With road closures and storm debris in the way the two-hour drive took three. Jim drove the Jeep, followed by Robert and Eleanor in a tan Subaru. Fort Riley army base lay on the outskirts of Junction City. They left the Jeep in a crowed Costco parking lot and Jim curled up under a quilt behind the back seat. He felt Robert set bags of groceries on top of him.

"Okay?" Robert asked.

"I'm good, let's do it."

The Subaru moved forward and within minutes it slowed down again.

"I.D. and purpose of your visit?" a man asked.

Eleanor answered. Jim could picture her leaning over her husband to smile up at the guard. "We're bringing some home cooking to Private Lindal Sound. Do you know him? Elizabeth Sound's boy?"

"Yes, ma'am," the guard answered. "I believe I do know him. He's a lucky son-of-a-gun, I expect. Have a nice visit. Careful of the wind."

She thanked him as they pulled forward.

Jim released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Senior citizens one, US Army security zero.

The vehicle stopped. "Okay, Jim," Robert said.

Jim lifted the quilt, moved aside the bags and climbed over the back seat. He leaned between them and looked out the windshield. The sky was still stormy, but the wind seemed less vicious. "How well do you know the base?"

"We got a tour last year," Robert answered. "I expect they'd keep him somewhere remote."

"And easily accessible to the airstrip. Let's start there first," Eleanor suggested.

Jim agreed. "Just drive normal like and try not to talk, okay? I'll tell you when to stop."

Eleanor and Robert shared a strange look. "I'm beginning to understand why people find you two so interesting," Eleanor said quietly.

Blair sniffed ineffectively through blocked sinuses. He hurt everywhere, but at least he was alone. A thin sheet had been draped over him, doing nothing for the chill that huddled in his gut like a frightened animal, but strangely lessening his feeling of helplessness. They'd taken every body fluid possible and numerous biopsies. They'd watched him for an hour to make sure none of the organs started bleeding internally.

The thoughtful sons of a bitch.

He shifted under the straps that pinned him, listening to the card game in progress one room over. He tried so hard not to dwell on that, to them playing poker while he was in here. Hell, the animals at the Cascade Zoo received better treatment.

His vision blurred.

Shit, no more of this. Jim wouldn't be crying. He'd be finding a way out of this.

He sniffed again. Time to plan; what options were available? Another shiver moved through his body like an earthquake's aftershock.

Not a lot of options. Maybe he could start by looking at the positive side. He was still in good health, even if he did feel like a pincushion. Maybe if they tried moving him with one guard, or two, he could overpower them and escape. There was still the fact he was on a military base, but he'd deal with that once he got away.

A heavy, dark shadow slipped into his mind, draining his reality into someone else's.

He stood in a bright, cold room, a metal table in front of him. In his right hand, he clutched a small scalpel, its tiny blade delicate and innocent looking. But the remains of the human on the table did not look like the action of an innocent. Blair had seen autopsies before, but this...

This was something all together different.

"Doctor Thacker, General Kestrel is on the phone for you, sir."

"Thank you, nurse." The scalpel was placed on a tray.

Blair blinked and found himself back on the table, gulping air. What the hell was that? Did that come from Shark-man? Blair's body shook. He felt like throwing up.

God, he needed options.

A silent breeze of warmth lifted Blair's heart and he stopped shaking. A smile, unsure at first but then strengthening, grew on his face.

He'd had a vision.

The best option had arrived.

Jim was here.

Blair was here.

Jim crouched in the shrubs, avoiding the poison ivy, and continued to keep the long, single-story building in surveillance with his senses. Inside he heard men playing poker, sounded like Mexican Sweat. One hand of that game at the wrong time could wipe out of all a player's poker chips.

Overhead the storm brewed with dirty mischief; clouds dark. Rain had pelted Jim's dubious hiding place on and off for the last hour and a half.

Suddenly an articulating door rose. A driver and a white smocked guy drove away in a military spec Hummer. Jim counted the remaining heartbeats left inside the building. His senses hummed with precision and he was thankful. He had gotten sloppy. He'd underestimated the Internet's ability to pinpoint their location.

When he got Blair back, the only research that kid would be doing would be out books.

"Hey, govenor."

Jim spun, still crouched, his finger twitching on the trigger.

Naomi's henchman - the Brit - smiled back.

Pissed that he'd not heard the man's silent approach, Jim took stock. "Just one?"

"I was the closest. More on the way," the man quipped, coming up to Jim's shoulder and eyeing the building with a grim smile. "How's the kid?"

"Holding his own. What's the plan?"

"Recon and hold till help arrives." He hefted a black sling pouch over his shoulder. "I have toys. Like a bit more firepower?"

Jim accepted the tiny assault rifle the Brit unslung from his back. He hefted the lightweight weapon with appreciation.

Any further comments were cut off by a ringing phone inside the building. It was answered. Jim's hearing was topped out at its highest dial.

"Shit."

"What?"

"They're going to move Blair."

"Backup is coming," the Brit repeated.

Jim wasn't going to wait. "I'm moving in now."

At first it looked like the Brit was going to balk, but he nodded. "Okay."

"We've got one guard making perimeter sweeps. He's not very good. Second at the door." Jim accepted a second gift from his new cohort; a tranquilizer gun. "Okay, then. Let's do this."

They timed the guard's trips around the building. He was clockwork and obviously bored with his task. The path he followed the same each time. Jim repositioned for the best offensive site to take him out, providing them the most time before he was missed. As the guard neared, Jim waited for the Brit to use the tranquilizer, moving in as the guard dropped to the ground without a sound.

The guard at the door was not so easy. Alert and professional, he heard Jim's near silent approach and spun with a short shout as he brought his weapon into play. Jim fired first and blessed the fast acting tranquilizer drug as the man dropped. He extended his hearing, finding the room beyond the door empty and dragged the guard inside. The Brit materialized to assist.

Gun-metal gray desks, unimaginative furnishings and army calendar art posters of mountains and ocean scenes failed to make the inside look warm and inviting. Jim was glad to find it unoccupied. Sounds of the poker game came from the other end of the building. They stuffed the guard into a space between a desk and a tall filing cabinet. Down a windowless hallway, Jim tested each closed door carefully, all unlocked.

A rescue had not been expected. Jim allowed a knowing smile. Overconfident idiots.

