Somewhere in another country, far from Cascade....

The man was with his friends, standing in front of the market, cigarette smoke creating a gray haze around the group as they talked. A lovely young woman, her work day over, stepped from the store.

"Hey, chica, what's up?" One man, clearly the leader, stepped away from his group of friends and came closer.

"Come on, Carlo, I already told you to leave me alone," said the woman, taking a step back.

"This is your chance, baby."

"I'm not interested."

"Oh, I see. You're too good for me, huh?" said Carlo Escobar, grabbing her arm.

"Get away from me! You're hurting me," she said, trying to break free.

Finally, Escobar released his captive and returned to his friends. "Bitch!" he snorted.

She walked fast, hoping that Carlo would not follow her.

The woman finally arrived in a deserted area and turned a corner onto the dark street leading to her apartment. She slowed down and tried to calm her breathing... until she heard the sound of screeching brakes behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Carlo's car, engine roaring, sat at the entry of the street.

She started to run but the car was faster.

The dark sedan passed her, then pulled a U-turn in front of her. She skidded to a halt; her head twisting right, then left, searching for an avenue of escape.

She stepped back but a door was opening and before she could take off, Carlo was out and beside her, grabbing her arms, a wicked smile on his face. The woman tried again to break free but he was too strong. She tried to kick him in the balls but Carlo was a champion in Capuera and in one swift move had her face down on the hood of the car. He grabbed a handful of dark hair, yanked back, then without warning, slammed her head against the metal.

The woman tried to scream, but Carlo clamped his left hand over her mouth, while with his right hand, he fumbled under her dress, gripped her silk panties, and ripped them from her body. She was helpless, trapped under Carlo's body, unable to move as she heard the sound of his zipper....

"Yeah! Do it, man," yelled one of his friends.

The woman closed her eyes and started to pray, hoping that it would be over soon....

She felt hot tears of shame run down her cheeks and let them be.

Carlo penetrated her in one harsh, brutal thrust, and she bit her bottom lip hard, bringing blood. He was rough and brutal, his body slamming into her again and again as his left hand continued to muffle her cries of pain. His knees rammed her spread thighs, forming dark bruises.

When Carlo finished, he pulled out from the woman's trembling and hurt body but maintained his hold on her, keeping her plastered against the hood. He jerked a thumb at his friend, Pablo Sanchez, who grinned his thanks as he opened his pants....

He took the young woman as roughly as Carlo.

The last man, Tito Munos, sodomized her, and her blood ran in thin rivulets down her shaking thighs.

When it was over, Carlo slammed her head against the hood. She fell, unconscious, to the pavement below. The three men climbed into the car and left, their laughter echoing down the deserted street.

After thirty minutes of continuous surfing, Jim shut down the TV and threw the remote control onto the coffee table, groaning in frustration. He glanced at Blair, sitting at the table, reading something on his laptop. He was so immersed in whatever was on the screen that he hadn't heard Jim's groan. Or at least, so he pretended. Jim stood, went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water. He drank half, put it down on the kitchen counter, then walked around the island so that he was standing a few feet from his lover, hands resting on his hips.

Blair was wearing a white T-shirt... Jim's T-shirt, and a light gray pair of sweat pants... Jim's sweat pants. His hair was tied in a pony tail, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked good enough to eat.

"Sandburg?"

"Um?" Blair answered brightly, not lifting his eyes from his computer.

"Whatcha doing?" asked Jim in an husky voice.

"Reading."

"Reading what?"

"A recipe."

"What kind of recipe?"

"Roasted tofu with tagliatelle and spinach sauce."

Jim made a face and approached his lover. He slid his arms around Blair's shoulders and rained small butterfly kisses on one tantalizing ear.

Groaning, Blair tried to disentangle from Jim's grip.

"Jim, man, I'm busy."

The sentinel took his guide's earlobe between his lips and started to suck gently, then nibble and finally bestow small bites.

This time, Blair's half-hearted protest was mumbled out between clenched teeth.

"Jim, oh, man, pleeease. I'm... busy."

"Yoealysowbuwy," mumbled Jim, tongue deep in his lover's ear.

"Uh?" asked Blair, sucking in a harsh breath.

Jim found his way out of the depths of his guide's ear and repeated, more clearly this time. "You're really so busy?"

