Thanksgiving dinner was eaten beneath a slight shadow because
of the departure of the two Ellisons, but all in all, it was a festive
occasion.  Feasting on everything from turkey to pumpkin pie, lying in
the corners of the living room watching football, eventually picking the
cooling turkey carcass--the day was every bit the traditional holiday. 
Jim and Blair were painstakingly updated on the activities of everyone
in and around the Cascade PD, with Joel and Henri sharing a few war
stories that held Jim's interest intently enough to drive the point further
home to Blair that the man he loved was, indeed, missing something by
turning his back on his former life.

     Hoping to shake down some of the heavy food, Jim and Simon
struck out for a walk, enjoying the bleak view of the ocean below,
despite the cold temperatures.

     "That wind can really be nasty," Simon commented, gathering
his coat more tightly around his neck.

     "Yeah, tell me about it.  I think I've caulked every crevice of the
house so it doesn't blow us off the bed at night."  Jim chuckled a little. 
"We need new windows, but we're waiting until Blair's book comes
out.  It'll be a big expense, and the motel needs more exterior updating
and decorating."

     "You know, Jim, your leave of absence has been going on for
about five months now.  After six months, I'm not sure how much
longer I can assuage the chief about not getting a permanent
replacement."

     "I appreciate what you did, Simon, but I told you before that I
was prepared to resign.  That still stands."

     "I know it probably doesn't seem possible, but staying out here,
giving everything up, you could end up resenting Sandburg for that
someday."

     "Not likely, sir.  He didn't ask me to do any of this."

     "No, but you did it for him."

     "For me too."

     "You're going to stand here and tell me that you don't miss it?" 
Simon persisted, watching Jim's profile as the other man stared out at
the expanse of sky and water.  

     "No," he finally responded, "I'm not going to tell you that."

     "So what's keeping you here?  Sandburg can write books
anywhere."

     "I just walk back into my old life while he writes books about
serial killers?  While he shrivels up and dies intellectually?"

     "Jim, there's a point at which you can't *fix* this situation. 
There's an underlying reality here about what Sandburg did, and while
none of it's his fault, he does have to pay for it.  That's not fair, but it's
reality.  You making sure you're as...*career challenged* as he is isn't
going to solve anything."

     "Yeah?  Well, I miss the days when Blair and I were riding
together, working cases...as a *team*...*partners*.  Dammit, Simon, I
tried flying solo and I hated it.  The God's honest truth is that neither
Blair nor I can have what we want anymore.  Deep in his heart, he
wants to write something meaningful, *intellectual*--he wants to teach
and learn and contribute something.  And I just want to turn back the
clock and relive all those times Blair and I worked together, figured out
cases together--I want him riding with me, by my side, while I do what
I love.  And he can't do that.  And I don't blame him.  It's selfish--and I
won't force Blair into a mold that doesn't fit just to make me happy. 
What's left of his spirit, that would probably destroy."

     "So neither one of you are happy?"

     "Together, we're happy.  And that's what we hold onto.  The
other stuff is hard, and it's disappointing, but we can cope with it."

     "I wish things had turned out differently."

     "I don't."  Jim smiled at Simon's puzzled expression.  "If I say
that, I run the risk that they might have turned out that Blair and I
weren't together.  That's more important to me than anything.  I think to
Blair, too."

     "I can pretty much guarantee it's more important to Sandburg
than anything else."  Simon shook his head.  "That kid's got it bad for
you."

     "The feeling's mutual."

     "I'll stall the chief a while longer."

     "Do what you have to do, Simon.  I don't foresee coming back
to the PD."

     "I wish you'd reconsider, Jim.  You really are missed around
that place."  Simon chortled.  "I think the chief misses your arrest
record."

     "You mean Sandburg's and my arrest record?  Simon, that's the
whole point--the winning combination was the two of us together.  You
know, it's funny...all the times you and I shushed Blair or stifled
something he was saying--it makes me laugh a little in retrospect
because he was usually right.  Hell, we had the equivalent of our own
personal profiler walking around with us, analyzing all the little
behavioral clues, and most of the time we couldn't shut him up fast
enough.  But on occasion, I knew enough to listen.  And his insight
along with my experience as a cop--we were unbeatable.  Without him,
it was like going through the motions--there was no...*passion* for the
job anymore."

     "Don't you think that was because Sandburg didn't have
anything to do at the time?  I mean, he was miserable and at loose ends,
and--"

     "I don't want to go back to the PD unless Blair is somehow still
my partner.  And that isn't going to happen."

     "You always worked well alone before.  I just don't get it."

     "That was before...  I'm sorry, Simon.  I wish I could give you
the answer you want to hear, but I can't."

     "Fair enough.  But I'm still not closing the door."

     "I appreciate that.  Hey, let's get back inside and get some
coffee and another piece of pie, huh?"

     "Another?"  Simon rolled his eyes.  

     "Oh, come on, don't try to tell me it hadn't crossed your mind."

     "Of course not.  But if you insist," Simon quipped, following
Jim back into the house.

********

     Jim leaned on the door frame of the kitchen, smiling at the sight
in front of him.  Blair was holding court over a table load of books and
notes, glasses in place, look of intense concentration on his face.  The
faint strains of Christmas music filtered in from the living room, where
Jim had pulled out all the supplies to decorate.  He wasn't about to do
that alone.

     "Hey there, Darwin--ready for a break?"  Jim asked, checking
his watch.  It was almost seven, and if they hoped to get the inside of
the house decorated that evening, he figured it would be a good time to
get started.

     "I've gotta talk to you about something," Blair said, looking up
and Jim very seriously.  "I want to go back to college."

     "For your doctorate?"

     "No."  Blair shook his head, standing up and taking off his
glasses.  "I found a college in Bangor that offers a Certificate in
Forensic Science program.  It's like an undergrad minor--about eighteen
credits.  I think it would really help with all this stuff I'm working on
for the books.  I mean, the one on Lash is almost done, but it's been a
fucking nightmare trying to learn piecemeal all the terminology and
then digest it and explain it all in layman's terms for the book.  If I'm
going to be writing about criminal investigations, I think it would help
a lot of I knew what I was talking about."  Blair paused.  "And I was
thinking about a couple of CJ classes while I was at it."

