

Fingernails clawed. Knees punched. Arms twisted. Teeth snapped. A brutal blow to Jim's solar plexus brought twinkling stars and sapped his breath.

Blair yanked free and rolled away to end against the building's brick wall. Using a dirty hand to steady himself, he crouched. Crazed-looking with his wide eyes and wildly flying strands of hair, he bared his teeth in a feral challenge.

"Blair!" Jim shouted. "It's me, Jim!"

Buck's arrival further panicked the younger man. He feinted to his right and tried to go left. Jim cut him off. Blair froze, eyes narrowed as he melted back into the building's protection.

"Blair, calm down," Buck demanded between his harsh pants for air.

Jim lifted both hands, palms outward. "See? No one's going to hurt you. We're just worried, partner. Don't you want to come home?"

Blair bolted for the narrow opening between the wall and Buck. Buck moved fast. Jim caught Blair's arms, bringing them together behind Blair with a fast sweep. Buck captured Blair's face with both hands and got directly in the younger man's line of vision.

"Blair! Stop it right now!" The effect was immediate. Blair froze. Buck took advantage of the response and lowered his volume. "You're safe now."

Sucking in a desperate breath, Blair's eyes widened. "Unc- Uncle B-buck?"

"Yeah, it's me. We've been looking for you, kid." Buck pulled Blair into a gentle embrace, nodding to Jim to release his hold. "I know you're scrambled right now, but Jim and I are here."

"Buck?" Blair repeated dazed, but his arms, now freed, returned the hug.

"Are you hurt, Sandburg?" Jim demanded, moving to Buck's side to see. He didn't smell blood, although his roommate reeked.

Blair stiffened. He pulled back to eye Jim with obvious mistrust.

Buck caught him by both shoulders. "Blair, look at me. At me, now. Who am I?"

Obeying, Blair whispered his answer. "Buck... Uncle Buck. I c-called."

"I know you did. We're a long way from Dry Falls, kid. You got your bell rung and you're confused." Buck circled a long arm around shivering shoulders. "I think you need to see a doctor."

"No! No, I'm okay," Blair insisted.

"Who is this man?" Buck pointed at Jim.

Squinting myopically in the darkened side street, Blair conducted a frank appraisal while safe within the protection of the man he trusted. Jim suppressed the urge to fidget.

"You're... not him," Blair pronounced simply.

"I take it that's a good thing, Chief," Jim responded with a tiny grin.

Blair's eyes flew wide. "Jim?"

"Yeah."

"JIM!" Bliar flung himself away from Buck and hit Jim like a pro football player demanding extra yardage.

"Ooof!" Jim nearly went down. He caught Blair's hug and responded in like, unable to stop grinning. He blamed the tears on the pressure Blair was giving his sour ribs. "Hey, buddy."

"OhmygodIcan'tbeliveIforgotyou," Blair snuffled into Jim's shirt.

"How about that doctor? I think you've convinced all present you need that noggin checked out." Jim squeezed Blair gently. Rancid smelling hair tickled his nose. "Then, maybe a shower?"

Lying on his side on the hospital exam table, Blair had the phone pressed to his ear. An older, matronly type nurse had provided enough blankets to melt a glacier. Plump pillows supported his filthy face, partially obscured by a rat's nest of hair.

"Really, Naomi. I'm fine. Everything's fine... yeah, Buck said you called... I know, yeah... you didn't really say that, did you?" Blair snickered, catching Jim's eye and looking away. "Way to go, Mom." Blair listened for a moment, growing serious. He swallowed, looking oddly fragile. "Oh, really. Wow, that is good news. Tomorrow? I mean this morning? No, no... I totally understand... really, mom. You need to, you have to go. Yeah, I'll explain it all to Jim. Cool... good. All right then, it's settled. I'm holding you to that promise, Naomi. Love you too. Bye."

Buck sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his face dark and thunderous. Jim ignored him, glad that Blair had his back to him. The exam room was small and chair space was what it was. Jim sat by the head of the bed, so he caught Blair's attention first.

"Naomi says thanks, Jim." Blair returned the phone set and yawned widely. "She's not coming back to the States."

"That's too bad." Jim helped him settle the phone back on the side table.

"How much longer before I can split?"

"Another thirty minutes," Buck answered without looking at his watch or the clock on the wall.

Pushing stiff clumps of hair from his face, Blair rolled onto his back and pulled the blankets to his chin. "Where are we again?"

"Bellingham," Jim answered.

"Can I sleep?" Blair muttered, closing his eyes.

"Go ahead," Buck replied

"Jim?" Blair whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not mad at you anymore..."

"Thanks, partner."

He climbed into the back of the cab where Jim kept the emergency supplies bundled into soft rolls. Folding down the two side seats and stretching out, Blair ignored Jim's sigh.

"Wear a seatbelt," Jim requested, settling into the driver's seat.

"No way. I'm sleeping." Blair helped himself to a green army blanket. The wool was scratchy but he didn't care. "Wake me when we get back to Cascade."

It was a tight fit, but Blair knew he'd make it. It wasn't the first time he'd bunked down behind the seats. Jim had a habit of driving through the night when they camped. Ever since he had spent that summer with Naomi's long-haul truck driver buddy, he'd preferred catnaps between driving shifts. Sitting up while trying to sleep just sucked.

It wasn't long before Buck shook him awake.

"We're home, Blair."

Crawling stiffly from his temporary bed, Blair shuffled toward the building entrance. His knees ached and his feet hurt. Buck ambled along silently at his side. They entered the loft and Blair felt an aching denseness pressing his heart. His night on Bellingham's streets haunted him. How he had longed for a safe place, a special place he knew existed but didn't know where.

God, this was so it.

How could he have forgotten this?

"You okay?" Jim asked, emerging from Blair's room without the pack.

Blair nodded, too choked to answer.

"When we found you," Buck said softly, "you said Jim wasn't `him'. Who were you talking about?"

Not now. Blair raised a hand and waved off the question. He didn't want to think about it. The answer waited in the shadows of his past and he desperately wanted it to slink back into whatever hole it had climbed out of.

Jim doggedly caught the fielding hand. He squeezed it gently. "Sandburg, you know better than this. You're talking to the King of Repression here."

"N-no." Blair whispered around the lump that wasn't going down. "Please, guys. I just wanna sleep."

Jim's mouth firmed. "Later then," he promised doggedly. "You want anything to eat before you take a shower?"

"Shower?"

"Please," Jim implored.

Blair caught a whiff of his own body. Rotted garbage ala Sandburg.

"Shower," Blair said in agreement.

Afterwards, clean and more awake than he had any right to feel, Blair dressed in sweats and joined the other two men. They'd made omelets.

"Just a few bites," Blair admitted as he sat down to an empty plate.

Buck was working on heavily buttered slice of toasted bread, his own omelet gone, just an oil slick on his plate. He slid a cheese and cracker platter within reach. Blair scooped a handful and started making mini sandwiches to stuff in his mouth. Jim went to the oven to pull out a third omelet.

No one spoke as they ate. The reality of the shower, the hot food, being in the loft with a clear understanding of his place in the universe turned the last twelve hours into a dreamscape.

Blair finally pushed the empty plate away and finished the tomato juice. Exhaustion had returned tenfold.

"Okay, then," Jim said.

Blair recognized Jim in his `interview' mode. This was not good.

"We need to talk," Jim continued.

