Archive of Our Own ^beta

 

INFERNAL AFFAIRS

By Jael Lyn
August 2003

Simon Banks gently pulled the door shut, taking the time to hear the latch click into place. He paused a moment, conscious of the fact that taking time to notice such a thing was definitely out of character. He was generally a man in a hurry, impatient with the little details of life. Funny how doing something you dreaded slowed you down. Instead of bellowing his usual, "Ellison, my office", he crossed the bullpen to stand by the man's desk. It wasn't as if he was going to sneak up on Ellison or anything.

Jim didn't look up from the keyboard. "I know, I know, sir. This should have been on your desk three yesterdays ago." He hit the command to print and looked up with a triumphant smile. "The Crawford report is officially all yours, Captain. Better late than never, right?" His smile faded as he noted the blank expression on his superior's face. The question was on his lips when Banks interrupted him first.

"Grab your coat, Jim. We need to take a walk."

****

Everything about the park was familiar, although Jim rarely came so early in the day. Sprinklers clicked in the background. City personnel were no doubt trying to finish the daily maintenance early in the day before Cascade's downtown population arrived for a mid-morning stroll or an early lunch. The odor of wet grass was pleasant but nearly overwhelming until he concentrated. Bless Sandburg and those sensory lessons.

They walked past the still-shuttered Mr. Tube Steak before Simon spoke. "Sandburg's out until - when? Noon?"

"Maybe a bit later," Jim answered. "Even for Sandburg, those rookie follow-up exams take time. They were giving him that last section of the detective's exam with it."

Simon snorted and shook his head. "That's our Sandburg, alright. I wish Darryl could process information the way he does. I wish I could."

"What's this all about, sir?" Jim stopped, no longer willing to wait. The maintenance men had scuttled off in their truck to complete other duties. They were totally alone in the center of the park. "We're not out here for the view. Spit it out."

"No, we're not. This is one conversation we don't need prying eyes or ears for." Simon paused, staring off into the distance. "Damn, this is hard. There's an ongoing internal investigation that no one, and I mean no one, is supposed to know about. It doesn't involve the PD, but IA is running the show. They were deemed the most impartial unit available with the correct expertise. Jim, this can't go any further. It's not even supposed to go to me. Somewhere in the city administration there's a major skimming operation going on. Maybe it's gone on for years, who knows? I really don't know the details, but it has major political implications and could involve millions."

"So if it doesn't involve the PD and Major Crime isn't investigating, why are we here?" Jim asked tersely.

Simon's demeanor didn't improve. "IA has been infiltrating key people, trying to get the information they need to build a case. You can imagine the difficulties."

"Sure. You don't know who's with you or against you. No undercover operation is any different." Jim's body tensed. "Let me guess. Our fearless leader Warren decided I could be the human wiretap or something equally stupid. I knew I was going to regret the day we let him in on the sentinel thing, even if it was the price for getting Sandburg in the door as my partner for good."

"Honestly, Jim, as bad as that would be, I wish. They don't want you. They want Sandburg." Banks stopped, waiting for the outburst from his detective. Jim's eyes went wide, his jaw clenched, but he remained silent. "One of the principals in the investigation drove his car into a ravine." He raised his hands, anticipating Jim's response. "He wasn't forced off the road or anything. The idiot was driving drunk. Anyway, he's out of the picture. They've decided to insert Sandburg."

"No!" Jim roared. "Son of a bitch! So that's their bright idea? For what possible reason? He's not even out of his probationary period. The ink's not even dry on his exams."

"Think about it, Detective. I wish I could sugar coat this. Within Major Crime, we know Sandburg for what he is." Simon shrugged. "I hate to say it, but in the larger organization, everything about him is questionable."

Jim's face darkened as the reality sank in. "So that's it," he said grimly. "Blair's dirty anyway, so why not?"

Simon didn't even try to get a word in. He stood quietly, letting Jim's rage spill out, grateful they weren't sitting in his office. No office was soundproof enough for this. The tirade finally slowed. The two men stared at each other, one resigned, one emotionally exhausted.

"They don't care, Jim. Their eyes are on the big picture. They need tools in a tough situation, and like you said, every choice could be the wrong one. Sandburg's not even a person, not as far as they're concerned. He's a walking, talking liability. Any personal consequences aren't even on the radar. He's expendable and credible. I tried to talk them out of it. Believe me, I tried."

Jim let his shoulders slump. "I suppose they wouldn't listen to reason. Obvious things, like you don't send an inexperienced officer undercover, period. Or that it would be better to recruit someone that wasn't out of the blue. Blair's only asset to them is a tarnished reputation. That's a lousy way to stage a covert operation."

"It's done, Jim."

"Damn it, they can't do this. It's not right." Jim looked off in the distance. "Simon, you're his commanding officer, and we're all friends. He's had a tough time already, ever since Alex. He gave up his career, pushed himself to the max at the academy. It's worn him down. You know this. It's too much to ask of him right now."

"They're not asking." Simon took a deep breath. "I've done everything I can. The options are pretty limited. He could turn in his badge. So could I, so could you. I mean that. I want you to get him the moment he steps out of those tests. Take him somewhere, lay it out. By three this afternoon, either our badges are on Warren's desk or he presents himself to IA."

"Nice they gave him time to consider," Jim said bitterly.

"Like I told you, it's not being presented as an option. There's no point in having any illusions about this. I won't be his commanding officer. They'll try to keep plenty of distance between you and Sandburg."

"So if something goes wrong, they can hang him out to dry?"

"In a word, yes. He'll be on his own." Jim dropped onto a nearby bench, his face blank. Simon didn't expect anything else. A threatened Jim Ellison didn't reach out. "I have to get back to the office. I'll clear your cases." His topcoat swirled behind him as he turned and walked away.

******

Blair took a deep breath on the top of the steps and sighed in relief. It wasn't like he hadn't taken a million exams, but this one had really made him nervous. He hated to admit it. To make it worse, Jim undoubtedly knew he was freaked, which brought out his overprotective streak. It was pretty foolish, really. Jim always getting ready to slay the next dragon, while he was busy pretending there were no dragons.

Blair set the nagging worries aside. It was time to enjoy the moment. Until someone told him differently, he was just going to believe that his scores were great, that he had the department's full support and he was ready to be an equal partner with the real star of Major Crime. A little denial never hurt anyone. He bounded down the steps two at a time and jogged toward his car. If he was lucky, Jim would have their paperwork done and they could work on something more interesting. He was sticking the key in the door lock when a voice from behind made him jump.

"Hey, detective. Didn't they teach you anything about watching your back in there? Maybe you'd better go take that test again."

"Jim!" Blair turned and leaned back against the car door. "Damn, you scared me," he scolded. "What are you doing here? Slinking in the shadows, I might add."

"I wasn't slinking, you just weren't paying attention. It's noon. There aren't any shadows."

Blair broke into a grin. After the tension of the morning, it was good to relax. "Well, technically there are shadows at any time of the day."

"Enough. Technically, I'm taking you to lunch. We can drop your car at the loft and go together. I was thinking that new sandwich place. Grab some takeout."

"Sounds good," Blair said, hopping into the Volvo.

It took twenty minutes to drop off his car and get the food. Jim seemed uneasy, and their conversation quickly dwindled away to nothing. Blair checked his watch. "Wow, look at the time. Guess we'll be gobbling these in the break room, huh?" Jim's answer was to turn in the opposite direction, heading for the waterfront instead of the heart of downtown Cascade.

"Jim?"

"Relax. How many sunny days do we have in Cascade? We've got Simon's blessing." A few minutes later they pulled into public parking near the pier.

"You going to tell me what's going on?" Blair asked, climbing out of the truck.

"Yeah," Jim answered. "I just need some air, you know?"

"Usual spot?" Blair asked, heading for a familiar bench that looked out over the water. Like the balcony at the loft, it was one of the spots Jim retreated to when something was really bothering him. Blair played along, making small talk about the food and teasing Jim about the multiple layers of cheese and beef he'd ordered. Normally, Jim would inhale his sandwich before Blair got the paper peeled back. When Blair took his last bite and realized Jim was still picking at his, he bumped Jim's knee with his own.

"As much as I appreciate the lunch, maybe you ought to tell me what's got you so bugged."

Jim set the remains of his sandwich down and stared at his toes. "Simon talked to me this morning. There's an internal investigation in city administration. We're talking graft and fraud on a major scale, maybe in the millions. Simon doesn't have many details, but it will be undercover. It's political, with a big price tag. IA's running the show because they don't trust anyone else."

Blair nodded. "Well, if it's political and involves money, it's messy. I understand. When do they want you? I can manage on my own for a while."

"They don't want me, Chief. They want you." Jim finally looked his partner in the eye.

"Me? What do I know about financial stuff? I don't have those kinds of skills. What can I possibly do..." Blair's voice trailed off under Jim's unwavering gaze.

Jim couldn't bring himself to say more. His gut twisted as the expression on his partner's face changed. Blair could connect the dots with the best of them.

"I see," Blair said slowly. "Well, I guess questionable ethics is a unique skill where IA is concerned. I'd be just about perfect. So much for moving on and leaving the past behind." He sat quietly, a slight flush climbing into his cheeks. The hurt showed in his eyes.

"It's a slap in the face, and we both know it," Jim said. "Feel free to rant. I didn't hold back when I heard."

Blair cracked a small smile. "How far did Simon take you?" he asked ruefully.

"Downtown park. I spent some quality time yelling at the sprinklers, for all the good it did."

"That's why Simon's a captain. If he'd kept you in the building, you would have ripped someone's head off."

"When we go back, I may still do it. Simon did everything he could to stop it, but he's not really in the loop. He offered to resign over it. I feel the same way."

"Forget it, Jim. After all we've been through? We're finally working together. I'm a few months away from having jumped all the hoops for a legitimate position. This is just a little detour." His voice lifted a bit, aiming for cheerful. He failed miserably and swallowed. "I need to walk for a minute, okay? I'll be right back, and then we'll talk this out."

He took a few steps and turned. "Thanks, Jim, for taking the time to do it this way. It means a lot." Jim couldn't have felt worse as Blair walked to the end of the pier and faced the ocean.

*****

"The meeting's in room 508." Simon fiddled with some papers on his desk. "I wish I could say you didn't have to do this."

"I still think we should call their bluff," Jim said sullenly.

"I told you, Jim," Blair said firmly. "It's karma. I'll go to the meeting, hear what they have to say."

"They don't have a blank check, Chief. Be smart about this."

"I'll be fine," Blair said, standing up to leave. "Just - run through it one more time, just so I don't mess up. Officially, Simon, what do you know?"

Simon dug around his desk. He scanned the notice once he found it. "The original memo stated you were to report to IA, with no further explanation, and forbidding discussion with other department personnel, specifically your partner." He tossed the offending paper away. "I immediately called and demanded to know if you needed representation. That's a minimum procedural right. They said no, but stonewalled. I went straight to Warren and got the gist. They weren't happy about including me in the circle of 'need to know', but I'm good at being a squeaky wheel."

"So they know you talked to Warren?"

Simon nodded. "But not Jim. They were emphatic about that."

"Okay. I'll ask them to keep you informed, Simon. They may fight it, but if they do, I'll walk out." Blair turned again for the door. Jim moved to follow him, but Blair shook his head.

"I'm your partner," Jim protested. "They can't shut me out. You're allowed an advocate."

"You're not even supposed to know. You need to be smart about this, too, Jim." Blair closed the door to Simon's office behind him.

The two men watched him go. "Don't get your hopes up, Jim." He shrugged. "It's a lousy deal, no way around it." Simon grabbed a stack of folders off his desk and handed them to Jim. "Here, take these. It's a new case that just got kicked up to us. The southwest suburbs have had a rash of car-jackings. It started slowly, but we've had twenty in the last ten days. They're getting more violent each time. Bring yourself up to speed. Start by reviewing the reports we have to date."

Jim stared at the files in disgust. A quick glance at the file labels made things worse. "You've got to be kidding, sir. Three different precincts? It will take days just to track down the investigating officers."

Simon opened the door and looked coolly at his detective. "So the sooner you start, the better. As soon as I hear anything about Sandburg, I'll tell you, orders or not."

Jim left and tossed the folders onto his desk. Simon obviously figured it would be easier for everyone to get him out of the station and busy on the street. Not too subtle. He glanced back into Simon's office. His captain was already tied up with a call, but was still keeping an eye on him through the windows. Judging it would be best to play along, Jim grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevator, folders under his arm.

He went down four floors, then got off and doubled back to the stairs. The individual floors of department headquarters had basically the same layout. Jim knew exactly where Room 508 was from prior encounters with IA. The small, windowless room was used for small conferences and interviews that needed to be strictly private.

Any sign of Jim Ellison anywhere around IA right now would be seriously unwelcome. He headed for the sixth floor instead. Sherrie Layne, the administrative assistant for Traffic, was very understanding. Jim gave her his best smile. Traffic hardly ever did interviews at the precinct. It would be absolutely no problem for Detective Ellison to escape the general confusion in Major Crime and use one of the empty conference room to review all those files. As a matter of fact, he could come back any time.

Detective Blair Sandburg was just being seated in Room 508 when Jim slipped into Room 608 directly above him and scattered the folders across the table. He sat down and opened the first file. A large yellow legal pad was available for notes.

Jim smiled to himself grimly, rather pleased with himself. IA intended to isolate Sandburg for their own purposes, but his partner had other ideas. Detective Ellison might be studying files, but Sentinel Ellison had a meeting to eavesdrop on.

He winced at the sound of chairs scraping across the floor, and struggled to adjust his hearing. All he had to do was filter out everything except the conversation. Such a simple thing, one he did all the time. He was painfully aware of how much easier it was with Blair close by, especially when his own emotions were all over the map. He idly started drawing designs on the legal pad, trying to stay focused. To any passerby, he was diligently taking notes.

"Thank you for coming, Sandburg."

"That implies I had a choice. If I do, I'm out of here right now, Captain Ringold."

"An unnecessary display of attitude, Sandburg. Of course you have a choice. You might want to keep in mind that for a new officer, such as yourself, refusing to assist in a major operation would seem - unusual, shall we say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Detective. Just an observation. You'll have a performance review at the conclusion of your first year with the department. It's critical for your continued employment in good standing. Let's just say that relevant information in a probationary review can come from a variety of sources."

"Right. So that's just an observation. It sounds more like a threat."

"I'm pointing out the obvious, son. Just things you should keep in mind for your own well being."

Jim promptly scribbled a dark smear on the pad, blotting out his design. He'd like to do the same to Ringold, and anyone else involved with this whole fiasco. That son-of-a-bitch didn't give a damn about Blair's well being.

"I'm not your son. I'm here. Get to the point."

"We need to insert someone into an on-going investigation. It's an emergency, and we think you fit the bill."

"Why pick me instead of someone else? You could get plenty of people that would love to go undercover and score a few points with IA."

"That's really our concern, not yours. You wanted to get to the point, so we'll keep it simple. Here's how it's going to work. You'll be reassigned, and do what you're told. Just what you're told, and nothing else."

"How exactly am I supposed to help your investigation if you don't tell me what's going on?"

"Strictly need to know. If we don't put someone in place, our subjects may move their activities through routes we're unaware of. We can't run the risk of losing track of them. Your role is not investigative. You're a place holder; nothing more."

"Then get someone else. I don't want any part of it. All I want - all I ever wanted - was to work with my partner without interference."

"We're not open to other options. They've been considered and discarded. We feel you're the most suitable choice."

"Based on what? My good looks?"

"There's that attitude again. Based on the fact that we can put you in place without arousing suspicions of being planted."

"And why would that be?"

Jim nodded ruefully. Good for you, Chief. Make the bastard say it. Make him admit it, even if they probably didn't have a tape running and would deny it later. There was a long silence from the room below.

"If I don't get an answer, a straight answer, I'm out of here."

"We're using you because no one would associate you with IA. You're reassignment will be announced as pending disciplinary action, officially of an unknown nature. You'll leave Major Crime under a cloud. It will be sufficient cover for our purposes."

"And it doesn't bother you the story is totally untrue? Just what am I supposed to have done?"

"Let's just say those exams you took today were an example of providential timing. Officially, there'll be some, shall we say concern, about your answers. No one will ask any questions, considering your prior difficulties at the University. They'll believe it, and that's all we need."

The pencil snapped in Jim's hand. The clash of metal on metal had him gritting his teeth.

"What are those? The keys to the city?"

"No, the keys to your new apartment. Lieutenant Mercer, who will be running your end of the case, will take you by Ellison's loft and pick up your essentials. You'll relocate immediately, and have no further contact with anyone from Major Crime. The impression that you and Ellison have parted ways will reinforce the cover story we'll be using for you. His response needs to be authentic. Under no circumstances will you divulge the details to him, or discuss our arrangement with anyone else. I'm sure you can come up with a plausible note to leave for Detective Ellison. Mercer can look it over before you leave it."

"Jim and I have been roommates for years, and we've been through a lot together. He won't buy it without a better explanation."

"Then it's up to you to make him believe it."

"What are you going to tell Captain Banks? The lie, or the truth?"

"It really doesn't matter, does it?"

Jim flung the nearest folder against the wall. Papers scattered in all directions and floated gently to the floor. Of course it mattered.

"I want Captain Banks to know."

"Duly noted. You should be on your way, Detective. Oh, until this is over, it will be Officer Sandburg. The demotion in rank is consistent with a probationary officer under investigation. All the appropriate papers will be filed in personnel this afternoon. If anyone decides to check, there'll be no holes in the cover story. Mercer will give you the rest of the details. I can sense your reluctance. Just keep in mind that this is your best chance of becoming a permanent member of the Cascade PD family."

The chairs scraped again; fingernails on the blackboard to the man listening just one floor above. Jim was shaking with rage. Blair was on the move, but he caught one last muttered comment from his partner before he lost him.

"If this is family, I would rather have been raised by wolves."

*****

Blair dumped his half-eaten sandwich back onto the plate. His mood was as dreary as his new residence. The floor tile in the tiny kitchen where he now sat was worn, ugly and generally filthy. It would probably have been healthier to eat off the asphalt in the parking lot.

The rest of the low-rent studio apartment wasn't any better. Apparently, IA thought manufacturing a few financial difficulties made the story more convincing. In addition to his abrupt departure from the loft, they'd taken the Volvo for the duration. If anyone asked, he was to tell them it had been sold to raise cash. Blair suspected the real reason was to keep his mobility limited, making him easier to watch.

A tattered cardboard box sat on the wobbly dinette table next to him. Blair rummaged through it, completely uninterested in finishing the remains of his dinner. The sheets and towels were much used and looked like they'd come out of someone's basement. The same someone had thought to include a few essentials like shampoo, soap, razor, shaving cream and toothpaste.

That was the closest IA had come to providing for his comfort. He'd scouted the miserable kitchen when Mercer brought him here from the loft. With the Volvo already gone, Blair had convinced him that a run to the grocery store was the least IA could do. He had exactly two pans; a skillet that had long since lost its nonstick finish and a sauce pan with a handle that wiggled but no lid. The reality of what he had to work with made the shopping list pretty short. There wasn't even a toaster or a coffeepot.

He desperately wanted to call Jim. There was no phone in the apartment, and he was fairly certain the cell phone Mercer had given him would be monitored. Since Mercer had strongly suggested he stay put until reporting for work in the morning, trying to slip out wasn't much of an idea either. The two guys sitting in a car across the street had to be reporting to IA.

Blair deserted the kitchen. He slumped onto a sagging couch in the adjoining room which just happened to be the only furniture in the room. The cardboard box would have to be a table. He'd owned better furnishings as a starving grad student.

He should probably unpack his duffle, make up the bed, at least try to make the best of a bad situation. Maybe he should have walked away. The only thing that had kept him in the car with Mercer was the certainty that Ringold wasn't making idle threats. Until he finished his probationary period, he was extremely vulnerable. The academy had been bad enough, but most of the evaluations in that setting were objective. The probationary reviews were, for the most part, subjective. Simon had done everything possible to smooth the way, but even the crafty Captain Banks couldn't cover a negative report from a prominent department like IA.

One thought truly haunted him. When it was all over, would Jim actually want him back? Maybe in Jim Ellison's world Blair Sandburg just wasn't worth all the hassle.

*****

Jim snorted in disgust. If this was any indication of how Ringold was running his investigation, IA wouldn't be able to find the center of Cascade in broad daylight. At a minimum, he needed better subordinates than Mercer. He could see no justification for such sloppy work.

Blair's new residence was supposed to be kept secret from his former colleagues, aplan that was pathetically simple to subvert. He had no problem to the loft before Blair finished packing and follow Mercer. He'd even taken the time to borrow a car, concerned that his own truck would be too easily recognized. In retrospect, he shouldn't have bothered. Mercer wouldn't have noticed if he'd driven up and parked right next to them.

The moment Mercer and Blair left the apartment, Jim was out of his vehicle and headed up the stairs. It took seconds to pick the flimsy lock and slip inside. Blair was an adaptable sort of guy, but Jim seethed at the thought of his partner spending even one night in such deplorable conditions.

He'd discovered the bugs quite by accident, the electronic ones at least. He'd had his hearing jacked up, horrified by the scurry of roaches in the kitchen when he caught a faint hum that didn't belong there. He found two listening devices before he decided time was running short and he needed to get out. So much for Blair's civil rights, and it didn't speak well for IA's methods. Of more immediate concern to Jim, keeping in contact with Blair without IA catching on would be more difficult.

Now it was nearly ten o'clock, and the surveillance team was just as sloppy as Mercer was. Maybe they wanted Blair to know they were there, but that was no excuse for not seeing him parked half a block behind. Jim was betting they weren't spending the night.

His hunch paid off. Twenty minutes after Blair turned out the lights and headed for bed, the surveillance disappeared into the night. No doubt they were counting on electronic means to cover the rest of the time. Jim had a few ideas of his own about that.

*****

Blair stared at the ceiling, certain that sleep was a lost cause. Counting sheep hadn't worked, so he'd tried other alternatives, like counting the reasons his life was a disaster or the number of lumps in his mattress. If he'd still had his laptop he would have spent the night Internet surfing until fatigue finally got the best of him. Unfortunately, IA had his laptop and personal cell phone with the Volvo. They were "inconsistent" with his cover story. He didn't just feel totally isolated, he was totally isolated.

He was sure he'd heard the scurry of rats. Well, he'd lived with rats in the warehouse, but it still gave him the creeps. No doubt there were roaches, too. Jim would have a fit, not that he'd ever let Jim see the inside of this dive. He should have gotten some roach killer at the store, but he'd been too upset to think that far ahead. The whole thing was a total nightmare.

Tap. Tap.

Blair groaned and folded his arms over his eyes. More noise. He'd never get any sleep.

Tap. Tap.

Worse than a drippy faucet. More than ever, he sympathized with Jim, hearing every little creak in the night. So far he had crawly things, rats, and now this. Next it would be a brass band.

Tap. Tap.

Shit. From the window. Probably some animal, or something swinging in the wind. Time to get a grip and ignore it. He punched the lumpy pillow and closed his eyes.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Damn it. This was the last straw. Blair bounded out of bed. Whatever it was - animal, vegetable or mineral - he was going to rip it apart with his bare hands. He jerked back the curtains, intent on finding the latch. It took a moment before he realized what he was looking at.

The grimy pane was filled with a sign, lettered in wide black marker.

"DON'T SAY A WORD"

Standing behind it on the fire escape, holding a penlight, was Jim.

Before Blair could do anything other than stare, Jim flipped the cardboard over.

"RADIO"

Radio? Jim mimiced a turning motion with his hand. After a moment of confusion, it dawned on Blair what Jim meant. He scrambled across the darkened room to his clock radio and turned up the volume. He hurried back to the window and fumbled with the latch, working as quietly as he could. When he finally got the pane up, to his surprise, Jim didn't come in. Instead, he motioned Blair out onto the rickety fire escape.

Jim lowered the window as much as he could without actually shutting it. "Don't look down, Chief. This thing is decrepit enough to spook me, and I'm not afraid of heights."

"What are you doing here? Are you crazy?" Blair asked, stepping apprehensively onto the metal fire escape. It groaned ominously under their combined weight.

"Not entirely, but I'm getting close. Your surveillance drove off about half an hour ago. My original plan was to sneak you out and have you come home, but your place is bugged. They'll know if you leave."

"Bugged? As in wiretap? Well, I guess it would be a wiretap if I had a phone." Blair did a double take. "You're kidding, right?"

"I wish I was."

The implications started to dawn on Blair. "You were in here? How? Jeeze, Jim, let's take a few risks with your career."

"Like I give a damn right now. Don't bother with the lock on the front door, either. Any self respecting B&E guy would laugh himself silly. When you went to the store, I came in, just to check it out. I found two of them before I ran out of time, one in the kitchen and one in the hall light. There might be more, which is why I didn't chance coming inside."

"Shit, haven't these guys ever heard of the Constitution?"

"Apparently not. Simon's going to blow a gasket when I tell him. I may call the ACLU."

"You?" Blair choked back a chuckle. "Willingly call a lawyer? A liberal lawyer?"

"Always with the smart mouth. Maybe not the lawyer. Yet."

"Jim, I appreciate it and all, but we need a plan here. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Not you or anyone in Major Crime. You could get in a lot of trouble coming here, or telling Simon about coming here."

"You don't have to tell me anything. I heard it all on my own, or at least the part with Ringold. You need to fill me in on Mercer."

"How do you know about that? And Mercer? No way. They would have thrown your ass out of IA as soon as they saw the whites of your eyes."

"Duh. I didn't go there. I sweet-talked my way into Traffic. I was in the room right above you. I heard every last disgusting word, loud and clear."

"I should probably be mad at you, but I'm glad you were there. You found the note in the loft?"

"Yeah. Good piece of fiction. I was impressed."

"Then I'm glad you knew what the real deal was. I hated the thought you'd believe a word of it, even for a moment. How'd you find me, anyway?"

"Borrowed a car and followed you over. I was afraid they'd spot the truck. It was a waste of effort. As far as covert procedures go, these guys are pathetic. So what are you supposed to do tomorrow?"

"Report to Special Assignments and do as I'm told, I guess. It's a little office in the basement of the courthouse, so I'm told."

"It is. Look, just play along. I don't think we can risk meeting here on a regular basis. One way or the other, I'll get us some means of communication that will be secure, and safe."

Blair scuffed his bare feet along the metal of the fire escape. "Why would they bug this place, Jim? What could they possibly think I'm going to do? It doesn't make any sense."

"Don't worry about it right now. I'll take care of it. Be heads up tomorrow, okay, Chief? This is going beyond stupid and insulting to scary."

Jim started to climb down the metal steps. Blair caught his hand just before he descended. "Thanks, Jim."

"Just don't believe any of the crap they tell you. You're not alone, not by a long shot." With that he melted into the darkness.

*****

Simon had just settled into bed with the book he was trying to finish when the phone rang. He groaned and leaned across the bed to answer it. Without fail, whenever he got comfortable, something else went down that needed his immediate attention.

"Banks."

"Incoming. Put a steak on the grill for me."

Simon stared at the phone. The caller had hung up. "What the hell?" he muttered to himself. It had sounded like Ellison. Steak? At this hour? On the backyard grill?

Simon grabbed his robe, taking a wild guess at what Jim was trying to tell him. So much for calling it an early night. Jim was standing at the sliding glass door on the patio by the time he got there.

"This better be good, Ellison. You ever hear of the front door?"

"I talked to Sandburg," Jim said, slipping inside and ignoring the question.

"I probably don't want to know how you pulled that off. I distinctly remember assigning you a new case." The stormy look on Jim's face made Simon reconsider the wisdom of chewing his detective out right this second. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"Short or long version?"

Simon glared at him. "As long as I get the truth, make it short."

"I listened in on Blair's meeting with Ringold. Did he talk to you? Blair asked them to."

"He didn't call. I tried to reach him. Ringold's not answering my calls."

"They're inventing some disciplinary infraction and sending him to Special Assignments. Special Assignments! Where the total misfits and unfit for active duty get mothballed! They took his detective rank."

Simon's frown deepened. "I told you that myself. The change in rank, I didn't know about. That's not all, is it?"

"No. They moved him out of the loft and took his car, to make it look he was in some financial trouble. He was supposed to leave me a kiss-off note. Take a look." Jim dug it out of his pocket. "I guess I'm supposed to be part of the plan without actually being told."

Simon skimmed the folded sheet and gave a low whistle. "You wouldn't have taken this quietly. It must have killed him to write this. Where is he now?"

"Set up in a roach infested third floor apartment over on Grant. No phone. They had a surveillance team on the place, for God's sake."

"I can see why you're upset, but so far it makes sense. They're trying to keep the circle of people who know about the investigation to a minimum. As bad as this looks, it means they don't have to explain it all to you, or count on your cooperation. It cuts the risk that one of us would repeat something and blow the whole operation."