     "I think it's a great idea, sweetheart.  When would you start?"

     "This winter, hopefully.  But see, the catch is, if I do this, I'm
going to be really busy--I mean, I want to do it as fast as possible--I
figure it'll take at least a year to get the Certificate in Forensic Science--
just because there are a couple courses that have prereq's, and I have to
take them in order--I mean, I've done an eighteen credit semester
before and lived--though *barely*," Blair concluded with a chuckle. 
"But the thing is, I have to take a few of the classes that way--in order,
so it would take me this winter, and the summer sessions, and then next
fall.  And I'd be full time."

     "And this is a problem because...?"  

     "Because between doing that and finishing the book and
starting on the next one, I wouldn't be good for a whole lot around here,
and it's not fair to you.  You'd have all the crap dumped on you."

     "And if I weren't doing 'all the crap', I'd be doing what exactly? 
Sitting on the porch contemplating my navel?  We've got a lot of the
heavy repair and renovation done.  All it really is is cleaning up after
the trickle of guests we get this winter and some basic maintenance
stuff.  I spend plenty of time playing Minesweeper on the office
computer as it is.  I have time to do more."

     "I just...it doesn't seem right--" Blair stopped when Jim crossed
the room and put two fingers over his mouth.

     "You exercising that brain of yours seems exactly right.  You
learning and reading and getting all excited about a whole new body of
knowledge seems to be about the most *right* thing I can imagine." 
Jim moved the fingers.  "If you want to do this, sweetheart, I'll do
whatever I can to help make it work."

     "I don't believe you.  Are you for real?"  Blair asked, smiling
hesitantly.  

     "If I wanted to do something that was going to put more work
on you, but I really wanted it--if it meant a lot to me--what would you
say?"

     "Do it and we'll figure out the rest," Blair responded, nodding.

     "So?  Do it, and we'll figure out the rest, baby."  Jim pulled
Blair into his arms, hugging him tightly.  "I think it's a great idea."

     "Thank you."  Blair squeezed back, hard.  

     "Don't thank me, Chief.  Just help me put this damn tree up,
okay?"

     "Ho ho ho to you too, man," Blair replied, laughing as he pulled
back.  "Father Christmas himself couldn't have said it more festively."

     "Smart ass."  Jim grabbed Blair by the hand and yanked him
along into the living room.  

     The evening became a blur of pine, garland, ornaments and
bows as the house was transformed for the season.  Blair even made the
most of the white-painted banister, which he kept vowing to sand down
and refinish, winding red ribbon around each rail, and around the hand
rail itself, making the whole thing look like a series of candy canes. 
There were stockings hung by the fireplace, an eight-foot pine tree
bedecked with a hodgepodge of ornaments nearby, and a variety of
other little nick knacks around the house that spoke of Christmas.  

     The ringing of the phone irritated Jim a bit as he was putting
the finishing touches on the tree, but he grabbed it off the coffee table
from among the boxes of ornaments.

     "Hello."

     "Jimmy, it's Dad."  There was a long silence.  Jim didn't know
what to say, and he fought hard against the urge to simply hang up and
be done with it.  "Don't hang up.  I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I
want to talk to you."

     "I think you said it all at Thanksgiving, Dad."  Jim said
abruptly, which caught Blair's attention as he finished off the last of the
ribbon-winding on the banister.

     "I wouldn't blame you if you weren't willing to give me another
chance, but I wanted to apologize for how I acted.  I said
some...unforgivable things.  I *am* sorry, Jimmy."

     "Thanks for that, Dad.  But it doesn't change how you feel."

     "Well, truthfully, it does change it.  When I got home, I had
some time to think.  It was a big shock...I had some suspicions, but I
thought you'd just lay all those to rest when we talked.  But then I could
see how things were between you and Blair...I wasn't as prepared as I
thought to cope with that."

     "And now you are?"

     "I want to try.  Listen, I know I said some awful things about
Blair.  I didn't mean it against him.  I know that's hard to believe, but I
really didn't mean anything personal where he was concerned.  I'd have
gone off like that about any man you were...involved with.  I wanted to
blame someone for...*turning* you that way."

     "For what?  Turning me gay?  You think someone could make
me change my orientation against my will?"

     "I know it sounds crazy.  But I wanted to think he made you do
it, that he was dragging you into that lifestyle.  All I ever wanted for
you was a good life, Jim.  I know I went about it the wrong way...with
the whole Bud situation--"

     "Let's not revisit that."

     "But it's the same thing.  You came to me with something...with
something about yourself...something that made you different, and I
didn't handle it well."

     "I don't know what to say about this, Dad."

     "At least accept my apology.  And pass it on to Blair.  I don't
expect that things can just be...*okay* that easily, but I'd like to ask you
to think about it."

     "I'll do that."

     "Good.  I, uh, I'll call you...closer to the holiday, maybe?"

     "You know where to find me."

     "I do.  Well, uh, give Blair my best and think about what I said,
Jimmy.  I really am sorry, son."

     "Yeah, I will.  Thanks for calling, Dad."  Jim hung up and
looked up at Blair.  "He apologized for Thanksgiving."  Jim shook his
head.  "Guess he thinks all  it takes is a phone call."

     "What else could he do?"  Blair asked simply.

     "He could have not reacted with anger and hate."

     "True.  But he's human, Jim.  We all have flaws.  The only thing
we can do is acknowledge them and try to make amends when we do
damage with them.  Sounds like that's what he's doing."

     "He wanted me to apologize to you for him.  He said it was
nothing personal."

     "That makes sense.  Whoever was corrupting his son--at least
from his perspective--would have been subject to the same reaction."

     "That's more or less what he said."  Jim shook his head.  "I
suppose you're okay with this now."

     "If you mean can I forgive your dad for being a product of his
generation, yes, I can.  People in his age group didn't grow up learning
tolerance for gays.  It was a perversion at best, a sin at worst.  A gay
son or daughter was someone you hid in the basement like a crazy
relative or tried to force into a hetero lifestyle with a spouse and kids. 
Or you disowned them and banished them to another town so your
friends didn't find out.  If you think racial tolerance is a recent
phenomenon, trust me, sexual orientation tolerance is so recent that it
hasn't even happened yet."