"Oh. Um. Well..." teased Blair, lying back against Jim's broad chest.

Jim didn't say anything as he attacked Blair's neck, sucking hard, leaving his mark on his lover's skin.

"Jim, I really need to finish... um, oh, I need to read, you know. Or we don't... um, er eat... tonight," Blair gasped out as he tried to sit straight and tried harder to ignore his growing erection.

"Want you," whispered Jim, before returning to suck on Blair's neck.

"Aw, Jim, c'mon, lemme finish, then I'll be all yours, little buddy."

Jim straightened and watched in amusement as his partner pushed his glasses back on his nose and tried to resume his reading, his rock-hard erection giving him cause for rethinking his need for the recipe.

Jim had sudden visions of plastering Blair to the table... something they'd already done a few times before....

His grin widening, he pushed the computer's button, shutting it off.

"HEY! Why did you do that?" exclaimed Blair, feigning anger as he stood to face Jim.

"You bookmarked it, didn't you?" asked Jim, smiling devilishly.

Blair shook his head in amazement. "Of course I did. But, still, I'm gonna make you pay for that," warned Blair, grinning.

"I hope so," said Jim, before running towards the stairs.

Blair, finally entering into the spirit of things, followed close on Jim's heels. When they reached the top of the stairs Jim turned, caught the flying missile that was Blair and tossed him easily to the bed, then threw himself on top of the laughing man.

Jim started to take Blair's face between his hands, but Blair was fast and quickly captured both wrists. In a maneuver that surprised the sentinel, Blair flipped their bodies over, straddled the older man and pushed Jim's arms above his head. Smiling in victory, he took control as he bent to kiss him.

Laughing, Jim turned his head away, so Blair simply targeted Jim's neck. He licked his way from his lover's collarbone to his ear, grinning as Jim shivered in pleasure. Sucking on Jim's skin, alternating the nibbles with slightly harder bites, then blowing softy and kissing the reddened skin, he soon had a mass of Jimgoo beneath him.

Blair took Jim's earlobe between his teeth and bit gently. Then, he reached for Jim's mouth and kissed him passionately. He sucked his lover's lips, then licked Jim's upper lip from one corner of his mouth to the other. Jim's lips parted and Blair, recipe forgotten, plunged his tongue inside, thrusting rhythmically.

Blair tasted every bit of Jim's mouth. He licked his teeth, palate, tonsils, then played with his lover's silky tongue as their tongues met, danced, and fought until they were out of breath.

They broke apart, but only for a moment as Jim immediately lifted his head and captured Blair's lips again.

They moaned into each other's mouths as Blair slid his fingers beneath Jim's T-shirt. He caressed his lover's soft skin and let his fingers trail up, reaching Jim's already erect nipples. Somehow, the shirt ended up on the floor as Blair captured the begging nub, sucking hungrily.

Jim arched his back and yanked his guide's T-shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor next to his.

Blair continued to roll his tongue over the sensitive nub as he caressed his lover's belly, than slid a finger into the waistband of the older man's sweat pants. Jim's fingers wound their way into Blair's hair and he pulled him up for another kiss.

"Want you," he hissed.

Straightening, Blair began to pull Jim's pants down his legs, whistling as he realized that Jim wore no underwear.

"Ooooh, you're going commando," he said appreciatively. Grabbing the lube, he started to prepare his partner. When he was finished, he put more lube on his cock and leaned over Jim. The sentinel lifted his knees up and let his fingers trail along his guide's neck, shoulders and chest.

Blair positioned himself against his lover's opening and pressed gently, nudging the tight ring a few times. When the head of Blair's penis slid inside of him, Jim closed his eyes and grabbed his lover by the shoulders. He pulled Blair closer to him, wanting more.

Blair closed his left hand around Jim's cock and pumped it while sliding slowly in. When he was completely inside of Jim, he waited for his lover to relax, concentrating on his breathing to keep from coming. Finally, Jim opened his eyes and looked into Blair's.

Blair slipped out of Jim almost entirely, then pushed back in. Jim grabbed his guide by the shoulders again and thrust upward, impaling himself on the other man's penis. Blair lost the little self control he still had and began thrusting harder and harder, matching the rhythm of his thrusts with his pumpings of Jim's penis.