Jim's composure was at its limits. "If this is all so logical, tell me why that dump they stuffed him in is bugged!" he shouted.

"What? Jim you're not making any sense. Are you sure about this?"

"Do I have to spell it out? Electronic surveillance. I found two before I bailed and I never got ten feet from the door. What the hell is going on? Tell me a fairy tale that explains that. I can't wait to hear it."

Alarm spread across Simon's face. "Blair didn't know? They'd never mentioned it?"

"Not a word, other than to not contact anyone in Major Crime."

"Let's sit down and think this through." Simon motioned Jim into the living room. "Why would they be listening in on Sandburg?" he said. "What purpose could it possibly serve? Not to mention the fact that they have no justification."

"Did they lie to us, Simon? Is this all a charade, and Sandburg's the one they're really investigating? Or are they setting him up to be a convenient scapegoat?"

*****

Blair was awake long before his alarm went off. The first view of his stall shower would have sent him screaming into the street if he hadn't been stark naked already. It looked like the set of a B horror movie. He took what was probably the fastest shower of his entire life.

After the shower, he couldn't face the kitchen and preparing some kind of breakfast. He dressed and headed for the nearest bus stop. After the third stop, he decided that riding the bus in a police uniform was seriously weird. Other passengers kept staring at him, apparently trying to figure out if he was for real or headed to an off-season costume party. He got off well short of his downtown destination. It was less stressful to walk the rest of the way.

Mercer had been very explicit in some of his instructions, and terribly vague in others. He was very clear in one area. Officer Sandburg was broke. He was to avoid buying lunch, or doing anything that indicated he had more than a driver's license in his wallet. Well, to hell with that. He was tired, frustrated, hungry, and a little scared. He hiked a few blocks to the nearest Starbuck's and bought a paper, scones and a large double espresso. He read every scrap of his paper, and did the crossword puzzle. At this moment, any delaying tactic sounded like a pretty good deal.

*****

The documents were waiting on his desk when he arrived, sealed in the special confidential envelopes that only IA used. Simon carefully placed each sheet on his desk so he could look at them all at once. The first was the official notice of transfer, moving Sandburg from Major Crime to Special Assignments. The second was the standard boilerplate from IA giving notification of pending disciplinary action. The third was a copy of the paperwork changing Sandburg's rank and pay rate. Nice that Ringold hadn't bothered to mention that little detail. They'd damn well better be planning on giving Sandburg his back pay when all this was over. The fourth was the one Simon was dreading. In ten minutes he'd be in the briefing room, reading this to the day shift.

He'd given Jim the option of not being present, and to his surprise, Jim had accepted the offer. They hadn't finished their clandestine conversation until well after midnight. Over his morning coffee, Simon realized he should have been a little sharper. Jim had agreed a little too quickly. He knew his detective. Obviously, Jim had schemes of his own, something maybe his Captain should be monitoring. It was too late now. Jim wasn't at the loft, and had his cell turned off.

*****

SPECIAL ASSIGNMENTS

DEPARTMENT OFFICE

If the basement location was any indication, it wasn't too special. Blair took a deep breath and went through the door.

The reception area was deserted. From the looks of it, someone had been in to start the day. The coffee maker on a cluttered counter had a fresh pot, and lights were on in the back offices. Blair went back to the main door and glanced down the hallway. There was no sign of activity.

Well, if he was supposed to be somewhere else, he didn't know about it. Blair went back inside and closed the door. He sat down in one of three straight-backed chairs along the wall and toyed with the idea of helping himself to some coffee. The whole place seemed so inhospitable, he decided not to bother.

He'd waited nearly twenty minutes before he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The door was shoved open with a bang. A burly man, carrying several pastries, gave him a glance and headed for his desk. His blue uniform showed a Sergeant's rank. With his back still turned he barked out, "You Sandburg?"

"Yes, Sergeant...uh..."

"Owens." Jostling his food, the man tossed Blair an old fashioned time card. "You didn't clock in."

"I didn't know I was supposed to," Blair said, trying to keep his tone neutral. He fumbled for a pencil. By the time he located one, Owens was seated and gobbling a Danish.

"Sign in at 8:30," he said sharply. "You can make up the time on your lunch."

Blair looked at the clock. It showed twenty after. "But I've been here since eight."

"Your own damn fault you didn't clock in. Next time do it right," Owens snarled, wiping his sticky fingers on his uniform sleeve. "Maybe they don't bother with time cards in the fancy dancy world of Major Crime, but down here we do."

Blair stifled his anger and set the time card back on Owens' desk. Telling himself to relax, he settled into parade rest and waited for Owens to speak.

Owens tossed the time card into a basket behind his desk. "There's a locker room in the back you can use. Some of the guys do, some don't." He rooted around the stacks of papers on his desk. "Here," he said, waving some stapled sheets in Blair's direction. "You need to deliver DARE materials to all those locations. Now get out of here and get busy. We don't tolerate goldbricking. If I think you're taking advantage, I'll dock your card."

Blair tried to stay calm. "Where are the materials? I don't have a car. Do I need a requisition for the Motor Pool or something?"

"They're in boxes down the hall." Owens snorted in disdain. "Shit, boy, no car? No one comes here because they're winning awards, but what kind of a loser are you?" He reluctantly set down his second pastry and scrawled out the needed form. Owens shoved it across the desk. It was smeared with butter and a little doughnut glaze. Blair hated to even pick it up.

"Quit with the excuses already. Get to work."

Blair tried to keep a straight face and at least get to the hall before he lost it. He'd never seen Owens in his life, and the guy immediately assumed he'd be cutting corners. Angry and frustrated didn't even cover it. He should probably find the DARE stuff first, but staying in this dingy hallway within fifty feet of that philistine in blue wasn't going to happen. He decided to hike back over to the PD and check out a vehicle first. Maybe the walk would calm him down.

*****

"I don't believe it."

Joel Taggart's voice cut through the stunned silence. "I don't believe it, and I don't think you do either, Simon."

The other assembled members of Major Crime nodded in agreement. Shock was quickly being displaced by anger. Simon had expected this reaction. He knew his personnel. Just reading from the official script wasn't going to be enough. You didn't make Major Crime by being the kind of person to take things on face value. Every member of his team would voice their objections, loud and clear. To make matters worse, any one of them had the potential to mount their own well-meaning counterattack. The only option was to nip things in the bud.

"Let's get this straight, people," Simon said sternly. He waited to make eye contact with each of them. "An Internal Affairs investigation doesn't run on opinion polls. Furthermore, they don't open confidential files for a preview while an investigation is still in progress. Sandburg's been reassigned, and that's the end of your involvement."

"How is Blair supposed to defend himself?" Joel asked. His meaning was clear to everyone else in the room without saying it. How were THEY supposed to help their friend if they didn't know what was going on? Several heads nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," Henri chimed in. "We're with him every day. We'd know if something was going on."

"Considering Jim's - abilities - how would Sandy do anything improper?" Megan stated with a definite edge in her voice. Within this small inner circle, 'abilities' was a euphemism they all understood. "He'd know in a heartbeat. What does Ellison say?"

"That's enough!" Simon bellowed. "Ellison isn't saying anything, and from this moment on, neither are any of you. The guidelines are very clear. We'll have no contact and no discussion. Don't think I can't read your minds," he scolded. "This is one time I won't tolerate anything, and I mean anything, that plays fast and loose with what's in this directive." His answer was a sullen, stony silence. He was going to have to do better than this.

He deliberately softened his voice. "Listen, I understand how you feel. Before you storm out of here, think about this. The way I read it, this is a compromise. They could have suspended Sandburg, or worse, but they didn't." Simon's gut twisted as the lie tumbled off his tongue. "They've just reassigned him until this thing gets cleared up. If you go off trying to run some kind of rescue, asking questions and stirring things up, they might decide to cut him off completely." For a moment, Simon had hope. They seemed to be buying the 'this will be best for Sandburg' deflection.

"Do you know that for a fact, Simon?" Joel's face was bland as he asked the question, but his eyes told a different story.

Simon chided himself. He might have known that Taggart would filter through the empty reassurances and not be fooled. Anyone who thought Joel Taggart was just a good-natured, overgrown teddy bear of a man didn't know him well. "I think it's best if we follow the directive as it's written," Simon stated evenly.

Taggart stood up. "Will that be all, Captain?"

Simon nodded. Slowly, silently, his detectives filed out of the room. Simon stood quietly for a moment, his head bowed, disgusted by the current state of affairs and his own role in them.

****

Jim plunked his credit card down without hesitation. After years of being teased about being allergic to electronics other than a decent stereo, Sandburg would be proud. He'd spent all morning, gone to five different stores and conversed with an uncounted number of technology geeks, but he'd found the perfect solution to their communication problem. The text messaging feature on the two phones meant they could even use it in Blair's scuzzy apartment, listening devices be damned. Jim didn't even look at the total as he signed the receipt. He really didn't care.

One problem solved. The next was to get a phone to Sandburg without anyone knowing. That meant he needed to find out where they were actually keeping his partner, information he definitely couldn't ask for outright. Jim considered that for a moment. He really wasn't all that clear what Special Assignments actually did, or how they coordinated with the rest of the Cascade PD.

Okay, so who to ask?

Jim decided to start at the Court House. He could always invent an excuse for being there if he had to.

Blair was nowhere to be found at the courthouse. After a little discreet checking and some not-so-discrete listening, Jim located the officer who nominally ran Special Assignments. Special Assignments was reputed to be a dead end for personnel who deserved to be fired, but for some reason couldn't be let go. One look at Owens confirmed everything Jim had ever heard or suspected.

He followed Owens to the break room. The man settled down with a double sized mug of coffee and a magazine, giving every indication that he wasn't hustling back to his job anytime soon. Jim decided to take the risk and headed for the basement. He anticipated doing some darting and dodging, but the hallway was deserted. He sensed no heartbeats behind the door marked Special Assignments.

It took less than thirty seconds to survey the four-room suite. Besides the reception area with what must be Owens' desk, there was a locker room, a large file room, and a third room that contained nothing but a folding table and a couple of chairs. More important to Jim, there was no back exit. The only alternative to the main stairway was a fire exit at the end of the hall. It would be easy for someone to catch him down here snooping around. He would need to keep alert for anyone heading down the basement stairs.

Owens' desk was overflowing with paper. The man was a slob. It took several minutes of careful searching for Jim to learn that Special Assignments currently consisted of only four officers. Owens ran the day shift. Besides Blair, there was one other patrolman working days, primarily covering the weekends. Jim vaguely remembered the guy's name being mentioned. Rumor was he had a problem with drinking on duty. A third apparently sat on his ass all night in case someone needed a low-level go-for.

The duty roster was what Jim needed. He finally located it in one of the desk drawers, buried under a half eaten bag of potato chips. So, they had Blair out running stuff to elementary schools. How convenient. That was one way to keep Sandburg isolated, where no one could reach him. Ringold probably figured that if they kept Blair on ice for a week or so, no one would bother to find out how he was doing. Jim tossed the clipboard back into the desk. Anyone who believed that didn't understand the internal relationships of Major Crime.

Jim slipped out, taking the fire exit just as a precaution. Blair could be at any one of twenty schools in the area. He obviously wasn't checking in with Owens. Still, to run all over town, he needed a car, and Blair didn't have use of the Volvo.

Jim smiled. IA was trying to make it tough, but not tough enough. Vehicles had to be signed out. According to regulation, Blair would have to radio in his location periodically. With that knowledge in mind, Jim headed for the motor pool; retracing the steps his partner had taken a few hours earlier.

*****

Blair wiped sweat off his brow. Even with a hand truck, this was a long way to cart boxes, and it had taken two trips. Leave it to a school to house items in the most inconvenient place possible.

Pushing the empty hand truck in front of him, he reminded himself that he'd done the right thing. His timing had been impeccably awful. He'd arrived just as the students were going to and from recess. Compared to the university or even the police station, an elementary school office at recess was total chaos. The school secretary was very sweet and very overwhelmed. The principal was out, the custodian on break. He didn't have the heart to dump a tower of boxes amongst the skinned knees and ringing phones.

He dropped the hand truck off outside the office, waved, and the secretary smiled back gratefully. All things being equal, it was better than a scowl from the human doughnut vaporizer, Owens. His second encounter with his new supervisor had been worse. In Blair's mind, he was definitely a man to avoid.

Seated in the police cruiser, he checked Twin Pines Elementary off his list. Three down, seventeen to go, but who was counting? He had crammed the car with as many boxes as possible just to evade another trip downtown. He could do at least four more schools before he was forced to return for another load. With any luck, that would take the better part of the afternoon.

He was scouring the map, trying to locate his next school when the alarm on his watch went off. Damn. He was supposed to call his new best friend, Lieutenant Mercer. Blair fingered the watch for a moment. It wasn't expensive or anything, but it had been a gift from Jim. He'd brought it home the same day Blair had nearly missed a court hearing, along with some good natured teasing about his rookie partner's tendency to lose track of time when absorbed in a project. How typically Jim. He was all rules and procedures on the outside, concerned and thoughtful on the inside.

Blair pulled himself out of the pleasant reverie. Mercer probably wouldn't be too tolerant if he missed his check in time. He hated this assignment, but if cooperating would make it go more quickly, he'd cooperate. He could be the golden boy of cooperation. Reluctantly, Blair dug out the cell phone he'd be given by IA the previous afternoon and made his call.

*****

It worked perfectly, but not exactly the way he had planned. Under the ruse of checking out a vehicle for himself, Jim talked the duty officer into checking on the status of a particular vehicle. In his absence, Jim had no trouble getting the information on the cruiser Blair was using. He'd called in just minutes before, clocking out for lunch at a place not too far away. Jim made a mad dash for his own truck. With any luck, he could catch Blair before he left.

On the drive over, he wondered a bit about Blair's choice for lunch. Sandburg normally avoided fast food restaurants like the plague. From far down the busy street, his eyes were searching for the vehicle Blair had been issued. As soon as he spotted it, he threw caution to the winds and stepped on the gas. Establishing some reliable communication with his isolated partner was first and foremost on his mind.

At the last second, he jerked the truck back into traffic, cursing his own inattention. Blair was there, alright. Standing right next to him, yammering away, was Lieutenant Mercer. Jim drove on by, praying that his erratic driving hadn't attracted Mercer's attention. He stared anxiously into the rear view mirror. Mercer's back was now turned to him. Maybe he hadn't blown it after all.

Jim turned on the next block and slowly circled back, parking by the curb. His heart sank. Mercer was still there. Minute by minute, Jim's frustration grew as he watched the two men continue their conversation. Jim couldn't do anything to catch his partner's attention while the IA officer was nearby. All he could do was try to listen.

*****

"I've done everything you asked me to do. I don't know why you're so bent out of shape."

"How many calls did you make?"

"I told you, Lieutenant, nada, zip, zero."

"Who's tried to talk with you?"

"You're right. Those elementary kids were hot on my trail. Questions, questions, questions. I couldn't take it. I told them everything."

"This isn't a joke, Sandburg. This is an important investigation. There will be serious consequences if this gets blown on your end."

"Trust me, man, I don't consider anything about this as a joke. I'm sharing my bed with rats and roaches. You took my car. I can't even make coffee in the morning. What else do you want from me?"

The IA officer gave him a skeptical look. "Banks has made the announcement to your former department. If your colleagues try to talk to you, you need to cut them off."

"So you say. Other than to get this bucket of bolts, I haven't been near the station. What do you expect Major Crime to do? Launch a search of elementary schools trying to find me? Get real. They have jobs to do."

"You just make sure you stick to the program."

"Honestly, I don't see the point. How am I supposed to further the investigation when I don't even know what's going on?"

"This has been explained to you already, Sandburg. A university guy like you shouldn't be such a slow learner," Mercer said sarcastically.

Blair ignored the insult. "Maybe I'm only slow when it comes to IA. Humor me. Explain it again."

"Let's just say the guy you're replacing wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He didn't even know he was being used."

"Like you said, I'm the university guy. Why would they assume I'm stupid and consider me a safe replacement?"

"They probably won't. That's the point. They just have to believe they have someone who is desperate enough to do what he's told and won't rock the boat. In their eyes, you're not in a position to raise a stink. They have plenty to threaten you with."

"In their eyes, or in yours?"

"Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? Works for me both ways."

Blair let that comment drop. As much as he hated it, what Mercer said was true. He had no credibility. He could report the scandal of the century directly to the Chief of Police and they'd blow him off.

"Are we done here?" he asked. "I have important boxes to deliver."

"Yeah, we're done. Call in again when you get off duty. I'll swing by your place." He wadded up the remains of his lunch and set it on the hood of Blair's cruiser. "Dump that in the trash, will you?"

*****

Jim tensed in anticipation. The meeting was breaking up. Blair was walking toward the trash, and Mercer was already in his car. "Drive off, suit boy," Jim muttered. "Drive off and get out of the way." Mercer did exactly the opposite. He got in his car, started it up, and waited for Blair to return.

When Blair headed for the exit, Mercer pulled out right behind him. The two cars disappeared from Jim's field of view. He couldn't even hustle off to flag Blair down. Without knowing which direction Mercer had gone, he might cross his path and reveal his presence. Jim waited a moment before shifting the truck into gear. He couldn't guess where Blair was headed. The moment had passed, and he knew it.

*****

"Joel, can we talk with you for a minute?"

Joel looked up. Henri Brown loomed over his small desk, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Megan and Rafe were standing by the door, looking in their direction expectantly.

Joel took a quick look towards Simon's office. Simon was hard at work, not paying any particular attention to the bullpen. Joel nodded, but when he got to the door, he waved Rafe back. "Someone needs to stay." Rafe's face fell, clearly unwilling to be left out. "Simon will notice," Joel said simply. "I'd tell Megan to stay, but she'd take me," he added with a smile. "Never insult a lady."

The remaining three ducked into a conference room down the hall. "No more jokes. What do you know about Sandburg?" Henri said abruptly.

"No more than you do. We all sat in the same meeting."

"You didn't believe it any more than we did, mate," Megan said sharply. Her Aussie accent was always more pronounced when she was irritated. "Sandy's vanished. I've called that Special Whatever department and no one will tell me anything. And where's Ellison? He was on the duty board for this morning."

"Blair hasn't vanished, and Ellison makes perfect sense," Joel said calmly. "Just what would you be doing if he was here?"

"By now? Probably yelling at him to tell me the bloody truth," Megan said impatiently.

"Exactly. Which is why Simon probably told him not to show up today," Joel said.

"But..." Henri started.

"...someone has to do something," Megan finished.

"And what makes you think someone isn't?" Joel said coolly. He let that statement sink in.

"What?" Henri demanded, but Joel was already headed out of the room.

"Not now, children," Joel said patiently. "Not today, maybe not tomorrow."

"That's not good enough, Joel," Megan protested. "We're family here. We deserve to know. You can count on us to help."

"The impatience of youth," Joel said, shaking his head. "I can't talk you into just going to lunch and forgetting about this for now?"

"No way," Henri said emphatically. He stood with his arms crossed, partially blocking the doorway. Taking size into consideration, most people would read his stance as intimidating, but Joel knew he was just upset.

"Ever seen a bullfight, H? On television? Tell me, what does the matador do when the bull makes the first charge?"

Confusion clouded Henri's face, looking totally lost at the abrupt change of topic. He looked quickly at Megan for help. She shrugged. "Matadors? Uh, they wave that cape thing."

"What else?" Joel prodded.

Henri still wasn't following. "They step aside," he said hesitantly, more as a question than an answer.

"Right. You never dig your feet in and take the charge unless you want the bull to run over you. Translation, you don't go head to head when you know you're going to lose. You wait until the second pass, or the third. You come in from the side." Joel patted Henri on the shoulder and slipped past him without another word.

"You yanks are a crazy bunch," Megan said, watching him go. "I think he just told us something important."

"The sly old dog," Henri said. "Considering Captain Banks is our own departmental raging bull right now, I'd say he did."

*****

Jim started up the truck, totally disgusted. He'd have to come up with another way to contact Blair. If all else failed, he could resort to the fire escape, but he hoped to avoid that. They might need that route for emergencies. He checked the side mirror before pulling out of his parking space, and all he saw was Blair, waving at him with a grin on his face. Jim vaulted out of the truck while Blair pulled in right behind him.

"I saw you when you drove by," Blair said. "Nice move there, almost wiping out the little old lady in the Buick."

"Did not. How are you doing, Chief?"

"Other than trying to keep a straight face with Mercer, okay. The guy's such a jerk."

"I heard part of it. What about Owens? Did he give you any trouble?"

"How do you know about him?" Blair asked, before the obvious answer dawned on him. "You went to the courthouse? Jim, are you nuts?"

"No, I had a perfectly good reason for tracking you down, and by the way, you didn't answer my question." Jim reached into the truck. "I got these for us. What IA doesn't know won't hurt them." He handed the phone to Blair. "When you're in that rat hole of an apartment you can use the text messaging. The instructions are in the box, but I set it up with your usual password and put in the numbers I thought you'd need."

Blair gave a low whistle. "Jim, these aren't cheap. How much do I owe you? This is great, but you know I can't really afford this right now."

"Forget it. I got one, too."

"But, I just can't." Blair held the phone out, shaking his head.

Jim gently pushed the hand away. "Take it. I probably need it more than you do. I've got a really bad feeling about this. Nothing really hangs together."

"What do you mean? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I'm not sure." Jim scuffed his feet along the ground. "I can't explain it very well. Put it this way. Back in the old days, when I was a Ranger, if one of your guys said they smelled an ambush, you paid real close attention, whether you knew why or not. It's the same here. Leave it for now. What else do you need?"

"Shit, you don't want to see that list. Honestly, I think we'd better keep a low profile for a couple of days. I have another meeting with Mercer after work. I get the feeling he plans on checking to make sure I leave the place pretty stark."

"Stark, huh?" Jim said, letting his anger bubble over. "The place needs to be burned down. Fumigated at the least."

"Calm down, Jim. It's not permanent. Look, maybe this weekend I can sneak some things in. I think there's a toaster boxed up with my old stuff in the basement. Do you think anyone still makes those coffee pots that you put on a stove? That would be cool."

Jim rubbed at his forehead. "I can't believe we're discussing kitchen utensils as a major improvement in your life."

"Look, the phone is more than enough. That was really thoughtful." He tucked the phone into his pocket. "I really should get going. Mercer might hassle me about an unexplained block of time. Are you going to the station this afternoon?"

"Yeah," Jim said reluctantly, shaking his head. "I'm not looking forward to it. People are going to - say stuff. I don't want to listen to it and not set them straight."

"Keep your cool, Jim. Pretend it's any other undercover assignment." Blair slapped him on the shoulder. "The more believable it is, maybe the faster it will go."

*****

Jim tried to ignore the anxious looks from his colleagues and went straight into Simon's office. He wasn't in the mood for discussion. Simon looked up wearily as he came in. The discarded wrappers on the desk told Jim that his commander had settled for stale sandwiches from the vending machines for lunch. He motioned Jim to a seat.

"It's not good," Simon said quietly, without fanfare. "I pushed real hard and got nowhere." He gestured to a stack of folders sitting on his desk. "I've pulled everything Sandburg's touched since he went to the academy. I crosschecked against every rumor I've heard, made a lot of calls off the record. I can't find anything that IA would be remotely interested in. I'm as suspicious as you are, but for now, I think we have to take Ringold at face value."

"I went over my place with a fine-toothed comb when I got back," Jim said. "I thought, maybe it was me, not Sandburg. That splitting us up was a backhand way to get at me. I came up empty. I've been real careful since that thing with the Archers. IA doesn't have any reason to look my direction."

"Jim, are you sure about the bugs at Sandburg's place?"

"I'm sure, Simon," Jim said, slightly offended. "This isn't idle paranoia. They aren't the kind of thing you find casually."

"It just boggles the mind. It's hard enough to even get a wiretap out of a judge these days. I can't imagine them having a warrant, and if they don't, any case they might build would go straight to the dumpster." Simon shook his head. "I did get one concession from Ringold. He agreed to give me a weekly update. After what you told me last night, I'm not sure I can trust him, but it's something." He tossed his glasses onto the desk. "God, I'm tired."

All his many complaints and worries stilled on the tip of Jim's tongue. The direct impact on Blair and himself had been his only concern. He'd given almost no thought to how the news would play in the rest of Major Crime. "Simon, did you get any sleep at all after I left?"

"Not much. You?"

"The same. I'm sorry, sir, I probably shouldn't have barged in on you like that. It could have waited until morning."

Simon shook his head. "Jim, I would have jumped you for waiting. The most important lesson I've ever learned about command is to take care of your own people. Right now I'm sure as hell not taking care of business, and that keeps me up nights. It wouldn't have mattered whether you showed up at my door or not."

"Would a window be better next time," Jim asked with a small, sly grin.

"Ellison," Simon barked. "You'd try the patience of a saint."

The two men let the silence wrap around them. "I guess I better go work on that carjacking, sir," Jim said finally. His earlier plan to tell Simon about his morning was scrapped. Simon didn't need to be burdened with the knowledge his activities extended further than a solo climb of Sandburg's fire escape.

"One more thing, Jim. There are plenty of rumors flying around. I've had a couple of calls, asking what the straight story is. I'm sure some of them IA planted deliberately. You keep a tight rein on your temper, you hear me?"

Jim nodded. He couldn't bring himself to promise more.

*****

Stopped at an intersection a few blocks from downtown, Blair congratulated himself. His personal store of worthless information now included the location of every elementary in Cascade. Next time Cascade had a crime wave in grades K through six, he'd be all over it.

He'd actually made better time in the afternoon. After some creative packing, he'd needed only one run back to the courthouse to reload, and the schools had been closer together. No one needed extra help, so everything had been a simple drop-off. Now he regretted the efficiency. He was headed back with time to spare. It was one thing to be exiled with a bunch of boxes. It was another thing to deal with whatever people were saying about him, or worse, directly to him.

The cruiser needed to be dropped off, which meant he'd be doing the station first. The motor pool was usually buzzing with activity around change of shifts. Definitely nowhere to hide. He took a moment to calm himself before locking up the car. If Jim could keep his cool, so could he. At least he only had to deal with what people said to his face. His partner would have to overlook what he could overhear, which was a considerably longer list.

With any luck, Andy Farmer was still at the main desk. Farmer had given him some strange looks earlier, but he hadn't said anything. Whatever his reasons, Blair appreciated his restraint. Andy was there, but so were a gaggle of other officers bringing vehicles back for the day. For all the world Blair wanted to double back and wait until the crowd thinned out. Instead, he pushed on. If it didn't happen now, it would happen later.

"Hey, Andy," he said, nodding an acknowledgement to the others loitering around. Blair inwardly cursed the procedures. Since he didn't take a patrol car out on a regular basis, there were all kinds of forms to sign. He scribbled in the odometer reading. "The tank's on three quarters. Do you want me to fill it up, or is that okay?"

"No. That's fine. No other problems?" Blair shook his head. Andy made a couple of quick check marks on the forms and slid the clipboard across for him to sign.

"That's not what I hear, Sandburg." Blair's hand paused in mid-signature. The voice continued. "You've got plenty of problems. I hear you got your ass kicked out of Major Crime, just like the uni. About time somebody caught you red-handed."

"Thanks, Andy," Blair said, returning the paperwork. He smiled, pointedly ignoring the comments.

"You need it again tomorrow? I can hold onto it so you can have the same one." Andy asked.

Blair appreciated his attempts to smooth things over. He could sense the other men drawing close, hemming him in. He struggled to keep his tone normal. "I don't know what the duty roster says for tomorrow. I'll give you a call if I need it again. Thanks for asking, Andy."

He turned to go, but his path out was blocked. "Of course you don't know," the voice continued. "Maybe by tomorrow everybody will see the light and they'll take your badge, period."

Blair quickly calculated the odds. Four of them, one of him, and Andy unofficially neutral. He schooled himself to make note of the name bars on the uniforms. He didn't know any of the relatively young officers. "There's no point to this, guys," he said quietly. "You've had your say, let it go at that." He tried to step around and get by. The men moved closer.

"No way. This is vital information here. I want to hear all about how the professor cheated on exams."

"I heard it was drugs. Not even the mighty Ellison would overlook creative chemistry." That comment came with a shove for emphasis.

Another shove. "You're a disgrace to all of us."

"Enough, already," Blair said angrily, shaking off the grasping hands. "You guys want to beat the shit out of me? Go for it. Let's see you show all that cop superiority, four on one." He glanced up and waved off to a nearby corner. "Be sure to smile pretty, though. Make sure the security tape gets your best side." Silently, he thanked Jim for the casual lesson he'd given on security one night, explaining the logic behind the camera arrangements.