The door he wanted was coming up next. Blair was inside. The kid's nose was stuffed, his heart rate too fast. Turning the doorknob, Jim nodded to the Brit and opened the door just enough to slip in. A makeshift medical room with computers, operating tools, an IV pole, rolling crash carts and a full sized exam table crowed the filing cabinets and desk into a corner. Someone had been displaced from their office.

Shivering under a thin sheet, Blair's face was pasty white. His eyes were closed; his face pinched and drawn, totally unaware of their arrival. That was for the best. Jim could hear the men in the next room, even if he hadn't been a Sentinel. Fast and silent, Jim moved forward and covered his friend's mouth with his palm. Blair's skin was hot and dry.

"UMM!" the muffled start came as expected. Blair's eyes opened wide.

Jim took a second to smile reassuringly. "Shhh, no sound," he whispered.

"Get me out," Blair pleaded in a rough whisper the second Jim lifted his hand. He twisted under the straps that held him down. "Hurry!"

Jim got the straps off. He found a scalpel and carefully cut the tape off Blair's wrists before helping him sit up and pivot on the table.

Blair slid off the table, one hand catching the sheet. He groaned, swaying like a boat on rough sea before leaning back against the table. "Oh... God, I'm stiff."

"These look like your size," the Brit whispered, offering Blair's clothes.

Jim nodded approvingly. "Thanks." He grabbed the boxers and sweatpants. Blair managed to lift one leg at a time, letting Jim help him dress.

The Brit continued to search the room. Jim worked on dressing his friend. Blair moved with slow, forced motions. Fingers fumbled while dirty locks of hair fell over his eyes. He bit his lip in frustration as he tried to grasp the waist band.

Jim plucked the T-shirt off the table. "Didn't we do this a year ago in Virginia?" Jim teased softly.

"Wasn't hanging from a b-barn rafter this time," Blair whispered back while the t-shirt was pulled over his head. "Thanks."

"Score." The Brit held a medium-sized camping cooler with a bio-hazard placard on the side. The lid was off revealing small, sealed glass tubes. It didn't take a genius to know what they were. They explained the puncture holes in Blair's body.

Jim nodded to the small microwave in the corner. "Try the popcorn setting."

The Brit grinned.

Blair had managed to get one sock on his foot. Jim took over. While the microwave ruined the samples, Jim finished tying the last shoe lace and stood, looking deeply into Blair's eyes. "Can you walk?"

Blair nodded.

"I need the truth, because if you're hurt, taking a swan dive on our way out is not going to make me happy."

"I'm good. Got enough holes to qualify as a window screen, but I'll keep up." Blair raised his chin, his game face firmly set.

"I know you will, Chief." Jim shifted his assault rifle forward and moved to the door, Blair at his back.

The microwave softly dinged. The Brit brought up the rear, guarding Blair from the back. It was time to leave.

"Wait." Blair broke away and walked stiffly to a computer. He hit a button and removed the floppy disk, slipping it into his sweatpants before returning. "Okay, let's go."

"What about the hard drive?" Jim asked.

"I heard them. Save to disk only," Blair answered.

The hallway was still empty, the card game still in progress. How long had they been inside? Not long, certainly not long enough for the guards to be missed. Outside the wind continued to blow the trees back and forth and rattle the glass in the window frames.

Blair walked like a man on prosthetic legs. Jim kept one hand on Blair's arm, the other cradling the assault rifle, finger on the trigger, not resting outside the trigger guard as taught in the police academy. Jim wasn't interested in `due process' today, only in getting his partner away from cold exam tables and heartless doctors.

The sound of a familiar engine caused Jim to pause. He tilted his head. The hummer was back. "Trouble."

The Brit's gaze swept the room. They were back in the front office, one door away from being outside. "What?"

"They're back," Jim answered quietly.

"I won't go back on that table," Blair swore under his breath. He looked at Jim, eyes begging.

"You won't." Jim pulled him to the door.

No one waited outside. The short, military cropped lawn did not hold a firing squad. The hummer was pulling into the garage area at the opposite end. The outside air set off minuscule electrical charges on Jim's arms. The wind swirled like dirty water down a storm drain. The humidity added to the sense of unreal. This was not Cascade.

Jim ran toward the building's corner. Heartbeats were inches from them through the exterior walls. Blair kept up, one hand anchored in the back of Jim's shirt. The windows were painted over so they didn't bother to duck under the glass as they ran. The Brit guarded both their backs. They reached the corner.

Just as Jim was going to ask the agent if Naomi's mysterious plan involved a get away vehicle, a single shot buffeted Jim's ear drums. The Brit crumpled like a broken dime store kite in gale force winds.

"Jim!" Blair's fear of the exam table was forgotten as he dropped to a knee beside the sprawled form.

Jim's brief view told him the Brit's luck had left him. He checked the surrounding yard, brush and trees, unable to spot the shooter.

"Oh, God," Blair gasped, overwhelmed by the blood spilling from a large chest wound.

"Sandburg... go," the Brit burbled.

"Jimm," Blair moaned.

"Come on." Jim yanked hard, getting Blair back to his feet. He caught the Brit's gaze.

The dying man glared. "Get him... out."

Jim nodded, recognizing a fellow soldier's focus: complete the mission. His respect for Naomi's choice in team members tripled. Tightening his grip on the rebellious anthropologist, Jim ran for the distant tree cover.

And suddenly everything changed.

Running with their weapons pointed at the fleeing partners, the combat trained men cut off the escape. Before Jim could react, they were surrounded. The soldiers wore full body armor and helmets, ready for whatever war Jim could offer. Jim skidded to a stop, causing Blair to bump into his back.

"Jim!" Blair whispered in panic.

"Easy," Jim ordered, hoping the command was heard by everyone with a finger resting on a trigger.

"Jim Ellison." The voice was loud and clear, and confident. Jim's hearing pinpointed a loud speaker set hidden under the eaves of the roof. "Drop your weapon and lead your friend back into the building. I don't want to perform surgery today on either of you."

"I'd rather go out like Butch and Sundance, man," Blair muttered with false bravado.

Jim had to give his friend credit. For a grad student, he had guts. He lowered the weapon and dropped it to the grass. "No, we live to fight another day."

Blair didn't like the way the one guard kept rubbing his shoulder and shooting Jim murderous looks.

They were standing side by side after being marched back into the building, hands on their heads, fingers interlocked. Jim had been searched and weapons removed. The computer disk was back in the doctor's shirt pocket.

