Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.
For those of you who are not familiar with The Sentinel's characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. Band of Brothers and Welcome to Cascade take place before September Song [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after The Perfect Partner [Sentinel universe]. Missing Persons happens right after Fanfare for June [Hardys]; A Matter of Public Record takes place any time between Death on the Fourth of July and February Flirtations [Hardys], and before Remodel and Rebuild [Sentinel].
This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!
Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.
A Matter of Public Record
A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover
By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA
Chapter 1
Frank Hardy slouched comfortably in a desk chair, one hand guiding the computer mouse, eyes idly scanning the monitor as he roamed the Internet for anything of passing interest. He had skimmed over the news headlines, both local and other; he had checked the weather forecast; he had deleted three-quarters of recently received e-mails, wondering why no one could seem to develop a really good anti-spam program. Now he was merely looking for entertainment.
His brother Joe appeared in the doorway, holding a sheet of paper in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. "Got an e-mail from Daryl," he mumbled through a mouthful, waving the paper. "Printed it out. Wanna read it?"
"Yeah, give it here." Frank extended a hand for the missive and began to read.
Joe settled in a spare chair and continued to munch his apple. "He's leaving for Duke in another week," he offered after a moment. "Earlier than you start here."
"So I see." Frank continued to peruse the e-mail. "I'm reading it, don't tell me what's in it," he added, before Joe could speak again. Finally he laid down the paper. "Nice to hear from him. I should write to him…probably text him, though; that's faster, and he'll answer right away. Speaking of Daryl, you heard anything from Blair or Jim lately?"
Joe looked just a bit embarrassed. "No. But then, I think maybe I didn't answer Blair the last time. I meant to," he added defensively, as Frank shook his head in reproach. "And obviously you haven't either."
"I e-mailed them about a month ago," Frank retorted. "That's more than you've done."
Joe shrugged it off, grinning. Their relationship with the two detectives from Cascade was warm but not exactly on a must-talk-to-every-day basis. There was too much age difference, for one thing; for another, Jim and Blair were often incommunicado for one reason or another, usually having to do with their profession.
Frank frowned down at the letter from Daryl Banks. "I wonder... Did you ever hear the whole story about why Blair stopped being an anthropologist and became a police officer? I always get the feeling there was something funny about the whole thing, but I don't know what."
"Daryl's never said, to me anyway – if he knew at all, and evidently not to you." Joe thought about it. "Neither has Blair or Jim. It's just sort of a given: Blair was an observer riding with Jim for research on his doctoral thesis, and then decided to become a police officer. I mean…I guess he found out he really enjoyed it, or something…?"
"Don't you wonder?" Frank persisted. "What was his thesis on? And why did he stop all of a sudden and not complete the program? People don't just abandon years of study and work like that. Doesn't it make you want to know?"
"Oh, maybe some. Not enough to bug them about it, if they haven't volunteered the information."
"Well, I think I'm curious." Frank swiveled to face the monitor and raised his hands to the keyboard. "I know I can probably find a copy of his Masters thesis and go from there. It stands to reason that he would have gone on with the same subject matter, or something sort of related, right? All the universities keep stuff like that available to the public – these days electronic, if not hard copy. I'll bet I can find copies of everything he ever submitted to the university. And didn't somebody mention that he wrote articles for magazines and things like that? Anthropology journals… Maybe there's articles about him in the newspapers too. Jim probably made the news a few times, with how high-profile Major Crimes is, and Blair might have been mentioned too."
"Frank…" Joe sounded uncomfortable. "Maybe it's something better left alone. If no one ever talks about it, maybe there's a good reason."
Frank emitted a quiet snort of ridicule. "It's public record, Joe; it's not like I'm hacking into his private computer to look at it! And what's with the long face?" he added, glancing at his brother briefly before returning to his endeavors. "Usually you're the one who's sniffing out a mystery, hot on the trail. Aren't you curious?"
"Yeah, but…I don't know," Joe said, "I just don't feel right about it. It seems like it would have come up in conversation, and since it hasn't… And you know," he went on, "when Jim and Dad and I were being held by those ridiculous people in Cascade in June, Dad and Jim talked for hours about everything they'd done in their careers, and although Jim said glowing things about what a good detective and great cop Blair was, and how he loved partnering with him, and what a brilliant student and teacher he'd been, and how proud he was of him, and what good friends they are, he never once said 'boo' about Blair's theses or the subjects. Either Masters or doctoral. Zip, zilch, nada. And I don't think it's that he forgot to mention them, either!"