The hostile group around him stilled. Blair elbowed his way by, praying that none of them would jump him while his back was turned. The men drifted away, muttering threats and "shoulda dones" among themselves.

Andy Farmer, unnoticed by anyone, breathed a sigh of relief and set the phone receiver down gently. He had one more number to dial, but he would have done it. He assured himself that he would have gone ahead and done the right thing. Now the crisis was over. He didn't need to get involved.

Damn, wrong was wrong, and he never thought of himself as a coward. He didn't know Ellison from the man in the moon, but he and Henri Brown played ball together. He caught a last glimpse of Sandburg, hiking back to the courthouse on foot and redialed the number for Major Crime.

*****

Jim kept hearing Simon's voice, telling him not to lose his temper. Standard captain-speak. If Simon only knew what he was asking, how hard it really was to hear things not intended for your ears without responding.

The inner circle of Major Crime hadn't been a problem. No questions and a lot of quiet support, offers of help and a few reassurances that everything would be okay. They meant well, and Jim didn't fault them. If the roles had been reversed, he would have done the same. The hardest moment had been admitting that Sandburg wasn't staying at the loft. Based on past history, Connor definitely unsheathed her claws for that one. Jim honestly couldn't blame her.

His original plan was to get the hell out of Dodge and hit the streets, working on his carjacking case. The fates conspired against him. The carjacking ring had struck three more times that morning while Jim had been chasing down cell phones. Chief Warren stepped in and installed a taskforce before he could escape or get Simon to assign someone else. Instead of a solitary afternoon chasing bad guys, he was stuck in a room with a cross-section of Cascade's finest. As Sandburg would say, not all of the natives were friendly.

Jim counted to ten.

He counted to ten at least ten or fifteen times, and that was only for the things asked or spoken directly. The other whispers, down the hall, behind his back when he passed, had him ready to lash out for the smallest excuse. He'd expected improvement once he got to the actual meeting. He was wrong. The original officers on the case were still droning on about the leads they had followed. The two guys from vice thought they had related information, and kept interrupting, dragging the whole thing out. Not only was it a colossal waste of time, the private side conversations were driving him nuts. Two guys at the end of the table, bored with the meeting, were carrying on a written exchange that Jim could read, plain as day.

No Sandburg. True?

Gospel.

No bailout this time?

No. MC is po'd.

Ellison?

You asking him? NOT ME!!!!

What did S do?

Academy exams. Drugs????

Remember Golden?

Jim forced his eyes forward. Counting to ten wasn't cutting it. If he didn't get out on the street real quick, he was going to clean house. Simon would have to live with it.

*****

What a mess.

His reward for finishing deliveries with time to spare was a glare from Owens. The man growled at him like he'd slaughtered a civilian and set him to work in what Owens called the "Records Room." As far as Blair could tell, the only record in the place was for outstanding chaos.

Blair surveyed his project so far. Owens apparently never learned the basics of filing. The file cabinets were empty except for unmarked folders along with stacks and stacks of unsorted paperwork. So far he'd excavated towering piles of requests, orders, invoices and God knew what else to sort and organize.

No department kept their paperwork like this. A few months after starting with Jim, Blair had helped out when Major Crime was drawn for a standard departmental audit. Simon had been like a wild man getting ready. If any auditor came down here, they'd have heart failure.

Blair was sure there was a lesson here. Don't come back early.

The card table was overflowing. He had more stacks on top of the file cabinets and on the floor. It was damn near hopeless.

Owens stuck his head through the door. "Quitting time. Get this mess picked up and sign your time card. I'm not staying to baby-sit you, Sandbag."

Blair nodded. There was no point arguing, or pointing out that he wasn't at a good stopping place. Normally, he would have objected to the corruption of his last name, but right now, it didn't seem worth the effort. He signed his time card and put it back in the basket. He had no desire to say anything to this man, but he needed some information. "Sergeant Owens, do you want me to keep working on the filing tomorrow?"

"Maybe. It's not your concern. You'll do what I tell you, whenever I tell you."

With Owens glowering at him from the doorway, Blair stacked up what he'd done so far, essentially negating whatever he'd managed to accomplish.

*****

The day was shot, but at least the meeting was over. They had a strategy, sort of. It was a lame strategy, but Jim wasn't willing to participate and improve it at this point. He just wanted out of this room, and away from these people.

Actually, he wanted his partner back, but he wouldn't go there.

Jim wanted to dash for the exit and escape, but he'd arrived last and got stuck with the seat farthest from the door. He'd have to wait. There just had to be some way that Simon could assign him to something else. Daily meetings with this group might produce bloodshed.

The crowd thinned out and Jim headed for the door. He ought to go up to Major Crime and give Simon a status report, drop off the files, and close out his desk for the day. Not today. Today Detective Ellison was hitting the parking lot.

The doorway cleared. In his haste to escape, Jim nearly plowed into the note writers. Their benign, smug smiles were the last straw. He crowded their personal space. "Since you wanted to know, my PARTNER doesn't need to cheat on anything, least of all an exam. And if I find out either of you discussing Sandburg and drugs in the same sentence, mark my words, we'll settle it privately."

Jim stomped off, ignoring their stunned looks. That felt good, but it was really stupid. There was no point in letting his sentinel abilities hang out in the open like that. Blair would chew him out if he knew.

Screw it. Let 'em wonder.

*****

"Captain, we've got a problem."

Simon pushed back in his chair. "Brown, tell me something I DON'T know," he snapped, and then regretted it. He'd always prided himself on having an open door for his personnel. "Oh, come on in, both of you. Shut the door, Rafe." The two grimfaced detectives pulled chairs up to his desk.

"Uh, Captain, we just got a call. Andy Farmer was working the desk in the Motor Pool. He said some uniforms were hassling Sandburg. It got kind of physical."

"I assume Sandburg talked his way out successfully," Simon asked. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

Both detectives looked properly sheepish. "Yeah. Andy said Sandburg reminded them about the security tapes. What are we going to do, Captain? He got lucky. There won't always be cameras around."

"Damn. I don't know what we can do." He gave Henri and Rafe a knowing look. "You can deny it, but directive or no directive, I suppose you put the word out that Major Crime would be defending Sandburg's honor?"

"Well, that would be wrong, wouldn't it, Captain?" Rafe asked, his false sincerity belying his true meaning.

"Yes, it would. Officially, the two of you stay out of it. It's none of your business."

"Unofficially, sir?" Rafe asked.

Simon frowned. He knew the correct answer, and decided he wasn't going to give it. "If we're talking bodily harm, and it happens in your presence, do what you have to do. Sandburg is a member of the Cascade PD, and no member of this department deserves physical injury. Anything else, you report to me. Other than that, stay out of it."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Simon stared at the ceiling. Even hearing this second or third hand, Jim was going to go ballistic.

*****

Blair was tired. The bus ride home was the last straw. He was definitely wearing street clothes tomorrow, even if he had to change into uniform behind a bush. He unlocked the door, pondering what Jim had said about the lock. Maybe tomorrow he'd leave it open, just for the entertainment value.

He opened the door. Mercer was sitting on his ratty couch.

"I don't remember giving you a key," Blair said coldly. He unfastened the heavy utility belt that was part of the uniform and turned his back on the IA lieutenant. He was furious. If he spoke too soon, the frustration from his day would pour out in a flood.

"I told you I'd be coming by," Mercer said smugly.

"Well, next time you 'drop by', have the decency to knock and wait outside, like any other civilized person," Blair said hotly from the kitchen. He needed to find something to do or risk losing his temper. He pulled a can of tomato soup out of the cupboard and started opening it. "There are limits to what I'm willing to do. This is one of them."

"Okay, okay. I'll be sure to speak to the butler next time. I'd ring the bell, but you don't have one."

"Hah, hah. Is there some point to this little visit, Mercer? I'm off duty. I'd like get some dinner and take a shower."

"Fine," Mercer said. "We'll keep it short. Tomorrow, you'll be moving around the station, coming in contact with more people. Just remember, stay in character."

"Stay in character, huh?" Blair shook the soup concentrate into the pan. "Maybe you'd rather talk about the little encounters I've had already."

"That's part of the plan, Sandburg. It's how we're legitimizing your presence in your new assignment."

"Does that mean you know, or not?"

Mercer shrugged. "We expected emotions to run a little high."

"So even if you do know, you don't care. Sure, no problem. Is tomato soup and grilled cheese sufficiently destitute for staying in character? Maybe you'd like to invite yourself for dinner, too. We can invite the roaches and have a party."

"Don't get smart, Sandburg. At the moment, I'm your commanding officer. I'll check in with you daily."

"I meant what I said." Blair banged a battered spoon around the pan with a little extra effort. "Don't waltz in here again."

"What are you going to do, Sandburg? Call the cops?" Mercer was laughing as he shut the door. That was the last straw. Blair hurled the empty soup can at the door. Trails of tomato soup splashed across the chipped woodwork.

Blair leaned on the side of the counter, head down. "I hate this," he whispered. "I just hate this."

*****

Jim clicked the television off. The news hadn't held his attention, and the Mariners were losing. They'd agreed to let Sandburg make the first call, just as a precaution. They had no way of knowing when Mercer might be there. Blair's phone was set on vibrate, but there was no point in taking chances by having Jim call at the wrong time.

His dinner sandwich from the deli sat on the counter, still wrapped. He just couldn't force himself to eat. He'd opened the bag and done a double take. Nestled in beside roast beef with extra cheese was a veggie special. He'd given their standard takeout order without even thinking about Sandburg not being here to eat it.

What was Blair eating? Did he have time to stop and get something to clean the place out? Was he dining amid the roaches? It was too awful to contemplate.

*****

"We calling it a day, H?"

"Yes, my man, we got places to be, social calls to make." Henri shut off the computer with a flourish.

"We do?" Rafe looked a little blank. Henri stared at him until he caught on. "Oh, that kind of social call."

"Yes, yes, we're all doing our part," Henri said. "Fostering interdepartmental cooperation and all that."

"Keeping the lines of communication open," Rafe chimed in, grinning now. "Improving efficiency." They were out of Simon's earshot now. "So what's the guy's name?"

"The lead bad boy is Bryan Parker," Henri answered. "Our dear Rhonda tracked him down, and her sister secretary in Burglary is keeping Parker - available. Rhonda says if he doesn't get a clue, she wants a crack at him." He rolled his eyes. "Never tick off the secretaries, man. They're scary."

*****

The Blair-phone, as Jim had nicknamed it, was ringing. Jim nearly knocked over the coffee table getting to it. He fumbled a little entering his first reply.

B: hey does it work?

J: works you ok?

B: fine. you?

J: fine.

B: we both lie truth?

J: no one died

B: you eat?

J: bought deli

B: you eat?

Jim sighed. His partner really was impossible.

J: NO did you?

B: tom soup threw can @ Mercer.

J: hit him?

B: no - hit door L M came in - own key.

J: IA there?

B: no car

J: try roof lag time bad

B: Gotcha TTYL

Jim waited impatiently. He hoped Sandburg took his piece with him. In that neighborhood, who knew what might be on the roof? Five nervous minutes passed before the phone rang.

"Chief?"

"I'm here. I checked around real well. No cars anywhere. I think we're alone."

"What about the roof?"

"The door was wedged shut. That's what took so long. Look's like someone's been shooting up. Needles all over."

"That neighborhood gives me the creeps. I can't believe they put you there."

"I'd have to agree with you, man. This is not exactly the view from the loft. Now tell me what really happened today."

"Nothing. I got stuck on a taskforce."

"For what?"

"The carjackings. There were more this morning, and Warren made the call."

"Oh. Guess I missed that."

"Did you really throw a can?"

"Yeah. It was empty. Spattered soup all over the door, though. I'm going to let it dry and call it art."

"Sandburg, that's gross. Tell me you didn't."

"I wiped it off. Now it's cleaner than the rest of the place. It really jerked my chain that he let himself in. I'm pretty sure he looked around. I feel violated."

"You have cause. What else happened, Chief? All of it."

"Jim, are you listening to me, or my anatomy?"

"Okay, so I know when you're stressed."

"I had to listen to a few rude comments. No big deal. Bet you heard worse. I know you heard worse."

"There you go, Sandburg, making wild guesses."

"I don't guess, I know. I don't even have to listen to your heart. At least I ate. That is so lame, Jim. What are you going to do? Starve until I come home?"

"So what about coming home? Did Mercer give you a timetable? How long are we going to put up with this crap?"

"No such luck. Let's just hope they're good investigators and they close the case. If I knew what they were looking for I'd volunteer." Things went quiet. "It's good to hear your voice, Jim. Thanks for doing this, the phone and all."

"The loft is too quiet."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"You've mellowed over the years. I consider you house trained. I may put away the Tupperware."

"The Tupperware? We lost the lids to those years ago. I've been working on you too, man. Another year or two and you'll be perfect. Look, I need to take a shower. How about I call you later?"

"Make it a message. I don't want you on that roof after dark."

"I'd argue, but I agree with you. Very unsavory. Go eat, Jim."

"Yes, Mom."

Jim considered that sandwich and stuffed it into the fridge. Suddenly, he felt the need to do some more shopping. IA wanted "in character", but IA didn't have to know everything. He grabbed his coat, with the Blair-phone securely in the pocket, and headed for the door.

*****

Simon had no difficulty finding conference room C, but he was definitely uneasy. It was on odd spot for an early morning meeting. Normally, if Marins, or any other captain needed to see him, they would have used one of their respective offices. Mike had been cordial but insistent, and was already waiting for him.

"Thanks for coming down, Simon. I know it's short notice."

"You said you were bringing coffee. Where is it? This is my third early morning in a row." Simon accepted the steaming cup and took a sip gratefully. He considered Marins a friend, but he doubted this was a social call. "Mike, does Burglary and Major Crime have a case together I don't know about?

Marins gave him a wry smile and relaxed into his chair. "Well, I feel better. I'm not the only captain in the Cascade PD with a few guys freelancing. Have a seat, Simon. We're waiting at the moment."

"Waiting for what? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Simon, I'm not sure I do either. I heard a rumor I thought we should check out together. It seemed the fairest thing to do."

"Quit beating around the bush, Mike."

"On my way out last night, something just didn't feel right. A couple of my guys were doing the old melt into the floor routine. Being a good captain, I asked Shari."

Simon chuckled. "Rhonda's the same way. We don't pay them enough."

"Isn't that the truth? Apparently some of your people had a little set-to with my guy, up close and personal, so to speak."

"Who?" Simon demanded. Now he could make a guess. He should have known Brown and Rafe wouldn't leave well enough alone. This was not the kind of thing you ignored. If true, Mike was doing him a huge favor by discussing it personally.

"Detectives Brown and Rafe. Bryan Parker on my side. A little bird suggested I might be interested in some security tapes from yesterday. They should be here any minute." There was a knock at the door. "Speak of the devil. I think it just arrived."

Marins popped the tape into the waiting VCR. A view of the Motor Pool check in appeared on the screen.

"I've got a pretty good idea what we're talking about now, Mike. Try around four, maybe a little earlier." Simon shrugged. "They talked to me. I give you my word, Mike, I told them to stay out of it."

Marins nodded. "This thing with Sandburg and IA - well, it's got to be tough. Here we go," Marins said. He came back to sit down next to Simon. "There's Parker. Looks peaceful enough."

"There's Sandburg," Simon added.

They played the section once, then ran it back and played it again. "Well, there isn't much doubt, Simon. I'll take it to IA. Parker should be reprimanded."

"We haven't heard his side, or what my dynamic duo contributed." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Bryan Parker. For some reason, the name sounds familiar. Is there a reason I should know it?"

"He applied for a transfer to Major Crime about a year ago."

"Oh. I see," Simon said. "That pretty much explains why he might have a problem with Sandburg."

"Don't sweat it, Simon," Marins said. "No matter what Parker thinks, I didn't recommend him very strongly. Bryan has the makings of good cop, but he's a bit of a hothead. In my opinion, he needs more maturity before moving to a high profile unit like Major Crime. Ask me in a few years what I think."

"Reporting this won't help his record. Won't look good for my two either." Simon shook his head. "Other than loyalty, they have no excuse."

Marins popped the tape out of the machine and slid it back into the case. "Loyalty isn't a bad thing, Simon. The way I see it, it's our call to make."

Simon sighed in relief. Marins was offering to make this easy. Rafe and Brown had no idea how lucky they were. "Maybe we should just handle this ourselves, Mike. Why don't we get all the cub scouts together and have a little campfire talk? Keep it in the family."

"I can have Parker down here in..." Sands checked his watch. "Let's say half an hour. I'll return the tape first. That long enough for you to round up your boys?"

"Ooooh, yes." Simon shook his fellow captain's hand. "Nothing like a little marshmallow roast to start off the day."

*****

Another morning without coffee. Another bus ride. Another day in Paradise.

Blair finished adjusting his uniform and stuffed his street clothes into the gym bag he'd brought. Changing in one of the stalls was a pain, but he didn't feel like using the locker room down in Special Assignments. The less he exposed himself to Owens' acid tongue the better. Besides, other than being a little wrinkled, he was none the worse for wear.

Owens wasn't there. Blair filled out his time card and waited. After ten minutes, he got bored and wandered into the file room. With nothing else to do to keep him occupied, he'd ended up thinking about this mess all night. He thought he'd come up with a system. He opened up a package of new file folders and started labeling. At least if he got stuck with doing this again, he'd actually make some progress.

"Sandburg!"

His majesty had arrived. Blair stuck the marking pen and the folders into one of the file drawers where he could find them again. "Morning, Sergeant." Owens was glaring at him over yet another pastry.

"You're on deliveries today," he said, talking with his mouth full.

"Deliveries? Like more boxes?"

"Not more boxes, you idiot. Paperwork. Tracking down signatures no one else has time to do. There's the list. You may get stuff added as you go along. Just write it down at the bottom."

Blair read down the list and shuddered. He'd be in and out of official sites all over Cascade, and at least half of them were at the PD. If yesterday's incident was any indication, he was going to have to swallow a lot of crap and not let it get to him.

"When should I check back in?"

Owens gave him a withering look, as if Blair ought to know that already. "Come in and see me around eleven and again at three. Now get going."

Blair didn't need to be told twice.

*****

Jim found his desk buried in a blizzard of phone messages. Everything the taskforce had decided during yesterday's interminable meeting had been changed. After a while, he couldn't figure out which message superseded which. He'd just have to track down the guy who was supposed to be in charge.

The visit didn't brighten his mood. Van Graden was one of the up-and-comers in the department. He was about Blair's age, bright, ambitious, and terribly overconfident. Jim recognized the type. He hadn't been much different when he'd made detective and worked out of Vice, except that his military background had blessed him with a lot more command experience. As it was, Graden was in way over his head, too brash to listen to what anyone was telling him and too insecure to ask for help.

"So you want me to make the rounds of suspected chop shops?" Jim repeated. "They don't put out advertisements. I didn't think we had any suspects. Assuming that I can even find one that's active, what good is that going to do?"

"It doesn't seem that complicated to me, Ellison. Start with the people who've got a record."

"And what? Question them and hope they fall down confessing? Follow them? How many? There's no limit to guys with car boosting on their rap sheet."

"It's called basic police work."

"Graden, it's a waste of time. There's got to be a way to narrow the focus."

"You're not the only one working on this case. I know this was your case for a day, but we have a task force now. We don't need to approve everything through you. I'm in charge, and I made the call. I'm sorry you consider it beneath you."

"It's not...oh, forget it. Is the review still at four?"

"No. I moved it up to three. I need time to prepare my briefing for the brass."

Jim decided to shut up and leave. Graden would learn the hard way. If you cut the day short like that, no one would have time to get anything accomplished. As for the briefing he needed to prepare, it wouldn't take long to say, "We have no new information."

He relished the idea of getting out of the building, but he didn't want it to be a total waste. He pulled the files Simon had given him in the beginning. After a few minutes, he was ashamed to admit he must have been looking at the stuff with his eyes closed. Amidst the more typical Hondas and Toyotas were three Porsches.

Sandburg would call it a statistical anomaly. Jim called it a lead, one that he should have been all over. Damn IA and their stupid schemes. His partner would have noticed within two minutes of getting the file.

Ten minutes later, Jim was out the door with three addresses and a plan.

****

Ten o'clock. Amazing how time crawled by when you felt despised and abused. Blair leaned back into the corner of the elevator, grateful to be alone. He had one more stop in Evidence, and then at least he could get out of the station. He stepped out of the elevator and breathed a sigh of relief. No big crowd. He could be in, out and gone.

He caught a break. He'd been in and out of here running errands for Jim so often, he knew almost everyone by name, and Nancy Reese was working the desk. Nancy had always been friendly and polite, even when he'd been a lowly police observer with no status. For this one stop, he might escape without any more personal insults to ignore.

"Hi, Nancy. I have some stuff for you." Blair handed the manila envelope to the evidence clerk. .

"Sign here," Nancy said. "Uh, Blair, I heard ...some stuff yesterday." She didn't finish the sentence, but he could tell she was upset. She looked so uncomfortable. Blair wished he could say something to put her at ease.

"Nancy, I'm not supposed to talk about it. It'll work out."

"You didn't actually do what they said?"

Blair felt the flush rising in his face. Why was it so much harder to deal with someone who cared than one of the loudmouthed jerks? "Really, Nancy, I appreciate you asking, but I can't."

"I'm sorry. It must be hard. For what it's worth, I don't believe it, and I feel for you. People can be real shits sometimes."

Blair bit his lip. He could vent. He might feel better, and Nancy would be a good listener, but there was always a chance things might get back to Jim. That wasn't a risk he was willing to take. "Well, you got that right," he said, trying to keep things benign. "You know the saying, sticks and stones."

Nancy finished sealing the evidence record with the proper signatures. "Blair, we've got a little private break room in the back. You might need a place to regroup. Just know you're welcome."

Blair was touched by her kindness. "That's really sweet, Nancy, but you've got to know it's not in your best interests."

She sniffed. "You meet just about everyone when you work down here. I think I'm pretty good at knowing who's reliable. You're good people, Blair. Besides, we have the best coffee in the building and a secret stash of lemon tea that we don't share with just anyone."

"I'll remember that," he said, smiling, trying to add a cheerful note to his voice. "Next stop, the DA's office. Thanks, Nancy. It was good to see a friendly face. I won't forget it."

*****

He'd carefully cleared the office, told his secretary to hold calls. He had so many delicate decisions to make. You couldn't do that kind of thinking with others bustling in and out, distracting you.

They - no, he - had been careless. He knew that now. He'd built carefully, in such tiny increments over the years, adding to each success. The operation had run so smoothly, he'd come to trust others with the details. They'd been greedy, and exposed his masterpiece to scrutiny.

He contemplated the expensive mechanical clock, ticking away on his desk. He'd always loved it. It was an antique, highly valuable. The interlocking gears, the precision, appealed to his sense of order. It was also one of the first items he'd acquired with the proceeds of his ventures, a constant reminder to be vigilant. A reminder he'd ignored, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

Internal Affairs was notorious for their independence. He couldn't stop the police investigation. Besides, direct interference would only attract attention. He could influence and direct. It would be like an amputation. He'd give them pieces, all carefully selected to give the investigators the illusion of success. Eventually, they would congratulate themselves and depart, leaving him to maintain the greater whole.

There were some issues of cash flow. Influence sometimes required money. He needed certain segments of his operation to continue to function despite the inquiries. He'd made his selection carefully, balancing risk and reward, and then that drunken fool in Special Assignments nearly killed himself. He should have had the decency to die, considering all the difficulties he'd created.

He'd chosen the replacement carefully, but his candidate was not perfect. Perfection would have been someone under a cloud and exceedingly stupid. That combination simply wasn't available at a moment's notice. Sandburg had far too much intelligence for his taste. Intelligence was an inherent danger. His intention was to break the spirit in order to blunt the intelligence, and it was time to check his progress. He dialed and waited for the familiar voice to answer on the other end.

"Yes?"

"Good morning. A simple question. Have we primed the pump sufficiently?"

"Yes, sir. I believe Sandburg is sufficiently exposed."

"You'll continue to stir the pot?"

"Yes, sir. As we discussed."

"Monitor his reactions. They will accept him if he appears broken and ostracized. I'll call this evening, at the usual time."

It was time to run a test. No real cargo, just a trial run. If Sandburg seemed too curious, they would increase the pressure and try again. In a few hours, he'd know. He allowed himself a few moments to enjoy his clock.

*****

He was back in Special Assignments. Owens was gone. Blair seriously wondered what the man actually did other than eat and wander the halls. He was bone tired. Walking around wasn't a lot of physical exertion, but he was spending a lot of mental energy always wondering whether his next stop would be openly hostile.

Blair had promised himself, and promised Jim, that he could handle it. After all, police work wasn't always sweetness and light. Bad days were the norm rather than the exception. He'd taken the heat after the press conference. It had been painful, but he'd come through. The academy had been no bed of roses. Some of his classmates and instructors had made no secret of how undeserving Cadet Sandburg was, and would have eagerly shown him the door. He'd just tried harder, done better and beaten them at their own game. For some reason, this new adventure into disgrace was really getting to him. Why was this affecting him so badly? He'd need to think about this for a while so he could figure it out.

Owens abrasive voice jerked him out of his reverie. "What are you doing sitting there? Why didn't you start filing?"

Blair tried to respond without reacting. Owens wasn't that tough to figure out. The man took real joy in these little power plays. No matter what choice he'd made, it would have been wrong. "I haven't been here that long. Shall I sign out for lunch? Or do you have something else for me to do?"

"Lunch would be fine, I guess," Owens said grudgingly. "It's hard to catch people around lunchtime. You can finish the list this afternoon."

"Uh...I finished the list," Blair said.

"Oh." Owens snatched the list from Blair's hand. He checked it and glared. "I'll check a few of these. Make sure you did it right. I'll find out if you're dogging it, you know. Come back here and file, I guess. Be back before one."

Blair initialed his time card. He'd happily trade his relatively short shift in Special Assignments for the marathon days in Major Crime just to escape the time card. His phone started to vibrate at the same moment. He tossed the card in the basket and scooted out the door before Owens could say anything else. The hallway was deserted. He dug the phone out, eagerly checking the message.

6& Jeff.-noon -truck

That gave him ten minutes and eight blocks to walk. He could make it if he hurried. He sent one message in return.

Coming J

He made it to the corner of 5^th and Jefferson when he saw Jim's truck make a right turn, disappearing around the next block. He dashed across the street against traffic and ran most of the next block. He was breathing hard and waiting when Jim pulled into the right turn lane again. Blair jumped in.

"Kinda risky, Jim. We're pretty close to the station. Someone could have seen us."

"Don't ask me right now if I care. I don't. You have someplace you can stash a package?"

"How big?"

"Shoebox size."

"I could cram it in with my uniform. Sure, I could handle that."

"Your uniform?"

"It's the bus. I would rather travel in street clothes. I just bring the blues along in a gym bag." He looked around the truck. "I don't see a box in here. How am I supposed to get it?"

"Already thought of that. You catch the bus on 1^st Avenue, right? I took a membership in the athletic club on the corner. Locker 237. Here's the extra key."

"Jim, I..."

"Don't say it. I'm on the verge of pulling the plug on this whole thing. It's no big deal; it just makes me feel better. It's just some stuff to make your so-called apartment more livable. I thought we could go to lunch at that veggie place you like."

"Jim, you hate Sprouts and More. Last time you accused them of putting weeds in your sandwich."

"Exactly. I can guarantee you and I will be the only cops in there. It'll be as safe from prying eyes as we can get."

They left the truck down the street. Jim had thought of everything, down to ordering ahead. "This is a big step up from Campbell's tomato," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. "Excuse my manners. I'm starved. I just can't eat in that hovel."

"This is really starting to piss me off," Jim said. "I finally got started on that stupid carjacking thing. If you'd been where you're supposed to be, you would have seen it immediately. It took me two days. It's embarrassing."

"So tell me about it," Blair said. "This conversation feels good. It feels - normal, and I need a dose of normal right now."

"Couple of Porsches were stolen. Proportionally, those aren't common vehicles around here. I made a round of the dealerships, and talked to the head of a touring club. When you own a vehicle like that, you usually want it repaired with standard parts. The dealerships have lists of shops they recommend to do their work; places that specialize in that kind of trophy car."

"So what are you thinking?"

"Either one of those places is cutting corners, or someone with a dented fender saw the price tag on the estimate and gambled with a cut rate place. Between the information I got this morning and accident reports, say for the last couple months, I'm going to find it. Or maybe you will. It's just a matter of time."

"Doesn't sound like you need me at all," Blair said. The smile didn't quite cover the wistful sadness in his eyes.

"We're better together, Chief. Always have been. Don't ever think any different."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm just feeling sorry for myself."

"Well, think again. I'm still fact finding. I want you to look over what I get. I'll send you a message."

"You're getting pretty good at that," Blair teased.

