The bullpen seemed unusually quiet, Jim thought. It wasn't a surprise; Simon had grabbed anyone he could from Major Crimes (as long as they could have their investigations put on hold for two weeks) to could be part of the task force, and reassigned the case load to those few who were left, 'just in case anything happens'. Which left a skeleton crew in the Major Crimes division for the next two weeks while the rest of the detectives were off chasing down needles in the various haystacks around Cascade. That gave the Sentinel a (for once) relatively quiet base of operations at his desk. He and his partner sat across from each other, laptops facing each other on the desks, trying to match the list of performers to the membership lists they had been given by the local warehouse club chains. Every time they came up with a match, they checked the address and income information first. That alone threw out most of the matches right off the bat: the majority of them had addresses in lower middle-class neighborhoods, and lower middle-class incomes to match. Each man still kept a running list of the matches, though - who knew what the others were going to come up with?

Suddenly, Blair's demeanor changed so fast only someone who knew him as well as Jim Ellison did would be able to pick up on it. He asked, "what is it, chief?"

Blair quickly waved for him to come around to his desk, stating, "Jim, come take a look at this." Jim quickly came around to look over Blair's shoulder as Blair continued, "This guy looks like a definite possibility. After all, how many guys do you know who list incomes over $100,000 a year-"

Jim completed his partner's train of thought instantly, "- and call Southtown home? Not many. At least, not many who are doing anything legal." He went back over to his own desk and picked up the phone.

Julia was busily typing a letter when the phone rang, "Commissioner McPherson's office, this is Julia."

"Julia? Jim Ellison."

"Hi Jim! How's the investigation going?"

"Actually, that's what I was calling about. I need you to get me all the information you can on a guy by the name of Mitch Patterson. Blair's e-mailing you what we have right about now." He looked over at his partner, who nodded, following his lead. She cut him off before he could continue, "Hang on, Jim - it's coming in now. Boy, I could see why you'd be suspicious of this guy. This really doesn't add up." She queried Patterson's name on the Internet, and Jim could almost hear the frown in her voice over the phone. "Bad news, Jim. Seems our Mr. Patterson here was one of the people killed in the mailbomb spree yesterday."

Blair took one look at his Sentinel and knew that they were one step closer to catching their unabomber. The step just wasn't in the direction either of them had been expecting. Jim's eyes opened in surprise for a minute, then his forehead tensed up in thought. "Really? Thanks Julia."

"No problem, Jim. Call me back if you need anything else." *click*

Jim hung up the phone and turned to his partner. "Do we still have that background information on the victims of the bombings yesterday?"

Blair nodded, and, as if out of thin air, he pulled a thick file from the disaster area known as his desk. "Right here. Why?"

"Seems our man Patterson got one of those exploding packages yesterday."

Blair mouthed a silent "Oh," then asked, "you think the victims yesterday might have something in common? Something that connected them enough in this guy's head to try to blow them all to bits?"

Jim nodded. As he picked up the phone, he added, "One person would best be able to tell us that, though." He dialed Sharon's cell-phone number.

The loud and frequent "ki-ya"s reverberated off the walls of the dojo. Sharon had found this school almost a year earlier, signing up as soon as she heard the Shi'han talk about his refreshingly well-rounded approach to the martial arts. After having studied at a similar school from the time she was a white belt until she passed her first degree black belt test, she bounced around to several different schools while she was at Quantico and after she had first been assigned to the Cascade field office. She had seen the inside of quite a few 'hard-core fighting' schools, and hated every single one of them. Seeing those schools made it an even greater honor when Shi'han Parker had asked her to teach whenever she was available. Having Jim and Blair taking the day to follow up on leads, she thought, would give her some free time, so she called and asked if they needed a teacher for the junior class. Now, hearing the insistent shrill of her cell-phone in the office, she wondered if she would ever have any free time again. She directed the student she was helping to continue to practice the form until she returned, then ran off to answer the phone. "Driver here."

"Sharon? It's Jim." He could pick up the sound of the teenagers in the background and her heavy, labored breathing. "Is this a bad time?"

"It could be worse." She knew, however, that he wouldn't call unless it were something only she could help them with. "What's up?"

"I think the victims of the mailbombings may have been connected somehow. Have you gotten a chance to take a look at the file yet?"

