Light seeped out from under the door as Jim exited the elevator. It was late. Jim extended his hearing and caught the rustling sound of paper, like a page of a text book being turned. He inserted the key and opened the door to see Blair almost exactly as he had left him.

"Hey! How was the game?"

"We lost," Jim said with a grin. "Huskies kicked our butts."

Blair snickered. "You're awful chipper for a guy whose team got whooped."

Locking the door and carefully placing the chain in place, Jim had to agree. He had just enjoyed the best date he'd had in a long time. "Must be the company, then."

"Isn't she the best?" Blair closed his book and removed his glasses.

"She is. She had a lot of nice things to say about you."

"Really? What?"

Jim dropped into his chair with a groan. He was still full from the tailgate party they'd attended before kickoff. Beth had packed a picnic basket for a king. Then, after the game, they had gone out for BBQ.

"Jim?"

"Umm?"

"What did she say about me?" Blair asked again. "You okay? You look a little... loopy."

"I'm fine," Jim said. "She told me you were quite the hellion at sixteen. Did you really clear out the building with your freshman science project?"

Blair groaned as he struggled out of his nest of books and papers. "I knew it! Tell me you didn't spend the entire time talking about me." He reached for his cane leaning against the arm of the sofa, a grimace of more than irritation showing.

"You okay, Sandburg?" Jim asked. "Your leg okay?"

"It's fine."

Damn, Blair really did sound pissed. "Hey, she didn't say anything bad. She told me about the stink bomb you accidentally set off, but that was all. The rest was how much she enjoyed watching you grow up."

Looking a little sheepish, Blair tapped his cane on the floor. "Really?"

"Yeah, I think she considers you the son she never had, Chief." Jim stretched his long legs out and crossed his ankles. "Her divorce is final in a few weeks. We've made plans to go skiing after Christmas. Want to come?"

Blair snorted.

"Hey, I swear, she's the one that brought it up. Besides, you're sort of the chaperone. She's a bit old fashioned," Jim confessed. It was rather refreshing in a way.

Blair wagged his eyebrows, a mischievous grin forming. "So, what you're really saying is - you need me to go or the whole weekend is off."

The phone cut off Jim's remark.

With a groan, he stood to answer it. No one ever called the loft after midnight with good news.

The fifth victim was a nineteen year old male. The body was dressed in a rough fabric that looked almost like burlap. A witness, a city employee operating a street cleaner, had seen a person dressed completely in black dump the body and run. They were just outside the parking garage to the police station.

"I can't believe the killer would leave the victim practically on our doorstep," Brown moaned. "He's taunting us."

Jim nodded in agreement. The strong smell of pine cleaner caused his nose to twitch in irritation. The forensic team had already been on location by the time he and Blair arrived. Brown had several teams searching the area. This was the youngest victim so far. Suddenly Jim felt guilty. While he was on a date, this poor kid was being strangled to death.

"Less than six hours, Detectives," Dan Wolf said, looking up at Brown and Jim from his kneeling position by the body. "Signs of death, same as the others."

"Jim? Blair?"

Jim turned to see Beth Kaler make her way toward them. He hadn't realized she'd been contacted. It made sense, though. The sooner they could put the pieces of the puzzle together, the better their chances of catching the killer.

She looked down at the body with alarm. "Oh, no. He's just a child."

"I'm sorry you had to see this, Beth," Jim whispered as she leaned against him. Blair moved close, using his body to block her view for a few minutes.

"I'm okay," she muttered, patting both Jim and Blair's arms as she seemed to steel herself for the task again. "What about the clothing?"

Dan Wolf stood. "We're finished. If you're ready, we'll load him up."

Brown held up a hand. "Give Doctor Kaler a moment to check the body."

Jim stayed close as Beth moved in. She shuddered, but stood firm as she carefully looked over the victim. Jim took a moment to study the victim as well. The kid looked strong. Dark skin and hair made Jim guess him to be Mexican. He had a thick neck and the large arms of an athlete. A long pole with a hooked end lay on the ground next to him.

"I'd guess First Century shepherd," Beth said.

"That may explain this." Rafe walked up holding something white in his gloved hand, a child's toy, about the size of a cat. "We found it down the road, the same direction our witness said the killer ran."

Jim looked back at the body. What was the killer trying to say? Dressing the victim like a shepherd, and now they find a stuffed sheep?

Later that morning at a staff meeting, they had a name. The task force in its entirety was present. All days off were forgotten when the news of a new victim reached the members and the off duty detectives came in. Even Simon sat in.

"Okay, people." Brown opened the meeting and causing the chitchat to die. "Everyone have a copy of the handouts? Our victim is Raul Fernando Gideon. He worked part-time for UPS. Single, no serious girlfriend, hung out down at the YMCA. Apparently he was training to be a boxer. Doctor Kaler has some information to add."

Beth leaned against a desk. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her sad face devoid of makeup, Jim thought she looked beautiful. Her gaze touched his for a moment and softened before she addressed the group.

"Just like the others, the newest victim is following the pattern. The name Gideon is found in the bible. It means `he who bruises'. That fits with the boxing interest. The staff, clothes and sandals depict a shepherd from the first century." She paused, looking back at Simon.

`Thank you, Doctor." Brown said before continuing. "Okay, most of you know we found a solid connection between the first three victims. We're looking into the gallery that Seather's drawings were displayed. So far we haven't turned up anything, we're still checking employees. We had Mary Seather under observation during the time of this latest killing. She spent a quiet afternoon and evening in her apartment. I think we can remove her from our list of suspects."

"Any thing connecting the forth victim yet?" Jim asked.

Brown shook his head. "No, Tartan may have come into contact with our killer through his real estate job, though. We're looking into every transaction he was involved in over the last year. It's going to take time, he was a popular agent."

Jim rubbed his forehead. Lack of sleep was caused his head to throb, making it hard to concentrate. "There has to be something to these names and costumes."

"I agree," Simon added. "Anyone have any ideas? No matter how strange sounding? I'm even willing to listen to one of Sandburg's theories."

The group chuckled as Blair huffed with mild indignation.

"I'm serious, kid," Simon pressed. "Any idea's at all? That includes you, too, Doctor Kaler. We need creative input."

Jim had to grin at Blair's look of surprise. Simon really wanted a non-cop opinion. It was going to take brainstorming to get into the mind of this killer. A press conference was set in two hours. Simon and Brown were both attending, along with Beth. It would be easier to tell the public the investigation was ongoing after a productive meeting.

"Well, I think Jim's right," Blair said. "What's the killer trying to tell us with those costumes?"

"Tell us?" Bearchild asked. "You mean like a story or a play?"

"Why not?" Brown added. "He's not getting off on the victim's sexually, they all seem random except for the name connection and that ties us back to early A.D."

Beth crossed her arms, a doubtful look on her face.

"What are you thinking?" Jim asked her.

"Well, this may sound stupid, but what if he's acting out a bible story. You know, he hates God or something." She rolled her eyes. "No, that is stupid."

"I don't know," Simon told her. "The FBI's profile doesn't tell us anything useful. We've been poring over all kinds of lists, memberships and employee records. All we have is the gallery connection and the statement of our city street cleaner." Simon glanced down at a paper in his hand. "Ran like it might have been a male; completely dressed in a black full-length coat, complete with a large hood that covered his head."

"Give him a long scythe and we could put out an APB on the grim reaper," Holbrook commented with a sad face.

"Let's go back to the bible story idea," Simon suggested. "We have a shepherd, a roman soldier, and three dressed in traditional Jewish clothing. Any idea's which story he may be recreating?"

"Old or New Testament?" Rafe asked.

"Either," Beth answered. "We're right in the time of Christ, judging by what little we know about the clothing from that era, even a few hundred years in either direction."

"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" Simon muttered. He glanced at his watch. "Brown and I will get ready for the press conference. Rafe and Bearchild will be interviewing the family and friends of our newest victim. Holbrook, take the bible story lead. The rest of you check the board for your assignments. We'll meet back here at four and share anything new that comes up. Any questions? Okay, then. Let's get going."

Beth joined Jim and Blair and the group broke up. "I'm heading home to get presentable for the press meeting. I'm kind of nervous." She fussed with the collar of her blouse as she spoke.

"You'll be great," Jim told her. "It's just a formality, good P.R. I doubt you'll have to say much. Simon will show you the ropes."

"You guys heading home?" she asked.

"Yeah, we need to catch some sleep," Jim said. "Sandburg has classes and I'm covering for Brown tomorrow. Still have some chores to finish around the loft. We'll throw a tape in the VCR and get a copy of your cameo today."

Beth punched his arm playfully. "I'll take two copies, smart guy."

"You're awful quiet, Sandburg."

They were half way home. Blair released a gust of breath and flexed his head side to side, trying to loosen up his neck. "I'm forgetting something important, man. It's driving me nuts," Blair admitted.

"What? About this case?"

