Jim awoke with a sore neck and a splitting headache. He'd fallen asleep on the couch. Blair had put a blanket over him at some point, and Jim wondered how much longer the younger man had outlasted him the night before. Looking at the time, he realized he'd overslept. There was barely enough time to get showered and dressed and grab a cup of coffee. Sandburg was still in bed. Twice he'd looked into Blair's room and told him to get up, seeing only his curly mop peeking above the covers. "Sandburg!" He received a groan in response. "Hey, Sandburg!"

"OK, OK. I'm up!" Blair didn't move.

Jim considered walking into the room and upending the mattress, but when he thought about being accompanied by a pissed off Sandburg for the rest of the day he decided against it. Walking into the kitchen he picked up his keys and shook them, "See you later, Sandburg." Jim poured himself a cup of coffee, swallowed two aspirins and watched as Blair shuffled slowly into the bathroom grumbling to himself and shut the door. Jim poured another cup of coffee for his partner. A few minutes later Blair emerged looking half awake. "Good morning, sunshine." Jim held out the cup. Blair took a few sips, put the cup back down and went back into his room, barely registering Jim's presence.

One cup of coffee later, Blair came out of his room, dressed and ready to go, his hair pulled back. They would be going to the station today, and Jim had noticed lately that Blair tended to wear his hair that way if he was going somewhere he thought he would be kidded about being a hippie. He was bleary-eyed and grouchy looking and, Jim guessed, still depressed after reading the diaries. Jim had been feeling a little low himself, but he hoped that doing some legwork would pull them both out of it. Blair put the journals in his backpack and picked up the box of bills he'd sifted through last night. The two men walked out of the loft. As Jim reached the bottom of the stairs he saw the door to the street open from the outside. Before he could react, a man in a black ski mask rushed in pointing a gun at Jim's head.

"Don't move."

Another man rushed past him and he heard Blair being pushed against the wall and the box being knocked from his partner's grasp, thumping down the steps and spilling papers everywhere. Jim raised his hands and the man removed the gun from his belt. He was roughly turned around and pushed down onto the stairs, catching a brief glimpse of his partner with a revolver under his chin before his cheek was pushed down against the cold tread of the step. Jim ground his teeth. He was getting real tired of seeing his friend with a gun in his face. "What do you want?"

Thug number one shouted, "Shut up!"

Jim heard Blair shout, "No, don't!" just as the butt of a gun struck his head. There was a flash of pain and everything went momentarily grey, slowly resolving into black spots in front of his eyes. A foot on his back pinned him down.

The man behind him kneeled down pressing the gun hard into Jim's back and shuffled the papers near his feet. "Just bills."

Jim couldn't see anything except the wall in front of him, but he heard the second thug talking to Blair. "Where are they?"

Blair sounded defensive. "What?"

Jim felt an excruciating blast of pain in his back as he was punched hard. He fought the urge to cry out. Sandburg's voice turned angry. "Damn you, leave him alone!"

"Where are they?" Jim sensed a fist being raised behind him and he tensed. Where was it going to land this time?

Blair pleaded. "Please, don't. I don't know what you're talking about, man. Just tell me what you want."

"You don't want my partner to use bullets the next time, do you? We could do a lot of damage to your friend before he died. Where are the journals?"

Alice's journals. They were in the backpack that Jim had heard Blair drop behind him. "What, you mean Alice Williamson's?"

"Don't be a smart ass!"

"They're at the station." Blair was using his rare talent again.

"Bull. Where are they?"

"I swear. We locked them up in the evidence room yesterday." Jim thought he sounded convincing.

"Come with me." Jim heard Blair being grabbed by the collar and pulled up the steps, then heard a key in the loft door. The two walked inside and the man told Blair, "Sit there and don't breathe. If you mess with me, you and your partner are dead." By the noise Blair made as he sat, Jim could tell he'd been shoved onto the couch. Jim's sense of hearing was in high gear, and he could almost swear he heard the wheels turning in the anthropologists' head. No heroics, Sandburg, just let him look around. Jim prayed that Blair would keep his cool. Several minutes passed as the loft was turned upside down. The man with the gun at Jim's head didn't speak, and only moved occasionally to shift his position. No opportunity to get the gun away from the man had presented itself. It would have been easy to get angry. His head and side were throbbing painfully, and his face hurt where it was pressed against the stair. He didn't like being helpless. In the military he had learned that emotions can get you killed. You had to observe your enemy and look for weaknesses to exploit and above all, show no fear. The fear part was easy to control. He'd been up against far more dangerous men than this. He suspected that they had no intention of killing anyone, otherwise they wouldn't be wearing masks. They were here to do a job, and their job was to find the journals. It was doubtful they even knew the significance of what they were looking for. Finally, the searching stopped and Jim heard the man walking over to Blair. "Where are the journals?"

"I told you, in the evidence room at the station." Jim had to admire how his partner was sticking to his story. He recognized by the loud cracking sound he heard next that Blair had been struck. The detective struggled to maintain his self-control. Calm down, Jim, he's not going to die from a slap.

"Where are the journals?"

Was that a hint of fear creeping into the anthropologist's voice? "You sound like a broken record, man. I told you where they were. I swear to God we don't have them."

"If you have lied to me about this, I'll come back and shoot you both." Blair was pulled up and the two men walked across the floor and started down the stairs. Jim was pulled to his feet. He looked at Blair and saw that one side of his face was an angry red. "Get his cuffs." The second thug directed. Jim felt the first man fumbling for his handcuffs just as the second man noticed Blair's backpack. "What's this?" Blair and Jim watched silently as he stowed his gun in the waistband of his pants and opened the pack, pulling out Alice's diaries. "We got 'em." The hood held them up triumphantly, then turned to Blair, his voice cold. "You know what's gonna happen to you now, don't you, you lying little weasel."

At that moment, Jim saw his opening. The man behind him was busy trying to get Jim's handcuffs and had lowered his gun slightly. Jim brought his elbow up high and spun around at the same time, catching the man full in the face, hearing and feeling the bones in his nose break. With his other hand he grabbed the man's wrist and hit it hard against the railing, forcing the man to drop his gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blair struggling with his attacker. As Jim subdued his man, he saw Blair fall suddenly backwards, kicking out at the same time, sending thug number two sprawling down the steps and landing at Jim's feet groaning. He looked up at Blair in amazement. "Good job, Sandburg."