"I only skimmed it briefly. I didn't get enough of a chance to look at it to look for patterns yet. What did you find?"

"We had found someone in the list of performers who could have been a potential suspect, but he was killed yesterday in one of the mail bomb attacks. I figured we could use your help in going through the backgrounds of the victims."

"Okay. This class is over in half an hour, so can I meet you in, say, an hour and a half at the station?"

"Sounds good. See you then."

"See you." *click* She took a couple of deep breaths, deliberately put the case to the back of her mind for now, and returned to the main room and her awaiting students.

Jim had grabbed one of the empty interrogation rooms for the three of them to use to work on the case, and Sharon was grateful for the extra peace and quiet. She had quickly looked at general descriptions of the victims after they had made it back to Jim's place the night before, but was too tired to make anything out of them and had not looked at them since. The bomb had not gone off in her apartment, but had exploded close enough to it to completely destroy the windows facing the street, and take out a good chunk of the concrete wall as well. The repairs were going to cost her a fortune, to be sure, and for now, the place was unlivable. Jim had offered to let her camp out on the couch for the night, and although she sensed that it was more so he could keep an eye (or ear, or nose, or whatever it was that a Sentinel would do when he wanted to keep tabs on somebody) on her, she was too tired to think of any other ideas. She was sure that one of the targets was selected for a specific reason - the messenger service was most likely bombed solely for the purpose of covering the unabomber's tracks. She assumed from her initial review of the list of victims, however, that the remaining nineteen attacks were random. Now, sitting in that empty interrogation room, she hoped they could prove that assumption wrong, and truly find a connection between the victims that would provide some insight on why they were chosen, and consequently, shed some light on the identity of their bomber. She chuckled lightly as she remembered an old saying that precisely fit her mood at that moment, and she muttered to herself, "assumptions make an ass out of you yet again, eh, Driver?"

Behind her, the Sentinel laughed, having picked up every word. "I wouldn't say that."

Sharon jumped up, startled. If it weren't for the fact that she had gotten used to hearing the voices of the Sentinel and his young guide so quickly, she would probably have thrown him to the floor. As it was, it took her a couple of minutes to sit down and shake off what she called her 'red alert' response. "Man, Jim, you scared me half to death!"

Jim shrugged. "Sorry. Here's your tea. Peppermint, right?"

The way her stomach was starting to churn, that was _exactly_ what she needed. "Definitely. Thanks, Jim."

Jim sipped his coffee and looked over Sharon's shoulder at the victim profiles. "Find anything yet?"

"Not much. The attack on the messenger service was definitely not random - he used the bomb to cover his tracks, and make sure that the one guy who's talked to him didn't talk to us. As for the rest of them, I just don't know. There's one attack that's really bothering me, though."

"Which one is that?"

"The one on us. It seems too big a coincidence that our friend would send a bomb, addressed to me, by messenger, at the time the three of us would be there, two days after Diane asks me to help you on this case? Diane's been very good at keeping my name out of the papers, so if this guy got a hold of my name and address somehow, he's either tied very closely into the investigation somehow, or really thorough."

"My money's on really thorough," replied Jim, "The Commissioner's carefully reviewed everyone working on the task force, to make sure that each person is someone she trusts. It goes with your theory about him being loaded, though. He's probably got some high-placed connections, and when he threw some money around, he was able to get your name and address from that."

Sharon thought about that for a minute, then asked, "has Simon heard anything about the C-4 angle?"

Jim shook his head. "Apparently no one he talked to would give him an 'official' position on anything."

Sharon rolled her eyes. [Bureaucracy at the Bureau strikes again.] She then remembered a contact of hers who might be able to help them, and pulled out her cell phone.

A short-haired Asian man in a loud Hawaiian shirt answered the phone-that is, after nearly killing himself bumbling over several huge stacks of papers and computer equipment. "G'day mate. This is Jay?"

He heard the laugh of his best friend on the other line. She never could quite get over his accent-for years, that was his only motivation to not want to get rid of it. "Hey Share! What's up, dollface? Still trying to save the world, I take it?"

"As always, my friend, as always. Listen, Jay, I have a flavor to ask of you."

"Chocolate or Vanilla?"

"Rocky Road." Jay's tone immediately turned serious. The 'chocolate or vanilla' thing was an inside joke, but if she said 'rocky road', it meant that this was a _huge_ favor, probably business, and lives were most definitely at stake. "So who do you want me to kill for you?"