The passion led them to the point of no return and they fell over the edge together, moaning each other's names.

The young woman opened her eyes slowly... everything a blur, her body on fire, warm streaks of blood still crawling down her legs.

She tried to stand up but failed.

She cursed, tried, failed, tried, failed... kept trying until she was able to rise to her hands and knees. Crawling laboriously to the sidewalk, she helped herself by grabbing a street lamp and finally managed to haul herself upright.

Her apartment was close, but it took her several long, sweat drenched-minutes to reach her building. With trembling fingers, she took her keys from her pocket and opened the door.

Once inside, she managed to reach the bathroom, rip off her clothes and climb into the shower. She scrubbed herself raw, then slid down and wedged herself into the corner, her hot tears mingling with the spray.

When she ran out of hot water, she stepped out, turned off the shower and examined herself carefully. She was bruised but at least the bleeding had stopped. She wrapped herself in a robe, gathered her torn and blood-covered clothes and went into the living room.

In spite of the warm evening, she started a fire, and when it burned bright, she tossed the clothing on top of the logs.

The young woman went back into the bathroom, shook out two aspirins and one sleeping pill, swallowed them, gulped down some water, then headed to the kitchen.

Grabbing a bottle of wine, she headed to her bedroom.

She drank almost the entire bottle before she was finally able to lie down and close her eyes without seeing Carlos and the others....

Birds singing and bright sunlight slowly woke the woman.

Pain lanced throughout her body and an agonized scream was torn from her. Tears ran down her face and she swiped at them with trembling hands.

Suddenly someone knocked on her door.

"Hey, sweetheart! You there?"

The woman recognized the voice and stood carefully. She took a few deep breaths, then went to open the door.

"Hey, honey, what took yo...?" Mateo stopped in the middle of his question when he saw the bruises on her face.

"Hiya, Teo."

"Oh, honey! What the hell happened?"

"It's nothing. I'm okay," she said, stepping away from the door to let her friend in.

The man with the long dark hair entered and she closed the door behind him. He led her to the couch and as they sat, she started to cry.

"Oh, cara. Tell me. What happened to you?" repeated Mateo Varadez, stroking the woman's hair.

"I... I... They... Oh, God, Teo," she stammered.

"Let it go, sweetheart. I'm here for you."

"They raped me," she finally whispered, clenching Varadez's T-shirt in her fists. The man's breath caught in his throat and he swallowed a few times before speaking, trying to calm his rising anger but failing.

"What? Shit! Who did it?"

"It's okay, Teo. I'm okay."

"No, you're not okay, and no, it's not okay. Did you see their faces?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Who was it?" he repeated.

"It's nobody. Believe me. We can't do anything," she said.

"Sure we can! I'm gonna kill 'em. They ain't gonna get away with that."

"No, Teo, please," she sobered. Then she started to cry again.

Mateo reached a hand inside his jeans pocket and took out a small flask filled with white powder.

"Here. Take this. You're gonna feel much better."

"Teo, I already told you I don't do drugs."

"You need to change your mind, honey. Even if it's only once. You need it right now. It'll make you feel so good."

The woman looked at the cocaine, then at her friend. She closed her eyes and flashes of last night's events passed in her head. She shuddered, and after a couple of moments looked up into her friend's concerned face.

"Just once, huh?"

"Yeah, baby. Just once."

Mateo opened the flask and poured the powder on his hand. "Now, all you need to do is sniff and enjoy."

The woman leaned forward....

It was the first time... but unfortunately not the last.

"See you tomorrow, Jim," said Rafe, leaving the police gym.

"Yeah, see you," said Henri.

"Catch you later, guys," answered Jim, lifting free weights from a bench.

Ten minutes later Blair entered the gym to find Jim still pumping iron, sweaty and looking like a wet dream.

He sauntered over to his sweat-covered lover and, grinning down at him, said, "Need a spotter, Jim?"

As Blair asked the question, he shucked his jacket, threw one leg over the bench Jim was lying on, and let one eyebrow rise suggestively.

Staring up at his partner, Jim licked his lips and mumbled, "Oh, yeah."

"How many more reps?"

"Uh, reps? Oh, well, let's say... ten?"

Blair, still straddling Jim, managed to move up and grinned in satisfaction as Jim's eyes fastened on his crotch.

"So get to it, man."