Blair looked as surprised as Jim did. "Thanks." He rushed down to Jim's side as the detective cuffed the two men to the railing and retrieved all three guns. "Are you OK, man?" Blair touched the spot on Jim's head where he had been hit and the detective pulled back wincing at the sudden pain.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it. Go call Simon." As Blair disappeared upstairs, Jim removed the two men's masks, read them their rights, then sat on a step above them and regarded them coolly. The man who had hit him was about 5'9" and heavy set. Presently he had his hand cupped over his nose, trying to prevent any more blood from dripping out. Dark hair covered his head and he had bushy eyebrows that met in the middle. The other older man was obviously in charge. He was almost bald, with strings of hair combed from just above his left ear over to the right side of his head in an attempt to look as if he hadn't lost most of it. Also heavy-set, with a single eyebrow, Jim wondered if the two men were related. They both looked slightly familiar.

"What're you looking at?" The balding man inquired.

Jim smiled, "Two guys in a hell of a lot of trouble. You know what's going to happen to you for assaulting a police officer?"

"No, why don't you enlighten me?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, you know, the DA doesn't take that kind of thing lightly. Not to mention the fact that you attempted to steal evidence in a murder investigation. I think you'll be able to safely rule out any plea bargains."

"Oh, I'm so scared."

"Uh-huh. Bet you are." He paused and regarded the men silently for a moment. "I swear I've seen you guys somewhere before. You aren't eligible for Three Strikes, are you?"

The younger man, silent up until now, muttered something that sounded like, "Oh, thit."

Baldy jabbed his partner in the side and said, "OK, so you want to make a deal, right? We tell you who hired us and then you let us go?"

Jim laughed, "Let you go? I don't think so. You deserve some jail time just for smacking my partner around. I don't like it when my friends are hurt."

"Hey, it was only a little slap. No harm done."

No harm done? If Blair hadn't knocked him down the steps, he would have beaten the anthropologist to a pulp. "Why don't we start with your names. That should be easy enough for you geniuses, shouldn't it?"

"John Thmith." The younger one said.

"Very funny."

"No. I'm theriouth. John William Thmith." He reached into his back pocket with his free hand and pulled out his ID, handing it to Jim. "Thee?"

Jim glanced at it briefly. "OK. And what about you?" Jim looked at the other man.

"Porky. Porky Pig. I'm th-th-th-theriouth." The man mocked his companion.

Blair had appeared at the top of the steps and stood there, observing the exchange. A few seconds later, Jim heard the sound of sirens in the far distance. "You're just determined to make this hard on yourself, aren't you? Who hired you?"

"Not until I see my lawyer."

Jim turned to John. "You want to play it that way, too?"

"Yeah, I gueth tho." It was hard to understand the man with his hand over his nose.

"OK, it's your life." The sirens were closer now, Jim guessed they were no more than two blocks away.

Blair came down the stairs, gathered up the journals, returned them to his backpack, and then turned to Jim again with a look of concern in his eyes. "Are you sure you're OK? That's a nasty lump. We should take you to a hospital and get it checked out."

Jim turned and looked directly into John Smith's eyes and said calmly. "Maybe I'd better. That way we'll have more evidence at the trial."

The man looked panicked for a moment, then blurted out, "Okay, I'll tell you. It wath Martin Willamthon." Porky jabbed him in the ribs again. Jim glared at him in warning.

"Martin Williamson? How'd he find out we had the journals?" Blair looked surprised.

Jim was a little surprised himself. He had expected to hear that it was Jay Richter, although so far they hadn't found anything in the diaries that incriminated him. Now his theory that the two men were connected was further solidified. "When did he hire you?"

"Thith morning."

The sirens got excruciatingly loud for a moment and then stopped before Jim had time to tune them out. He opened the door and waved at his captain, who had just jumped out of his car. Simon rushed up and looked at Jim and Blair with concern. "Are you guys OK?"

"Fine." Jim reassured him. "We've got a little present for you, sir." He opened the door wide to reveal the two men handcuffed to the railing. "May I present John Smith and Porky Pig."

Simon looked at Porky and smiled sarcastically. "Hello, Fred. How ya been? Only been out of prison, what, a month?"

"Screw you." Fred said.

Simon ignored him and turned to Jim. "Sandburg said they were after the journals you found at Alice Williamson's apartment?"

"Yeah. They didn't get them." He said it loud enough for the prisoners to hear.

Simon looked at Jim's head with concern. "Hey, that's pretty nasty. You need a doctor?"

Blair was smiling. "See, I told you. A head injury is nothing to mess with, I should know."

Simon looked at Blair, "He hasn't been saying anything about having reptiles in his drawers, has he?"

The anthropologist flushed, he'd been teased relentlessly about the incident. He shook his head. "No, I don't think it's that bad. You really should get it checked out, Jim."

Jim knew that with both men pestering him, he had no chance of winning this argument. "All right, all right, Mommy. Let's just get these guys taken care of, OK?"


With Simon on his side for once, Blair had managed to convince Jim that he should drive the truck to the hospital. He could tell that the detective was hating every moment of it. Jim couldn't stand being fussed over. The emergency room was busy and after they spent an hour waiting, with Jim getting more and more testy by the minute, Blair finally relented. He knew the detective wanted to be at the station with Simon interrogating John and Fred Smith. Jim promised to make an appointment with his doctor, but Blair didn't trust him to do it, so he made him call from a pay phone outside the emergency room.

Jim hung up and shot a look at Blair. "Happy now?"

Blair smiled, "Yes." He turned and walked to the truck, Jim close on his heels. Jim's hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around.

"Not so fast, Chief."

Blair looked at Jim innocently, "What?"

The detective held out his hand, palm up. "Keys."

"I can drive. Really, it's no problem. In fact, I like to drive. You might be surprised to know that I've been doing it for over 10 years."

"Keys." Jim said more forcefully.

Blair pulled the keys from his pocket, grinning mischievously. "What? You mean these?" He dangled them up for a moment and turned on his heel, making a break for the truck, pressing the button to unlock the doors as he went. Jim caught him just as he pulled open the door, and put both hands on his coat lifting him slightly off the ground, wincing. Blair immediately felt guilty about forgetting Jim's injuries. "OK! Here, I surrender." He held up the keys and dropped them into his friend's hand. Jim got in and started the car, revving the engine, and Blair rushed over to the passenger door, jumping in just as his partner put the car in drive. He scowled at Jim, who was smiling as he peeled out of the parking lot. "You know, there's a tribe in the Amazon that believes that in the afterlife, the gods cut off the hands of those who refused to share their material belongings."

"I'm sure there is, Sandburg."

