Archive of Our Own ^beta

When he pressed against the wall, rough brick scraped against his face. The dumpster and assorted boxes in the alley weren't much cover, but they were all he had. He peeked warily down the alley. Baxter and his buddies couldn't be far behind. He was certain his little dodge down the fire escape hadn't lost them. They'd be spreading out, covering more escape routes. If he didn't move soon, they'd run him to ground. If they did, he was a dead man. He'd lost his revolver in the struggle to escape. His backup piece, still in the ankle holster, didn't have enough ammunition to make a stand.

He curled his fingers more tightly around the wicked gash in his upper arm. A torn T-shirt didn't make a good field dressing. The cotton was almost completely blood-soaked. He twisted the lumpy creation, trying to shift dry cloth toward the worst of the bleeding. The last thing he needed was to leave a blood trail for his pursuers to follow. That wasn't his only worry. Not only were they drawing the noose closed, he was losing way too much blood to continue this game much longer.

The sound of scuffing feet put him on alert. They were getting closer, nearly cutting off the route between him and his transportation. In his present condition, he couldn't count on being able to outrun them and get to his vehicle. Time for Plan B.

The only other option was the residential area a couple blocks down. They wouldn't expect him to take off that way, but didn't necessarily solve his problem. Suburban neighborhoods were a lousy place to hide. He'd run enough suspects to ground to know. Still, it was an older neighborhood. The aging Victorians were packed in tightly along the narrow streets, most of the gardens overgrown and shadowed. Right now, ducking under some shrubbery sounded like his best bet. Definitely sounded better than waiting for the goons to uncover him hiding behind the garbage dumpster.

He shoved himself away from the wall, and nearly crashed to the ground. He had to catch the edge of the dumpster to steady himself. His head was spinning. Drawing in a lungful of air, he checked over his shoulder and headed for the end of the alley. Three blocks, he told himself. He could manage three blocks if it meant staying alive.

&&&&&

Blair Sandburg took a long sip of his iced tea. How was this for living a cliché? Parked in a lounge chair in his own backyard on a summer evening, cold drink in hand, reading a book. Okay, so he'd only owned the house for a week, the back porch sagged, the lawn was ratty, and the thick Anthro text wasn't really typical reading, but this was a close to the white picket fence as he was going to get.

The sun was filtering through the huge maple trees that populated his narrow backyard. It had been a warm day for Cascade, but the breeze was picking up nicely. All the upstairs windows in the house were open, but it was still too warm to be inside. If he was lucky, the breeze through the house would cool it off enough for a comfortable night's sleep. Maybe a big ceiling fan in the bedroom would be his first home improvement project. Or he could go for a little landscaping. He didn't really care about a lawn too much, but maybe some herbs for cooking, or fresh veggies. He chuckled to himself as he picked up the book. Naomi would have a fit if she knew what he was thinking right now. Home improvement projects, indeed. Naomi would be building a veritable bonfire of sage over that one.

He settled into the chair. The inside could wait for a rainy day. In moments, he was lost in his reading.

&&&&&

Jim tripped and went to his knees. He lay there, panting, struggling to stay conscious. Ducking through the last two yards had thrown them off, but pulling himself over the fence had strained his wounded arm. Bright red blood gushed through his fingers. He couldn't keep running much longer, and he'd be leaving a clear trail in blood that any idiot could follow.

He could hear the voices of his pursuers behind him. He forced himself to his feet and lurched across the deserted street. The house directly across from him looked tired and neglected. Huge overgrown shrubs lined the foundation. He needed a place to hide, and he'd run out of other options.

&&&&&

"Where is he? You lost him, Tamar!" Casey Baxter glared at Tamar. This stupid wild goose chase should have never gone so badly awry, and he needed better help than the hapless Tamar. "Work around the other side of the block. Jared and I will go this way. We tagged him a good one. He's bleeding, man, and he can't call for help. He won't get far. Now move, and keep your eyes open. He's around here somewhere."

The next block was deserted when they got there. Baxter slammed his palm against the trunk of one of the trees. "He couldn't climb, could he? We haven't been looking up."

"If he can, we're sunk. This place is like a jungle - too many places to hide," Jared said. "I can't believe you tried something like this without me. Doing a cop? Casey, this is serious shit."

"It'll be okay, man. I just know this stuff isn't your style. You're the brains, remember."

"Not if you don't talk to me first."

"Yeah, I'll remember." Baxter shook his head. "The man is way too lucky. The way Maurice cut him, he never should have gotten out of the alley. I know we almost had him, and he just vanished. Maybe all that bull about Ellison's army days weren't just blowing smoke."

"This'll be real bad when we report in, man," Jared hissed. "This guy we're dealing with - I don't like him. He's bad news, Casey. I've heard things."

"You stay out of it, J," Baxter snapped. "I don't trust him, either, but I can handle the higher-ups. Come on. We can still keep this bottled up. Best we find Ellison's sorry ass, and finish the job."

&&&&&

Blair looked up from his book and nearly jumped out of his skin. A tall figure, smeared with dirt and blood, loomed in front of him. "Where did you come from?" he stammered. "What do you want?"

The man stumbled backwards, nearly falling. He caught himself on the porch railing. "Just stay quiet. I don't want anything from you." He took two steps and crashed to the ground with a groan. Then he rolled to his side and squirmed under the back porch.

Blair sat frozen in his chair, textbook still in his lap, too stunned to move and unsure of what to do. The guy was obviously hurt. He looked like the rebirth of some ancient warrior, but he seemed too messed up to cause him any harm. More footsteps drew his attention to the opposite corner of the house. What was this, Grand Central Station?

The new face turned shock into genuine fear. Casey Baxter, and some guy he couldn't put a name to, were standing in the alley running behind his backyard. Baxter was a major supplier in the college drug scene. Rainier Campus Security had issued warnings to the faculty, but they'd never been able to catch him in the act and make an arrest. Blair had run him out of Hargrove between classes just last week on reputation alone. It had been an ugly confrontation.

"What the hell are you doing on my property, Baxter?" Blair barked in the most hostile voice he could manage. His bloody visitor and Baxter showing up within seconds of each other couldn't be a coincidence. Whatever their beef was about, it wasn't something he needed to know, and he didn't want to be in the middle of it. To stay clear, a good bluff was all he had to rely on at this point.

A sneer crossed Baxter's face. "Well, if it isn't Professor Sandburg. Just looking for an - associate."

"Well, no one's here. Besides, if it were one of your cronies, I'd have called the cops. Anyone who hangs with you isn't welcome around my home." Blair hauled himself out of the lawn chair, not that his height or fierce looks were going to intimidate anyone like Baxter.

Baxter snarled in response, pulling a knife. "Keep shooting your mouth off, and we can do you right now." Blair bounded around the lounge chair and picked up a rake, the lone garden tool he owned. It wasn't much, but at least he had something in his hands. The other man's advance stopped when his friend grabbed him by the arm.

"We'll settle with you later, Sandburg," Baxter said. "Lucky for you we have other things to do." The two men stalked away from his yard, headed for the next block. Blair stared after them until their heads disappeared beyond Mrs. Filler's fence.

As soon as he was certain they were gone, he flew over to the porch. "Come out!" he hissed in a low voice. "They're gone. I'll call ..."

A bloody hand fastened around his wrist. "No! You call anyone, and I'm a dead man." Blair pulled back, but the man never lost his grip as he struggled out into the open. His unnamed visitor was panting, clearly in pain. Even crawling out on his knees, the iron grip never loosened. "Just give me a minute and I'll leave. You don't want to be involved. Forget what you saw."

Blair took a good look at the pale, exhausted face. "Shit, I don't know what you're mixed up in, but you won't make it ten feet. You're a mess, and those guys are drug dealers. I'll call the cops." The man shook his head violently, the intense blue eyes going wide. "At least let me get an ambulance," Blair protested.

"Can't. They set me up. They'll find me." The man used the porch to pull himself to his feet. Just as suddenly, he collapsed.

Blair had barely enough time to break his fall. He eased the stricken man back onto the grass. The guy was in bad shape. Blood was oozing from strips of a cotton shirt tied around his arm. Blair looked nervously up the alley. Baxter and his buddy didn't show any sign of returning. He didn't know what to do. On impulse, he searched the man's pockets. What he found rocked him back on his heels.

The badge read:

Detective James J. Ellison

Cascade Police Department

Narcotics

*****

Casey Baxter watched the headlights snake their way through the darkened parking garage. As per his instructions, all lights in this corner of the structure were out. His hand strayed to the .357 tucked into his waistband, trying to create a confidence he didn't feel. The last guy who'd screwed up on an operation had been disposed of in pieces. Casey knew - he'd helped. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. At this particular moment, he was having second thoughts about his choice of business associates. The other car pulled to a stop. Baxter left his own vehicle and climbed into the back seat of the new arrival.

"What happened? This had better be good. This was your responsibility."

Casey felt a trail of sweat run down the center of his back. "Everything went according to plan. One minute Ellison was standing there like a sitting duck, the next he was on the move. He smelled the ambush. The guy's psychic."

"He's no such thing. One of your people screwed up."

Baxter shook his head. "No, they didn't. Everything went exactly according to plan. He had to have been tipped somehow."

"He wasn't. I'm sure of it." A fist slammed into the black leather upholstery. "The man has lives like a cat."

"Look, we had him cornered. One of the guys damn near cut his arm off before he gave us the slip."

"So how did he get away?"

"He's good, all right? Bottom line, he's got to get help somewhere, or he'll bleed to death and we'll have nothing to worry about. I have guys at every Emergency Room and after-hours clinic, plus more around his place. We'll find him."

"I don't have to go into the consequences of Ellison getting to someone who will listen to him."

Baxter leaned back with a smug look on his face. "So what has changed? If he wasn't tipped like you say, what can he tell? To him, it was just a bust gone bad. One of those things. Happens all the time. Besides, he dropped his gun. You'll appreciate what we did with it. You're worried over nothing."

"That's not for you to decide."

Baxter waited. Maybe he'd bought himself a little time. He could barely keep himself from reaching for his own gun and making a run for it.

"Get back on the street. Find Ellison and kill him."

Baxter nodded, and slid out of the car. It was a supreme act of faith to strut toward his own car like nothing was wrong. Any moment he expected a bullet in the back. When nothing happened, he tracked the engine noise of the other car as it left the parking garage, his fist tightened around the handle of his own car door. Without turning, he leaned his head against the cold metal of his vehicle.

He was lucky to be alive, and he needed to find Ellison in a hurry. It wasn't smart to tempt fate with his volatile boss more than once.

*****

The room tilted to one side. Jim closed his eyes and tried again. His second attempt wasn't much better.

"Hey, you're awake. Don't move around, okay? I had a real tough time getting you in here and settled."

The indistinct blur in front of Jim coalesced into a face. "Where?" he managed to ask. To his own ears his voice sounded wrong - the words slurred and fuzzy.

"I think they used to call it a parlor. Sorry, I couldn't haul you upstairs to a bed without making your arm worse. It's bad enough already."

"Got to - leave." Jim struggled to sit up. A firm hand pressed him back.

"Forget it. You wouldn't even make it out the front door. Don't worry, no one can see you in here, and I have the house locked up." The face disappeared. Jim was vaguely aware of footsteps across a hardwood floor.

"I'm going to prop you up a bit." A hand slipped behind his shoulders, and Jim did his best to cooperate. He hissed as searing pain tore through his arm. "I hate to do that, but we need to get some fluids down you." The voice was quiet and reassuring. Jim gulped down the liquid; water first, then some kind of juice. He was unbelievably grateful. The first splash disappeared down his throat like a raindrop into parched soil.

"Thanks," Jim mumbled. Remembering more of his predicament, he asked, "Did you - call - anyone?" It was hard to get the words out.

"No. You were pretty clear on that before you crashed. So, James Ellison of the Cascade Police Department, mind telling me how a cop ends up being hunted by a lowlife like Baxter? While you're at it, I wouldn't mind an explanation of why you're as afraid of the cops as you are of the dealers."

"Slow down." Jim tried hard to focus on the face in front of him. Things kept blurring out.

"Sorry. Actually, forget the explanations and just drink more of this."

Jim complied, and his vision started to clear. "They might come back."

"They might, but they don't really know where to look. My place is no more likely than anyone else's. If you're with it enough to help me, let's get your shirt off. I need to look at that arm." Jim winced as his rescuer removed the blood-soaked remnants of his shirt. Fresh blood began to trickle, then roll, freely down his arm. "Damn. That's really deep," the man muttered.

Jim anticipated the next question. "No hospital. They'll all be watched. I'd rather bleed than be dead."

"You may be both. I'll do what I can. This is gonna hurt, man. Hydrogen peroxide is all I have for a disinfectant."

Jim clenched his teeth during the first gentle probes. It hurt, but the guy knew what he was doing, and was trying to be careful. He looked around and saw a surprisingly good array of first aid supplies.

The other man apparently read his thoughts. "I was going backpacking next week and bought a new kit. Lucky, huh? I don't think I can do any more to disinfect it, so let's try to get it closed up. Can you roll to your side a little bit? I think you'll be more comfortable."

Jim complied, groaning as he turned. "How did you know my name?"

"Found your badge. Sorry for invading your privacy. I didn't really know what to do, and I was kind of spooked that you had a gun or something."

Jim shifted slightly, rubbing one leg against the other. The gun in his ankle holster was gone. "Where is it?" he asked.

"Your weapon? I put it in a safe place," his rescuer answered vaguely.

"What's your name?" Jim asked, trying to keep his mind off the fire burning through his arm

"Blair Sandburg. I teach at Rainier. I just moved in here a week ago." He tipped his head toward the boxes that littered the room. "I haven't really unpacked yet. Okay, I'm going to use every butterfly we've got. This really needs stitches."

Jim leaned his head back. The room was spinning again. Sandburg deftly layered on the sterile pads and was winding gauze around the dressing.

"Pretty good job," Jim said.

"One of those skills you pick up before you go into the field, if you have any brains." Sandburg smiled. "I'm an anthropologist. My last expedition was in Borneo. The nearest doctor, if you could call him that, was two days away." Jim could detect a small grin. "You were more likely to get a chant than an antibiotic."

"Is there an ace bandage in there?" Jim asked, fighting to stay focused.

"Yeah, there is. For sprains I suppose."

"Wrap it around the dressing, as tight as you can. It will keep pressure on the wound." Jim waited until the final clips were attached to the bandage and managed to sit up. He felt dizzy and weak.

Sandburg was watching him with a worried look. "I want to take you upstairs. I can make you more comfortable up there. Down here on the floor isn't where you need to be."

Jim grabbed a corner on one of the nearby boxes and staggered to his feet. "I'm grateful for the help, but I'm not getting a civilian caught in the crossfire."

He started for the door, and didn't make it. His last conscious memory was of Sandburg's arm around his waist, guiding his footsteps up the stairs, completely ignoring his protests.

*****

Baxter was seething. It was nearly midnight and still no trace of Ellison. The man was wounded; he had no transportation. Had he gotten someone in the neighborhood to drive him somewhere? Doubled back on them? Was he hiding in a basement or shed, just waiting for the middle of the night to give them the slip? Grown wings and flown away?

Giving up wasn't an option. If he intended to keep breathing, Ellison needed to go. His boss had been crystal clear on that point. Too much depended on Ellison taking the fall, not just for today, but for a whole series of carefully arranged incidents. If their meticulous planning paid off, his business relationships would be assured. Expansion was a foregone conclusion. Jared was the perfect second-in-command. Together, they would take Cascade by the throat.

The only choice was to start going from house to house. If one of the guys got caught searching, it would be easy enough to make it look like a simple break-in.

*****

Blair checked his guest again. He'd roused Ellison every hour for a while, forcing fluids down him along with Tylenol. This time he seemed to be sleeping soundly, and Blair decided to let him rest. No fever, at least not yet, and his color didn't look too bad. Blair loosened the bandage and lifted it gingerly, careful not to disturb the man sleeping in his bed. The dressing showed a little blood, but it wasn't soaked through. So far, so good.

He'd triple checked all the doors and downstairs windows. None of them were very substantial. Now a man's life might depend on a few decrepit locks. Why hadn't he at least put safety chains on the doors when he had moved in? Not that he'd ever worried about protecting anything before. Student poverty had its virtues. Obviously this home ownership thing was sort of a paradigm shift. He'd turned on lights downstairs, and the radio. If the rooms looked occupied, maybe it would discourage any unwanted visitors.

Even if Baxter didn't come in the night, what about tomorrow? That was the real question. Getting Ellison out of harm's way was one thing, but the man acted like he was on the run. Didn't cops take care of their own? What was really going on?

He flicked off the small light sitting on the plastic crate that passed for a nightstand. The anxiety was keeping him wide-awake. He moved a chair over to sit in the darkened window, relishing the cool breeze as it gently billowed the curtains into the room. It was comfortable, and gave him a good view of the neighborhood, just. It seemed prudent to keep an eye on things.

He was worried by Ellison's refusal to contact the police, but in a convoluted way, it made sense. He must have been undercover, and something had gone terribly wrong. Was he a cop on the take, or one of the good guys? Baxter certainly wasn't looking for him to engage in casual conversation.

Ellison had to be a little bit panicky; he was injured and probably scared to death. He just wasn't thinking straight. In the morning, when things were calmer, Blair was sure he could convince him to contact the proper authorities and get some decent medical attention. There was no real harm in waiting out the night. The whole thing would resolve itself in the light of day.

*****

"No luck on the last block, Casey. A lot of these places are empty. They're student rentals during the school year. The rest are mostly old people."

"Shit, Jared. Not a trace?" Baxter raged. "No blood? There's got to be something!"