"Call me Ellison, the technology king. You know, this salad isn't bad, considering there's no meat in it."

"Wonder Burger doesn't have meat either, Jim. It's cleverly disguised plastic. You just don't know it yet."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim said airily. "This stuff may be healthy, but it doesn't fill you up. What do they have for dessert in this place? Sugar crusted dandelion weeds?" Blair nearly choked on his ice tea when he laughed. "You know, Chief, it's good to see you smile."

*****

The interlude ended too soon. Jim left to chase his Porsche thieves. Blair signed back in and went to work on the files. Even with the bones of a filing system, it was still a morass. Every time he thought he had a handle on it, he'd find some flaw and have to re-sort the entire mess. The only mercy was the Owens didn't bother him. The one time Blair slipped out to use the restroom, the man was dozing off in his chair.

He finally got into a rhythm. As tedious as filing was, it was preferable to the snide comments and outright insults that had filled his morning. He kept turning them over in his head, hearing each one fresh in his memory. He hoped the speculation cooled down. If it didn't, sooner or later Jim was going to overhear something he just couldn't ignore.

He gradually lost himself in the work. Every now and then, it gave him a smile. Someone actually had the pleasure of taking lunches up to Judge Heisler, the fire-breathing dragon of all Cascade judges. One package had jumped through four or five different departments until someone finally claimed it. That must have been fun. Just as often, supplies would get sent to the wrong department, and Special Assignments would cart it off to the proper destination. He had no idea things were so sloppy. Rhonda must take care of all this stuff before it impacted anyone in Major Crime.

He heard the phone ring in the outer office. Secretly, he hoped it had roused Owens out of a dead sleep and scared him out of a few years' life. He grabbed another handful of forms. The third one down made him caught his eye. It was made out for his old friend, DARE materials. He slapped it on the right pile and started to take a second look. Weird.

"Sandburg, get in here!"

There was no arguing with that. Blair abandoned the form and dismissed it.

Owens was jangling a set of keys in his hands. He tossed them at Blair, who barely caught them before they bashed him in the chin.

"There's a van in the reserve parking. Stuff's already been loaded, and here's the address. They need it right away."

Blair studied the address scrawled on the torn scrap of paper. After years of driving around with Jim, he had a pretty good idea where most things were. 454 Overland Road didn't ring any bells. He wasn't even sure which direction it was from the station. "Uh, what is this, Sergeant?"

"Some storage units," Owens answered in his usual you're-an-idiot voice. "Surplus gear goes over there sometimes, or stuff that's in transit. You know how things get screwed up. There's a rush on this. Hustle on over there."

"I think I need a map," Blair said, still squinting at the address. He was still drawing a complete blank.

"Sandburg!" Owens barked, raising his voice. "Quit stalling!"

"What about the paperwork?" Blair asked, trying to focus on something other than his lack of directional sense.

"Look, Sandburg," Owens started angrily. "These things happen. The paperwork will catch up to it later. You just need to get it over there."

"Who am I supposed to meet? How am I supposed to get a signature?"

"What's wrong with your ears, boy?" Owens shouted. "I told you to go. I told you where. I told you now!"

Blair tensed, thought better of making a comment and left.

*****

Jim looked at his watch and swore. Damn that idiot Graden. He was on to something. He just knew it. Now he had to cut it short to make a pointless three o'clock meeting. To make it worse, he was going to have to spare the time to make some effort on his official assignment. Simon wasn't too picky when they chased their own hunches, but a taskforce was a lot less flexible. You had to have something to show for your day.

He pulled the truck to a stop and quickly checked the printouts he'd brought with him. They included a lot of worthless junk. Sandburg could get the PD databases to put on tutus and dance, but he couldn't. What he needed were a few nearby locations of former chop shops. He could cruise by and make a quick check before racing back to the PD. That way, he could attend the meeting, sift through his research and honestly state he tried, but could report no meaningful progress.

He flipped a U-turn and headed west, trying to hurry without violating the speed limit too badly. He was stuck in the left turn lane when an unmarked van zipped by in cross traffic. He didn't shift his concentration quickly enough. He could have sworn it was Sandburg driving, but what would his partner be doing way down here in an unofficial vehicle? Under any other circumstances, he would have tried to follow. As it was, he didn't have the time if he really wanted to avoid another confrontation with Graden.

Jim made his left turn and tried to concentrate on the job at hand.

*****

Blair consulted his map again. Locating a map was the one intelligent thing he'd done today, otherwise he'd still be driving around in circles. Overland Road was in a maze of anonymous streets snaking through the port district. Even with the map, driving around alone, feeling stupid, had been an unnerving excursion. A little closer to the water, he'd spent some quality time with Lash in one of these buildings. The whole area gave him the creeps. He fervently wished Jim had been there to make snide remarks about his navigating skills.

When he finally located it, the metal storage building had no sign or markings other that the numbers 454 in faded black paint. He could see no indication that he was on city property. He checked the little scrap of paper again, and as an afterthought, tucked it into his wallet. He was probably being totally paranoid, but after all the hassles of the last year, he was extra careful to try to do everything right. Making this run without all the annoying paperwork and minimal instructions made him uncomfortable.

It was stupid, and no doubt, futile. The members of the Cascade PD that didn't approve of him weren't going to be impressed with flawless paperwork, prompt reports or extra effort. He knew that, but it didn't change the choices he made. After all, wasn't that what this whole charade was about? Trying to curry favor from people who weren't likely to give it?

He waited a few more moments and two guys, dressed in jeans and denim work shirts came out. Blair got out to unlock the back, but one of the workmen produced a key and did it himself. Without so much as an introduction, the first guy stacked two of the non-descript file boxes and carted them away. The second man looked Blair up and down, shrugged and said sharply, "Hop back in. We'll be done in a second."

"Don't you want some help?" Blair offered.

"We got it." The stranger stared at Blair. He jerked a thumb in the general direction of the driver's seat. "You heard me. See ya later." He crossed his arms and continued to stare, obviously waiting for Blair to leave. The first guy was already headed back for a second load.

Blair gave up. Forget the correct signatures and orders and forms. He'd had enough of doing the right thing and getting it slammed back down his throat. He climbed back into the driver's seat and waited until the rear doors slammed shut. Trying not to feel like the reject of all time, he headed back to Special Operations.

****

Graden, dressed in what was probably his best suit, was standing at the head of the conference table. He had an easel set up with paper, apparently intending to assemble the flood of information coming from his team.

So far, all he had was the date.

It was all the disaster Jim had expected. They had no direction, and it showed. Two teams had duplicated the same dead-end information. They'd bickered over turf. Some idiot from the Mayor's office had decided to use his psych minor to do some profiling despite the fact he had absolutely no background for the task. His opinions had the validity of a fairytale. A third group was re-interviewing all the victims, which was also a waste of time, since they had no focus to ferret out new information. Graden had already lost his temper twice. The only consolation was that his own lack of progress wouldn't look any different than everyone else's.

"Ellison, how about you?"

Jim tried to look serious and concerned. "None of the places I considered most likely were active. I have more to check."

Graden flushed. "That's it? I expected more."

Jim could appreciate Graden's dilemma. His first big opportunity was crumbling into chaos. He should really take pity on him, volunteer his other avenue of investigation, and give the man some hope. He didn't. Justifying his actions to Graden right now would take more patience than Jim could muster at that moment.

"That's it. I'll keep on it." He kept his face blank, but he knew he couldn't wipe the defiance out of his eyes. If Graden had a brain in his head, he'd let it drop.

Graden moved on. "Thompson? Any luck with nearby jurisdictions?"

Jim tuned out the rest of the meeting. He was anxious to get back to something more productive.

*****

He closed and locked the door to his inner sanctum. The request for a recess couldn't have come at a better moment. The last melodic tones of the hour chime were just fading. As always, the clock set the right atmosphere, one of control and order, the things he needed to think clearly.

His test would be completed by now, and he needed the information. He selected a phone from his desk with care. He never made calls on a landline anymore. One of the byproducts of his profession was an intimate knowledge of the preferred means to keep his privileged communications private. As a further precaution, no one in the organization contacted him. He always initiated contact, at the time and place of his own choosing. He was the anonymous voice of power, coming from an untraceable source.

He dialed, and was answered on the second ring.

The delivery is complete?

Yes, sir. No difficulties.

I didn't expect any.

As you say, sir.

Did our young man show any interest? Ask any undue questions?

He got lost when I told him to get lost. No protest.

Excellent. Contact our buyer. Arrange for the store to be open next Thursday. I'll confirm with you in the usual manner. You know what to do.

He ended the call. He hesitated to trust the judgment of others these days. He'd researched Sandburg thoroughly. Despite his unconventional appearance and background as an academic, he was tougher and far more resourceful than people expected. Sandburg had withstood a lot and had come through unscathed. It was undoubtedly best to keep maximum pressure in place until the critical moment.

Under other circumstances, he would have seriously considered mentoring the young man. With careful cultivation, he could have steered that brilliant mind into something more useful, perhaps law or finance. Blair Sandburg might have become an invaluable tool, certainly more flexible and creative than that drone, Mercer. As it was, his unfortunate attachment to Ellison made it out of the question. Ellison was too volatile and far too good an investigator to trifle with.

Yes, Ellison was definitely the wild card. His presence, no matter how oblique, warranted extra caution. Before putting events in motion, he'd make a personal evaluation. That was easy enough to arrange. He'd look Sandburg over tomorrow, as early in the day as possible, and then make a final decision.

As for pressure, that was easy enough. Mercer would be pleased to continue 'stirring the pot', as the IA officer preferred to call it. In fact, he had a few of his own things to add, independent of Mercer. Officer Sandburg would have an entertaining evening.

*****

Blair parked the van where he had found it. He'd gotten stuck in the beginnings of rush hour traffic, and there were only twenty minutes left on his shift. He toyed with the idea of taking a long walk before going back. One more encounter with Owens might push him over his limit of abuse.

He sank down on the curb. Buried here amidst the vehicles, no one could see him. He really needed to take a moment and get a grip. He should be satisfied. Everything was going the way IA planned it. If the people under investigation were paying even minimal attention, they'd have to conclude that Blair Sandburg had little standing in the Cascade PD. IA's plan would work, they could spring their trap, they'd be done with him, and he could go back to Major Crime.

On that hopeful thought, he shuffled down the now-familiar basement hallway. Long before reaching the door, he could hear Owens voice. Blair halted and listened, trying to pick up the drift of the conversation, but it was too muffled for him to sort out. Where was Jim when he needed him? He slipped through the door quietly in deference to the continuing phone conversation, which promptly ended as soon as he showed his face.

Owens was his usual cheerful self. "You need to go over to personnel. You screwed up your paperwork and they need your current residence and off duty number. Sign out for the day and go take care of it."

An excuse to leave was reason to rejoice as far as Blair was concerned. "Sure, Sergeant. I'll just clean up the file stuff and get right over there."

"Already picked up your sorry mess," Owens growled. He returned to scribbling on some paperwork.

Blair looked through the open door into the file room. The floor and table were perfectly clear. He wanted to throttle Owens. It would have taken five minutes at the most to maintain what he'd accomplished so far. He didn't have to open the file drawers to know everything had been stuffed in haphazardly. No doubt Owens had enjoyed it all the while.

He grabbed his duffle out of the locker room and left without saying a word.

*****

"Ellison, you have a minute?"

Jim turned and realized who was speaking. Harper had been one of the pair exchanging notes the day before. Jim knew his name now, and that was more than enough. He might have to sit in the same room for the taskforce, but they weren't going to be chums. "Sorry. I need to check in with Captain Banks," Jim snapped. "I've been on the street all day. Some other time."

He shouldered his way by, but Harper caught him by the elbow. Jim pulled back sharply and Harper raised his hands, shaking his head. "Take it easy, Ellison. Cut me some slack. Five minutes, no more." After a few moments of silence, he added, "Please."

Something in his voice made Jim relent. Harper ducked into a nearby interview room and sat down. Jim reluctantly did the same. "Look, about yesterday - the thing with Sandburg -"

"We're done here." Jim shoved the chair back as he started to rise.

"Come on, Ellison, I'm trying to apologize."

Jim halted begrudgingly. "Fine. We're still done."

"No, we're not," Harper said firmly. "I need to clear the air, even if you don't. It wasn't right to judge on the basis of rumor. You had every right to take offense. I would have done the same if it had been my partner."

"Okay," Jim said, not completely mollified. Harper's sincerity didn't seem faked. "Apology accepted. See you around."

"There's more."

Jim froze in his chair. "What? I'm really not in the mood to be jerked around."

"I'm not playing with you, Ellison. You and I, we've been around a while. We know how things go when one of these investigations pop up. People talk, get bored and things die down while IA does its business. When someone with your reputation defends his partner, it means something, and word usually gets around, kinda tones things down."

"What's your point?" Jim asked frostily. "You trying to tell me yesterday was just harmless gossip?"

"No. I'm telling you that something weird's going on. You said you've been out on the street. Well, I haven't, and I keep hearing stuff. Stuff maybe you should be aware of. I was out of line yesterday, and I think I owe you."

Jim concentrated for a moment on Harper's heart rate. It was rock solid. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to hear him out. "Okay, so what should I know?"

"That the idle chatter isn't dying down. It's not running a normal course, and some of it's pretty damn ugly. The Golden thing? People might jaw about it, but everybody knows it wasn't Sandburg's fault. Sensational, but not serious. Sandburg doesn't have a drug problem."

"But you keep hearing it?"

"Not just that. At least twice this morning I heard that Banks is personally covering for Sandburg, and it's always drugs."

"Simon would never do that."

"I know that. Banks has a reputation as solid as yours. That's not really my point. I know this sounds crazy, but it's like new add-ons about Sandburg just keep cropping up from somewhere, wild things that involve other officers. People are being mentioned by name. And this thing about transferring him to Special Assignments? Explain that? If IA is on your case, they take your shield and put you on suspension."

Jim shuddered inwardly. Harper was knocking right on Ringold's door without realizing it. He decided to bluff. "If you're asking me to comment on IA's methods, I think they're idiots, and they're wrong about my partner. We were directed not to discuss it. I'm sure you know that."

"So why'd you kick him out of your place?" Harper persisted. "You did kick him out, didn't you?"

"Is that what people are saying?" Jim asked, not hiding his anger. That accusation stung, because it was credible. He'd kicked Blair out once, why not now? "To hell with IA and their rules, because right now I don't care. It's not true. He left, and I'm sure he was told to leave. I would have told him to stay put if I'd had the chance." Jim knew he'd overstepped. The whole thing was stupid and he was tired of playing along.

Harper frowned. "Don't shoot the messenger. Look, aside from everything else that stinks about this, there was something else that really worried me. There's a lot of talk that if IA won't clean house, maybe someone ought to settle things with Sandburg and help them along. Convince him to take a hike, and take his mess with him."

"Who?"

"That's the thing. I can't give you names, I just know it's circulating, and it scares me. Cascade PD screws up like any other organization, but for the most part, it does the right thing. This sounds like vigilante justice. I don't want any part of it, but I don't know how to stop it. It's coming from everywhere and nowhere."

"I need a name."

"If I had it, I'd give it," Harper said adamantly. "I feel bad enough as it is, because I took my shots. It was malicious, and I regret it. If something happens to Sandburg, my hands aren't clean. All I can tell you, if he was my partner, I wouldn't let him out of my sight."

"I'm under orders," Jim said grimly.

"Then see Banks. See someone. If I hear anything, I swear I'll let you know." He offered his hand, and Jim accepted.

*****

Blair's anger carried him nearly all the way to the station before he calmed down enough to think. Personnel? Mercer had made a big deal about the fact that IA would adjust all the necessary paperwork. It didn't make sense that now, all of a sudden, he needed to fill some stupid change of address card. What was he supposed to put down for an off duty number? As far as the real world was concerned, he didn't have a phone.

For a moment he flirted with the idea of waltzing into IA and asking. Instead, he retreated to the steps of the nearest municipal building and placed a call to Mercer.

"Mercer? It's Sandburg."

"Get off the line, Sandburg."

Blair stared at the phone in surprise. Mercer had hung up on him. Blair dialed again.

"You hang up on me again, Mercer, and I'll be outside your office in a heartbeat."

"Don't you know better than to call me?" Mercer hissed.

"So answer my questions and I'll get lost. Why is Personnel sending for me? If you want me to make it up as I go, fine, I'll do that. What am I supposed to do for the required off duty phone number? I thought that stuff was taken care of."

"Probably a paperwork glitch. Play along at this point. Make up a phone number, whatever, just fill in the blanks and get out of there. I'll be at your place as soon as I can."

The phone went dead again. Blair swore softly. He didn't want Mercer lurking around his miserable apartment, and he didn't want to answer a bunch of questions at Personnel. There didn't seem to be an alternative.

He chose to skip the elevators. It was easier to avoid people by taking the stairs. Despite his black mood, he snickered a bit, recalling his first encounter with the infamous Vera. No one could say his first day at the station had been uneventful. It amused him that in some ways, he'd always considered the no-nonsense Vera to be a lot more intimidating than Garrett Kincaid. All in all, he was feeling a bit more optimistic when he turned the last corner en route to Personnel. His improved humor evaporated immediately. Vera wasn't there. Instead, a completely unknown face stood behind the counter.

He stopped just short of the desk, his paranoia getting the better of him. Vera was always here. Vera was an in-house legend. No one could even remember Vera taking a sick day, much less a vacation. Something must be wrong, had to be wrong.

"You Sandburg?" the guy behind the desk asked. He slapped a small white card on the counter. "Fill this out."

Blair hesitated, then picked up the nearest pen. All this cloak and dagger stuff was messing with his mind. It was just a stupid card, for pity's sake. He scribbled in the address for his current rat hole and dithered over the phone number. It was one thing for IA to plant information as part of his cover. It was another to willingly give false information. He just didn't trust Mercer.

He put a fat star in the blank, another at the bottom of the card and wrote 'NOT YET AVAILABLE'. Without waiting for any questions he grabbed his duffle and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time, eager to put the day behind him.

As soon as his back was turned, the man at the desk folded the card and slipped it into his pocket. He had to wait for the elevator, which was on its way down. As he moved in, Vera bustled out, muttering about stupid people who sent her on wild goose chases.

He couldn't quite suppress a grin. His timing couldn't have been more perfect.

*****

"I mean it, Simon. I want him out, and I don't even know the half of it."

Simon closed his eyes momentarily in frustration. They'd been at this for ten minutes already, and Jim just wasn't being reasonable. "Jim, I told you. I'll set up a meeting, in fact I'll insist on it, but it probably won't happen today."

"That's just great," Jim said, pacing around Simon's office. "What are we supposed to do? Wait till he gets hurt? Or will that be part of the plan, too?"

"Watch your tone with me, Detective. Sandburg's one of us, and we protect our own. If Sandburg's in danger, we'll act on it, I promise you. It would help if Harper had been more specific."

"He was being straight with me, Simon. I'm sure of it." Jim stopped his pacing abruptly. "Your heart rate just spiked again, Simon. You're holding something back," he said accusingly.

Simon started to protest, then tossed his glasses onto the desk. "We need to set some new ground rules on that little heartbeat trick of yours. I need a superior officer exemption or something. Some guy in Burglary got into a little shoving match with Sandburg. Rafe and Brown took exception and provided some continuing education. Captain Marins did us all a favor and we handled it personally, off the record. If he hadn't, all three of them probably would be on suspension right now."

"So Harper's story is right on? You knew, and you didn't tell me?" Jim shouted.

"Of course I didn't tell you," Simon shouted right back. "You would have gone ballistic, just like you're doing now, and what good would that have done Sandburg? As it was, I came damn close to losing Rafe and Brown. I can't afford to lose you, too."

Jim clenched his fists, thoroughly enraged. His voice was low and strained. "I trusted you. I trusted all of you, and you kept this from me?"

"Settle down right now, Jim," Simon ordered, matching Jim's deadly calm. "If you give me your word that you'll go home, I'll go straight to Ringold's office. If you can't promise me that, I'll throw you in a holding cell until we can straighten this out. Don't think I won't do it."

The two men glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Both ignored a quiet knock at the door. After a moment the door opened anyway.

"Excuse me, Captain." Taggart stood at the door. Jim was a bit shocked. Most people didn't risk Simon's temper that way.

"Taggart, what are you doing here?" Simon growled.

"You two are scaring the troops," Joel said calmly. "You know, we kind of depend on Sandburg to keep the two of you from wounding each other, and he's not here. You'll have to make do with me."

"This is none of your business," Jim said coldly. For the first time he noticed that Taggart had two jackets draped over his arm, one of them being his own. "What are you doing with my coat?" he asked, temporarily more annoyed than angry.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," Joel said, holding the jacket towards its owner. "Come on, Jim. You can growl all you want, but we're out the door. Simon, I think you have some people to see. I'll call you later." Simon started to sputter angrily, and Joel just shrugged. "The way you two were yelling, just be glad the bullpen was practically empty except for me. You didn't say anything I didn't already know. Like I said, I'll call."

Simon's shoulders sagged. "Sometimes I wonder if I run anything around here," he said ruefully.

"You're the boss, Simon. Always will be," Joel said with a disarming smile. He threw an arm around Jim's tense shoulders, speaking softly as he led Jim out of the office. "I know this great place on Patterson. Great bar snacks and there's not a vegetable in sight. You'll love it, Jim, it's our kind of place."

*****

The streets were busy with downtown traffic. Blair waited for the light with a crowd of other pedestrians. To pass the time, he admired the display of beachwear in the department store window to his right. A couple weeks playing in the sand of some tropical island sounded real good right at that moment.

Movement caught his eye and was gone before he knew it. A face behind him, reflected in the window, ducked quickly out of sight. Blair faced straight ahead. The light changed, and the crowd around him started to move forward. Shaken, Blair went with the flow. This was stupid. He was imagining things and should keep walking. Three more blocks straight ahead, he'd be at the athletic club. He would pick up the package Jim had left for him, hop on the bus and head home.

He turned left instead. He walked half a block, and stopped at a coffee kiosk. He waited his turn, carefully watching the block he'd just left. It didn't make sense. This wasn't some ridiculous spy movie. No one was following him. Then he looked directly across the street. The same face. It had to be a coincidence.

His order was up. He fumbled for the correct change and strolled the rest of the block. The man walked in parallel, in plain view. Blair turned at the corner. His shadow crossed the street, and continued in the same direction.

Blair walked for ten minutes in crazy zigzags, until there could be no doubt. Someone was following him, and they weren't being very subtle about it. Blair cursed himself for not changing into his street clothes. He'd been so eager to escape from the PD he'd stayed in uniform. No way was he going to lose a tail dressed in his all too conspicuous blues. Stopping at the locker was out of the question. Neither could he risk calling Jim and take the chance of revealing that slender thread that bound him to his partner. All he could do was get on the bus and let things play out.

As luck would have it, he hadn't waited for more than a minute when his bus roared up to the stop. He was one of the last passengers at the stop to climb on. The bus was crowded. He jostled his way back and settled into a seat about ten rows back. Surely the guy wouldn't get on the bus.

The bus started to pull out, and then stopped. His heart sank when his shadow climbed aboard. He walked past two empty seats and sat three rows ahead. Blair wouldn't be able to exit the bus without moving past him.

As the bus moved into traffic, he turned completely around and smiled at Blair, like a cat playing with a mouse.

*****

"I'm sorry, Captain Banks. The earliest I can set up a time is next week. I'll speak to Captain Ringold about freeing up some time tomorrow, but I can't promise anything."

"That is not good enough," Simon said coldly. He marched through the reception area, ignoring the frantic voices behind him. He'd been wrangling and pleading politely for far too long. He was getting in that office even if he had to kick the door in.

"Captain Banks, please wait!" The receptionist picked up the phone again and spoke with her boss in low tones. "Yes, sir. I'll tell him. Captain Banks, you have five minutes. He's not very happy."

"Good," Simon muttered. "Neither am I."

He entered the office and shut the door firmly behind him. Captain Ringold was seated behind his desk, buried in paper, looking tired and haggard. "What won't wait, Banks? We're a little busy right now."

"Who's running Sandburg?"

"The details of the investigation are none of your concern."

"We agreed to an update. So update me. Now."

"Fine, if it will get you out of my office," Ringold said, shaking his head in exasperation. "Lieutenant Mercer is in charge of that part of the investigation. Look, Banks, he's a good man, and we're reaching a very sensitive juncture in the case. It's not personal, but I just can't discuss it with you."

"I differ with your assessment. I know what the plan was. I didn't agree, but I understood it. I'm hearing things that aren't in line with our agreement. How closely are you supervising Mercer?"

"I support all my men, Banks. As you do yours," Ringold answered testily.

"I'll ask you again. How closely do you review his actions? I don't think he's worthy of your trust."

"I just can't get into the details. We have to support the cover story. That's all I can say."

Simon leaned across the desk. "We had an understanding. Sandburg's name is being aggressively linked to misconduct with drugs. Whose bright idea was it to introduce that into the mix? We discussed that, and you agreed it wouldn't be used. You know he'll never live that down. When did I agree to blacken the name of Major Crime as willing participants in improprieties? That's circulating, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Ringold looked genuinely puzzled.

"Exactly my point."

"People embellish on their own, you know," Ringold said defensively. "There's plenty of resentment towards Sandburg that people are likely to tap into. Unfortunately, that's why we chose him. This is always a potential risk, but I'm sure none of that is resulting from our actions."

"I'm not buying it. It's too pervasive not to be coordinated. I'm not just getting that from inside Major Crime. I'm hearing the same thing from outside, from more than one source. That can't be an accident."

"I'll check, Simon. Can I get back to work now?"

"Oh, we're not done yet. Did you know Sandburg has been physically assaulted? Mercer does, but I'll bet he didn't tell you." Ringold was silent, which pretty much answered Simon's question. Since Ringold was starting to pay attention, he kept going. "Do you know where he stashed Sandburg? A dive, in the worst neighborhood in the city. The man has more roaches than pans to cook with. Did Mercer forget to mention that, too?"

Ringold's face clouded with anger. "Simon, you were to have no contact with Sandburg. Obviously, you've done exactly the opposite."

"No, I haven't, but Ellison has. You kept him out of the loop, remember? I told you at the time it was stupid. I'm not surprised that Ellison didn't abandon his partner, and you shouldn't be surprised either."

"He disobeyed a direct order. I'll have him up on charges."

"Think again. He followed the directive where it concerns the PD, but Ellison's choice of roommate was and is none of our business. When Sandburg moved out, that made it personal. At least he came to me with his concerns, and I'm damn glad he did. What you proposed, and I agreed to, made nominal sense. Did we agree Sandburg's car should be confiscated? No. He's riding a city bus to work. You want me to go on?"

"I didn't know any of this," Ringold stammered. "I'll speak with Mercer."

"That's right. You'd better speak to Mercer. I expect to hear from you in the morning, but I encourage you to use some discretion. If Mercer turns around and retaliates in some way, the gloves come off. As it is, Ellison is convinced that Sandburg is in physical danger. I sent him home, but if anything happens, I won't be able to stop him. I shouldn't stop him. Hell, I'll probably join in."

******

The crowd on the bus was thinning out, and they were getting close to his stop. He needed to make a decision fast. Blair vacillated between panic and rage, and rage won. He'd had about enough of this. He got out of his seat and deliberately sat next to the man who'd been pursuing him.

"Why are you following me?" he said, his voice low and angry.

"Who says I'm following you?" The man snickered. "Are you important?"

Blair wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You didn't make it a secret. You wanted me to see you. I'll ask again. Why?"

"No particular reason." The man reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded white card.

Blair could hardly breathe. It was the card he'd just filled out in Personnel.

"My stop, Sandburg." His stalker jostled past Blair's knees and reached the aisle. Before he walked to the exit he leaned down and whispered in Blair's ear, "I know where you live."

Blair sat, frozen, and watched him go.

He had four more stops to decide what to do. He sat through the first two in a numb haze. He hadn't expected this, and didn't know what to think. Maybe it was just random, a coincidence, like the idiots who happened to be in the Motor Pool the first day. He'd just go home, put his feet up, and take some time to think everything through. It was probably just like Mercer said.

Mercer, who might already be waiting for him. Did he trust Mercer? He couldn't stand the jerk, but trust was a different issue. Blair went back to panic. Something was escalating, and Mercer could be just as easily involved as not. Something about the guy was just - off.

He thought about the phone. What if Mercer searched his bag and found the phone? At this point, anything was possible. He couldn't leave it anywhere. He didn't know anyone in the building. Any of his fellow residents would probably steal it anyway. He could ride to a later stop and try to hide it, but that might give Mercer all the more reason to go looking. He didn't have too many options.