Frank said 'Hmmm," and typed something into a search box.
"Has it occurred to you to just ask them, rather than snooping?"
"More fun this way." Frank clicked buttons on the mouse. "After all, snooping's what we do, isn't it?"
Seeing he was being ignored, Joe shook his head and drifted from the room. He tossed his apple core into Frank's wastebasket on the way out.
Frank stared at the screen, nodded decisively, clicked a few more times, smiled with satisfaction, and settled in to read. His eyes widened fractionally a time or two – and then he began to scribble notes on a handy piece of paper. He continued to read avidly.
###
Two hours later Frank emerged from his room looking both elated and confused. A haphazard sheaf of papers of various sizes was clutched in one hand. "Joe? Joe, where are you? I gotta show you something."
"Family room," came the faint reply from downstairs. Frank headed in that direction.
#####
"Ye-ahh..." Cascade Police Detective Blair Sandburg scribbled his name on the final page of a report and tossed it into his Out basket. "Last one," he sighed happily, leaning back in his desk chair and stretching his arms above his head. "Man, I am like so done! How're you doing?" he inquired of his partner.
"Two left, but they're mostly done," Jim Ellison mumbled, scowling at the computer monitor as he rapidly filled in blanks, his gaze shifting back and forth from an untidy pile of handwritten notes to the screen.
"Maybe we could get away early?" Blair hazarded. "We're completely caught up, once you finish those, aren't we?"
"Far as I know." Jim re-read something and hit the Backspace key, shaking his head.
"Don't we have some comp time accumulated?" Blair continued his wishful thinking. "We could get out of town for a long weekend, go camping maybe. Sound nice?"
"Sounds great," Ellison concurred, "but just because we have comp time and we're caught up doesn't mean Simon'll let us go."
"What's the use of comp time and being caught up, then?" Sandburg complained, still tilted back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.
"Don't look too relaxed, Chief, or Simon will find you something to do," Jim warned quietly. "And you probably won't enjoy it."
"True." Sandburg sat up hastily and began shuffling through file folders and papers, stacking things and generally tidying up. Jim returned to his report writing, and there followed a few minutes of peaceful silence.
"Sandburg! Ellison! My office!" a familiar voice barked.
"Damn," Sandburg muttered, and slammed a desk drawer in frustration.
Ellison winced. "Too late." He got to his feet, regretfully abandoning his almost-completed reports, and tousled Sandburg's dark curls. "C'mon, Chief. We tried. Banks must have x-ray vision to see through those closed miniblinds and catch you unoccupied." The two men made their way to the captain's office, neither looking very happy.
Captain Simon Banks wasn't looking especially happy either, although he waved his two detectives to chairs and held up his coffee carafe in invitation. "Sit, gentlemen. Coffee?"
"No thanks, Simon. I mean, Captain." Sandburg settled into one of the side chairs with uncharacteristic restraint. Ellison sat down beside him and accepted a cup of Banks' private brew.
"Not feeling well, Sandburg?" the captain inquired. Blair rarely, if ever, turned down coffee, especially Simon's.
"I'm fine," Blair replied shortly, and clamped his mouth tightly closed.
Banks eyed him skeptically and turned to his senior detective. "How's the paperwork coming?"
"We'll be done with everything current by the end of the day," Ellison assured him. "We were actually wondering if we could knock off early – maybe put in for some of that comp time we're owed." He felt Blair tense beside him, anticipating the reply.
The captain shook his head regretfully. "I know you're owed it," he conceded, "but right now I need you two on something else." He avoided their eyes, fiddling with his coffee cup and other objects on his desk. "The cold case files are stacking up, and you two have the time to work on them now."
"Cold cases?" Blair half-rose from his chair, bristling with indignation. "Excuse me, Captain, but getting assigned cold cases and not getting our comp time? That feels an awful lot like we're being punished for doing a good job and getting everything done!" Jim's firm grip on his arm forced him back into his seat.
Banks eyed him coldly through his gold wire-rims. "Don't hold back, Detective, let's hear how you really feel," he invited sardonically, then sighed. "I'm sorry, guys, really, and I understand how you feel, but the Commish is breathing down my neck about cold cases. You two are caught up; ergo you get the extra assignment. For now. Maybe the comp time can come in a week or two."
Only Ellison's enhanced hearing picked up Sandburg's breathed "That's not fair." He got to his feet, pulling Blair up after him; there was no point in giving Banks another chance to hear Sandburg's protests. "We'll get on it, sir," he said tightly. He agreed with Blair that this was definitely not a fair shake, but he could see the captain's side of it as well – maybe a residual left over from his days as an Army Captain.