"Yesss," Blair answered in a slow drawl then shook his head. "And... no."

"That's clear," Jim said dryly. "Okay, let's assume it's something from the meeting. That's about when you shut down. You're not pissed at Simon for that crack about your input, are you?"

"No," Blair said with a shy smile. "That was kind of cool, actually. No, something about the street cleaner's statement. If I stop trying to think about it; it'll come to me."

Blair watched the city blocks pass. The morning sky held a promise of no rain. The city parks were empty. Most of the trees were bare with just a few leaves clinging to the branches. Winter had arrived, ending another cycle of growth. Northwest winters were plagued with wet, windy weather. Not a lot of snow, just a lot of cold rain.

At least Lamont didn't have to live on the streets anymore.

"Oh!" Blair sat up straight. "I remember!"

"Good."

"The grim reaper, man," Blair said excitedly. "Holy crap! Jim, I think we have another witness: Lamont!"

The truck suddenly swerved as Jim pulled into a parking lot belonging to a corner convenience store. Blair grabbed the dash with his bandaged hands to keep from bouncing into Jim.

"What are you talking about, Sandburg?" Jim demanded as he set the parking brake.

"The afternoon I fell off the catwalk, Lamont was saying how he `saw' death. And he was totally freaked out! He must've seen the killer, Jim. Wasn't that the day Tartan was found? Then yesterday, he told me again. Said he saw death, but he wasn't looking for him, talked like this was a real person. I figured it was just withdrawals, ya know? But maybe he did see a guy all dressed in black with a big hood."

Jim sat silently, studying Blair until he squirmed uncomfortably. Wasn't Jim going to say something?

"You went out yesterday," Jim said. It wasn't a question.

Oh, damn. Why didn't he leave that part out?

Jim continued, "How did you meet up with this guy? Drive? Didn't the doctor say no driving?"

"Jim, can we get back to the case?" Blair asked.

"Did you plan this? Were you lying to me when you said you'd be staying in the loft studying?" Jim pressed. "And then you go meet the same lunatic that nearly killed you."

More than anything else, the lack of emotion was more frightening than any sign of anger. And why was Jim harping on the subject instead of listening to him?

"I didn't tell you because you had that date with Doctor Beth," Blair explained reasonably. "Besides, everything was fine. I found Lamont and got him to the treatment agency without a problem. In fact I was going to try driving to Rainier tomorrow so you didn't have to take me in."

Turning away to stare out the windshield, Jim didn't reply as he dropped his head and slowly scratched above his ear. The silence in the cab felt brittle, like a wrong movement or word could break more than their awkward moment.

With a weary sigh, Jim spoke, "You know that drop was fatal, right?"

"Jim- "

"Just answer, please," Jim interrupted, looking over to see Blair nod his head once before continuing, "Right, I just wanted to make sure, because I want you to understand me here."

Blair swallowed.

"I screwed up. Did you know that?" Jim demanded. "I misjudged the angle and went in too low. If you hadn't let go of that wire when you did, I wouldn't have caught you." Jim held up his hand, his thumb and finger a few centimeters apart. "That close, Sandburg, either direction and you wouldn't be here right now. You'd be dead."

"But you did catch me, man. Call it good karma or whatever, it worked out," Blair insisted.

"Chief, I hate that you're exposed to danger because I need you with me for this damn sentinel crap. Why do you go searching for more on your own?" Jim asked, exasperated.

Blair wanted to laugh. "What about you, Jim? You don't just run toward danger, man, you gallop. Face it, this is our world. I'm perfectly happy to watch your back. Most of the time I'm the one hiding behind it, or behind a tree or under a rock, even." Blair snickered; relieved to see some of the hardness around Jim's eyes ease. God forbid the man actually smile. "But I don't want to be anywhere else. I thought we already covered this."

"We did." Jim nodded, tension flowing off his shoulders. "Just do me a favor, okay? No more solo trips? Give me the courtesy of being your backup when these moods to save the world, one drug addict at a time, strike."

Blair was stunned. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, cowboy," Jim said sternly. "Try giving me another snow job about staying in the loft with homework again and I'll demonstrate my calf roping skill on your scrawny ass. Now let's go interview Lamont."

"This looks like the place." Jim killed the motor and pocketed his key, bending down to look at the tall building out his windshield. The interview with Blair's druggie friend had led them to an abandoned apartment building, boarded and condemned by the city. "Let's check it out."

Blair's bandaged hand on his arm stopped him.

"Jim?" Blair looked tired, even a little scared. "You think if I'd remembered what Lamont had said earlier, we could have saved that last victim?"

Aww, Chief. Jim shook his head. "Listen to me. First, we didn't know about the killer dressing in black until after Gideon was killed, remember? There was no connection to what Lamont said until you had that fact."

Blair looked marginally better with that statement. Jim continued. "And secondly, you can't allow yourself to have these types of thoughts. We do our best, that's all. We're not superheroes. Shit happens, killers kill and people die. Sometimes we stop it, sometimes we don't."

Blair huffed. "Okay, that's more bare-boned than normal, but I think I get your point." He looked at the building. "Why don't you try listening first? See if you can pick up any movement inside."

"Good idea."

Jim targeted the boarded over windows one at a time, piggy-backing his hearing to concentrate on the rooms beyond. It was time consuming. The building was three stories, an old brick monstrosity that covered the entire block. The roof was flat, with the edges crumbled in places and missing several bricks in others. There was no doubt in his mind why the structure was scheduled to be torn down.

"I don't think anyone's inside," Jim said.

"Lamont said the guy he saw was crawling out of one of the windows on the back side." Blair opened the door and gathered up his cane.

They headed down the alley between the old apartments and a single-story warehouse. The street was deserted, a fact that didn't surprise Jim. They were a few blocks from the old feed store where Blair had fallen. The entire area was in the process of being converted into useful real estate again. There was no reason for anyone to be about on a Sunday afternoon.

"He looked pretty good, didn't he?" Blair asked. "Lamont, I mean. You should have seen him yesterday, Jim."

"I hope he sticks with his treatment, Chief," Jim admitted. There might as well be some silver lining to Blair's injuries. "That looks like the window. The board is hanging on by one nail."

Jim could easily rotate the plywood covering the window. The glass was broken from its frame, cleaned from the sill. Jim turned and jumped up to sit on the edge of the window. He pivoted his legs around and carefully eased himself into the room. The old wooden floor seemed solid.

Ignoring the scurrying sounds of many tiny rodent-sized footsteps, he leaned out and lifted Blair up onto the sill, turned him and lowered him down.

"Thanks, Jim."

"Remind me to replace your bandages when we get home."

"Right." Blair pulled a flashlight out of his coat and thumbed it on. He played the circle of light around the room, revealing walls with exposed lath and plaster and a ceiling with cracked plaster. "Reminds me of an X-File episode."

"After catching bits and pieces of that show, I'd rather not draw that comparison, thank you very much." Jim nodded toward a doorway to their left. "This way, I think I'm picking up whiffs of pine cleaner."

Jim led the way, careful of possible rotted flooring. Nothing of value had been left behind. A few rooms had scraps of cardboard and one or two filthy blankets in a corner from times vagrants had used the place. But even those traces were covered with dust, only used now by the rats that called this place home.

"Here we go." Jim spotted a room that looked different. Someone had taken the time to tidy up. The smell of pine cleaner was strong. He kept Blair back. "We need to call Simon and get a forensic team in here."

"Jim," Blair said with a frown. "You're better than any forensic tech."

Jim shook his head. "I want to play this one by the book. We need every bit of physical evidence if we're going to convict this dirtbag. Besides, I can see what I need to see from here." He pointed as he explained. "Over there is a bit from the mail shirt he used on the guard's uniform. I can see a trace of the dye he used to stripe the tunics in that corner. It looks like he brings his victims here to dress them."

Blair played the flashlight around the room. "You're sure he's not here?"

"No, no one here but us and the rats."

"Ewww," Blair said with a shudder, immediately shining the light at his feet and the area around them. He moved, bumping into Jim's side. "You could have kept that bit of news to yourself, big guy."

Jim shook his head side to side. "My hero."

"Hello, Blair, are you ready to head over to the police station?"

Blair looked up from his work. "Doctor Beth!"

She entered his office, brightening the room with her warm smile. "How was your first day back at work? Students behave themselves?"

"It was good, we got a lot done and I'm not really as behind as I'd feared. So, you're my ride? Did Jim volunteer you for this?" He gathered up his books and zipped his backpack closed. His right hand was nearly back to normal. Jim had reduced some of the thick bandaging on his left hand. Tomorrow he had an appointment to get his stitches removed. He was hoping the doctor would give him the `all clear' to drive.

"It makes sense that we carpool, Blair," she told him as the office was locked up and they headed for the teachers' parking lot. "I'm going there anyway. I hear you and Jim made a significant discovery yesterday."