"Just something to keep in mind." Blair had long ago given up getting angry about not being allowed to drive the car when they were together. He was still amazed he'd been allowed to drive Jim to the hospital. He supposed that Simon ordering him to had helped. Halfway to the station, Simon called to tell Jim that the Smiths had confessed, implicating Martin in exchange for a reduced sentence. "So what now? Do we arrest Martin Williamson?"

"Not just yet, Chief. Just because he wanted the diaries doesn't prove that he killed his niece. We need to find a way to connect him to the murder."


Jim pulled the truck up a long circular drive to a huge house on a cliff overlooking the bay. It was a modern home and appeared to be made of enormous blocks stacked haphazardly on top of one another, creating an effect a little like a white mountain. The sun had come out and as Jim and Blair walked toward the house, the sentinel had to shade his eyes from the glare. A small arched tunnel led into an enclosed courtyard with a pool filled with exotic looking fish and a small waterfall. Blair had that familiar look of wonder on his face, like a little kid in a toy store. Jim had not noticed any security cameras, but he noted with approval that the door opened when the two men approached it. As wealthy as the Williamson's were, the security measures should be invisible. The large man who answered the door said, "Come in Detective Ellison, Mr. Sandburg." He opened the door wide and stepped aside, "Mr. Williamson will be with you in just a moment."

Jim and Blair followed the man across a black marble floor into a cavernous room, almost three stories high. The entire wall facing the bay was made of glass, offering a spectacular view. Elegant and comfortable looking furniture filled the center part of the room, a dining area was near the window, and several other seating areas made the place look as though it were designed for parties. They were led through another door and out onto the verandah, where there was a large white oak table and chairs. "Have a seat, sirs. May I get you anything?"

Blair asked for coffee and Jim declined. He walked over to the edge of the verandah. It was a beautiful day and he could see about 20 sailboats with colorful spinnakers racing below. Blair appeared at his elbow, following Jim's gaze. "Forget what I said about rich people having no taste. This place is awesome, man."

"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Sandburg. It's one of the few remaining joys in my life." Blair spun around and Jim turned. "I assume you were referring to my daughter's apartment?" Roland Williamson was impeccably dressed and as polite as he had been yesterday, but he looked very tired.

Blair was tongue-tied. "No..."

"That's all right. It was just one of the ways she rebelled against this family. She wanted to keep nothing from her life here, even good taste." Mr. Williamson walked to the table and gestured for the two men to sit down. The servant returned with a steaming cup of coffee in a large blue mug for Blair. "My wife wanted to speak to you, but I'm afraid she's gone to the airport to pick up my other two daughters. Perhaps you can speak to her later?"

"Certainly."

Roland looked at Jim and noticed for the first time the bruise where his cheek had been knocked against the steps. "What happened to you, Detective?"

"That's what I'm here to talk to you about, sir. We found diaries in your daughter's apartment that contained entries that may have some significance in the case."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Blair look up suddenly and mutter under his breath "Martin".

Jim didn't look in the direction of Blair's gaze, but instead raised his voice slightly. "My partner and I were attacked by two men this morning who were after the diaries. We have the men in police custody. They weren't working alone and we're confident that they will name their employer in order to reduce their sentence. We feel that we're close to making an arrest in the case, and we wanted to keep you up to date."

"Do you think these men killed my daughter?"

"It's not likely. They have a history of hiring themselves out for strong-arm stuff like loan collections and intimidation, but they claim to have alibi's for the night of Alice's murder. We're checking them out now. I suspect they'll be good." Jim could see that Blair was glancing occasionally behind him, and knew that Martin was still watching.

"What was in the diaries?"

Jim definitely didn't want to inform Roland about his daughter and brother's relationship if he could help it. "I can't tell you that right now, sir. I hope you understand."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Blair looked at Jim and nodded his head signaling that it was time to leave. Jim stood and held out his hand. "I'm sorry we don't have more for you."

Roland shook it, saying, "I appreciate you coming all the way out here just to keep me updated, Detective. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

"Mr. Sandburg."

Blair shook his hand. "Thanks for the coffee, sir."

Roland held onto his hand for a moment, preventing him from leaving as quickly as he wanted to. The older man eyed Blair curiously. "You'll have to tell me some time exactly what it is you do for the police department, young man."

Blair had been intimidated by this man from the moment he had met him. Roland was larger than life and had a commanding presence. Blair was sure that if he were ever alone with this man for awhile, the lawyer would eventually pry the truth out of him. When Jim started to walk away, he saw his chance for escape. "Sure. Some other time, though." He gestured toward his partner. "I've gotta get going. Goodbye." He laughed nervously and pulled his hand away, walking quickly to catch up with his partner.

Jim was walking out of the house as fast as he dared without drawing suspicion. If Martin had a good lead on them he was going to be difficult to follow. He noticed that Blair, with his shorter legs, almost had to run to keep up with him. They arrived at the truck just as Martin was pulling his black Lamborghini out of the driveway. Jim stood still for a moment and focused in on the sound of the engine. When he had picked out it's peculiarities he got into the truck. Blair knew what he was up to, and remained silent. Jim started the engine and waited until Martin was about a block away, then pulled slowly out of the driveway, picking out the direction the car had gone. They hung back, with Jim concentrating and Blair watching the road. "Stop light." Blair touched Jim on the arm to get his attention. They weren't in an area with heavy traffic, so he was able to follow the sound for several blocks. He knew that Blair would have preferred to drive in instances like this, allowing Jim to direct him. It was probably a good idea, but Jim felt that he could track better when he was in the driver's seat. "Green." Jim stepped on the gas to make up for lost ground. They drove for about 20 minutes and finally ended up in the warehouse district. There was almost no traffic here and Jim feared he would be spotted, so he pulled into an alley, then turned onto a street parallel to his prey. At this point, if he'd lost Martin, he wouldn't have been worried. He had a pretty good idea where he was going. A few minutes later, they pulled up behind Tommy's. There was already a car parked in the lot, and Jim phoned in the license plate number. It was Jay Richter's.

Blair broke his silence. "Can you hear them in there?"

"No. There's too much noise out here, and I don't know where they are."

"Did you filter out the background noise?"

Jim was beginning to feel frustrated again. Would he ever be completely in control of his senses? "I tried, it's not doing any good."

Blair opened the door and got out. "Let's look around the building. Maybe we can find an open window."

The sun was setting, making long shadows as the two men walked. This was an old area of town, and the warehouses, made of crumbling red brick blackened by soot and age and dotted with multi-paned windows full of broken glass, looked almost haunted. Tommy's was a small two story brick building that might have been a gas station at one time. There had been an addition added at some point in the past, almost tripling its original size. A neon sign forming the word "Beer" hung over a steel door at the entrance of the building. Jim could see no mention of the bar's name anywhere. Yellow police tape still marked off an area in the alley around the dumpster. The wind had freed one end of the tape and it was fluttering against the side of the building. "Here." Blair pointed to a broken window on the second floor, near a fire escape. "Focus on that, see if you can hear anything inside."