Blair wiped his mouth with the folded paper towel someone had placed by his plate. "Um, seriously. I'm wiped. Can we talk later?"

Jim leaned forward. "Tell us about Paul Dupont."

Blair swallowed back the nausea. Suddenly the crash position seemed like a good idea. He was sure all his blood had just rushed to his socks. "Never heard of him."

"Is he the monster you were talking about on my answering machine?" Buck asked.

Blair stood. Was the air getting thinner on the third floor? He'd have to talk to Jim about that. "It's Saturday, right? I'm going to sleep till noon, then we can go do something. Whatever you guys want." He shuffled for his room. "Catch you both later."

Jim wanted to drag his guide back into the living room and shake the truth from him.

He settled for making another pot of coffee.

"You did tell him he could sleep first," Buck said, raising an eyebrow as he began clearing the table.

"I lied. I was hoping the shower and food would make him want to talk to us." Jim poured the water into the back of the coffee maker. "Do you mind staying here and keeping an eye on things? I need to check some stuff out."

"No problem."

Jim flipped the switch. The machine began to rumble. Buck had already started the clean up. The guy was handy to have around. Jim wiped down the table then went to check on his partner.

Blair sprawled face down at an angle on his mattress, with one leg dragging the floor. The blankets were bundled in a messy pile at the end. Blair looked too uncomfortable that way. Grabbing the escaping ankle, he straightened his friend. Jim rolled him into a recovery position on his side.

"Jmm, wha'zup." Blue eyes appeared, catching Jim sorting the tangled blankets.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." Before he could finish speaking, Blair was snoring. Jim shook his head and whispered, "Just the frustrated Sentinel, tucking in his exasperating partner. Same old, same old."

Jim showered. The water sluiced the exhaustion from his bones. Afterwards he dressed, changed the sheets on his bed and made a few phone calls. Buck was sitting at the table drinking coffee when he finally came down from his bedroom. The kitchen had been returned to its clean and orderly condition and Jim nodded.

"Buck, grab a shower if you want. Extra towels in the cupboard. Give the hot water tank another fifteen minutes." Jim pocketed his wallet and slipped on his holster. "I changed the bedding upstairs. Take my bed. Trust me. Two nights on that couch brings pain."

"I might take you up on that," Buck answered quietly. His battered face and the way his shoulders slumped showed his fatigue. "What's your plan?"

"We have a name now. I'm going to dig around. The station will be quiet. Good time to research." Jim picked up his keys. "Try and keep Blair here. There's a bag of frozen corn you can use for that face. Advil in the medicine cabinet."

Buck's yawned delayed his reply. "Thanks. We'll be fine."

Jim didn't doubt it. He only knew of two, maybe three people, other than himself, capable of hanging on to Blair. Buck was the most experienced of them all.

Jim's nose twitched. Somewhere in the building, the carpets were being shampooed. He rode the elevator to the seventh floor, tilting his head as he listened. Chief's floor, two levels up. Entering the bull pen, he checked the status board. The weekend team was out.

Perfect.

Jim fired up his computer and helped himself to more coffee. Madras and Burson kept a personal coffee maker on their desk when they worked Saturdays. Since the call was a body found in a park and the coffee smelled fresh, it would be a crime to let it grow old.

Getting comfortable, Jim started with local queries on Paul Dupont. Not having a date of birth made things tricky. Bringing up the FBI's National Crime Information Center, also called NCIC, he typed in the name and hit enter. Next, he called his inside number for Washington's department of licensing, only to learn his normal contact - a retired army supply sergeant with a passion for hot rods - wasn't working. The young female working in Olympia did not feel up to the challenge of searching her database without the proper information.

Jim would call again when his friend was working.

He checked his computer monitor for NCIC's response, two dozen Duponts having the name of Paul either as first or middle.

Jim grinned.

A cake walk.

He printed the results, then moved on to his next subject. He composed an email to the California authorities, asking for whatever information he could get on Dupont's break in and the murder. That sent, he pulled out his bottom left drawer and reached into the back for a file. He flipped it open and reviewed the contents. This was all the information he had gleaned on Robert Lanfers. He'd started the file when he, Simon and Blair had gone out to work on that restored ferry and Lanfers had kidnapped Blair. Last month he'd added a few things when Durkin and Lanfers had shown up at the fishing cabin on the Olympic Peninsula.

Time to see what else he could learn.

Jim called the state penitentiary and talked to the shift commander on duty. It turned out to be a gravelly voiced male who agreed the Mariners did not have a prayer this season, Wonderburger was a great franchise and The Backstreet Boys had to be a communist Trojan horse to undermine and destroy the American music scene.

Jim moved on to the reason he had called. After stating his query, the commander's tone changed.

"Lanfers, you say? Let me get your number. I'll do some checking and call you back," the commander said cautiously.

Jim gave him his direct line to his desk. The man was playing it smart. It was easier to verify the call as legitimate when the person being called could run the number through a reverse directory and know for a fact the line was going into a police station. Hanging up, Jim turned back to his computer while he waited. Not ready to start the search for Dupont, Jim began searching for more information on Lanfers. He started with the booking records, pulling out social security numbers and addresses. With that information written down, he progressed to more obscure methods. Jim used his cell phone, calling on contacts in military positions with access to computers. He lucked out on his third try, catching a hard working Air Force Sergeant at her desk catching up on her backlog of work.

"Got it, Jim," she chirped after he'd listened to her rapid fire keyboarding for a few minutes. "Marine. Honorable Discharge after a dozen years service. Huh, got some impressive medals."

"Any info on why he left?"

"Not really, I see he ended up a voluntary inpatient with the VA a little later," she added thoughtfully.

Jim had a pretty good idea what that was about. "Which one?"

"American Lake."

"Know anyone over there?"

"Sure, let me get you a number. Great guy that used to work with me in Colorado." She tapped away on her keyboard again and gave him a number. "Ask for Carter Livingstone."

Jim dialed the number and lucked out. Livingstone was on shift. After a short wait, the man came on the line. "This is Carter."

"Hi, this is Detective James Ellison with Cascade Police. I got your number from Julie Aloe."

"Sure, how's she doing? She still with the Air `Farce'?"

Jim grinned. "Yes, sir, she's making a career of it."

"Stupid kid. What can I do for you?"

Jim explained. The man was not as fast with the keyboard, but he got the job done. "I remember this guy. Everything bothered him. We thought allergies at first, but all the tests were negative."

"Yeah, that'd be the guy. He's in the State Pen now for kidnapping and murder."

"No shit? Really? I figured that job he got would have kept him out of trouble."

"Job?" Jim leaned forward, elbows on his desk.

"Yeah, some couple shows up in suits to talk with him, all concerned, treating him special. They offered him some job with security. Next thing we know, he's checking himself out and we don't see him again. Jeez, I haven't thought of him in years. Murder you say? Who'd he kill?"

"A military doctor."

The nurse's gulp was audible even without enhanced hearing.

"Any chance you remember the name of those guys that talked to him?"

"It was a guy and a gal actually, PhDs. Don't remember their names, they worked for some corporation."

Jim frowned. "How about the company? Remember the name?"

"Something weird. I remember thinking of the pyramids."

"That was in the name? Pyramid Corporation?" Jim started typing the name into his computer for a quick Google search.

"No..." The sound of a pen tapping on a tabletop drifted over the phone. "No, it just made me think of the pyramids. Maybe... Pharaohs?"