The hallways were crowded with students. It was still early in the afternoon. Blair knew better than to talk about an ongoing case with so many ears around. He nodded. "We did, I'll tell you about it when we get there."

"Ah," She looked around them. "Good plan. Blair, I just want to thank you for suggesting me to the department. I'm thoroughly enjoying myself. I know that sounds strange, because the circumstances are so gruesome, but I find myself jealous that you get to do this sort of thing on a daily basis."

Blair grinned. "You don't have to tell me, Doctor Beth." He opened the door for her. The weather outside was blustery with ominous threats of rain hanging low over the buildings around them. "I experienced the rush of excitement the first day I walked into that police station, in more ways than one. We've had some lousy days to go along with the action, but working with Jim is worth it. I could never go back."

Beth sighed. "You're one of the lucky ones. You're getting to make a difference. I could tell that you've become part of their team and they're lucky to have you."

Before Blair could do more than blush, she laughed.

"Did you know that during the first hour of my date with your roommate, every other sentence out of that man's mouth started along the lines of `Sandburg says'?"

"What?" Blair stopped, slack-jawed.

"It's true." She tugged his arm. "Come on, it's too cold to be standing here. Yes, he seems to store a lot of faith in you."

Blair walked in a daze. "Most of the time, he ignores me."

"Don't think so, Blair. Jim seems like a private sort of person. He hears more that you realize."

"If you only knew," Blair muttered, then flashed a grin. They were at her car now, a late model Audi with a showroom shine. "He was probably just trying to get into your good graces, Doctor Beth. Just making small talk."

The inside of the car was clean and smelled like lemons and expensive leather. Blair enjoyed being out of the wind. Beth started the motor and checked over her shoulder before backing out. "Then why would he pick you to talk about?"

"I told him I was your favorite," Blair teased.

"Humph, and he bought it?" She drove carefully, her attention on the road. "Why would a scrawny sixteen year-old with a brilliant brain even catch my attention, hmm?"

"I was not scrawny."

"Blair, the older students used to fold you up and stuff you into the compartment where we stored the video tapes," she reminded him.

"It was a big cupboard. Hey, you didn't tell that story to Jim, did you?"

"No," Beth said with a laugh. "I know better. I think he'd hunt them down and arrest them. Seriously, Blair, I'm really enjoying myself. And I think Jim's a great guy."

Blair chuckled, seeing the light blush on her face. Maybe Jim had finally met the right woman.

When they arrived at the police station, the members of the serial killer task force were swamped with work. Jim greeted them each with a smile and a job to do. Before Blair could hang up his coat, it was taken from him and he was guided into a chair.

"Whoa, new computer?" Blair asked, immediately taking in the model and name brand. It was already powered up so he quickly checked the system specs. "Wow, look at that speed."

"Here's the deal, Sandburg." Jim pulled a chair over to sit close. "I've been thinking about the name connection. I had Simon get this for us. They just finished hooking it up to the internet. Can you surf the net with those names and see if you can find a connection? Anything that looks like a possibility, no matter how small, I want you to follow it. We've got dinner ordered. We're going to make a night of it." Jim paused, looking a bit embarrassed. "Unless you had plans."

"Nope, I'm all yours," Blair answered. He'd expected another long session with bank reports and phone company readouts. This job was a slice of heaven. "How come I get the fun job?"

"You're the best man for the task, Computer-geek." Jim patted his back as he stood. "We're having a staff meeting in a couple of hours, then pizza. Call if you find something."

Blair set to work. He found the expected genealogy sites right away and looked them over. They were all out of state. He couldn't picture a connection so he looked elsewhere. A Google search was no help so he moved on. When the smell of pizza distracted him enough that he was aware of his surroundings, he realized two hours had gone by.

"Anything?" Beth stood by his chair, leaning over his shoulder.

"Not really," Blair answered, rubbing his eyes to relieve some of the strain. Thankfully he was able to navigate with the computer mouse and his typing was sufficient for the hunt and peck method.

"Okay, folks, we're behind schedule." Jim took the position next to the whiteboard. "The forensics report from the latest killing just arrived; everyone okay with reviewing it while we eat?"

There had been a time, not so long ago, that the thought of food and death together would have turned Blair's stomach. Yet he didn't even think about it. He checked on Beth, she looked okay with the idea.

Pizza boxes were opened and paper plates were passed about until everyone was chewing hot, doughy crust and wiping tomato paste off their chins. Jim was the only one holding off on eating. He held the report in one hand as he read aloud.

"The victim died the same way as the others. The killer either stunned him with a blow to the head, probably sufficient enough to knock him out, then strangled him with a rope. No fibers or hairs, no signs of a struggle or sexual assault, nothing under the fingernails. Basically we're left high and dry." Jim set that report down and picked up another. "Okay, from the team that searched the empty apartment building we found yesterday. Good news, we have a shoe print. Size eleven. Ummm, lots of fingerprints... looks like a few matches, all with previous charges that are consistent with being homeless."

"Vagrants?" Bearchild asked. "Maybe passing through. They could be possible witnesses, like Sandburg's friend."

"Yeah," Jim said in agreement. "We'll get a team on the job of hunting them down and interviewing them. A few prints don't match with anything on file, could be our killer."

"Wouldn't a serial killer have some type of criminal history?" Beth asked in surprise.

"Not necessarily," Jim told her. "We've had them go both ways; walked the straight and narrow before going off the deep end, or a lifetime of crimes before they join the Ted Bundy status."

"I didn't realize," she commented thoughtfully.

The meeting went on as each detective shared their day with the group, interviews, pertinent data discovered or, as in most cases, not discovered and a day of endless reading reduced down to a few words. Blair felt his two meager hours on the internet was not even worthy of talking about, but Jim insisted. After Jim explained what Blair was looking for, they had a few minutes of round robin.

"You could run a search individually of each name with the occupation."

"I think the genealogy might be worth looking into, maybe the killer is focusing on his own family but doesn't have the guts to kill them."

"What about the first century costumes."

"Any luck with the bible stories? That sounds like our best bet."

Blair answered with nods or shakes of his head. Every once in a while he'd jot a note down as the group of men and women came up with an idea he hadn't thought of. Soon the talk moved into general topics. Everyone was tired and a mental break from the dark world of serial killers seemed refreshing.

"So, how was the game, Jim?" Bearchild asked with a grin. "Huskies proved to be top dogs?"

"Well, Rainier did lose a lot of players with last year's graduating class," Jim replied. "I think we'll do better next year. They need to stop passing on every down and learn to run the ball."

"Yeah, Seahawks need to learn the same lesson," another detective added. "I'm putting a few game tickets in my son's Christmas sock. He's been after me to take him to a game for a while now."

"Santa could bring me season's tickets," someone grumbled. "They cost a freaking fortune."

Jim looked as if he was ready to agree when he suddenly got a strange look on his face. Blair's heart skipped a beat. Was Jim zoning? Hearing something? Having a reaction to the food?

Before he could get up, Jim blinked and looked at Blair. "Try running a search of the names with Christmas, Chief. See what comes up."

"What, right now?"

"Yeah," Jim ordered, setting his slice of sausage pizza down and moving to stand behind Blair's chair.

Wiping his hands carefully with a paper towel first, Blair did as instructed. "Nothing, Jim."

Beth and Bearchild moved in close. The room was silent now, everyone curious.

"What are you thinking?" Bearchild asked.

Jim looked at the computer, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Christmas is one time of the year most everyone focuses on the time period we're looking at, the first century. What if the killer is leading up to the holidays?"

"Oh my god," Beth muttered, lifting her hand to her mouth in disbelief. "Why didn't I think of this? The soldier, the shepherd... Blair! Type in the name `Fontanini'."

"What's that?" Jim demanded.

"It's a company that sells exquisite nativity figurines," she explained watching as Blair entered the name. When he reached the website, she spoke, "Now, enter one of the names. Bring up the five inch collection. It's the largest."

Blair typed in the first victim's name. He knew them all by heart now. Jacob produced a figure of a boy holding a fishing pole. He was depicted as the son of the innkeeper in Bethlehem.

"Do the next one," Jim ordered.

Seth turned out to be a man that harvested olives. Blair tried to keep his hands from shaking as he typed the next name in and hit the `enter' key. Aaron was there, a boy that worked on a caravan.

"But that victim was a woman," Holbrook said.

"He's matching the nativity and the meaning of the names," Jim replied. "That can't be easy. Gender must not be an issue with some of the victims. Type another in. I want to see if they're all there."

Blair entered Tartan. Nothing was found.

"Use his first name," Bearchild suggested quietly. "Marcus."

The figurine that came up was of a Roman soldier. Blair felt his arms break out in a rash of goose bumps. "Wow," he breathed.

"Sure as hell nailed that one," someone muttered.