"It's dark, man. We couldn't find it earlier, when we could still see. We're not owls. No one's going to follow a blood trail in the dead of night. You want to keep going?"

"What choice do we have? Send the guys to the next block over. You and I can take this one."

Jared noticed where they were standing. "Hey, Casey, isn't that Sandburg's house?"

A slow smile spread across Baxter's face. "Yeah, it is. Maybe the night's looking up, my man. We could...."

"What you're thinking? Forget it," Jared interrupted.

"Come on, Jared," Casey wheedled. "He needs to be taught a lesson. Mix a little business with pleasure." As an outlet for his current frustrations, a session with Sandburg was a serious temptation. They stared at the brightly lit windows while Baxter considered the possibilities. Someone was up and moving in the house. "Look's like the prof is burning the midnight oil. We can take him. No problem. Just throw a little scare in him to show him what's what. We can look around the place and make sure the cop isn't hunkered down somewhere, just to make it righteous."

Jared shook his head. "You saw Sandburg when we set foot in his precious yard. If Ellison had stumbled in there, he would have raised a stink, and we would have known. Let's get moving." Casey wasn't listening to him like he used to, and his newly found lust for violent encounters was becoming a problem. Tonight it would be suicide. Their employer killed for mistakes far smaller than allowing Ellison to escape. "Sandburg will wait for another time, man. Ellison's the one we need."

"You're right," Baxter said reluctantly. "We settle this first."

Jared wondered how long he'd keep winning these arguments.

&&&&&

Blair froze. It was nearly two in the morning, and that had to be Casey Baxter standing right across the street. He scooted his chair back, so he could watch out the window, and still be hidden from below. Now a total of six men were huddled with Baxter. He threw a worried glance at the man stretched out on his bed, deeply asleep. They had to be looking for Ellison. No other explanation made sense.

Most of the group melted off into the darkness, moving down the street. Damn - they were going house to house. He could call the police and catch them in the act, but that might be even more risky. Baxter and another man stared at his house for a long time. Blair frantically considered his options. What could he do if they came? Hide Ellison? Where?

He breathed a sigh of relief when the two of them moved on. Maybe his little ruse with the lights and the music had worked. Another long hour ticked by with no sign of disturbance. Suddenly, he realized how bone tired he was. He pulled two big floor pillows from the living room up to the top of the stairs and stretched out for a little rest. No matter what Ellison's story was, no one was coming up these steps without him knowing it. Ellison was his responsibility until morning.

&&&&&

"Gregg, it just doesn't make sense. I know Ellison has always had an attitude, but he's as straight as a cop can be. You make it sound like you're certain he murdered his backup and took off." Simon Banks shoved the APB back across the table. Other faces around the conference table looked equally doubtful. "All I'm saying is there might be another explanation. If the meet went bad, maybe there's a reason he can't make contact. He could be injured. The man is still entitled to the benefit of the doubt."

Gregg Welch, Captain of Narcotics, shrugged. "What can I tell you, Simon? No matter how much we wish it otherwise, IA concurs with my assessment. Ellison's a dirty cop, running drugs on the side. It just shows you never really know."

"Two officers dead, another missing? It's a huge stain on the whole department." Chief Warren looked around the faces of his captains gathered at the table. "Frankly, the PR's terrible, no matter how it turns out. That's why I called all of you in this morning, so we have no misunderstandings. This comes from the top - talk to your officers. We want Ellison brought in."

Simon knew it would be politic to keep his mouth shut. Ellison wasn't his man. Even his own captain wasn't coming to his defense. Still, in his gut, it just felt wrong. "Excuse me, Chief, how much of a presumption of innocence is Ellison going to have if we supplement the APB with a press release. 'Citizens of Cascade, call us if you see this cop. Oh, by the way, he might be innocent.' I just don't think you treat a man with Ellison's record that way." Gregg Welch glared at him. Simon noted a few others around the table seemed to be in agreement with his own position. At least he wasn't the only one who was uncomfortable with how this was being handled.

"I'm sorry, Simon. I think it's imperative that we get Ellison in here, using whatever resources we have. The public is a resource. The media is a resource." Warren gestured to the others around the table, appealing for their support. "Besides, if we include the media from the beginning, we avoid any accusations of a cover-up." No one spoke. If anyone had objections, they weren't willing to buck their boss and a fellow captain to do it, Simon Banks included. Warren nodded, confident that everyone was onboard with his decision. "Now, Ellison was using an undercover vehicle when he disappeared, which we have recovered, and his own vehicle is still parked at his residence. Welch, he's your man. You have any ideas to share?"

"Sorry, Chief. I can't add anything. I just know that if he's a dirty cop, I want him brought to justice."

As they filed out of the room, Simon felt a nudge at the elbow. His old friend, Joel Taggart, Captain of the Bomb Squad, motioned toward the stairs. "Let's skip the elevator, Simon. Walk with me?" Without fanfare they separated from the rest of the group and headed for the stairwell.

They climbed flight after flight until they reached the roof. Early morning sun was just touching the streets below. They'd been doing this for years, whenever they needed a truly private place to talk.

"I don't like it either, Simon."

Simon stuffed his hands in his pockets. "What the hell is Welch doing? Not to mention IA."

"I may be out of the loop here," Joel said. "My gut tells me Ellison's being railroaded, but I can't think of a single thing to do, or even a reason why. At least they could have softened the message to the press, said he might be injured or something. Give him the appearance of innocence."

"We can't talk to his partner, either. He doesn't work with one," Simon said.

Joel scuffed his feet along the asphalt of the roof. "IA won't give us the time of day, even if we ask. Welch is ready to hang him, and Warren just wants to preserve the image of the department. There are no proper channels to pursue. I don't think going to the mayor would be productive, especially with no real justification other than a feeling."

"Something sure doesn't add up," Simon agreed. "The man's been one of our top officers. Plenty of high profile cases to his credit. Ellison was supposed to be one of mine, you know."

"No, I didn't," Joel answered, looking thoroughly surprised. They normally discussed everything between them. It had been that way since they were rookies. "When was that?"

"It's been years now, but the transfer was approved from Narcotics to Major Crime right after I made captain. You were taking that training course in D.C. with the F.B.I. I'm sure that's why I never mentioned it. It was withdrawn at the last minute, and long over by the time you were back in town."

"Why didn't he come? His request, or Welch's?" Joel asked.

"I never got a straight answer from Welch, and Ellison went out of his way to avoid me. I let it drop. In light of today's performance, I wonder what the real story is between Ellison and Welch."

"I've always heard they didn't see eye to eye. Maybe that explains Welch's attitude. He sure isn't spending any energy going to bat for the man."

Simon pulled out the cigar he habitually chewed on in times of stress. "Oh, he's saying all the right things. If that's the case, and he doesn't like Ellison, why didn't both of them bail out when the opportunity was available?"

"Might be a little late to ask. I hear the same rumors you do. All of a sudden, Narcotics can't make an arrest to save their lives. Maybe it's like they said. Ellison's been on the take, and finally got caught. You wouldn't tolerate a bad cop in Major Crime, either." Joel gazed off into the distance for a moment before continuing. "Problem is, I don't believe it any more than you do. Time to make some discreet inquiries, don't you think, Simon?"

Simon returned his friend's knowing glance. "I think so, definitely. You have good instincts. Our usual meeting place? Say about six?"

"See you then, Simon." With a nod, the two men separated. It would be a long, trying day for the Cascade Police Department.

&&&&&

Casey Baxter was bone tired. They'd searched most of the night without getting a whisper of Ellison's location. Ellison hadn't shown up at any ER, and he hadn't gone back to his own place. They'd scoured the neighborhood near the University and had come up empty. He was seriously wondering whether to skip town while they still could. Jared wanted to.

Still, it killed him to walk away from all that money. You made a score like this once in a lifetime. No, he wasn't quite ready to give up yet. They'd go back to where they last had Ellison cornered. Now that it was daylight, they'd look again for a blood trail. They'd find the son of a bitch and kill him, and then everything would be back on track.

&&&&&

Jim couldn't figure out where he was. The view above him definitely wasn't the high, beamed ceiling of the loft. It wasn't the station, or a hospital. He started to sit up and the shooting pain in his arm brought it all back. Baxter, his narrow escape, and...Sandburg? It was then he realized he was not alone in the room.

"Hey. Good to see you awake." The man he thought was Sandburg was sitting in a chair by the window. What looked like a textbook was open on his lap. "Ease up slow, and have some juice before you try anything. You had a rough night"

"Sandburg, isn't it?" The room was bright with morning sun. How long had he been out? "What time is it?" Jim asked, his voice somewhere between concerned and groggy.

The man beside him chuckled. "Of all the questions I expected you to ask, that wasn't the one. It's about eight in the morning. How much do you remember from last night?"

"Most of it, I guess," Jim answered. He was fighting to think straight. "How did you know my name? It might be better if you didn't." He paused for a moment. "Did we have this conversation before?"

"Yep, but I don't mind having it again." He held the juice glass out, and kept talking while Jim downed a few more swallows. "I looked through your pockets and found your badge. I figured if you were a cop, I was probably safe. Besides, Baxter is a creep. Everyone at Rainier knows what he's about."

"I need to get out of here. I'm putting you at risk." Jim shoved the covers back, but didn't get very far.

"Whoa there, let's take one thing at a time. I expected you to ask about the bathroom. How about it, man?"

"Uh - yeah." Jim gave his rescuer a sheepish look. "Now that you mention it.

That answer got another grin. "Let me give you a hand."

Jim planned on going under his own power, after which he'd head out the door and out of Sandburg's life, but he needed more help than he wanted to admit. Sandburg stepped back when they made it to the bathroom. "I left a robe and some towels out for you earlier. I'll go get us some real breakfast. You call me when you're ready to come down."

"Where are my clothes?" Jim asked.

"They were toast, man. I couldn't begin to wash the blood out of them. Don't worry about that right now. We can talk logistics over some eggs. Scrambled okay?" All Jim could manage was a nod, since holding onto the sink was taking most of his concentration. He got another grin and watched the back of Sandburg's curly head disappear down the stairs. The guy operated about fifty percent faster than most of the population.

Sandburg hadn't just left the robe. A fresh disposable razor and a toothbrush perched on the tiny sink as well. It seemed like a lot of work, and it was. Jim had to sit down as much as he stood, but he forced himself through the motions. By the time Jim was finished, the smells of breakfast had wafted up to the second floor. He debated for a moment at the top of the stairs and started down. He still had every intention of leaving at the earliest opportunity, and that wasn't going to happen if he couldn't get around unaided.

Sandburg hustled over as soon as he saw him standing in the kitchen doorway. "Are you nuts? You should have let me know you were coming down. You could have taken a header down the stairs."

"I'm okay," Jim muttered, but he was relieved to sink onto one of the two kitchen chairs. Sandburg's furnishings seemed a little Spartan.

"Not too fancy, is it?" Sandburg said cheerily, moving busily around the tiny kitchen. "I just got hired as an assistant prof, and before that I was overseas. Friends gave me a few things to get started, and the kitchen stuff I've been getting at yard sales. I haven't spent a lot of time on it, and I really don't need much." He scooped a generous portion of eggs onto a plate and added some toast. "Here, eat, and then we'll talk."

Jim inhaled the first serving. Without making a big deal of it, Sandburg had more cooked up and on a plate before he knew what was happening.

"Thanks," Jim said. He was suddenly embarrassed by the amount of food he'd consumed. "Guess I really needed to eat. I feel better, anyway."

"Excuse me for pointing out that you still look like shit. Would you like some coffee? I wanted you to get some real food down before I offered." Sandburg cleared the table and set a steaming mug in front of Jim. "Baxter had guys combing the neighborhood for you last night," he said softly.

"I'm not surprised," Jim answered. He scraped the fork absently along the rim of the plate. "When you take a whack at a cop, you damn well better finish the job and hide the evidence. It's a bad move to let him walk around until he turns you in."

"Is that what happened? They seemed real serious about finding you. I'd really like to know why you're trying to stay hidden, even from your brothers in blue." His face was calm, but determined.

Jim was pretty good at reading people. His host wasn't going to like taking no for an answer. "Sandburg, obviously I owe you my life, but we should end this conversation. You'd be a lot safer not knowing."

"If that was my only concern, I would have been a lot safer if I'd called the cops the second Baxter was out of sight and you were passed out under my bushes. I'd say you need some help. Don't turn it down when it's being offered."

Jim knew he should walk out the door without another word, and keep Sandburg from getting in any deeper. He gripped the edge of the table and realized physically, he just couldn't make it. "I - I think - no, I'm sure I was set up. I don't know who I can trust. I'm a big believer in being cautious. I want to know what's going on before I walk back in."

"So what are you going to do?" Blair asked. "Can you call your boss? Your partner? There's got to be someone you can call."

"I guess. I want to get some answers first, just to be sure. Do you have any clothes I can borrow?"

"Sorry, man, nothing I have will fit you. There's too much difference in our heights. My thought was to make sure you were okay and hit a discount store. I wasn't joking, you know. You still look pretty awful. A few more hours of rest won't hurt you, and I can go buy the things you absolutely need."

Jim looked down at the short terry cloth robe. Sandburg was probably right on all counts: he needed more downtime, his own clothes were a lost cause, and he was going nowhere in a robe and bare feet.

Sandburg interrupted his train of thought. "Come on, man. I'm glad you ate, but you're white as a sheet. Let me help you back upstairs, and I'll write your sizes down.

Jim only made it halfway up the stairs before he had to sit down. He meant to tell Sandburg to take cash out of his wallet, pick up a newspaper for him. Those and a dozen other thoughts and instructions swirled away when Sandburg eased him back on the pillows, and the world grayed out.

End Part 2

Blair glanced nervously at his watch. This was taking way too long. He didn't have a car yet, so he'd taken a bus. The actual shopping had been pretty efficient, but he was stuck in a long line waiting for a cashier. Who would have thought Friday morning would be such a zoo?

He shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. He was seriously worried about Ellison. He had terrible images of Baxter bashing in his door and dragging the man away to finish him off. Of equal concern was the injured police officer's physical condition. A little gauze and hydrogen peroxide wasn't sufficient treatment by anyone's standard. Blair studied the antibiotic creams and disinfectants in his cart along with the clothes. They were the best he could get over the counter, but they might not be enough.

He watched impatiently as the cashier called for yet another price check. The place was a big as an airplane hanger, and it had only two registers open. He could be trapped in this line easily for another twenty or thirty minutes. The line moved up another few steps and Blair had a view of the electronics department. A row of televisions, from tiny portables to big screens, were now within view. Still cursing the slow moving line, Blair absently passed the time watching morning cartoons in parallel image. To make matters worse, it was a stupid cartoon. Whatever happened to classics like the Roadrunner, or Rocky and Bullwinkle?

The station cut to a news bulletin. Blair was only half listening when he realized it was Ellison's picture filling the screens. He moved to get closer, and then pulled himself back. He didn't dare lose his precious place in line. He caught the tail end of the report

...we repeat this bulletin just issued by the Cascade Police Department. Detective James Ellison is missing and wanted for questioning. Any resident should not approach this man, but immediately report his whereabouts on the number listed on your screen, or call 911.

Blair turned to the middle-aged woman standing in line behind him. "Were you listening to the TV? What did he do?"

The woman shrugged. "They didn't really say. The late news last night said two cops were found dead in their patrol car yesterday evening. Maybe he had something to do with it, or maybe he just knows something." She stared at the image of Ellison that remained on the screen. The announcer was droning through his physical description. "I don't know. He's pretty good-looking, but he does look sort of intense, doesn't he? I don't think I'd want to find him on my doorstep."

"You have no idea, lady," Blair muttered under his breath. Miraculously, as if on cue, another register opened up. Blair sprinted over. He couldn't waste any more time standing in line.

&&&&&

"Casey, one of the guys found blood on a fence. He says there's a lot of it."

"About time! Where?" The two men made their way to the alley. A large smear of dried blood on the weathered cedar was obvious in broad daylight. Baxter examined the dark blotch. Now that he knew what to look for, he could pick out splashes of blood in the gravel. "He was bleeding pretty bad," he mused. "Why didn't we catch him?"

Jared shrugged. He'd known Casey Baxter since they were kids. Casey had a short fuse with anyone else, but he always took the brutal truth from Jared without protest. "He was running for his life. That's pretty motivating, if you know what I mean."

Baxter crouched down to stay out of sight, and surveyed the surrounding neighborhood in all directions. "Okay, you're Ellison. You just vaulted that fence. You lean up against here 'cause you're not feeling too good. Where would you go from here?" He frowned. "Who did we have searching over here?"

Jared thought for a moment. "Rodney and Tamar."

"Both dumb as rocks. If someone with half a brain had been over here, they would have nailed him."

Jared snickered. "Those two don't have half a brain between them. We should've known better."

"We didn't have another choice. Would he stay in the alley? Or cut through a yard?" Baxter pointed toward the connecting street. "You work that direction. See if you can find anything."

Other than dodging a few neighborhood dogs, they were alone. Any kids in the neighborhood were sleeping late, enjoying the first few days of summer. The Rainier students were gone except for a few summer school stragglers, and the working folks were at their jobs. Ten minutes passed before Jared found more blood on a short chain link fence a few houses down, and motioned him over.

"What do you think?" Baxter said.

"This is the only house with a short fence. I'll bet he hurt himself going over the tall one back there. The alley is too open. He stuck to the grass to hide the blood."

They cut through the yard. A few more smears of blood led them through two more backyards. Other than a snarling tomcat that took a swipe at them, they were still alone. Their one close call was an elderly woman who came out to water her flowers. Baxter was swearing softly.

"Be cool, Casey. We don't need the cops down on us, and we don't need to hassle an old lady today." They waited a few more minutes. Jared sensed that his friend was reaching the breaking point. "Hey," he teased. "Maybe we can get a tracking badge or something."