The British agent's guys body had been taken somewhere out of sight. Most of the soldiers had faded into the woodwork. Did they even know what was really happening here? That he and Jim hadn't really done anything wrong? Maybe if he'd tried to explain to one of them.

"I rather expected a rescue attempt, Mr. Ellison," the doctor said calmly, a hint of a foreign accent making Blair think Slavic background. He hadn't notice that until now. "But frankly I didn't expect it while still on this army base's excuse for a horse corral. Perhaps the current storm was my early Christmas present. I get two medical wonders for the efforts of catching one."

"The only wonder in this room is the fact the government believes you know what you're talking about," Jim answered, his expression bored.

The doctor seemed delighted. "They said you were good. I wonder what my scalpel will find."

Anger grayed the edges of Blair's vision. "Listen, I'm the genetic freak here. Let him go! You don't need him." Blair moved forward, bring both hands down and stepping between his sentinel and the doctor.

Two guards caught Blair by the arms and shoved him back to bounce off Jim, who caught him and held on.

"Cool it, Chief," Jim whispered.

The doctor laughed. He waved a casual hand. "Load them up. Gather my research and files." He turned away, dismissing his prisoners to the care of the four armed guards in the room.

Jim and Blair were handcuffed, wrists behind their backs, and herded down the hallway toward the back of the building. Blair stumbled, nearly falling to his knees as he was hurried along by a tall guard with blond hair and basketball-sized biceps. They reached the garage and were still standing next to the hummer when the doctor came storming out, his face dark with rage.

"You destroyed them!"

Jim didn't flinch when the doctor charged into his personal space and screamed into his face.

"You destroyed all my samples!"

"They weren't yours to take," Jim responded.

Spinning on the heel of his Italian shoe, the doctor strode away, stopping to stare at an Army recruitment calendar hanging on the wall from a bent nail. Someone had forgotten to take it down four years ago. After ten long seconds, the man's shoulders relaxed and he turned back, his expression neutral.

Blair could see the man's vein just in front of his sideburn, pulsing like a spastic earth worm under the tight skin.

"No matter, I'll take more when we land." Cold eyes flicked briefly toward Blair. "He's a screamer. I think I'll gag him this time."

Blair's face warmed.

Jim's reply was short. "I'm going to enjoy killing you."

"Move it." The nearest soldier pushed Blair through the open back door. Jim followed.

The hummer's back seats had been removed, modified, no doubt, by some military spec. Uncomfortable looking narrow benches lined the sides, but Jim and Blair were forced to kneel down, back to back, their handcuffs secured to a metal ring bolted to the floor. The four guards got the benches, two men on each side of them. Even with the extra vehicle width, it was crowded. The driver and doctor sat up front. The garage door rolled up, operated by a motor mounted on the ceiling.

Blair had the view to the rear. The windows were tinted. The turbulent storm had darkened the afternoon enough that Blair could see his own reflection in the glass. Was that scruffy looking person really him? He could see Jim's larger outline as well, broad shoulders spilling out around the edge of Blair's, Jim's head rising a good span above Blair's messy untamed riot of hair.

This is what Jim had tried so hard to avoid. This is the reason they had literally fled from the loft. Icy fear made thinking impossible. They had to get out of this. If they found out about Jim...

Blair's hands were caught by Jim and squeezed. A signal? Or just a gesture of support?

The vehicle stopped and they were unclipped from the ring. Blair saw a lone hangar next to a narrow concrete runway. The small army airstrip was remote, set aside from the other buildings on the base. It looked deserted.

"Out. Now."

The blond held a huge gun in his hand, pointed at Jim's head. The others flanked the hummer, making it impossible for the two cuffed prisoners to jump them all at the same time. Blair's body did not want to cooperate. Without his hands, maneuvering around inside the vehicle to reach the door involved awkward twisting, even scooting on his butt. At last he stood next to Jim, gawking at the sky. Even in the seriousness of their situation, he couldn't help but notice.

"Green clouds?" Blair whispered.

"Move!"

A large hand shoved him toward the hangar. Jim took half a dozen steps then slowed, then stopping as he looked upwards. "Flying in this? Are you stupid?" Jim asked.

The doctor had been ahead of them. He turned in surprise. "Why?"

Jim looked up. "Tornado."

He said it so matter-of-factly that Blair instantly searched for the funnel cloud. The sky was certainly impressive. Two walls of vertical clouds were merging directly overhead. Blair had never seen anything like it before in his life. The guards seem to share Blair's wonder.

"I thought there was hail," one of the guards said. "The stories say hail comes first."

"Wife's tale," Jim answered.

The doctor snorted. "Ignore him. It's a bluff."

"How do you know?" Jim asked. "You don't know anything about us. Maybe we know things you don't. Maybe I can even control them."

"Jim?" Blair whispered.

"They're going to find out anyway." Jim shrugged. "I'd rather die in a tornado than end up a lab rat."

The doctor's guards cast furtive glances at the sky as they shoved Jim and Blair forward. Blair nibbled his lower lip in thought. He had an idea where Jim was going. One thing that remained constant in nearly every culture was man's respect for the unknown. Mix in a little bit of nature's own majestic wonder and who knows that these goons would do.

"Jim, don't, man," Blair mock whispered, slowing. "Not again."

"I don't have time for games," the doctor said in disgust. "Keep moving."

"Lightening," Jim shouted, jerking his chin toward the east.

The crackle of static lifted Blair's hair just as a lightening bolt ripped from the greenish blackness right where Jim had indicated.

"Shit!" two of the guards said in unison.

A gust of wind hit them, lifting Blair's hair to temporarily blind him. How the hell had Jim known?

Jim's skin had never felt so receptive before in his life. He felt plugged into the storm. Every temperature shift, the gentle pull of pressure, sigh of wind, tickle of electricity delighted his nerves. He looked straight up to see grape-sized pellets of hail being formed in the atmosphere above.

"How about that hail storm you wanted?" Jim declared with a dash of showmanship. He smiled as ice rained down on them.

Blair's part was perfect. "Come on, Jim! Don't do this." He yelped as a particularly large hail stone pelted his cheek. The wind swirled the hail around them, like being trapped in a wind tunnel with tiny steel ball bearings.

"Get them into the hangar!" the doctor shouted, raising his hands to shield his face.

Between the pounding hail and their fearful watch for tornados dropping out of the sky, the guards lost their professional edge. Jim lunged at the two nearest guards. He heard Blair's Geronimo-like shout and knew his partner would give it his all.