Once back at their adjoining desks in the bullpen, Jim returned to finishing his reports, while Blair, rather than going to the cold case files as instructed, defiantly opened a computer window to check his e-mail. Jim saw what he was doing, but kept his comments inside his head. Blair needed a few – maybe more than a few – minutes to himself.
The next thing that caught Ellison's attention was the sharp intake of breath from his partner, followed by a rapid increase in his heart rate. The Sentinel looked up quickly and was shocked by Sandburg's appearance. The color had drained from his face, and his eyes, fixed on the computer screen, were wide with – what was it? Fear? Horrified fascination?
"Chief?" Ellison half-rose, extending his hand towards his partner. "What's—"
"C'mere. Read this," the younger detective rasped.
Jim was beside him in seconds, leaning over his shoulder and reading the screen's contents. "It's from Frank Hardy? What's he…? 'curious about…looked up your…'" Oh, no. No. "'What's this about Jim being Superman? Whoo-hoo!' Damn!" Ellison's hands clenched hard on Blair's shoulders in fury. "Damn that fool kid!"
"Too smart." Now Sandburg's voice was overly calm, no doubt due to shock. "Frank's one of the smartest people I know…and he's curious as a cat. We should have known he'd get intrigued by it eventually. And it's all out there if you know where to look – public record." He turned his head, dazed sea-blue eyes meeting the ice-blue ones of his partner. "What are we going to do?" His breath began to come faster, and Ellison sensed an incipient panic attack. "What if he tells—? Jim, we have to stop him!"
"I know, I know; just take it easy. We'll figure something out," Jim soothed automatically, but his mind was skittering in a dozen different directions – as was Blair's, evidently. The anticipation of their secret being exposed was something they lived with on a daily basis, but it was shoved into the background most of the time. Blair wasn't scared of much – a cop faces the chance of mortal danger every day on the job, and Sandburg had come to terms with that when he was just a police observer – but having Jim's enhanced senses become common knowledge terrified him. It terrified Jim as well, but there was an extra layer of guilt atop Blair's fear. "The first thing is to talk to him – and Joe; he's told Joe, of course. I hope he hasn't spread it further." He squeezed Blair's shoulders again, this time attempting to reassure. "Write him back, Chief, and tell him – ask him – hell, beg him – to please keep a wrap on it until we can talk to them." Ellison straightened and turned to head for the captain's office. "I'm going to talk to Simon about that comp time again. We're taking it whether the Commissioner likes it or not."
"But…" Sandburg let his protest die unuttered, but he didn't immediately move to reply to the e-mail. Instead he stood and made his unsteady way towards the hallway and the men's restroom. "It won't do you any good, man, you know that," he murmured for the Sentinel's ears alone.
Jim turned back to the computer and clicked the 'Print' command, then snatched the paper from the printer tray before striding across the bullpen. He gave a perfunctory rap on Banks' door and opened it immediately afterward. The captain looked up with a forbidding frown.
"Jim, if you're back to argue that cold case issue…"
"No, sir, I'm here to tell you that Sandburg and I will be taking that comp time starting immediately," Ellison growled, and practically flung what he was holding on Banks' desk. "And this is why. Sir."
Captain Banks scanned the e-mail rapidly, blinked and re-read it, more slowly this time. Finally he raised his eyes to the furious detective hovering over his desk. "Well," he said heavily, "I never saw that one coming."
"I didn't either – although I should have."
"Where's Sandburg?"
"In the men's room." Ellison cocked his head minutely and then grimaced. "Puking up his lunch."
Banks pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "That was more info than I needed," he muttered.
"Captain, we have to talk to the Hardy kids – this isn't exactly something we can settle with a quick phone call. I'm sorry if this will get you in hot water with your superiors, but—"
"Hang on, just hang on." Banks gestured to a chair. "Sit down and give me a minute, Jim, and let me think." He rummaged through a stack of file folders for a moment, then pulled one out and opened it.