Before Jim could ask more, his desk phone rang. The commander at the prison was calling back. "Listen, is it okay if I call you back? I might have more questions."

"Sure."

Jim quickly gave his number. "And if you think of anything else, please call me right away."

"You bet."

Jim picked up his other phone. "Ellison."

"Are you Detective Ellison?" a new voice asked.

"I am."

"This is Captain Oard, Special Offender Unit, Monroe Correctional. May I ask the reason for your interest in Prisoner Lanfers?"

This was becoming a little more official than Jim would have liked. He foresaw a very unhappy Simon Banks looming on the near horizon. Ah, well, in for a dime...

"Lanfers kidnapped my partner last month. He attacked me and two friends while we were on vacation. In spite of the fact my partner was the victim, someone from your facility contacted him, got him involved in his kidnapper's medical treatment. I just found out. This is highly irregular."

"I'd have to agree. And, just for the record, that doctor was not connected with our people. He had the proper papers that gave him access to Lanfers. Now he's disappeared, along with the prisoner."

Jim stood up. "Lanfers has escaped?" he nearly shouted into the handset.

A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him awake.

"Nuugh?"

"Blair, you have a call," Buck explained, looking annoyed at such a thought, but doing his duty.

Blair accepted the handheld cordless phone and brought it to his ear. ""lo?" he croaked.

"Blair? It's Stan Burson. Is Jim with you?"

Neither the name nor the voice registered, but the urgency checked in and Blair sat up. Buck watched, standing by his bed. The room filled with natural light from the window. It was mid-day, maybe close to noon. Blair realized fleetingly he'd only gotten a few hours of sleep at best. "Jim?"

"Is Jim with you? We tried his cell but it was busy."

Cluttered thoughts refused to stay in proper places. Blair wasn't willing to admit to anything. "Who's this again?"

"Burson, Stan Burson, Major Crime. Madras and I are working a case. We need Jim."

Ah. Okay. Realization arrived. Heavy-set Hispanic partnered with the older guy that liked bird watching, due to retire soon. "Oh, Stan, right, sorry man. Ah, Jim's...?" Blair looked up expectantly.

"Went to the station," Buck supplied.

"He's at the PD, doing stuff." Blair suddenly wanted to know what Jim was doing, although he had a clue. "What's happening?"

"We've got a body, no identification yet, except, er, for one picture," Burson explained awkwardly.

"Picture?"

"It kinda weird, Sandburg. The picture - well, we think anyway - looks just like you."

"Me?" Blair squeaked. He flipped the blankets back and swung his feet to the floor.

"Big guy, sorta Jim's size. We don't want to panic anyone. But we'd really like to know Jim's okay before we proceed."

"What?" Blair's heart hit light speed. "What?" he repeated in a panic as he grabbed Buck's arm and stood. "But it's not Jim, right? Doesn't look anything like Jim."

"That's the problem," Burson confided remorsefully. "The body's missing its head."

The busy signal taunted.

Jim slammed the handset in place, nearly knocking the desk phone off the corner. He snatched up his coat and bolted for the door at a run, unable to shake the memory of storming his own home, gun in hand, to find the aftermath of Lash's break in, the phone off the hook and busted. Possibilities spun around and around in his brain as he exploded from the elevator and ran for his parked Ford. He floored the pedal as he cleared the garage gate.

Buck. Jim had to remember that Buck wouldn't let anything happen.

He'd try calling again, this time Blair's cell. He reached for his cell phone and found the pocket empty. Damn, he'd forgotten it back at his desk. No way could he return for it. He was halfway home. The drive through the streets courted recklessness, but thankfully no patrolling units saw.

"I'm driving," Buck ordered with rock-hard finality.

Blair changed directions without comment, sprinting toward the Chevy truck. With his gut caught in a new ice age, he fumbled with his seatbelt. Words lodged in his tightened throat. Unanswered and unasked questions fought for supremacy. Why hadn't Jim answered his cell phone? They'd gotten just the bullpen's answering machine. Where was he? Why had he told Buck he was going in to use the computer when he obviously wasn't?

Blair refused to consider the biggest question standing in front of the rest. Was it Jim's body?

"No," Blair whispered harshly, startling himself when he heard the word.

"Don't jump to conclusions, son," Buck advised quietly as he drove.

The blocks flew by.

Blair's fingers started to tingle. A god-awful image of Jim's headless body in some filthy alley caused his lungs to expel their contents in a groan. He squeezed his eyelids shut and curled his body around crossed arms. His chest tightened, he couldn't breathe in. The Chevy slewed sideways in the street as Buck cursed angrily under his breath. Brakes squealed, but Blair couldn't look as the shoulder harness caught him fast.

A second later, Blair's door flew open.

"Hey!" Familiar hands caught his face, pushing him back against the head rest. "Calm down."

Blair wanted to, he did. But his body wasn't listening to his brain anymore.

The seatbelt was released and Blair was pulled out of the cab. The movement caused an undertow of dizziness. He was being half carried, half dragged. Mini-exploding stars warned him he'd better get his lungs to cooperate. Hands lowered him till he was sitting on something that felt like grass. Another large hand behind his neck folded him forward until his knees framed both ears. Voices rumbled in the air around him. He couldn't follow the words until he caught one and held on tight.

"... Chief, what d'ya say? Just try. Hold your breath to three."

Blair's eyes flew open. He craned his neck up to see Jim kneeling in the grass at his side, Buck on the other.

JIM!

If Blair could have, he would have screamed the name with joy. He settled with catching one of Jim's hands tightly in his own. He forced himself to hold his breath. When had he started gulping air? All this time he'd begin trying to breath and in actuality, he'd been hyperventilating. The brain could be so cruel.

"Good, there you go, Blair," Jim prompted. "Do it again. Give me five this time."

Blair squeezed Jim's hand and held on, afraid this was a hallucination and he'd wake up to find Jim really gone. Surprisingly, the cop seemed to understand. His eyes crinkled as he warmly smiled. "Yeah, I know, Junior. I had a fright, too. But we're both okay, right?"

Blair nodded, holding his breath for five torturous seconds before gulping again. Jim rubbed Blair's knuckles, the picture of patience.

Buck shook his head, amused and mildly exasperated. "I'll get the trucks out of the street. We're blocking traffic." He rose and jogged away.

"Hey." Jim looked contrite, even a little embarrassed - over what, though, Blair had no clue.

Single syllable words were within reach now. "Hey," Blair managed back.

"Buck said you two got a call? Someone thinks I'm a headless corpse?"

Nodding while he counted to seven, Blair managed three words. "Yeah, we did."

"I'm not dead."

Unexpected tears caused Jim's face to get fuzzy. "Thanks, man. That'd be... like the last straw."

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, been a hell of a weekend so far, huh?" He got serious. "Listen, I got some news that kinda scared me too. I called the loft. Got a busy signal and panicked."

"Why?" Breathing was growing easier now. Blair sat up straight but didn't turn Jim loose.

"Lanfers is missing, he's escaped or got busted out by that doctor that contacted you."

The final piece of the puzzle fell into place and the picture was clear. "Oh my God, Jim," Blair blurted. "I think I know where he is."

He was going to spew chunks.

Blair averted his gaze, focusing on the trees in the park christened by the early afternoon light. The leaves seemed to breathe in the air with tiny lungs as they rocked back and forth in the light wind.

"Whatever was used to sever the head had to have been pretty sharp. Looks like a clean cut."

"See here? They knew where to bisect at the base of the spine with minimum effort."