Everyone crowded around the computer as Blair typed in the final name. Gideon turned out to be a young shepherd sitting down on the ground, his legs crossed. He held a sickly lamb in his lap. The advertisement went on to read that a wondrous star appeared in the sky and the lamb was miraculously cured.

"Christ," Jim blurted out. Some one snickered, but he ignored it. "The killer is making his own nativity out of dead people."

Blair was too excited to relax so he set his laptop up on the kitchen table. Jim didn't comment as he sat on the sofa pretending to watch TV. At least in Blair's mind, his roommate was pretending, because in order to watch television, one had to actually stay on a single channel longer than three seconds.

With half a dozen ongoing projects waiting for him in his `My Documents' file, Blair ignored them all and went online.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked as he clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the coffee table. He stood, stretching with a spine cracking arch of his back and wandered over to the refrigerator. "It's late, you get some sleep."

When Jim held a beer out, Blair nodded. He watched Jim twist the cap off and toss it into the trash, then set the bottle down by the computer before helping himself to his own.

"I can't stop thinking about this case," Blair admitted after taking a long drink. "What sort of person takes a nativity and uses it to pick out victims to murder?"

Jim leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Serial killers have their own twisted reasons for everything they do, that's what makes finding them so hard."

"True," Blair replied. He brought the Fontanini web site up on his screen. "I hope the Fontanini Corporation gets us that list of Cascade buyers soon. I don't suppose we can issue a statement to the city and county telling everyone who has the name of one of the figurines to hide or something."

"Not unless we want to spook the killer into running, Einstein," Jim replied. "At least we know what to look for."

Blair looked up in surprise. "You're right! Oh, shit!"

"What?" Jim asked.

"Mary Seather, man," Blair said. "She already knew three of the victims. The killer is going to need a Mary!"

Jim nodded, his face getting hard. He set the bottle down. "Let's go, Chief."

Blair shut his laptop down by holding down the power switch, his fear for the artist making him want to rush. They grabbed their coats and headed down to the parking lot. Blair moved as fast as his leg would allow, hating the fact he was slowing Jim down.

"I'm sure she's okay, Sandburg," Jim said as he backed out of the parking space.

The roads were wet from a recent rain shower and the temperature was close to the freezing mark. Jim handled the truck carefully. Black ice was always a risk at times like these. Blair gnawed on his lower lip, trying now to think about all the victim's they'd found already. Would Mary be next? He wished she was still a suspect, then the police would still have her under surveillance.

Twenty minutes later they were at the apartment complex. When Jim waited for Blair to limp up the stairs to the second floor, Blair protested. "Go, man. See if she's okay."

"It's okay, Sandburg," Jim told him. "I can hear her on the phone. She's talking to her daughter about holiday plans."

Blair paused. "You can hear her from all the way out here?" Blair was impressed. The building was long with exterior stairs. The fact that Jim had picked out one voice among all the others within the building in such a seemingly effortless way blew Blair's mind. "That's fantastic!"

"Come on," Jim said. "Since we're here, let's go talk to her. I think we should call Simon and see about moving her somewhere safer."

Blair nodded, returned to the task of swinging his left leg up to the next step with minimal pain. Knowing Mary was okay loosened the tight band around his chest, and he breathed easier.

"At least we're not waking her up," Blair whispered as Jim knocked on her door.

When Mary opened the door, she gave them both a guarded look. "What's wrong?"

Jim held up a hand. "We're sorry to bother you this late, Ms. Seather. We need to talk to you. It's important."

She invited them in, her attractive face lined with concern. Blair found it hard to believe the woman was old enough to have adult children.

Her living room was small. A short sofa covered with dark red leather looked inviting. Tall bookshelves lined one wall, overflowing with large books on drawing and art. Original drawings hung on her walls, each one tastefully framed. There was one of a young woman with similar features and Blair wondered if this was her daughter.

"Please have a seat," she invited before taking the oversized chair across from the sofa for herself. She looked scared as she wrapped her fleece robe tightly around her body before sitting down.

"We have information on this case that might put you at risk," Jim said. "Is there a place you can stay? Maybe out of town?"

Her face blanched. "What? What did you find out?"

Blair wondered how much Jim could even tell her. The details of the investigation weren't things they could share with the public. It was too risky. He knew how easily the press could screw up a case.

"I'm not able to say, we just have a clearer idea as to how the killer is selecting his victims," Jim said.

Hunching forward in her chair, Mary seemed to curl into herself. "No, that can't be. I saw on the news... the last two victims were people I'd never seen. The killer has moved on, right? Why would he come back to me?"

"I know this is frightening," Jim told her gently. "But it's very likely you could be in danger."

She shook her head.

Blair had a sinking feeling, what if she refused to leave? Jim had to find a way to make her believe them.

"Mary, I'm going to tell you something that you have to keep to yourself, understand?" When she nodded, Jim continued, "We believe the pattern of victims is based on a collection of figurines. They're made by a company called Fontanini."

"I know them," Mary said quickly with a nod. "I've seen some. They're beautiful. How can the killer be using them?"

"We think he's matching the names of the nativity pieces to the victims," Jim told her. "Your name would fit and you've already been connected with three victims." Jim looked suddenly thoughtful. "How do you know them? Where did you see them, in a store?"

Mary shook her head, she was relaxing some in her chair, not looking as frightened. She pointed toward the apartment next to her. "Hilton collects them."

Blair and Jim exchanged a knowing look.

"Jim," Blair whispered. "Can you tell if he's home?"

Jim shook he head. "The place is empty," he answered before speaking again to Mary. "Tell us about your neighbor."

"I met him about six months ago, when he worked at the store that I bought my art supplies from. He's a nice guy, kind of quiet. He moved in a month or so ago." Mary's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"We have to check out everyone," Jim said evenly. "Do you know where he is now?"

"He has a new job," she explained. "He works odd hours. I'm not sure what it is. I think I have his cell phone number somewhere. Do you want me to find it?"

"Please."

"I'll be right back, it's in my room."

Blair leaned close. "You thinking what I think you're thinking?"

Giving Blair a tight nod, Jim examined the room as he talked. "It's possible, Chief. I'm not going to overlook it. The whole thing started with her drawings. Chances are good the killer knows her, at least her work." He seemed to stiffen, his eyes fixed on a point over Blair's head. "What the hell?"

Blair spun in place. "What?"

Jim was looking high up, toward a corner of the wall, above a large drawing of a Victorian house done in charcoal. Blair couldn't see anything unusual. What was Jim looking at? Jim was off the sofa, going over to the picture, his head back as he stared up.

"That's a house in Port Townsend," Mary explained, back from her hunt. She held a small fabric covered address book in one hand. "It's one of my first drawings. Not my best, but I'm sentimental about it."

Jim pointed. "I'm more interested in that hole above the picture. See? Up by the corner."

Both Mary and Blair moved to stand at Jim's side. Blair couldn't be sure, the light wasn't very good in the room, not quite reaching the corner Jim was pointing to.

Mary's eyesight was better. "I never noticed it before."

Jim looked angry. "Can I look at the rest of your apartment?" When she looked doubtful, he continued. "It's important."

"I guess." She gave Blair a puzzled look as Jim strode out of the room. "Is he always like this?"

"Only when he needs to be," Blair whispered. "He'll tell us what's going on in a second. I hope."

Jim did. And it wasn't pretty.

"Oh my God," Mary muttered in horror a few minutes later.

Jim had searched the place quickly and called them into the bedroom. There were two holes on the wall there, then he led them into the bathroom where he pointed out another small hole. Each hole was on a wall that bordered Mary's apartment with her neighbor's.

"He's watching you," Blair said in shock.

"Pack a bag, Ms. Seather," Jim ordered as he pulled out his cell phone. "We're getting you out of here."

The search warrant arrived in Simon's hand and they broke into Hilton's apartment. Jim went first, looking like a doctor ready to do surgery, Simon and Brown followed, each with blue head caps, gloves and blue booties over their shoes.

Blair stayed with Bearchild and Rafe as they continued to search Mary's apartment. The woman was gone, tucked away with Holbrook in a safe house in another part of Cascade.

"Jim, look." Brown pointed to a small collection of Fontanini figurines on a shelf next to the TV. "They're all there. What's this?"

A cardboard box sat on the floor next to the shelf. Jim could see the UPS mark on its side. He wondered if the latest victim had made the delivery. Brown pulled out a smaller box with the Fontanini logo on the side.

"It's the Virgin Mary, Jim," Brown said sadly. "He was going to kill his neighbor next."

Jim nodded, looking toward the wall that butted up to Mary's living room. "There's the peep-hole he installed. I'll search his bedroom."

Simon adjusted his gloves. "I've got the kitchen. H, you take this room and the bath."

"Got it."

They went to work. Jim found the single bedroom neat as a pin. The bed was made. No dust on anything. He located the two peep holes and the stepstool Hilton used to reach them. Jim took a second to watch Rafe search Mary's bedroom before starting his own search.

He hit pay dirt when he opened the door to the closet.