One more stop. He took the phone out of his pocket. It was so tiny. He unzipped the duffle and dug for his Nikes, shoving the phone into the toe of his shoe and stuffing a sock in behind it. He balanced it in his hand. If someone pulled it out, it wasn't noticeably heavy. It was the best he could do.

The bus jerked to a stop. He placed the shoes in the bottom of the bag, put everything else on top and zipped it closed. He was rushed and nervous when he stepped off the bus. Mercer's car was parked down the street, but he wasn't in it. Blair gritted his teeth. Considering the neighborhood, he doubted Mercer was out for a stroll. That had to mean that Mercer, despite Blair's earlier warning, was already in the apartment.

****

Jim stared at his beer, tracing designs in the frosty mug. "This is dumb, Joel. I'm not some errant child who needs to be watched. I certainly didn't need you to drive me over in the truck."

"Hey, I like your truck. It reminds me of my first car. You really ought to upgrade, Jim." He looked towards the bar and grinned. "Alright, here they come." The waitress set a steaming plate between them. "Prepare for the best cheese fries you've ever tasted."

Jim grabbed a fry, dripping with melted cheddar, bacon bits and peppers. "You're right about the fries." After a moment, he added, "Sandburg would have a cow, but I wish he was here to say it."

"He just does that for effect, you know," Joel remarked, munching away on his own fry. "If he came out and said, 'Jim you're my best friend and I'd do anything for you', you'd blow him off. Get all macho and uncomfortable." He took a sip of his beer and looked over the mug knowingly at Jim. "He only does what you can live with."

"Taggart, you're so full of it. Since when did you become the psychologist?"

Joel just smiled. "Let's talk about IA."

"Let's not," Jim said, trying to sound definitive.

Joel chuckled. "You know, Jim, I always thought Blair should do a dissertation on the personality profiles of Major Crime. I'd just bet you, Simon, Henri, even Megan are like long lost twins. You all react the same way."

"We do not. We couldn't be more different."

Joel signaled the waitress for another round. "Yes, you do," he said cheerfully. "Have a problem, charge in full speed ahead. Do it smart, do it fast, and do the right thing, even if it's not very political. Although, now that Simon's a captain, he has to tone it down bit and be all political. This is just us here, Jim. You defied those IA directives within ten minutes of reading them, and we both know it. Simon knows it, too, but you probably didn't tell him everything. I just want you to bring me up to speed, so we can combine forces."

Jim was ready to deny everything and then did a double take. "What have you been up to, Joel?"

"Plenty. Of course, I get more done when I can keep the rest of the kids out of trouble." He clicked his tongue in mock disgust. "Young people today. Rafe and Brown didn't listen, and nearly got themselves in serious trouble. I swear, it's like raising teenagers all over again. I told them to wait, give it some time, but no. At least Megan listens."

"Connor listens?" Jim asked sarcastically.

"Of course she does." Joel tapped the edge of the plate. "Keep eating now. You need to keep your strength up. You want me to start?"

"Yeah, Joel, you're full of surprises," Jim said. "You talk and I'll try to keep up."

"Don't you just love corruption? No one's righteous until someone gets caught. Simon will go to Ringold. He's the captain. It's his role, but I suspect he won't get too far. It won't be for lack of trying." Joel took another sip of beer. "It took some time, but I went the other way. My rule is NEVER ask IA directly. Ask the people IA has to ask. In this case, talk to an accountant."

"You're losing me, Joel."

"Uncovering financial fraud isn't all that easy, especially if it's skillfully done. It's a very specialized skill. IA doesn't have that kind of people in house."

Jim set his beer down with a thunk, realizing what Joel was telling him. "They have to go outside. They wouldn't have a choice."

"Exactly. Now I would never jeopardize an ongoing investigation. I don't need specifics, and my source trusts me to be discreet."

"Who do you know?" Jim asked abruptly. He was ready to take Joel by the collar and shake the information out of him.

Joel picked up a menu. "I think we ought to go for the hot wings next. They have a sauce to die for."

"Joel, you're killing me here."

"I'm not trying to torture you, Jim. This is important, and I need to slow you down enough to make you think. Go order our wings."

Jim signaled the waitress and placed their order.

"Did you know I went to school to be an accountant?" Joel asked conversationally. "Finished two terms of junior college before I got drafted."

"You?" Jim said, an astonished smile crossing his face. "Excuse me, Joel, but I can't quite match the bomb squad guy with ledgers and balance sheets."

"It's not all that different, actually, paying attention to details and all that. Anyway, one of my classmates, a nice middle-class boy with a college fund, got his degree while I went off to learn about bombs in Nam. Turns out he's a brilliant auditor, one of those rare individuals who can see where the books have been cooked by instinct. We've always kept in touch." Joel gave him a triumphant smile. "Just guess who he consults for from time to time?"

"I don't believe this. Cascade PD."

"Got it in one. Just so you know, we followed strict guidelines, and I expect you to honor them. Do I have your word?" Jim nodded. "Okay. The money has been skimmed, literally for years. Minor discrepancies between orders and what is actually delivered primarily, small and steady, but it's been adding up for someone. Then, for some reason, about three years ago, they got greedy. Things like whole loads of computer equipment that got routed through the system and then disappeared, apparently sold off. Someone finally caught on."

"Sounds like they need to lock up every purchasing clerk in the city. Why the hell do they need Sandburg in Special Assignments?" Jim asked. "I'm going to wring somebody's neck if he's been put through this for nothing."

"Here's another puzzle. Why take such trouble for an obscure department like Special Assignments, a department that nearly gets eliminated every time we have a budget crunch? According to my friend, they're still not sure exactly how they run the scams in every case. There seem to be a lot of methods in use. He was actually surprised when I mentioned Special Assignments. They consider it a minor player."

"Sounds like they almost have it wrapped up. Good. Then I can get my partner back."

"I'm not so sure," Joel said, shaking his head. "All he was willing to commit to was that even though they don't know all the individual maneuvers, now that they've uncovered the skimming, they can shut it down by instituting better safeguards."

Jim followed that line of reasoning quickly. "Are you telling me that they might have an investigation without an arrest?"

"Exactly, or at least that's his opinion. My friend believes IA is deluding themselves if they think they'll follow the evidence back to the top. They're overconfident. Now here's the real interesting part. Remember, this is almost more an art than a science. IA's ready to close soon, announce victory and move on. My friend's convinced that they don't have it all. Somehow, the amounts don't match up. There's more, he's sure of it, but Ringold isn't listening." Joel stopped his narrative, and helped himself to wings that had just arrived. Jim followed suit, and they ate in silence. Minutes passed. When they'd reduced the wings to a pile of bones, Joel wiped his fingers and pulled a fresh, white napkin from the holder and spread in on the table. He sketched in a few boxes labeled IA, which connected to RINGOLD. To the side he added AUDITOR and laid the pen down.

Jim immediately understood where Joel was coming from. Schematics for a bomb expert were as comfortable as breathing. He drew in MERCER and connected it to RINGOLD, then BLAIR and connected it to MERCER. "The place they set Blair up in? I found two listening devices." He drew BUGS with no connecting lines.

"Isn't that interesting," Joel said with a gleam in his eye. "Can't be part of the official investigation. It might get the whole case thrown out of court," Joel commented. He drew in SPECIAL ASSIGNMENTS and asked, "Why Blair?"

Jim stiffened. "Those sorry bastards. Sandburg's reputation supposedly lets them insert him at the last minute, and everyone would believe he was dirty."

"Except people don't believe it, especially people who know Blair personally. Even people who know Major Crime just by reputation are skeptical. Simon runs a clean house."

"According to Harper, some buy it," Jim countered. "He did say new rumors keep cropping up." He added another box to their cooperative diagram. "Is somebody trying too hard?" he asked.

Joel took the pen back. Under Blair's name he wrote DECOY? FALL GUY?

"Oh, God, no," Jim whispered. "That can't be. Why would IA want to set him up?"

"Play devil's advocate, Jim. What would IA gain by putting someone in place and then hassling him, maybe getting him hurt in the bargain? They put him there because they supposedly need him." Joel picked up the pen and drew in MAJOR CRIME, and added JIM ELLISON beneath. He connected his additions to BLAIR.

Jim picked at the edge of the napkin. "It seems like the opposite of what they want. Nothing makes sense."

"Maybe it's not IA. Maybe it doesn't make sense because different sides are working against each other."

"What other side?" Jim asked.

Joel didn't answer. He took the pen and drew a circle around JIM ELLISON. "Do they want to neutralize Blair, or do they want to neutralize you?"

"I was never on this case, Joel. I don't have anything to do with it."

"Someone might want to keep it that way." Joel slipped the pen back into his pocket and carefully folded the napkin, handing it to Jim. "Let me take you home. I'll get a cab from your place."

When they got to the loft, Jim spread the napkin on the coffee table while Joel called for a cab. It still didn't make any sense. He was lost in thought when he realized Joel was saying his goodbyes.

"Why did we do this, Joel? Did we accomplish anything?"

"Of course we did. Deep down, no matter how angry you are, you don't want to blow whatever case IA has. If you stayed at the station, you were going to take matters in your own hands, and it would have been rash and wrong. You're a good detective, Jim. All I did was give you a little more information and time to think about it. If you think of something, you call me, or Simon, first. I want your word on that."

He showed Joel to the door, and waved from the balcony as he climbed into the cab. He stayed there, watching the bay, until the first stars of twilight made their appearance.

******

"Captain Ringold, I'm going home for the evening. Is there anything else you need?"

Ringold looked at his watch and was shocked at the time. "Elaine, I apologize. I lost track of how late it was getting. With your drive you won't be home until after seven. Tell Mark I owe him dinner for keeping his wife late."

"It's alright, Captain. I know things are a little tense right now. I'm sure Captain Banks didn't help the schedule much. I probably should have insisted he leave. He just seemed so upset."

"On the contrary, I think your instincts were right on. I needed to see him." He paused, keenly aware how unsure he was about Banks' allegations. "Elaine, I have a favor to ask you. Have you updated the office log yet?"

"Not the entries for this afternoon, sir." He felt guilty when she looked so embarrassed. Elaine was the best personal assistant he'd ever had. She came early, stayed late, and never complained. Now it sounded like he was being critical of her work. "I was going to do it tomorrow when I came in, Captain." She started to take off her sweater. "I can do it right now. It won't take more than ten minutes."

"Elaine, that's not what I meant. I was going to ask you to leave any reference to Banks' visit out of the log for now."

"I don't understand," she said slowly.

"I have a very important reason for not following procedure, Elaine. Actually, if anyone asks, I'd like you to tell them I didn't see Banks at all. Put an appointment in the book for late next week. Would you mind doing that before you leave?"

"Of course." He followed her back to her desk and watched her enter an appointment for Wednesday afternoon.

"Thank you. Hurry home now. Feel free to come in a little late tomorrow," he added, knowing that she wouldn't. She was nearly out the door when he took the last step. "Elaine?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Make a point of not mentioning this to Lieutenant Mercer, or anyone else. As I said, it's important."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Of course. Consider it done, Captain. Good night."

He stood for a moment, overwhelmed with fatigue and dread. He was proud of his department. They had a necessary, challenging job. He'd always believed the team he'd assembled was up to the challenge. The other offices were deserted. It was late, and he was alone. He'd sent everyone home, hoping to give them a break before the final push came. He needed to decide now whether he would follow through or not. With a sense of foreboding, he found his master key and opened Dennis Mercer's locked office.

*****

Jim stood in front of the locker at the athletic club. The package he'd left for Blair was still there. Now he was really worried.

Blair hadn't sent a message or answered the one Jim had sent around nine. Rather than pace around the loft, he'd driven down here, hoping Blair had left a note. He was certain his partner would have stopped to pick it up after work. Blair had been pretty excited about the package, even though they hadn't really discussed the contents. The only reasons Jim could imagine for it still being here were all bad.

He closed the locker quietly, even though he really wanted to slam it in frustration. It was nearly ten o'clock. Something had to be wrong. It could be something as minor as a dead battery in the phone. He decided to drive over to the apartment and check. If Blair was alone, there was always the fire escape.

He parked several blocks south of Grant. His face was pretty well known around the PD. If IA had surveillance on Blair's apartment again, he couldn't very well slip by unnoticed. Carefully, he worked his way down the back alleys, dodging garbage and stray cats as he went. A few junkies making a business transaction eyed him suspiciously, but he ignored them and walked on. The law could catch up to them some other day. The only problems Jim wanted to solve on this night concerned Sandburg.

At the base of Blair's building, he blended into the darkness between two dumpsters and tried to search for his partner's voice. There was a lot of conflicting noise; loud arguments, music, televisions. He hesitated to climb the fire escape without being certain Blair was alone. When his first few attempts failed, he did what Blair would have told him to do. He started on the first floor and systematically eliminated sources of sound. It was a daunting task. His head began to ache from the effort. He kept at it. At last, he caught a fragment of a sentence.

"Mercer. I'm tired. I want to go to bed, and I want you gone."

Mercer. So that explained Blair's silence. Other conflicting noise welled up and he missed Mercer's reply. He redoubled his efforts, changing his tactics, trying to hone in on Blair's voice and nothing else. He found it again. His partner sounded frustrated and angry. "I swear to God, leave! I've answered everything you've asked, and enough is enough."

This time he heard Mercer. "Don't forget your position."

"I know your position, Mercer, which happens to differ from mine. My position is that if you're not out of here, I'm walking out, getting a cab and going straight to Banks. And while we're at it, give me your key before you go."

"Forget about Banks protecting your sorry ass. IA pretty much trumps everybody. In any case, I may as well be going. I think I've made my point. You get your beauty sleep, Sandburg."

"I want the key, damn you."

"I don't think so. I might need to check on you. Make sure you stick with the program. Nightey night."

Jim heard the door close and winced as Blair shouted, "You son of a bitch!" It was all he could do not to hit the fire escape immediately. Instead, he pulled out the phone and typed in a message.

M just left. Back alley. Come?

Jim checked his watch. He'd wait ten minutes for an answer.

*****

Ringold closed the door to Mercer's office and locked it. For nearly three hours, he'd carefully gone through every scrap of paper in the office, trying to leave absolutely no trace of his search. He would have checked the computer, but someone as savvy as Dennis might well detect the intrusion. It made him absolutely sick to his stomach to treat his most trusted officer in this manner. After Banks' visit, he felt he had no choice.

Had he found a smoking gun? No. But something just wasn't right. He could feel it. What was the worst case? How could Dennis Mercer, a relatively young officer in IA, a man who'd passed every background check with flying colors, who seemed to be a dedicated investigator, be mixed up with a financial scam? To what end? Every member of IA was rigorously monitored on a regular basis. It was an intrusion into personal lives and finances that you had to accept when you joined. He honored the same standards himself. Surely, as closely as he and Dennis worked together, he would have known if something was amiss.

What if Banks was right? What if his trust was misplaced? Without a doubt, this was the biggest case of his career. He had to be right. He switched off the lights and left without knowing the answer. Banks would be expecting a call in the morning, and he didn't have much time.

*****

Jim was ready to lose it. His headache was pounding, and he had lost focus. He couldn't get a fix on Blair's apartment no matter how hard he tried. He checked his watch. Nine minutes had passed. He promised himself that he'd wait ten before resorting to the fire escape.

The phone vibrated. Jim couldn't open it fast enough.

J? You there?

This time there was no time lag. Messages started to fly fast and furious.

J: YES! Come down NOW Back alley

B: Bad idea

J: Don't care. Come

B: Bugs

J: shower & radio COME

B: 'k

It took another agonizing five minutes. Jim couldn't have been more relieved when his partner appeared at the back door. He wasted no time. "What happened?"

"Shit, Jim, I don't know. I'm seriously freaked out here."

"Just tell me. There's no one around. I checked."

"Okay. At the end of the day, they called Special Assignments and said I had to go to Personnel for paperwork, even though Mercer said all that was done. I called him, he said fill it out. Then it gets weird. Jim, Vera wasn't there."

"Vera's always there. She just stepped out."

"She usually leaves a little sign, but some other guy was working the counter. He spoke to me by name, like he was expecting me. So I fill out the card, I start walking to the bus stop, and someone's following me."

"Following you? You're sure?"

"No doubt. He didn't care if I knew, either. Stalked me all over downtown for ten minutes."

"That's why you didn't go to the locker. Thank God you saw him."

"I don't know, maybe someone saw you pick me up at lunch." Blair's voice reflected his frustration.

"Did you recognize him?" Jim asked.

"No, but Cascade PD is a big place with a lot of employees. I don't know everyone. Anyway, he got on the damn bus right behind me. Turned around and smiled at me. I kind of lost my temper. I sat down next to him and asked him what the hell he was doing."

"Don't worry, Chief. I would have done the same thing. Actually, I might have been tempted to drag him off the bus and beat the answer out of him. What did he say?"

"He handed me the personnel card. The one I'd just filled out."

"That does it," Jim exploded. "This is so fucked I can't believe it."

"Man, I couldn't agree more." Jim could see the distress on his face, sense his fear. Blair was scared, and he didn't blame him. Stalking took this to a whole new level. "Then Mercer is in the apartment again, and he just stays and stays, asking me stuff, stuff I know he doesn't care about. He went through all the cupboards, dug through my clothes. Jeeze, I'm really losing it here."

"So he didn't find the phone?"

"No. I hid it in the toe of my Nikes while I was still on the bus. Good thing I did."

Jim let out a particularly colorful Quechua profanity. "He is so out of line. They should have his badge. I heard him at the end. It sounded like he was threatening you."

"Jim, I'm so spooked I can hardly remember what he said. What is going on here? How does it help IA's case to freak me out like this."

"I don't know, and I don't care. I spent some time with Joel tonight. I won't go into it, but it looks to me like we've got more than one set of players. You're coming with me. You're not staying here one more night."

"Jim, I can't. I don't want to, but I think I need to stay."

"Chief, despite that crazy ass Mercer, IA pretty much has to play by the rules. If other parties are involved, they might not feel the same constraints. This is out of control, and we are not that desperate. I didn't like it from the beginning, and now I want you out."

"Look, I feel better just talking to you. Stuff just happened so fast, I didn't have a chance to calm down and think. Mercer just puts me on edge. I do not get that guy. Really, Jim, just see Simon in the morning, and we'll go from there."

"I already saw Simon. I told him the same thing; that I wanted you out. That was before I heard all this crap."

"We've come this far. I can hold out for another twelve hours until you check with him."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Jim, this is the way I want it, okay? I'll send a message first thing in the morning, just so you know I'm okay."

"I don't like it, Chief."

"I don't either, but I think it's the right thing to do. Just go with me on this, Jim. I'd feel better if we could figure out what was going on for ourselves. If we're ever going to know, we need to let it play out. I don't want to bail and have to keep looking over my shoulder." Jim didn't answer him. "You know, it's too dark for me to see your face. I can't tell what you're thinking."

"Other stuff happened today on my end. It's a long story, but I'm thinking you might not be safe."

"I'm your partner, and we're supposed to be equals. As much as I appreciate it, I'm not your little buddy who needs protection. I carry a weapon, remember? Besides, all they've really done is mess with my comfort zone."

"I'd call stalking something a little more serious than trying to making you uncomfortable, Chief."

"I agree, but it doesn't change my mind. I need to get back up there. If someone's listening they might be suspicious of a thirty minute shower, especially if they've seen my shower."

Jim sighed. "Okay. I still don't like it, but it's your call. You be careful."

"I'll set an alarm and send a message as soon as I wake up."

"I could stay," Jim offered.

"In this neighborhood? I'd be more worried about you. Please, Jim, just go home. We'll find a place to meet tomorrow, okay?"

"You keep that phone close."

"Under the pillow, man. Under the pillow."

*****

Jim awoke with the dawn and was not surprised. He recognized the extra alertness, the feel of being at the ready from his Ranger days. Sandburg would probably have some elaborate, sentinel explanation. Jim just took it as a warning. When your deepest instincts came to the fore, it was best to pay attention.

When he stepped out of the shower, a message from Sandburg was waiting. The message was typically Sandburg.

AOK Shower Now Talk Later

That was clear enough. Blair usually took a little while to get on track in the mornings. He'd just have to wait. Sipping his second cup of coffee, Jim smoothed Joel's white napkin on the table in front of him. It still didn't make sense. Off to one side, he added his own list.

PLANTED INFO

BLAIR FOLLOWED - WHO

PERSONNEL - WHY

MERCER - INTIMIDATION

He tapped the pen on the mug absently. Circulating the rumors he could understand, but once Blair was in place and the cover substantiated, why keep hassling him? Technically, his participation was voluntary. They could make it difficult and coerce him, but Blair could pull out any time. Why take the risk? Why push him instead of cultivating his cooperation?

Jim frowned. Maybe Mercer was just being a sadistic jerk. He wouldn't be the first IA officer to enjoy watching people squirm. Pressure was part of IA's game plan. He played with that thought for a bit. You applied pressure to get someone to do something - confess, or reveal information, or make a mistake. What did they want Blair to do that he hadn't already done? Was that it?

A loud knock on the front door startled him to the point that he sloshed coffee out of his mug. Who was at his door at six in the morning? What if something had happened to Blair? He yanked the door open. He was face to face with the last person he expected to see.

"Captain Ringold?"

"Good morning, Detective." He gave Jim a chagrined look. "I apologize. I gather you didn't know we were coming. Captain Banks was going to call ahead and give you some warning."

"I - I must have been in the shower." Jim looked over his shoulder. The message light on the phone was blinking. He'd been so focused on hearing from Blair, he hadn't taken notice of the normal landline. They stood awkwardly for a few moments. Jim didn't have a high opinion of Ringold at the moment, but it didn't seem right to slam the door in his face. "Why don't you come in?" Jim waved him through. "Maybe I should go change," he mumbled, acutely aware of standing there in his robe.

"Frankly, we probably all wish we were back in bed. I smell coffee. I don't suppose you'd be willing to share? I've had a pretty sleepless night."

"Of course. Mugs are in the kitchen. Feel free." Jim bolted upstairs to throw on some pants and a shirt. When he came back down, Ringold had a cup and had refilled Jim's. He motioned to the napkin spread out on the table, right where Jim had left it. "We seem to be covering the same ground. I think I should have stolen you from Banks and put you to work on this case. Might have saved us some time."

"Well, you can't have him," Simon's voice boomed from the doorway. "You better have saved some of that coffee for me."

"Is anyone else coming?" Jim said dryly. "Maybe I should call the caterer."

"No, I think this is it," Ringold said. "First of all, let me apologize again for barging in on you. It seemed the only alternative. If we met during office hours, there would be no way to keep it confidential. It's your home. If you prefer, I'll go."

Jim nodded grudgingly. "Captain, considering your handling of my partner, I'm not too happy about having you here, but I'm listening. I'd like to know what's going on. Besides, two captains before eight in the morning is almost more than I can take."

"Captain Banks came to see me last night. I didn't want to accept what he had to say. I did some checking on my own, and I've come to believe his statements have merit."

Jim sighed in relief. "Then you agree we should pull Sandburg out. I couldn't be happier."

"Actually, I want to do the opposite, Detective. I think the entire investigation may be compromised, and your partner may be the only chance I have of setting it right."

"Maybe we should start at the beginning," Simon suggested. "I think it's time for everyone to put their cards on the table."

*****

Blair came out of the shower toweling his hair. As much as he needed a shower in the morning to wake up, the moldy, decrepit bathroom was a trial to his soul. He peeked through the threadbare window curtains. After his marathon session with Mercer last night, he half expected to be under watch again.

He retrieved the phone from where he had it hidden. He'd stayed in the shower until every last drop of water ran out, and Jim was probably getting impatient. He typed in a message.

Awake now Meet?

He waited and got no answer. After ten minutes, he decided to at least have some cereal. That didn't involve much cooking. He warmed some water in his lone pan and made some tea. Jim had hinted that his "surprise", still waiting the locker downtown, had something to do with morning coffee. He munched halfway through an uninspiring bowl of Cheerios and gave up. The food didn't interest him, and Jim must have been called in.

He checked the clock. It was kind of early to head for work, but he didn't feel like sitting around listening to the radio. He dressed quickly and carefully arranged his uniform in his duffle. He debated about where to put the cell phone, and decided to hide it in his shoe again. Better to keep it safe. It would be easy enough to dig it out and call Jim again when he got to the coffee shop.

He left and turned to lock the door, wondering why he bothered. There was nothing in there worth stealing. Mercer was the only one he really didn't want in, and he waltzed in whenever he pleased anyway. He heard a scrape of cloth on cloth behind him and started to look around.

He didn't make it. He was slammed face first into the door. A large hand dug in to his hair and delivered another crashing blow. Stunned, he sank to the floor.

*****

They'd been at it for nearly an hour. Ringold didn't seem to be holding anything back. The IA captain had given a thorough review of the investigation to that point. Everything seemed to jive with what Joel had shared with him the previous evening, but Jim wasn't about to bring that up. Ringold was persuasive, but Jim kept remembering the hostility and sarcasm in his voice when he'd first met with Sandburg. He just wasn't sure how much information to reveal. Besides the information from Joel, he hadn't described how he was keeping in touch with his partner, and hadn't mentioned the electronic surveillance in the apartment.

Ringold apparently sensed his level of distrust. "You have to believe me, Ellison," Ringold said. "I never would have approved Mercer's actions toward Sandburg. I was shocked when I followed up on Simon's report."

"Then tell me, is he on the take, or just being malicious?" Jim asked pointedly.

"At this point, I'm not sure. I hate to believe either alternative. That's the real question. If he's being paid off, we've sure missed it, and I assure you, IA is extremely vigilant. Still, after reexamining his case files, I certainly have my suspicions."

"Why didn't you catch on earlier?" Jim said in an accusing voice.

"That's a fair question. You've got to understand, this thing is so diffused through all levels of municipal government, no one person could manage the investigation alone. I had to delegate. When Mercer recommended that Sandburg be inserted, he insisted that Special Assignments was essential to his line of investigation, and I took his word for it."

"What makes you doubt it now?" Simon asked. He glanced at Jim, who knew his captain well enough to guess that Simon shared his doubts and concerns.

"This whole mess is built on thousands of small, seemingly minor transactions," Ringold said. "That's how it managed to go undiscovered for so long. The interconnections are a nightmare to trace. Special Assignments has some part in the overall scam, but so do a lot of departments. Primarily, they seem to have been used to move things around, but there's nothing in Mercer's case files to indicate it was anything major. Certainly nothing that warrants placing an officer undercover."

"So if it's not really important to the investigation, then it must be important to someone," Simon commented. "Who do you think that someone is?"

Ringold wandered over to the balcony and looked out over the water. "Ever have a big drug bust where you knew the guys at the top were just feeding you the small fish, and the big fish were right there, almost in the palm of your hand, but you just can't get a grip?"

"The story of our lives," Simon said grimly.

Ringold turned to face them. "Well, that's what's going to happen here. I thought about this all night. Special Assignments should be almost a throw away. Someone is going to an awful lot of trouble, and I want to know why. Either Mercer is being fed false information that he's keeping to himself for some reason, which is a serious breach of procedure, or he's a willing participant. I don't know which it is. I NEED to know which it is, or I'm going to lose the big fish. I can feel it." He concentrated his attention on Jim. "I have no right to ask it of either you or your partner, but I need him to stay where he is. If we pull Sandburg out, they'll know we suspect something, and cover their tracks."

"I disagree. In terms of the investigation, you may be right. In terms of Sandburg, you're dead wrong. You coerced his participation from the beginning. He's very isolated, and he could get hurt," Jim said. "You really don't know what you're dealing with."

"I tend to agree with Jim. If Sandburg stays, we need to have full access," Simon said. "We're not going to jeopardize the investigation, but we can't keep operating in the dark. He deserves that much."

"I agree. This stays between you, Sandburg, Ellison, and me. I'm not even going to run it through my oversight. I don't know who to trust. That's how strongly I feel about it."

"I'm sure it's considered confidential, but who is providing oversight?" Simon asked.

"If you're in, you're going to be in on all of it. The mayor selected Judge Robinson. He's been on the court for twenty, almost thirty years. There isn't anyone with more stature, and his reputation is impeccable. All our warrants, basically everything, go through him."

"Robinson is a stickler on protocol," Simon said. "He won't be happy when he finds out you kept this out of your review."

"I'll stand by my decision. If you want it in writing that I'm solely responsible, I'll be happy to give it."

That was an unprecedented level of trust and Jim knew it. Ringold was pulling out all the stops. Jim had a choice to make about the information Ringold didn't know, and he decided to take the chance. "Did Robinson approve any warrants for passive surveillance?" Jim asked. Simon gave him a look of total alarm. "Wiretaps, listening devices, that sort of thing?"

"No," Ringold said, looking puzzled. "We had no reason to. We're positive the day-to-day arrangements are set up with limited use cell phones, which are almost impossible to trace. Why do you ask?"

"Because I found two in Sandburg's rat-hole apartment," Jim said. "I found them the same day Mercer moved him in."