No use. Blair couldn't tune it out. Oh, God. He was going to lose it. Buck's hand on his arm gently tried to pull him away. Blair resisted, keeping his feet planted in the park grass. The urge to stay inches from his sentinel was more important then his queasy stomach. Blair resolved to stare down at the body, but kept his eyes from traveling above the shoulders to gaze upon the horror that wasn't there. The body was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, the feet wore tennis shoes and white socks.

Squatting like a cowboy around a campfire, Jim's head turned briefly as if to assess Blair's position. The cop discreetly reached back to pat Blair's shin. A silent gesture of support that did wonders to calm Blair's turbulent stomach.

"Here." The medical examiner on call that afternoon pulled the jean material up and pointed to the corpse's calf. "We've got a tattoo."

Jim craned his spine, twisting his head. "That cinches it. That anchor tattoo is listed as an identifying mark on Robert Lanfer's booking sheet."

If anyone wondered how it was that Jim knew the details of Lanfer's tattoos from memory, no one asked.

The group of official personnel gathered in a tight clutch at the south end of a large park, near a long, overgrown run of bushy greenbelt. The body, sans the head, had been discovered by a woman out for an afternoon jog. The woman was currently at the hospital being treated for her hysterical reaction to the grisly find.

Blair could not blame her.

The area had been roped off with bright yellow police tape, so far back that not even the sharpest eye could see what was happening. The white coroner's van was parked nearby on the grass, waiting. The police photographer was carefully packing his equipment away.

"There should be more blood," Jim noted.

The medical examiner nodded. "I agree. The amputation wasn't done here. But, judging by the rigor, I'd say it was less than four hours ago."

Blair briefly closed his eyes. Lanfers was dead. Why didn't he feel anything? Sure, he was revolted by the violence, but he was neither saddened nor happy over the man's passing. Gone was the feeling of a hundred marching army ants under his skin whenever he had stood within the kidnapper's presence.

"Why would he be carrying a picture of Sandburg?" Burson asked, glancing up at Blair.

"We both met him last year, up north," Jim answered quickly. "He's a nut. Who knows what triggers weirdoes? He became obsessive."

"Stalker?" Burson asked, looking unhappy all of a sudden.

To Blair surprise, Jim chuckled darkly. "Relax - we both have alibis, Stan. I signed in at the station and Blair was with Buck Stevens."

"I'm a suspect?" Blair squeaked in surprise.

"No," Jim stood up. "Stan's just being careful." He dusted off his knees. "I'll send you the files on this guy. We've actually had two run-ins. You can read about it."

"Thanks, Ellison, for the ID." Stan waved the corner's team in and stepped back as they started to bag the body. "We'll let you know what we find out."

"I'd appreciate that," Jim answered. He turned Blair with a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, guys."

A morbid gene kicked in and Blair glanced once more at Lanfer's torso before turning away. Without the head, it seemed insignificant now, small, and harmless. Even though those two hands had tied him up and those two feet had marched him over the top of a mountain, without the part that held the purpose and reasoning behind it all...

"Blair," Jim whispered, snapping Blair's thoughts back to the present. "Let it go."

Blair blushed. "Yeah, right." He ducked his head and let Jim sling an arm around his shoulders as they walked toward the distant parking lot. "Sorry, man."

"It's okay." Jim lifted his chin and took a deep breath. "Sorry you guys had to see that."

"I've seen worse," Buck answered calmly.

"Why would anyone do that?" Blair fought the urge to look back. He ducked under the tape that Jim held up. "How'd he even get out of that hospital? He was inside a freaking prison, man. This doesn't make any sense."

"Not here." Jim propelled Blair forward with a hand to the small of his back.

"How about Mexican?"

"No way."

"Thai?"

Blair turned green.

Jim sighed and turned the truck toward Prospect Street. They had just dropped Buck off where they had left his Chevy, following the street-side reunion a few hours ago. Jim glanced in the rear view mirror. The older man was still behind them.

"Well, we have to eat something."

Distracted by the passing view, Blair shrugged. "So eat. I'm not stopping you. Just don't order for me."

"We okay here, Chief?"

That got his attention. He turned away from his side window to study Jim. "Yeah, why?"

"Just checking." Jim shrugged. "You were pretty pissed off at me yesterday."

Unexpectedly, Blair chuckled. "Been a weird twenty-four, eh, Jim?"

They shared an exhausted grin.

"Seriously, Jim, we're fine. Yeah, I was mad. You went behind my back."

Jim took his right hand off the wheel, pointing toward the roof of the cab. "I did not. I called in reinforcements. You had me worried."

"You were sneaky. You acted like you didn't trust me."

"I was concerned," Jim countered through clenched teeth. "Lanfers is, er, was no good."

`See? This is why I didn't tell you." Blair crossed his arms over his chest. "You get all high and mighty. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jeal-"

"Stop! Hold it right there," Jim cut in, twisting the steering wheel sharply. The Ford's springs rocked as it came to rest in the parking stall. They were home. "Don't even say it."

Blair wrenched open the door, releasing his seatbelt and sliding out with one movement. Just before it slammed shut, Jim caught Blair's final word. "Jealous!"

Buck still sat in his Chevy, the motor running. Jim paused by the driver's door. Blair had already gone inside. He extended his hearing. No heartbeats on the upper floor. The lobby was clear. He'd let Blair cool off before following.

"You two can't seem to go more than a few hours without a fight," Buck noted, sticking his elbow out the window opening and getting comfortable.

"Yeah, I noticed."

They were silent for a few seconds before Buck continued, "What about dinner?"

"He doesn't want to eat." Jim leaned against the Chevy's fender and crossed one ankle over the other, his hands stuck in his back pockets. "I guess I screwed up. Sandburg thinks I'm jealous."

"Didn't you tell me Lanfers was a Sentinel?"

"Yeah, apparently."

"And Blair's a type of sentinel comrade?"

"Partner. He watches my back."

Buck scratched his eyebrow lazily. "Seems to me, two sentinels and one partner might cause some issues. Did you think Blair was going to jump ship?"

"No, don't be stupid. Of course not. Never." Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't know, Stevens. Maybe part of me did."

"Well, at least you're honest." Buck straightened and racked the gear shift into drive. "I'm starving. I'll go get us some pizza. You two play nice till I get back with food."

Jim took the stairs slowly, ignoring the elevator. He needed to think. Inside the loft, he heard Blair in his room. He knuckle-tapped the door. "Sandburg?"

`Yeah."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

That was pretty clear. Before Jim could reply, the door opened. Blair looked up sheepishly. "I'll come out."

Jim stepped back. "Listen. I'm sorry about having Buck follow you. I was out of line."

"You were, man," Blair agreed. Going to the refrigerator, he took out two water bottles and handed one to Jim before twisting off the cap on his. "I didn't want you to freak, so I didn't tell you. Lanfers was sick. His doctor read the original notes I sent before he and Durkin..."

Right. Jim rolled his eyes. Blair was `cool' all right. The kid couldn't even talk about his abduction. But rather than destroy the growing fragile truce, he held his tongue. "So you got called in to consult when they were clueless."

"Right."

"And?"

Blair sucked half the bottle down, leaning against the kitchen island. "H-he got better. He woke up."

"What did you do?"

A bitter chuckle. "I just stood by his bed, man. That's all. I didn't do anything."

Shit.

"What did the doctors say?"

"No clue. I ran."