"Simon!"

The captain was at his side in seconds, Brown close on his heels. A grouping of pictures had been taped to the inside door. Each one was a Polaroid of the victims dressed as the police had found them.

"Let's find the bastard," Simon said with a deadly tone.

They searched for an hour, finding his bank statements, old tax records, high school yearbook and personal address book. As best as they could tell, Creighton was single, apparently unemployed from what they could see of his bank records. They put out an APB for the man and his vehicle, a '91 Grand Am. When the forensic team showed up to work, Jim was convinced there was nothing more to learn.

When Jim walked into Mary's apartment to collect Sandburg and found him dozing on the sofa, a twinge of guilt struck. It was late. In just a few hours Blair was due back at Rainier.

"Wake up, Sandburg," Jim said shaking his shoulder. "We're done here."

Looking tousled and half awake, Blair fumbled for his cane and stood. "What now?" he asked after a jaw-cracking yawn.

"We've done everything we can for now," Jim explained. "We can catch a few hours of sleep."

Blair looked up at Jim with surprise. "Sleep? You're kidding, right? We know who the killer is. We need to be out looking for him."

"We are, Sandburg," Simon told them as he walked through the open door to the apartment. "We're combing the city with every available man and woman at our disposal." He graced them both with a rakish grin. "Believe it or not, you two don't have to do everything yourself."

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim ordered. "Before the Batman and Robin jokes start."

"Seriously, though," Simon added. "Good work, you two. I believe you saved this woman's life tonight."

Blair was quiet during the drive home. A feeling of weariness slipped up on Jim like a heavy fog off the ocean. The case was drawing to a close and he felt himself relax. It was just a matter of time before they would have the killer in custody.

"Man, it seriously creeps me out thinking about those peep holes," Blair said with an exaggerated shudder.

"Simon was probably right," Jim commented. "It was just a matter of time before his obsession for her would have caused him to kill her."

"You think we'll find him?"

"From the looks of his bank account, he doesn't have enough money to run. We should be catching up to him soon. I'll chase down a few leads today. I'm sure we'll get him."

"Hopefully before he kills anyone else," Blair said sadly.

"That's the plan."

Later that morning Blair watched Jim drive away from Rainier with trepidation. He wanted to be with Jim today, but Jim had put his foot down. Blair had to admit, he couldn't afford anymore absenteeism. He shouldered his book-filled backpack higher and headed for his office. It was hard sometimes to return to the hallowed halls of academia when the thrill of police work whispered in your head.

Blair smiled at himself.

Maybe he had more in common with Dick Grayson than he'd first realized.

"Blair!"

Turning, he watched Beth approach. The smile on her face said it all. She knew.

"How?" she asked eagerly. "How did you know? Simon just called me, but he couldn't talk. He was too busy."

"We lucked out," Blair admitted. "We realized Mary Seather might be in danger. Jim noticed something funny with her walls. Her neighbor had installed peep-holes."

She cringed. "That's awful! The poor woman!"

Blair nodded. They were walking side by side toward Hargrove. It was early and most students were still in their dorms or on their way in their cars. A heavy frost made the sidewalks slick and kissed the grass with a twinkling glitter like a million crushed diamonds.

"She's safe now," Blair said, his eyes on his feet. The last think he needed was to slip and re-injure himself. "Jim said his apartment was filled with collections. He had the Fontanini collection started, too."

"What causes a person to do such terrible things?" she asked. "I'm glad it's over, but it's sad that I can't be involved anymore." She blushed.

Blair laughed. "I understand. Believe me. It's addicting, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," she agreed, leaning near to whisper. "And your roommate can be a little addicting, too. I think I'm falling for him."

"Really?" Blair said happily. "That's cool!"

"Is it?" She gave him a critical look. "I got the impression you weren't very pleased with the idea."

This time Blair knew he was blushing. Hopefully she would think it was just the cold weather. Had Jim said something to her on their date? If he did, Blair was going to make him pay.

Before he could answer, a shadow appeared, crossing their path and making Blair look up in surprise.

Creighton stood before them, blocking the sidewalk and holding a gun in his right hand.

Jim walked into the taskforce's main room. Something was up, he could tell. Tight faces and unhappy expressions made his gut tighten.

"What's up?" he asked Bearchild. "What's happening?"

The county cop handed Jim a note sealed in a clear plastic baggie. "This just arrived, Jim. The desk sergeant found it on his desk."

Jim looked at the note. It was hand written. His gaze automatically skipped to the bottom. It was signed `The Collector'. He recognized Creighton's handwriting from the search of his apartment early that morning. He read out loud. "Gentlemen, you took my `Mary' so I will take yours."

Jim flipped it over. The back was blank. "What the hell does that mean?"

"We're not sure," Simon answered as he walked into the room holding a file. "I have a complete list of all the women working for Cascade Police. The sheriff's office is making a list of females working for them. I've put out orders to have every `Mary' working at the station under police protection until we find this nut."

Simon looked furious. His department had been threatened and Jim knew he didn't take that lightly. Immediately, Jim's thoughts went to Blair. For once, his roommate should be safe at Rainier. The killer had made it clear that his target was the police department.

Or was it?

Jim cursed loudly enough to cause even the most hardened cop in the room to raise his eyebrow in a rebuking look. Ignoring the others, Jim jumped on the nearest phone not being used and started dialing.

"Jim! What is it?" Simon demanded in a scared voice.

"Just a second," Jim demanded harshly. The phone was ringing and he started tapping the desktop impatiently. "Blair's not answering! Damn it!"

"What are you talking about?" Simon asked. "Sandburg should be fine, Jim. He's targeting a woman, remember?"

Jim was dialing the number to Rainier security now. "I know that, Simon! Beth is the one I'm worried about. Blair is the closest person to get to her right now."

Simon's confusion was still prevalent on his face. "Beth? Doctor Kaler? How's she figure into this?"

Jim turned to face his boss. "She was part of that press conference, remember? She's connected with the police now. Her full name is Mary Elizabeth Kaler, Simon." He thrust the phone into Rafe's hand. "Tell Rainier Security to get to Doctor Kaler's office and stay with her till we arrive!" Jim's blood was pounding in his veins, shooting adrenaline throughout his entire body with amazing speed. He had to get to Rainier. The urgency of the situation was enough to steal his breath. He raced out of the room with Bearchild and Simon joining him.

"We'll take my car," Simon ordered.

The drive to Rainier was insufferably slow, even though Jim knew Simon was driving as fast as possible. Campus security had reported Kaler's office was empty by the time they were pulling into the parking lot. Jim took the radio and acknowledged the report from the dispatcher and requested security to locate Blair and bring him to Kaler's empty office.

Parking in the fire lane in front of the history department, they ran into the building. Kaler's office was indeed empty. Her secretary, a grandmotherly-looking woman, stood nervously next to the security officer.

"She just stepped out for a moment," the secretary said. "She said she was going to see a TA."

"Oh, no," Jim muttered, closing his eyes. What would the chances be?

"Did she say which teacher's assistant?" Simon asked loudly.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she peered through her glasses at Simon's intimidating stance. "Ah... n-no, just that it was about the case she was working on with the p-police."

Another campus security officer arrived then. "Sandburg's office is empty. He's not in his class."

"Wonderful," Jim whispered, his shoulders slumping.

Everything they knew about this killer told them he made a habit of killing his victims right away. And the police were no closer to knowing where he was than they were before they knew the killer's identity.

Blair had to admire the way Doctor Beth stayed calm, as if she drove around the city with a serial killer in her backseat all the time. Only the white knuckles gave away her fear.

He did wish Creighton would stop trying to drill into the back of his skull with the barrel of his gun. It hurt.

"Take the next right," Creighton snapped.

When Doctor Beth didn't slow down right away, the pressure lifted from the back of Blair's head only to be replaced by a stunning blow above his left ear that caused him to crack his head against the window.

After that, things were fuzzy. Blair fought to stay conscious. His stomach flipped a few times, tossing his breakfast around as if it were trying to determine whether to keep it or not. He remembered hearing Doctor Beth yelling something. Man, she sounded pissed.

Then Blair didn't remember anything.

"We found the Grand Am," Bearchild said, entering Blair's office.

For the lack of a better place, and since Jim felt driven to make sure for himself that Blair never arrived at his office that morning, they were using Blair's crowded basement office as a impromptu command center.

"It's in the parking lot by the stadium," he continued.

Jim headed for the door. "I need to take a look at it, Simon."

Simon nodded. "Go on. Bearchild, stay with him. We know Kaler's car is missing. I've got an APB out. Call me if you two find anything."

Jim searched Creighton's car frantically. Time was not on their side. He needed to find this nut before...

Jim couldn't finish his thought. He simply wasn't going to go there. He would find Blair and Beth in time. Nothing else was acceptable.

"Shouldn't we wait for forensics?" Bearchild asked as Jim nearly ripped the door to the glove box off.