"Captain…" Jim sank reluctantly into the seat. "Please, sir, we have to book a flight—"
"I said, Detective, give me a minute," the captain snapped, and continued to scan the contents of the file. "Ah, there it is; I thought so." He picked up the phone receiver and punched a button. "Rhonda? I want you to book Ellison and Sandburg to New York City on the earliest flight you can find; this evening, tonight, whatever. Red-eye will do if you can't get anything earlier. And then call and register them for the one-day Conflict Management seminar that starts Sunday morning at the Crowne Plaza Hotel. Yes, I said book the flight for tonight – yes, I know that gets them there Friday morning. Return flight Monday sometime; no rush. Thanks, Rhonda, I'll leave it in your hands." He returned the receiver to its cradle and turned his gaze to the thunderstruck detective in his visitor chair. "I said no comp time and I meant no comp time. And don't even think of giving me grief about not needing to attend a conflict management seminar, Detective. Now, get out of here. I expect all those completed reports on my desk before you and Sandburg leave."
"Y-yes, sir, thank you sir." Ellison scrambled ungracefully to his feet. "Simon, I don't—"
"Jim." Banks held up a hand. "Just get it settled satisfactorily, okay? Oh, and be sure you both attend the seminar. If we're paying for it, you might as well get some good out of it."
"Y-yessir, Captain. Thank you." Still flustered, Jim left the office.
Simon Banks gazed at the printed e-mail once again. "Idiot know-it-all kids," he muttered, and slid it into a desk drawer where it would be safely hidden from view.
Sandburg was back at his desk typing haltingly on the keyboard, when Jim sat down. By the look on his face and the constant backspace/delete/retyping going on, the Sentinel surmised that he was attempting to answer Frank Hardy's missive.
"You okay?" Ellison eyed him searchingly. Blair was pale and looked somewhat damp around the edges; he'd evidently splashed water on his face and hadn't gotten completely dry.
"I'll survive." Blair sighed, stopped typing and moved a hand to the mouse.
"Hold on a minute, Chief. Don't send it yet."
"What? Why?" Blair stared across the expanse of desks with wide, miserable eyes.
"New data to input." Jim forced a smile. "Simon didn't exactly grant us the comp time, but he did something else. And here it comes…" He looked up as Rhonda approached them holding several sheets of paper.
"Here's your flight info and your hotel and seminar confirmations," she said, handing the papers to Jim. "Your flight leaves at 8:47 p.m. At least that gives you some time to pack. You were lucky to still be able to get into the seminar."
"Thanks, Rhonda; you're the best. We'll bring you chocolates from New York, how's that?"
The pretty blonde gave him a sunny smile. "That'll do. Milk chocolate, please – and lots of caramels and rum nougats and strawberry creams. NO chocolate-covered cherries. Enjoy the trip, gentlemen." She returned to her desk.
"Jim…" Blair's low voice quavered. "What's going on?" He reached for the papers Ellison held, and his hands were shaking as well.
"Simon's sending us to a seminar on Sunday," Jim explained gently, keeping the papers in his own grasp. "In New York City. But we're leaving tonight. We'll get there early tomorrow morning. Plenty of time to…see people. Get together with some…friends." He nodded towards the computer monitor. "Why don't you tell Frank we'll be there tomorrow, and suggest they meet us somewhere, Chief?"
Blair's mouth opened and shut a couple of times, then he nodded. "I can…do that," he whispered, and set his hands on the keyboard. "Wh-where are we staying?"
Jim glanced at the hotel confirmation to make sure it was the same as the seminar location. "Crowne Plaza on West 57th."
"Right." Blair typed shakily for a few moments, read over what he'd written, then clicked the mouse, sending the e-mail on its way. "Um…what's the seminar on?" he asked, then.
Ellison was already reviewing his unfinished reports. "Conflict management," he replied without looking up, and ignored Blair's splutter of unfeigned amusement. "Give me a hand, Chief, we've got to get all this stuff done before we can go home and pack!"
#####
"I told you not to." In his younger days, Joe Hardy's voice might have held vindictive triumph, in that his older brother had transgressed and Joe himself had not. Now, however, Joe just sounded sad. "I told you it wasn't a good idea to dig all that stuff up about Blair and his dissertation and everything. There's a reason they don't talk about it."
"But Joe, it's so cool!" Frank sounded both guilty and elated. "Enhanced senses? Can you imagine how great that would be in their profession? Or just how great in general!? Think of the things Jim can do!"
"Obviously," Joe said somberly, "it wasn't all that great, or it wouldn't have had to be hushed up, and Blair wouldn't have had to renounce his dissertation like it said in those newspaper articles."
"Mmm. I guess. Yeah, that part's not very cool, is it?" Frank sounded a bit more subdued. For a few moments there was silence as they threaded their way through busy New York City traffic, with Frank at the wheel.