Ringold stared at him, clearly shocked. "Absolutely not. You're sure? That can't be." He did a double take. "How could you possibly know that, anyway?"

Jim knew he was perilously close to revealing his sentinel abilities. Since the mess with the dissertation and all the publicity, people examined everything he did with suspicion. All he could do was bluff. "You probably don't want to examine the method too closely, Captain, but trust me, they're there. Let's suffice it to say I was in covert ops. If you're leveling with us, and they aren't there at your direction, I'd say it's a good bet your investigation is compromised."

Ringold dropped his head into his hands. "My God. Dennis Mercer has to be involved. No one else could have supplied Sandburg's location and installed something that quickly. That's damn near a smoking gun."

"I have to agree, based on the other things you've told us," Simon said softly. "I have a suggestion. Let Sandburg and Ellison pursue the Mercer angle. I think they have the best chance of figuring out what he's up to. If you assign one of your own people, I guarantee they'll know almost immediately."

Ringold was visibly shaken. "I agree, Banks." He turned his attention to Jim. "Do you accept? Will Sandburg go along with it?"

"I tried to get Sandburg out last night, consequences be damned, and he refused. He believes, and I guess I have to agree, that the only way to get clear and find out what is really going on is to stay. He'll do it."

"Consider it done," Ringold said. "You'll have my full support, no matter what you find."

"Then we only have one more thing to do," Simon said. "We need a way to meet. How can we bring Sandburg in without being detected?"

*****

Blair tried to focus his vision. Even in his groggy state, he could hear the sound of footsteps on the stairwell fading into the distance. No way was he going to catch whoever had jumped him. He probed gingerly around his forehead and groaned. It was tender to the touch. His fingers came away with a smear of blood. Damn.

He struggled to his feet, and it took him a couple of tries to get the key into the lock. He dropped his bag just inside the door and stumbled to the bathroom. The first glance told him what he already suspected. He had a cut above his eye, a scrape across the forehead, and a large area that was already starting to swell and bruise. He splashed a little water across his face to clear his head. What he really needed was some ice before he started to look like a carnival attraction.

Holding a wet washrag on his abused skull, he wandered into the kitchen. He pulled open the door on the freezer compartment. No ice trays. In fact, it wasn't even cold. Blair slammed the compartment in frustration. By the time he got anywhere that had ice, it would probably be too late anyway.

He was too upset to even think about who was responsible. It could have been one of his less than lawful neighbors. Maybe Jim was right. He should have just walked out last night and put an end to this charade.

There was no point in hanging around. He had no first aid supplies here. He was going to have to let it stop bleeding on its own. Keeping the cloth pressed against the cut, he grabbed his bag and locked the door. He had to switch hands to lock the place up. As he did, a scrap of folded paper on the floor near the doorjamb caught his eye. Somehow, it looked vaguely familiar.

He unfolded it. Scrawled across a torn sheet of Cascade PD letterhead was the word "Sandburg." No one was that careless. Someone was sending him a message, and he'd screwed up again. He shouldn't have touched it with his fingers in the first place, and he didn't have an evidence bag. The side pocket of his duffle would have to do for now.

He took the stairs slowly, dreading the bus, dreading every moment of the coming day.

*****

He took a moment to enjoy it, savoring how the correct environment could clear the mind. Over the years, it had become his practice to rise early and have at least an hour of solitude in his office. Often, his most important decisions were made in this nearly silent environment, the only sound the ticking of his clock. Today was no exception. He had two, perhaps three calls to make.

The first call went to a young man who was as brilliant with computers and technology as he was morally bereft, a highly productive combination. They'd never met. As with all his tools, he initiated the contact and carefully controlled the interaction. His amoral technical wizard had several projects going at the moment, but at this early hour, Blair Sandburg was his sole topic of interest.

Good day, Edward. Are you enjoying your - toys?

Awesome, absolutely awesome. The sound resolution is five or ten times...

Not now. Your report, please.

Uh, yeah, sure. No visitors except that dude Mercer.

You're certain?

The surveillance doesn't lie. I can hear every time the door opens. He's been alone, like I said. Mercer is the only one. He worked him over pretty good last night. Sandburg is pretty freaked out.

How would you know that?

Your boy doesn't like silence. When no one's there, he talks to himself, bitches about this and that. It was pretty good comedy until last night and this morning. The guy's rung out now; angry, banging cupboards, stuff like that. Telling himself to calm down.

Thank you. Please continue as before. Expect another addition to your collection soon.

He ended the call. He wouldn't need to speak with Mercer after all, which pleased him greatly. His decision to install surveillance ala Edward had produced the hidden benefit of monitoring Mercer right along with Sandburg, and the IA officer was none the wiser. Too bad he couldn't install a similar system right inside the police department. It would simplify his efforts.

For his final call, he switched to his office phone. So far, everything seemed positive. Sandburg was isolated from his colleagues, particularly Detective Ellison, under pressure and distressed. Anyone beset with such overwhelming difficulties would be less than his observant self, which was exactly what he was trying to achieve. Still, his gut told him to evaluate Sandburg eye to eye before proceeding. There was no reason not to. He could arrange it with very little effort. A stop by his office for deliveries would look like normal routine in Special Assignments.

*****

"Sandburg! What the hell happened to you?"

Blair stood wearily at the door of Special Assignments. Why today, of all mornings, did Owens have to be here when he arrived? "Morning, Sergeant. I ran into a little trouble at my residence."

"Boy, you sit down before you fall down." Owens came out from behind his desk and pushed Blair into the closest chair. "Has anybody looked at this?"

Blair had a fleeting image of some strange parallel universe. In his experience, Sergeant Owens either yelled, growled or sneered. His mother tongue was sarcasm. Instead, the older man actually sounded concerned. "I looked at it," he answered, a little uncertain. "Why?"

"It's Technicolor, that's why. Can't you tell your eye is starting to swell shut?" Owens loomed over him. "Look up. When did you last have ice on it?"

"I didn't have any ice," Blair said. The look on Owens' face told him he needed to explain. "It's a crappy apartment. The fridge isn't cold enough to make ice. I put some water on it for a while, and checked it in the mirror. It didn't bleed for long."

"Well, without ice, no wonder it's swelling, whether it stopped bleeding or not. Kids! They haven't got the brains God gave a goose. Stay put." Blair sat in stunned silence as Owens wet some paper towels and got a canned soft drink out of his personal fridge. "Here," he said, wrapping the towels around the cold aluminum. "This'll have to do until we can get something better."

Blair's head ached where the can pressed against it, but the cold was a relief. "I need to change," he mumbled. "I felt so bad I came down here to sit down first." He closed his eyes momentarily and pressed firmly. "Aren't you here kind of early, Sergeant?"

"Hmph. Every now and then, the DA's office and the judges go a little crazy, sending paperwork all over the building. It has something to do with court deadlines, I think. The lead secretary calls me and gives me the heads-up. This is one of those mornings. For the next few hours, both of us are going to be on a dead run."

"Great," Blair groaned. "I need some aspirin."

"I've got some, but I have a price." Owens dug into his desk drawer. "I want you to tell me what happened first."

Blair saw no reason not to answer. "I was locking my door and someone bashed me from behind. I didn't see him, and I was too out of it to chase him down."

Owens handed him two tablets. "Here, can you swallow these dry?"

Blair nodded. He couldn't figure it out. Was this the same guy who'd treated him like a pariah since he'd first shown his face?

"You have a beef with someone?" Owens asked.

"I don't know. A lot of people are sure pissed off with me lately." He gave Owens a quizzical look. "Up until the last two minutes, I would have had you at the top of the list. No offense intended."

"Yeah, well I didn't think they were sending me no prize. They told me you had an attitude, couldn't be trusted, and I'd be held responsible if you messed up." He pulled up a chair. "You seem okay to me. You should file a report, you know."

"What's the point?" Blair asked, feeling totally discouraged. "I'm okay. Thanks for the aspirin. I'm sure that'll help."

"It's not very comfortable, but why don't you go lie down on the bench in by the lockers? I've got at least ten or fifteen minutes before I have these things organized, and we can't start much before 8:30 anyway."

"Thanks, Sergeant. I really appreciate that." Blair forced himself up and into the other room, still holding the drink can to his head, wondering if things could get any weirder.

*****

"Morning, Vera. How are you today?"

Vera gave him a long-suffering look. "Spare me the pleasantries and pass the ammunition. If Detective Ellison is in Personnel, the terrorists must be in the parking lot."

Jim smiled weakly. This was normal routine between them ever since Vera had been a Sunrise Patriot hostage. For whatever reason, she held him and Sandburg personally responsible. "I'm sure you saw other people besides me that day," he protested.

"Don't start with me. That wasn't the only day, Detective. You're never here unless some disaster is on the horizon, or has just happened. I'm keeping you for my memoirs. Do you have any idea how much time I spend explaining your insurance claims to our carrier? And Sandburg? He's worse."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating just a little," Jim said.

"Really. Let's see you explain treatment for a drug overdose by pizza to managed care. Or spontaneous blindness for you. Shall I go on? I keep a list."

Jim knew when he was beat. "I surrender. Do you have time for a few questions?"

"You can ask. I have confidentiality rules to follow, you know." Kidding was over. Vera was all business now.

"It's about Sandburg," Jim started. Vera's expression changed immediately.

"I'm so sorry, Detective. When Internal Affairs made all those changes, I had trouble believing the allegations. Despite the hair and the clothes, he does seem like a nice young man."

"When was that? I'm interested in yesterday, not earlier in the week."

"There were no changes yesterday, Detective. All his paperwork was completed on Monday."

"This is important. He got called in yesterday, and filled out some sort of address card down here. Do you know who requested that?"

Vera's eyes widened. "No one. I'm working alone this week. Everyone else is on vacation." She went to her computer. "No. There have been no updates since earlier in the week. Sandburg was the last one I did, and every last detail was complete."

"Were you here around four o'clock yesterday? He came down around that time."

"Of course. I told you I'm alone this week. Oh, I did get called out for ten, fifteen minutes, some problem with the files. It was just a mix-up. It was a waste of my time, tromping all the way up to IA like that. Detective?" Vera leaned over the counter to watch Jim's mad dash down the hall.

"I swear, I'll never figure that one out," she muttered, shaking her head.

*****

"Okay, Sandburg, here's your list. It's kind of complicated."

Blair squinted at the sheet. "Is there some order to this?" He was having trouble focusing, and Owens' handwritten sheet was indecipherable.

"Kind of, but once those lawyer types get into it, it's hopeless. You'll be doubling back a dozen times before you're done, no matter how I plan it. It doesn't really matter except for Judge Robinson. He wants us in and out before he goes into court, and what the hanging judge wants, he gets. Go there first."

"Got it," Blair said. Asking Owens a question was usually pointless, but the man seemed almost human today. Blair figured it was worth a try. "I was in his courtroom once with Jim, but I'm not sure where his chambers are."

"He's the only one on the fifth floor. Rank has its privileges. Go right coming out of the elevators." Owens gave him a searching look. "You look like hell, Sandburg. You take a break when you need to. I'm still not convinced you shouldn't have that brain bucket of yours looked at."

Blair nodded, but didn't take the last statement seriously. He was still unsure about this new, improved version of Owens. He stopped at the restroom to check his appearance. It was obvious why Owens had been so solicitous. His growing bruise was vivid purple and red. The makeshift cold compress must have helped, but the area was notably swollen. He looked awful, but fortunately, the aspirin had kicked in, and he felt marginally better. He could cope. He'd rather be at work, where he had a chance to connect with Jim, as opposed to going back home and waiting for another sneak attack.

For the first time in days he skipped the stairs. He was too damn tired and achy to worry about what anyone thought. He was treated to more than a few strange looks as passengers got on and off the elevator. Jim was going to have a fit whenever he saw him. Maybe it was just as well they'd missed each other this morning. After he'd taken care of Judge Robinson, he'd try to reach him again.

Robinson's administrative assistant was waiting for him. She took one look and stammered, "What happened to you?"

Blair smiled weakly. "You don't want to know. These are for Judge Robinson," he said, holding the folder toward her. The normal procedure was for the courier to wait while the office staff took the paperwork off to be signed.

"Judge Robinson asked to have you go on in. I have some other things to take care of. He's on the phone, so you may have to wait."

The judge was on the phone, as she'd said. He waved Blair toward a seat and continued his call. Robinson cut as impressive a figure in his office as he did in the courtroom. Blair was acutely aware of his appearance. To the judge, he must look like one of the total losers who graced his courtroom for sentencing. Unfortunately, after even the short journey up here, he was starting to feel as bad as he looked, and he could barely keep his eyes open. In an attempt to stay alert, he studied his surroundings.

Blair hadn't been in a lot of personal offices, but this was definitely more luxurious than the norm. A beautiful series of pen and ink sketches hung above the desk. The desk accessories were expensive leather; Jim's father had the same ones on his desk. The clock had to be an antique. The office had the usual book lined shelves, but the interesting thing was the volumes themselves. A significant number weren't legal tomes, but beautifully bound fiction with a smattering of history, politics and biography. Blair was so absorbed he didn't realize the judge was off the phone and waiting on him.

"They're beautiful, aren't they? After all these years on the bench, I've found that items of quality can be very calming in a stressful environment."

"Yes," Blair said. "Excuse me. I could get lost in a room like this. It's really impressive. Are some of these are original editions? They look it."

"Many of them are. You have a good eye. Mr. Sandburg, correct? You were with Detective Ellison. Let me think - was it history you were studying?"

"Actually, I was studying anthropology."

"Ah, then that explains it. Fine books are just another kind of artifact." Robinson pulled a book off the shelf. "Look at this one," he said, handing it to Blair. "A first edition, signed by the author. Over a hundred years old, everything done by hand. Pity they don't produce them this way anymore."

"It's fabulous," Blair said, reverently turning the page.

"Young people don't usually appreciate books. Do you miss the university, young man?"

Blair's head snapped up in surprise, followed by embarrassment. "Sometimes, I miss it very much," he said honestly. He re-shelved the book he'd been admiring. "I'm surprised you remember my name."

"You and Detective Ellison make a rather unique combination. Rest assured, you made an impression. Your transition from academia hasn't been all smooth sailing, I understand," the Judge said. Blair shifted uncomfortably. Even though his recent past was fairly common knowledge, most people weren't this direct.

"I - no, it hasn't been. Every road has its unexpected bumps."

Robinson retired to his desk. He opened the folder and began rapidly skimming documents. "Quite the decoration you're sporting," he said, looking up between signatures. "That wouldn't be one of those unexpected bumps you were referring to, would it?"

Blair touched his forehead gingerly. "You could say I've had better days." This conversation kept going in unexpected directions, and he was feeling increasingly uneasy. He didn't want to answer any more questions from this man. "Thank you for showing me your books. I'm sure I've taken enough of your time."

Robinson closed the folder and handed it back. "Not at all. These documents need to go to Judge Franklin next. He'll direct you from there."

"Thank you, Your Honor. I'll get them there right away."

*****

Jim burst into Simon's office without knocking. "Captain, I just talked to Vera. She was deliberately called out yesterday afternoon. Guess which department? A supposed paperwork snafu in IA that didn't amount to anything."

"How convenient," Simon said. "I'll overlook the fact that we agreed you'd hold off until I hear from Ringold. I suppose you couldn't trace the request."

"Some clerk in IA called Vera. The real question is who asked the clerk. I can't check that without drawing attention. Ringold probably can't either."

"So that's another dead end. Maybe Ringold will have some ideas later today. We've arranged to talk this afternoon, and we're going to wait to bring Sandburg in until then. There's an administrative meeting we both have to attend, so no one will think it's unusual for the two of us to be in the same place."

"This afternoon? What about Sandburg? That leaves him hanging for a long time."

"It can't be helped. Even as we investigate, our first priority has to be keeping Mercer from becoming suspicious."

"Do you think Ringold is being straight with us?" Jim asked.

"Yes. Even if I had some misgivings, it's in his best interests at this point. No one wants to blow an investigation when the Mayor is breathing down your neck."

"I'll look at the personnel file for Mercer that he gave us this morning. Maybe I'll find something."

"I wouldn't count on it. Besides, you need to keep working on that carjacking. How's it going so far?"

"What? The carjackings? Captain, I don't care if they steal every vehicle in Cascade! I need to concentrate on this."

"Think again, Jim. The carjackings are your case. You can't just evaporate."

"But, Simon..."

"Not another word. Now listen to me. You may think that taskforce is a throwaway, but it gets a lot of attention. You have to at least look like you're doing something, or someone will notice. Until something breaks with Mercer, you need to keep at it. I promise you, as soon as I can give you something, I will."

Jim went back to his desk, seething. Simon's line of reasoning made sense, but he was certain it was the wrong thing to do. Mercer was the key, and that's where he needed to focus his attention.

He was still lost in thought when Henri Brown walked into the bullpen. It dawned on Jim that he hadn't had the chance to thank H and his partner for going to bat for Blair. "Brown, come here for a second." Jim lowered his voice. "I hear you and Rafe stuck your neck out and nearly got it sawed off. Who was it?"

Henri threw a worried look toward Simon's office. "Parker, in Burglary. I promise you, he got the message. Please don't kill him. I'll be on the Captain's shit list forever as it is."

"If you say it's taken care of, that works for me. I just wanted you to know I appreciated it."

"Hairboy's got a lot of friends, man. Rhonda and the secretary in Burglary set Parker up for us, and they were happy to do it."

"Always Sandburg and the ladies," Jim said.

"Yeah, that's what WE say, man. Sandburg's just good with people. Treats everybody with respect, and they remember."

"You say Rhonda helped you with this?"

"Don't step on the sisterhood, man. I'm buying plenty of flowers on the next secretary's day, just as insurance."

"H!" Rafe called from the doorway. "We got to roll! Our snitch called. Thayer just showed up at the warehouse."

"Later," Brown said over his shoulder as he followed his partner out the door.

Jim headed for Rhonda's desk. Maybe he could get the information he needed on Mercer after all.

*****

Judge Franklin was three floors down. His secretary made Blair wait in the hall, which meant standing for an interminable ten minutes while the world tilted from side to side and he struggled to keep his balance. He was on the verge of sitting on the floor to wait when Franklin sent him to the DA's office across the street. They sent him back to Judge Franklin, who turned out to be with Judge Farmer on the ground floor. By then, the DA's office was calling for him, wondering why it was taking so long.

That was all in the first hour.

By eleven, Blair had logged an untold number of aching miles between four buildings in a three-block radius of each other. Owens hadn't been kidding. Even at a sprint, he couldn't have done this fast enough to keep everyone happy. He hadn't had a moment to sit down, much less take a break and call Jim. The aspirin he'd bummed off Owens had long since evaporated. His head throbbed with every step. Lunch couldn't come soon enough.

"Here you go, officer, signed and sealed."

"Thanks. Back to the DA, right?"

"Yes, but Judge Robinson's office wants this other stuff right away. You don't mind, do you?"

Blair struggled to keep a smile on his face. Oh, he minded very much. Most of the people had been great, but this one clerk was taking advantage, and he knew it. This was the second time she'd managed to get him doing her work right along with his own. He weighed his options and decided it wasn't worth the effort to decline.

There was a crowd by the elevator, including some detectives he recognized from Vice. He'd run into them earlier in the day. They'd been on their way to testify, he'd been tracking down another judge during a recess. One dose of snide comments from this group was enough. He headed for the stairs, resenting every step of the two flights he had to climb.

While he was in the waiting area, Robinson bustled by, his judicial robes draped over one arm. "Still at it, Mr. Sandburg?"

"The wheels of justice have kept me busy today." Blair said.

"Young man, it looks more like those wheels ran right up your back. Perhaps you should sit down for a few minutes."

Blair would have given anything to sink into one of those comfortable chairs he'd occupied earlier. It was not to be. "I appreciate the offer, but duty calls."

"So it does, Mr. Sandburg. So it does."

Back down the stairs and across the street he went, feeling worse with every step. After today, he'd know every office and worker in the judicial system. The DA's office was - Amy? No, Alicia. Alicia, with the huge green eyes, who was also wearing an equally huge engagement ring. He thought ruefully of how much he missed the gang in Major Crime. Despite the teasing he took from his colleagues about the ladies, it paid to notice these things.

He nearly tripped over his own feet climbing the stairs to the entrance. He was forced to admit he was reaching his limit. If it was anytime close to twelve, he was clocking out. Maybe he could scrounge up some aspirin somewhere during lunch, but mostly he needed to sit down. A nap would be pure heaven. He dismissed those thoughts and sought out the correct office.

"Hey, Alicia. Bet you've been waiting for these. Hope I haven't kept you from lunch."

"No problem, I knew you'd be back. I wasn't ready to go yet." Alicia looked up from her work and frowned. Blair lost focus on her face, and the next thing he knew, she was at his elbow. "Sit down, before you fall down. You're white as a sheet."

"I'm fine," he protested. "No big deal."

"You're not fine. Give me those and sit." She pushed him into a chair, or maybe he fell into it. Blair wasn't exactly sure.

"Blair? Is that you? Oh, my God. What happened?"

Beverly Sanchez had just walked in the door, accompanied by a man Blair didn't recognize. He wanted to die of embarrassment. He must provide quite the contrast to Beverly's perfectly groomed companion.

"Beverly, I'm fine," Blair said. He was having a little trouble seeing. His eye must have gotten swollen again during the morning, and he hadn't really noticed. "I just lost my balance for a second. I really need to get going." He meant it, but he just couldn't get his feet under himself and out of the chair. His eye itched, and without thinking, he rubbed at it. Something hot and salty stung his eyes.

"You are not going anywhere," Beverly said firmly. "Alicia, some tissues, please.

Blair blinked. Blood was dripping into his eye and it hurt. Next thing he knew, Beverly was trying to dab it away without hurting him.

"What are you doing walking around like this?" Beverly asked. "Where's Jim?"

"Here's some more tissues, Ms. Sanchez."

"Thanks, Alicia. Blair, hold this for a second."

All of a sudden, there were just too many faces to concentrate on. "Beverly, really..."

"Quit arguing, already. You look awful." Beverly looked back at the other man, who, in a blurry sort of way, seemed very impatient with the delay. "David, I'll have to pass on the lunch. Some other time."

"Since when do we nursemaid the police department? Who is this guy?"

Beverly was absorbed in what she was doing, but she answered the question. "This is Blair Sandburg. He's a good friend. Alicia, do we have a first aid kit around? I could use some gauze or a bandage or something."

"Sandburg! Bev, you can't! This guy is under a departmental investigation."

"Blair?" Beverly asked, frowning in concern.

"Long story. It's a mess, and I'm not working with Jim right now." Blair tried to snag the tissue out of Beverly's hand. "Please stop. He's right. It won't look good."

Beverly's eyes looked terribly sad. "That may be so, but whatever's happened, it's not important right now." She dug some keys out of her purse. "Alicia, go get my car and bring it around front. Double-park if you have to. Come on, Blair, I'm taking you to the doctor."

"You can't be serious," David protested.

"David, I don't have time to argue right now. I don't give a damn about the politics. This man and Detective Ellison saved my life, and that takes precedence. You'll have to take the pre-trial hearing at two. Both of us don't need to be there. The files are on my desk."

"Beverly, I don't need you to do that," Blair said. He stood up and promptly stumbled.

"Oh, yes you do," Beverly said, steadying him. She was already helping Blair through the doors. "What's more, the minute I have a chance, I'm going to hunt Ellison down and kick his ass for letting you on the street like this."

*****

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Collins."

"Not a problem, Detective Ellison. I hadn't heard the Cascade PD was doing this, but checking back with accident victims is probably a great idea."

"Community relations are important to the department, Mr. Collins," Jim said, keeping a smile pasted on his face. The carjacking case wasn't his personal priority. He didn't want to spare the time for idle chat. Deceiving the public wasn't exactly approved investigative technique, but he'd put expedience before correctness and gotten what he wanted. Now he wanted to act on the information quickly and move on. His greater concern was that it was nearly noon, and he still hadn't tracked Sandburg down to check on how things were going.

He nearly laid rubber leaving the parking lot. If he weren't so distracted, he'd be pretty pleased with himself. Using the nightmare printouts of accident reports, he'd tracked down two Porsche owners reporting fender benders who hadn't arranged for repairs through the dealership or one of the recommended shops. Both had ultimately used the same low-bid body shop for their repairs. The time frame matched the carjacking incidents. By a stroke of incredible luck, when he'd checked another relatively rare model on the list of victims, he got the same hit. His gut told him it wasn't a coincidence.

The tough part was proving it. Only a complete idiot would drag a boosted car back to the repair shop. They had to be salvaging the parts at another site. He'd parked a couple of blocks down the street from his new target, resenting the time required to stake a place like this out. With his vision, he had no trouble monitoring the traffic in and out of the body shop. He already had a fairly lengthy list of plates to run, which he was calling in to Joel back at Major Crime to save time. He'd also tried to raise Blair on the cell phone, without result. His worry battled with the certainty the carjacking case was about to break.

The double-sized doors on the shop were raised and an unmarked panel truck drove out. It was plenty large enough to haul body parts around town. Jim eased his own truck into gear and followed, gradually closing the distance. This was totally unplanned, but if he could get a chance to solve this, he was going to take it.

*****

It had worked to perfection. He leaned against the door of his office as he shut it and smiled in complete satisfaction. Sandburg looked completely done in. He was a shadow of the talkative, curious graduate student he remembered. A few more days of continued pressure, and the young man would be in the ideal frame of mind.

Timing was an issue. The weekend was approaching, and the all-important delivery was scheduled for Thursday. Sandburg would need to be kept on edge for at least another week. After that, it really wouldn't matter. They could end the whole charade, or not. Once the immediate difficulties were over, he might think of other creative uses for Sandburg. It was always good to consider new possibilities.

Of course, Mercer didn't know that. On the contrary, it was critical to his success that the IA officer never really know what was going on. He was pleased with his own reactions to the crisis precipitated by the impending investigation. It was all psychology, in the end. The coin of influence varied, depending on the target. Some men were motivated by wealth, others by power or status. Those manipulations eventually required cash - rewards, payoffs, hush money, expenses. Mercer was a different matter entirely. It had been a stroke of genius to co-opt someone intimately involved in the investigation. In Mercer's desperation for advancement, he'd been more than eager to accept advice from an anonymous source, someone who had his well being in mind. As long as most of the information produced positive results that enhanced his status, Mercer didn't examine the giver too closely. It never occurred to him that he was being manipulated to serve other ends.

Actually, it rather amused him to be the Cascade version of Deep Throat.

*****

"Alright, Mr. Sandburg, you can sit up now." The ER physician peeled off his gloves and disposed of them. "That cut would have been easier to close if you'd come in sooner. All the tissue edema made it more difficult to sew up. As it is, I don't think the stitches will scar too badly."

Blair nodded. Most of the left side of his face was numb from local anesthetic. It was all he could do to concentrate on what the doctor was saying. Mumbling a few words seemed beyond him. He nodded, hoping to appear attentive, and let the physician continue. He was glad he'd asked Beverly to stay. At least she was probably paying attention.

"The stitches can probably come out in a week, but you can have your primary care physician do that. I'm writing you a prescription for an antibiotic cream. Put it on the cut three times a day."

Beverly deftly intercepted the prescription. "I'll take care of that," she said.

"Good, because that brings us to the next issue. I don't want him running around any more than necessary. You hear that, Mr. Sandburg? I want you off your feet for the rest of the day."

"I don't need bed rest for stitches," Blair said.

"No, but you need some down time for your head. You have a mild concussion, even though it's not obvious and you don't want to admit it. That headache you've had all day is trying to tell you something." Blair sensed he was speaking to Beverly as much as he was to him. "We don't really need the whole 'wake every hour', but you need some rest to start feeling better." The physician examined him critically. "Actually, if I was seeing you as a regular patient, I'd be grilling you for more information. You seem rather run down. Have you been under stress lately? Or had another head injury that went untreated? They're cumulative, you know. That might explain some of your symptoms. When was the last time you ate a nutritious meal?"

"Yes," Blair answered.

Beverly snickered. "Yes to what? All of the above? Don't worry, Doctor, I'll get him home. Thank you again for seeing us quickly."

"I really need to go back to work," Blair said, struggling to give the impression of being more energetic than he really felt.

"Who's your supervisor?" the physician asked.

"Sergeant Owens, Special Assignments," Blair answered. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he thought better of it.

"Well, in my book, police officers get special treatment. You want to go back to work? Fine, then I'm calling him, and I'm going to repeat what I just told you. At least then when you show up against my advice, he'll hopefully have the sense to send you home. Neither one of us needs the grief if something happens to you when you're working instead of recuperating."

"I'll call him, too," Beverly said. She patted Blair on the leg with a slightly wicked smile. "Blair, wouldn't it just be easier to cooperate?"