Baxter snorted. "You and me ain't no boy scouts."

&&&&&

Jim opened his eyes and looked at the tiny travel clock by Sandburg's bed. He'd been gone for quite a while. The rest hadn't done him much good. If anything, he felt worse than when he'd ventured downstairs to eat breakfast. Jim shoved the covers off and sat up. His arm ached and felt hot, a telltale sign of infection. Not exactly unexpected considering the nature of the wound, but it only added to his list of problems.

Time to start dealing with specifics. Sandburg said he had no car. Once he got some clothes, he'd either need to take the bus or call someone. A cab was too easy to trace. At this point, he wasn't sure he was up to the bus. That left the next alternative, who should he call? Even if he got that far, where should he go? All he had were suspicions that no one was going to believe.

What he really wanted to do was flop back on the bed. He forced himself to stay up. Sandburg had left a pitcher of water for him. He poured a glass, cursing his unsteady hand, and gulped the water down. At the moment it was all he could do.

&&&&&

Simon scanned his duty roster. Everyone had a full caseload. He couldn't justify pulling anyone off an active investigation to second-guess IA and what was going on in another department. It would be stupid. Chief Warren had made it clear he expected their full cooperation, a united front.

Simon stared at his desk. After mercilessly pestering his people, everyone had brought their paperwork up to date. He had a pile of case reports to review and sign. The monthly summaries were due on Monday, and he needed to post a new duty roster for the month the day after. If he didn't want to work all weekend, which just incidentally happened to be his weekend with Darryl, he needed to hole up in his office and get down to business. With a sigh, he picked up a file and started to read.

He managed to make about half a page before he tossed his glasses onto the desk. Something just wasn't right. Serena Chang had been assigned to process the evidence from the killings of the two officers who had been Ellison's backup. Sometimes, people didn't listen to everything Serena had to say, himself included. Welch clearly had his mind made up. Maybe there was something crucial that wasn't being considered.

He marched out, headed for forensics.

&&&&&

"We got him, man. He's here, and close."

Baxter knelt beside his friend. "About time we got a break. The bastard can't be that lucky."

They had been crisscrossing through the yards and streets of a three-block area. Jared was kneeling by a couple of garbage cans that had been knocked over. A pack of neighborhood dogs had strewn trash across the ground. The garbage was a hopeless, smelly mess. "Take a look, man." He gingerly picked at a half torn grocery bag. Bloody cloth was exposed through one corner.

"Ellison's pants," Baxter said.

"These were double bagged and down in the bottom of the can. It's just lucky the dogs got here first. Somebody's helping him, and they live on this street. He might not still be here, though."

Baxter was totally focused, his expression grim. So much depended on this. "Then we'll beat the shit out of whoever this garbage belongs to. They'll know something. We just have to be persuasive."

&&&&&

It couldn't be true.

Blair purposely set his bags on the seat beside him, hoping to keep some distance between himself and other passengers. He needed to think. He reread the lead article of the Cascade Times. Couched in all the politically correct language, the message was pretty clear. The Cascade Police Department suspected Jim Ellison had murdered his backup and disappeared with a significant amount of drugs, money, or both.

He desperately tried to remember everything Jim had said to him.

You call anyone, and I'm a dead man.

I - I think I was set up.

I don't know who I can trust.

You'd be a lot safer not knowing.

It was possible. Ellison could have been running a double-cross, and got caught. That could explain why both sides were after him. He could be committing a crime just by keeping the guy in his house. What did he really know about him anyway?

Blair checked his watch. He'd been gone a long time waiting in that stupid line at the store. He needed to make a decision, and he didn't have a lot to go on. At the next stop, he bolted from the bus. Halfway up the block he broke into a run.

&&&&&

The water pitcher was empty. Despite the morning breeze and the fact he was sitting here in his boxers, he was burning up. Jim's head ached. Maybe Sandburg had some aspirin in the bathroom. If he could find some, it might keep his fever down.

He lurched to his feet and managed a few steps. The bedside chair saved him from crashing to the floor. Maybe he could slide it along and use it for balance. He stood there for a moment, trying to rally for his next effort. He was intent on making it to the bathroom, but something made him glance out the window.

Sandburg had carefully pulled the curtains shut, but Jim could just see through the gauzy material. Baxter and one of his cronies were sneaking into the backyard, heading for Sandburg's back porch. Jim had noticed the doors during breakfast. Even locked, they wouldn't be any problem for Baxter.

They'd run him to ground. He had no weapon to defend himself and nowhere to go.

&&&&&

Blair took the stairs at Hargrove Hall two at a time. He tossed the shopping bags onto the floor with the stacks of books and files he hadn't taken the time to put away. No matter what evidence to the contrary, Ellison's primary concern had been to keep him out of the fray. That just didn't square with a person who would murder two fellow officers in cold blood. At the very least, Ellison could have forced him to secure some transportation and drive him away from Cascade. He hadn't.

Blair started his search with the online archives for the local newspaper. He had results in no time. Jim Ellison wasn't only a cop, he was a highly successful one. His name was referenced in one high profile case after another, both in Vice, and more recently, in Narcotics. The more Blair read, the more fascinating the story got. A passing reference to a popular news magazine had him hopping sites. Archives went back to 1985; he gave it a try.

An Army Ranger? What hadn't this guy done?

Blair pushed his chair back. A man who spent eighteen months on his own doing drug interdiction in Peru wasn't the kind of guy to have connections with a lowlife like Casey Baxter. Jim Ellison had been a straight arrow since he was in diapers. He certainly wouldn't take off with the proceeds of a drug deal for personal gain. He'd showed up under his bushes empty-handed.

Blair looked at the time and shut down the computer. He made a quick phone call to the departmental secretary. Five minutes later he was flying down the back stairs of Hargrove, the shopping bags bouncing as he went.

&&&&&

"Captain Banks, you're not assigned to the case. I really shouldn't be discussing it with you."

"I can appreciate that, Serena. If you would prefer, you can leave the file on your desk and take a stroll."

Serena gave him a half-smile. She was accustomed to Captain Banks peeking over her shoulder from time to time. They'd done this dance many times, and Banks had never betrayed her trust. On the other hand, IA wasn't usually involved, and that changed the stakes a bit.

"I could, if I still had the file. Everything I had was removed by Captain Welch at the request of IA. As far as anyone is concerned, my part of the investigation is closed."

Banks leaned closer. They were both seated on stools in the back of the lab. Anyone coming in wouldn't see them having this conversation. "I'm not just anyone. What do they have so far?"

"The serial numbers identify the murder weapon as Ellison's service revolver. The ballistics match. Well, they sort of match. The bullets were hollow-points. The ones recovered from the bodies were too mangled to evaluate very accurately."

"So what do you mean, they matched or they didn't?"

"There were significant similarities. It would probably hold up in court. Ellison's gun was loaded with the same bullets. They aren't departmental issue, Captain."

"Okay," Banks muttered. "What else? Any signs of a struggle? Prints?"

"Nothing on or in the vehicle. The weapon was found in the gutter, next to the front tire." Serena started to say more, and then held her tongue.

Banks frowned. "Serena, we've worked together for a long time. Doesn't it strike you as a little odd that Ellison would commit a double murder with a weapon easily traced back to him, much less leave it right at the scene for us to find?"

"I suppose he could have panicked, sir." Serena wouldn't look at him. Instead, she picked at a piece of tape that was stuck to the counter top.

"Right. This is Ellison we're talking about," Simon said, making no effort to hide his sarcasm. "He successfully murders two fellow officers, then gets scared, drops the gun and runs off into the night." He studied Serena's calm face. She knew, or suspected something, but she wasn't going to volunteer the information. He would have to ask the right question. "Were there any other prints on the gun? On the bullets still in the chamber?"

Serena's eyes flickered. "No, sir, there weren't. No prints, period. Not even partials."

Simon gave her a long look before answering. "You're telling me that the weapon Ellison handled on a daily basis, had no prints on it, not even his own?"

"That's correct, sir. The gun was clean, as were the bullets."

Banks leaned back in his chair and considered that revelation. "Care to tell me why Ellison would wipe clean all the prints on a traceable weapon, and after all that trouble, leave it at the scene? Didn't even so much as try to throw it down a storm drain, or toss it in a dumpster a block away."

Serena gave him an unblinking stare. "It's not my place to speculate on the meaning of the evidence, Captain. Investigators do that. My opinions are not required, if you get my drift."

"I see. Thank you, Serena. I owe you lunch at the earliest opportunity." He started to walk out, then turned just before he reached the door. "Oh, Serena? Remind me periodically of how much I NEED to pay attention to your opinions."

That earned him a wry grin. "Sure, Captain. Anytime."

Banks gently closed the door to forensics behind him. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. "Just what did you do to piss your boss off, Ellison?"

&&&&&

"Oh, no. No."

Blair nearly dropped the bags. His back door hung precariously from shattered hinges. The doorframe was splintered where the lock had been forced. He stepped in cautiously, wincing as the door creaked loudly. If anyone was still in the house, they would have heard it. The long, narrow back hall led into the kitchen. The table and two chairs were lying on their sides. Ellison must have put up a fight.

He inched along the wall. There was no way of knowing whether someone was waiting to jump him or not. He considered himself a non-violent person, but Baxter had already threatened him more than once, and he intended to protect himself. Some kind of a weapon would be nice.

The kitchen was deserted. The cupboard doors hung open, his meager collection of garage sale dinnerware in shards on the floor. From there he could see into a couple of other rooms, which were trashed as well, but seemed empty. For lack of anything else, he picked up a can of tomatoes that was sitting on the counter.

Still not a sound. He stood poised at the foot of the stairs. Every single one of the stair treads creaked. No way would he make it to the second floor without alerting anyone who might be in the house. This was stupid. Maybe he should just call the police and let them sort it out. After all, he hadn't known Ellison was a fugitive when he'd taken him in last night - well, he sort of hadn't known.

"How you doin', Prof? We're going to have us a little chat."

Blair spun around. Casey Baxter was standing in his hall.

"Get out of here, Baxter!" Blair shouted. "Right now!"

Baxter charged down the hallway. Blair hurled the can at him from point blank range. It smacked him in the forehead, rocking the drug dealer back on his heels. Blair darted through the door of the parlor, slamming it shut. He shoved a couple of boxes in front of the door and headed for the window. He heard Baxter screaming at him, throwing himself at the door. The door banged open. Blair knew he wasn't going to have enough time to clear the window and make a run for it.

He dodged around boxes, heaving whatever he could lay a hand on at Baxter. It wasn't going to work for long. "Get away from me!" Blair shouted. "Get out of my house! Help!" At least maybe the ruckus would make a neighbor call the police.

He was trying to circle around and make a break for the hallway. Baxter was having none of it. Blair tumbled over backwards over a box and Baxter lunged for him. He kicked out at his attacker, scrabbling backwards, trying to regain his feet. His hand fell on something cool and smooth, an object from his childhood. Blair wrapped both hands around it and swung just as Baxter closed the gap.

The dealer went down like a stone.

Blair got to his feet, shaken and angry. He ran his hands over the smooth ash. "That's my Mickey Mantle bat, you son-of-a-bitch." Leaving Baxter sprawled on the floor, he bolted up the stairs, bat still in hand. "Ellison?" he shouted. "Jim!" He raced up the stairs.

The upstairs bedroom was empty. The comforter on the futon was tucked in neatly, better than Blair ever did it when he got up in the morning. The rest of the room was undisturbed. Blair sat down heavily on the side of the bed. Baxter wasn't the type to make the bed. Ellison must have left on his own power. Maybe he'd just been biding his time, waiting for Blair to get out of the way before he called someone to come get him.

In which case, he still had a crazed drug dealer, unconscious on the first floor, who needed to be dealt with. With a heavy heart, Blair picked up the phone and dialed the Cascade Police Department.

&&&&&

Blair sat on the bottom stair, exhausted by the turmoil of the day. From his vantage point he could survey the wreckage of his new home in all directions. He should get up - sort through the broken stuff to see what he could salvage, sweep up the slivers of glass, call the insurance company about getting someone to repair the shattered back door. None of it seemed very important. Most of all, he wanted to wish himself back to last night, before all this craziness had happened.

Other than taking a while to arrive, he couldn't complain about the police. They'd taken the time to explain the Cascade Police Department was spread a little thin today, looking for one of their own. Blair didn't want to dwell on that thought. The 911 operator kept calling him, checking on his safety, and reassuring him that help was on the way. Feeling a little like a minor character out of a bad western, Blair had trussed Casey Baxter up with whatever he could lay a hand on, including a couple of neckties. Even when he was sure Baxter wasn't going anywhere, it was still pretty spooky.

That strategy got a good laugh out of the two officers who finally showed up. They were detectives, which might have been a little over the top, but he'd been happy to see them. This obviously wasn't the kind of call they would usually be handling, but the patrol units were bogged down. They seemed an unlikely pair, just a little older than he was. They'd been pretty cool, started off by apologizing for the delay, then cracked up at his colorful substitute for handcuffs. Blair dug the business card out of his pocket and read it again.

Detective Henri Brown

Major Crime

Cascade Police Department

A home phone number was scrawled on the back, which was pretty decent. Blair had volunteered no information for Baxter's attack other than their run-in at Hargrove, which was promptly confirmed by Campus Security. Brown, and his partner in the suit - what was his name? - had been a bit concerned for his safety. Considering he'd been harboring a fugitive a few hours earlier, Blair had turned down the offer of further protection or surveillance. As a compromise, he'd agreed to contact Brown, day or night, if anything happened, and that was that. His last view of Baxter was of him disappearing into the back seat of the detectives' car.

He propped the card by the phone, which mercifully, Baxter hadn't torn out of the wall. He forced himself to start making calls. The insurance company agreed to handle the logistics for the door repair. He swept up the kitchen, taking note that Baxter had wiped out most of his eclectic assortment of glasses and plates. Blair couldn't decide whether the destruction occurred because Baxter was looking for something, or just for spite. At least he hadn't found Ellison's gun while he ransacked the place.

He made a serious attempt to clean the parlor. Boxes and containers of files had split open and items were strewn across the hardwood floor. The insurance adjuster and carpenter arrived at the same time, so Blair stuck around while they worked and unpacked boxes he'd neglected earlier. His heart wasn't in the task, but it was preferable to wondering why Ellison had disappeared, or where he had gone. By the time the last screw was set, and the final book was shelved, the afternoon had disappeared. Realizing he'd skipped lunch, he headed for the kitchen.

It was just too depressing. Once again, he wondered if the damage was from a struggle with Ellison or just Baxter's mean streak. On an earlier tour through the kitchen he'd discovered that his two rickety chairs weren't just overturned, but broken beyond repair. Even the one that had initially looked okay had dumped him on his butt when he sat down. Blair kicked it in disgust. His meager collection of glassware had been demolished, and the only plates left were some plastic jobs that were unbreakable. Faced with the reality of drinking out of the faucet and eating soup out of the pan, dinner seemed entirely too much trouble. He ordered a pizza and slowly wandered up the stairs. Just flaking out on the bed until the delivery arrived sounded like a great idea.

&&&&&

"Baxter! Front and center, man. Your bail's been posted."

Casey Baxter momentarily contemplated staying right where he was. His head ached and his plans were shot. Sharing a cell with a few derelicts was looking pretty good, considering the alternatives.

Instead he sauntered out the door. "Damn right," he sneered at the jailer. "It's about time."

He collected his personal property in the standard manila envelope. Luckily, he hadn't been carrying any product when they rousted him, or he'd have that tacked on to the charges, too. As he made his way towards the exit, his mood turned deadly serious.

If there was any luck in the world with his name on it, Jared had posted his bail, and no one more critical had any idea he'd spent the afternoon enjoying the hospitality of the Cascade Police Department. Baxter halted near the exit doors. As much as he despised the police, he needed to gather his thoughts and leave here with a plan. How the hell had Sandburg ever been able to take him down in the first place?

He was certain Ellison had hidden in that house. Jared had found a smear of blood on the white porch railing, and the ground underneath was stained dark. No doubt they'd been within twenty feet of Ellison the night before, and let that egghead reading a book bluff them off. Sandburg had to have known the guy was there. Why had he protected him? They couldn't possibly know each other.

He and Jared had been so certain when they'd bashed in the lock, only to find no trace of Ellison. The only alternative was to wait for Sandburg and beat the answer out of him. Baxter had sent Jared off to check with Tamar and the other searchers, and then searched the house again - closets, under beds, the basement. When he didn't find anything, he trashed it for the entertainment, and some shock value. He'd been confident he could scare Sandburg into talking. Sandburg had been scared all right, but nothing else had gone as planned. The moment he was out of this disaster with Ellison, he was going to settle the score with Sandburg.

He vented a little of his frustration by shoving the double glass doors so they snapped open. Baxter looked up and down the street. Jared was smart, and the one person in his life who was totally dependable. If he'd posted bail, he'd be waiting nearby with transportation.

His heart sank when a familiar black sedan pulled up to the curb, and the door opened. He had no choice but to get in.

&&&&&

Simon Banks, in full captain mode, barked at his two detectives, "You have half a dozen open cases. What are you doing taking B & E calls?"

"Sorry, Captain. The 911 dispatcher was desperate. The patrol units were tied up, and this was a hot one. The guy had the perp tied up in the house. We couldn't just leave him there." Rafe looked at his partner, and they both burst out laughing.

"I am not amused," Banks growled.

"Ah, Captain, you should have seen it." Henri Brown snickered again. "Remember Casey Baxter?"

"Warehouse bust - couldn't make the charges stick - that Casey Baxter?" Banks asked gruffly, not the least mollified.