They had received Blair's terse e-mail the evening before, stating that he and Jim were arriving in New York early in the morning, that a conversation with the Hardy brothers was imperative, and that they were staying at the Crowne Plaza hotel. "Please meet us there Friday afternoon, any time after three," was the final sentence in the missive. There was no mention of Frank's excited e-mail…but both he and Joe knew that they were in some serious trouble with the detectives from Washington State.
"How mad do you think they are?" Frank asked now, glancing quickly at Joe. He was hoping for optimism from his younger brother, but not expecting much, truth be told.
Indeed, Joe's gloomy reply didn't offer anything in the way of reassurance. "Furious."
###
Locating the hotel, they found a nearby parking lot and left Frank's car, then made their way to the main entrance. An inquiry at the front desk elicited the information that Detectives Sandburg and Ellison were occupying a room on the 15th floor. The brothers took an elevator to the appropriate floor and found the correct room number. They exchanged one last commiserating glance before Frank sighed, squared his shoulders and tentatively rapped on the door.
It opened to reveal Blair Sandburg. His lips twitched into a reluctant smile upon seeing them, but he looked both tired and upset. "Frank, Joe – come in." He swung the door open wider to admit them.
They entered the hotel room and looked around, getting their bearings. Blair was behind them, closing the door to the hallway. Ahead were the usual chain-hotel accoutrements: two large beds separated by a nightstand, long dresser with a TV setup on top, round table and chairs over by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Immediately to their right was a closed door to the bathroom; to the left a small closet. In one of the chairs beside the table, Jim Ellison lounged, mostly a silhouette against the light pouring in despite the closed white draperies.
"Uh…hi." Joe managed to force the greeting out, with none of his usual cheerfulness. Frank murmured something almost unintelligible.
"Thanks for coming." Ellison got to his feet and crossed the intervening space in a few steps, holding out his hand, much to the Hardys' surprise. They hadn't known what to expect, but cordiality wasn't one of the options they'd come up with. Heated ire, cold rage, hurled recriminations, all those things had been considered. A friendly greeting? No. But both boys could see the wariness on the big detective's face. He looked almost as if he was…afraid. Of what? Them?
Jim gestured to the table and chairs. "Sit down," he invited. They obeyed. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as Ellison resumed his seat and Blair perched on the end of one of the beds.
Finally Joe couldn't stand it any longer. "How much trouble are we in?" he blurted.
Both the Cascade detectives emitted soft chuffs of somewhat bitter laughter. "That sort of depends," Jim replied, "on how many people you've told about this."
"None!" "We haven't, honest!" "We didn't tell anybody!" The words tumbled over each other as the brothers vehemently denied sharing the information.
"No one? You sure?" Blair leaned forward from his seat on the bed to fix the Hardys with a penetrating stare.
"No one. I swear. I just told Joe, and—"
"And I didn't say anything to anyone about it."
Blair leaned back, sighing. Jim drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There was a definite lessening of tension in the room. "That's…good." Blair murmured.
"But why is it so important to keep it a secret?" Frank asked. "It's – it's absolutely amazing! Jim, you're – from what Blair said, the things that you can do…you're incredible!"
Ellison jerked his head up and stared at the elder Hardy boy for a few seconds, then groaned and dropped his face into one hand. "Oh hell," he muttered, "he looks just like you did."
"Like me?" Blair looked from Frank to Jim in puzzlement. "How like me?"
"Yeah, like you – that starry-eyed, hero-worship look you used to get when I first met you."
Sandburg began to chuckle. "Well, I guess you just inspire hero-worship in people."
Jim groaned again.
Blair got to his feet and retrieved a large leather-bound book from atop the dresser. He handed this to Frank. "Read the pages I've marked," he invited. "I think I've hit the highlights; it should give you a quick overview of what we're dealing with. I know you read the newspaper articles and some of the other stuff," he went on, forestalling Frank's attempt at protest, "but skim through this anyway."
Frank obeyed, and Joe leaned over to scan the pages as well. There was silence in the hotel room, broken only by soft murmurs as the boys read. Ellison and Sandburg stayed quiet, exchanging occasional glances.
It didn't take long. Soon both the Hardys were looking up from the last marked page, their faces showing both amazement and respect.
"Wow." Frank spoke first. "I still say you're absolutely amazing."
"Yeah," Joe chimed in. "Deny it all you want, but you do run a close second to Superman."
Ellison's face turned pink. "Not even close," he protested.
"And like Superman with Kryptonite, there are drawbacks, remember." Blair's voice was very serious. "Vulnerabilities. Dangers."