Jim concentrated for several seconds and heard what sounded like muffled voices. He tried to focus more, but still couldn't make out words. Martin and Jay were somewhere deep within the building, probably behind closed doors. "It's not working, I need to be closer to the window." He pulled down the ladder for the fire escape and climbed up, ordering Blair to stay below.

His guide spoke to him softly. "Make those two voices the most important thing to you. Nothing else exists. No sights, no smells, no feelings, only the sound of those two voices."

As Jim squatted near the window, he could tell that the two men were arguing about something. Jim regulated his breathing, closed his eyes and concentrated. It was definitely Jay and Martin, and they were arguing about money. With each word he recognized, more words fell into place until he could hear both men clearly.

"...need the money. I don't want to wait any more."

"It'll be too suspicious Marty. Alice has only been dead for two days. What are the cops going to think if this place goes up so soon? They're bound to make a connection."

"Screw the cops, they couldn't find their asses with both hands. I need the money. I've got a sweet little deal lined up and it's gonna pass me by if I don't move on it in the next month. The insurance will take at least that long to come through."

"I don't care about any more of your 'sweet' deals, Marty. They all lose money. We wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't been so greedy. You didn't need to kill Alice, we could have convinced her to go along with this."

"Alice was a drunk and a loser. She got what she deserved. And let's not forget, Jay, you're the one who beat the living hell out of her in the first place."

"Well what about those guys you hired to steal the journals? Those were cops they attacked. They're going to sell us out for a plea bargain before the day is out."

"My boys didn't say anything yet, and they won't if they know what's good for them. Besides, I just sent one of my brother's partners over there to bail them out. Everything's cool. There's a lot of money to be made here if everyone keeps their cool."

"Hah! You couldn't pay those dumb goons enough to go to jail for you."

"Listen, Jay, I don't want any more crap out of you. This is my operation. I provided the means to buy this place. I'm the one who arranged to get the drugs into this country, right? I'm the one who made the deal, I'm the one who risked life and limb, and I'll make all the goddamn decisions! Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

Jim heard footsteps across a wooden floor. "Where are you going?"

"I dunno, Marty, I thought maybe Mexico. I hear it's nice this time of year. Basically, I've put up with as much bullshit as I'm going to from you, you arrogant little twit. As far as I'm concerned, if I make it out of this with my life and my freedom and not a penny in my pocket, I'll be happy."

"Fine, go."

Jim heard movement, then a sharp report. It was so loud to Jim's sensitive ears that he fell back, almost toppling over the edge of the fire escape. He watched helplessly as his cell phone fell from his pocket and landed on the concrete below, bursting open. Blair cried out in alarm and began to climb the ladder to help him, but Jim put up his hand. "Blair, go to the truck and call for backup, I think Jay Richter's just been shot. Get a hold of Simon and fill him in. Stay there until help arrives. Understand?"

"Are you OK? I should go with you."

Blair started up the ladder again, but Jim gave him a stern look. "Sandburg, do what I ask you to for once. I need backup, and you're the only person I see around here that can get it."

Blair looked worried. "Jim, you shouldn't go in there by yourself. Why don't we just wait for help?"

"Look Blair, I appreciate the concern, but I'm a big boy. Go back to the truck. Please."

Blair was starting to lose his temper. "Damn it, Jim, I'm your partner. Something that you choose not to notice when it suits you, and I don't think this is a good idea."

"I don't care what you think, Sandburg, just do what I tell you!" Jim regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but time was ticking away while they were standing out here arguing. Jim respected the younger man, and he had a good point. Maybe he was being overprotective of his guide. Jim opened his mouth to apologize, but Blair had already stormed off in the direction of the truck. It would have to wait until later. He turned to the broken window and climbed through, entering a small room with a sink and a mattress on the floor. "Lovely place," he thought as he walked quietly through the room, listening for sounds of Martin Williamson. As he opened the door, it creaked loudly, and he stopped, holding his breath. Somewhere on the first floor he could hear the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Was Marty trying to get rid of the body? Jim hoped that Blair would have sense enough to lay low if the man came out of the building. The dragging sound stopped and Jim stepped cautiously through the doorway and started down the hall. Footsteps crossed the floor below him, and then he heard a deep metallic clanking sound and a sloshing, like two metal containers full of liquid were being banged together. As he reached the top of the stairs he could have sworn he smelled lilacs, but his attention was diverted by a shadow passing below. There was splashing, and Jim's head reeled at the fumes that rose from below. Gasoline. Marty was going to torch the place. As Jim began to recover his senses, he felt two hands on his back pushing with great force. He tumbled over, landing on his back and sliding painfully down the steps, watching as his gun flew out of his hand. The floor came up to greet him swiftly. Another burst of pain hit him as he reached the bottom, and he lay there for a few seconds, stunned. Jim turned on his side and saw Richter's body lying in a pool of blood a short distance away with a gun in his hand. Obviously someone was trying to make the bullet in his head look like a suicide. Marty appeared above him grinning and pointing a pistol. "Nice job, Eleanor."

Someone was descending the stairs and Jim turned to look. It was Roland's assistant and Jay Richter's supposed girlfriend, Eleanor Grant. "You get around, don't you?"

She smiled pleasantly at him. "I go where the money is, Detective." Kneeling down, she picked up Jim's gun and pointed it at him. "Get up, please." With both Eleanor and Marty pointing guns at him, Jim had no choice but to comply. Unlike the thugs who he and Blair had met earlier in the day, he was sure that these people wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Blair had almost certainly called for reinforcements by now, and Jim only needed to keep his cool until help arrived. He listened, alert for the sound of far off sirens. Eleanor motioned with her gun, and Jim climbed the steps and entered a store room. He was pushed toward a large metal pShe smiled pleasantly at him. "I go where the money is, Detective." Kneeling down, she picked up Jim's gun and pointed it at him. "Get up, please." With both Eleanor and Marty pointing guns at him, Jim had no choice but to comply. Unlike the thugs who he and Blair had met earlier in the day, he was sure that these people wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Blair had almost certainly called for reinforcements by now, and Jim only needed to keep his cool until help arrived. He listened, alert for the sound of far off sirens. Eleanor motioned with her gun, and Jim climbed the steps and entered a store room. He was pushed toward a large metal pipe that was bolted to the floor and ceiling. "Take out your handcuffs." Jim noticed that the two were keeping their distance from him. He wasn't going to be able to get the jump on them. "Now put it around one wrist, then put your hands behind your back around that pole. Now, attach the other cuff." When Jim was done, Ellie handed her gun to Marty and walked behind him to tighten them. Once she was sure that he wasn't going anywhere, she retrieved her gun and wordlessly and left the room.