"Ah, God. Um, spotters usually, er, stand behind, you know?"

"I'm pretty comfortable right here, Jim."

Understanding exactly what his sexy and mischievous partner was up to, Jim almost whined, "C'mon, Chief. What if someone comes in?"

"Why, Jim, I thought you knew me better than that," said Blair, leaning over Jim and licking his lover's lips wetly. "I locked the door."

Chuckling, Jim said, "Now that's what a partner is all about, my man. So? Spot me, baby."

Blair's laughter was low and husky. "I just love metaphors."

They both started to laugh, but it quickly turned into moans of pleasure when Blair bent low and captured Jim's mouth in a fiery kiss. Amid Jim's throaty moans, Blair's hand began to massage his lover's cock through his exercise shorts. His hair trailed a soft path over Jim's face as his mouth was suddenly abandoned.

"No, no..." His hands reached out, but Blair pushed them away as he moved backwards. Poised over Jim's hips, he placed one hand on each hip and slid Jim down the bench until his butt reached the edge. Then with one wicked look back at his surprised partner, he went down on his knees before Jim.

With hands only slightly shaking, he spread Jim's thighs, then hooked his thumbs inside the elastic waistband of the detective's shorts and slid them down until he could free Jim's cock from the confines of the athletic supporter. With an anticipatory gleam in his eye Blair lowered his head and wrapped his right hand lightly around the base of his sentinel's penis, eliciting a long, drawn-out moan from Jim. He flicked his tongue out and swiped it over the thick head, then with no further warning took Jim's cock deep into his mouth....

The woman watched the three men exit the cafe. She'd been following Carlo Escobar, Pablo Sanchez and Tito Munos for the last month while planning her revenge. Taking a small packet from her pocket, she grabbed some white powder on the tip of her index finger and sniffed it. She did it again, then dropped the empty plastic bag on the dirty street.

Reaching once again into her pocket, her hand closed around the cold, hard metal of the gun, the long silencer giving her a sense of power. The three men were talking, laughing, trading obscene jokes and smoking as always.

They finally started to walk away, turning at the corner and enteing an alley. She stepped out of the darkness and followed. Moving silently, staying in the shadows, she moved in close and hid behind a garbage bin. The alley was deserted other than the three men who were now smoking crack, handing each other a small glass pipe. Stepping from behind the bin to stand in the middle of the alley, legs parted, gun drawn, she yelled, "Hey, you! Fucking bastards!"

None of the men was armed and she was too far for them to reach her before she could fire. Besides, they were too far gone to react.

"What the hell..." started Carlo.

"Shut the fuck up!" she yelled. "You're gonna pay for what you did to me."

The two other men were too stunned to say a word, unable to do more than stare, mouths gaping and wondering if they were hallucinating.

"You ain't gonna do it, bitch," yelled Carlo, taking a step forward.

"Stop right there! Don't fucking come closer!" shouted the woman, placing her other hand on the gun, holding it firmly with both hands.

"C'mon, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it?" asked Carlo, taking another step forward.

"I warned you. Stay where you are!"

The man took a third -- and last -- step forward.

He never heard the gunshot. Carlo Escobar was dead before his body hit the ground.

Sanchez and Munos started to move but the woman fired and didn't miss her targets. She hit Tito first, in the knee, then Pablo, in the back. They both fell to the ground, screaming in pain.

Approaching Tito, she looked directly into his eyes. The man was crying and trembling as he looked up at her, pleading, "Please. Don't shoot me. I'm sorry."

"Adios," she said, then fired.

She turned her head to see Pablo, who was trying desperately to crawl away, but she had hit him in the back and he was paralyzed.

He looked at her with hatred in his eyes. "You, fucking bitch! You're gonna pay for that!"

"Nuh, huh. You're gonna pay for what you did to me. And you're gonna pay for it with your life."

With those words, she smiled demonically and came closer. Kneeling beside him, she grabbed his head. "Open your mouth!"

"Fuck you!"

"You already did that. Now, open your fucking mouth!" she ordered, pressing the gun barrel against Pablo's lips.

The pressure was too strong and the man finally gave up, opening his jaw. She slid the barrel into Sanchez's mouth, the metal sliding against his tongue.

"Say bye bye," she said, grinning. Then she fired.