"That's the one. This prof from Rainier found him in the house, fought him off, smacked him with a baseball bat and tied him up with neckties. It was a sight to behold. Baxter was ready to eat nails, but he'll do time for this one. He was caught six ways to Sunday."

A huge grin replaced the scowl on Banks' face. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? That little punk should have been in a cell months, maybe years, ago." He glared at his two detectives. "I may forgive you for wasting half the day doing someone else's work. But I want progress on Ferguson AND the Castle murder."

"We have one little concern, Captain." Brown looked at Rafe, who nodded in agreement. "Baxter made bail this afternoon. I think he'll go after Sandburg as soon as he can. We were thinking, Sandburg didn't ask, but maybe we'd watch the house a bit. Just to be on the safe side."

Simon frowned. "Patrol should handle it."

"Patrol should, Captain, they've got all units chasing around looking for Ellison," Rafe interrupted. "I don't know what IA thinks the guy did, but it's damn near a feeding frenzy. No one's going to follow up if we don't."

Banks nodded. "Follow your instincts. I just hate to stretch you guys so thin. I feel bad enough about all the overtime you've been putting in."

"We'll be okay, Captain," Brown answered, obviously pleased with the decision. "This Sandburg - well, he's kind of a neo-hippy, but he was a really engaging guy. You gotta love it - Casey Baxter trussed up like a turkey in neckwear." He nudged Rafe. "Besides, it's not like a stakeout in the rain in the dead of winter. We can do a nice little summer evening in the car."

"Right," Rafe said with a grin. He rolled his eyes. "We'll make it a picnic. Bring the volleyballs and sunscreen."

Simon shook his head, laughing. "Get out of here, you two. Keep me posted. Come in a little late tomorrow to make up for it."

Banks waited until his team departed, then grabbed his coat. He'd hoped to get Brown and Rafe to do a little snooping for him. Both of them had great connections with officers in other departments. He had few other options for getting information about Jim Ellison, the most hunted man in Cascade.

He could only hope that Joel Taggart had better luck.

&&&&&

Blair sagged back on the bed. What a day, by any measure - bleeding police officer-cum-fugitive, drug dealers, home invasion, more police officers. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd been peacefully reading a book in his backyard. Maybe the suburbs were just too dangerous for lowly anthropology professors.

He closed his eyes, trying to doze, but still hear the doorbell. A soft scraping brought him back to full attention. Shit! He hadn't heard that sound since his pre-dissertation days, living in the warehouse. It had to be rats. He sat bolt upright on the bed. Please, not rats in his new house. Maybe in the basement; he could live with that, but on the second floor?

He sat listening intensely, trying to follow the sound. It led toward the back of the house. The closer he got, the less it sounded like the scritch-scratch of a rodent. Could it be Baxter? He nearly ran for the baseball bat again.

He'd stacked a couple of winter clothing boxes at the end of the hallway, in front of the tiny door that led to the crawl space and the attic. The sounds had stopped. It must have just been his imagination. Too much excitement in one day had him jumping at shadows. If it was rats, he could set out traps in the morning. In his current mood, maybe having some pest control outfit nuke the whole place was the way to go, even if it did ruin his karma for decades.

Disgusted with himself, he headed for the stairs. A soft groan spun him on his heels. He flung the boxes to the side and pulled open the tiny trap door that lead to the attic. A blast of hot air poured from the darkened space, and a hand flopped in front of him.

"Oh my God," Blair muttered as he hauled the limp, sweating body of Jim Ellison into the hallway.

"Baxter," mumbled Ellison, struggling feebly to get away. "Noooo..."

"He's gone, man," Blair said, trying to be stern and soothing in the same moment. "He's in jail." Ellison still flailed weakly against the helping hands. "Come on, man - cooperate. God, you're burning up."

He somehow got Ellison up and together they stumbled into the tiny bathroom. Blair braced the larger man between one hip and the wall while he turned on the taps. Either the hot, stuffy attic, fever or both had Ellison in near heat stroke. "In the water, man," he muttered. "Do you understand? Got to cool you down, right now."

Ellison nodded and virtually tumbled into the tub, cracking his head against the tile on the way down. He shrank away from the chill temperature, but slumped down into the cool water, unable to control his balance. Blair grabbed the nearest washcloth and began squeezing water across the stricken man's body.

"Nooo. Too cold," Ellison moaned, trying to push Blair's hands away. With a final shudder, his head lolled back and he passed out.

&&&&&

Joel Taggart was already waiting for him at their favorite hideaway, much to Simon's relief. A juicy burger sat in front of his place, although these days Joel went for a salad instead of a 100% All-American beef. At least Joel still allowed himself a beer when the occasion warranted.

"Hey, Simon, glad you got here," Joel said cheerfully. If that meal sat in front of me any longer, I was going to eat it myself and order you a new one."

"Nah, you're the soul of discipline when you're on a diet," Simon answered. His mood always brightened around Joel, the steadiest of men, no matter what the circumstances. They spent a few minutes eating, enjoying each other's company. They'd get to the private part of the conversation soon enough. "How long have we been doing this, Taggart?"

"Nearly twenty years," Joel said with a grin. "Except they were nineteen cent burgers at Bob's In and Out, and the only thing green I was eating were the pickles."

When the waitress brought their after-dinner coffee, they got down to business. "I spoke with Serena," Simon said softly. Their regular table was off in a corner, but it still paid to be discreet. "The evidence is hardly conclusive, or maybe I should say, probable. If Ellison wanted to call attention to himself, it couldn't be more perfectly arranged." He elaborated on his problems with the evidence.

"People panic, Simon."

"Would Ellison panic?" Simon asked pointedly.

"Under any circumstances I can envision, no," Joel agreed. "Any contact I've had with the man has been rock solid, but given that the action of executing two fellow officers being so totally out of character, maybe we can't say."

"I didn't get anything else done. I was hoping to have Rafe and Brown ask around, but..." A frustrated shrug told Joel the rest without saying. They both knew how the best-laid plans went in a police station.

"Don't apologize, Simon. We're meddling in another man's department, and that's just not done, under most circumstances. It's a lot easier for me to make casual conversation and ask a few questions. People are used to me making the rounds to keep in touch."

"Except when we have bombs to defuse," Simon added with a laugh.

"Well, yeah, actual bombs do kind of interrupt," Joel agreed with a grin. "This is what I've been able to glean so far." He took a long sip from his cooling coffee. "Ellison hasn't partnered with anyone for almost a year. It was normal for him in the past to assist with other cases, work with other officers on specific operations. He never did more than half of his cases solo. That stopped last fall. When other guys asked if he could help out, the stock answer was he 'wasn't available'. How would you interpret that?"

"That it was a top-down change, not necessarily something Ellison requested." Simon answered with certainty. "That's what it would mean for me."

Joel nodded in agreement. "Second, Ellison quit talking about his cases, started avoiding people. Everyone speculated about undercover work, but no one knew for what purpose, and there was never any formal assignment. Third, he hasn't attended a departmental staffing in months. They were always scheduled when he was on duty."

"Well, that can happen," Simon volunteered. "Schedules get messed up, stuff like that. Still, you never let someone get isolated."

"You don't let someone get isolated," Joel said pointedly. "Put the worst face on it. What if that was the intention all along?"

They sat in silence, considering the gravity of that accusation.

&&&&&

Déjà vu.

Same ceiling. Same killer headache. Same set of cerulean eyes staring back at him.

Jim groaned and rolled to his side, wondering why he was reliving this and hadn't died the first time.

"You scared me to death, you know," a voice said softly. A hand brushed Jim's forehead, and stayed briefly. "I don't have a thermometer, but I know you're cooler. Other than lousy, can you tell me how you feel?"

"Everything hurts," Jim said honestly. "My head, my arm, my whole body. I'm completely wiped out."

"That's the fever to blame, I'm afraid. It took hours to bring it down. I've been pumping liquids and antibiotics down you since I found you, although you may not remember it." Jim nodded. After crawling into the attic, he had no clear memory of anything.

Sandburg kept talking. "You weren't very coherent. I wanted to call a doctor. I was afraid you were going to die."

Jim pushed himself up on one elbow. His head spun, but he persisted. That was a lot of information to take in all at once. "How'd you get antibiotics without calling a doctor?"

"Raided the Anthro stash. We always carry our own on long stays in the field, especially if they're the least bit remote." Sandburg stopped to pour a glass of juice and hand it to Jim. "I went to Rainier after I went shopping and picked up a few things, but when I got back you were gone. Or at least I thought you were gone."

"Baxter showed up. I didn't have anywhere to go." His head pounded fiercely, and he winced in pain.

"I know. We had an interesting encounter."

That admission from Sandburg brought Jim's eyes wide open with a start. "Did he hurt you?" He started to clamber out of the bed, without much success.

"Slow down. He tried. The house took most of the damage. I smacked him with a baseball bat, tied him up, and they arrested him. Personally, I hope they throw away the key." Sandburg glanced at the window as if he'd suddenly thought of something. "Do you know a detective by the name of Henri Brown? And Rafe somebody?"

"Yeah," Jim said a little unsteadily. He was having trouble following the twists and turns in this conversation. His brain just wasn't firing on all cylinders. "They're in Major Crime. Why do you ask?"

"They came out and arrested Baxter. Actually, they've been sitting in a car across the street for most of the night." Jim sat bolt upright, and paid in pain. Sandburg laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "They don't know you're here. I covered the windows over the curtains with strips of foil. As far as they're concerned, I'm up here asleep with the lights off."

Jim felt himself slump back to the pillow. He just didn't have the energy. Everything was so confusing, and he was so deadly tired. He had a million questions upon his lips, when his eyes started to close. Try as he might, the next sentence he meant to say stuck on his tongue. An icy cold cloth bathed his forehead. Knowing fingers massaged the pressure points, relieving the aching in his head.

"Don't fight it," he heard Sandburg murmur, the hand stroking his brow again. "We can talk in the morning. It's okay. Just sleep."

&&&&&

They were a long way out of Cascade, somewhere in the National Forest north of the city. There'd been no conversation on the drive, just an eerie silence. When the car pulled to a stop, Baxter was sure he'd been chauffeured to the site of his own grave.

"Why don't you tell me how you ended up in lockup for the afternoon?" The voice was smooth, calm as always, only the barest hint of menace around the edges.

"We thought we found where Ellison was hiding out. When we couldn't find him, we waited. The guy jumped me."

"I'm informed of the details. A university professor ties you up and leaves you for the arresting officers. Nice touch, Baxter. Most people don't screw up so totally with the well-heeled and educated. What did he disarm you with, a textbook?"

"He bashed my head with a baseball bat, okay? I wasn't expecting it. Next time..."

"There will BE no next time."

Baxter's voice rose in panic. He was a dead man. "Look, we can find Ellison. The rest doesn't matter. I'll - I can - don't!"

"Listen to me very carefully."

Baxter went totally still. He was balanced on the knife-edge. It could go either way.

"There are officers watching Sandburg's home. You're not going near the place."

Baxter held back a sigh of relief. It almost sounded like Welch wasn't going to kill him outright.

"You go back. Post watchers on the watchers. The unit will be pulled off eventually. If Ellison is in the house, he will leave - eventually, and you'll take him - away from the house. You stay out of everything else. I don't work with unreliable screw-ups."

"One problem and you're dumping us. After a year?"

"That's right. Now get out. I've arranged other transportation for your ride to Cascade."

Baxter's hand was shaking from a strange mixture of rage and relief as he opened the car door.

"Oh, Casey? The ride back will be very - instructional, shall we say."

Casey Baxter shut the door to the sedan and it roared off. When he turned, they were waiting for him.

&&&&&&

"So what do you think, H? We been here long enough?"

Henri Brown rolled his head back and stretched. Rafe had a nice ride, but it was still hard for a big man to sit still in a car seat for hours at a time. "Don't know. We leave and Baxter could be here five minutes later."

"True, but it's two in the morning. I'm beat. Simon's version of 'come in late' isn't going to be late enough for me." Rafe yawned. "You're right, though. You want to take a nap and I'll keep an eye out? Then we'll trade."

Henri leaned his seat back, rolling his shoulders into the seat cushions, trying to get comfortable. "Take you up on that one, partner." Both men were silent for a few minutes. Eyes still closed, he asked his partner, "Why is this bugging us so much?"

"Because Sandburg seemed like a nice guy who was pretty scared. Because he warned us off, even though it was subtle. Because a lowlife like Baxter doesn't need to come after a University professor just because he hassled him in the hallway. Because something just doesn't ring true, and we're such vaunted detectives that we can't let it go."

Henri snorted, still keeping his eyes closed. "Fabulous. Vaunted detectives, huh? I'll remind you of that when we're both half asleep tomorrow. Captain Banks is going to vaunt our butts into next week." Another silence followed. Henri shifted and squirmed.

"What do you really think Sandburg has that Baxter wanted?" Rafe asked, knowing full well his partner wasn't asleep.

Henri sighed. "Has as opposed to knows?"

"Definitely 'has'. You don't tear up a house looking for what someone knows, you tear apart a house because that someone has something you want. So unless Sandburg is running drugs, what could he possibly have in there that Baxter would be so stupid for?"

"Don't know, man. Now be quiet. I need to sleep. Wake me in an hour."

"Come on, H, you're kidding yourself. The last time you fell asleep in a car you were nine years old. What could Sandburg have?"

Henri shook his head. The interior of the car was dimly lit by a streetlight three car-lengths down, and the partners could see each other in the glow. "Maybe something the professor brought back. Don't anthropologists dig up old stuff that's worth money?"

"That's archeologists, not anthropologists," Rafe answered knowingly. "Besides, you saw the place. Everything in the place was Early Goodwill, not priceless antique, and Baxter hasn't done much larceny since he was a kid boosting cars. He's making too much running the chemicals."

"Okay, let's just say you're right. Could he have seen something, then? Something at Rainier Baxter wants him to forget?" Henri stretched, apparently giving up on the nap idea. "Hand me one of those candy bars. I need an energy boost if I'm going to stay awake and talk." He tore the edge of the wrapper off with his teeth and bit into the chocolate. "If that's the case, we need to talk to the good professor again and get him to open up to us, because there's no way we can protect him. The two of us sitting in a car is not going to cut it."

Suddenly Rafe's head snapped around. "Damn. H, where did Ellison supposedly shoot those patrol officers?"

"Fourteenth and - hey, what are you thinking? We're not that far from there. Nah, it couldn't be."

"Was there any report that Ellison was mixed up with Baxter, or vice versa?" Rafe asked.

"Not that I know of, but Ellison works narcotics. From what I hear, Baxter is moving up in the world, running a lot of product. For some reason, they can't lay a hand on him. Our bust was the last thing on his sheet." Henri snapped the seat up. "Baxter had to be high on the hit list. Come on, man, that's just too wild to be a serious connection."

"Tell me honestly, H, have you heard anything about this Ellison fiasco that did make sense? Sandburg doesn't make any sense either. I think we need to talk with Simon."

&&&&&

The next time Jim woke, it was definitely morning. The windows were open, revealing another soft summer day in Cascade.

"You must have really sensitive ears. I was trying to be quiet, and you started waking up as soon as I hit the top of the stairs." Sandburg was standing in stocking feet at the doorway, carrying a chopped down cardboard box loaded with food. "You liked the eggs yesterday, so we're doing a rerun."

He used the one rickety chair as a table and sat on the floor. It dawned on Jim that they were at eyelevel; the bed he'd been lounging in since Thursday was actually a futon and lower than a normal mattress. "It smells delicious," he commented. "I can't let you keep feeding me like this."

"I'm not too worried. Eggs are cheap. The fry pan is one of the few utensils I still have left. If you don't mind me saying so, this is the first time you don't look half-dead. I'm making that an official pronouncement," Sandburg joked, setting the box on the floor. "Besides, I was thinking of taking pictures. I'm sure Martha Stewart would like to see the Sandburg interpretation of breakfast in bed. I should have added dandelions from the lawn. The presentation is everything, you know."

Sandburg helped him sit up, and positioned the tray of eggs, toast and juice. He gave Sandburg a questioning look. The eggs were piled into a coffee cup, and the juice was in what had to be a jelly jar. Sandburg grinned. "My fine china was a casualty of Baxter's first visit. 'L'chiam," he toasted with another oddly shaped jar. "We're a matched set. You got the jelly jar, I got the peanut butter." Jim cracked up.

Sandburg handed him a fork. "Eat. You'll be a new man."

Jim took two mouthfuls of eggs and polished off a slice of toast before the enormity of his situation came roaring back. "Look, I'm incredibly grateful, but this has got to stop. I need to get out of here. This is a huge risk."

"Okay, so you're not the laid-back type," Sandburg said. "First, you listen to everything I have to say, and keep eating. Not a word 'til I'm done." With that, he started a detailed recitation of the previous day's events. Jim took the few pointed reminders to keep his mouth shut, other than to swallow, with grace. The news that the Cascade Police Department considered him a wanted fugitive, however, was too much.

"Damn them to hell! Those bastards!" Only the lapful of Sandburg's improvised dishes kept him from vaulting out of bed.

"Stay put!" Sandburg shouted. "You'll rip that arm open for sure. I'll sit on you if I have to."

"You and who else, Chief?" Jim growled.

"Me and no one," Sandburg said firmly, pressing him back down. "I checked you out, man. You may be John Wayne come-to-life, but you're not at your best. I can just wait until you take a header down the stairs and pick up the pieces." He glared at Jim. "The down side is that it will ruin all my nursing efforts."

Jim felt the flurry of energy that had come with anger ebb away. Sandburg was right.

"That's better. You need a plan," Blair said gently. "That is, unless you want to turn yourself in, and it doesn't sound like a real friendly reception. You need to trust me and let me help you."