"Ran?" Jim frowned. "Why?"

"He creeped me out, Jim. BIG time!" Blair slammed the water bottle down and paced the loft, one arm waving in the air. "I mean, I could barely stand being in the room with him. It's like we were polar magnets or something. What the hell causes that?"

"I don't know," Jim said.

"Then I get back here and you're acting all covert-ops and that was not cool, man." Blair squeezed the back of his neck, his other hand rubbed his forehead. "It's like you own me or something. No one owns me, Jim."

"Never," Jim cut in, going over to face his friend, hands on his shoulders. "Never."

Blair chewed his bottom lip, his eyes squinting up, searching. "Yeah?"

The words needed to be said. Jim knew it would hurt. The fear pressed in from all sides as he breathed, but he forced himself. "If it gets too much..." Jim sucked in a chest full of too thin air. "You can walk. I won't stop you."

Blair shook his head. "I don't want to leave, Jim."

"Good." The air in the room equalized. Jim mock punched his shoulder. "Am I forgiven?"

"Am I?" Blair's forehead wrinkled. "Why do I feel like I was cheating on you?"

"Really?"

"Totally," Blair answered sheepishly. "I don't get any of this. No way could I ever explain it in my thesis. Hell, I don't even want to try."

"This stopped being about me a long time ago, Einstein. Or didn't you notice?" Jim declared firmly.

"I guess I didn't want to." Blair dropped down to perch on the sofa. "Lanfers was really whacked out there, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, I think he was."

Blair looked around the room. "Where's Uncle Buck?"

"Pizza run."

"Cool."

Buck returned with two large, thick crust pizzas, one with a white sauce, garlic and chicken, the other tomato with sausage and olives. The three men dug in. When the takeout boxes were resting in the dumpster behind the building, Blair patted his stomach and yawned. The light from the TV cast blue highlights in his hair.

"Tomorrow's Sunday, right?" he asked.

Jim nodded. "All day."

"Good, we can sleep in."

"I need to go in, do some more digging." Jim rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was tired.

"Digging?" Blair frowned. "What about?"

Ah, damn. Jim had done it again. He caught Buck's warning look and nodded. Honesty was the best policy right now. "The doctor that you saw helping Lanfers is also missing. It looks like he might have been the one to break him out."

"You're taking the case?" Blair asked, folding his legs under, Indian fashion. He leaned back into the sofa cushions. "Simon's going to let you?"

"If he doesn't, I'll just make sure it's on my time." Jim stood and stretched. "I'm cashing in. This body needs some rest."

"Night, Jim," Buck called out.

"Jim?"

Turning at the base of the staircase, Jim waited. Blair looked at him over the back of the sofa. "I'll help, okay?"

"Okay."

"This was what I gathered yesterday." Jim waved a hand toward the files. The bull pen was empty. The weekend crew was out again, following up on yesterday's discovery in the park. The three men had the place to themselves.

Blair pulled up a chair and studied the collection of papers, leaning forward, elbows on Jim's desk. He easily deciphered Jim's scrawl. "What's this about pyramids?"

Jim had settled in. His attention focused on his computer screen as he spoke, "Lanfers got a job years ago. The guy I interviewed thought the company's name sounded like or reminded him of pyramids."

Buck stood next to Jim's chair, watching over the cop's shoulder. "Not much to go on."

"Sometimes it's enough," Jim answered. He stabbed a button on the keyboard and the large printer in the corner started beating out a fast-paced stutter. Continuous pages of wide paper moved into a slotted opening.

Blair scanned the pages that pieced together Robert Lanfers' career. It struck him how similar it had been to Jim's early years. Military, discharge, obvious trouble with his senses. Maybe Blair should follow up by interviewing the outpatients at a local VA hospital. Maybe he could find more data, enough information from outside sources to support his thesis.

What, and find another Sentinel? Blair frowned. No way. He wasn't going to risk meeting another Lanfers. The guy had been like an anti-sentinel, treating him like a thing, something that didn't have a life of its own.

Blair shook off the mood and flipped to the last page. His eyes fell on a name in Jim's handwriting and he froze. Paul Dupont.

Lost.

"Sandburg?" Jim turned his chair to face Blair. "You okay?"

Blair was still frozen. The printer chattered away in the corner. One of the overhead florescent lights flickered. A siren passed on the street below His gaze stuck on the two words at the top of the page. He struggled to keep the battered dike from failing. Memories pushed back.

A hand landed gently on his shoulder. Dark memories flooded in.

"Blair?" Buck asked softly.

Blair forced himself to answer. "I was... I was twelve when I first met Paul."

Chairs scraped the floor. At first Blair wasn't even aware of the escort, of the two taller men on either side of him, leading him down a hallway. Then he found himself sitting at a table in a small room, a cup of water within arm's reach. Buck was sitting at his side and Jim sat kitty-corner. The door was closed. They were in an interrogation room.

Jim gave him an apologetic smile. "I didn't want to take the chance of someone interrupting us. That okay?"

"Yeah," Blair muttered, picking up the water and downing half the glass, rewetting his dry vocal cords. "I suppose."

"Tell us," Buck urged.

An icy touch ran up Blair's spine and he shivered. "We were in California, some protest Naomi was involved in."

Jim made a sound, as if he was going to say something but changed his mind. He nodded for Blair to continue.

"Ah, I don't remember much. Only that Paul was there and he sort of hung around Naomi a lot, acted real friendly with me." Blair shivered again and crossed his arms tightly to wrap his ribs. "He sorta creeped me out. One night, Naomi was out, he took me to a fenced in compound. It was so dark. He knew the code and we got in..."

Blair couldn't go on. The dark flood tore through his soul. He felt sick.

"Blair?" Jim asked gently.

Blair met Jim's concerned gaze. "Oh, God. Jim, he killed a man. He shot him and then we ran. So dark. He... he wouldn't let me go." Buck moved his chair closer and Blair leaned toward his honorary uncle. "I don't know how I ended up with you."

"You were traumatized when you came back," Buck said. "You wouldn't talk."

Blair nodded. He scrubbed his face with a shaky hand. "I wanted to be back at Dry Falls. Then... I was. This doesn't make any sense."

Jim leaned forward. "Why did Dupont want you?"

"I don't know." Blair raked his fingers through his hair as he thought. "I remember being creeped out, like how Lanfers started to make me feel towards the end."

"It was dark. Did Dupont use a flashlight?"

The significance of the question hit Blair like a brick to the skull. He gasped and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. "Jim! You're right. He didn't. He didn't use a light. Darkness. The guy could walk in complete darkness. Jim, what if he was a sentinel?"

Jim drummed the tabletop with his fingers. "I was skimming the report from California. It was in my inbox. Dupont knew the code because he used to work at the facility. But he would need enhanced senses to get around the security measures. They would have been changed."

"Like when you and I and Brackett..." Blair couldn't finish the statement. More and more connections became obvious. Brackett had called him Jim's guide. Lanfers had wanted Blair at his side to begin a life as a mercenary. Dupont had literally kidnapped him from the protest camp when he had been just a child. "This sucks," he whispered.

The Sunday evening newscaster calmly reported the coming week's weather - rain. Jim had the sound low. No one cared. Blair worked in the kitchen, fussing over some dinner he had insisted on making for them. Buck was reading all the notes from the day's research.

Jim paced.

When the phone rang, he leaped to answer, snatching it up before Blair turned away from his chopping block.

"Ellison."

"I found it."