Another flash of lightening lit up the green-grey sky, followed by a crack of thunder that left Jim's ears ringing.

Jim felt the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage under his heel. The guard would need a few hours with a plastic surgeon if he planned on dating again. The bulk of Jim's body landed the other guard and the two of them fell to the tarmac with a bone jarring thud. Jim used him like a trampoline as he whipped his bound hands under his butt and brought his hands up front. He made two fists and rose to his knees. Imagining his arms as duel golf clubs, he swung. Guard Two's chin met the blow with little resistance and the man was down.

Jim rolled, snatching the handgun from the guard's holster.

Blair had taken out one guard before his rebellion had stalled. Guard four, the blond, had an arm around Blair's neck and looked ready to twist it like a bread tie. The doctor stood at one side, his small handgun pointed at Blair's temple.

Jim didn't relax his grip. He pointed the barrel at the doctor's head. "Let him go."

"Drop your gun," the doctor countered.

"Shoot him," Blair gurgled.

"You're not going to kill your medical wonder," Jim declared. "Let him go."

"So I'll perform an autopsy," the doctor said.

"Be pretty hard from beyond the grave." Jim could see out of the corner of one eye as the guard's hand dropped for his holstered gun.

The stand off was growing too one sided. Blair hung by his neck, his face red. Hail fell unchecked all around them and Jim's muscles flinched in response to the pelting. A sudden change in air pressure caused Jim to glance up.

"I'd turn loose my partner if I were you and start running."

An unnatural stillness fell like a funeral shroud and the guard glanced over his shoulder. "Holy SHIT!"

The dark funnel cloud writhed and twisted in the air, toying with the landscape before touching down. It was two, maybe three miles away. The sudden sound of a runaway freight train slammed into the earth. The guard threw Blair at Jim and broke into a run for the only building close enough to offer shelter, the hangar.

Blair's collision spoiled Jim's aim. The should-have-been-lethal shot hit the doctor square center in left shoulder, blowing out the clavicle and dropping him to the ground with a scream barely audible over the approaching tornado.

As much as Jim wanted to empty the clip into the doctor, he couldn't afford the time or ammunition. He'd seen which guard had pocketed their handcuff key and he fished it out from the unconscious man's pocket. Blair was struggling back to his feet, his eye fixed on the tornado. Freed, Jim threw the handcuffs down and pulled Blair to his feet.

"It's coming this way," Blair shouted over the roar just as Jim unlocked the last cuff.

Sentinel senses already knew this. He took Blair's hand and ran. They crossed the airstrip. The sound of an old air raid siren called mournfully over the army base, a primitive, yet effective tornado warning. Feet pounding, hearts racing, they ran through a mowed grassy strip that paralleled the runway, separating it from a gravel parking area of olive-drab colored gamma-goats and duce-and-a-half trucks. Blair stumbled and would have fallen except for Jim's hold.

"Stop looking at the tornado!" Jim ordered.

Jim could do little about the fact the twister was coming their way. Their only chance was not being around when it arrived. And that meant they needed a vehicle. Blair seemed to tap into a hidden stash of strength as his legs pumped and carried him at a respectable speed. They reached the first vehicle neck and neck.

Jim wrenched open the door. No key waited for them in the ignition. He ran for the second vehicle, a large truck with a fabric covered truck bed, like a military covered wagon.

"Hold up, man."

Jim turned from his examination of a second keyless ignition. Blair held up a small shiny key with a grin. "You forgot to look under the floor mat."

Jim's retort was stolen by the approaching twister. "Get in!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Blair cursed and scrambled over the gear stick to collapse into the passenger seat. Jim followed. The Jeep's engine caught on the first crank. Jim blessed every motor pool sergeant born on earth as he slammed the gears into reverse and gunned the accelerator. Wide tires spit gravel in a tight arc as they left the lot and hit the road. Blair braced himself on the edge of the door. With the windows rolled down, the tornado's approach deafened. Edges of the twister caught a small airplane and tossed it tail over nose.

Jim focused on the task of driving. "Buckle in!"

Of course Blair disobeyed. Turning and planting one knee in his own seat, the younger reached for Jim's shoulder harness. Only after Jim was properly belted did Blair sit back down and draw his own shoulder and lap belt over his body.

"First fires and now tornados," Blair yelled over the Jeep's engine and storm. "We have all the luck, you know?"

The tornado filled the rearview mirror. Jim had the gas pedal floored. The streets were deserted, the buildings sealed tight. Jim and Blair had this army base to themselves. Broken tree braches danced in the street. Day switched to night. Jim fought the urge to look up. It felt like a monster loomed over them. He prayed Robert and Eleanor were safe. His orders had been clear. Drop off the food and return to the farm.

"Oh, God!" Blair yelled, turned in his seat, looking back.

Jim cursed as he felt the vehicle shudder to the left. The rear tires briefly lost traction. Intersections flew by. Several blocks ahead stood a guard house. They had reached a secondary entrance to the base. Zooming in, he saw the building was deserted; the long barricade arm blocked the road.

Before Jim could order Blair to brace himself, certain the strong looking barricade would cause damage when they crashed through, they were airborne. Jim backed off the accelerator, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The nose of the Jeep dipped offering full view of their accent.

Blair screamed in fear, his right hand fumbled for the door handle. Jim released the useless steering wheel and latched on to his guide's arm. The Jeep rocked and buckled like a small plane caught in heavy turbulence. The ground was getting farther and farther away as they climbed in a tailspin, trapped in the tornado's flexing muscle.

The Jeep pitched sideways. Jim's stomach flipped. No longer trying to pull free from Jim's hold, Blair grabbed Jim's arm in a bruising grip. Jim saw another vehicle fly below them and prayed it was empty. An entire section of a roof followed, then a mailbox. They rotated again, briefly pointing toward the middle of the tornado. Jim was mesmerized by the sights.

Without warning, they were flung away from the vortex of wind, arcing high over green hills.

Blair hadn't stopped screaming. Jim peeled Blair's fingers off his right bicep and locked arms. They braced themselves. The Jeep turned a lazy pirouette on its nose. Green, distant fields sailed below them.

Arcing downward, Jim's stomach fluttered unhappily.

Incredibly the decent slowed with a million snapping sounds. Then a jarring crash broke out the windshield and they ricocheted like a steel ball in a pinball machine. Oak branches protruded through the broken windshield, scratching Jim's face and neck. They broke from the tree's crown and continued in a sweeping arc toward earth to land with a splash.