Frank still wasn't paying much attention to that aspect. "What's it like to watch, when he's working?" he asked, directing the question towards Blair. To his surprise, the answer came from a completely unlooked-for source.
"It's incredible," Joe said quietly. When the others turned towards him he smiled a little at Jim. "I've seen you do it, haven't I? The day we first met, when we were searching for Frank and Blair and Daryl. You were using your senses all the time we were down there in those tunnels. And after we found the others, you used them to check Frank's leg…and Blair's injuries. It wasn't just being a former Army medic and some luck."
Ellison smiled in return. "I was trying to keep you from noticing, but there was a choice of not using them and probably not finding Sandburg and the others…or using them and hoping you didn't catch on." The smile widened. "You're too smart to fool for long."
"And when you and I and Dad were being held by those nut-cases in Cascade; you listened in on their conversations." Joe went on. "I wondered how you knew what they were up to. And I remembered – when they dumped you in with us and you wouldn't come to for so long. I remembered what you said about getting lost in concentrating, and I wondered if something like that had happened."
Jim's smile was both rueful and admiring. "Not too much gets by you, does it?"
"And the stereo in your apartment. We had it up really loud listening to the Valhalla CD, and it hurt your ears." Joe winced, remembering the incident. He'd been sorry then; he was doubly sorry now.
"Now you're beginning to see the drawbacks," Blair interposed bleakly. "Add four more to the hearing difficulties – sight, scent, touch, taste. And that's just the inconveniences, not the actual dangers that are involved."
"Dangers?" Frank queried. Before Blair could reply, he got it. "Someone could use them against you, if they knew, couldn't they?"
Ellison nodded.
"Dog whistles," Blair muttered. "Loud, unexpected noises. Gases. Eye irritants. Things to cause allergic reactions." He gestured towards the leather-bound book. "That's not modern, so it doesn't mention things like that. But believe me, they could be lethal, with Jim's senses being common knowledge. Criminals are quick to figure out if there's an edge. Something that lets them get the drop on a police officer, even just for a few seconds." He scowled. "And that's not even mentioning the zone-out factor."
"Zone-out…that's what you meant!" Joe exclaimed. He stared at Jim, frowning in concern. "When we were in the tunnels. You held onto me and said you might drift, and I should shake you or talk to you, if you did. Or slap you," he added. "I didn't want to do that, though!"
Jim's lips quirked humorously. "Never a good idea to slap a cop."
"Or an Army Ranger," Blair put in, sotto voce. Then, returning to his normal tones, he went on, "So, you see why you can't share this knowledge with anyone? It would put Jim in danger. And not just the criminal element. I hate to say it, but there are agencies – government and otherwise – that would be very happy to grab Jim and put him in a lab to do tests on, for the rest of his life. Or use his talents for who knows what. Understand?" he emphasized, gazing steadily at the brothers.
"Yeeeessss…but…but it's…so cool!" was Frank's response. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Jim began to laugh again.
"Oh Chief, I feel five years younger all of a sudden! This really takes me back."
"I feel ten years older," Sandburg groaned.
"Who else knows about this?" Joe asked then. "Captain Banks?"
Jim nodded. "Simon knows. He had to be told right from the beginning. Megan Connor knows. My father and brother are aware of my…abilities. Blair's mother, maybe, sort of. I think Daryl suspects, if he hasn't figured it all out by now. Several others in Major Crimes have a good idea, but not definite knowledge."
"Unfortunately, a few people on the other side of the law have the knowledge as well," Blair added, "although we've done what we can to squelch that whenever possible."
"How well can you keep a secret?" Ellison asked, directing his question at Frank.
The two brothers shared a long glance. "We can keep a secret," Frank said at last, thinking of their experiences with the Gray Man and the Network.
"Even if you can't tell anyone else? Not your parents, not your friends or your girlfriends, to impress them?" Blair moved in close, eyes hard. "This is serious, guys; not fooling around here playing Cops & Robbers or Cops & Spies, or whatever."
"We can keep Jim's secret," Joe said stoutly, meeting Blair's blue gaze with his own steady one. "You can trust us, Detective Sandburg."
Now Ellison and Sandburg were the ones exchanging glances, and after a moment of silent communication with his partner, Ellison nodded slightly. "I believe you," he said simply.
Most of the unhappy tension went out of the room, and Frank found himself exhaling a long sigh of relief. "Just one more question," he said hesitantly. At Jim's inquisitive eyebrow-raise, he continued, "Could you show us – just a little bit – what you are capable of doing?"