She wiped the muzzle with the dead man's shirt, then stood, turned around, and put the gun back in her pocket. Laughing joylessly, she left the alley, never seeing the little boy standing in a dark corner of the street.

"Man, I don't think I'll ever be able to come here again without getting instantly hard."

Blair was sprawled over his lover's body, both men completely satisfied. Jim smiled and caressed the younger man's hair. "Hey, whose idea was this anyway?"

"Yours, man. Entirely yours."

"Mine? Yeah, sure, Sandburg. Who offered to spot for me?"

"Hey! Who asked me to pick him up 'cause his truck was in the garage for its quarterly spit and polish?"

"Since when does 'Chief, can you pick me up at the gym?' translate to 'jump my bones'?"

"Well, duh! Like... since always, man," said Blair, laughing.

"If that's the case, Chief, then you can pick me up every day."

Simon Banks looked at his bag, tent and bedroll, then checked for his cell phone, pager and cigars. Satisfied, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his keys and slung his bag over his shoulder. Picking up his bedroll and tent, he walked out his front door, locking it behind him.

He popped open the trunk of his car, dumped everything inside and closed it, then climbed into the driver's seat. The engine came to life with a fine-tuned rumble, and Simon backed out of his driveway and headed for 852 Prospect, Jim, Blair and their fishing trip.

"How much?" asked the woman.

"Four hundred," said the driver.

"What? To travel in the back of a truck!"

"Hey, that's the price of freedom, chica. Now, if you don't wanna come, get out of the way. You ain't the only one, princess."

"Okay, okay, here's your fucking money," she said angrily, tossing the bills in the man's face. Ignoring her anger, she climbed into the back with all the other people who believed that the streets of America were paved in gold.

One hour and thirty illegal immigrants later, the truck was full. People were pressed together like sardines, the smell was excruciating and the woman was certain she was suffocating. It would be a long, miserable journey to the United States of America, gold streets and... freedom.

Jim woke up to the feel of something hot and wet tickling his belly and trying to find its way into his navel. He reached out a heavy, sleepy hand and tried to push the intruder away... only to encounter a wild bush of soft curls.

"Hey! Look who's up," Blair said as he nibbled Jim's hipbone.

"Your fault, Chief."

Grinning against Jim's skin, Blair teased, "I wasn't talking about you." Then he traced the length of the detective's erection with his fingertip.

Jim arched under the caress and moaned.

"That's what I said. Your fault. Now, c'mere and kiss me."

Blair suckled his way up Jim's body very slowly, tasting every inch of exposed skin.

"C'mon, Chief," complained Jim impatiently.

"I'm on my way, man. I'm on my way."

When Blair reached Jim's mouth, he brushed his lips lightly.

"Morning."

"Morning," answered Jim, closing his arms around his partner's back.

They started to kiss, slowly at first, lips brushing feather-light, but finally Jim's lips parted to welcome his partner. He spread his legs wider, allowing Sandburg to settle comfortably in between and coincidentally bringing their morning erections together. Blair started to thrust slowly, wanting the moment to last. It was Saturday and they had the whole day to enjoy each other....

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Iwgnowtaw," mumbled Blair around Jim's nipple.

"What?"

"Ignore that," repeated the young man, thrusting even faster.

"Chief, it's Simon!"

"He... can... wait," panted Blair.

The knocking was now insistent and a very irritated Banks could be heard even by Blair.

"Ellison! Sandburg! I know you're in there! Jim, open the damn door!"

"Chief! Blair! C'mon, babe. I gotta answer the door," said Jim, trying to push Blair gently away from him.

"Mmmm!" protested Sandburg, gripping his lover tightly.

"Fish," said Jim, suddenly remembering why his captain was there.

"What?" asked Blair bewildered.

"The fishing trip."

"Shit."

"Blair, c'mon."

Blair rolled over on his back and covered his face with both hands. "Gun's in the second drawer. Make it quick. We'll take care of the body later."

Jim burst into laughter.

"Simon's huge, Chief. We could never find a large enough burial spot. Besides... we like him."

He grabbed his robe, put it on, and went down the stairs.

"ELLISON! SANDBURG!" yelled Simon.

"I forgot to mention quick and painful and I don't like him anymore!" added Blair, peeking over the railing.

Jim grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it upwards, not missing his target.