"Go ahead." Jim moved to stand by the row of windows overlooking the city.

"Took some digging, but your guy spent three years dodging the police until he surfaced with an AKA of Steve Draker. He worked for a Canadian fishery, ended up getting fired, started drinking and spent a year in jail after his third DUI." Jack Kelso paused. Jim could hear a page turning. "Then he starts to turn it around, gets treatment. Got a decent job in Maine as a clerk, then promoted to manager, then gets hired by a large firm. No one has seen him since."

"How about family?" Jim asked.

"None. Guy was a real loner."

Jim stroked his eyebrow in thought, his pacing habit taking him back and forth over the loft floor. "What company hired him?"

"Swan Corporation. Mostly science research. He was with them for a year before leaving," Kelso said. "That's when the trail ran out."

"Okay, thanks, Jack."

"Any time. Want me to keep digging?"

"Please, that would be great."

Jim returned the handset. Blair hadn't stopped in his food preparations. He acted oblivious to fact Kelso had called. Jim repeated the information for Buck.

"How is it this Kelso guy can find Dupont in half a day? He's wanted for murder and there's no statute of limitations on that, right?" Buck asked.

Jim shrugged. "Kelso has connections. We've learned not to ask. Besides, Sandburg would have been the only witness and none of the official reports even mention a kid being in the facility. Naomi didn't file a report of his kidnapping either, so they probably had squat to go on."

The oven door closed with a bang. Blair flipped the dish towel off his shoulder onto the counter with a loud slap. "Forty minutes on three-fifty and you guys can eat." He reached for his coat, lifting it from the hook next to the door.

Buck rose. "Where are you going?"

"Out." Blair punched his arms through the coat sleeves and flipped his hair out from under the collar.

"Sandburg," Jim said as he took a step toward his friend. "Now's not a good time to wander around by yourself."

"Back off, Jim." Back straight and face set with determination, Blair raised a hand, palm out. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm just walking down to the bay and back. I need air. I need space."

"Jim's right," Buck said. "I'll walk with you."

"No," Blair answered loudly. "Sorry, Uncle Buck. No disrespect, sir." He slipped out the door before either man could move.

"Well, hell." Buck snapped at Jim. "What is that all about? What did you do?"

What was it with this guy? Jim wondered. "You know, Stevens. I'm not the bad guy here. Sandburg is remembering some pretty heavy stuff. I know what that's like." Jim pointed to the oven as he walked toward the coat rake. "Don't forget to take out dinner."

"Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'm not letting Sandburg walk around alone."

"He said he didn't want either one of us with him."

"He's not going to know," Jim answered as he walked out.

Blair was on the stairs, Jim waited until he was out the lobby door before starting down. When he reached the sidewalk, Blair was several blocks away, turning toward the water. Jim followed slowly, zipping up his jacket to ward off the damp evening air. Low clouds captured the harsh city lights and reflected it back. The street was wet from a recent shower and the tires from the passing cars hummed on the asphalt. Neighbors walked their dogs and jogged. Northwest citizens didn't let the weather detour their lives. Jim nodded to a few he recognized from his building.

At the corner, Jim paused. He waited until Blair was at the railing that separated the sidewalk from the bay before following. Cascade city council had developed the area with a decent walkway favored by its populace. On warm days, the entire stretch of sidewalk teemed with people pushing baby strollers, lovers walking arm-in-arm and business people exercising during their lunch breaks. At night, the locals shared it with a few homeless.

Jim watched Blair lean over to drop money into a cup next to an old man sitting with a tattered sleeping bag wrapped around his shoulders. He turned to lean on the railing while his friend and the old man exchanged a few words.

"Thanks, son."

"No problem, man. You okay? Need anything?"

"Got the salt air and a warm wrap. I'm king." He chuckled quietly.

"Take care." Blair moved on.

Jim followed.

Five minutes later, Blair turned toward the railing as if contemplating the large cargo ships at anchor. "I'm gonna be pissed if dinner's ruined, Jim."

So much for smooth covert ops moves. Jim quickened his stride. Blair had sounded irritated, not furious. He took that as a good sign. Jim joined Blair at the railing. "We'll have to take our chances on the washed up Seal in the kitchen."

Blair snorted, his gaze turned toward the harbor. They watched a sailboat motor by, with its white all around light at the top of its mast plowing through light haze dripping from the clouds. The mist was growing thicker, coating the railing with tiny beads of moisture.

"It's hard, man," Blair said.

Jim didn't interrupt with questions. He would take whatever Blair was giving.

"A guy thinks he gets somewhere from decisions he makes, like he's in control. Then he finds out that maybe he's not. That maybe something else is controlling his life."

Welcome to my world, kid.

"Like, did I want to learn about sentinels because of a book I read when I was a kid? Or did a rogue sentinel mess with my head so bad that I forgot about it? Only, subconsciously I wanted to learn more?"

"Does it matter?" Jim asked when the silence lengthened to a point he felt safe to talk.

"Yeah, Jim. It matters to me. I don't like being a pawn, man."

"Is that what you think you are to me?" Jim turned, leaning one elbow on the railing as he faced his partner. "Just a pawn?"

Blair closed his eyes. "I'm sounding pathetic, aren't I?

"No, I'm hearing a little anger, a little confusion and a lot of bad memories." Jim turned back toward the water. "Sandburg, don't ever doubt your place with me. You're not my pawn."

"I know," Blair whispered. He dropped his forehead to rest on his cupped hands. "What a mess. I feel like Lanfers' death is my fault. I mean, I hated the guy. But I never would have run if I'd known they were going to..."

Ah, Chief. I never should have taken you to that scene. Jim sighed. "You can't go there, Blair. Lanfers picked his path. You tried to help him once. He tossed it away."

"Who would do that to him?" Blair lifted haunted eyes to Jim. "Why that? I mean his fingerprints would have ID'd him. It doesn't make any sense. Was it supposed to be a message?"

"We'll find out," Jim promised.

Blair fell silent again. He pushed off the rail and started to walk, pausing until Jim took the hint and joined him at his side. They walked away from the loft.

"There's something else I don't get," Blair said. "Why is it that I don't get the same heebie-jeebies around you? With Lanfers and Dupont, the more I hung around them, the worse it got. What if just staying in the loft makes my skin start to itch?"

A dollop of dread hit Jim's gut. Could that happen? Would Blair start to react like that around him? Something deep within refused to believe it. "I don't know much about the mystic side of all this Sentinel stuff, but I do know one thing. You found me, remember? Dupont and Lanfers hunted you down, but you're the one that searched and found me. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to happen."

Blair missed a step. He looked up at Jim in surprise. "Yeah, that's true. Maybe a sentinel's partner is supposed to pick. Maybe we're the discerning factor. Wow. That's like, pretty heavy." Blair gnawed on his lip for a minute longer before continuing. Jim noted a slight spring in his step. "If that's true, the non-sentinel in the partnership has a solid vote. Although it still blows my mind. Burton said there were many tribes, each with their own sentinel/companion pairings. The tribes are still here, just all mixed up and living together. Don't get me wrong, Jim. I'm thrilled I found you, but now we know there are more out there. Two more that we know of. Probably more. Where are Dupont and Lanfers' partners? How come they didn't find their sentinels?"

Jim stopped, catching Blair's arm. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"To be perfectly honest here, I don't care. I don't care about other sentinels that don't have their partners or guides or whatever you decide to call it. Remember, you found me, so we're both taken, right? I gotta tell you, Sandburg. I don't play well with others and I don't share."