Jim regarded Martin thoughtfully. "What, no last minute confessions? I thought you criminal types always liked to brag about your dirty deeds to your victims."

Marty walked over to Jim, sneering. "Pardon me if we don't stay, Detective. We'll be outside roasting marshmallows." He held up his gun, cocking it. "And don't worry about your sidekick. We'll make sure Jay kills him, too." He turned and left the room, chuckling to himself. Jim strained for any sounds of sirens, but still there was nothing. Dammit, Sandburg! If he hadn't called, Jim was going to ring his neck. Assuming either of them made it out of this alive. There was more movement below, and then Jim heard the unmistakable striking of a match, and a whoosh as the gasoline caught fire.

There was no way Martin was going to get away with his plans now. Jay's death might possibly have been believed a suicide before Jim had arrived. Now, no decent detective would believe that it was anything but murder. Did Marty really believe that the cops or the insurance company would buy a scenario in which Jay goes nuts and kills two people, then lights the building on fire and shoots himself? Jim realized that it was possible. He'd seen stranger things in his years on the force. Still, Jay wouldn't be getting his money as soon as he wanted it, even if he got away with murder. The investigation into something like this would take a long time. Jim shook himself, refusing to accept the fact that he was about to die.

Now that the shock of the situation had worn off, Jim was beginning to feel the effects of the fall down the steps. His back hurt and he was sure he had a couple of broken ribs. The spot where he had been punched this morning was throbbing painfully again. He turned his sense of pain down as far as he could, concentrating on locating sounds outside the building and trying to ignore the growing crackling of the flames on the first floor. Smoke had begun to be visible at the top of the stairs. Jim's heart skipped several beats as he heard the sound of gunfire outside. Three shots in rapid succession and then nothing. Oh, God, it had to be Sandburg! He yanked desperately at the cuffs, hoping to pull his hands free like he had on the oil rig. This time, though, they had been fastened tightly, and there was nothing to lubricate his hands. He pulled harder at them, feeling the warm trickle of blood on his wrists. If Sandburg was dead, then it was his fault. He should have kept the anthropologist with him, like he had asked. Eleanor would never have gotten the drop on him if he'd had Blair watching his back. A thin fog of smoke had begun to fill the room, and Jim's lungs started to itch. He suppressed the urge to cough and looked around for something that he could use to free himself. As he did, he finally heard the sound of sirens in the distance. The far distance. So far away that he had no idea if they were coming to the bar or hurrying off to some other emergency. Jim wondered what it was going to feel like to die of smoke inhalation.


Blair had run immediately to the truck to get the cell phone from his backpack, not realizing until he got there that it was locked and Jim had the keys. Even though he was angry at Jim for his dismissal, he had a fierce internal battle for a full minute before he finally summoned up the courage to put a brick through the window. Once he called Simon, he had had to withstand a deluge of recriminations for not calling in and telling him where they were going. His mood was going downhill fast. When he finally got a word in edgewise, and told Simon that Jim was in trouble, the captain dispatched help immediately. He remained on the phone with Simon, trying not to worry about Jim and explaining what had happened. Blair was looking out the windshield of the truck, waiting for Jim, when Ms. Grant suddenly appeared around the corner, pointing a gun at him and firing. He fell to the ground immediately, hearing Simon's concerned yells over the phone. When the woman was close enough, Blair had leapt up, slinging his backpack down on her arm as hard as he could, knocking the gun from her hand. Rushing for it, he beat the woman there by milliseconds. As he picked it up he immediately recognized that it was Jim's. "Where is he?" He yelled at her, trying not to let fear overcome him.

"It's too late." She mumbled and looked around as if she were expecting someone else.

Hadn't Jim said that Martin Williamson was here? "What do you mean, too late?"

"The building is on fire. It's too late."

"Oh, my God." Blair smelled smoke for the first time. He grabbed the woman's arm, squeezing hard. "Where the hell is he?"

"He's on the second floor, in the store room."

Leaving the woman in the alley, he ran to the door of the bar, forgetting the fact that Marty was still around somewhere.


Jim had turned all of his senses down except hearing. He realized that doing this would not stop the smoke from harming him, but if he didn't feel it's effects he might be able to remain clear-headed for a while longer. The sirens still seemed a long way off, but they were getting closer. Maybe Sandburg had been able to call for backup after all. He prayed his guide wasn't dead, but he deeply feared it. What else could those shots have meant? Blair had no weapon of his own. Jim had left him defenseless. It was too late to admit now that he had made a mistake, not letting Sandburg come with him. When he had been in the jungle to rescue Simon, he'd had a dream. In it, he had awakened in the middle of the night, and Blair wasn't there. The dream seemed so real, and he felt a terrible urgency in it. He had to find Blair, he needed him. Walking through the jungle alone, looking for his guide, he felt empty and helpless. It was then that the panther attacked him. All this time, he had ignored the significance of the dream. Blair was his guide, as much a part of his sentinel self as his extraordinary abilities. He was necessary to his survival. On some level, he had always known this, but couldn't allow himself to be dependent on the anthropologist. Depending on anyone else meant a loss of control, and in a sense, freedom. Now he was paying for his thick headedness with his life, and Blair probably already had.

The smoke was dense now, and Jim could not see the top of the steps anymore. His eyes were burning and he closed them, realizing as he did that it had become very difficult to breathe. When had he fallen to his knees? He couldn't remember doing it. Damn it, he refused to die this way! He pulled again at the handcuffs but they refused to budge. There was nothing nearby that he could use to force them open. The pocket knife in his front pocket was completely beyond his reach. For the first time since he was in the jungle, he was truly afraid that he was going to die. The pain in his lungs was terrible, as if something heavy were pressing down on him, pushing the air out. The sirens seemed close now, but they would still be too late. Jim tried to summon the breath to yell for help, but only fell into shuddering, life stealing coughs. As unconsciousness overtook him, he thought he heard Blair's voice, but he didn't have the strength to answer him.