     "I should have figured you'd be fine with this."

     "I wish he hadn't hurt you the way he did with his reaction.  I
wish he didn't see me as some kind of...sexual temptation that lured
you away from the straight and narrow.  But if he apologized, and he's
trying to treat us like a couple, and he's sending me his apologies...I
mean, I don't know what more he can do."

     "You know what your problem is?"  Jim asked, starting up the
steps to sit on the one where Blair sat, looking perplexed at the rail he
was finishing.

     "Yeah, I'm out of red ribbon."

     "You're too good."  Jim wound his arms around the smaller
body, holding him close.  "You forgive people so easily, sweetheart."

     "Yeah, and myself I cannot save.  Look how long it took me to
reach some sort of *understanding* with myself about Naomi--to have
a real good talk with her about things.  I just realize that your dad is
fighting a whole mind set of his generation.  Along with the fact that he
wants to see to it you have the best of everything.  Even if he had to
accomplish that by crushing anything different about you.  It's not
healthy parental love, but it's still a form of it."

     "Parents and kids...seems like it's such a damn hassle.  I mean,
look at all the domestic violence out there, incest, abuse...neglect..."

     "It's probably the most important formative relationship in your
life--your parent or parents.  What they do with you when you're young
and impressionable...you carry it with you forever."  Blair smiled. 
"And even when you grow up, it still matters what they think, even if
you don't want it to."

     "I'm beginning to think Incacha was right."  Jim cuddled Blair
against him, the younger man's back against his chest.

     "About what?"

     "Passing the way of the shaman on to you.  It seems like you
always have the answers I'm looking for."

     "Maybe I'm just *your* shaman," Blair looked back at Jim, who
smiled and kissed his cheek.

     "You got that right.  And I'm not sharing."  Jim nibbled on an
earlobe, tugging gently with his teeth.  Blair turned in Jim's arms so
they could kiss properly, face to face, arms winding around each other. 
"We could put a throw and a couple pillows down by the Christmas
tree," Jim whispered against Blair's ear, then kissed it.

     "I want you so bad right now, lover," Blair responded softly,
smiling at Jim as the other man stood and held out his hand, which
Blair took, to be pulled to his feet.  

     In moments, they had a little makeshift bed beside the
Christmas tree, close enough to the fire to be warmed by it as they
tossed clothing aside and made love in the soft colored light of the tree. 
With Blair on his back, legs wrapped tenaciously around Jim's body,
Jim renewed his claim on *his* shaman, his lover, his other half in a
series of gentle thrusts as he plunged his hands into the silky curls,
making love to Blair's mouth with an insistent tongue.

     In the sated afterglow, covered haphazardly with an afghan off
the back of the couch, they whispered little love words to each other,
smiling at the coziness of their little corner of the world, and at the
utter joy of their first Christmas together.  

     "What do you want for Christmas?"  Blair asked, head on Jim's
chest, eyes drooping nearly closed.

     "I think I just unwrapped it early," Jim teased, kissing the top of
Blair's head.

     "Besides me.  You can have me anytime."

     "Doesn't make it any less important," Jim responded, pushing
the hair back from Blair's face.  "You mean present type stuff?"

     "Yeah, something that goes under the tree."

     "I found this place on-line where you can order these leather
accessories..."

     "Jim!"  Blair leaned up on one elbow.  "Damn, you're
impossible.  Guess I just have to surprise you."

     "You always do," Jim said, grinning like a lovesick idiot as he
looked up at Blair with unabashed love.  "You didn't tell me what you
wanted."

     "Yes, I did," Blair said seriously.  "In the kitchen, earlier.  And
you said yes."

     "You don't need my permission to go to college, baby.  It's
*our* money--hell, you brought home most of it from that advance."

     "Where it came from doesn't matter.  It turned into ours as soon
as I got my hands on it.  Besides, just because I had a right to take some
money and go take classes...you didn't have to be so...*good* about it."

     "I know you love learning.  A mind like yours ought to always
be learning."  Jim ran a gentle finger down Blair's cheek.  "You're a
genius, Chief.  You deserve to get your hands on all the knowledge you
want."

     "I'm not a genius, Jim," Blair responded, catching Jim's hand
and kissing the fingers.  

     "Closest thing to one I ever knew."

     "Really?"  Blair asked, smiling, looking a bit surprised.

     "Really."

     "Wow."  He slumped back down and cuddled against Jim. 
"You're too good to me."

     "I am?  Well, remind me to get stern with you after Christmas
then," Jim teased, kissing Blair's cheek and hugging him.

     "The day you get stern with me, I'll expect to see Santa and his
reindeer on the roof for real."  

     Jim just laughed.  "Guilty as charged, sweetheart."

********

     Winter hit Maine with a good deal of bluster and precipitation,
making Blair's trek between Beacon Pointe Bluff and Bangor a real
white-knuckler most of the time.  The snow and ice were not welcome
elements on the roads, and more often than not, Jim drove his partner
to and from the campus, since taking the Volvo through the deep snow
was a suicide mission, and if Blair took the truck, Jim was left
stranded.  With the plow blade on the front of the Ford, they were just
about assured of getting in and out of the nasty little private road
leading up to the bluff.  

     Blair hadn't really planned that his educational adventures
would drag Jim out on the road with him every time, and he regretted
the hassles he was putting the other man through.  He was relieved in
one way that the motel had slowed down to almost no business, since
leaving Jim with a full inn would have been even worse than sticking
him with all the daily maintenance work around a usually empty one.

     The courses themselves were challenging, making Blair tap into
knowledge he hadn't really used actively in quite a while, back to the
days when he'd taken Chemistry and Biology courses as electives. 
Still, he found himself very happy and at home behind a microscope, or
learning some of the more technical chemical principles as they related
to evidence.  As he took the notes and studied over ominous-looking
texts, it was a delight to have something to challenge and stretch his
mind.  