Blair's face creased with a smile.

Jim grinned back. "Can we head back now? We're getting wet."

They reached the loft in time for dinner. Blair had to admit to himself he was glad Jim had followed. The cop had helped to clear his head. Seeing Buck setting the table brought back the harsh way he had brushed the older man off.

"Sorry," Blair said after hanging up his coat and facing his mentor. "I was a jerk."

Buck lifted an eyebrow. "You okay now? I don't see any bruises on Jim."

Jim sniffed the air and peeked under the casserole lid. "He leaves the bruises where the public never sees them. This is ready to eat, right?"

The phone rang again. Blair was closest and he picked it up. "Hello?"

"Blair?"

"Jack?"

Jim came to take the phone but Blair refused to give it over. "What's up, man? Did you learn anything more?"

Kelso cleared his throat. "Well, not much, actually, just some business connections. Is Jim there?"

"Yeah." Blair smiled sweetly as he elbowed Jim back from taking the phone. "He says to go ahead and give. He's busy. I'll write it down."

Rolling his eyes, Jim handed over a pen and paper.

Blair started writing. Kelso was ticking off a string of business names and corporations. Swan Incorporated was part of a larger, mother-corporation, which was owned by an even larger international incorporation.

"Wow, Jack. It's nearly nine at night. How'd you get all this stuff when everything is closed?" Blair asked as he wrote.

"It's not nighttime everywhere, Blair," Jack teased. "Tell Jim he's going to be paying my phone bill this month."

Jim groaned.

Chuckling, Blair continued to scratch names on the list. Then Jack gave the next one, he drew a sharp breath. "What did you say?"

"Paraho International."

"Oh, shit." Blair stood, eyes boring into Jim's.

Jim's expression grew hard. "Paraho - sounds a lot like pharaoh, doesn't it? As in Egyptian. I think we just found our common denominator, guys."

"No, Emily Chardonnay, Chardonnay," Blair repeated, carefully pronouncing each syllable. The effect didn't seem to help. The person on the other end of the phone continued to explain no one by that name worked for Paraho International.

Blair hung up.

"Still no luck?" Buck asked. He had sprawled lengthwise on Blair's office sofa with a text book on advanced anthropology resting on his chest.

"No, they never heard of her either." Blair scratched another phone number off the list. He had over a dozen and that was just Paraho's offices in the United States. At the first number he had called, the man answering had patiently explained that company information came from a worldwide personnel network and there was no need to call the other locations but Blair had ignored the advice. "I didn't make her up. She was here."

"Not saying she wasn't." Buck rolled off the sofa and stretched his back. "They've obviously covered their tracks. I doubt you find anyone willing to admit they know her."

"Yeah, you may be right." Blair tossed the pen on his desk and checked the clock resting on a towering stack of overdue library books. "Office hours are over anyway. You ready to head out?"

They walked the long hallway side by side. Blair had enjoyed this; Buck watching him teach, meeting his coworkers and generally learning about Blair's job. But Blair didn't kid himself. Buck was on duty, spending time with him because he and Jim still felt there was danger.

"When do you have to get back to the orchard?" Blair asked as they emerged outside. A gust of wind threw the rain into their faces, coating Blair's glasses and blurring his world. He took them off and stuffed them into a pocket.

"It's under control," Buck answered. "You trying to get rid of me?"

With mock-horror, Blair raised both hands as if to push the thought away. "Na-ah, man. Never."

Buck unlocked his Chevy. Reaching over to flip up the lock for Blair, he paused, seeing a sealed envelope on the passenger seat.

"What is it?" Blair asked, jerking open the door. "It's addressed to me?"

"Apparently." Buck snagged Blair's hand. "Should you be touching it?"

"I'll be careful." Blair picked it up by the corner and climbed in. Buck took a Washington State map from behind his visor and spread it out on Blair's lap. "Thanks."

He used his pocket knife and slit open the bottom of the plain, white envelope. A folded yellow page from a ledger tablet dropped out. Blair opened it up, again holding the corners.

"Tully's Coffee. Five PM. State and Creed. E." Blair turned the note over. "That's all."

"E?"

"Emily?"

"Maybe." Buck started the truck. "We've got ten minutes."

"Yeah, we'll be on time, but Jim's gonna be late." Blair dug his phone out of his backpack and flipped it open.

"Absolutely not!" Jim nearly shouted, lifting his parka from the back of his desk chair and jogging for the elevator. "Tell Buck to stay put, no, better yet, meet me at Fifth and Union. I'm fifteen minutes away."

"Jim, chill!" Blair answered. "Buck and I are fine. There are no invading armies of zombies circling the parking lot, okay? What's the harm in just meeting you at Tully's?"

"Sandburg," Jim growled, willing the elevator to move faster. He should have taken the stairs. When the doors opened on the sixth floor, he pushed through the people filing on board and ran for the stairwell. "No discussion on this. You go anywhere near that intersection and I'll-"

"Yeah, I got it, man," Blair cut in, his exasperation evident. "We'll wait for you at Fifth and Union."

But when Jim arrived, there was no sight of Buck's truck. Jim cursed and dialed Blair's cell phone. No answer. He called Buck's number. No answer.

The coffee house was crowded with a mixture of blue collar workers, college students, businessmen and retirees. Blair was not inside. He'd already scanned the block and had not seen Buck's truck. Jim checked out the people in line.

Which one was Emily? The tall blond with the cell phone pressed to her ear? The older woman with the butterfly brooch on her business suit lapel? The brunette in the jogging outfit?

No. Jim spotted her sitting at a round table by the newspaper display. She wore designer jeans and a cashmere sweater that would have set Jim back half his monthly paycheck. Her manner was cool, but it was her elevated heart rate that gave her away.

Jim threaded through the line and took a seat across from her. "Chardonnay?"

"Ellison."

Jim leaned forward. "I'm looking for Sandburg."

"He didn't show." She glanced at the door, pausing as two giggly girls entered. "I can't wait much longer for him." She gave Jim a hard look. "For either of you. I'm risking everything just being here."

"As much as all this cloak and dagger shit fascinates me, I'm more concerned with my partner. I don't trust you or the people you work for. If I find out you had anything to do with some of the crap Sandburg's been going through, I'll haul your butt in."

She looked bored. "You all are so predictable, the posturing, the heavy handed threats. Still, you're refreshing in a way. I've never met one that's a cop before."

The comment was so unexpected, so out of the blue, so... terrifying, that Jim felt exposed.

She set her coffee down. "Listen to me. My employers don't care what happens to me. I'm trying to keep you and your partner from becoming part of my world, from being drawn into this, any more than you have been."

"What are you talking about, lady?" Jim demanded.

"Just do your young friend a favor. Tell him two things. Keep his memories to himself and forget he met Lanfers and maybe no one will notice him... or you." She started to stand.

Jim caught her slim wrist. "Are you threatening us?"

She sighed and lowered her voice. "I'm only going to say this one time, Detective." She leaned toward Jim conspiratorially.

The sharp bite of ammonia stole Jim's breath, burned his throat, his sinuses and the tissue around his eyes. Blinded, he reared backwards. He lost his balance. The chair fell, dumping him on the cold, hard floor.

Jim gasped for air, choking. Distantly, he heard the other patrons' shocked reactions and the sounds of Chardonnay leaving.

"Are you sure you're all right, Jim?"