He could almost hear Sharon's smile over the phone. He always used that line to get her to lighten up, but also to remind her of his complete loyalty to her. "You know that guy who seems to want to blow up half the city?"

"How could I not notice? I've been using a set of giant oversized tongs to open my mail outside for the past two days."

"You been tappin' the pipes?"

"As always. What do you need?"

"Have you heard anything about someone who's been buying large quantities of the small stuff?"

"Like what?"

"TNT, plastique, detonators?"

"Actually, I did hear something about a rush on that kind of stuff. Let me see..." He checked his 'suspicious activity monitor' for the past month. "This is interesting...I got names of almost a dozen different buyers here. You want 'em?"

"Definitely." He heard in a muffled tone through the receiver, "Jim, do you have an e-mail address?"

'Jim' replied, "It's griffin ." He could almost hear Sharon arch an eyebrow at the obscure literary reference, where 'Jim' replied, "Blair's idea." Sharon repeated the name to Jay, adding, "how soon can you send them to me?"

In his best Herve Villachez, Jay replied, "sending dem right now, boss."

Sharon laughed at the awful impersonation. "Thanks for the help, Jay. I really appreciate it."

"Anytime. Call me if you need anything else." *click*

The second Sharon closed the connection with Jay, Jim declared, "I'll go tell Blair to print out the list of names the minute they come in."

Sharon stared after him in amazement. He had to have heard every word of _both_ sides of the conversation. "How does Blair get _any_ privacy living with you?"

Jim smiled, and replied, "ever hear of a white noise generator?"

Sharon laughed as Jim left, making a mental note to find out if Blair had an extra one she could borrow.

Sharon reviewed Jay's list of buyers, the list of 'matches' that Blair and Jim had provided her, and the list of blast victims, and an 'outline' pattern quickly fell into place. She reviewed what she 'saw' so far with the two men sitting around the table with her. "Okay, among our victims we have eleven underground explosive buyers, four bike messengers, three wealthy philanthropists, two FBI agents..."

Blair joked, "and a partridge in a pear tree?"

Sharon rolled her eyes at the statement, but briefly grinned. She did, after all, understand that sometimes her attempts at humor would work, sometimes they wouldn't, and it was the same thing for Blair. She then commented, "our task now is to find out what these people have in common."

Blair could almost see the gears going in Sharon's head. "You have a theory, I take it?"

Sharon replied, "For the most part, I think our guy was using this set of bombs to cover his tracks. The explosives buyers were probably his flunkies, the philanthropists may have been friends or relatives of his, we're probably his biggest headache at the moment, and the messenger service owner delivered our last set of surprises."

Jim asked, "and the other FBI agent?"

Sharon's tone darkened a bit as she replied, "she was a classmate of mine at Quantico, and worked with me in the Cascade field office. I'll bet she tipped our guy off as to where I lived." After a few tense moments, she declared, "Well, what's past is past. What we need to do now is find who these people have might have in common. Let's get this information to Simon so he can split these people up between the members of the task force. After that," she grinned evilly at Jim, "we can go back to my apartment, load my sound equipment into your truck, and set up shop at your loft." As Jim groaned, Sharon warned him, "remember, Jim, opening night of the Festival is in two days, which leaves us only tonight and tomorrow to practice. You have to be at your best if you have any hope of getting on that stage without losing it completely, which means _we_still_have_work_to_do_." She poked her finger at Jim's chest to emphasize those last few words.

Blair had to work very hard to suppress his laughter as they left the interrogation room, enjoying immensely how this beautiful, strong-willed young woman was so easily able to push Jim around.

[Amazing,] thought Blair, [we actually made it through two more days since the start of this and nothing else in Cascade has blown up. Or, at least, nothing has literally blown up.] Sharon had worked with Jim long into the night and all day Friday, finally declaring him 'ready to go on stage and _not_ make a public spectacle of himself'. She had even practiced a little herself, and hearing her incredible singing only served to endear her further to the young anthropologist. A chill ran up his spine as he remembered the way she sang "Someone to Watch Over Me". People always saw the song as the fantasies of an ingenue, and every time he had heard the song performed, it was usually sung in a dreamy, sometimes wistful tone. [If the judges are thinking like that when she starts singing,] he smiled to himself, [she's going to knock them right off their chairs.] When Sharon sang, he remembered, all he could think of was that this was a woman who had been burned by love and by life, and was trying to hang on to her last bit of faith that there was someone out there who could make her truly happy. He wondered idly if that could possibly be true to life.