     He found in Jim a very helpful and insightful study companion,
since much of what Blair was gobbling up from the various books and
coursework, Jim had encountered first hand, and could usually explain
why something wasn't as cut-and-dried as the textbook made it appear.

     By the time Spring rolled around, Blair found himself in an old
familiar predicament--juggling studying for finals and writing papers
along with his work with Jim.  Only this time they were preparing the
Inn for the onset of tourist season instead of running down the criminal
element of Cascade.

     The first of Blair's books under the Berkshire Publishing deal
was released in May, just in time to be beach reading for the
vacationing bookworm.  To Blair's shock and delight, "Yellow Scarf"
snuck up on the New York Times Bestseller list, finally topping the
non-fiction category in the early days of June.  Lash's depravity
combined with Blair's painstaking research and insight made the book
sell like hotcakes.  Before long, Blair found himself juggling a couple
of trips to New York for talk show appearances in support of the be
st-seller by this new, previously unknown author.

     He proved to be a popular potential guest for any number of
these shows, since not only was he a civilian who had survived a run-in
with one of the notorious serial killers of recent history, but he also had
the somewhat checkered past of the whole dismissal from his doctoral
research under his own admission of fraud.

     He devised his song and dance for that question early, in his
first appearance on a radio station morning call-in show in nearby
Bangor.

     "Blair, you were dismissed from a doctoral program at Rainier
University in Washington State for submitting fraudulent research.  I
don't mean to be rude in bringing this up, but surely you must realize
that some people will question your credibility on that basis," the
middle-aged man conducting the interview had asked.

     "First, there's an important clarification that needs to be made
here.  I did not submit anything to Rainier University.  I did put
together a dissertation which was not rooted in fact--I put together my
fantasy dissertation--partly because I was under a great deal of pressure
to submit something in writing to my committee.  There was a series of
personal misunderstandings between myself and someone who had
access to my manuscript that led to its release to the press.  However,
once the proverbial cat was out of the bag, it was my responsibility to
come forward and explain.  But I never made it to the stage of turning
in something fraudulent to my committee.  I don't believe I would have
ever taken that step."

     "You were caught then before you made the decision to actually
follow through with the fraud?"

     "That's right."  

     "Unfortunate indeed, but that led you to pursue other avenues,
which led to your current best seller, 'Yellow Scarf'..."

     And so the interview had progressed.  Most interviewers had
been happy with that brief explanation, and they seemed to lap up the
hint of scandal surrounding their guest like cats with a bowl of cream. 
It didn't make Blair less desirable, it made him more interesting and
controversial.  While the story Blair was forced to re-tell a number of
times wasn't exactly the truth, it was close enough that he could
reconcile himself with it.  The lie was necessary to protect Jim, and the
fact that he hadn't made the decision to submit the dissertation was
very true, and somewhat cleared him of the most despicable image
associated with the whole situation.

     As he drove his new black Chevy Blazer toward home, he found
himself actually looking forward to painting the house with Jim.  They
had picked up the white paint just before he left for New York, and Jim
had promised it would wait until he got back.  There were ten rooms
full at the Inn, which had necessitated Jim missing this trip for Blair's
appearance on the Today Show.

     He pulled up in front of the house, smiling a little at the sight of
the blue and white pick-up.  He'd tried everything to get Jim to upgrade
to a better vehicle.  They could afford it now.  They could afford to
keep the old truck as a classic and get another four-wheel drive for Jim
to use when Blair was using his.  Still, there seemed to be a part of Jim
that was resisting their newfound affluence. 

     Blair didn't like the amount of time his new life was demanding
he spend away from his lover, or the degree to which the Inn had
become Jim's job most of the time.  Still, it was, as usual, their winning
combination of skills and contributions to their partnership that was
making it successful.  Blair was building his credentials with his
college classes in Forensics and Criminal Justice, and his reputation
with his best-selling book. 

     Jim was throwing himself into the Inn with a vengeance,
keeping every inch of it in flawless repair, adding landscaping and
shutters to the motel, rebuilding the unsightly front steps on the house,
and arguing with the Coast Guard about whose responsibility it was to
get a fresh coat of paint on the somewhat pathetic-looking lighthouse. 
When it became apparent it wasn't theirs, he set about enlisting the help
of a lighthouse preservation society, and before long, fund raising
efforts were underway for both cosmetic and structural repairs.

     Spotting the man he loved lying in a hammock strung between
two trees behind the house, Blair chuckled as he walked around the
structure, hands in the pockets of his cut-offs.  He'd changed in the
airport restroom out of his more formal clothes into his old shorts and a
favorite t-shirt to be comfortable on the drive home.

     He knew Jim was fully aware of his presence and probably had
been since the Blazer had made the turn onto their private road.  Still,
the larger man played the little game to the hilt, lying there in a pair of
blue swimming trunks, incomparable bronzed body displayed there to
remind Blair of just exactly what he'd been missing the last couple of
nights. //As if I ever would forget for even a moment...// Blair thought,
pulling his own t-shirt off and climbing in, sliding into Jim's arms.

     "Missed you, baby," Jim said softly, kissing the full lips that
fastened hungrily to his own.

     "I hate these solo flights, man.  When are we going to hire a
manager for this place so you can always be with me, huh?  Hell, so
you can have a *life* outside this place?"

     "Next year.  We'll have enough money for that next year."  Jim
played with the pile of curls on his shoulder.  "You have class tonight?"

     "Dammit.  I forgot about that."

     "Can you cut?"

     "No," Blair sighed, snuggling against Jim, running his hand
over the broad chest.  "There are only two more sessions of this one
before the final."

     "You're tired, baby."  Jim rubbed Blair's back soothingly. 
"You're burning the candle at both ends."

     "If I can get through these summer classes, things'll be easier in
the fall.  I already told Sid I can't do anymore personal appearances for
a while.  I think the hype's dying down anyway.  The book's down to
number 4 this week."

     "Too bad no one likes it anymore, Chief," Jim quipped, kissing
Blair's forehead.

     "Yeah, just shabby old number 4," Blair retorted.  "Hey, did
your dad answer our letter about the Fourth?"