"No time," Jim said sharply. "Check the trunk."

Dumping the contents on the passenger seat, Jim sorted through papers. The man seemed to collect everything, from oil change to gas receipts. He heard clunking sounds coming from the truck area. Not finding anything of interest, Jim searched under the front seats then the back seat. A few gum wrappers and tissues collected in the corners, nothing else.

"Anything?"

Bearchild's answer was not promising. "Earthquake preparedness kit and a spare blanket, Jim."

"Damn." Jim ran a hand over his hair. He needed something and fast.

"Would he take them back to the empty apartment building?" Bearchild asked.

"No." Jim shook his head. "Not likely. Simon has an unmarked unit watching the place just in case. But he's got to know by now that we found it."

"Still, he'll need somewhere to dress Doctor Kaler," Bearchild pointed out as he closed the trunk and stood next to Jim.

Jim cringed, thinking about that sick killer touching Beth.

"Question is: why would he bother to keep Sandburg alive?" Seeing Jim's reaction to that comment, the deputy looked guilty. "Shit, Jim. This sucks for you, doesn't it? I'm sorry, man."

"Don't apologize," Jim barked. "Help me find something to stop this asshole in time."

Bearchild nodded. "Nothing in the trunk. What did you find?"

"Nothing, just car maintenance stuff."

Bearchild leaned in. "Gas receipts? Any of them recent?"

Of course! Jim could have slapped himself. He helped Bearchild spread the receipts out. Each one had a date and location of the purchase. Creighton paid by gas card, so they were all from the same gas company.

"Here, this one is yesterday's." Bearchild handed it to Jim. "What do you think?"

"It's not near his apartment," Jim said reading the address. "It's close to where we found Tartan's body. Hell, it's closer to that feed store where Blair fell."

"You think he took them there?" Bearchild asked quickly.

"It's all we've got," Jim said, retrieving his cell phone. "You've got a car, right? Let's go. I'll tell Simon where we're going."

Blair's first waking thought was that someone was suffocating him. He couldn't pull in any air through his mouth. He'd been laid out on his back, on something hard. Cold seeped up through his jeans and coat. He couldn't lift his hands to push away whatever was over his mouth. Panic took root in his brain and he tried rolling to his side. A strong set of hands grabbed his shoulder and stopped him from moving.

More alert now, Blair realized his mouth was covered with a wide strip of sticky tape. He could breathe, if he calmed down and just used his nose. It was hard, relaxing was the last thing on his mind, but he knew he had to get it together. Low lights flickered dimly around him, throwing large and menacing shadows on the walls. It smelled dusty and dank, like a cave or an old building that had gone all winter without heat.

Someone took a handful of his hair and lifted his head enough to slip something small underneath the back of his skull. Then Blair felt tightness around his neck.

NO!

He kicked out. The killer was using the cord to strangle him! He screamed into the tape.

Another voice, a woman's voice screamed with him. Sobbing as she yelled. Blair couldn't hear all the words, just some. He recognized Doctor Beth's voice. God, she sounded scared. Blair bucked and twisted as the cord bit into his skin.

Then as quickly as it had started, the tightness was gone.

"He's not one of them! You can't! He's not on your list, remember! Listen to me. His name isn't on your list. There is a plan. You have to stay with the plan!"

The shadow moved away. Blair could see a flash of pale skin. A set of eyes and a long nose briefly appeared, then disappeared again, swallowed up by the large black hood and cape as the killer stood. Creighton loomed over Blair like the grim reaper he was dressed to mimic and Blair thought his heart would stop from the sudden terror that image created.

He closed his eyes and laid still. He forced himself to remember this was just a man, not an evil spirit or monster. Blair needed to keep his wits about him, if they were going to get out of this alive. If only his head didn't feel like a football sailing through a couple of uprights.

When he opened his eyes again, the black shape was no longer above him. Shit! How much time had passed? Had he fallen asleep? His head pounded in pain. He twisted and found he was bound hand and feet in the same tape that had been placed over his mouth. The guy had even gone so far as to make a couple of passes with the tape around his waist, securing his arms down.

Where was Creighton?

Rolling to his side, Blair located him across the room. Creighton was crouched near the floor. The light from the scattered candles were too weak to see clearly. Blair couldn't make out what was happening.

Then a strangled cry and a moan drifted across the room and Blair's brain recognized what his eyes were seeing. Screaming into the tape and thrashing to free himself, Blair fought to distract the killer from what he was doing.

A sudden loud crash and brightness sent Blair into a world of nauseating pain. Someone was shouting. Each harsh word pounded his brain. Before he could sort out what was happening, several sharp explosions buffeted his eardrums, causing him to flinch. Then it was quiet except for the loud ringing in his ears.

Damn, Blair's head was killing him. It hurt to keep his eyes open. Sunlight flooded into the room, causing tears. Recognizing the sharp sulfur smell of gunpowder, he went limp with relief.

Jim!

Minutes passed and Blair's vision finally cleared enough that he could see. The ringing sound faded. They were inside some type of basement. Light came from the top of a staircase. The door was half off the frame. Moving slowly so his head wouldn't protest too much, Blair focused on what was keeping Jim from freeing him.

Jim was across the room, kneeling like a man in prayer. Another man was kneeling with his back to Blair, sitting on his heels, his head and shoulders bent over, moving up and down like an engine piston. The action made absolutely no sense. Jim was watching the other guy, then every few seconds he'd turn his nose toward the floor.

What the hell was going on?

And where was Doctor Beth?

More noise from the top of the stairs distracted Blair. People came pouring into the basement, strangers dressed in white shirts and carrying large orange boxes. Every single one of them ignored him and ran to Jim.

Blair dropped his head back down, his neck too tired to hold it up any further. Damn, he was tired and cold, and while he was taking inventory - his head was killing him.

"Chief."

Jim's voice was such a welcoming sound that Blair's eyes started to tear up again.

"I know, I know. You've been very patient," Jim praised as he used a fingernail to carefully pull back a corner of the tape that covered Blair's mouth. "Take a breath. One... Two..."

The tape came off with one sharp jerk. Blair was certain his face was still attached. "Ahhh... damn! That... hurts," he croaked.

Hands gently probed Blair's neck, causing pain. "Sorry," Jim said quickly, taking his hands away. "Let's get the rest of you free. Where else are you hurt?"

"Head."

Fingers touched the soreness above his left ear. "Yeah, I can see why. Hold still," Jim told him.

Blair felt the blade of Jim's pocketknife cut through the binding around his ankles first, then go to his wrists. Jim carefully peeled back the tape. Finally free, Blair struggled to sit up. The floor was like ice, causing him to shiver so hard his teeth to chatter.

"You shouldn't move," Jim told him.

"Please..." Blair latched on to the nearest arm, the urge to get off the floor suddenly overwhelming him. He wanted up. He wanted to see what was happening, where Doctor Beth was, see for himself that the killer was no longer a threat to them.

Jim helped, then removed his own coat and draped it over Blair's shoulders.

"Clear!" a man's voice ordered urgently.

What? What was happening over there? Jim blocked Blair's view and he tried to look around the bigger man.

"Sandburg, don't," Jim whispered, his voice cracking on just those two words.

The look on his friend's face brought it all in with brutal clarity. Blair knew what the men in the white shirts were doing. He could hear them talking now. Jim's eyes kept him trapped, kept him from looking away.

"Asystole."

"Try again."

"Clear."

"No change, let's go with epinephrine."

Blair didn't want to hear anymore. "Creighton?"

Jim shook his head.

"S-she saved me, Jim. She stopped him from..." His throat constricted, cutting off his words. He raised a hand to check for the cord. Nothing was there.

"Relax and take deep breaths," Jim told him calmly.

Grief slammed into his body so hard, Blair was surprised he wasn't flat on the floor. Breaking off eye contact with Jim, he looked down at his numb hands.

A drop of moisture hit his arm. As if it wasn't cold enough, Blair thought. Now they were going to get rained on. He looked back at Jim's face in time to see the second tear fall.

Simon found them just as they left the basement. Blair hadn't said a word since admitting Beth had saved his life by distracting the killer. Jim knew he shouldn't even be allowing Blair to move at all, let alone helping. But neither one of them could stand being in that room a second longer.

Beth's resuscitation was not going very well.

"Jim! Sandburg!" Simon's face broke into a huge smile, then faded quickly when he saw their expressions. "What? What's wrong?"

"Doctor Kaler is hurt, sir," Jim said as he kept Blair from stumbling over a broken section of the floor. "I didn't make it in time."

Simon looked dumbstruck. He tracked the sounds coming from the basement below. "I'll be back in a minute. More fire units are on the way. Get Sandburg looked at, okay?"