Jim's arm buckled and his head slammed into something solid.

Blair sucked a huge draft of air. The landing had been brutal. The seatbelt had tried to take his head off at the neck. It felt like his toes were up around his ears.

Maybe it was a good time to open his eyes.

Blair blinked. The sky was still dark. All around them was water. He could see the shoreline lined with the trees that had broken their fall. The water seeped into the floor boards, soaking his tennis shoes.

He turned to his left.

JIM!

The sight of Jim's unconscious body snapped Blair into action. He wasted precious seconds fumbling with his own seatbelt release. He attacked the buckle that held Jim in, talking as he worked. "Jim, come on. We've got to get out of here. Wake up, man. No time for sleeping. Wake up."

There! They were both free. Blair climbed over Jim and worked the door handle. The water level rose rapidly, covering their seats. It helped to equalize the pressure and open the door. The warm temperature gave Blair a scant degree of hope. Did that mean shallow water? Or was it warm just because it was summer in Kansas?

Getting a good grip, Blair guided Jim's boneless body from the sinking vehicle. With an arm around Jim's chest in a classic lifeguard hold, Blair swam toward the shore. He'd once dated a lifeguard extraordinaire, with a body that had stopped Blair's heart. She'd been serious about life guarding, teaching first aid and volunteering for kids' camps. Blair had spent a happy summer seeing her in a one piece bathing suit. She'd insisted on teaching him the basics.

"I'm sending you a bouquet of roses, Jackie," Blair muttered as he kicked and moved his free arm in powerful strokes.

"Who... Jackie?"

"Jim! Are you okay, man?"

Jim struggled weakly, nearly undoing Blair's hold. "...head..."

"Just stay still," Blair ordered, spitting out muddy tasting water from a Jim-caused wave. "I gotcha."

Surprisingly, Jim did as he was told and a few minutes later Blair felt the mucky lake bottom with his left foot. Two more kicks and three arm strokes and he could stand, his feet sinking ankle deep in mud. "Can you walk?"

Jim rose to mid chest water level, one hand carefully probing the lump on his forehead. "Ouch."

Blair looked back. Their transportation was gone. The lake had claimed a new fish habitat. The sky still boiled with angry clouds and wind whipped at their wet clothes. "You made a water landing, man. I think it saved our lives." He helped Jim to dry land.

"Any landing you walk away from is a good one," Jim answered slowly. He held up a hand. "Shit, company."

A beat-up white van with more rust spots than paint entered the small dirt parking area that bordered the lake's shore. Blair bit his lip, pondering. No way was it military. It was generous to even call it a vehicle. As the van skidded to a stop the driver and passenger doors opened. Two men jumped out, jogging toward them.

"We saw the whole thing!" the driver said, looking like a LA beach bum in faded jeans and a muscle T-shirt.

"You guys okay?" the older passenger demanded. He was thin and looked like he'd be more comfortable in front of a keyboard than on a surf board.

"Yeah," Blair answered for them.

"Come on," the older one suggested. "Best to stay on the move. We can drop you off at a hospital or something."

"Actually, can you get us to the Costco in Junction city?" Jim asked, taking Blair's arm and tugging him toward the van.

Blair was more than happy to get out of the wind. The lake hadn't been too bad when he was in it, but it was freezing out in the wind.

"Slider's broke. Climb over," the passenger said, pointing to his door.

Seeing the torn upholstery and discarded takeout containers, Blair figured they wouldn't mind him getting the seat wet and muddy. He climbed in, stepping over the middle console into the back. Jim followed and the doors slammed shut. Blair grabbed the back of the driver seat as the van curved a tight circle and returned to the road, gaining speed. Jim crouched at his side, still looking dazed. A pedestal seat was bolted to the floor. Blair caught Jim's arm and pushed him toward the seat. Once Jim was comfortable, Blair looked around.

"Wow." Blair eyed the expensive looking electrical equipment that lined one side. A coin dropped. "You guys are storm chasers."

"Yep," Surfer-dude driver said with pride. "Got primo video footage, too. Wish we'd gotten your part."

Blair exchanged a knowing look with Jim. They'd take all the good luck they could get. Even black-ops government agents had been known to watch the news. Blair eyed the electronic equipment, taking in the dials and gauges. This wasn't some old VCR hooked up to black and white TV screens. This equipment cost some serious dough.

The van pulled to the shoulder and slowed.

"What's happening?" Jim asked.

"Need to take some measurements. Won't take long." The older man climbed over the seat and joined them in the back of the van. Blair shifted back and let the older man have his place by the console. "The weather's shifted. The supercell is breaking up, we're losing the rotating updraft. I don't think we'll be seeing any more tornados today. Name's Pole, by the way. That's Bradley.""

"Pole's got a way of knowing these things," Bradley confided, turned around in the seat to address them. He flashed a smile, a wooden match in his teeth.

Pole flipped some switches. "Bradley, get some digitals of that forward-flank core."

"How long have you guys been doing this?" Blair asked. He was still cold and hoped they wouldn't be hanging around very long. They needed to get away, far, far away.

While Bradley stood outside the van and took pictures of the sky, Pole made notes in a yellow weatherproof notebook. Wind buffeted the van making it rock and sway on tired shocks. Pole shrugged. "Bradley and I have a business. We do pretty good when we're not chasing twisters."

Jim looked wasted and Blair didn't feel any better, but he was still curious. "What do you guys do?"

"Surfboard designs," Pole answered. "Not something you'd expect from two guys in Kansas, eh?"

Blair tried not to shiver. He answered out of habit, ignoring the dull pain growing behind his forehead. "No, not really."

Pole tidied up his small work space, reaching over Jim to tuck notebooks and papers into a wall pocket added for the purpose. "Bradley's a world class surfer. We ran into each other in Hawaii. I was looking for funding for my designs. Bradley needed a sponsor." He raised his voice as he climbed forward to take the passenger seat. "You ready, Shark-Bait?"

"Yeah, hold your horses, Pencil-Neck." Pole fitted the lens cap on an old looking digital camera with an exceptionally scratched body. He climbed back into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "Where to?"

Pole passed a hand over his sparsely covered head. He turned and eyed their passengers. "We should find them a hospital."

"No," Blair said.

At the same time Jim responded, "We're fine."

"Whoa," Bradley shifted the van into drive. "You guys sure?"

"Really, we just need a ride to Costco." Jim ducked his head and peered out the dirty side window. "IF that's out of your way, can you get us to a bus route?"