*****

Jim pulled the truck to a stop. He'd followed his subject clear across town. On the drive over, he'd kept Joel busy, getting information on the owner of the body shop, running the plate of the van he was following, and anything else he could think of. Nothing really incriminating had turned up so far. He watched as the driver of the vehicle unlocked the delivery bay of yet another warehouse. He dialed up his vision in hopes of finally getting a good enough glimpse to get a solid physical description.

Two cell phones sat on the seat beside him. The first was his regular cell, which he was using for his official duties. Joel was doing a great job relaying information back and forth. He was going to owe Taggart big time. The second was the Blairphone. He couldn't keep from checking that one regularly, hoping for a message from his absent partner. Common sense told him Blair was just busy, or hadn't gotten a private moment to respond to his earlier messages. The continued silence was making him very apprehensive.

With effort, he forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand. There were at least two other people inside with the driver. Even with hearing dialed up, he couldn't decipher the conversation. Some kind of power tool, perhaps several, were overwhelming the human voices. For the hundredth time, he wished Sandburg was here in the truck where he belonged. His partner was a creative genius when it came to suggesting alternate plans of attack for a sensory problem. He couldn't manage creativity and the senses at the same time when he was alone. He needed Blair. He stopped, dialing his hearing back to normal to give himself a break. One possibility was to work in closer, and hope proximity would help. Being away from the truck would mean he might lose his quarry if they moved on quickly. It was a tradeoff, and another instance when having his partner would have helped.

He was still trying to decide when the cell phone rang. Joel again. "Hey, big guy, what do you have for me?"

"Your fearless leader, Graden, was in here, looking for you and anyone else he can find. The man is having a meltdown."

"Tell me something new," Jim said scornfully. "I think he's that way naturally."

"He's got cause, Jim. They took another car this morning, some new SUV with multiple rows of seats. Problem is, when they dragged the driver out and left her by the roadside, they didn't notice the baby strapped into the car seat in the back. It's officially a kidnapping. They're throwing everything at it they can think of, but they don't have anywhere to start."

"Shit. What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I know you're not thrilled with him. He's pretty desperate. I wanted to run it by you first."

Jim was already out of the truck. "I'm going in close. I'll call you back in ten minutes. If you don't hear from me, send backup and call Graden."

*****

"Bev, you don't need to be doing this. You should have just dropped me at my apartment."

"Driving by what you refer to as an apartment was enough. I'd sooner leave you in a garbage dump. That was IA's idea? They need a reality check." Beverly unlocked the door to her condo and ushered him in. "You'd never make it up the stairs, for one thing. At least I have an elevator. Now stretch out on the couch and I'll make you some tea and something to eat."

"But..."

"I have one of those boiling water things in the sink. A tea bag takes five seconds," Beverly said, leaving her belongings in the living room. She didn't have a lot to choose from, and decided on some Sleepy Time herbal stuff that was on the back of the shelf. If she could get him to doze off, so much the better. While it was steeping, she opened up some soup, dumped it into a baking dish and started it warming in the microwave.

She went back to the living room, dunking the tea bag to hurry it along. Blair was sitting stiffly on the couch. "You are so stubborn. Kick your shoes off and put your feet up," she scolded. "Here's your tea. Take these Tylenol the doc gave you while you're at it." To her relief, Blair did as he was told. Aside from the ugly looking cut, he really looked awful.

Blair took a sip. "That tastes really good."

"Quit looking so mortified. Why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it, but here's the short version. No, I didn't do anything. IA transferred me to Special Assignments while they're investigating."

"And that dive you call home?"

"They didn't want me around Jim. It seemed best."

"And the eye?"

"I'm not the most popular member of the PD. You know that. After everything that happened, some people don't like the idea of me going through the academy and ending up with Jim. This gives them an excuse to express themselves, so to speak."

"Blair, bashing you from behind isn't freedom of expression, it's assault." Her dark eyes sparkled indignantly, and then softened. "I saw Jim a couple of times while you were at the academy and since. He said it was rough. I could tell he was worried."

Blair shrugged, still sipping his tea. "You know Jim."

"I know you, too." Beverly pulled a chair close. "Want my guess? Everything since that mess with your dissertation has worn you down, and this is the last straw. You're not eating, not sleeping, looking over your shoulder all the time, and trying to be better than perfect. Give yourself a break." The microwave dinged. "Let me grab that. Get comfortable. That's an order from an officer of the court."

When she returned with two steaming mugs, Blair had his heavy utility belt and shoes off. He was sitting sideways on the couch and seemed a bit more relaxed. Either that or his day was finally catching up to him. His eyes were drooping. "Here you go. Now don't make fun of my chicken and stars. It's comfort food at its best and easy to drink."

Blair accepted with a weak smile. "I cast no stones. I have one pan with no lid. By comparison, this is gourmet."

They made a feeble attempt at small talk, but finished the meal in silence. When Blair's mug was empty, Beverly took it and retreated to the kitchen. She made a fresh cup of tea. By the time she returned, Blair had drifted off. Taking care not to wake him, she covered him with the light chenille throw she used when she wanted to curl up with a book. He still looked the worse for wear, but at least the lines of tension were smoothed away in sleep.

Blair obviously wasn't telling her everything, so she'd go with what he was willing to share. At a minimum, she could provide a safe haven and let him get some rest.

*****

Jim huddled beneath a window, taking cover between a dumpster and mounds of discarded cardboard. The large doors had been rolled shut. Sandburg's apartment building had been cakewalk compared to this. He concentrated on weeding out the competing noises, hoping to get a fix on what was happening inside. First the compressor, then some kind of a sander. Filtering that low-pitched growl had him sweating. There was a lot of general clanking and banging, metal on metal, which was equally difficult, because it occurred irregularly.

Painstakingly, he kept at it, until human voices gradually emerged. Jim was ready to bang his head against the bricks. All the interference left him with brief bits of conversation.

-still good

-stupid

-never find

A loud, high hiss, maybe from a paint sprayer, shrieked to life and nearly doubled him over. He broke off, reeling. A spike like that wasn't just momentarily painful; it set his ears ringing and his head aching. He checked his watch. He had time for one last attempt, but no more. He'd be forced to call Joel and bring in reinforcements. They could end up with a hostage situation or worse.

He shifted position first. Twenty feet farther along the building was a side door. He'd ignored it earlier, opting for the greater concealment of his current position. Now he had no choice. With a grace produced by long practice and necessity, he moved without a sound. The weather stripping on the door was long-since decayed and gone. The sounds were louder, but less muffled and muddy. He could sort and discard more easily. Pushing aside all other thoughts, he eliminated them, one by one, going more quickly than he expected. It was easier this time. He blinked in surprise as one sentence, as clear as if it had been whispered in his ear, was isolated.

It's your mess. Do it now.

There was a silence, as if the discussion had ended abruptly. Jim froze. In the lull, he heard the plaintive, tired whimper of an exhausted baby.

*****

The door to Simon's office banged open, the doorway filled by the frame of an agitated Joel Taggart. "Simon, Ellison thinks he found the baby!"

"Where?" Simon was out from behind his desk in a flash, grabbing his coat along the way.

"Following a lead. He's over on Tremont, between Highland and State. He needs backup, but he wants them to keep back. He was going in. He couldn't wait. He thought they might be ready to hurt the child."

Simon surveyed the bullpen with dismay. He needed manpower, and everyone was already on the pavement. He got a line to Dispatch while Joel checked a map. "This is Captain Banks. Detective Ellison believes he has found the baby I need all available units to - Tremont and...

"Grayson," Joel supplied. "No closer."

"...and Grayson. Don't go anywhere near Highland and State. No sirens. Backup only. The address is..."

"1003 Tremont," Joel said.

"1003 Tremont," Simon relayed. "Do not close in. Ellison is in the building. Multiple suspects." He slammed down the phone. "Rhonda, I need -"

Rhonda didn't even look up from the notepad, picking up the phone while she answered. "I know. Graden, then the Chief. I got the rest."

They left at a dead run.

*****

He walked back to his private offices, his robes flying. Granted, they were taking a brief recess anyway, but most people had more sense than to interrupt court with other duties, no matter how urgent. It took every ounce of mental discipline to adopt an air of calm. He was the wise, elder statesman, providing guidance to an important internal investigation. He could rage at that damn fool Ringold later, on his own time.

Ten minutes later, alone in his office, he tried to gather his shattered thoughts. Ringold was confident, and had moved up the timetable for the formal arrests and seizures. None of his artful cautions had any effect. Ringold was not to be dissuaded. Apparently, the man had suddenly grown an independent streak, or Mercer had failed to put forward the carefully crafted arguments he'd been supplied with. He was overwhelmed with disgust. This was clearly the result of his dependence on the intellectually inferior. All that meticulous hand feeding, all his coaching of Mercer had gone to waste at the most critical moment.

The warrants were signed, all was as planned, except they were going a week early. He would lose parts of his network. He had accepted that long ago. Setbacks were part of life if managed intelligently. The crisis was the timing. He was depending on this one last infusion of cash. Rebuilding would take time and patience, but he would eventually prevail. It might be a long time before it was safe to run anything with a major payoff. He needed that cash to secure the future.

Such a small thing, a mere one week, minor compared to months of maneuvering. He'd erred on the side of caution, wanting to be certain of Sandburg, and he'd been too smart for his own good. It had seemed so logical at the time. One last flurry of meaningless deliveries, handed to Mercer on a silver platter. After a few days of testing Sandburg and providing more obvious targets, the one meaningful shipment would be slipped through, hidden and unnoticed. Next Thursday had seemed the perfect choice. Instead, it was days too late.

He couldn't delay much longer. The clock had just chimed. He was already late returning to court. He would either have the cash or not, rebuild or not. The meaningless deliveries, the camouflage, would begin shortly, if they weren't already in progress.

He locked the door and selected a phone. It was answered on the second ring. Tersely, he gave his instructions.

We have a change. Can you comply?

Yes, sir.

Go tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest.

We are ready. I'll begin now.

He replaced the phone, noting that his hand was trembling slightly. He'd thrown the dice, and would live with what lady luck would bring.

*****

Blair stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, scrunching his shoulders into the softness below them. Where? He started to sit up and a wave of dizziness dropped him back quickly, remembering. Beverly's apartment. What time was it?

He sat up a second time, taking it more slowly. A folded sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. It was a note from Beverly.

Hey there, sleepy.

You eat everything I left you, hear me? I left money for a cab, too, and you're going to use it. IA can stuff their bus you know where. You should really stay all afternoon, and I'll see you for dinner.

If you're hungry, and I hope you are, raid the fridge. That's an order. You're skin and bones. Doesn't that partner of yours feed you?

Call me at work. I'll have Lori put you through unless I'm in court. I'd rather have you spend the night here than go back to that rat trap.

B

Blair smiled. Bev was the best. The coffee table held several snacks and a sandwich, all carefully wrapped in saran. He had to admit, for the first time in days, he was genuinely hungry. While he ate, he considered what to do next, and decided to head back to Special Assignments. If he were amazingly lucky, Mercer wouldn't find out about this little excursion with Beverly. Having an Assistant District Attorney as your ambulance didn't exactly fit the image of the friendless outcast Mercer insisted they needed, and he didn't need any more hassles with Mercer.

He downed the mug of cool tea, ate what had been left for him, and headed for the kitchen to get a refill with cold water. Aside from a little light-headedness, he felt much better. He gulped the water in a series of long swallows and refilled it. Figuring Beverly meant what she said, he searched the fridge, selected a cherry yogurt and dug in enthusiastically. The doctor must have been right. His reserves were seriously depleted. For the first time in days, devouring a huge steak and a baked potato sounded like heaven.

Not that he planned on eating Beverly out of groceries. He dialed the cab company and thoughtfully opened another yogurt. By the second bite his thoughts turned to Jim.

*****

Two black and whites were waiting when Simon and Joel arrived. Technically, it wasn't Simon's show, but until Graden arrived, he was the commander on site. He quickly set about establishing communications. Using the city map Joel commandeered, he sent the uniformed officers to the south and west side, giving them stern instructions to stay out of sight.

As more personnel arrived, he distributed them with Joel's help. To his dismay, the first reporter appeared all too quickly. Sometimes police scanners were the bane of a cop's existence. He assigned two officers to corral any more who showed up. The situation was potentially too sensitive to have someone blundering about. When he was satisfied they had minimal coverage in all directions, he began to tighten the noose, step by careful step. Within twenty minutes of Jim's initial call, he and Joel were within half a block, and the building was encircled by waiting units of the Cascade PD.

Together they crouched behind a parked car. The whine of machinery was the only identifiable sound. "Graden's still not here. What do you think, Joel?"

"If it were anyone other than Ellison, I'd have moved in right away. With Jim, it's hard to know. He's a special case."

"Did he know how many were inside?"

"He said at least four. Too many for him to handle solo, but Jim's creative. He might try to take them one by one."

"I don't think we can wait any longer." Simon spoke softly into the radio. "All units move in. We want complete containment. Stay out of sight. No one goes inside until I give the word."

They were on the move when the overhead metal doors clanked. The two men dashed for the nearest cover, weapons drawn. "All units, hold in place," Simon hissed into the radio. "I repeat, do not advance." He exchanged a worried glance with Joel as the doors started to move upward.

Simon tensed, and then grabbed the radio. "All units stand down. I repeat, stand down." The lone figure in the darkened doorway was Jim Ellison, cooing to a blanket-wrapped bundle cradled in his arms.

*****

Owens was a glowering presence in the doorway. "My God, you're stubborn, Sandburg. The ER said you had a concussion. I should have sent your butt home this morning the minute I saw you."

Blair looked up from his sea of papers. "Come on, Sergeant. Filing isn't going to kill me. I feel okay."

Owens snorted gruffly. "If the best looking ADA in the city took me home, I think I'd stay. She called, too, by the way. Along with the ER. You having the mayor call next?"

"Hardly." Blair tried to shrug it off, hoping Owens would buy it. Mercer was going to have a fit if, or when, he found out. "It's not that big a deal. Beverly's an old friend. I met her on one of my first rides with Jim, back when I was still an observer."

"Maybe not a big deal to you. I'm supposed to let IA know if someone contacts you. You're gonna get my ass in a sling, one way or another."

The last thing Blair needed was to have Owens chatting with Mercer. "Someone in general, or someone from Major Crime?" Blair prodded.

"Well, now that you mention it, Major Crime," Owens said, looking doubtfully at the younger man.

"So maybe you could just let this one go?" Blair suggested hopefully. "It might be easier for both of us, you know."

Owens scowled. He looked like the Owens Blair was more familiar with. "Yeah, I guess I can do that. How do you really feel?"

Blair considered the question. "Honestly, I feel pretty close to normal."

"Our weekend guy just called in sick. I just got a list of equipment moves that would normally take all weekend. Can you handle it? You get overtime."

"How long? Doing exactly what?"

"Driving that van around, just like you did before. No loading. Half a shift tonight, and until you're done tomorrow."

"Do I have a choice?"

"If you're fit, no. Special Assignments is the bottom of the totem pole, remember?"

"Yeah, I can do it." Blair looked around at the papers he'd started to sort for the second or third time. "Can you give me enough time so I don't have to start from scratch?"

Owens gave him a brusque nod and disappeared. Blair turned his back to the door. Shielding his actions from view, he carefully checked his phone. Jim had sent a message that he'd missed, and then returned the favor in the opposite direction by missing his. They were doing a first class job of telephone tag. Resigned to the realities, Blair left another message while he had the chance.

Owens was still digging through junk on his desk, muttering under his breath. Figuring he had at least a few more minutes without being disturbed, Blair dialed the number left for Beverly's office. She was in court, which wasn't a huge surprise. Blair left a detailed message with Lori, promised to call again, and finished cleaning up the file room. More than once he wondered what sorts of things needed to be delivered on a Friday afternoon and the weekend.

*****

Feeling decidedly harried by the last few hours, Simon entered the conference room next to the Chief's office hoping for a chance to catch his breath. He would have gladly avoided attending. Administrative meetings were essential for coordination, but boring as watching grass grow. He was greeted by a spattering of applause and a lot of backslapping from his fellow commanders. Everyone was riding a high. Recovering a kidnapped child, particularly an infant, was winning one for the good guys, no matter who did the deed. Simon smiled and accepted the accolades. This was Graden's taskforce, but once again Ellison had managed to make every member of Major Crime, himself included, look like God's gift to law enforcement.

As Joel had predicted, Ellison had gone into covert ops mode. Dodging around the crowded shop floor, and covered by the whine of machinery, he'd taken two from behind and dispatched them before the other members of the gang caught on. Once discovered, Jim had positioned himself between them and the baby and gone toe to toe. The results weren't pretty, but hopefully no one was going to gripe about excessive force on this particular arrest, not with imminent threat to a kidnapped infant.

With Graden still en route, Simon had taken charge; getting the carjackers transported to the hospital and holding cells respectively, securing the crime scene, and keeping the media at bay. Taggart, with years of experience managing the mass confusion of bombsites, had been indispensable, sealing the area and directing the forensics crews. The extra officers were sent to the body shop with instructions to bring everyone in for questioning and keep potential evidence in place.

Highly successful, but not without cost. Ellison was pretty banged up and should have gone straight to the ER. Simon would have insisted, except Jim had quietly made it clear that without Sandburg, a journey into Cascade General was beyond him. To make matters worse, the infant wailed pitifully every time Jim tried to hand her off to someone in better shape. As a last resort, Joel shut down all the machinery, and Jim settled in a corner of the partially darkened warehouse, rocking the child while he suffered. When the distraught parents arrived, the media were on hand to capture the moment the little girl was returned to her mother's arms. The lights, shouted questions and general confusion nearly pushed Jim over the edge.

It didn't end there. When the ambitious Graden finally arrived, it took him fifteen seconds to realize that his potential moment of glory had been tarnished forever. He turned his frustration on Ellison, reaming him out for free-lancing independent of the taskforce and not keeping him informed. Taggart, who'd played an essential role most of the morning, quickly came to Jim's defense while the man in question grew more strained and withdrawn with each interchange.

Using his rank shamelessly, Simon brought things to a halt, told Graden to take care of the other suspects, and took Jim back to the station in his own car. In the flurry of paperwork that followed, he isolated Jim in his own office with the shades drawn, barring access to any visitors other than Taggart. Graden made a brief appearance, and was unceremoniously sent packing by Taggart. An hour later he was back, concerned with organizing the inevitable press conference. Simon presented him with the preliminary report, hastily typed by Taggart while Jim dictated, and refused to send the hero of the hour with him. Detective Ellison would not be available to the media, which only served to infuriate Graden more. Simon knew he'd have some serious fence mending to do when it was all over.

With few options and a meeting he couldn't skip, Simon had left Taggart with Ellison and gone upstairs. It was clear that the meeting was going nowhere until he'd filled everyone in on the day's events. It was only natural. Feel good moments were few and far between in the daily grind of police work, and everyone wanted to share. Reluctantly, Simon reported an edited version of Jim's report, knowing that the last thing his detective wanted right now was more attention. Mercifully, the Chief brought the meeting back to the planned agenda.

With everyone in such a good mood, things went quickly. No one was inclined to squabble over the little things that usually caused problems. Simon kept an eye on Ringold. He didn't want to let anything interfere with their prearranged rendezvous. He allowed his attention to drift. The IA investigation, and Sandburg's role in it, was a confusing morass. With everything else going on, he hadn't given it enough consideration. It caught him by surprise when he realized that the Chief was wrapping things up.

"That does it. I need to cut things short. I have a press conference in ten minutes. This is a good moment for the department, and we need to take advantage of it. Simon, I understand Ellison wasn't up to appearing earlier. I'd like him there."

"I'm sorry, sir. If Taggart had any luck, he's sitting in the ER as we speak. He was pretty banged up." Simon knew full well that wasn't true, but it was all in a good cause. Jim wasn't going under television lights if he could prevent it.

"Well, get him there if you can. Everyone go home and celebrate. See you next week."

The Chief breezed out of the room. Simon did his best to avoid any further chitchat. Ringold was his top priority, and he had the perfect excuse. "Captain Ringold, I need a minute. Ellison wasn't in a position to back off when he made the collar today. He doesn't deserve to be dragged over the coals for excessive force. I'd like to arrange the review as soon as possible."

Ringold caught on. "Good idea. Why don't we go over the calendar and get Ellison in right away." They retreated to a vacant office. "Good thinking, Banks," Ringold said, closing the door behind them.

Ringold didn't waste any time. "We've had a change in plan. We're going early. We have indications that some of our main targets are making preparations to flee or cover their tracks. We need to strike before what we need ends up in the shredder. Everything will be over by Monday at noon."

Simon was stunned by such an about-face. "What about Mercer?"

"I'm going to confront him. Taking everything into consideration, I think it's the best way. I know Ellison's good, but I don't think a few days of investigation will give us sufficient evidence on Mercer. If we're only going to get him through a confession anyway, I won't risk the part of the investigation that's solid."

"We made a commitment to Ellison. He's been straight with you. He's very protective of his partner, and he's chomping at the bit."

"I know, but he's already had a busy day, hasn't he? Call him off. Surely Sandburg can hold out a few more days."

They argued back and forth for a few minutes. Ringold wasn't willing to change his plans. Simon headed back to Major Crime, wondering how he was going to break the news to his two detectives.

*****

Blair savagely punched the buttons on the radio, scanning for a station that was carrying breaking news. He'd caught a brief snatch of a bulletin and picked up Jim's name. No wonder Jim hadn't been returning his messages. To his frustration, he kept getting just bits and pieces, including the fact that Detective Ellison wasn't available for comment. Blair knew that was PD-speak for Jim being slightly injured when he'd gone in alone. Alone! Four suspects, in a metal shop, with God knew what machinery or chemicals. A sentinel minefield, and here he sat, driving a stupid van. Damn IA, Mercer, Ringold and anyone else who kept them apart.

He checked his map. These deliveries were seriously weird. Non-descript boxes, sealed with heavy layers of tape, locations that no one had ever heard of. Owens swore it was all routine, that these things just came up now and then. He couldn't figure Owens out. He'd gone from Blair's worst nightmare, to decent, to somewhere in-between. Like everything else about this stupid case, nothing seemed to fit.

Between checking the cell phone, surfing the radio channels, reading his map, and trying to thread through traffic, he was lucky not to be driving off the road. Why didn't Jim answer him?

*****

Beverly Sanchez stepped off the elevator and headed for Major Crime. It was the end of a long week, she'd had an irritating day in court, but she had no intention of heading home until she tracked down Ellison. If Blair wouldn't tell her what was going on, she was certainly going to have a few words with his partner.

Ellison's desk was empty. No problem, she intended to find him one way or the other. The first person she ran into was Joel Taggart. Beverly smiled. He'd given expert testimony on her cases many times. In her experience, Taggart was a thoroughly decent man without an ounce of attitude.

"Ms. Sanchez, good to see you," Taggart said. "If you're looking for Captain Banks, he's still at a meeting. I don't know when to expect him back."

"Actually, I was looking for Detective Ellison."

"I'm afraid Jim's not available. You know about all the excitement today?"

Beverly had to admire the deflection. Anyone else would probably have fallen for it. "Not available, or not here?" she asked pointedly.

"I can take a message," Taggart offered.

Beverly looked around the bullpen, noting the drawn shades on Banks' office. After flirting with the idea of a romantic relationship, she and Ellison had become fast friends. Sharing pizza and a beer with Jim and Blair were a regular routine. She knew Jim well enough to know he suffered from crushing headaches, the kind where a darkened room was the only answer. "I'm afraid that won't do," she said, meeting Taggart's eyes. She shifted her briefcase into another hand and decided to gamble. "He's in the office, isn't he? Since Sandburg isn't here, you must be the watchdog."

"Really, Ms. Sanchez, I'll let him know the moment he comes back."

She stepped closer until their bodies were almost touching. She gave him a conspiratorial look and said in sotto voce, "It's about Blair. He was assaulted this morning, and I need to talk to Jim - now."

Taggart hesitated for a moment. Behind them, the door to the office opened, revealing Jim Ellison, who was definitely not looking his best. "What happened?" he demanded.

"I thought so," she said, heading for the office.

"Taggart, I appreciate it, but better you look the other way on this one," Jim said, standing aside to let her through. He shut the door behind her.

He made no attempt to raise the shades. "I'm afraid I need the light, Jim," she said softly. "Does Simon have a desk lamp?"

"Yeah. Just a sec." When the light came on, Jim was turned away, almost shielding his eyes.

"Migraine?" she asked.

He nodded. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled. "Tell me about, Blair. Is he okay?"

"Someone bashed him from behind coming out of that apartment this morning. Smashed his head into the wall a couple of times. He was over in our building around noon, and wasn't doing too well, so I took him to the ER. Four stitches above the eye and a mild concussion. He's fine, but he looks like road kill."

"Shit. I've got to find him." He headed for the door.

"Hold on a minute," she said, resting her hand gently on his arm. "We're friends aren't we? And you know how I feel about Blair. I took him back to my place, got him some food and he fell asleep, at least for a while. Sometime this afternoon he must have gone back to work. Until I saw you just now, I had every intention of kicking your butt. I'll be honest, Jim. The doctor was concerned about his overall condition. Obviously, he's been having a tough time, maybe both of you have. Whatever is going down, let me help."

"This isn't a good idea, Bev. You don't want to be involved, and you should go. I'll take care of it."

"Short memory, Jim. The two of you went out on a limb for me. It's payback time."

Before he could answer, Banks swept into the room. He was already talking before he noticed her. "Jim, we've got a problem. IA is going to...Ms. Sanchez, uh..." He looked at Jim and then back to her, trying to recover.

"Tell him," Jim said abruptly. "Tell him everything you just told me."

She repeated her story. Simon kept a straight face, but the way he was looking at Jim told her he was expecting an explosion.

"What did Ringold say?" Jim asked as soon as she was finished. Simon didn't answer immediately. She sensed an important decision was being made. "Go ahead, Simon. I trust Beverly more than Ringold any day."

Simon hesitated, then gave Jim a nod. "He's changed his mind. They're closing the investigation by Monday. He wants to leave Sandburg in place, and you're to stay out of it. He intends to handle the other issue on his own."

"That bastard," Jim said in silent fury. He stared at the floor, silent. "I don't care what he wants. What am I supposed to do? Let whoever it is take a few more shots at Sandburg until they get it right? Beverly, this is IA. No hard feelings if you walk out the door right now."

"I'm staying," she said firmly.

Jim reached into his pocket and took out a cell phone, giving Banks a slightly guilty look, and handed it to Beverly. "Blair has the mate. That's how we've communicated since this whole mess started. Use text message."

"You did this and didn't tell me," Simon growled. "Great show of trust, Jim."

"It isn't trust, Simon. I was willfully disobeying a direct order. You didn't need to be culpable along with us. We've missed each other all day, with all the chaos." Jim shook his head, clearly upset. "How could he not let me know he was hurt?"

"Obviously, for the same reason you didn't tell Simon about the phone," Beverly pointed out. "He was trying to keep you out of trouble. What do you want me to do?"

"Track him down. I don't want him going back to that place. I didn't think it was safe last night, and I tried to convince him. I was right. Put him up in a hotel or something."

"Why don't I take him to my place? He told me he wasn't supposed to contact anyone in Major Crime. In case you haven't noticed, I don't work here. No one knows about me."

"You're taking a risk," Jim said. "Interfering with an investigation doesn't look good for a DA."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"The first number on speed dial is Sandburg. Just keep at it. I'll be in touch." He headed for the door again.

"Ellison, where do you think you're going?" Simon bellowed.

"I'm going to do what I should have been doing all day long," Jim answered cryptically. "Look the other way, Captain. Just look the other way." Jim left, and Banks made no effort to stop him. He looked at Beverly and said, "God help us, he's going after Mercer."

Beverly sat down at Simon's small conference table. "Tell me the rest. If I'm in, I'm in all the way."

*****

Henri Brown was correct. The secretaries ruled the world, and they looked out for people who looked out for them. Blair Sandburg, the cute guy with a friendly smile, the one who would fix computers in a crisis, who brought them treats instead of the other way around, was very high on their list. Jim got what he wanted, quickly and quietly.

Jim knew Mercer's office number, and the additional workrooms he used. He knew his schedule, what he drove, where he lived, and his cell number. Furthermore, if you were a very persuasive guy, like Jim could be when he chose, you could get into the room on the 6^th floor, right above Mercer's office.

The Cascade PD was a round-the-clock operation, but it still thinned out on Friday evening. Mercer was working late, and he had an uninvited guest listening in on every conversation. Ringold was in and out, tightening up the details for their case, checking the warrants, organizing the strike teams. Jim noted that in the ebb and flow, as assignments were made and modified, Mercer made sure Special Assignments was his baby. Ringold sure didn't give any sign he planned on confronting him.