Blair entered Tommy's and saw flames everywhere. Even the floor was on fire. He looked furtively for a path through it. Pulling the front of his T-shirt up over his mouth and nose, he ran through the room as fast as he could. About halfway to the steps, Blair's feet caught on something and he went sprawling. When he saw the body, he let out a short yelp, thinking for a moment that it was Jim lying there. With great horror and relief, he saw that it was Jay Richter. He scrambled up and climbed the stairs two at a time, tears streaming down his eyes from the smoke. A door to his right stood ajar and he scanned the room. Blair's heart stopped as he saw Jim slumped on the floor near the center of the room. He rushed over and saw that Jim was unconscious and handcuffed to a heavy pipe. The smoke and heat were already threatening to overcome him, and he rushed over to a window, smashing the glass with his elbow. He leaned his head out and gulped in cool, clean air, trying to clear his head. Jim had a key, right? Where did he keep it? In his pocket somewhere. Oh, God, he was afraid! Taking one last gulp of air, he pulled his head back in and rushed back to his partner's side, searching his pockets and trying not to notice Jim's stillness. Checking for a pulse was out of the question. Blair didn't want to know yet. His panic rose as it became harder to breathe. He couldn't find the key, and the smoke was getting thicker. Blair needed to get Jim out of the building now.

He still had Jim's gun in his waistband. Blair hated guns, and had been reluctant to take it with him, but the alternative had been leaving it with Ms. Grant. Now he could use it to break the chain on the cuffs. First he tried hitting the chain with the butt of the gun, knowing even as he did it that it wasn't going to work. Blair had seen Jim cleaning his gun enough to know how it worked. He released the safety and placed the nuzzle against the chain, pointed down and carefully pulled the trigger, closing his eyes. The gun jumped back in his hand, but when he opened his eyes he saw that the chain was undamaged. He'd missed. Racking coughs hit him again, and he knew that he would succumb to the smoke himself if he didn't get out soon, so he took aim again. Praying that he wouldn't shoot himself or Jim, he pulled the trigger, and saw Jim's hands spread apart as the chain broke free.

"Thank you, thank you, thank, you," he muttered to whatever gods were watching over them. Dropping the gun, Blair put his hands under Jim's arms and began to pull him out of the room. Straining to drag the larger man, he took a deep breath and immediately started to black out. Knowing that if he passed out both of them would die, he stumbled back to the window, sucking in more fresh air. The sirens were very close now, Simon would be here soon. As the smoke poured around him out of the window, he froze. The thought of burning alive scared the hell out of him. Had he asked Simon to call the fire department? Some part of him wanted to remain here until help arrived, but the thought of Jim inside suffocating broke him out of his paralyzing fear and he moved back into the room. Guilt almost overwhelmed him when he saw his partner lying motionless on the floor, barely visible through the thick smoke. Pulling Jim to the top of the stairs, Blair saw that they would no longer be able to get out that way. He could feel the blasting heat of the flames and the smoke was so thick and black now that he could not see in front of him. He held his breath, and in a surge of adrenaline dragged Jim in a direction that he thought would lead him to the room with the broken window.

Everything became a blur after that. Somehow he managed to get Jim over the sill, out through the window and onto the fire escape, but there was no way he could get Jim down the ladder without dropping him. Smoke was billowing from the window and he could see flames starting to lick up the walls of the hallway. Staying was not an option. Blair ducked once more into the room and pulled the mattress out onto the fire escape. He dropped it below the ladder and then maneuvered Jim over the edge, feet first. Holding onto him as long as his strength held out, Blair managed to lower him part of the way before he lost his grip. Jim fell onto the mattress and then bounced off, rolling over.

Blair hurried down the ladder. Leaning over his friend, he turned him on his back and felt for a pulse. It was weak, and when he listened to his chest, he found that Jim wasn't breathing. Blair tried to remember the training he had several years ago. He pulled Jim's head back and checked his mouth to make sure he hadn't swallowed his tongue. His hands, streaked with black soot, were shaking as he pinched Jim's nose. Blair took a deep breath and immediately fell into a coughing fit. When he finally stopped, he took a smaller breath and blew into Jim's mouth, watching as his chest rose, then fell. He continued until he fell into a rhythm, always watching for Jim to start breathing on his own. In his head, he kept repeating the words, "Don't die Jim" like a mantra. The sirens had stopped now, and Blair wondered what was taking them so long to find him. He was beginning to feel exhausted. The black spots in front of his eyes were growing more numerous, but he refused to give up on his friend. A Sentinel wasn't supposed to die like this. Blair felt another fit coming on and was trying to suppress it when he saw Jim's eyes flutter open and listened with relief as his partner began to cough. He rested his hand on Jim's chest to reassure himself that his friend was really alive, fighting the urge to start crying.

"It's too bad you went to all that trouble. Now I'm going to have to waste a bullet on him, too."

Blair turned slowly and looked up at Martin Williamson, who was pointing a gun at him. A feeling of unreality flooded over him. It was as though he weren't in his body anymore, but merely an observer. Time itself had slowed down. So this was how it was going to end. Simon would find them both dead in the same alley where Alice Williamson had died. Fascinated, Blair watched as the smiling man cocked the gun and began to squeeze the trigger.

Someone yelled, "Stop!" The gun moved from his head, and Blair heard an explosion in his ear as the gun went off, brick flying as the bullet struck the side of the building. He heard an echoing shot, and saw something explode in Martin's arm, knocking the man over. Blair looked over at the direction the shout had come from and saw Simon standing with his gun drawn. Everything was spinning wildly. He collapsed and lay on the hard gravel of the alley, noticing as he gazed up that he could see stars through the smoke. It was a beautiful night. Simon was barking orders as he rushed over to them. The building was fully engulfed, and flames were shooting from the window he had just pulled Jim through. He knew that he should get Jim farther away from it, but his limbs felt like lead and he was starting to feel cold. The fire escape he had dropped Jim from seemed improbably high up, and he wondered how he had managed to get Jim down without breaking his neck. Martin began moaning as two officers carried him away under Simon's orders. Panic struck Blair and he sat up quickly, leaning over Jim, listening to make sure that he was still alive.


"Take it easy, Blair. The ambulance is here." Simon put a hand on his shoulder.

Blair sighed in relief, bringing on more painful coughing. "He wasn't breathing before." He croaked.

Simon pulled Blair's jacket open and began feeling around his back and chest for bullet wounds. He thought he'd been too late when he saw Sandburg fall. "Are you hit? You passed out there for a minute."

"No. I'm OK. It's Jim that needs help. Please, we have to get him away from this building." Simon could see him shaking, he was going into shock.

"Take it easy, Blair. We already have." Simon gestured to the officers who had returned from carting Martin away and had just picked up Jim and carried him to a nearby stretcher.