Had Blair's stomach not picked that moment to growl with the force of the MGM lion and Jim not looked like warmed over shit, they might have gotten what they wanted. But their two saviors were apparently struck with a sense of duty.

"God, dudes. At least let us get you a hot drink." Bradley looked at his partner, his mind made up. "Right, Pole? We can do that."

"Yeah, at least."

Which is how they ended up in a red and orange plastic booth next to a larger than life plastic Ronald MacDonald holding a super-sized order of fries. The place was deserted. The kids behind the counter looked near rebellion, ready to mutiny against the older man wearing the manager pin on his greasy uniform. Blair understood how they felt.

Blair shivered as he wrapped his hands around the large cup of coffee. His head still hurt. He stank of lake water and mud. How was Jim standing it? Pole sat across from them, looking unperturbed as Bradley stood in line, ordered and brought the food to the table. They sorted the food and Pole checked Bradley's burger for contents before sliding it over. They looked like an old married couple and Blair wondered how long they'd been together. For that matter, how could two men that looked like they had nothing in common be together in the first place? The first words out of Bradley's mouth answered that question.

"What a ride!" He lifted his hand in the air and replicated the arc the army jeep made through the air. "I mean, totally outrageous. You two did some bodacious hang-time."

"Do either of you recall anything?" Pole pushed the wrapped burger closer to his friend and Blair smiled. "Could you estimate the speeds of the wind? Did you see anything while inside? We'll keep your names confidential."

Jim had worked a fistful of fries into his mouth and chewed with purpose. Blair asked his own question before answering theirs. "Did anyone ever ride a tornado before?"

"Oh, yeah," Bradley talked with his mouth full. "Lots of accounts about folks surviving a ride. A girl was taken off the back of a horse she was riding. She landed in a farm field with only a few scratches. We've got dozens of case stories of people, cars, entire houses with folks inside lifted and put back down. It's a total trip, man."

A memory, this time his own, rose in his thoughts like an air bubble popping to the water surface. Jim standing in his office, rigid and suspicious. "I've got hundreds and hundreds of documented cases over here of one or two hyperactive senses but not one single subject with all five. You could be the real thing." Blair didn't even notice the look on the cop's face, the anger growing.

Blair returned to the present to the feel of Jim's solid grip on his arm. Bradley was still talking.

"You okay?" Jim whispered, leaning in.

Blair nodded, swamped by the all too familiar emotion of homesickness. It hurt. He hurt. He wanted to apologize to Jim for that first meeting, for ignoring Jim's fears and only thinking about his own research.

"Guys," Jim said, interrupting. "Thanks for picking us up. But we really need to get to that Costco parking lot."

Bradley was finished with his meal, apparently vastly experienced with talking and eating in short time spans. Pole gathered up the last of his chicken sandwich and slid out of the booth with a nod. Jim scooped up his own half eaten burger and Blair's unwrapped one. Blair grabbed his coffee and the super-sized order of fries he'd been sharing with Jim. Forty-five minutes later they were standing on a sidewalk, next to a mailbox, watching the van driving off.

"Odd team," Jim said, lowering his hand after waving them off. "They're nothing alike."

"Just their passion for twisters," Blair said, feeling hot and cold at the same time. "Why not let them take us all the way in?"

They stood at a large intersection. Traffic was starting to pick up again, folks going about normal business with the worst of the storm over. A gas station attendant was unlocking the pumps. Blair could see a large Costco building further down the street, maybe half a mile.

"I want to make sure we're not walking into a trap." Jim tugged his arm, pulling him toward the food mart building and circling around behind it. An empty field filled with weeds and rubble from a recently bulldozed brick structure separated them from the Costco parking lot. "Do you know if the military ever saw our Jeep at the farm house?"

Blair thought back. "No... one of the guys was heading toward that barn you parked it behind. But he never went back there."

Maybe it was something in his voice or a look on his face, because Jim studied him hard. "You sure? It's important."

"Yeah," Blair answered then swallowed. "I'm pretty sure. Once they found me, they sort of stopped looking around."

"Okay, let's go." Jim strode across the muddy field.

Following closely, Blair ignored the uncomfortable clamminess of his wet clothes and pushed his stringy hair back from his face. As if the last twelve hours hadn't been enough bad luck for them, rain began to fall. Blair watched the water drops build in Jim's hair and drip down his neck to his shirt collar. He didn't know how it happened, one minute he was walking, the next he was tasting mud.

"Sandburg!"

Blair rolled to his side and blinked stupidly as Jim's hand cupped the back of his head and lifted it from the mud. Thoughts were slow and as lucid as the muck covering him. Jim's expression was gentle as he wiped the worst of the mud from Blair's face.

"Hey, partner. Just a few more feet, okay?" Jim promised, glancing over his shoulder briefly before beginning the laborious task of pulling Blair into a sitting position and hoisting him to his feet.

"Whoa." Blair swayed as the world tilted on a new axis. "I'm good. I'm good. Sorry... musta slipped."

"Yeah," Jim answered, slinging an arm around Blair's mud-caked shoulders. Jim led him through the field. "I think it's time to say good-by to Kansas."

Blair had to agree.

Spotting a Texaco sign, Jim slowed to a gentle coast so as not to wake the man beside him. Curled around a folded army blanket pressed against the passenger door, Blair had dropped into a deep sleep before crossing the state line.

Jim parked next to a phone booth. He left the engine running and eased out silently. With his eye on Blair, he made his first call. He had switched license plates with an abandoned looking vehicle he had spotted parked in a cinema's lot a few hours out of Junction City. They should be safe for a while.

The ring was answered immediately.

"Hello?" Robert barked into the phone.

"I can't talk long," Jim said.

"Are you two okay?" Robert demanded.

"We're good. I got him out." Jim's throat tightened up. He blinked in surprise at his own emotion. "You two saved our lives."

"Listen," Robert answered in a rush. "I put your pay under your driver's seat."

Jim swallowed, warmed by the unexpected thoughtfulness. "Thanks."

"What else can we do? Who can we call?"

"You've already done more than I ever expected," Jim assured him. He could hear Eleanor in the background as she prompted her husband with her concerns. It was good to know they were both safe. He could picture them standing in their kitchen.

He was going to miss them.

"Listen to me. If anyone comes and asks you questions, answer them. Don't hold back."

"You sure?" Robert asked. "They'll be coming?"