"You're aiding and abetting, Sandburg," Jim said sharply. "Prison could be the least of your worries. You could wind up dead."

"If that was my main concern, I would have made a call long ago. Now start at the beginning."

&&&&&

Simon shuffled to the door of his home and jerked it open. "Tell me you have a good reason for being here," he growled. He left the door open and stalked to the kitchen, tying his robe and grousing as he went. He made no comment as Rafe and Brown trailed in his wake, looking altogether sheepish. They sat at the kitchen table while their Simon fumbled his way through making a pot of coffee. Somehow the peace offering they'd brought with them - Danish pastry - wilted under the stony glare of their sleepy captain.

Simon poured the steaming liquid into three mugs and helped himself to the Danish. "Since you're in yesterday's clothes, you must have spent the night at Sandburg's. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Captain, we had a thought," Rafe started, and then looked at Henri. He couldn't quite figure out how to explain this.

"Look, Captain, here's the deal," said Henri, picking up for his partner. "Maybe we just had too much time on our hands, and maybe we got you out of bed for nothing."

"Stop right there, Brown," Simon said sternly. "If you've got something to say, I need to hear it. No restrictions. Ever."

"Okay, Captain," Brown said with a smile. He stopped for moment, gathering his thoughts. "We can't figure any reason Casey Baxter would have a serious interest in Professor Sandburg. We have this thing with Ellison that makes no sense. Should be totally unconnected, right? I skimmed Baxter's file when we booked him yesterday. Not once was Ellison mentioned. Then we get to thinking, how does a known dealer like Baxter never get crosswise with Ellison, the number one guy in Narcotics?"

Simon nodded. "Go on."

"Then we realize that sitting there in front of Sandburg's house, we're not all that far from where Ellison supposedly killed his backup."

"And being good detectives, you add two plus two plus two and get ten." Simon stood up and walked the kitchen to stare out his kitchen window.

"Shit," muttered Rafe under his breath. Both partners tensed for the chewing-out that was bound to follow.

Simon turned to face them, leaning back against the sink. "You got ten, and damned if you might be right."

&&&&&

Casey Baxter sat perfectly still as his friend wrapped layer upon layer of tape around his chest. He'd never been on that end of a true, skillfully delivered beating before. Not a mark on his face, but he couldn't move a muscle without excruciating pain.

Jared gave him a thin smile. "Here we be, my man, just the two of us against the rest." He reached for an elastic bandage to add more support.

Baxter leaned his head back slightly, rolling back the clock - what? - fifteen years. He and Jared sitting in some burned out building, Jared using every band-aid they could steal to repair the damage some nameless older kid had dished out. It always came back to him and Jared. The only man he really trusted. Anger surged again, against the cops, against the rich college kids they sold to, against everyone who played him like a fish.

Jared attached the clips, taking care not to press too hard. "Casey, we don't need to do this. You and me, we can blow out of here. Take Mama 'Rita, go somewhere else, start over. It's not worth it, my man."

"And leave the whole operation to that prick? We took all the risks, J. I'll be damned if I'm going to run off now. We deserve what he promised. It shouldn't go to someone else."

Jared started to ease him into a shirt. "Casey, the man's too bad, too bad. We've learned a lot. Let's take what we know and set up in a new spot, some place we don't have to split with some Judas. He's going to kill us, or get us killed."

"Not yet, J. We give it one more shot to pull it off." He clasped Jared's hand, committing them. "We can turn it back on him. We give it one more shot, and if it doesn't work, I promise you we walk away."

He let Jared pull him off the chair and help him into his shirt and leather jacket. The pain only stiffened his resolve.

&&&&&

It wasn't hard to manage. Ellison's apartment was staked out with a minimal presence. He was just being a good commander, making an early call to the guys pulling extra duty on a weekend. Go the extra mile, boost the morale and all that. He was just doing them a favor before starting his own hard-working day.

As soon as they were out of sight, he was into the apartment. Welch had been here only a few times - awkward, quasi-social occasions to set up procedures. It chilled him again to glimpse the man through his most intimate surroundings. You would use the same terms to describe the guy's social interactions; impersonal, spare, orderly. That was the reason the plan was going to work. Ellison didn't have the safety net of close ties to his fellow officers in narcotics. He'd made sure of that.

He slipped on a plain pair of white cotton gloves, just purchased at a hardware store, cash of course. It took only a moment to find Ellison's computer and delete all the files. The journals were exactly where he'd seen Ellison store them. He opened the black cover of the first one and scanned a few pages. Each entry was classic Ellison, dated and written out in precise, readable block letters. Just the kind of well-documented evidence you needed to close a sting intended to dethrone one of Cascade's emerging drug networks. Too bad for Ellison that he'd never figured it out.

The small leather notebooks slipped easily into his pocket. He was seated comfortably in his car long before the others returned from grabbing some fresh coffee. It brought a smile to his face as he imagined shredding each of those carefully written pages, never to be seen again.

&&&&&

Jim refused to say any more until he was up and dressed. He had to admit, Sandburg had done pretty well getting the basics, right down to a pair of athletic shoes in the proper size. The clothes were sturdy and loose fitting enough to accommodate the dressings on his arm. He pocketed the receipt, intending to make sure that Sandburg was reimbursed. A guy who had lost the majority of his cast-off possessions obviously didn't have money to throw around.

He sat on the bed, watching Sandburg knot the Nike knock-offs for him. He was in no position to argue over the shoe-tying. The simple act of minimal cleanup, a shave and dressing had worn him out, and every move hurt. It went against the grain, but he had sighed in relief when the sling Sandburg insisted on took the weight off his wounded arm. He was better off one-armed than cringing at every bump and jolt.

"I take it all back, Sandburg. You could handle me with one hand tied behind your back this morning."

Sandburg grinned from his position on one knee. "Well, for all the bitching you've done, I'm glad you've seen the light. Do you want to lie down for a while?"

"God, no. How bad is it downstairs? Did Baxter mess anything up besides the dishes?"

"Oh, it's fine." Sandburg's eyes fluttered just a little. Jim wondered what little white lie he'd just tried to run by him. Sandburg was still chattering, so he chose not to dwell on it. "I brought in the lounge chair from the yard and have it set up downstairs. We can go down, but only if you let me give you a hand. Like I said earlier, if you fall, it will make me look bad."

Jim found himself smiling in spite of himself. "Okay, Chief. You're in charge." Sandburg was so dynamic he could overlook his bossiness. He wrapped his good arm around Sandburg's shoulders. When they moved downstairs, Jim was chagrined at the amount of damage Baxter had inflicted on Sandburg's meager possessions. He picked up the sparkle of glass fragments in several spots. At least Sandburg appeared to have escaped unscathed.

After a couple of tries, Jim found himself settled, surrounded by pillows, and sipping on a generous mug of hot coffee. Jim asked for it black, but Sandburg had overruled him, maintaining it was too soon to shock his system. He'd been pleasantly surprised by a creamy mixture that wasn't too sweet, with hints of other flavors. "This is good," he commented after the first taste.

"Learned that overseas. When your coffee tastes like something, you don't gulp it just for the caffeine. You need to take it slow." His half-amused smirk stopped Jim's protest before it started.

Jim shrugged. "Guess I won't argue, since I needed help making it down a flight of stairs."

Sandburg twisted himself into a position far more suited to a pretzel than a grown man and asked, "So how did it start? Go back to the beginning, just like you said. We have the time." For a man who talked all the time, he showed every sign of being a good listener.

As a general rule, Ellison knew he was no font of information about personal matters. This morning it just didn't seem like an issue. "I've worked Narcotics for awhile. About a year ago, my captain approached me about running a sting. He wanted to try to bring down some dealers we hadn't been able to touch up to that point, really cut the organization off at the head. Things like that take forever to set up; you need to lay out the bait, gain people's trust - it just takes time. The idea was that I would be offering the promise of running protection, for a price, of course. In case you don't know much about running drugs, this is a dealer's dream come true. Being able to stabilize your business is invaluable." He watched Sandburg carefully, curious as to how he would react. The general public had a Jekyll and Hyde attitude when it came to enforcing drug laws; one standard in the abstract and something completely different when it got personal. From initial appearances, the young man looked like the type you'd definitely check for a little recreational substance use.

Once again, Sandburg surprised him. It was like watching a car shift gears, several times. The coffee mug was set aside, and Sandburg was scribbling notes on a scrap of paper, talking as he wrote. "That is so amazing. From an anthropological view, it's a classic interaction of two opposing subcultures. You know, there are some studies done in Africa between rival tribal groups...." The voice trailed off. Just as quickly, he changed tacks. "How were you supposed to pull this off? You're not exactly a low profile guy in Cascade. Even drug dealers read the newspapers." Sandburg smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry. I checked you out when I went to Rainier. Hope you're not mad or anything."

"You had just cause. Most people would have turned me in long ago." Jim swirled the creamy mixture in his mug gently. Angry? How could this man possibly think he'd be angry? "Actually, being improbable works in my favor, if you're patient."

"Tell me how it worked. How did you start?" Sandburg asked eagerly.

"You start small. For the operation, it's an advantage that I work alone. Involving a partner makes it harder to establish credibility, widens the circle of need-to-know. In answer to your question, what you don't do is approach the guy directly. You nab someone who has connections back to the individual you're interested in, and let them go. Do it once, the bad guys figure you just didn't want to bother with the paper work. Do it again - carefully - it sends a message."

"So you started sending messages?"

"Loud and clear, with Baxter on the other end of the conversation. It's a long, drawn-out process. Every time I stepped over the line, I had to touch base with my captain without looking like I was meeting with him a lot."

"Why was that?" Sandburg asked. "If you don't mind me saying so, it sounds like that really bothered you."

Jim lowered the mug into his lap. "It bothered me a lot. We've been having a lot of busts go bad lately. My captain is convinced that we've got a mole in the department, someone who's tipping the heavy hitters off before we make a move. It might not have anything to do with what I was running, but he thought if we were seen meeting together outside of the ordinary, it would blow the sting. His thought was to do the opposite. He wanted to play up publicly any minor disagreement we had so that would be reported instead."

"No wonder you didn't like it." Sandburg said. Jim thought his eyes looked very sad. It felt a lot like talking to Incacha; the man heard more than you actually said. "So what happened on Thursday? Did you meet with Baxter?"

"Yeah. This was supposed to cement our relationship. I was bringing him product seized on another bust. Instead of a meet, it was an execution. You can guess the rest. They jumped me. Lost my weapon when they took this slice out of my arm. I was outgunned, outnumbered, and I had to run."

Sandburg was on his feet, pacing. "Didn't you have someone watching your back? Isn't that procedure or something?"

"They're the two men that are dead. They weren't that close, and I wasn't wired." Jim swallowed hard, but his voice cracked anyway. "God, how could this have happened?"

"Then why aren't you calling in?" Sandburg said, suddenly agitated. "Don't you want to catch whoever killed them?"

"Of course I do! I just can't." Jim couldn't hold the anger out of his voice.

"Why? It doesn't make sense!"

He pushed off the pillows, yelling back at the man who had helped him so much. "Because I heard the call! I heard the order come down to take me out. Don't you get it? Someone from the department told them it was all clear!"

"If you heard the voice, then you can identify them!" Sandburg said excitedly. "We just need to get you to the police station where there are witnesses and they can't try to hurt you before you can tell someone."

"No!" he shouted back. His gut twisted when he watched Sandburg's eyes go wide.

"There's something else," Sandburg said. His voice was quiet, the momentary anger totally gone. "Something you're not telling me. What is it, man? Haven't I earned enough trust for that?"

In the face of that quiet concern, Jim felt his own anger evaporate, along with every ounce of energy he had. His reserves were spent. "They won't believe me."

"Why not?"

"Because the guy wasn't there," Jim blurted out. He watched Sandburg's brow furrow, but he couldn't take the words back. He felt his head droop. "It was a cell phone," he said, miserable beyond words. "I heard a conversation on a damn cell phone that wasn't anywhere near me. How am I supposed to convince somebody of that when I don't believe it myself?"

&&&&&

Rhonda was sitting at Simon's desk, her fingers flying over the computer keyboard. Simon watched anxiously over her shoulder. The printer was humming.

"I don't believe this," Simon muttered. "Rhonda, I'm paying for your next computer class out of my own pocket if necessary. Can anyone do this?"

"Not just anyone, Captain." She smiled at him and typed in a few more commands. "I guess being the clerical rep on the technology committee has its advantages. I can't guarantee that all my tracks are covered. That was the point of changing to different computers while we did this snooping."

"Hey, Joel's a charitable man. Just promise me, when all this is over, you'll help me secure the records in Major Crime a lot better than this."

He grabbed the last batch of printouts, and headed for one of their conference rooms. It took him a moment to fumble for the key to the door. Unlike any normal day in the bullpen, the door was locked tight. He didn't want anyone blundering in on Rafe and Henri by accident. He stayed briefly. If the situation weren't so dire, he would have taken pride in the investigative skills his two men were using. He had a good department, and he was proud of it. He locked the door again on his way out.

He scanned the bullpen on the return to Joel's office. He didn't have that many detectives on duty today. No casual visitor would notice anything out of the ordinary, and the regulars were either off duty or wouldn't be in for hours.

Rhonda looked angry and disgusted when he got back. "I found another one, Captain." She handed him a case summary. "That's what Ellison sent Captain Welch. It's still in Ellison's private cache. Then look at this one." She pointed to the screen. "Compare the paragraphs, and this section down here. Someone is definitely altering Ellison's reports after he turns them in. It's very subtle. Even Ellison might not notice, unless he was really looking for something."

"When is the date on this one, Rhonda?" Simon asked, examining the text again. Same slant. Every change made Ellison look bad, like he was covering something up. No wonder IA thought they had an open and shut case.

"This one is from last November. I've gotten better at looking. There's a clear pattern. The altered paperwork is always on incidents that Ellison worked totally on his own. If it's cross-referenced to another officer, then whoever is doing this won't touch it."

"Shit. We're talking, what, almost a year? Other than an out-and-out hacker, who could do this? Who has this kind of access?"

"If it's a hacker, they know a lot about departmental procedure. Honestly, sir, I could do it, if it had occurred to me, but it would have taken me awhile to figure out."

"So you think that rules out most of the clerical staff?" Simon asked.

"Yes, and probably most of the officers. They just file the paperwork; they don't bother with the ins and outs of how it moves through the paper chain, and how the different parts are linked together. Once it hits their superior's desk, they couldn't care less." She fiddled with the mouse pad, and then looked Simon straight in the eye. "I hate to say it, but Captain Welch was on the technology committee with me."

Simon sat down heavily in the straight chair that he had pulled up beside Rhonda. "Dear God," was the only comment he could manage. It made him sick to think it.

&&&&&

Jared leaned his head against the windowsill, trying to divide his attention between Sandburg's place and his friend. Despite being warned off, Casey was determined to grab either Ellison or Sandburg on the sly and one-up the man. It was a dangerous game to be playing, and they were in a bad enough position already.

Casey groaned and shifted on the thrown-together nest of blankets. At least he was sleeping. Jared had tried to convince him to go to Mama's house and get some rest, but Casey had insisted on setting up in this deserted rental they'd discovered on the initial search of the neighborhood. He probably needed a hospital. The thought of internal injuries chilled Jared's soul.

It struck him suddenly that he had virtually no memories that weren't wrapped around Casey Baxter. They were a pair; the motherless black kid, tough and mouthy, and the lone Latino boy in the second grade, shy and barely able to speak a word of English. Casey had taught him English, stood up for him, named him Jared to make him feel more 'American'. Joachim had shared his grandmother, Mama Rita, the only real family Casey had ever known.

He silently murmured a prayer, remembered from mornings at Mass with Mama Rita. That had been a long time ago; Mama reciting in Spanish, the two of them tucked under her arms, surrounded by her love. Mama Rita had been their center. Then she'd gotten sick. She needed medicine, and they needed the money to buy it. They did what seemed like a good idea at the time. If someone was willing to pay for the drugs, why shouldn't they take?

Jared rested a hand on the restless shoulder, and Casey slipped into a deeper slumber. The drug business was poisoning his friend's soul. He'd killed for their boss, Jared was sure of it. Now their boss had turned on them, and all Casey could think about was getting back in the game. Unless they left town, maybe God was their only way out right now.

&&&&&

"This is too much for you right now." Blair took the mug from Jim's hand, alarmed by this turn of events. "Why don't you rest for awhile, and we'll talk about this later?"

Jim protested, but leaned back on the lounge chair nonetheless. His face was ashen. "You don't get it, do you? The only reason I got out of there was I heard something impossible. I can't explain that." He groaned. "I look totally guilty. Two good men died, and it was my fault."

Blair watched him in concern. Ellison was just overwhelmed - physically, mentally, emotionally. "Hey," he soothed. "We're smart guys. We'll think of something. Give yourself a chance to get it together, man. The two men who died shouldn't be on your conscience if you didn't pull the trigger."

Ellison's gazed skewered him. "Do you think I killed them?"

Sandburg shook his head. "If I did, I would have turned you in."

"You didn't really answer me. If you're the smart guy you say you are, that's exactly what you ought to do. Pick up the phone and call the department."

"Why are you doing that?" Blair asked. Ellison's face had turned into a mask. The hurt and exhaustion were replaced with a look of hostile distance.

"Doing what?"

"Courting disaster, egging me to call you in? It's like expecting the worst so you won't be disappointed. If you were trying to deceive me, you'd come up with a better story than this." He watched Ellison, waiting for some kind of response. The man's jaw clenched momentarily, but that was it. "Look, can't you just say it was a gut hunch? Don't tell them you heard the phone. Just tell them it felt wrong, and you tried to bail out. It still sounds to me like you really need to call your captain. Let him know you're not dead, and that you didn't have anything to do with the other officers being killed."