"He stopped breathing, Simon."

"You said that before, Blair. He's breathing now." Simon helped Blair to his feet, supporting him as the anthropologists knees buckled. "You're going to the hospital, too, Sandburg." Simon walked him to a waiting ambulance where a paramedic helped him onto a seat, put an oxygen mask on his face and put a blanket around his shoulders. Jim was unconscious on the stretcher, also with an oxygen mask. They were hooking an IV up to him. Simon leaned in and asked Blair, "Was there anyone else in the building?" The firefighters had arrived at the same time he had, and they seemed mainly occupied with trying to keep the neighboring buildings from catching fire.

"Yeah, Jay Richter, but he was already dead. Either Martin or Ms. Grant shot him. I think Jim knows who it was. Did you find her?"

"No. She's gone. We've got an all points out on her. We are definitely going to get her." Simon was determined to find the woman. He had listened in horror on the cell phone as she had taken shots at the anthropologist, and later as she told Sandburg that it was too late to save Jim. He was still several miles away when he'd heard it and had felt helpless and angry, wondering if he would arrive to find them both dead, but somehow the kid had managed to rescue Jim. It had been a tremendous act of courage. Every time he turned around it seemed as if Blair was doing something unexpected. His respect for the guy was growing every day. Looking at the burning building, he couldn't imagine what it had been like in there and he wondered if he'd have had the guts to go inside. The paramedics finished working on Jim and seemed to be ready to go. "I'll see you at the hospital, Sandburg." Simon wasn't sure he'd been heard, Blair was sitting with one hand on Jim's arm, looking as if he were going to burst into tears. Closing the ambulance doors and watching it pull away, he pushed away his own morbid thoughts. He refused to think that Jim might die.

Simon turned his attention to the second ambulance, where Martin Williamson was being worked on. He had put a pretty good sized hole in the man's arm, and it looked fairly serious, but Martin was conscious and screaming for his lawyer. Simon could barely contain the hostility he felt towards the man. He made sure the men had read him his rights. Simon wondered if Roland would defend his brother, once he knew the truth. "Have anything to say, Williamson?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Simon wanted to knock the sneer right off the man's face. "I'm sorry I missed."

Simon would never be able to erase from his memory the look on Blair's face just before Martin pulled the trigger. He clenched his fists. "I'm sure a jury would be interested to hear that."

"This will never make it to trial. I didn't kill anyone, at least not that you can prove. My brother will talk a jury into acquittal. You wait and see."

"What makes you think he's going to defend you after what you did to his daughter?"

Martin spoke with arrogant self-assurance. "I'm still family. He's obligated."

Jim had told him about Martin's sick relationship with his niece. "I wouldn't bet on it. You're going down for attempted murder at least. Why don't you just confess now and save the taxpayers some money."

Martin ignored him and winced in pain as the paramedic put a bandage on his arm. "I'm going to sue you and your department for this. I was handing the gun to Mr. Sandburg when you shot me. You were confused by the smoke."

"Yeah, right, so why did you fire the gun?"

Martin seemed to be forming the plan for his defense as he spoke. "Reflex action to being shot in the arm. You're darn lucky I didn't shoot the poor kid."

Simon really wanted to hit the man, and he supposed that Martin wanted him to as well. He turned instead to the uniformed officers standing nearby. "I want this piece of garbage watched like a hawk until we get him into a cell. He tried to kill two of my people, and I don't want any mistakes made."

The officers nodded. They would all be working harder, knowing that a member of the force had been hurt. The fire seemed to be contained, and Simon told the fire investigator about the body he would find in the building. No sign of Eleanor Grant had been found, but the airport, train and bus stations had been covered. When Simon was sure that everything was under control, he drove over to the hospital to check on Jim and Blair.


Jim opened his eyes and saw a bright light. He closed his eyes at the pain. Something was on his face, and he realized it was an oxygen mask. "Detective Ellison? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you. Get that light out of my eyes." His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. Where was he? "What's going on?"

"You're in the hospital, sir. There was a fire and you're suffering from smoke inhalation."

All of it came back to him in a rush. Martin, Eleanor, the shots. "Where's Blair?" He tried to sit up suddenly and was caught by a wave of nausea and dizziness.

"Blair?" Several hands were trying to force him back down onto the table.

"My partner, Blair Sandburg. Is he OK?" He braced himself. They were going to tell him that he'd been shot to death.

The doctor smiled at him, "Mr. Sandburg is in the next room, Detective. He's suffering from smoke inhalation too, but he'll be just fine."

"He wasn't shot?"

"No, sir. He's been pestering the nurses, though. He's very worried about you."

Relaxing a little, he closed his eyes and leaned back on the table, listening as the sounds of the doctors and nurses around him moved farther away. He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again he was in a hospital room. The mask had been replaced with a plastic hose that was feeding oxygen in through his nose, and when he moved his arm, he saw that there was an IV attached to the back of his hand.

"Jim." He didn't recognize the low voice, and he turned his head, surprised to see that it was Blair occupying the bed next to his. "You OK, man?"

Jim swallowed, his throat felt dry and when he first tried to speak, nothing came out. He cleared his throat, and saw Blair gesturing to the water pitcher on the table next to him. He poured himself a cup and drank it. "I've felt better." Actually, he had felt a lot better. His back hurt, his head hurt, his chest hurt. In fact, it was hard for him to think of a place on his body that didn't hurt right now.

Blair grimaced, "Yeah, sorry man, that's my fault. You have three fractured ribs, a sprained wrist and a lot of bruises."

Jim was used to Sandburg blaming himself when things went wrong, but this time he didn't get it. "How is Eleanor Grant pushing me down the stairs your fault?"

Blair raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought you were hurt when I dropped you off the fire escape."

"You dropped me off of a fire escape?" He couldn't wait to hear the explanation for this.

"Yes, but the building was on fire, and I didn't really drop you. Well I did, but I dropped a mattress down first..." Jim could tell by the way his face was flushing that his partner was getting embarrassed. "It wasn't that far really, I just lost my grip. Sorry."

Simon walked in, glumly chewing on an unlit cigar, and smiled when he saw the two men awake and talking. "I see you two are among the living again."

"More or less." All the aches and pains were starting to feel very uncomfortable. Jim contemplated calling the nurse.

"Doc says you'll be fine. They're going to keep you both on oxygen for another few hours, though. You're in here for the night, at least."

A nurse walked in and looked at Simon's cigar in alarm. "There is oxygen in here, sir. Absolutely no smoking is allowed!" She was a plump, middle-aged woman with greying hair and a kind face.