They both found out soon enough, of course, that she was really just buttering them up so Jim wouldn't say no to her little 'field experiment'. She occasionally sang at a small out-of-the-way nightclub downtown, and knew the owners personally. It didn't take much convincing to let them let Jim sing on their stage. Convincing Jim himself, however, was another matter...

"You want me to do WHAT?!" "Come on, Jim. It'll be good practice for you. The place is really small," "How small?" "Seats about 75," "75! That'll be worse than the audition!" "What is _will_ be, Jim, is a chance for you to sing as yourself in front of a small group so that you'll have a successful experience to fall back on in case you have to sing at the finals, which, in case you forgot, is an audience of at least 2,000 people!" "She does have a point, Jim-" "STAY OUT OF THIS, SANDBURG!"

Finally, after a little sweet-talking (and a call from Commissioner McPherson endorsing the idea), Jim caved in. Sharon promised to premiere the "Someone to Watch Over Me" arrangement as a warm-up, which would get the crowd on their side, and then Jim would sing.

Blair ran his thumb over the label on his beer and took a look around the club. He hadn't been surprised to see Diane show up, but he _was_ surprised to see Simon on her arm, particularly since none of the three of them had said anything to him about the performance, or, for that matter, told Diane where they were going to be. When they grabbed a private table in the back, though, he wondered if something was up-something that was a bit more than 'moral support'. He mumbled to himself, "be careful when you play with fire, Simon..."

And then Deborah Reeves walked in. The minute Blair spotted her, the only thing he could think of was, [and speaking of fire...]. He definitely had not liked her at first, particularly with her 'pit-bull' attitude, but after they had solved the HTA fires, she had softened up considerably. [Going out with Jim a few times probably did a lot in that department,] he mused.

When she left to go spend some time in Denver, though, it was hard on Jim. Jim had understood, sure, but it still took some time for him to get over her. Blair waved to her to get her attention, and as she made her way over to his table, he wondered how Jim would react to seeing her tonight. [This is going to be more interesting than I thought.]

He shook off his musings and greeted her warmly. "Deborah, what a surprise! What are you doing here?"

"I just came in for a drink after work. How about you?"

"I have some friends who are singing here tonight. It's good to see you! I didn't know you were back in town."

Deborah replied, "actually, I just got back earlier this week. Denver was great, but no matter how difficult it is to face the memories that are here, Cascade is still my home. I needed to come back. So tell me, how is Jim?"

"Doing quite well, actually."

"Is he here tonight too?"

Blair had to suppress a laugh. He didn't know quite how to answer that one.

Fortunately, the lights flickered and dimmed before he got a chance, indicating that the show was about to start. All eyes turned to the stage as the club's owner got up and proudly introduced Crystal Starr. Blair clapped and hooted loudly as Sharon walked out on stage, who in turn rewarded him with a icy glare that could freeze the Towering Inferno. As soon as he shut up (which was quickly after her stare), she smiled, relaxed, greeted the crowd, and sat on the stool as music filled the small club.

She sang her first three songs with practiced ease - they were all standards for her, and she sang them passionately, like she had sung them all her life. After the applause for the last song, she looked over to Diane, who nodded her approval, smiling knowingly. Sharon then spoke to the crowd, "this next song I'm going to do has always been a favorite of mine. So, when a friend of mine came to me with an original arrangement of this song, I was a bit skeptical, since I've always preferred to use the original music to a song whenever possible. But the first time I heard this version, I fell in love with it. I hope you will, too." She looked to the owner, who always doubled as her sound guy, and he started the tape. As she began to sing a capella, it was like a warm breeze had blown through the room, and everyone relaxed. As the music eased into the song to join with her voice, the combination worked its magic in the small room. Couples drew closer to each other, whispering softly in each other's ears. Those who were there alone, drew into themselves for a while, either dreaming of their far away loves, dreaming of the loves they're waiting for, or dreaming of the love they hope to have someday. As the music faded away, it gently brought the audience out of its romantic trance, and they quickly responded with thunderous applause.