"It won't be that simple," Ellison said, shaking his head. "They must have some evidence that points in my direction."

"Now we're making progress. What would that be? How could they possibly link you to the murders?"

"Fingerprints on the car or the bodies, which I can guarantee aren't there. We were using the cell phone for contact. I only talked to them briefly before I left my vehicle. I didn't get any closer than that."

"Doesn't seem very useful, the cell phone, I mean. How were they supposed to get there if something went wrong?"

"Baxter would have found a wire. Not the best, but I wasn't expecting to get ambushed."

Blair was relieved that Ellison seemed to be considering the question seriously. Anything was better than watching the guy guilt himself into taking the blame for something he didn't do. "Other evidence? I lost my gun on the roof. I guess they could have planted it at the scene. That shouldn't do them a lot of good. The ballistics wouldn't match." He shrugged. "I can't think of anything else. An anonymous tip, maybe, but I can't do anything about that."

"Is there anyway you could find out?"

"I guess the only way is to talk to my captain, like you said."

"Then pick up my phone and call, man! Why wait another second?"

Ellison pushed himself off the lounge chair. "It's possible they could trace the call back to you. I don't want to implicate you at this point. As far as anyone else is concerned, I was under your back porch without your knowledge."

"I'm not sure anyone would believe that, Ellison."

A small smile grew on Ellison's face. "How about you just call me Jim, okay? I think we can keep you out of it. Where's the nearest payphone? I'll make the call from there."

"I've got a better idea. I borrowed the Anthro department's cell phone. I'll use it to call the house, and then I'll call the Police department from the payphone. That'll work, won't it? Then you can stay here and rest. You don't look like you're ready to vault off the lounge chair just yet."

"I guess I look pretty sad, don't I?" Ellison stared at his feet. "I should at least walk around a little bit."

They tested out the cell phone, and agreed on using a payphone in a strip mall not far away. Blair was on his way out the door when Jim abruptly said, "Wait! Do you have some gloves?"

"Gloves? It's summer, man. My winter stuff is packed in one of those boxes you were hiding behind."

Jim turned his back and walked shakily into the kitchen. He came back with a thin cotton dish towel. "Don't touch anything in the phone booth with your bare hand. Even better, stop and buy some garden gloves. Make sure we have the cell phone connection before you dial." He handed Blair a number scrawled on a slip of paper. "That number rings directly to my captain. Don't say anything, okay? Just listen so you can tell when to hang the phone up. When we're done, get out of there fast. The department can trace the call."

"Why all the cloak and dagger? It's just a phone call."

"Just trying to be careful, Chief. It never hurts to be cautious."

&&&&&

"Casey? Hey, Casey!" A hand was shaking him awake.

"Whaaa - what is it?" Baxter asked sleepily. His body ached from sleeping on the floor, even though Jared had done everything he could to make it comfortable.

"Sandburg just left the house. Got in a van and drove off. What do you want to do?"

Baxter pulled himself to the window. The van with Rainier University painted on the side was gone. "You spot the other guys watching the place?"

"Yeah, they split up. One stayed. The other followed Sandburg."

"Damn. You recognize him?"

"No. Kind of worries me, Casey, not knowing who's doing what. You want to make a try for the house and look for Ellison? Call in some of our own guys?"

"Not yet." Baxter thought for a moment. "Call Tamar. Tell him to get some guys together just in case."

Jared left to make the calls. Baxter stared out the window of the deserted house, watching for any hint of movement coming from Sandburg's place. "Come on, Ellison. Give me a little flicker," he muttered. "Just a little flash that you're in there is all I need."

&&&&&

Simon sat alone in his office. He'd sent his hardworking secretary back home to enjoy what was left of her weekend. Brown and Rafe were still in the conference room, waiting on him.

This was like chasing a shadow. Every time he caught the barest outlines, it skittered away like smoke. What did he really know, as it stood?

The forensics evidence indicating Ellison had murdered his fellow officers was pretty flimsy. Any good defense lawyer would rip it to shreds. It also required Ellison being phenomenally stupid; not probable, as far as Simon was concerned.

Someone had been systematically altering Ellison's case files. He didn't know who and he didn't know why. No one on Rhonda's list of individuals with access and know-how looked likely.

Ellison had gone through a subtle shift in work habits, dating back to the time the altered paper work started to appear in the system.

Casey Baxter was a black hole as far as Narcotics was concerned, which didn't make any sense. If Major Crime knew the man was a dealer, why did Narcotics act like he wasn't there?

Baxter led to Sandburg, who was in the general vicinity of where Ellison and the two dead officers had been working.

Simon knew he needed to make a decision. This was, or should be, IA's job. He had no business pulling Ellison's case files. He had no business casting aspersions on other members of the department. If he continued, he would quite likely alienate his peers in the command structure. He might be flirting with disciplinary action, and he was dragging Rhonda, Rafe and Brown right along with him.

On the other side of the equation was a good cop who seemed to have the deck stacked against him

Simon grabbed a sheet of paper and pen. He hand wrote a memo, stating unequivocally that Rhonda had assisted him with the computer files only under his direct orders and over her objections. He dated and signed it, sealed it in an envelope and slipped it into Rhonda's desk where he knew she would find it. It was the best he could do to create a '"get out of jail free" card. He did the same for Rafe and Brown, although his two detectives had a little more of a cover. At least Sandburg was their case, no matter how fluky. He grabbed his coat and put in one last call to Joel. Their conversation was short and to the point.

He collected his two detectives. It was time to go have a heart-to-heart with Sandburg.

&&&&&

"Hey, Jim. Can you hear me?"

"I hear you just fine, Chief. You still have the number?"

"Got it. Shall I dial now?"

"Yeah. Just make sure you don't say anything, and I won't stay on the line very long. If anything doesn't seem right, I'll just hang up. If that happens, you hang up, too, and get out of there. Don't mess around, Sandburg. You do exactly what I tell you."

"Got it." Blair dialed the number and held the cell phone close to the receiver. As Jim had predicted, no dispatcher or secretary answered the phone. Blair listened anxiously as ring after ring went unanswered. Would Jim want him to hang up or try again?

There was a slight clatter on the other end. Someone was finally answering. "Captain Welch," the voice said.

Blair frowned. Jim wasn't answering. Maybe it wasn't working.

"Welch, here." A pause. "Who is this?" Now the voice sounded angry.

Jim still didn't say a word. Abruptly, Blair could hear the phone at his home bang down. He could hear the guy on the other end, demanding an answer. Shaken, he hung up the receiver. What could have gone wrong?

He ran the two blocks back to where he parked the van in the lot of a fast food joint. He was breathing hard. For the second time he dialed his home number from the cell phone. Jim wasn't answering. He started the van, and was waiting to pull into traffic when a Cascade Police car came flying by. The lights were flashing, with no siren, heading in the direction of the phone he'd just deserted.

He forced himself to nonchalantly drive back to the house. At the last major intersection before entering his neighborhood, another patrol car roared by.

Blair took a deep breath and made his turn. He didn't drive straight home. He took a couple extra turns before he pulled the van to a stop in his tiny carport. He picked up the bag of groceries he'd purchased, and strolled into the house. Jim was waiting for him in the kitchen.

"What happened? Didn't it work? Couldn't you hear him?" he demanded.

Jim didn't answer him. He had questions of his own. "Did you see anyone? Were you followed?"

"Of course no one followed me!" Blair said, starting to get angry. "This is getting a little ridiculous. We set all this up and then you don't say a word?"

"Did you see anyone?" Jim persisted.

Blair frowned. "Yeah. By the time I got back to the van, a patrol car went by. I saw another on the way home."

"I didn't hear any sirens," Jim said.

"Lights only. They were moving fast, Jim." Jim was heading into the other room, checking discreetly at the windows. Blair followed him, getting more frustrated and upset. "What the hell is going on? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I couldn't, Chief. I'm in really big trouble. I'm sorry I got you involved in this. I need to leave. I'll never tell a soul I was here."

"Jim, talk to me."

Jim was shaking his head. "God, I can't believe it. When Welch answered the phone, I realized it." He looked Blair in the eye. "It was the same voice. My own captain gave the order to kill me."

He sank down to sit on the first stair and buried his head in his one functional hand. Blair couldn't think of a thing to say. He couldn't imagine that depth of betrayal.

&&&&&

"Sandburg's back. Looks like he went out for groceries."

"Maybe," Casey said thoughtfully, still staring out the window. "You reach everyone? Did the other watcher come back?"

"Our guys are on the move. The guy who followed Sandburg? He's back, parked down the street. Got another little tidbit of info, my man. Remember Tamar's little bro? I had Tamar send him up and down a couple streets, bouncing his basketball. The guy who stayed behind when Sandburg left? The kid says he's a cop. Came and rousted his family a year or so ago, looking for Tamar. Tamar snuck a look. Says he's the same guy, but he's pretty sure he's retired or something."

"Makes things a little more complicated, doesn't it? I didn't catch a glimpse of Ellison. The house looked deserted while Sandburg was gone."

"Even if we could flush him out, Casey, what would we do?" Jared sat close to his friend. "We can't do anything without the other guys watching the house seeing us."

Baxter glared at the window. "We'll give it a little more time," he said darkly.

&&&&&

"Jim?" Ellison made no sign of hearing. Blair knelt down on the floor, trying to get some response. "Come on, Jim. It was a weird connection. You could have made a mistake."

Jim shook his head. "It was no mistake. That's why they have the APB out. Captain Welch could pull something like that off. The head of IA is a close personal friend of his. He'd believe anything Welch had to say. It would have all been so simple if I'd died on the spot, just like I was supposed to."

"Okay, let's just run with this for the moment," Blair said softly. "What would your captain have to gain by doing this?" Jim was silent, but the expression on his face changed subtly. "Good. You're starting to think it through. Let's say he wanted you to take the blame for something. What has to happen?"

"Plant evidence. I guess we can assume that already happened. The undercover stuff would be pretty easy to twist."

"You must have something that would represent your side of the story. Someone you work with that you talk to?"

Jim shook his head. He looked totally defeated. He slid up a step to leave Blair a place to sit. "I file my reports. I kept a journal," he said woodenly.

"Well, that's a start," Blair said, trying to be encouraging. "How often did you write in it? The more entries it has the better."

"Every time I took action that related to Baxter, I wrote it down. They're at my loft, so I can't get to them."

"Why not?" Blair blurted out, and then cringed.

"Yeah, you already know the answer to that one, don't you?" Jim said. "That's the first place they'd look. I think - I think I should just turn myself in voluntarily. That would at least count for something, and it would get you out of it. I should never have let you get involved in the first place."

"Don't be stupid," Blair said sharply. "I'm going to be the first character witness. Listen to me, man, there's just got to be someone you can call to help, someone on the force with no ties to your captain, someone who's above reproach. If that won't fly, maybe a lawyer, or a journalist would work. If things are really as bad as you think, if you try to just walk in, it would be really easy to shoot you first and explain later. You need someone to negotiate for you, to keep everything above board."

Jim nodded, but even through the stoic mask Blair could tell he thought it was hopeless. "Come on, Jim. I know it looks really bad, but you don't have to go in like a lamb to the slaughter. I want you to go through the whole thing with me, and we'll pick it apart."

Jim let his head drop into his hands. "I have to think about this. If I'm right, and Captain Welch gave the order to kill me, then it isn't just some mistake after the fact. It was planned; a set-up, maybe all the way back to the beginning. Why would he do that?"

"Why indeed?" Blair said gently. The two men sat quietly. Blair respected the silence, realizing that it would take time for Jim to work through the possibilities.

"I can't think of any reason he would hang me out to dry as a cop. I have the best record in the department. We're not friends, but I do more than my share to make Narcotics look good."

"Is he jealous?" Blair asked. "Do you threaten him professionally in some way?"

Jim shrugged. "I'm not after his job or anything. I'm scheduled to take the Lieutenant's exam, but that just raises my pay grade. It doesn't change my job description. If he didn't want me in his department, he could transfer me easily enough."

"Maybe you're too good at your job. Maybe he's helping the other side."

"Captain Welch has been on the force thirty-five years, Chief. He's been decorated twice. He was a strong candidate for Chief of Police a few years ago. Warren got chosen instead, but it was close. For him to be a dirty cop is inconceivable."

"If he's responsible for trying to get you killed, and implicated in the death of your backup, I can conceive a lot," Blair said bitterly. "Let's think of it from a different angle. Tell me what would have happened if you hadn't gotten away?"

"I'd have been dead, with drugs that were supposed to be in evidence lockup. If Welch pulled the rug out from under me, they could have blamed me for anything under the sun and it would have stuck," Jim said grimly. "Pretty much like what's going to happen when I turn myself in."

"So what happens to Baxter? Isn't he in trouble, too? After all, you were bringing the drugs to him, and he's a known dealer. Why does he put himself in jeopardy? What's his payoff?"

"He's just another meaningless pawn, caught in the crossfire..." Jim's voice trailed off. Those lifeless blue eyes sparked to attention, and he stared at Blair.

"And what if he's not a pawn, Jim?" Blair hopped to his feet, waving his hands, his own thoughts racing. "What if it was all about Baxter from the beginning, and you were just the means to an end. You said yourself, you've been throwing him favors for months. What if that was the point, and you were the expendable pawn?"

"Chief, you're talking crazy. Captain Welch doesn't have any use for Baxter."

"You're making an assumption," Blair countered. "An honest police captain doesn't have any use for Baxter. So tell me what ways a dishonest police captain could use a Casey Baxter."

"You mean, someone on the take?" Jim looked horrified.

"Come on, Jim," Blair pleaded. "If the man had no scruples, what could he do? What could he gain?" Blair stopped pacing and stood directly in front of Jim, arms folded. "Maybe he doesn't want to retire on a cop's pension. Maybe he has some crisis and needs money. Maybe he's bitter over not being chosen Chief of Police."

"I don't have any basis for making that kind of an accusation, much less proving it. This is crazy." Jim stood up, looking more pale, feverish, and weary than ever. "This can only get worse. I want you to drop me off somewhere; give yourself some separation. If it's somewhere public, they can't just gun me down when I turn myself in."

"Will another hour make any difference?" Blair asked. "Jim, even if you insist on turning yourself in, you need to regroup. Let the shock wear off so you can think clearly. Call a lawyer. Get someone who can be your advocate." Blair moved close to the taller man's side. "Look, let's go upstairs. You can get comfortable, and take time to sort this out. I promise, if you decide to go, I'll cooperate. Please, Jim."

Jim leaned against the wall, the enormity of betrayal draining his last reserves of energy. He managed a nod, and allowed Blair to assist him up the narrow staircase.

*****

"That's Sandburg's place. Captain, what do you really think is going on?"

Banks looked a Rafe in the rearview mirror. They'd taken Brown's car, and Rafe had volunteered to leave the front for his superior. "It might be a little early to speculate." Brown said nothing, but his sideways glance spoke volumes. Obviously, his men were expecting something less politically correct. Banks reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a cigar. He felt the need for something to fiddle with. "At a minimum, I think Ellison crossed paths with Sandburg, whether he knows it or not. We need to prod him. Maybe he saw something, and dismissed it without telling us. As for Ellison, I had misgivings from the start."

"Captain, maybe I ought to wait out here," Rafe offered. "It might spook him to have all of us show up like an invading army or something."

"Not a bad idea," Banks agreed. "Maybe check out the neighborhood a little more. See who comes and goes."

Banks led the way up the narrow walk and onto the porch. They could hear the sound of footsteps on the wooden floors inside. There was no bell, but a much tarnished doorknocker took its place.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

Both men inside the house froze halfway up the stair. Someone was at the door.

"No bell," Blair whispered. "I won't answer." They stood motionless.

Rap Rap Rap

"Mr. Sandburg? It's Detective Brown. I'd really like to speak with you. It's important."

"They heard us. The stairs creak," Jim hissed. "Go." Blair shook his head violently. "Go," Jim insisted. "They didn't say they have a warrant. They can only go as far as you let them. Answer them."

"Just a second," he called out. "I'll be right there."

"When you go down, I'll go up."

Blair nodded his head. He took slow even steps on the way down so Jim could match his pace, went to the door and looked back over his shoulder. Jim had melted away. Blair forced a pleasant look onto his face and opened the door.

&&&&&

"Gregg, we've got a problem."

"You shouldn't be calling me at this number."

"So tell me why Captain Banks just showed up? How'd you happen to overlook that little detail, Gregg?"

"I don't know anything about it? What about Ellison?"

"There's no sign of him. You know, Gregg, I'm getting real disinterested in Ellison." The man watched carefully as Banks and one of his detectives headed toward Sandburg's house. A third was lounging by the car. "We had a deal. Mark and I give you a little help, you make sure we're covered, and we all make a little cash on the side. All of a sudden, I don't feel so protected."

"What is this? Don't you even think about it, Widman. I've saved your ass too many times."

"They're going in, Gregg, old buddy. That's it for me. I'm not taking on Major Crime and Banks for a lousy couple hundred a month. You're going to be taking care of Ellison all by your lonesome."

He hung up and looked at Mark Nichols, who was nodding his head. They'd been friends a long time, didn't need a lot of conversation to agree on this one. It was time to buy a plane ticket and take a long trip.

&&&&&

"Detective Brown? Hi. Sorry about the wait. I was carrying some stuff upstairs and didn't want to stop." Blair planted himself firmly on the threshold.

"Afternoon, Dr. Sandburg," Brown answered, smiling. "I'd like you to meet my boss, Captain Banks. We were wondering if we could have a word with you?"

Blair stayed where he was. If he was too hostile, they might suspect something. "Uh, is there something wrong? This isn't typical follow-up, is it?"