"No, I'm not sure." Jim remembered the tornado's destructive path across the army base. Maybe the doctor was dead. Maybe they were safe again.

Maybe Satan wears snowshoes.

"We just don't want you two hurt." Jim glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. Thanks again."

Eleanor's voice arrived crystal clear over the phone line. "God bless you both," she added tearfully.

Jim's second call wasn't picked up. Unsure if the line was still being monitored by Naomi, he hung up. Jim climbed back into the driver's seat and eased the door closed. Blair continued to sleep, crumpled against the door, mouth slightly open as he snored. They needed to stop, needed real rest. Kansas was behind them now, to the north. Jim wasn't even sure where they were going except he didn't want to see another storm cloud anytime soon so he had pointed the Jeep south. Feeling under the seat, he found a plastic bag filled with green bills. There was more there than they were due.

He'd find a way to pay them back. But first, he needed to find a reasonably priced motel and get some rest.

The sun peeked over the horizon by the time a Motel Eight appeared. Jim checked them in, paying for a ground floor double room that opened to the back parking lot. The Northeast corner of New Mexico was nothing like the flat corn fields of Kansas. The drive through the night had taken them through the western tip of Oklahoma and the northern handle of Texas.

"Sandburg." Jim waited until he had the room unlocked and both their bags carried in before waking his friend. He leaned over the driver's seat and shook Blair's left shoulder.

"Mffuth?" Blair wiped a string of drool from his chin and straightened. He blinked stupidly at Jim.

"Hey," Jim said, smiling even through his exhaustion. "How about some real sleep?"

"I'm drivin'?" Blair mumbled.

"Not a chance. Come on." Jim pointed toward the open door. "We got a room."

Once inside, Jim secured the chain on the door while Blair stumbled into the bathroom. Their room held two beds, the customary round table with matching chairs and a low six drawer dresser. Lamps and a TV were bolted down to prevent theft. Unimaginative framed artwork on the wall above the beds gave Jim a heavy case of homesickness. He rubbed his sore, dry eyes and sat on the corner of the nearest bed. When Blair came out of the bathroom, Jim took his turn.

Blair was curled on his side, laying on top the green and yellow bed cover when Jim emerged a few minutes later.

"Chief." Jim tapped a damp tennis shoe. "Hey, stay with me for a sec."

Blair moaned, showing no interest in waking. Damn, Jim just wanted to fall into the other bed and sleep until Christmas. But he couldn't let Blair sleep in damp and muddy clothes.

Jim levered Blair into a sitting position. He worked the filthy hem of his sweatshirt up, tugging an arm free of one sleeve and gently working it over Blair's head. Blair's eyes were open and staring accusingly when Jim finished. Jim tossed the damp sweatshirt into a corner. Taking Blair's wrist in hand and noting the skin was still hot, he counted the pulse beats for fifteen seconds. Fast, but not too fast. "You've got a fever."

"'Splains why I feel like a burnt offering." Blair flopped back down on the bed and rolled toward the far wall.

Running a light touch down Blair's back, Jim catalogued all the holes left in his skin by the needles. How many biopsies had that ghoul taken? The obvious mark from a spinal tap caused Jim to curse softly. He moved down to tug on Blair's sweatpants.

"Go away," Blair mumbled, swatting a hand back and hitting Jim's arm.

"Take them off, Junior. They're wet."

"It's fine. Sleeping now. Don' care."

"Give `em up." Jim ordered.

"Jiim," Blair muttered, turning the name into a soft curse. But he lifted his hips.

"You're going to sleep better without wearing Kansas mud." Jim got the sweats off.

"Nothin' wrong with a little wholesome dirt," Blair answered around a jaw-popping yawn. He blinked dully at the ceiling. "Jim? Remembering something..."

"What?" Blair's boxers looked dry and Jim left them in place.

"I had another vision." He paused to yawn. "Back at the army base, the doctor was talking to someone the phone."

Getting Blair to roll over so he could flip down the covers, Jim listened with interest. If Naomi knew who the higher players were, it would help them. "Get a name?"

"Yeah, General... what was it, sounded like... Castel... no. Kestrel, that was it. General Kestrel."

Blair rolled back to the middle of the bed. Jim pulled the blankets up to his chin. "Good job. That could be useful. Did you drink any water?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, burrowing one side of his face into the pillow. "Can I sleep now?"

"In a second." Jim found some aspirin in his bag and went into the bathroom to fill the plastic cup from the sink. Getting Blair to sit up again, take the pills and finish the water used up whatever shred of patience the younger man possessed. He literally growled to be left alone. Jim patted a shoulder and backed away.

Double checking the doors and completely drawing the heavy drapes, Jim fell into the other bed and slept.

Pounding.

Someone was driving a splitting maul through his skull. Blair moaned. His throat felt raw. His mouth was as dry as a kiln. Sore spots checked in all over his body. There was no way he could teach today. No way. He'd need to call and get a substitute.

With his eyes still closed, he fumbled for the phone by his bed, finding it on the second try. With a yank on the cord connecting the handset to the base, he hauled the phone close and started hitting the phone number he knew by heart. First he'd call the admin office. Tell them he couldn't come in. Maybe they already knew a sub that could take his class.

Damn, he'd misdialed. Why was it so dark in his room?

Even the simple task of focusing seemed impossible. He rose on one elbow and pushed down the plunger to disconnect. Before he could finish the sequence again, hands appeared, aborting his second attempt.

"Hey..." The phone was pulled away. "Gemme tha'"

"Lay back down, Chief."

Jim? What was Jim doing in his room? It didn't matter. Blair might be sick but he had responsibilities. He had calls to make. Jim was pushing him back down onto the mattress, smoothing the hair back from his face and laying a hand on his forehead now.

Cool. Jim's hand was so nice and cool.

"Mmmm..."

No, no, no. Blair had stuff to do. He tried to bat the hand away. He couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears. Jim's hand left and he rolled back on his side to reach for the phone again, only to find it missing. Now Jim was back.

Bitter pills were pushed between his lips. Water, cool and wet.

Blair gulped eagerly, glad for Jim's help. Why was the simple task of holding his head up so hard? He wasn't drunk, was he?

No, Blair was sure. He hadn't been partying. He was sick.

Sick.

Shit, he had to call Rainier.

Jim was totally being an ass, fighting him, keeping him in bed, hiding the phone again. He needed it. He had stuff to do.

Damn, it felt good when Jim did that...

Cool hands...

Cool hands Jim.