     "He called this morning.  He and Stephen are coming out here."

     "Great!  Oh, man, I'm *so* glad.  I really hated seeing you guys
at odds."

     "I know you did."  Jim looked down at his lover.  "Did I
mention that I missed you?"

     "God, I missed you so much," Blair responded, hugging Jim
fiercely.  "What time is it?"  He turned Jim's wrist to have a look at his
watch.  "We've got two whole hours before I have to leave for class."

     "Wonder what we could do with ourselves in that time?"  Jim
responded lazily, letting his hand trail down Blair's back to his butt,
squeezing a firm mound through the denim.   Blair scooted up so a pair
of hot lips pressed against Jim's ear, releasing a warm moist whisper.

     "I was thinking we could go upstairs and you could give me a
reason not to sit still during class tonight."

     Jim turned his head and captured the devilish mouth in a kiss,
then moved out of the hammock, pulling Blair along behind him.  They
lost little time in making it up to the bedroom, clothing flying in all
directions before they landed in the middle of the bed, Jim's larger
body effectively pinning his lover to the mattress.  

     "Maybe I should stay away longer next time," Blair teased as
Jim moved back from devouring the younger man's mouth, fixating
instead on torturing Blair's nipples to hardness with insistent, hard
sucking.

     "I think the reunion would kill us both," Jim responded, already
a little breathless.  

     "Let me get you ready, lover...get you good and hard for me," 
Blair offered in a husky voice against Jim's ear.  Get that up here where
I can take care of it," Blair commanded, pulling on Jim's shoulders
until the other man turned on the bed so they were in a 69 position.  As
Blair engulfed the hardening shaft in his mouth, he felt the first probe
of a finger against his center as Jim's mouth fastened on him.  

     They lay there for long minutes, pleasuring each other, Jim's
fingers preparing Blair with the lube he'd snatched out of the night
stand drawer.  

     "I'm too close, lover," Blair said, pulling away from Jim and
encouraging the other man away from his groin.  "Do me now, huh?" 
he asked, scrambling up on all fours on the bed, with Jim moving
eagerly behind him, coating himself and then sliding into Blair to the
hilt in one long smooth stroke.  

     Their rhythm built quickly, Blair rocking back against Jim in
harmony with Jim's thrusts forward.  Blair slumped down on his
elbows, giving Jim the best access, clutching the sheets and hanging on
as he screamed out his pleasure each time one of the hard thrusts hit his
prostate.  

     "Yeah, do it...oh, God, yeah, like that..."  Blair grunted. 
"My...cock..." he ground out.

     "Not now, baby," Jim managed.  "You're gonna...come from...
me in you," he panted, increasing the pace and the intensity,
concentrating on nailing Blair's prostate, goaded by Blair continuing
insistent cries for him to do it harder and faster.  Blair reached under to
touch himself, but was startled by the sharp command that earned him. 
"Hands were I can see 'em!"  Jim shouted, and Blair cried out in a
combination of passion and frustration.  

     "Jim..."  Blair ground out one last plea, and was surprised by
two strong arms around his middle, hoisting him back until he landed
on Jim's lap, still impaled, his thighs straddling Jim's.  One of his
lover's hands slid down and pumped the tortured cock hard, the other
rolling and pinching his nipples as Blair did his part to keep the motion
of their sex just as wild and intense as it was when Jim was controlling
it almost completely.  

     "You're mine, baby," Jim growled into a nearby ear.  

     "Yours always," Blair panted in return, his hand going back to
find the back of Jim's head, pulling him forward, angling back for an
awkward kiss.  "Love you," Blair managed.

     "Love you," Jim echoed, fastening his mouth on Blair's neck,
sucking hard, leaving his mark as Blair's completion spilled over his
hand, the younger man's body spasming frantically around the hard rod
that impaled it.  With a strangled cry, Jim came, filling Blair.

     "Wanted you so bad," Blair gasped as his head fell back against
Jim's shoulder.  Jim wound his arms tightly around his lover's body,
kissing the damp curls, the side of Blair's flushed face, licking over the
vibrant passion mark on his neck.  

     "That was so good, sweetheart," Jim whispered, kissing Blair's
ear.  

     "Feels so good to have you inside me, love."  Blair sighed.  "I
hate spending so much time apart."

     "One more semester to go, and you'll be done with the heavy
class schedule," Jim reminded him, kissing his shoulder and tightening
his hold.  "The book publicity's dying down a little."

     "It's dead as of right now.  I've done all the out of town stuff I'm
gonna do for a long time." 

     "Until the next book."

     "Maybe it won't be this big of a hit."

     "Warren Chapel?  That's a best-selling headcase if I ever met
one."  Jim smiled, kissing Blair's shoulder again.  "You're on a roll,
sweetheart.  And I'm so proud of you."

     "None of this would be happening with you."

     "You'd probably have your Ph.D. by now."

     "Jim, don't go there.  That's over, it's in the past, and honestly? 
I'm kind of enjoying this part of my life.  I really, really like my classes. 
I mean, some of the lab stuff is a real brain-bender because I'm a little
rusty with my chemistry, but it's *fascinating*.  And the book project
was...man, a real learning experience."  Blair sighed.  "It's a dark side
of our culture, these headcases like Lash and Chapel, but it's still part
of Anthropology.  It's still studying people--who they are, why they do
things, what makes them tick, what the culture does to influence them--
how they influence *it*..."

     "You want to have a nap before your class, baby?"  Jim asked
gently.

     "Feel like I could sleep for a week.  But I'll settle for a half
hour."

     "Better pull out now, baby.  If we wake up like this, you'll never
get to class tonight."

     "I hate it when you're right."  Blair moved slowly up off Jim, the
two of them shifting around until Jim was spooned around Blair,
holding him close.  

     "Feeling okay?"

     "Mmm.  Great.  I'll be thinking about you all through my class."

     "While you're sitting there, or trying to," Jim added, chuckling
evilly, "remember who this little guy belongs to."  He rubbed over
Blair's center with a single finger, making the other man squirm and
groan a little.

     "That feels good," Blair sighed, trying to push back on the
finger.  