By the time Mercer was preparing to leave, Jim had an excellent overview of the planned sequence of the whole operation. Even if Ringold was reneging on his commitments now, he hadn't held anything back in his conversations at the loft. Ringold was a puzzle to solve later. His only concern was Mercer.

Jim detected a low hum, and smiled to himself. No ordinary person would have heard it, and a week ago, he probably would have missed it, too. It was a cell phone, set on vibrate. Concentrating fiercely, Jim then heard the rustle of fabric. Mercer had shut the phone off, much like he or Blair would have done when a call came at an inopportune moment. Someone was trying to make contact, and Mercer didn't want to answer at work.

Jim trailed Mercer to his car, and out of the downtown area. Exactly twenty minutes after the first call came in, Mercer was parked in a secluded spot. He answered on the first ring.

Good evening, Lieutenant. Mr. Sandburg is a success?

Yes, sir. I've done everything you suggested. We've made his life difficult. He is not at his best.

Excellent.

Do you have information for me?

I do. Are you ready to act?

Yes. Haven't I followed through so far?

Much to your benefit. A fine officer like you deserves an edge. A particularly interesting delivery will be moving out of Special Assignments. You may wish to intercept it.

The investigation is ending soon. I'm not sure I can.

Of course, it is your choice. The other deliveries are meaningless. This one is special, very special. Your superiors will be pleased.

I can't blow the investigation. It's too close.

It is only one. You could intercept, and it could be contained, kept quiet. That's what holding cells are for.

I don't know.

As always, it is up to you. Apparently, I can be no further use to you. Goodbye.

Wait, wait. Don't go. I arranged for Sandburg to be on duty for the weekend, as you suggested. You're right, there's a flurry of activity out of Special Assignments. I checked earlier this afternoon. Which one is it? How will I know?

It is the final load, originating from the social services building, no earlier than midmorning tomorrow. It should be easy to lie in wait.

I'll consider it. When will I hear from you again?

You may not. I've done what I can for you. If you're going to disregard my advice, there's no point...

No. Please. You've always steered me right. I've no reason to doubt you. Please call again.

The call ended. Jim could hear Mercer, chastising himself for blowing it, or nearly blowing it. He let Mercer drive off, intending to follow him. Before he did, he gently switched off the tape function of the surveillance gear he'd brought along. There was a lot to digest in that conversation, and he'd have the privilege of listening to it over and over, searching for nuance.

Jim wasn't one bit ashamed for technically violating the law. Someone was listening in on Sandburg, he was just returning the favor. Besides, it was never going to court. Since Ringold had bailed on them, Mercer was his personal problem, and he'd handle it in his own way.

*****

God save him from incompetent fools. He forced himself to be perfectly still, listening to the calming rhythm of his clock. He'd done so for years. It was his own form of meditation, before such things became new age and popular.

He wasn't entirely satisfied with Mercer's response. Damn that man to get cold feet at the last moment. However, the threat of cutting him off seemed effective. There was no point in fretting over it now. Mercer's "raid", if he decided to proceed, was just insurance, designed to keep attention away from other, more sensitive areas. Areas that were critical to him.

He examined his office carefully. He'd already cleared out the hidden storage area in his desk, removing all of the phones he used to coordinate his network. Disposing of them was the safest choice. Every communication was a risk. Getting rid of them would remove the temptation of checking on things he really had no control over. He had planned carefully, and all was in place. Everything would run its course. If the unthinkable somehow occurred, and suspicion was cast in his direction, the only evidence remaining was in his head.

He'd already informed Ringold that he was going sailing, and would be available for consultation, if needed, around noon tomorrow. He would eat a relaxed meal, sail into the sunset, and shortly before going to bed, drop anchor. The cold water of Puget Sound would swallow his package along with the evidence of his guilt.

*****

Blair paid the cashier at the drive thru and pulled into a parking space. Eating in the vehicle would have to do. Braving a busy fast food restaurant looking like an accident victim was more than he could bear. Of course, he sort of was an accident victim, but that was beside the point.

Before eating anything, he downed two more aspirin from the small bottle Bev had left for him. He'd overestimated his recovery. The headache was back, the stitches above his eye itched and throbbed, and he felt exhausted. Hopefully, the food would help. He had two more hours before he could quit, and his next pickup was clear across town.

He checked the phone for messages, and sent one giving the location of his next stop. Jim had taken off on his own, which Blair wasn't happy about, but at least he knew Jim was fine. Bev had the phone now, which surprised him at first. They'd had several conversations back and forth, and not only did he have a general idea of what was going on, sans details, they had a plan as well. He'd be finished at eight, would return the van to the courthouse and take the bus home. At the earliest opportunity, he'd leave and end up at Bev's. Bev made it clear that Jim didn't want him to go near the apartment, but Blair had overruled him. He was certain it was the best way to keep Mercer off his back. Jim would have to live with it.

He forced down his fast food sandwich and finished the iced tea he'd ordered with it. Not much of a meal, but it was probably the right thing to do. He'd certainly felt better after Bev practically force-fed him earlier in the day. He checked the map one last time, looked at his watch wistfully, and drove off.

*****

Jim had followed Dennis Mercer back to his home. Through a combination of personnel files that he wasn't supposed to have and sentinel eavesdropping, he knew Mercer was recently divorced and currently lived alone. He'd made a number of calls en route, mostly mundane household details, including arranging a date for later that evening, seven o'clock to be precise. Jim gathered he was planning to spend the night. Jim couldn't have been more pleased. A Mercer wining and dining and bedding was a Mercer who wouldn't be in the way, and wouldn't be hassling his partner.

It was six thirty by Jim's watch. Any minute Mercer would take off. It might be safer to wait until dark, but Jim was in a hurry. He wanted to see his partner, in the flesh. Jim glanced at the surveillance stuff, carefully hidden in a sports bag. He'd already violated a few statutes today, all in a good cause. A little breaking and entering would just be mild exercise by comparison.

*****

Beverly paced nervously, ostensibly putting the finishing touches on the meal she had in the oven. There really wasn't anything to do. The baked chicken was on hold, the garlic bread ready to grill. You could only toss a salad so many times. She just didn't play the waiting game well.

On a normal Friday evening, she would have gone out with friends, or ordered in. After getting the blow by blow from Captain Banks, she decided a real home cooked meal was in order. Both her friends had been through the ringer, and she wasn't about to put junk food in front of them.

Besides, she was angry on multiple levels, and that made her restless. The decision to use Blair in the investigation should have been challenged, right from the get go. IA had resorted to coercion to get his cooperation. Internal Affairs had a dirty job, but she'd always thought Ringold was a better man than - this.

The violation of Blair's civil rights deeply disturbed her, but she was aware of the paradox. Whatever Jim was doing, it probably wasn't dotting all the i's and crossing all the t's. She had decided to live with her own hypocrisy. Sometimes you did what you had to do.

"Finally," she exclaimed when she heard the soft knock at the door. "Hey, you two," she said, relieved to see both men, safe and sound. "Great timing, guys. You found each other."

"Not hard, really," Jim said easily. "I knew Sandburg wouldn't do the safe thing, so I've been waiting at the bus stop." He cuffed his partner lightly on the shoulder. "Waiting for a bus in that neighborhood is like advertising to be mugged."

"Nah, it would never happen," Blair said, giving Beverly a hug. "Thanks for everything, Bev. Everything." Grinning at his partner, he added mischievously, "Besides, I look way too scary for anyone to try a mugging."

Beverly stepped back. "Oh, Blair. I think the bruising is worse."

"All the better for sympathy."

"You should have called me the minute it happened," Jim groused.

"I did. It wasn't that kind of a day, Jim."

Beverly whapped Jim playfully on the arm. "It's a little late to get mad, Ellison. Don't spoil a perfectly good meal. You want a beer, or shall I open some wine?"

"No alcohol for Sandburg. He's concussed."

"Spoilsport," Blair said, pulling a face. "What can I do to help with dinner?"

They deliberately left business until after the meal. Jim looked a hundred percent better than when she'd seen him earlier in the afternoon. With the last spoonful of sorbet, she grinned and said, "Jim, you're way too pleased with yourself. What exactly did you do this afternoon?"

"A little of this and a little of that. Followed Mercer home, and looked through his place, for starters."

"Breaking and entering." Beverly looked at him severely. "You are out of your mind. We can't take anything to court. We'll be lucky to keep you from being suspended."

"I'm not worried about court," Jim said, trying to reassure her. "Let me back up, first."

Jim began with the warning from Harper, and ended with the flood of information that had come from Ringold.

"It makes some sense," said Blair. "I never had a chance to tell you, but there's this mountain of unfilled stuff in Special Assignments. Remember I had to deliver those DARE materials? I happened to find the invoice while I was organizing. Three times as much stuff was ordered as was delivered."

Jim nodded. "I'm sure you're right. You could generate a lot of money that way if you weren't greedy. That's Ringold's problem. It's his case. I'm more concerned with Mercer. Putting everything together with what happened at your apartment, I'd be willing to bet that Mercer sent someone."

"I don't know, Jim," Blair said. "He's pretty hostile, but that's a stretch. The little dustup at the motor pool was totally spontaneous. I'm sure of it."

"All he had to do was encourage the right person," Beverly pointed out. "Turn the rumor mill, fire everyone up. That pretty much keeps his hands clean, and accomplishes the same thing. He's in IA. He knows how to color inside the lines."

"Maybe, maybe not. Bev, do you have a tape player?" Jim slipped a tape out of his pocket. "My pride and joy. I'd like you to hear this."

Beverly slipped the tape into the stereo, and they listened to the conversation Jim had recorded. Jim ran it back, and played it a second time, and a third.

"I'll ignore the legality for the moment. Who's on the other end?" Beverly asked.

"I have absolutely no idea," Jim said. "Other than to beat it out of Mercer, I'm not sure we can find out.

"Maybe he doesn't know," Blair suggested, his voice oddly distracted. "Did you notice? He never says his name. Did either of you hear a name?"

Beverly shook her head. "No. Mercer sounded distant, respectful, like they had never met. Honestly, Jim, if I were reviewing that tape, it doesn't sound to me like Mercer is on the take. It sounds like this person is helping him."

"Why would someone help with the investigation without coming forward?" Blair asked. "Wouldn't Ringold know? The guy would want protection, immunity. Mercer's an assistant, he can't do stuff like that on his own."

"No informant I know operates without guarantees," Beverly said. "Lord knows, I've agreed to enough of them."

"There's another possibility. It fits if he's being manipulated," Jim said flatly. "Think about it. Mercer's file gets really impressive just recently, maybe the last eighteen months or so. He either got a transfusion of smarts, or he's getting help."

"The man on the phone," Beverly said, completing the thought. "What was it he said? Right at the end?"

They listened to the tape again.

"There's been more than one phone call," Blair said. "Mercer sounded pretty desperate when the guy hinted he was going to take his toys and go home."

"Ringold says Mercer is on the up and up," Jim said. "I believe him. IA may not be my favorite, but they check those people down to their underwear. So if he's not getting monetary compensation, maybe he's getting information that seems to help his career. He's ambitious. He'd keep coming back for more."

"If you can't buy an IA investigation, maybe you can skew it," Beverly said softly. "This is a disaster."

"A double cross," Jim said. "That's got to be it. Our mystery man pointed the finger at the last delivery. That pretty much means the earlier ones are Teflon, if you know what I mean. Mercer won't dare touch them, and he has the means to keep anyone else away from them. So tell me, Chief, what are you carting around tomorrow morning that needs that kind of protection?"

*****

Blair had eight deliveries the next day. Each time, Jim would select a place to stop and they would either open the boxes, or Jim would use scent, hearing, or a combination, to determine the contents. Once they'd checked, Jim would hop back in the truck and trail Blair to his next stop. So far, the results had been meaningless. In fact, in one shipment all the boxes looked like they had been filled with paper from a recycling bin.

In the midst of delivery number five, Blair stopped. Jim joined him in the back. They were only opening the containers only as a last resort. Jim took each box, one by one, and shook them first.

"Remind me to never let you near a Christmas package," Blair muttered.

"Something's up, here, Chief."

"What?"

"These are tightly packed, almost no shifting, but I think I heard metal on metal."

Blair handed him the craft knife. Working carefully, Jim sliced through the seal. They had every kind of tape they could buy from the hardware store to reseal the boxes and cover their searches.

Jim opened the carton. "Bingo," he said softly. "Guns."

Blair looked around the packed van. "If all the boxes are full, we're talking hundreds."

"You have a pencil, Chief?"

"A pencil? Sure."

Jim teased away the packing material, and a distinctive paper tag was revealed.

"Holy shit," Blair murmured. "That's an evidence tag."

Jim stood up, shaking his head. "The PD was supposed to be clear of the scam. I think we just proved that assumption wrong. This is what someone was trying to protect. There's a small fortune in here, and it all came out of evidence lockup. Take a look at the tag. See the date?"

"1991."

"If you know what you're doing, and you want to keep it secret, you only pull weapons from cases that are closed, or are so old no one's working on them. Pretty clean if you can pull it off."

They checked a second carton, and a third. All were packed with weapons tagged for evidence. In the darkened interior of the vehicle, Blair's eyes were wide, almost black. "Now that we've found it, what the hell are we going to do about it?" Blair asked.

*****

"Captain, this is Ellison."

"It's about time," Simon said, clearly not pleased with his detective. "What's going on? I was getting worried when I didn't hear from you last night."

"We have a bit of an emergency, sir. I'm following Sandburg, and we've been checking each delivery he's carting around. The short version is the one he's driving now if full of guns."

"What?" Simon bellowed. Jim yanked the phone away from his ears. He needed to remind his captain of basic phone etiquette with a sentinel.

"It gets better, sir. They're all tagged. Straight out of evidence lockup."

"It couldn't be worse. Where are you now?" Simon demanded.

Jim gave him their location. "It's too much to explain, but Sandburg needs to keep going like nothing has happened. I need to stay with him, but obviously we can't let these out of our sight."

"Tell Sandburg to drive slow, real slow. I'll take care of it."

The phone went dead. "I sure hope so, sir. We'll be in deep trouble if you don't."

*****

Blair slumped in the seat of the van, trying to look disinterested and pathetic. Pathetic wasn't too hard, considering the way his face looked, but disinterested was a stretch. He was extremely interested, by way of being terrified. If these guys unloading decided they didn't want any witnesses, he was essentially a sitting duck. Jim was nearby, but even a sentinel wasn't superman.

One of the workers banged on the driver's side door. Blair rolled down the window and held out a clipboard for signatures, trying to look as out of it as possible. The man signed and Blair immediately drove away. He expected a shot to ring out, or some other disaster. Three blocks away, he stopped and waited until Jim pulled up beside him.

"Follow me," Jim said. "I know where Simon is. I can hear him."

Simon had rallied the troops. Henri and Rafe were already there. Rafe looked so rumpled Blair almost chuckled. Apparently it didn't suit their impeccably dressed colleague to be hauled out of bed early on a Saturday morning.

"Crap, Hairboy, what happened to you?" Brown blurted out before anyone else could speak.

"Some other time, H, but thanks for asking."

Simon shook his head. "Sandburg, someone will be held accountable, I promise you. This is an outrage."

"I'm okay, Simon. The sooner you round up the real bad guys, the sooner I'll be out of this whole mess."

"We knew it wasn't true, Blair," Rafe said. "We didn't believe a word of it."

"Thanks, guys," Blair said, touched by their sincerity. After days of tension, it felt fantastic to be surrounded by friends again.

Jim quickly outlined the situation. "We saw three guys unloading. There's at least one more inside, maybe two. You don't have enough manpower, Captain."

"There are more on the way. Taggart is maybe five minutes out, and Megan's right behind. I called in some other senior officers. I don't want to bring in any uniforms even close to this. We're going to need all the credibility we can get."

"Ringold?" Jim asked.

"He'll be my next call, but I'm waiting for reinforcements first. I called Captain Marins from Burglary, since he was partially in anyway. A few others I trust to be discrete."

"Jim, I've got to get going," Blair said, shifting nervously. "Someone might get suspicious."

"You be careful, Sandburg," Simon said. "We want you back in the fold in one piece."

Jim and Blair retreated to their respective vehicles. Jim waited as his partner drove off. Simon spoke to him as he was ready to leave. "You stick to him like glue, Jim. No way is he going to end up as a scapegoat for this whole mess."

*****

The next two loads Blair picked up were meaningless. Number eight was coming from special services. They were stopped several blocks away before Blair actually picked up whatever was there. Jim was listening intently.

"Mercer's there, Chief. I can hear him. He'll be following you, and I'll be following him. Keep the phone line open."

"They'll see me talking," Blair said.

"Just put it on the seat beside you. I'll hear it," Jim said, trying to reassure his partner. "Turn the volume way up and you'll hear me, too. Don't be nervous, Chief. This is almost over."

"I hope so. It's been awful."

"Hang in there, buddy. Never again, I promise."

"From your mouth to God's ear," Blair said. He took a deep breath. "Here goes."

For all his outward calm, Jim knew he was just as nervous as his partner. He kept a running commentary as they drove, trailing Mercer and the rest of the entourage.

"Looking good, Chief. Mercer's being very predictable. I bet you can see him if you look. I'm about two blocks behind. Okay, one more block and you're there. There are units on the side streets, in case you didn't spot them. Mercer's talking to them by radio. He's telling them to move in on his signal."

Jim could clearly hear Blair speaking to someone. The doors to the van were opening. He could hear boxes shifting around. Any moment, Mercer would go.

He heard the radio call. Jim moved in with them, although he kept slightly back. Mercer's men, at least ten of them, had rushed in, guns drawn. After a brief scuffle, everyone involved in the unloading surrendered. Jim watched carefully from a distance. He came boiling out of the truck when Mercer pulled his partner from the van and put him spread eagle on the ground.

Jim shouldered his way through, badge out in clear view. "Mercer, get my partner off the ground, and take those cuffs off him."

"Ellison!" Mercer yelled in a mixture of shock and anger. "Get out of here, right now. You're interfering with an official IA investigation."

"You bet your life I'm interfering!" Jim shouted back. He came close to Mercer and hissed, "I know the whole dirty mess. You know Sandburg's not involved. You set it up. Now let him go."

Mercer hauled Blair to his feet and shoved him in the direction of the other arresting officers. He wasn't backing down. "Both of you are going to be up on charges. Now get out of the way. He'll go to a holding cell. We can't turn him loose. He'll blow the investigation. Either back off or you'll be there with him."

"We'll see about that," Jim said, storming off.

He let them drive away. He'd hoped to avoid this, but they were prepared. Even with that knowledge, Blair's expression had sickened him. Grimfaced, he placed a call to Beverly Sanchez, followed by one to Simon Banks.

*****

When Mercer's strike team arrived at the PD, Jim Ellison was right behind them. He bounded out of the truck and followed them in.

"Ellison, get the hell out of here," Mercer snarled.

"I work here, remember? Where's his phone call?"

"Ellison, I swear to God, get out or I'll lock you up with him."

"Before you're done, you might be the one sitting in a cell."

"You're compromising a highly successful raid. That load is full of computer equipment, worth thousands, being stolen from the city," Mercer said, furious and more than willing to defend himself.

"And you are so excited about it," Jim sneered. "So excited you went for the bait, hook line and sinker. You missed the real shipment, you idiot." Jim moved to Blair's back and started unlocking the cuffs.

"Cut that out," Mercer sputtered. "What are you talking about, anyway?"

"Oh, we're going to have a lovely little chat." Everyone turned in the direction of the female voice. "Detective Sandburg was placed in this assignment, personally, by you. I highly recommend you don't pursue these actions that clearly violate due process." Beverly Sanchez smiled wickedly. "Weren't expecting me, were you? You don't even want to imagine the kind of fun I'm going to have with you."

"All right, show's over," Jim said authoritatively, addressing the rest of the strike team, who were now totally confused. "The rest of this is a good bust. Book them." He spoke in a low voice to the next most senior officer. "Take your time. No phone calls until Captain Ringold arrives." Noting the confusion he saw there, Jim said, "Trust me on this one. You'll be glad you waited."

Their small group stood silently, off to the side. Mercer was still fuming, alternately arguing with Beverly and then Jim. "You violated direct orders, Ellison, both you and your partner. I don't care how big a celebrity you are, heads are going to roll."

"Quite possibly yours, Dennis."

Mercer's face fell. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Simon Banks was his own captain. Ringold was nearly shaking with rage.

*****

The room where they were seated seemed too small. The implications stifled everyone present. Without a word, Jim played the tape again. "Shall I run it a third time, Mercer?" he asked.

"Where did you get that?" Mercer asked, thoroughly shaken, but trying to rally.

"It doesn't matter," Jim said leaning over the table where they were all sitting. "Don't you get it?" He pointed to Banks and Ringold. "They just busted a load of weapons right out of evidence lockup. That was the real haul. Whoever's on this tape steered you in the opposite direction to keep it safe."

"That can't be," Mercer stammered. "It's impossible."

"You were played, buddy. How long was he feeding you information?"

"No," Mercer said, completely distraught. He was shaking his head emphatically, waving his hands. "You don't understand. He's a friend of justice. He's been helping us."

"He's been helping himself, Dennis," Ringold said. "How long, and who is he?"

"I - I don't know. He never told me. That was his only condition." Mercer tried to get himself under control. "The first call came, maybe two years ago. He was always right. Can't you understand that? He's on our side."

"He gave you what he wanted," Simon said. "How many times do people say, 'You can't buy IA.' He bought you, Mercer. He just wasn't using cash."

Mercer was near tears. He tuned to Ringold. "Sir, you've got to believe me, I would never jeopardize the department. I wouldn't."

"Did he suggest using Sandburg?" Jim asked. The tone of his voice demanded an answer.

"Yes. It all made sense," Mercer pleaded.

"What about the location? Do you know the place was bugged?"

Mercer's eyes opened even wider. "No. That can't be."

They sat in pained silence. "I believe you. You didn't mean to," Blair said softly. "You have to face it. Things don't always turn out the way we intend."

"How could you, Dennis?" Ringold asked, the sense of betrayal unmistakable.

"No," Mercer said vehemently.

"I need the tape, Ellison," Ringold demanded, steel in his voice.

Jim ignored him, focusing his icy gaze on Mercer. "You put my partner through hell. It's payback time. Will you make a full confession, and accept whatever discipline comes your way?"

"Oh, God, yes," Mercer nearly sobbed. "What have I done?"

"Then the tape disappears," Jim said, removing the tape player from the table. He waved aside Ringold's protest. "Take his statement." Only Ringold and Mercer remained as the rest of them filed out of the room. They sent Captain Marins in to serve as the witness.

"Damn," Simon said. "Just what we were afraid of. Ringold is moving on the rest of the operation immediately, but we won't get the man at the top. I'm sure of it."

"Not my problem," Jim said. "Captain, you'll take care of Sandburg's reinstatement?"

"Absolutely." He clapped Blair on the shoulder. "I want you back in the bullpen, first thing on Monday morning. I need you to keep an eye on your partner here. I don't even want to know all of what he's been up to. Thank you, Ms. Sanchez." He headed back to the interview room.

Blair put an arm around Beverly, giving her a squeeze. "I think I'm a free man, and I'm officially declaring myself no longer concussed. How about margaritas and Mexican?" He grinned. "The world famous Detective Ellison is buying."

Jim started to laugh. "Ole!" It felt very, very good.

Epilogue

"Jim, tell me again why I have to be here?" Blair said plaintively.

"Because you look cute in your dress blues?" Jim said, smirking.

"What every cop aspires to," Blair grumbled. "Seriously, get me off the hook. Please?"

"Never fight city hall, Chief. It was the Mayor's idea. He's awfully pleased with himself."

"You can't fool me. He's thinking of his next campaign." Blair frowned. "I'm so disgusted. I've become a puppet of the political establishment. My mom is burning sage as we speak."

They were standing a little apart, watching the photographer organize the rest of the group. The investigation into graft within city government was a complete success, as far as the formal announcements were concerned. Following the upbeat news conference, all the major players had been reassembled for a formal photograph, using Judge Robinson's elegant office as a backdrop for the portrait. The judge had greeted Blair warmly, welcoming him back to his office under happier circumstances. While they waited for the photographer, the Mayor was having an animated conversation with Captain Ringold and Chief Warren. Simon was chatting amiably with the Judge.

"Come on, Jim. Take pity," Blair persisted. "There's really no reason for me to be here."

Jim shook his head. "I have plenty of reasons. First of all, because I don't get my picture taken except under duress. Second, because this way, it's publicly announced that you were never under investigation in the first place. You're not living under this particular cloud. I insisted."

"Insist less next time, okay? You're supposed to be on my side." He sighed, and continued, his voice low enough for only Jim to here. "That last day, I had to deliver stuff in here. It's a pretty cool office." The tone of his voice changed slightly. "But I didn't like it."

"Chief?"

"The Judge talked with me for a while. Somehow, it just made me uncomfortable. Like he knew a lot about me."

The photographer interrupted their conversation and herded them all into position. The man was a perfectionist. He kept moving them around through different combinations. Jim was getting impatient, and Blair couldn't blame him.

The photographer was satisfied at last. As they posed, smiles on their faces, the Judge's antique clock, which Simon had been admiring, chimed on the hour.

Blair felt his partner tense beside him. Blair gave him a sideways glance. Jim's expression didn't change, but his head tilted slightly, a sure sign his senses were on full alert. The flash went off. Jim flinched.

"Thank you, gentlemen. That was perfect."

Jim eased out of the room immediately. Blair tried to stay with him, but was momentarily held up. Judge Robinson wanted to shake everyone's hand as they left.

Jim was seated on a bench in the hallway, silent and tense.

"Jim, what's wrong? What happened in there?"

"In a minute, Chief."

Simon approached them, smiling broadly. "I think lunch is called for. What do you say?"

"Sure, Simon," Jim said. "Thanks for the offer." They started down the hallway when Jim held up. "Excuse me a minute. Chief, why don't you go with Simon? I'll meet you there." He headed back toward Judge Robinson's chambers and closed the door behind him.

"Sandburg, you want to tell me what is going on with him?" Simon growled.

"I don't know, Captain," Blair said, totally mystified. "Maybe I ought to wait for him."

"You do that. If he offends Judge Robinson, I'm going to wring his neck. I'll hold us a table at Antonia's."

Blair shifted hesitantly. What ever Jim was up to, he shouldn't be doing it alone.

Robinson's outer office was empty. The door to the inner offices was slightly ajar. As Blair approached, the angry, hushed voices coalesced into intelligible speech.

"You should be more circumspect, Detective. It's unwise to be throwing around accusations so carelessly."

"I'm never careless. It was you all along."

"This conversation is over."

"Graft I can understand. Why Sandburg? Why drag him into this?"

"You don't really think I'm going to answer that, do you?"

"We're still playing games? Fine. Make it hypothetical. Educate me. Why would the master criminal choose my partner?"

"You have an extensive file with IA, Detective. I've seen it. In certain circumstances, it makes you vulnerable. Put simply, a tarnished reputation makes your partner vulnerable. Besides, Mr. Sandburg is an intriguing young man. He's wasting his talents tagging along with you. He might have gotten frustrated and walked away. Then, who knows, he might be open to other offers. Just an observation, of course."

Blair eased closer to the door.

"Sandburg would never give you the time of day."

"Look at you, standing there, all puffed up with righteous anger. What if I was the man who orchestrated it all? What can you do? You're impotent, all of you."

"When Mercer talked to the man in charge, there was a clock in the background. Your clock."

"What are you babbling about? Some kind of illegal tape?"

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you? I found the ones in Sandburg's apartment. Oh, you're a slippery one, all right. And to think no one's ever even looked in your direction."

Jim was stepping forward. Blair eased the door open, following his movement. Judge Robinson came into view. He wasn't a small man, but Jim had the knack of somehow expanding his presence when he was angry. He seemed to dominate the perfectly groomed figure, resplendent in his judicial robes.

"We're not in court. I don't have my hands tied by rules of evidence. I know you're lying. And now, I'm going to be looking. You left a trail. They always do. Being the most unlikely choice in the world won't protect you anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You go home tonight. You check all those hidden bank accounts. You keep looking over your shoulder. You wonder what I know, and how I know it."

Jim was walking toward the door. Blair, still hidden from the Judge's view, moved back, giving him room.

"You can't threaten me, Ellison! Don't you turn your back on me!"

Jim halted at the door, keeping Blair's presence hidden, and reached out toward his partner. Blair grasped the hand, then reversed the grip. They were committed. Whatever happened, they would see it through together. Their eyes met for the briefest second, the moment sealed.

Blair moved silently, clearing the way for their exit. Jim's gaze returned to the Judge one last time.

"It's all a game to you, isn't it? You're in a new game, Robinson, and I'm playing now."

 

The End