Or was that Luke? Cool hands Luke.

Blair tried to picture Jim digging a hole in the ground while a prison guard watched.

What had he been upset about? Blair couldn't remember. He hoped Jim wouldn't stop. Naomi had been the only person that had ever stroked his forehead like that. It had always put him to sleep and this time was no different.

Jim sighed.

Blair had finally fallen back to sleep. He stood slowly so not to reawaken his friend by jostling the mattress.

Rubbing his face, Jim stumbled toward the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He'd been so tired that the sound of Blair fumbling with the phone hadn't woken him right away. What if the kid had actually managed to reach someone that knew them?

Jim leaned heavily on the small vanity, head down. He had to keep alert. Blair had been coming down with some bug even before being kidnapped and abused. He certainly wasn't firing on all cylinders right now; his fever was up. Jim returned to his bed and pulled the phone out from under the mattress. The LCD readout on the bedside clock radio told him he'd been asleep four hours. Jim watched the younger man breathe in and out, noting the faint crackling noises from deep within his lungs. That was new. He prayed it wouldn't get worse.

They had paid for the room until noon tomorrow. It was almost noon now and Jim was hungry. But first he'd try calling Naomi, then he'd run out and grab something to bring back. He wasn't taking any chances on Blair waking up and finding him gone.

There was no answer when Jim called the new number. He listened with every Sentinel fiber alert. Nothing, no secret message, no Morse code tapped out on kitchen spoons. Unplugging the phone from the cord and hiding it inside the bathroom under the sink, he slipped outside into the New Mexico sunshine that was so bright, it brought tears.

Fifteen minutes later he was back with a stale, cellophane wrapped sandwich, a box of saltines, small jar of peanut butter, a large orange juice and a map. Blair hadn't moved. He ate the sandwich and sipped the juice, debating whether or not to wake Blair and feed him.

No, he'd let Blair sleep.

Jim crawled back under the blankets of his bed and returned to his dreams.

Morning found Blair even sicker than before.

Jim got scared. Blair might need a hospital visit and that simply wasn't an option for them. Maybe if he could get them over the border into Mexico, Jim could find a doctor. But what if it was more than the flu? What if that government doctor had injected something into Blair while taking all those samples?

No, that was ridiculous. Jim shook his head as he managed to get Blair to sit up long enough to take more aspirin and stuff a peanut butter cracker into his mouth. "Chew, Sandburg."

Blair followed the order, his eyes nearly glued shut. Sometime during the night Blair's sinuses had produced a green gunk that dripped from his nose while milky looking tears gummed his eyelashes. Blair breathed through his mouth, giving Jim full view of the cracker as it became pulverized into a paste.

"Here," Jim said, holding Blair up with one hand and a glass of juice up to his hot, cracked lips with the other. "Drink."

Two gulps and Blair lost interest, sagging in Jim's encircling arm.

A store mannequin showed more life.

"Drink."

"Can't." Blair drew a quick breath; his face screwing into a painful grimace before everything came rushing back up. Blair choked hard.

Scared Blair might breathe in at the wrong time, Jim ignored the smell and leaned Blair forward. "Easy."

Blair coughed, gagged before shuddering with revulsion, weakly wiping at the mess running down his shirt and on his ruined bedding. "Aww... damnit, Jim," he rasped wretchedly.

Jim's towel, still damp from his earlier shower, lay within reach. He snatched it up and cleaned Blair's chin and neck. "It's okay." Ignoring Blair's hitched breaths, Jim flicked the soiled bedding back. "Come on. You can rest on the other bed."

Only after Blair was clean, calmed, wearing a new T-shirt and under the covers in Jim's bed, did he pick up the phone and dial. This was it. If he couldn't reach Naomi on this try, they were heading for Mexico. Incredibly, Naomi herself answered.

"Naomi, we need help. Blair's sick. He might need antibiotics," Jim whispered, his back to his bed, standing at the end of the phone cord's reach. "What's our status? Is it safe?"

"No," Naomi answered. "But I have a new resource for you. A safe house. How close are you to northern Arizona?"

"Close enough." Jim rubbed his brow, his exhaustion threatening his sanity. The stench of vomit permeated the room, making his eyes water.

"Sedona. There's a yarn shop. It's the only one in town. The owner will put you both up. You'll be safe. You can get Blair some medicine."

"More of your agents?"

"No, the owner's not connected with me at all. Jim, how sick is Blair?"

Fear colored her professional tone, she was a worried mother now.

"Could be a bad flu. I just don't want him to get worse." Jim swallowed hard, regretting his next bit of news. "There's more. Your agent, the British guy... he's dead."

The long silence following committed Jim's guilt to a life sentence.

"I'm sorry," he added lamely.

"Go to Sedona," she whispered. "Please, keep him safe, Jim."

"I will."

"I know, thank you for that." She sniffed. "I'm terminating this contact number. You'll get another when you get to Sedona."

Jim hauled Blair out of bed. He'd made a nest of sorts in the back of the Jeep for a bed. Blair curled into a tight ball and slept. Jim checked the map he'd bought. Heading west, Jim donned a cheap pair of sunglasses and flipped the visor down as the sun set on the horizon. They drove straight through the night, only stopping for restroom breaks and when Blair needed to throw up whatever Jim tried to get him to eat.

They drove into the town of Sedona around dinnertime. Jim cruised the main street slowly, studying the businesses carefully. Trendy art galleries, expensive spas, restaurants that made his stomach growl and hotels that would have wiped out their entire funds within a week, lined both sides of the street. The high desert air was scented with yucca and pine smells.

"Mystic Fibers," Jim muttered as he spied the yarn store. It was actually a small house turned into a store. Amazingly enough, the lights were still on and he could see a shadow moving through a large picture window.

He parked on a side street, next to a closed corner market. He could see a white sedan behind the house, parked near a rear door. Checking to see that Blair was sound asleep, Jim silently got out and locked the door before slipping through the darkened back alley behind the business and approaching the yarn store's rear entrance.

He stilled, extending his hearing into the building, sure that only one person was within. Jim knocked lightly on the door, ready to run back to Blair at the first indication of trouble.

Even though his knock had been light, footsteps approached from within. The door opened and a woman in her late sixties stood in the doorway. She was tall, thin, shoulders just beginning to curve inward with age. Her fine hair was curled perfectly to frame her classic beauty.

"Jim," she whispered.

Falling back in complete shock, Jim's world turned inside out.

"Mother..."

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