     "Relax and enjoy it, baby," Jim purred, sliding his finger in and
out of the slick hole.  "Bet that's real sensitive, huh?  You got it good,
didn't you?"  Jim teased.

     "Mmmm," Blair responded eloquently, wiggling and moaning
again.

     "You like that when I'm inside you, hard and fast?"

     "Oh, yeah..."  Blair was drawing his knees up more, trying to
encourage Jim to deepen the stimulation.  

     "Bet your little nob's still tingling, isn't it?  Should we check?" 
Jim teased, sliding one finger out and replacing it with two, thrusting
them in deeply and rubbing the hot walls of the slick passage, denying
Blair the jolt of brushing his prostate.   He felt himself getting hard at
the shameless show of desire from Blair, who was wiggling his ass
wantonly on the fingers exploring him.  "You want to get fucked again,
baby?  Is that what you want?  Long and hard until you can't sit down
without squirming?"

     Blair actually whimpered at that, bearing down on Jim's fingers,
finally getting a few firm rubs over his prostate.

     "You didn't beat off while you were gone, did you?"  Jim asked
against Blair's ear.  "You know what you get if you do," he added,
loving the little tingle of excitement that passed through Blair at the
proprietary tone.  "Maybe I need to bend you over the couch in the
office and teach you who's in charge around here," Jim growled.

     "Yeah..."  Blair managed, a definite note of challenge in his
passion-strained voice.  "ME."  The fingers were withdrawn and Blair
found himself empty, looking over his shoulder to see a self-satisfied,
teasing grin on Jim's face.

     "Oh really?"  Jim challenged.  "We'll see about that," he teased,
rubbing just a fingertip over Blair's center, avoiding the other man's
attempts to bear down on it.  

     "Oh, God, Jim...come on!!"

     "Who's in charge here?"  Jim asked, teasingly, prodding the
edges of Blair's opening with the evil finger.

     "You," Blair gasped.

     "Good answer, Chief," Jim confirmed, sliding two fingers all
the way inside until his hand was flush against Blair's ass.

     "Ooohhh...yeah...harder..."  Blair choked out before giving in to
a series of grunts and moans that corresponded with each gentle thrust,
the occasional scream coming from a probe of Blair's prostate.  

     Blair's second climax was a bit weak when it came, but it was
intense, and when it was over, Jim gathered Blair in his arms and they
curled together, mumbling little love words and kissing lazily, spending
the last few minutes before Blair had to shower and change for his
class licking, kissing and nibbling instead of napping.  

     They finally pulled themselves up to share a shower, a bit
prolonged as Blair's talented mouth dealt with Jim's arousal.  Jim
dressed in old shorts and a tank shirt, while Blair pulled on a favorite
pair of faded jeans and a medium blue short sleeved shirt.  Gathering
up his books, he headed for the front door.

     "I won't be late.  No lab tonight," Blair said, smiling just before
Jim kissed him breathless.  

     "Love you.  Be careful," Jim said, opening the door while Blair
started through it.  Then, with a sharp swat to his backside that made
Blair yelp a little, Jim smiled evilly and said.  "Who's in charge here,
baby?"

     "I believe that would be me," Blair responded with unrepentant
arrogance.  Forestalling Jim's reply, Blair grinned.  "Everybody knows
that it's really the bottom who calls the shots."  With a skillful lurch, he
made a run for the Blazer.  Jim just leaned casually on the porch
railing, laughing.

     "You've got to come home sometime, Chief."  The look in his
eyes was absolutely predatory.

     "And when I do, it'll be your turn to *be in charge*," Blair shot
back, leaving Jim to ponder just exactly how Blair had managed to turn
bottoming into the phrase "being in charge".  Nonetheless, he felt his
cock twitch in anticipation of the "repayment" he could plan on later. 
"Love you," Blair called out the window of the truck, just before
starting it up and heading out toward the road.   

     Jim waved, smiling at the thought of what would probably be a
night of marathon lovemaking.  They'd only been apart two nights, but
it was as good an excuse as any to do it like rabbits for two more nights
to make up for the separation.

********

     Blair smiled as he glanced up from the lounge chair where he
sat reading a thick volume on serial killers.  Not exactly his favorite
summertime reading, it was wonderful background for better
understanding the motivations of nuts like Warren Chapel.  And when
you could take a break from it by checking out Jim, wet, in swimming
trunks, it was definitely bearable.

     Stephen and William Ellison were there too, the four men
having staked out a nice section of the beach for swimming, surfing
and a little cooking out.  Blair, for his part, was mostly reading in the
shade of a big beach umbrella, under the gun to get the first outline of
"Penance" completed.  The title sprang from Chapel's--and by
association, Jean Carpenter's--practice of making the victim "pay" for
his crimes through the beating that preceded the final act of murder.

     So far, the long holiday weekend had been very pleasant.  It was
obvious that Jim and Blair's relationship was going to take the elder
Ellison a while to get used to, but Blair had to give him credit for
putting his best foot forward.  He'd been polite, apologetic for the past,
and had done his best to get to know Blair a bit better during his visit.

     Stephen and Jim seemed to be building a very nice friendship,
and that made Blair happier than he could explain.  Dysfunctional as
they had been as a family unit, all three of these men loved and cared
about each other, and when some of the truly unhealthy baggage was
stripped away, the Ellison family had a lot of potential as a unit.  

     "Hey, lobster boy!"  Blair yelled at his lover, waving the bottle
of suntan lotion.

     "Lobster boy?"  Jim repeated, returning to the chair where Blair
sat, and startling the younger man by grabbing him around the middle
and pulling him out of the lounger, giving him just enough time to toss
his glasses in the chair with the abandoned book. 

     "Jim!  What the--?"  Blair sputtered as he was hauled toward the
water.

     "The serial killers'll wait for you, Chief, but I won't."  With that,
Jim tossed Blair into the water and jumped in after him, much to the
amusement of his father and brother.  

     "You are *so* dead," Blair warned as his head bobbed up above
the surface of the water, his hair hanging in his face like dark seaweed.