"Well, uh, we're still concerned about Baxter," Brown said. "He made bail, you know."

Blair kept his face blank. "Look, I really appreciate your being so conscientious, but I don't feel threatened. I know who to call if anything happens."

"Dr. Sandburg, this isn't a typical situation," Banks said. "Please allow us to discuss this with you. There may be more to Baxter's breaking and entering than we first suspected."

Blair's thoughts flitted to the man hiding somewhere upstairs. These two very earnest gentlemen didn't know the half of it. "I'm sure you're wrong. Baxter just held a grudge and did something stupid."

"Dr. Sandburg, I really must insist. Please allow us to speak with you. May we come in?"

The moment of truth. Jim was right, they didn't have a warrant. All he had to do was say, "Thanks, but no," and shut the door. The look on the captain's face made him reconsider. This man wasn't used to being turned down. He'd probably come back, and maybe see or hear something that would give him cause for a warrant. Maybe the best way to get them to leave was to ask them in, hear them out, and play dumb.

Blair took a step back. "Why don't you come in. I'm afraid the seating accommodations are a bit sparse."

&&&&

"Casey? Come take a look at this. Sandburg has new visitors."

Baxter struggled to his feet. Every move hurt. "Shit. I know him."

"Which one?"

Baxter shook his head, frowning. "The dude in grunge hauled me in after Sandburg knocked me cold with his bat. The other guy is Captain Banks of Major Crime. Tried to pin a major rap on me last year. Remember when that warehouse got busted last year? You were with Mama Rita, 'cause she was sick."

"Yeah, I remember. You said he was one to avoid."

"So what's a captain making house calls for?"

"Hey, Casey, look. The babysitters just took off."

"No shit. Banks might recognize them if they're cops."

"What now?"

"We wait some more. Damn, what I wouldn't give to be inside that dump."

&&&&&

Captain Banks and Detective Brown helped themselves to seats on some still-unpacked moving boxes in the parlor. Blair was perched nervously on the lounge chair, and waited for one of the other men to take the lead.

"Dr. Sandburg, we have some doubts about the incident at Rainier. Dealers like Baxter have minor confrontations all the time. We're not sure that single encounter would explain Baxter's sudden interest in you. He's very smart. It's unlike him to get caught in such a compromising situation."

Blair shrugged and spread his hands wide. "I can't imagine any other reason for his interest." Banks was watching him carefully. He wasn't buying it.

"You may know that we lost two officers this week. That incident happened just a short distance from here."

"Oh, right. It's been all over the news. I've heard about it."

"Yes, well, Baxter may have been involved in that incident. We're beginning to think that may be the reason he came to your home."

"For what possible reason?" Blair asked, hoping he looked baffled. He never had been very good at playing dumb. "I don't mean to be rude, but don't you have a suspect in that case? Wasn't some cop on the wrong side to blame?"

The two men opposite him exchanged looks. "Dr. Sandburg, this is a delicate matter. The officer you're referring to is Detective Ellison. We've come across some evidence that indicates the initial conclusions may have been incorrect." Banks leaned forward slightly, fiddling with his cigar. "We suspect that Baxter may have followed Ellison this way. Perhaps you saw something and don't realize it."

"I certainly would have told you," Blair said, the lie sticking on his tongue. He'd been known to obfuscate on occasion, but he avoided out and out dishonesty.

"Maybe you could let us look around? Ellison might have hidden here without your knowledge. Your safety may be in jeopardy until we get to the bottom of this," Banks said.

"Captain, how could I possibly know anything about this Ellison?" Blair protested. "Having my home ransacked by a drug dealer doesn't make me a sanctuary for every fugitive in Cascade." Blair could sense they didn't believe him.

"Mr. Sandburg, the only way for Detective Ellison to clear his name is to come in," Banks said, changing tone abruptly. "If you know something, or you care about justice, you need to work with us."

They knew. Blair was sure they knew, but legally, they couldn't do anything about it. He smiled politely. "Captain, I'm very grateful for all the assistance from your detectives yesterday, but I really can't help you."

"That's enough." The three of them turned toward the voice. Jim was standing in the doorway. "I'd like to surrender, but keep him out of it. He just thought I was some messed up drifter. He didn't know a thing."

&&&&&

Rafe leaned against the car, trying to look bored and unobservant. This situation was getting stranger by the minute. The car he'd seen pulling away had been driven by Mark Nichols. He was sure of it. He'd had a run in with Nichols before he'd retired, back when he was a rookie. He knew for a fact Nichols lived way on the other side of town, and that could have easily been his old partner in the passenger seat. Kind of an odd coincidence.

Rafe wanted nothing more than to give that little tidbit to Captain Banks, but he stayed put. He kept picking up movement from a nearby house. When he and Brown had done their follow-up on Baxter, they'd checked the ownership of the nearby homes. That particular address was supposed to be vacant. Interesting. It had a perfect view of Sandburg's house, if someone needed to watch.

Rafe stared up at the patchy white clouds dotting the sky. Yeah, he'd just keep looking around. At everything and nothing, but especially that upstairs window.

&&&&&

No one moved. Banks slowly stood, but made no move toward the fugitive before him. "Why don't you come in, Detective. I'd like to hear your side of the story."

"I should probably just speak with an attorney, Captain."

"You're entitled. Ellison, you look like hell. Somehow you don't look like a man who took off with a small fortune in drugs and cash."

"No, sir. No fortunes."

Banks noticed the sling, and Ellison's pallor. "You don't look too steady. Sit down, Ellison."

Ellison made a visible effort to stand tall. "I think we should go, sir. Dr. Sandburg shouldn't be involved. Will cuffs be necessary? I won't resist."

Banks shook his head. "If we take you downtown, it'll be a circus. Why don't you give me your statement here?"

"Not very smart, sir. I'm not required to say anything."

"If you're guilty, by all means, lawyer up. If you're innocent, we may be your best shot. Your choice."

Blair stood and gestured toward the lounge chair. "It wouldn't hurt anything, Jim. Sit down before you fall down. Why don't I get us some iced tea?" He stepped aside, waiting for Jim to make the first move. The tension in the small room sizzled.

"Thanks. Some tea would be great." Jim took two unsteady steps and sank onto the cheap plastic straps of the chair, the only intact furniture Sandburg had left. "I waive my rights, for now. I didn't do it, sir."

"Brown, go get the tape recorder out of the car. We'll do this right, from the very beginning. I won't screw you over, Ellison. You'll get a fair hearing from me."

The screen door slapped shut as Brown hustled down the steps. Blair came in, carrying one of his plastic plates holding four mismatched glasses of tea. "I know," he said. "Baxter was a little hard on the family crystal. I personally recommend the mayo jar. Good capacity."

Simon couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Brown told me you were unique individual, Dr. Sandburg. I'm beginning to see why."

Blair nudged a packing carton close by with his toe and sat down. "Did you mean it? That you have evidence? Or were you just trying convince me to tell you something."

Simon considered his position. "Let's just say I'm going to have a very open mind concerning what Detective Ellison has to say."

&&&&&

Captain Gregg Welch slammed the phone down in disgust. Damn Mark Nichols. He'd always been good to the guy, covered his ass through one screw-up after another. And now the little son of a bitch was going to run out on him? Maybe for the moment. Nichols didn't have the guts, or the smarts, to leave his comfortable nest.

Still seething, his forced his thoughts away to other, more important matters. What was Banks up to? Maybe nothing. His detectives had handled the call from Sandburg. It could be a pure coincidence and have nothing to do with Ellison. Maybe Sandburg had made a complaint, and Banks was trying to smooth things over.

Besides, Baxter had admitted he'd found no sign of the missing detective in Sandburg's house. There was nothing in Sandburg's behavior that indicated Ellison was or had been there. They were really staking out the house because they didn't have any better options.

He came to the conclusion it didn't matter. The last thing he wanted was Banks snooping around, no matter what the reason. The captain of Major Crime was not the kind of guy to mess around with. He ran a tight, close-knit division and had a good political base. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind. The departmental meeting concerning Ellison had shown that clearly enough. That was a danger. If the need arose, he didn't have any immediate means to bring pressure to bear on Banks. He'd need to consider that. Everyone had a weak spot, and Banks would, too. If leverage was required, he'd find it.

He'd gone too far to have this blow up in his face. He had plenty of other resources to tap. He needed to make some calls, and he didn't want them going through the department's switchboard.

He buzzed his secretary. "Paula, I need to run out and get a prescription filled. I'll be back in half an hour or so." Without waiting for her to answer, he hung up. He could use any one of several public phones along the way.

&&&&&

"Will you at least tell me what they're saying?" Jim asked while Brown set up the equipment. "I know it's bad, or they wouldn't have used the media."

"You don't know?" Banks asked in surprise.

"No. Sandburg, doesn't own a television, and Baxter trashed his radio. I haven't even seen a newspaper."

"I can confirm that, Captain. He's been completely isolated," Sandburg offered. "He's had a really rough time."

"I'd like to hear your version before we discuss it. Dr. Sandburg, this is a formal statement. If you're willing, we'll take your statement later, but I'll have to ask you to leave the room, or be completely silent."

"Jim?"

"I'd like him to stay, Captain. He deserves to be here. I took advantage of him."

Banks noted Sandburg's frown. He had a feeling Sandburg's story might be an interesting tale.

"We're ready, Captain." Simon recited the date and time for the record. "Go ahead, Ellison."

"I was supposed to meet Baxter at Vine and Fourteenth. It's a rooftop we've used before. It was part of an undercover operation designed to identify an information leak within Narcotics. I'd been on it for months. This was supposed to be the last step in gaining his confidence."

"Backup?"

"It was at a distance. They weren't supposed to know why they were there. I didn't even talk to them face to face ahead of time. Baxter would have found a wire. Our only link was a cell phone. Extreme emergency only."

"Alright. What happened when you met Baxter?"

"Something felt off from the start. I - I let things roll for a few minutes, then as soon as I knew it was a set-up, I tried to bail on it. They jumped me. There was a struggle. One of Baxter's boys cut me nearly to the bone. I lost my weapon, and had to make a run for it. They cut me off from the vehicle. I tried to lose them in the residential area. I was barely on my feet when I ducked under Sandburg's back porch."

"Where are the drugs?" Simon asked.

"Hidden. I was supposed to take the whole stash from evidence to the meeting. At the last minute, I hid it and just took a sample, so they could test it."

"Was there cash involved?" Simon asked.

"Baxter was the buyer. If he brought it, I don't have it."

"So you ended up here? Did you identify yourself?"

"No, sir. Sandburg ran Baxter and his men off. They really didn't know where I was. When I crawled out from under the porch, he offered to call an ambulance, or the police. I refused. I intended to leave. I didn't want to get a civilian in the crossfire. The only reason Dr. Sandburg is involved at all is because I collapsed before I could get out of his backyard. The only thing he's guilty of is being a good Samaritan."

"And since that first day?"

"I've been pretty weak. Sandburg volunteered to go buy me some clothes the next morning, and that's when Baxter showed up at the house. I hid in the attic. The heat and the blood loss, I passed out. Sandburg thought I'd taken off, and called the police. He didn't find me until after dark. I was in pretty bad shape. He took care of me again. This morning, he told me that I was wanted for questioning. Dr. Sandburg encouraged me to surrender." Banks notice a small flash in Sandburg's eyes after that statement. He wondered what had really gone on. Ellison continued. "I just wanted to figure out what was going on before I walked in. I tried to contact Captain Welch. It - it didn't work out." Jim hesitated. "Turn off the tape. I need a moment." He shifted uneasily. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. "Sorry, I'm still not doing too well."

Blair disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two aspirin and the pitcher of tea. "They've probably worn off since this morning," he said, handing the capsules to Jim. "Captain, he really needs some medical attention. He lost a lot of blood. The gash on his arm needs stitches, and I'm sure there's infection. I didn't have the best supplies." He refilled Jim's glass. "Here, finish that off."

Banks waited until Ellison seemed to steady himself. "You still haven't told me what tipped you off. Lets start with that. Start the tape again."

"Don't," Jim said, quickly. "There isn't anything to tell. Call it instinct. I just knew."

"That's your story?" Simon asked pointedly. "It's pretty damn weak."

"I'm telling the truth."

"So you say." Simon shook his head. Ellison was holding back. "I have reasons to give you the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone would agree. You need to give me more, something I can work with."

"Jim, tell him," Blair said softly.

Banks studied the interplay between the two men. There must be more. Whatever it was, Ellison wanted to stay away from it. "Ellison, this is your life on the line. The truth won't come out if you don't trust me."

Jim raised his eyes from the floor. "First time you hear this, I want the tape off." He waited, watching Banks closely.

"All right, Ellison. We'll do it your way, for the moment."

"When I was on the roof, Baxter's cell phone rang, and he answered it. The voice on the phone said, 'You're clear, take him out.' I knew then it was a set up. The only way they would have connected those me to me was a tip from someone in the department. I dove for cover, but I couldn't get clear. One of them caught me with a knife. The rest you know."

"You heard the voice from his phone?" Banks asked. "I find that hard to believe. How close were you?"

"Not that close, sir, but I know what I heard."

"Captain, some people do have exceptional hearing," Sandburg interrupted. Banks looked out him doubtfully. "I've done research on it, and it's well documented in scientific studies. Some people have one or two senses that function far more acutely than normal. It would be possible to test Jim, to verify his story. In fact, just my observations over the last few days indicates Jim might be one of those individuals."

"Okay, let's say I buy it. Why didn't you follow through and contact Captain Welch?"

Ellison shrugged. "It just didn't work out."

Ellison kept a perfect poker face. Sandburg didn't. He looked down and away. "Not good enough," Banks said.

A look of despair ran through Ellison's eyes, as if he knew he had not other options. "When I heard Welch's voice, I realized it was the same voice that tipped off Baxter. I think my captain set me up. No one's going to believe me, and I can't prove it. That's why I didn't come in."

The only sound was a low gasp from Brown. At the same moment, Ellison faltered, slumping forward. Banks moved to break his fall, but Sandburg got there first. Together they eased him back into the chair. Ellison lay back, pale and shaky.

Sandburg urged Ellison to take a few more sips of tea. "Take it easy, man." He glared angrily at Banks. "Give him a break. Can't you imagine what he's going through?"

Simon didn't answer. All the pieces were sliding into place, revealing a very ugly picture. The altered reports, the unprecedented haste to search for Ellison, it all fit. The dirty cop in all this mess was still sitting at his desk at headquarters. Even if he followed this through, it would be wrong to drag his subordinates with him.

"H, you might want to wait outside with Rafe."

"No, sir. I'm staying right here. My partner feels the same way." Without asking permission, he went to the door and waved his partner inside. They stood, side by side, grimfaced. Banks couldn't have been prouder of both of them.

"Ellison, you up to finishing this?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I don't have any choice."

"What I'm going to say stays in this room. Your backup was shot in the car. Your service revolver was found by the front tire."

"No doubt?" Jim asked.

"Positive. Your story is that you lost it. The bullets used and the ones left in the chamber were hollow points. The ballistics are a little shaky, but positive enough to hold up."

"They aren't mine. I don't fire hollow points," Jim said. "No one does."

"Here's the kicker. The gun was wiped clean. No prints on it or the ammunition."

Brown gave a low whistle. "That's definitely not common knowledge, sir. It seemed like everyone knew Ellison's gun was at the scene right away, but none of the rest of the stuff. It could have been planted. Pretty flimsy for an APB and a major press release on one of your own, if you ask me."

Ellison raised up on one elbow, managing to be angry despite his condition. "Why would I take the time to wipe down a gun I knew someone could trace to me anyway? And why throw it where any blind man could find it? Didn't anyone question it?"

"Captain Welch assured us that he'd reviewed your reports and come to the conclusion you were on the take. IA concurred. As for the forensics, the entire file was taken by IA. Except for the information that was apparently leaked, it's all under wraps."

"So how did you know?" Sandburg asked.

"I had a private talk with the specialist who worked up the evidence."

"So that's how it was supposed to go. They want me dead. Gun at the scene? Half the force would be happy to spare everyone the bother of a trial." Jim swallowed, looking down. "If someone righteous did bring me in, I lay odds they would have found me hanging in my cell. Case closed." He looked ashen. "And everyone bought it? My record didn't even buy me the benefit of the doubt?"

Banks could sympathize with Ellison's reaction. "No, not everyone agreed. There are people asking questions. Brown and Rafe thought it was a little odd that Baxter came after Dr. Sandburg. We started looking. Someone's been consistently altering your reports after they were submitted to Captain Welch. They left traces in the computer system."

Ellison blinked. "My reports? Why would someone mess with my reports?"

"Jim, you're not thinking straight," Sandburg interrupted. "They make him look guilty, don't they, Captain?"

"They were the main justification for putting out the APB. It's been going on for almost a year."

"That was when Captain Welch suggested this undercover operation," Ellison said. "He knows every detail. It was his idea."

"He never said a word about you being undercover. So either you're telling the truth, or he is," Banks said. "Do you have anything to back up your story?"

"I filed reports with Welch. I typed them up on my computer at home, so they wouldn't be in the departmental system until I sent them in. I kept journals - oh, God. Welch knows where they are. He'd come to my place every few months to review the case. He knows where I kept them hidden, I'm sure of it."

"Captain, Rafe and I could go over there," Brown suggested.

"Don't bother," Ellison said bitterly. "They're long gone. I guarantee it."

"I hate to say it, Captain, but he's probably right," Brown said. "Is there any way to know if Welch has been there?"

"Possibly," Banks said. "Ellison's place has been under surveillance. Easy enough to ask the teams who have been on duty."