"Okay. Okay," said Blair, leaning back into the bed and not in the least surprised that his cock had gone back into hibernation.

Jim, frustrated and willing his own urges to take a slight vacation, took a deep breath and tried to muster a welcoming smile as he swung the front door open.

"Jeez, Jim. What the hell were you guys doing?" asked Simon, pressing past his friend and entering the loft.

"Nice to see you, too, Simon," said Jim, closing the door.

"What, are you still naked? We have to go, Jim. The fish aren't going to stop biting just because we're not there."

"Uh, Simon... About the fi..."

Jim's sentence was interrupted by Simon's cell phone ringing.

"Excuse me, Jim," the older man said, as he took his phone from his pocket.

"Banks."

Jim watched his Captain's face change, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He immediately dialed down his sense of hearing, not wanting to invade his friend -- and captain's -- privacy, but he knew something was wrong.

Finally, Simon hung up and put the cell back in his pocket. "Looks like the fish will be biting for someone else after all. We've got a body and Joel said it's very unusual. Suggests we might need Sandburg's expertise on this one."

"Gee, Simon, which expertise would that be?"

Blair's voice floated down from above. "I heard that, Jim."

"You were supposed to, Sandburg."

Simon waved his hands in the traditional time-out gesture and in a voice that would clearly carry upstairs, said, "All Joel said was that it was anthropological. Apparently, the body was painted with strange markings and left half-naked, and to top it off, the ears and lips were plugged with pieces of wood."

Jim gave a low whistle. "Give us thirty minutes, Simon."

"Fine. The alley behind Los Delicios restaurant in thirty. Taggert's put a hold on everything until you and the kid arrive."

"Chief, you heard the description of the dead body?"

"Yeah, the wooden plugs through the ear lobes and lips are a custom of the Botocudo tribe of Brazil. In fact, the tribe's name is derived from the custom. Botoque means 'wooden plug'. But until I actually see what was done to the victim, well, I'm just wasting words."

"You're about to get your chance, Chief."

As Jim spoke he rolled down his window and flashed his badge. They were waved on and Jim quickly maneuvered the truck into a place next to Los Delicios.

The yellow crime scene tape marked their destination, but an unhappy Simon Banks puffing angrily on his cigar would have been a dead giveaway.

"Well, Chief, you're on."

Blair might have given Jim one of his patented woof-woofs except he was about to view a corpse... up close and personal.

Simon had headed to the station once Jim and Blair had arrived and Jim was kneeling beside the body.

"Chief, unless I've lost my powers of deductive reasoning, this woman is definitely not a member of the Botocudo tribe in spite of the loincloth."

Blair had only needed a quick glance at the loincloth-clad, mutilated body to figure out that they weren't dealing with a refugee from Brazil. At Jim's attempt at crime scene levity, he scrunched up his face and took two very obvious steps back as Jim knelt in front of the woman.

"These wounds on her body are fresh, as are the wounds to her ears and lips." He glanced up at his partner, secretly applauding Blair's efforts to remain at the scene. "Got any ideas about the markings?"

"Right now, Jim, they're unrecognizable to me. Maybe the killer's signature? Or a code? I sure don't recognize it as any language. You?"

"Doesn't mean a thing to me, Chief." Jim put on a pair of latex gloves and picked something up next to the victim's left foot. He held the item between his index finger and thumb. "Look at this."

Taking a deep breath, Blair squatted beside Jim and peered at the object.

"Glasses? What the hell are her glasses doing next to her foot? You think they fell?"

"No," Jim answered as he held them closer to his guide. "Look at that... they're still folded, so she wasn't wearing them."

"Point taken, man," Blair conceded as he stood.

Jim joined him, put the glasses in an evidence bag, marked it, then gave the bag to a woman from the Forensic team. " Ask Serena to pay particular attention to this," he asked the woman.

"Certainly, Detective." She took the bag and left them.

"You think she was dropped there after being killed?" asked Blair.

"Yep," said Jim, squatting again. He touched the victim's neck to check the wound. "Her jugular's cut. But look at the blood... there's not enough for the murder to have been done here."

"So, you think he killed her, dressed her with the loincloth, plugged the wood pieces in her ears and lips, then dropped her here?" asked Blair.