     "I bet you know some good ways to kill me now, don't you?" 
Jim started swimming away from Blair, the unspoken challenge for
him to give chase.  

     a lot of splashing and aborted grabs ensued, until Jim finally let
himself be caught, only marginally able to keep ahead of Blair anyway. 
What Blair lacked in the length of his limbs, he had in strength and
determination.  They were a good distance from the shore when they
ended up in each other's arms, kissing and laughing, chests heaving
from the expended effort of escaping one another.

     "Your dad might freak out if he has to *watch*, Jim," Blair
said, pulling back a little.

     "I hadn't planned on having sex out here.  And he has to get
used to seeing me hold you or kiss you or touch you like I would if you
were my female significant other."

     "Yeah, but you're going to have to have a little mercy on the
guy.  Let him get used to us together, let him adjust.  He's trying, Jim.  I
think if we break him in gradually, he'll handle all of it eventually."

     "Come on, Darwin.  Let's go have a hot dog and you can tell me
what you learned out of that ominous book you were reading."  

     As the four men sat around on the big blanket, eating hot dogs
and talking about a whole slew of subjects, the topic of Blair's writing
came up.

     "So when is the next best seller coming out?"  Stephen asked.

     "Probably not until late fall--you know, just in time for
Christmas gift-buying," Blair added, rolling his eyes.  "Sid's idea, not
mine," he clarified.

     "I'm surprised you consented to work with that crook after what
he did with your dissertation," William observed.

     "It was more like him having to make a deal with the devil not
to get sued.  The devil being me, incidentally."  Blair smiled and flexed
his eyebrows.  Jim laughed at that.

     "Yeah, we needed a new furnace, so Blair takes off without
telling me what he's doing, and comes back with a nice fat advance in
his hand."

     "If you ever give up innkeeping, I could probably find
something devious for you to do in our company, Blair," Stephen
quipped, laughing.

     "Between the books and the inn and college, I think I'm pretty
booked right now."

     "I thought the nasty side of police work was what you always
hated," Jim's father probed.

     "You mean the whole serial killer slant of my books?  Yeah,
you're right, and I still hate it.  But I understand it better now, and
actually, if you can get past the gross-out factor, it's fascinating.  What
drives someone to commit atrocities like that, how our society
produces these...*creatures* like Lash, Chapel--or the big names like
Bundy and Gacy.  From an anthropological and sociological
perspective, it's fascinating--and there's something very valuable about
learning how these people think, how to spot them, how to track them,
and what happens to our children to raise people like them."

     "So why the Forensic Science degree?"  Stephen asked.

     "It's not a degree--it's a certificate.  It's sort of similar to getting
a minor in it.  And I'm taking some criminology and criminal justice
classes.  It makes writing a lot easier--I can better understand the
evidence, the autopsy reports, the procedures...  And learning more
about the field gives me better insights as an author."

     "Yeah, before long, he's going to know more about the criminal
justice system than I do.  He probably does now."  Jim smiled fondly at
his lover and rested a hand on his back.  "I don't know how he keeps up
that schedule and produces something decent on paper for his writing
projects."

     "Probably because I have somebody making sure I eat and
doing the stuff around here I don't have time to do," Blair responded,
returning Jim's look with one of his own, just as full of love.

     "You pull your share around here, sweetheart.  Don't sell
yourself short," Jim responded, surprising Blair a little by openly using
the endearment in front of his father.  To his further surprise, the elder
Ellison didn't flinch, nor did he show any particular reaction as he
worked on eating his hot dog.  Maybe there was hope for this little
fence-mending project yet.

     "I've said it before to Jimmy, but I think I ought to say it again,
when we're all here."  Taking a deep breath, Jim's father continued. 
"I'm sorry about my initial reaction when Jim told me about the two of
you.  I admit it's taking me some time to get used to it, but it's
important to me, Blair, that you know it's not personal.  I never had
anything against you--I still don't...  This isn't coming out very well."

     "I think it's coming out great," Blair responded.  "We hit you
with a totally new idea--one you didn't like.  The important thing is that
you can get past it.  And I appreciate the clarification--I didn't really
think it was me, but it's still nice to hear."

     "It's hard teaching an old dog new tricks, Blair.  But I'm
working on it," he said, chuckling a little.

********

     As the Fall semester began, Blair could honestly say he was
happy to be into the final stretch of his latest educational venture.  He
loved the classes, and found the new information interesting, but he
also found himself spread paper thin over a multitude of projects.  He
was into the heat of writing the book on Warren Chapel, the inn was
thankfully busier now than it was the prior year, and they could
actually say that it was beginning to look like a profitable venture.

     It was on a quiet Wednesday afternoon, when Jim was in
Bangor picking up supplies and running a few errands, that Blair
received the phone call that would further complicate his already
overburdened life.  He was using the office computer to work on his
book, keys clicking madly as he wove the story of Chapel's troubled
childhood and the first signs of his abnormal behavior.

     "Beacon Pointe Inn," Blair answered, most of his concentration
still on the screen in front of him.

     "Is this Blair Sandburg?"  a male voice asked.

     "Speaking."

     "Mr. Sandburg, my name is Detective Adam Kelley, I'm with
the Bayport PD.  I don't know if you're familiar with Bayport at all?"

     "Somewhat," Blair stated, rolling his eyes.  He was more
familiar with Bayport than he cared to be.

     "Well, we've had a couple of homicides here in recent months,
and I'm very concerned that they're not only related, but that we might
have a serial murderer on our hands here.  I was wondering if you ever
did any consulting work?"

     "Ah, well, I used to be a consultant to the Major Crimes
Division at the Cascade PD in Washington State.  I rode with one of
their detectives for about three years.  I haven't been doing that lately."

     "Well, our problem is that we aren't getting clearance from our
superiors to bring in the FBI on this.  They don't feel the link is strong
enough between the cases.  I'm operating on something of a gut feeling
here, but we've had maybe six homicides here in the last twenty-five
years, and now we have two in four months, both young women."  He
paused, then added, "I was hoping perhaps you might consider
reviewing the case files with me, see if there's any pattern or similarity
that you pick up on."

     "How did you happen to call on me?  From the book?"