Even with Jim's help, they made slow progress toward the doorway. The empty building had large windows to let in the sunlight. Jim and Bearchild would have broken in one of the windows, had the door been difficult to open. Apparently Creighton had done the hard work for them, because they got in without a problem after spotting Beth's car on the street outside. Creighton had unknowingly brought his victims to the same block where Blair had fallen from the catwalk, to the feed store that used to sell farming supplies and grain, back in the days Cascade was surrounded by farms.

He managed to get Blair as far as the sidewalk before the injured man's strength left him. Jim guided him down to sit on the curb. A large red fire engine was parked close by, its diesel engine still running. An aid car was parked behind it. Jim was familiar enough with the fire department to know it was common to send both units to a call involving CPR. It was a manpower intensive job. The next arriving unit would treat Blair, who looked exhausted and more than a little green around the edges.

"Lean forward, take deep breaths," Jim suggested. He could hear the sirens approaching

"Jim, what's happening down there?" Blair asked in a scared, damaged voice.

"I'm sure they're doing everything they can, Blair," Jim told him. He looked over his shoulder at the arriving fire aid car. "These guys are going to check you out, okay? I'm going to go back and talk with Simon. But I'll be nearby." He squeezed Blair's shoulder as the first fireman neared.

Simon was coming back up the staircase, acting like his shoes were filled with fifty pounds of weight each. He looked old and weary. Jim didn't need to be told; Simon's face was enough.

"I know I should have stayed down there, Simon," Jim explained. "But Sandburg needed to get out of there and I left Bearchild in - "

Simon cut him off. "It's okay, Jim. They're bringing her out now. They have a heartbeat, but she' not breathing on her own."

Jim felt sucker punched. He'd given up any hope that Beth was going to pull through and he felt guilty for it. "She's alive?" he asked.

"Her heart is beating, Jim," Simon repeated, pulling Jim off to one side as the fire crew appeared.

Beth appeared small and fragile looking as she was rushed out on a backboard. One fireman was still squeezing the large plastic bladder that forced pure oxygen into her lungs through a tube in her throat.

Jim tracked her progress in disbelief until she disappeared outside. He shook himself. "Simon, I've got to - "

"Go, Jim. Bearchild and will take care of things here," Simon ordered as he headed for the stairs. He stopped, turning back suddenly as if remembering something. "And make damn sure the kid gets completely checked out. No AMA shit, you understand me?"

"Yessir," Jim answered as he rushed for the door.

Simon's order was easier said than done.

Jim watched silently, arms crossed over his chest in disapproval as Blair explained to the doctor why he didn't need to be admitted. The X-ray of his neck showed no damage to the spine. His larynx was bruised. He had a concussion and would need to be watched.

Blair listened to the ER doctor with a face of stone, nodding at the appropriate times until even the doctor realized he might as well be talking to himself.

But it was the way Blair refused to even look at Jim that caused the cop's stomach to twist in a huge knot. Blair was blaming him for Beth's injury and Jim couldn't disagree. Jim should have found Creighton's car faster. He should have made the connection of the gas receipts sooner, not waited for Bearchild to notice.

Shit! Beth had only needed Jim to be a few minutes faster!

"I'm going to check on Kaler." Jim pushed away from the wall without looking back.

Out in the hallway, he paused to scrub his face with both hands. The E.R. was crowded. Harried women in scrubs ducked around him, intent on their jobs. Younger looking doctors studied charts as they walked, making themselves a walking hazard to the techs that pushed carts filled with odd samples carefully labeled and packaged from breaking.

Jim knew Beth had been brought to this hospital, but where was she now?

"Excuse me?" Jim held up his badge. "A woman brought in for near strangulation injuries? Kaler? Do you know where she is? Mary Elizabeth Kaler."

The woman behind the counter shot Jim a poisoned look, but turned to the computer screen and typed in a few words. "She's already up in ICU, Detective."

"Thanks." He started for the elevators then turned back quickly. "Would you let the man in there know where I went? He's my partner. Sandburg."

She nodded quickly causing the beads at the ends of her numerous braids to swing. "If he asks, I'll tell him." Her attention had already returned to her paperwork.

Jim doubted she'd remember the conversation five minutes from now. It would have to be enough, he realized as he jogged toward the bank of elevators. He needed to know what was happening with Beth.

ICU didn't have the overall signature of bedlam that the ER wing had perfected. The nurses and technicians still looked busy, but everyone worked with a degree of hush that caused a visitor to whisper.

Jim recognized Beth's secretary standing in the waiting room. She stood near another man. Jim approached them, hoping for news.

"Excuse me? You're here for Doctor Kaler?" Jim asked her. "Can you tell me how she is?"

"Who are you?" the man standing by the secretary asked suspiciously.

"Detective James Ellison, Casc -"

"You're part of the disaster that caused this!" he said in a quiet fury that cut better than any hysterical shouts would accomplish. He was a few years older than Jim. His temples were streaked with gray and he stood an inch under Jim's height.

Jim recognized him from Beth's apartment. She had a framed picture of a group of people posing for some sort of family event. This must be her soon-to-be ex-husband.

"Can you tell me how she is?" Jim asked, ignoring the anger. Hell, the man had every right to be angry with him. "She was alive when they brought her in, but she wasn't breathing on her own."

When it was obvious the man wasn't answering, the secretary spoke up. "They haven't told us anything... except her neck was okay." She sniffed into her tissue and dabbed the tears that escaped from her red and puffy eyes. "Y-you found her?"

Jim nodded once, unable to return the angry man's gaze.

"Thank you," the secretary whispered.

Beth's husband snorted with disgust and moved away, leaving Jim and the secretary free to talk.

"Does Beth have any other family in town?" Jim asked quietly.

"No," she shook her head, discreetly watching the angry man pace down the hallway. "Just Mr. Kaler."

Jim nodded, his attention on the doors that led to where Beth was being treated. What were they doing? He wanted to listen, but he was almost afraid of what he would hear.

God, he was a coward.

Jim became aware of the way the woman in front of him swayed on her feet. He reached for her elbow. "Let's get you in a chair," he suggested, gently guiding her to a row of padded chairs that lined the wall. He took the seat next to her.

"I've been with Beth for nearly ten years. She was the youngest woman professor at Rainier to get her doctorate. She's wonderful with the students." The woman gave Jim a weak smile that crumbled. "She's so fond of Blair. They told me he's okay?"

"He's down in the E.R," Jim confirmed for her. "He's good."

She closed her eyes with relief. When she opened them again, she looked at the doors that separated them from her boss. "It's just so... awful."

Jim had to agree.

Twenty minutes of waiting and watching the clock passed quietly. Jim recognized the sound of Blair's footsteps approaching. Blair paused upon seeing them in the waiting room. He backed away, his attention switching suddenly to the glossy floor.

"Excuse me." Jim stood, heading for Blair before the other man could retreat all the way. "Sandburg."

Blair looked like a war refugee. Shaky and pale, his hair was matted with dried blood over his left ear that had also stained his flannel shirt. Jim knew the doctor had put in a few stitches. The old bandages on his left hand were nearly black with dirt.

Jim focused on the dirty bandages, his anger happy to find something to vent over. "Why didn't you at least have that replaced?" he hissed quietly.

Blair looked surprised, the stone-face expression returned. "Screw you, Jim. I just want to know how Doctor Beth is doing."

Before Jim could apologize, they were joined by Beth's husband. "Sandburg, you sorry piece of sh -"

"Hey!" Jim caught the man's fist before it could land on his roommate's jaw. Jim was only too happy to flex a few muscles over this jackass. With a mighty shove, he sent the other man sliding across the floor on his butt. "BACK OFF!"

Heads appeared instantly out of doors in every direction. Beth's husband scrambled to his feet, but wisely stayed back. Part of Jim wished he would try again. God, he wanted to punch something, anything!

"Jim," Blair whispered, placing a hand on his chest and moving to block Jim's access to Kaler. "Please, man. Not here."

"Excuse me? Do we have a problem out here, gentlemen?" The doctor that exited from the ICU doors had a head of white hair and a face that looked more comfortable smiling than the current frown he wore.

"I'm a police officer," Jim explained in a civil tone. He pointed a finger at Mr. Kaler. "This man thought he could assault my partner, he was wrong."

"I see." The doctor took a moment to let everyone know he wasn't happy before continuing. "I understand these are very difficult times. Emotions become larger than we can deal with sometimes. Mr. Kaler? I'd like to talk to you about your wife's condition. Would you come with me?"

Kaler nodded, shooting Jim an angry look before going through the doors with the doctor.

"Jim?" Blair pleaded. "Look, I know you're pissed at me. Just tell me how she is and I'll leave."

For a few seconds, all Jim could do was stare slack-jawed. What was Blair talking about? He had it all backwards. Blair should be pissed at him, not the other way around. He closed his mouth with a snap and spotted a restroom down the corridor.

"Come on."

Once inside the bathroom, he locked the door and leaned against the tiled wall wearily. "I don't know much, Chief. She's had her neck X-rayed. But I don't think her condition's changed much."