"I know, I know. I'm not going to light it."

The woman didn't look convinced. "Do you know what happens when you light pure oxygen?"

"Yeah, I know. It goes boom. Seriously, I'm not going to light it."

"OK. Just so it's clear." She walked over to Jim's bed and checked his IV. "How are you feeling, Detective? Are you in any pain?"

"Some." He croaked.

"Mmmm. Let's see, in tough guy talk that translates to a lot. I'll check with the doctor and we'll get you something to help you sleep." She pulled out a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around his arm.

Blair tore his concerned gaze away from his friend. "Simon, what's happening? Did you find Eleanor yet?" His voice cracked as he spoke and he fell into another spasm of coughing.

The nurse looked at him sternly, "Mr. Sandburg, you need to stop talking and rest."

Blair had turned pale, and he leaned back, not needing to be told twice. Jim thought he looked exhausted. Simon filled them in. "No. We've got everything covered and we still have no idea where she is. We may have lost her, but we've got Martin. He called his brother to defend him, but once I told Roland about the case we had against him, he went ballistic. We had to pull them apart to keep Roland from killing him. Martin's had to resort to a public defender. Did you see him shoot Richter, Jim?"

"No, I only heard it. I'm sure it was him, because Eleanor didn't have a gun." Until she got mine.

"Well, we've got his gun. The tests should confirm it was him."

The nurse finished checking his blood pressure, admonished Jim and Blair not to waste their energy talking, then left to get a sedative and painkillers for Jim. The detective ignored her orders and in a croaking voice relayed the events leading up to the time he had passed out. When he looked over at Blair, hoping to have him finish the story, he saw that his friend had fallen asleep. Looking at him, he felt a sudden rush of affection for the younger man. "I don't know what happened after that, Simon. We'll have to ask Blair in the morning."

"Well, I can fill some of it in for you." Simon pulled out a pair of handcuffs that he'd retrieved from the doctor. The chain was broken in the middle. "It looks like Sandburg shot them off."

Jim shook his head in disbelief. "He used a gun? Blair hates guns."

"I don't suppose he had time to think about that, do you? Somehow the kid managed to drag you through a burning building, out onto the fire escape, and get you down the ladder. I have no idea how he did it."

"I do." Jim remembered Blair's comments about dropping him.

"I didn't see it, but he kept going on about how you hadn't been breathing. I think he brought you back. You owe him big on this one, Jim."

"I owe him for a lot of things." Jim felt the guilt coming back. "He wanted to back me up and I wouldn't let him. I was afraid he'd get hurt."

The nurse came back, carrying a tray with a syringe. She scowled at Simon, "Are you still here pestering my patients? It's time for you to go home. You can work on your case tommorow."

Simon smiled at her, "Yes, ma'am. Look, Jim, it's all water under the bridge now. You're both alive and that's all that matters." He eyed the nurse who was still standing there looking at him. "I'm gonna get out of here now, before she hurts me. Take it easy, Jim."

Jim raised a hand in farewell as Simon left. The nurse inserted the syringe into the tube running to his hand, saying, "This will make you feel much better, Detective." Almost immediately he began to feel warm all over as the drugs cushioned his pain, and he thankfully slipped into the dark comfort of sleep.


Blair and Jim were in Simon's office. It had been three days since the fire, and both men were feeling more or less back to normal, although Jim was still wearing bandage on his sprained wrist. His ribs were healing nicely, but Simon had assigned him to some light work for a few weeks. There hadn't been any major developments in the case. Ballistics had confirmed that the gun that killed Jay Richter had indeed belonged to Martin Williamson, and the handle of the gun matched the indentation in Alice Williamson's skull. Although Martin hadn't confessed, the DA seemed certain that they would get a conviction on the circumstantial evidence they had, including Jim's testimony.

Simon seemed pleased that the case was so strong. "We've got him on two counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder."

Jim looked confused, "I understand the attempted murder charge for what he did to me, what's the other one for?"

Blair realized as Jim said it that they'd never told him about the incident in the alley. Blair had been worried about upsetting him too much in the hospital, and after that it had just slipped his mind. The entire night had begun to fade away like a bad dream.

Simon cleared his throat, "When I arrived on the scene, Martin had a gun to Sandburg's head. I had to shoot him to keep him from blowing Blair's head off."

Blair seemed to realize for the first time that Simon had saved his life. "Thanks, Simon. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, man."

Simon brushed it off before Blair could get emotional. "It's no problem. The point is that even though we don't have any witnesses to the murders, just a load of circumstantial evidence, all three of us can testify against him on the attempted murders. He's going to prison for a long time. If we could just find Eleanor Grant, I'd be happy. We've sent out photos to the FBI, but we don't have the manpower to pursue her ourselves."

Jim and Blair discussed the details of the case for a while longer, then spent the rest of the day filling out paperwork and talking to the DA. When they finally quit, it was dinner time. Jim drove to Blair's favorite restaurant this time. "Why didn't you tell me about Martin?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I didn't think about it. It didn't seem real when it happened, you know? You were lying there and I was scared to death that you were going to stop breathing again when suddenly this guy comes up and sticks a gun in my face. It was just one thing too many. I overloaded. If Simon hadn't been there, we'd both be dead."

Jim drove silently for a moment, absorbing what Blair had said. "That was a hell of a thing you did, Blair, going into a burning building like that. It was really stupid." He turned and looked Blair in the eyes. "Thank you."

Blair looked embarrassed. "You would have done the same thing for me. It's about time I paid you back for all the times you saved my butt."

"I wanted to apologize, Chief. What I said about not caring what you thought..."

"Jim, you don't have to say anything. Just, next time when I tell you I want to back you up, let me do it, OK?"

"Maybe." Jim was smiling now.

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"It depends on the circumstances. You're still not a cop. I admit that I was wrong about not taking you into Tommy's with me, but I'm not going to put a civilian in any danger if I can help it."

Blair huffed in exasperation. "So now I'm a civilian, huh?" He knew Jim was just teasing him, but he always knew how to get him worked up.

"And another thing, Sandburg..."

Uh-oh, here it comes.

"How exactly are you planning on paying for the damage to the truck?"

"What? You're gonna make me pay for it? What about the insurance?"

"There's still the deductible, Chief. Tell you what."There's still the deductible, Chief. Tell you what. I've got some errands I need run, you can work it off."

Blair looked at Jim and saw the inscrutible smile on his face. When he looked like that, Blair was never sure if he was serious or not. "Like, what kind of errands?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can come up with something."

~~~The End~~~


This story contains violence. It was written between November 1996 and January 1997.