Using his shoulder to keep his cell phone pressed to his ear, Jim drove with one hand on the wheel, the other pressing a wad of damp napkins to face to sop up the tears. He shouldn't be driving. He'd arrest himself later. "I'm fine, Simon. I'm going to swing by the loft, change clothes and keep looking for Blair and Buck." The front of his shirt was soaked from splashing his face with water. He had used his badge to keep the Tully employees from calling nine-one-one.

"Patrol is hunting every possible road from the university to that address you gave me. No sign of Buck's truck yet. Where are you gonna look?"

Jim turned the last corner before his street and saw the object of his hunt. "What the hell?"

"What?"

"Buck's Chevy is parked in front of the loft," Jim said incredulously, ducking his head down to peer up to the top of his apartment building. The light to their unit was on. "They must have come home."

"Way to waste the taxpayer's money, Ellison," Simon complained drolly.

"I'll call you back." Jim snapped the phone shut, parked the truck and jogged across the street. He rode the elevator up to the third floor. His head still felt like a toxic dumping ground from the chemical attack. He couldn't push his hearing like he wanted to.

Hurrying toward his front door, he unlocked it, just as his ears picked up Blair's jack-hammering heartbeat. Without hesitating, Jim yanked his Sig out of its holster and eased the door open with his left hand. One other person was in the loft with Blair. He didn't know for sure it was Buck. The ammonia attack still had his senses on the skids.

It was Buck and he was sitting on a kitchen chair, his head lolling on his chest, eyes closed, arms behind his back. The loft looked normal, just as they had left it. Blair sat with his back to the door. He was conscious but didn't move. Someone had duct taped Blair's wrists together, binding them to the back of Blair's chair.

"Sandburg?" Jim moved forward carefully, cautious for booby traps. A strip of cloth had been tied around Blair's head. A gag, no doubt. Jim sniffed for blood, but couldn't be sure he would pick it up if it were present.

Blair's face came into view, complexion chalk white, nostrils flaring like a wild colt, terror-filled eyes fixed downward. Jim glanced at the object of Blair's attention.

"Oh, hell..." Jim swore.

The bastards had duct-taped Lanfer's severed head to Blair's lap. Dead eyes stared accusingly back his guide.

"Blair," Jim said gently, setting his gun on the tabletop and dropping to one knee beside his friend. "Look at me." No response. Jim cupped a hand under his partner's chin and lifted until Blair had no choice but look at the cop. He blinked dully before registering Jim's presence. He groaned as if in pain.

Jim tugged the gag away. "Are you all right?"

"Jim," Blair croaked. "Jim, get it off me, get it off!"

"Forget that for a second," Jim ordered harshly. He hated doing it, but knew Blair well enough to realize this would work. Blair was nothing if not a survivor. He'd fall apart when it was convenient, but never if he thought Jim needed his assistance. "Help me catch the ones that did this. What happened?"

"W-we waited." Blair tried to lift his chin. His eyes rolled downward like a moth to the flame.

Jim dug his fingers in and held on.

"Buck's window was open, I think," Blair continued in a rush. His lungs acted oxygen starved and he began to speed breathe. "A popping sound. Something shot inside. Smoking. Smoke. Gas!"

"Calm down." With his free hand, Jim started pulling on the wide, silver tape circling Blair's thighs. "Has Buck been conscious at all?"

"N-no!" Blair bleated frantically.

"He probably got more gas than you," Jim soothed. He glanced down to see how much more work was needed to get the grisly object off Blair's legs. "I'll check him in a minute. You never saw anyone?"

"Maybe, a guy with dreadlocks? Oh, God. When I woke..." Blair's torso jerked. He bit his lip.

"I know," Jim whispered. "It's over now."

The last of the tape came off Blair's jeans. Jim grabbed a handful of blond hair and turned away, using his own body to shield the head from his young friend. "Give me just a second." Jim carried the head into the kitchen and dug a black, plastic trash bag out from under the sink. Putting the head into the sack, he switched it with the sack of trash in the plastic trash can they kept in the same cupboard. He left the trash under the sink and carried the trash can to the back door.

Blair was gently rocking in place when Jim returned to free him.

Simon opened his door, wearing his robe and a frown. He counted the total number of men crowded under the eave of his house to escape the rain. All three safe and in relatively one piece. "You were supposed to call me." He stepped back to let the rain-drenched men into his home.

Jim urged Blair in first, hand possessively on his shoulder. "I know. We've been busy."

Buck's bruises from the Bellingham riot decorated his sour expression. Blair was draped in bulky clothes, too warm for the spring night. But it was Jim that surprised Simon the most. The tall man's eyes were puffy and red. "What happened?"

Blair's irrational, nearly insane giggle and the way Jim herded him into the living room caused Simon's trouble-meter to spike. The sentinel produced a small white noise generator which he turned on and plopped on the glass coffee table. Buck stood guard by the picture window, a comrade-in-arms.

"I need some time off," Jim said as he gently urged Blair to sit on the leather sofa. "Vacation, sick leave, comp-time, I don't care what I have to use, sir."

"What the hell is happening, Jim?"

Jim straightened and ran a palm over his face, looking a good ten years older than Simon knew him to be. "I'm gonna ask you for a favor, Simon. I hate this. I hate putting you in the position. Believe me, I wouldn't norm-"

"Jim! Just spit it out," Simon said.

"Okay." Jim shared a cryptic look with Buck. "We found Lanfer's head. I'll tell you where I left it. I didn't find anything, but maybe Serena can pick up something I missed."

Simon held up a hand. "Hold it! Are you telling me, you moved it? You compromised a crime scene?"

"I had no choice," Jim shot back.

Blair began to rock in place, his eyes closed, his mouth pinched.

Simon watched in shock. What was going on? A cover up? Not Jim, never. Then what? He glanced at the white noise machine. "You think you're under surveillance?"

Jim dropped to sit next to his friend. Jim stilled Blair's movement with a hand on his knee, not breaking eye contact with his boss. "I do. We are. This business with Lanfers has exposed the existence of... something I'd never expected. Lanfers, and maybe someone in Blair's past, might be just the tip of a sentinel-iceberg. We need a safe place to regroup. Get some Intel. Make plans."

"What's wrong with doing that in Cascade?" Simon wanted to know.

Buck and Jim glanced at Blair, who still sat with his eyes closed. Simon realized the kid hadn't spoken. "And what's up with Sandburg?"

"He's exhausted. We're all... tired. We need, ah, time for repairs," Jim said, carefully picking his words. He pleaded with Simon. "Please, Simon. I know I'm asking a lot."

Simon sighed. "I can ask Taggart to cover for me."

Jim smiled sadly. He shook his head. "No, not now. I swear we'll call if we need help."

"When are you leaving?" Simon looked over at Buck. "Are you going back to Dry Falls?"

"We're packed." Buck jerked his thumb toward the street. "We should be home by sunrise."

Simon didn't like it. Jim and Blair were his responsibility. He wanted to be part of this. "I'll give you a week, Jim. Any more than that and you'd better just count on a fourth rider, catch my drift?"

Jim swallowed hard. He blinked a few times and wrapped an arm around Blair's back, urging him to stand with him. "Thanks, Simon."

Simon walked them to the door. "You will call me."

Buck brought up the rear, holding the white noise generator. Simon turned to catch his gaze. "You'll make them call me. I want to be in the loop. I'm serious."

Buck nodded. "You have my word, Simon."

.

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