Blair bobbed his head, his eyes searching the corners of the small room as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh... okay, man. Thanks."

"Sandburg," Jim started, seeing Blair was avoiding eye contact again. He realized now this was Blair feeling guilty, not Blair being pissed off. "I'm not mad at you. You didn't do anything wrong, here."

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Blair swallowed hard. He shook his head in an angry jerk. "No... you're wrong, Jim. I did everything w-wrong..." He made a move for the door, but Jim was ready and blocked it. "Move, man."

"No," Jim told him. "Wait, listen to me. You need to know the facts. I screwed up, not you."

"What?" Blair gave Jim an incredulous look.

"I arrived too late, Chief," Jim explained. "I took too long."

"That's stupid!" Blair said. "You found us!"

"Yeah, but too late."

"Jim! Listen to yourself." Blair was getting angry now. "You found us! How - I don't know. But I do know that you did everything in your power to get there as soon as possible. Not everything is your fault! What was that line you used? We're not superheroes. Shit happens, killers kill and people die. Sometimes we stop it, sometimes we don't. Sound familiar? "

"Okay... okay, then." Jim crossed his arms, keeping his body firmly in front of the door. "How the hell is this your fault?"

The anger flowed from Blair's face and he looked ready to crumble. Shit, Jim didn't mean to cause that. He reached out, but Blair backed away, bumping into the far wall.

"Blair?"

"She stopped him." Blair's eyes were filling rapidly. "He had the cord around me." With a hand to his neck, Blair looked down at Jim's feet as he continued. "She told him... he had to s-stay with..." A single sob shook his body and Blair slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his knees hiding half his face.

Jim dropped to the floor, his attempts to reach out to his friend again stopped by a filthy bandaged hand.

"God!" Blair exclaimed, his voice bouncing off the walls. He looked into Jim's eyes. "She told him to stay with the plan, Jim! M-my name was wrong. And he did... he stopped. I think I fell asleep, because he was killing her when I looked up... shit!"

"Oh, Jesus, Blair," Jim whispered, closing his eyes tightly. Beth had bought his friend the time he needed until Jim could arrive. He'd come so close to losing both of them today. "It's not your fault."

Blair's arms circled his bowed head, hiding his face.

"Are you listening to me, Sandburg? Creighton is the scum that did this, not you."

Blair's tear streaked face appeared, his eyes snapping with anger. "And not you either, man."

Dropping down to sit on his butt, Jim crossed his legs and dropped his head into his palms. He never even saw that one coming. "Okay, not me either."

"Okay," Blair replied wiping his sleeve across his face.

"You ready to go back out there?" Jim asked as he gathered his legs underneath him to stand. "We can check on Beth's condition. And if her ex is out there, stay out of his way."

Blair extended a hand and let Jim pull him up. "He's an okay guy, Jim. He's just upset."

"I don't care if he's the Pope, keep clear of his right hook," Jim ordered and opened the door.

They had the nurse behind the ICU counter page the doctor and waited together. The secretary was no longer in the waiting room. Blair sat silently in one of the chairs while Jim paced the alcove off the corridor. After a long fifteen minutes, the same doctor that had taken Beth's husband away returned.

"Yes?"

"I know you're busy," Jim said by way of apology. "I need to know Ms. Kaler's condition." Blair stood, standing by Jim's side expectantly.

"You said you're both with the police, right?" the doctor asked.

Jim had his badge out before the man could finish the question. "Ms. Kaler was working with us on a case."

"How is she?" Blair blurted out. "Is she going to be okay?"

The doctor bobbed his head to one side in a non-committal manner. "Well, she's alive, gentlemen. That's always a plus. We've got her breathing on her own again. But she's still unconscious. What remains to be seen is the amount of brain damage."

Jim ignored the quiet gasp at his side. "Can't you give us an idea of her chances?"

"No, I'm sorry." The man crossed his arms. "It's just too soon. I'll have the nurse call your department as soon as I know something for sure. Right now, I need to get back."

"Certainly," Jim said quickly. "I'll leave the number. Thanks for everything."

The doctor turned to go, then paused. "I understand you did CPR at the scene?" He waited till Jim nodded. "You saved her life, Detective. Good work."

Blair scrubbed both hands over his face, the bandages leaving a trace of smudged dirt behind. "Jim, she's alive. She's going to be okay, right? I mean it's a good sign that she's breathing again." His voice shook.

"It's good, Chief," Jim told him. "Let's leave our numbers. They'll call us if there's any change."

"I want to stay." Blair released his arm, returned to the chair and sat.

Great, another fight loomed on the horizon. Jim blew an exasperated breath through puffed cheeks and went to speak to the nurse. He'd leave the number to the loft, their cell phones and the Major Crime Unit.

Then he'd figure out a way to get Blair home.

"Thanks, Simon." Jim buckled his seatbelt and stretched his legs out, thankful for his boss' full-sized car.

"No problem," Simon answered. He lowered his voice to a sentinel whisper. "What's wrong with the kid?"

Jim caught Simon's eye and warned him off with a look. Blair was seriously pissed at the moment. The slightest cause would send him back into a verbose tirade. Frankly, Jim could do without it. He'd already had his fill in the hospital.

"Okay, then," Simon said with false cheer. "Where to?"

"Station, I need to pick up my truck," Jim explained. "How'd it go at the scene?"

"Good. Dan's team was loading up Creighton when I left. Forensics finished most of their investigation. We're sealing up the scene and putting together our initial report for the DA," Simon said. "The Chief's smiling and making personal statements to the press and the Mayor's office is rubbing their hands in glee."

"Election year again?" Jim asked.

"You know it." Simon shook his head. "I will be putting letters of recommendation in everyone's file, though. Seriously, you all did a great job." He glanced into his rearview mirror. "You too, Blair. I'm sorry you and Doctor Kaler got hurt. We didn't see that coming. I hope she's going to be okay."

The answer from the backseat didn't sound mad anymore, just weary. "Thanks, Simon."

"I want you both to go home and rest," Simon instructed. "You can write your report tomorrow. And I called your Dean, Sandburg. They know what happened. They said not to worry about your classes, they're just happy you're safe."

Later that week.

The phone was ringing as Blair pulled out his key to the loft. Jim's truck was parked in the lot, so he didn't rush. Sure enough, by the time he got the door opened, Jim answered. Blair raised his head in a silent reply to Jim's wave and headed for his room to dump his books. It was Friday afternoon, a full holiday week of no classes ahead of him.

He hadn't even made plans for Thanksgiving. Every night this week he'd come home then gone with Jim to visit Beth at the hospital, only to learn there was no change in her condition. Then they'd return to the loft where he'd catch up on his studies and grading. The only bit of good news this week was finding out Lamont's treatment was going well, and he'd been in contact with his family in Oregon. That and Blair getting his stitches out, allowing him to walk without a cane again. In truth, it was more like `limp' without a cane.

"Hold on a second! Blair!"

Jim's shout startled Blair out of his musing and got his heart pumping fast. Moving as fast as he could, he found Jim smiling broadly and waving at him with a free hand.

"What?"

"Get over here and listen." Jim held the phone and bent over so both men could hear. "Go ahead."

"Blair?"

The voice sounded weak, but he recognized it instantly. "Doctor Beth?" Blair grabbed the handset with both hands, covering Jim's and feeling suddenly weak-kneed. His voice shook. "Ohmygod! Are you okay?"

She chuckled softly. "Tired but still kicking. How are you?"

"Fine," Blair squeaked out through a suddenly constricted throat.

Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. "Hey, Beth. I think you just gave us a reason to have a happy Thanksgiving this week, Babe."

"Good... kinda tired, guys. Gotta go now. Doctors want me again."

"It's great to hear your voice," Jim told her. "We'll visit you tomorrow, okay?"

"Like that... `night."

Keeping one arm around his roommate's shoulder, Jim gently removed the phone from Blair's grasp and hung up. "Well, what do you know about that?"

Blair's vision swam. His nose was in imminent drip mode. He felt a tissue pressed into his hand. He hadn't cried once since that short burst of emotion in the hospital's bathroom. That had been from fear and sorrow.

This was joy.

"Shit, Sandburg," Jim said fondly. "You're such a sap."

If Blair didn't know better, he'd swear he heard tears in Jim's voice. Too bad he couldn't see. Blowing his nose, he laughed as Jim enveloped him in a crushing bear hug.

End

The nativity figurines are real. I got the idea for the story while in a Christmas store last July. One of those stores that is open all year long. I had no idea the company went into such detail! Each figurine has a name and a small story. Funny how we fanfic writers get our ideas. LOL.

Side note about the Green River Killer case. The killer was found after years and years of work by the King County Task Force. I know a few of the officers that worked on it. The suspect entered pleas of guilty recently where I work. Not my courtroom, but in the same building. I heard he plead guilty to avoid a possible death sentence.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]