"All of you, just forget it," Ellison said. "Banks, all you're going to accomplish is getting your own men in trouble. Look, I can recover the drugs. That ought to count for something. If I go in with you, at least I won't get shot on the street. I'm going down, but I don't have to take anyone else with me. It's not your responsibility."

"Whose responsibility is it?" Banks countered angrily.

Ellison waved a hand at the other two detectives. "Do you want to get them killed, too?" he shouted back.

"Stop!" Sandburg moved in front of Banks. "Neither one of you are using your heads. Captain, do you think Welch was the one to doctor the files at the police department?"

"I think so. I can't necessarily prove it. What are you getting at?"

"So maybe he has just enough knowledge to think he's smart, but not enough to be smart. He left tracks in the main system, right? Let's assume the worst. He went to Jim's place, destroyed the journals, deleted the files. He couldn't wipe the whole computer clean. It would be too obvious."

"So? What's your point. The evidence is still gone."

"Not necessarily. Go get the hard drive." He chuckled at Banks' confused look. "A deleted file isn't gone. You just have to know how to look for it." He smiled and crossed his arms. "I have friends at Rainier who do know how to look."

"Damn," Brown murmured. "I gotta take a computer class or something. Captain, what do you think?"

So now it hung in the balance. Banks stared at the man in front of him, clearly on his last legs. Guilty or not? Play it safe, or risk his career?

"I think Ellison better tell us how to sneak into his building," Banks said thoughtfully.

&&&&

He never had been any good at waiting.

Blair rocked on the balls of his feet. He'd puttered in the kitchen, tried to read a book, shoved some boxes around the parlor. Nothing was working. He sat down on the second stair, sipping his tea. He'd already made the calls to Rainier. His friend was standing by, more than willing to take a crack at Jim's hard drive as soon as it was available. He'd been confident that whatever Welch might have tried to hide, they could recover.

The detectives had left immediately with Jim's key. Jim had explained how to get in to his building unnoticed by using the back door of the bakery. Captain Banks had stayed behind and taken his statement. Other than a few reproving glances, it hadn't been too bad. Another captain had come by, someone Jim approved of, and the two of them left. Apparently they felt more confident retrieving the drugs Jim had hidden with two high ranking officers as witnesses. Jim had talked them through their search using Banks' cell phone. They should be back any minute.

He was still worried about Jim, who was dozing in the lounge chair. Jim had wanted to go with Banks to retrieve the drugs, but they'd finally talked him out of it. As it turned out, the phone conversation was all he could manage. He'd dropped off almost immediately, feverish and restless in his sleep. Blair was sure that Ellison was close to collapse. The man needed a hospital and some real medical treatment.

It was weird. They had nothing in common, but he was certain Ellison felt the same strength of connection. He hoped, after all this was over, maybe they could keep in touch. He definitely wanted to investigate Ellison's hearing capabilities.

The thump of footsteps on the porch brought him to his feet. Someone was back, hopefully with good news. In his excitement, he bounded the few steps to the door and flung it open.

The cold steel of the revolver smashed into his temple before he could react.

&&&&&&

They clambered up the steps. When Brown reached for the doorknocker, the door squeaked open. He shrugged. "Maybe Sandburg left it open for us." They stepped inside. The place look deserted. A nearly empty glass of ice tea perched on the lowest step. "Dr. Sandburg?" he called.

"Maybe he's upstairs, H," Rafe suggested. He set the computer tower from Ellison's loft on the floor.

"I'll go check." Brown took the stairs, two at a time. "Dr. Sandburg?" He disappeared onto the second floor.

"H! Get down here!"

Brown flew down the stairs. "Where are you, Rafe?"

"Kitchen!"

Sandburg was sprawled on the floor, a trail of dried blood oozing from a nasty head wound. Rafe was bringing him around.

"Shit, this is my fault. I thought someone was watching from the house across the street. When you came out to tell me Ellison was here, I completely forgot about it. How could I be so stupid?"

"Any sign of Ellison?"

"He's gone. That damn lawn chair is smashed to bits, and there's blood all over. Here, soak down one of those towels." Rafe gingerly dabbed at Sandburg's forehead.

"Jimmm..."

"Easy there. What happened?" Sandburg was woozy, but at least he was up.

"Oh, God," he groaned. "I opened the door, and something hit me." Sandburg stammered. "Jim was asleep. Where's Jim?

"I wish we knew," Brown said grimly. "I'll go check the rest of the house."

&&&&&

 

"You should have let me kill him!"

Jared swore softly in Spanish, concentrating on getting some distance between them and Sandburg's house. Those cops were already crossing the street when they'd dashed out the back, dragging Ellison. Things were spinning way out of control, and Casey was - he'd never seen Casey like this. "Casey, the cops were right there! We barely got out with Ellison."

The conversation halted for a moment. Ellison was struggling, smearing blood all over the back seat. Ellison's blood, their prints. It was a dead giveaway. Whatever happened, they were going to have to lose the car, maybe burn it. Jared watched in the rearview mirror as his friend pulled off his belt and cinched it around one wrist of Ellison's wrists, then worked on the other one. The man groaned as his arms were pulled roughly behind his back and tied. "Yeah, it hurts," Baxter snarled. "You're going to be living in pain. And I'll enjoy every second."

Ellison was too stupid to stay down. Baxter smashed his fist into Ellison's face, again and again. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth. Baxter shoved him down across the seat. "It was good for me, man. Was it good for you? Hand me the cell, J."

"Casey, get a handle on yourself," he shouted. "You're not thinking straight. We must be crazy. They're gonna know we're involved. We didn't think this through." Somehow, Jared knew he needed to slow this down. If only he could have gotten Casey back to Mama Rita. She could have calmed him, gotten him to listen. Casey was already talking again, deep in his plans, oblivious to the danger they were in.

"We didn't have time, but we'll make it work. We didn't finish Sandburg, but he didn't see anything. Ellison's going to be hung out to dry, anyway. He can't pin anything on us when he's already dead. Head for the freeway."

Jared glanced in the mirror again. Baxter smiled back. He seemed calmer, out of his rage. "I'm on top of it, my man. You're right, I'm cool now. Not your scene, I know." He gestured toward Ellison. "That last was just to keep the ride simple." Baxter triumphantly punched in the number. "We'll teach Welch to try and cut us out of the picture. That bastard'll pay for every bruise he gave me." He smiled wickedly and waited for Welch to pick up his phone.

"I have Ellison," he sneered. "Your boys blew it and ran off. No, he's not dead. I don't care what you want. I can play this a lot of different ways. How about I take Jimmy boy here down to the station and let him spill his guts? I'm sure the D.A. will plead me out of anything for dirt like that. Yeah, you know the place. One of your favorites. It's real instructional, just like you said. Don't keep me waiting."

Jared was looking at him in the rearview mirror. Baxter grinned back. "We got it made, J, just like I said. Take the Birchwood exit. Then we can just enjoy the ride."

"I hope you're right, Casey," Jared said softly. "I hope you're right."

&&&&&

Gregg Welch was fuming. Because he'd started from downtown, he had maybe a ten minute lead on that punk Baxter, and not much more. He couldn't raise either Widman or Nichols. He was fairly sure the two retired cops had split. Neither one of them had any real grit. Faced with the possibility of taking the rap for the murder of fellow officers and spending their retirement at the penitentiary in Walla Walla, no doubt they were long gone. Not that he really cared. Their departure just made two fewer loose ends to tie up, as far as he was concerned.

He'd have to deal with Baxter and pull this off himself. The real fly in the ointment was Banks. Fortunately, Ellison's notebooks were already taken care of, never to be seen. As soon as the man himself was dead, Banks wouldn't be able to prove anything, no matter what his suspicions. IA wasn't even worth worrying about.

He'd selected a spot that was shielded from the main road, but had good visibility. There was no chance Baxter could sneak in here without him knowing. He checked the magazine in his revolver, and in his backup piece, which he kept tucked into his waistband at the back. Both came from the PD's gun buy-back program, with the serial numbers carefully filed off. Neither would ever be traced back to him.

So Baxter didn't like being pushed around a little, and thought he could push back. Welch chuckled to himself. Baxter was like every street punk he'd ever known; not smart enough to come in out of the rain, and easy to manipulate. Promise them a big take and their brains drained out their ears. He had a few surprises for Casey Baxter. The beauty of it was that Baxter was easy to replace, and he already had a replacement all lined up. The operation wouldn't miss a beat. Once he pulled this off, his cover would be secure. He would virtually control more than half of the drug traffic going through Cascade.

He wasn't greedy, he'd just finally seen the light. He still tasted the bitterness of that realization. The powers that be had overlooked all his work, all his sacrifice one time too many, rewarding others when he was more deserving. And no matter how you busted your ass, the drugs were always there. He was done waiting for his turn. He only needed a year or two skimming off the profit, and then he'd retire in style. The irony was, it wouldn't make a difference to Cascade, one way or the other.

&&&&&

"Pull the car up over there, J." Welch was waiting for them.

"I don't like it, Casey," Jared said quietly.

"Don't sweat it. They call it irony. This is where the man likes to give his educational lessons. They beat the shit out of me in this very spot. Now we hold all the cards. The bastard won't be acting so superior when we finish with him." Baxter pulled Ellison out by his shirt collar and shoved him in out into the open. The cop stumbled and fell to his knees. Baxter hauled him roughly to his feet. Jared went to stand near Casey's side, silent and watchful.

"You've been an awful lot of trouble to me, Ellison," Welch sneered. Welch pulled the revolver out of his shoulder holster. He chambered a round and flicked the safety off. "You've moved up in my esteem, Baxter. We'll definitely be adjusting our arrangement. Turn him loose."

"You better believe it, starting with the split," Baxter said confidently, pulling the belt free. He gave Ellison a malicious kick that nearly sent him sprawling.

Welch made one last check of the revolver and handed it to Baxter. "Put a bullet in his leg. It'll look like he was trying to run. Then finish him off."

"Why don't you do it?" Baxter said suspiciously. Jared didn't like the way this conversation was going.

"Because I'm going back to the department, making sure no one ever knows your name," Welch explained. Jared didn't trust him. He wanted to get Casey out of here, not banter words with this snake. Welch was still talking. "I can't have powder residue on my hands. You, however, will be relaxing safely in a fine suite downtown until our first major shipment comes in. You've proved yourself in my eyes. We'll be full partners."

Baxter took the gun. "Go ahead and run, Ellison," he said mockingly. "I might miss, you know."

Ellison made no move to run. He dismissed Baxter entirely after a single, defiant look. Instead, he concentrated on Welch. "Enjoy it now, Welch. They'll catch up to you sooner or later. Murdering three cops will get you the death penalty."

Welch smirked. "Then I'll see you in hell, hot shot. Once you're gone, no one's going to lay a finger on me. The department will want to minimize the scandal. They won't be examining the details too closely."

"Why me?"

"Because you're too good. No matter what I set up, you would have smelled it out. You're a tragic victim of your own success." He stepped back a few paces, giving Baxter a clear field.

Baxter took careful aim. Jared watched, sick and fascinated in the same moment. He knew Casey went over the edge sometimes, but he'd never watched it happen. Two shots rang out. Ellison went down and rolled into a ball, crying out in pain. At the same time, Casey let out a startled cry.

"Jaaa..." He turned and crumpled in front of Jared, clutching a horrible wound in his stomach. Blood poured through his fingers.

"Casey!" Jared screamed. He dropped to his knees, desperately trying to cover the wound. Welch picked up the gun from where Baxter had dropped it, and tossed it in his direction.

"I like you, Joachim," he said calmly. He gestured dismissively. "Men like Baxter have their uses, but only temporarily. You were always the smart one. You've been living under Baxter's shadow for too long. Finish Ellison off, and the whole operation's yours."

Jared picked up the gun. He rocked back on his heels and fired four times. Jim stared in shock. Not one of the shots was aimed in his direction.

Jared dropped the gun, and hurled a phone in Jim's direction. "Get some help! Call an ambulance!"

&&&&&

Captains Banks and Taggart arrived just before the ambulance. There was nothing they could do.

Casey Baxter was already dead in his friend's arms. The young man was speaking to him in Spanish, stroking his hair and sobbing, trying to give some comfort even after his lifelong companion slipped away. The paramedics went to work on Ellison, trying to slow the bleeding from the gaping hole in the leg, just below the knee. He was still conscious, but just barely.

Simon was grateful for Taggart's presence by his side. On the ground, at their feet, Gregg Welch, the decorated, thirty-five year veteran of the Cascade Police Department, was already dead. One of Jared's four shots had gone straight through his heart. Joel gently closed the lids on the wide-open, sightless eyes.

&&&&&

Blair collapsed on the bed. Maybe this whole nightmare was finally over. He gently touched the bandage on his head. It would be quite a story to tell, but right now, all he wanted to do was process. Sleep seemed far away, but it felt good to stretch out and be still.

It was all such a jumble. He'd been pretty incoherent when Rafe and Brown brought him around. The two detectives had been equally distraught over the bitter realization that Jim had finally fallen into the wrong hands. Then the miraculous call, moments after Banks had arrived. Ellison had somehow survived; wounded again, but alive.

Banks and the other captain went to Jim. He, Rafe and Brown had first gone to the University with the computer, at his insistence, and then to the Emergency Room at Cascade General, at their insistence. He was still in the treatment room when Ellison had been brought in, beaten and bloody. The staff wouldn't let them see Jim. They took him directly to surgery.

He would have stayed, wanted to stay. He felt such a strong tie to the man he'd known only a few days. Shared traumatic experience or something. Banks stated unequivocally that he would call with the first news, and sent him home. The detectives had been great, even though they blew it off, merely saying that Captain Banks had a thing about treating victims correctly. They'd stopped for a sandwich before bringing him home, and helped him straighten up the damage before leaving. Rafe had even made a grocery run and picked up some basic kitchen utensils.

Sleep still eluded him. Maybe a cup of hot tea would help him relax. He stumbled back down the stairs and into the kitchen. He noticed the clock, shocked to see how late it was. Jim must be out of surgery by now, maybe even awake in his room. For lack of any other furniture, he sat on the floor, leaning against the cupboards while the water boiled. He'd just added the water to his sole surviving coffee mug when the phone rang.

"Dr. Sandburg, it's Captain Banks."

"Oh, hi, Captain. How's Jim?"

"Out of surgery just fine. No permanent damage."

"What's wrong? I can tell - something's wrong."

"Well, uh - Dr. Sandburg, did you really to research on people with sensitive hearing?"

"Yes, I have. Is Jim..."

"Yeah. They don't know what to do for him. He came out of the anesthesia in record time, but he's in terrible pain, keeps talking about his ears hurting, that he's hearing things. He's begging them to make it stop, but they can't give him any more pain medication. He's in a bad way. If there's anything..."

"I'll be right there. I'll get a cab."

"Stay. I've already sent a patrol car for you. I just hoped you'd agree."

Blair hurried upstairs to get his shoes and throw on some clean clothes.

&&&&&&&

Jim woke up with the same killer headache. He still felt like shit. At least it was a different ceiling.

"Hey," said a familiar voice. "Would you like some water?"

"Yeah," Jim croaked. He gratefully took a sip as Sandburg carefully bent the straw to his lips. "What happened?"

"Take another sip first," Sandburg coaxed.

"How long?" Jim managed to ask.

"Overnight. You're going to be fine. A little physical therapy and they'll have you back on the job. How's your hearing?"

"It's fine." Jim frowned. "I remember now," he said hesitantly. "I could hear stuff from all over the hospital. It was awful. Yeah. You came, and it stopped."

Sandburg picked up a small plastic box from the nightstand that looked vaguely electronic. "This did most of it. It's a white noise generator. One of my study subjects found it useful, and I figured it was worth a try in an emergency. It worked. You finally got some sleep."

"Weird. I guess I'll figure it out later. Are you okay?"

Sandburg touched the bandage on his temple and grinned. "My headache probably isn't as bad as yours."

"Baxter's dead? Welch, too?"

Sandburg nodded his head. "Such a waste. His friend will probably go down for Welch's murder, unless some lawyer can convince a jury it was self defense."

"It might have been," Jim said hoarsely. "You sound sorry for him."

"Let's just say I can understand. Turns out he and Baxter were more brothers than friends." He squeezed Jim's arm reassuringly. "Since you didn't have any family designated as a contact, they let me stand in. I hope that's okay."

"I'm grateful." Jim looked warily at the door. "Am I in custody?"

"No. Captain Banks has been by several times. They took the computer to Rainier. It was like we thought. Everything was still there. He said you've been completely exonerated." He looked steadily at Jim. "I think we should keep that story for another day. You need your rest."

Jim smiled weakly. "What if I don't want to?" he asked.

"Like you expected anyone to care," Blair teased. "I'm the guy who can take you with one hand, remember." He offered Jim another sip of water and smoothed the blankets. "You're going to be here awhile, I'm afraid."

"Shit." Jim let his head flop back. "I hate hospitals. The smells always get to me. And the noise, but I guess you took care of that."

"Well, actually, I'd like to talk to you about your hearing and sense of smell. We can probably make things easier for you, but I think we ought to wait until you've had more of a chance to rest. If you're good, I'll see if I can talk them out of some Jell-O." He waggled his eyebrows. "I hear the red is really exceptional today."

Jim couldn't help laughing. What was it about this guy that put him totally at ease? He listened to Sandburg's footsteps down the hall and tried to relax. Gazing out the window, wondering if they'd ever really put the pieces together. Welch probably took plenty of secrets to his grave.

He noticed the thick book Sandburg had left on the bed table. It looked fragile and old. The elaborate script on the cover read, "The Sentinels of Paraguay". He noticed several pages were marked with post-it notes.

Well, the guy was a professor, after all. The old tome was probably just like its owner, a book you shouldn't judge by its cover.

The End