"Yeah, that's about the size of it. I pray he did it in that order and didn't plug her before killing her."

Jim waved the coroner's men over, letting them know they could have the body. He took Blair's arm and moved him to the side as the gurney was wheeled in. The body bag was set down and the men carefully turned the body. As they did, the small piece of material Jim had referred to as a loincloth fell to the side, revealing a quick glimpse of the victim's rear. Blair had been watching the procedure and now gasped.

Jim looked down at him, followed his partner's horrified gaze and saw the tattoo.

He stopped the men, moved quickly and inspected the marking. Then, he shook his head and looked at his guide. "Chief, this isn't new. I think it came with the victim." He stood and moved back to Blair's side.

"Jim, I think I know this woman. I mean, I... her face, you know? The bruising done by the mutilation, God, Jim, her own mother wouldn't recognize her. But that tattoo..."

Suddenly, Jim's cell phone rang. Still staring at his partner, concern evident in his pale blue eyes, he tried to remove his gloves and answer the phone but failed. Without thinking, Blair reached inside his lover's leather jacket pocket and slipped the phone out, then answered it.

"Sandburg."

"Where's Ellison?"

Blair held the phone to Jim's ear and said quietly, "It's Simon."

Still fighting his gloves, he barked into the phone, "Sir?"

"We have another one. Meet Rafe at 80 Denver Avenue."

"Same MO?"

"'Fraid so."

"Be there in twenty," said Jim.

The gloves were history and Jim took the phone, flipped it closed and re-pocketed it.

"We have another one."

"So I figured."

"Call Megan from the truck... tell her what you might know about this victim. She can get to work while we check out number two."

"Yeah." His voice was subdued and Jim was tempted to ask the obvious question. But now was not the time... he would wait.

They arrived at 80 Denver Avenue and found it to be an abandoned apartment house. Jim parked and they quickly joined Rafe who was waiting outside for them.

"Hey, guys."

"Rafe."

"Jeez, Jim, this is weird. The guy's a psycho!" said Rafe, grimacing.

"How was she found?" asked Ellison.

"He. This time it's a guy, twenty-five or so. Kids were playing with their dog and it ran into the building. They followed and stumbled over the body. The dog probably smelled the blood."

"They didn't touch anything?" asked Jim.

"No. Come in and see for yourself," Rafe said as he led the way.

The man was lying on his side, completely naked. His hands were tied behind his back and it was immediately apparent that he'd been killed by an arrow fired straight into his heart.

"It's an execution," said Blair.

"What do you mean?" asked Rafe.

"Look at the arrow... it's too perfectly placed. The man must have been brought here, forced to undress and kneel... then was shot," answered Blair.

"You're right, Chief. Point blank. Perfect shot, so to speak."

"Hey, guys!" called Henri, who was investigating the surroundings of the crime scene. "What the hell is that?"

They joined Henri and Jim, gloves in place, bent to pick up the object in question... a small jar.

"Another tribe," he said. "And this one I know. It's the Iquitos from Peru."

"Exactly," Blair agreed as he inspected the item in Jim's hand. "The Iquitos are known for their preparation of the chicha, a native liquor made by grinding the tubers of the cassava plant in a wooden trough. Then, it's mixed with..." the anthropologist grimaced and didn't finish his explanation.

"Saliva," said Jim. "Then it's stored in pottery jars."

"Oh, no. Ellison, you didn't..." said Henri.

"Jim, c'mon, man. Don't tell me you..." added Blair.

"Hey, I had to. It's seen as an insult to refuse a gift from a tribe. Chief, I thought that you, better than anyone, should know that."

"Of course I know it, but shit!"

"Oh yeah, man, or in this case," Brown grimaced, "tuber shit. Yick."

"Intelligent, H. Very intelligent response."

Brown shrugged and gave both men his broad, lopsided grin. Then he turned to Blair. "Sandburg, you never..."

"NO! No. Thank God, no."

"Jesus, Chief, with all the weird stuff you eat," mused the sentinel.

"Jim, it's saliva! Other people's saliva!"

"Yeah, I know."

When they finished checking the second victim, they headed back to the station. On the way, Jim quizzed, "You didn't know this one too, did you, Chief?"

"No, I don't think so. He didn't look familiar."

"Good, because I really hate coincidences."

"So do I, Jim. So do I."