     "Mostly.  That book really made the rounds around the
department here, and a colleague noticed in your biographical sketch
that you were living near Gull Coast, and we thought maybe you'd be
willing to consult with us."

     "I'd be glad to help any way I can.  My schedule is a little crazy
right now--I'm in college full time, and I'm co-owner of the Beacon
Pointe Inn, and I'm working on a second book.  I don't know what kind
of commitment of time I can promise."

     "Even if you'll just give us a couple of hours to go over the files,
see if anything jumps out at you.  I don't want to say more than that,
because I don't want to color your judgements of the situation."

     "Right.  Well," Blair dug around in the pile of his things on the
desk near the computer, locating the small day planner, "I could take a
drive over there tomorrow, probably in the afternoon.  I have a class in
the evening."

     "Would two o'clock be convenient?"  the other man asked
hopefully.

     "That should work."  Blair jotted it own in his book. 
"Whereabouts in Bayport are you located?"

     "Do you know where the college is?"

     "Yes," Blair replied, curling his lip.  Of all the local
landmarks...  He was only too familiar with that landmark.

     "We're on Radcliff Street, about six blocks South of the
campus.  You can't miss us--we're the big gray granite building in the
center of downtown.  Says 'police station' right over the door," he
quipped.  

     "If I can't track that down, I probably won't be much help to you
anyway," Blair returned, laughing a little.  "Okay, two o'clock
Wednesday.  I'll just ask for you?"

     "Yes."

     "I don't know yet if he's free that day, but I'd really like my
partner to be in on this.  He's the detective I rode with in Cascade."

     "Ellison, wasn't it?"

     "Yes."

     "That would be even better."

     "It's really refreshing that you're not letting local egos hamper
this investigation."

     "I've lived here all my life, and I know both victims' families." 
There was a slight pause.  "I dated one of the victims a few years ago. 
This is no time for any of us to grab for glory--I feel like someone has
just started killing off our young women, and I want to stop the bastard
before he goes any further."

     "I hope we can help.  See you Wednesday."

     "Thanks again, Mr. Sandburg."

     "Blair, please."

     "Blair.  I'm looking forward to meeting you."

     "Likewise."  

     After hanging up, Blair stared at the phone a little worriedly. 
He'd learned a lot in the last several months, but he'd never been called
on to actually apply it to a real case--at least, not to a case outside the
controlled environment of a classroom case study.  Real lives were at
stake.  Real victims had died...

     "Hey, Chief," Jim greeted, coming into the office carrying a
white plastic bag from one of the various discount stores in Bangor.

     "Hey, Jim.  How was Bangor?"

     "Busy.  You sure can tell the tourists are here," Jim responded,
leaning down to kiss Blair's mouth quickly.  "How's the book coming?"

     "Pretty well.  I've got most of chapter one done.  Remember a
while back when we read about those murders in Bayport?"

     "Yeah," Jim sat against the edge of the desk.

     "Well, I just got a call from a Detective Adam Kelley at the
Bayport PD, asking if I'd serve as a consultant to their department in
the investigation.  They think it might be a serial killer, but they're not
sure, and the evidence isn't strong enough to convince the big bosses to
call in the Feds."

     "That's great, Chief.  You gonna do it?"

     "Uh, yeah...but...I, uh...sort of...mentioned that you might, you
know, be willing to...sit in with us."

     "You sure you want me to do that?  He asked for you, not me."

     "When I mentioned you, he was delighted.  He said he knew the
victims, and he really wants to get to the bottom of this as soon as
possible."

     "I'd be glad to.  When are you going over there?"

     "Unfortunately not until Wednesday.  I have class tonight, and I
have to meet with my advisor tomorrow, plus I'm really under the gun
here to get the first few chapters.  So I set it up for two o'clock
Wednesday afternoon."

     "I think I can pencil that in," Jim responded, smiling.  "What's
the guest line up look like that day?"

     "We have two new arrivals expected, but I was thinking maybe
Tony could watch the office for a couple hours," Blair said, referring to
a young man who tended bar at The Longshoreman Bar in Gull Coast. 
Tony was the grandson of Tillie, the elderly lady who managed the
general store, and he had proven very reliable when they had hired him
to watch the office on a few occasions when both of them had to leave.

     "Okay.  If Tony can cover for us, I'm available."

     "Great.  I'll call him right now."

********

     Detective Kelley hadn't lied when he said the Bayport PD was
easy to find.  It was the most significant building in the nostalgic
downtown business district, and the only one with two police cars
parked on the street in front of it.  

     "Not exactly the parking garage at the Cascade PD, is it?"  Jim
quipped as he found a parking spot in the small lot behind the building. 


     "I can't believe these guys have much to do here.  The crime
rate can't be very high."

     "Well, I guess they cover Gull Coast and a couple of other little
tourist trap towns around here."  Jim turned off the engine and got out
of the truck, Blair following until they fell into step together, heading
for the front entrance.  

     "We need to get pumpkins," Blair said, spotting a food market
down the street with a display near the sidewalk.

     "You gonna do the haunted forest thing again with the trees?"

     "Oh, those ghosts I made last year?  Sure.  They're still stored in
the old oil house out back."

     "I was thinking maybe we could get some of those plastic
tombstones and put them around on the ground, too."

     "Great idea!"  Blair nudged Jim with his elbow.  "I never
thought I'd get you in the spirit of Halloween decorating."

     "Well, hey, that place has lots of character.  More fun than
putting a pumpkin on the coffee table back at the loft."

     Once they entered the building, they quickly located the desk
sergeant, who escorted them back to Detective Kelley's desk, which
was located in a large, high-ceilinged room with a number of other
plainclothes cops.

     Adam Kelley was about six feet tall and well built, with thick,
carefully styled brown hair and a mustache.  He appeared to be about
Jim's age, and was dressed in a white shirt, open at the neck with an
equally loosened blue striped tie around it.  He rose when the desk
sergeant introduced his two visitors.  After their initial handshakes, he
got right down to business.

     "I really appreciate the two of you coming here today.  Why
don't we use the Chief's office?"  He led them through the open room
and across the hall into another office suite, where a secretary was
clicking away on a computer keyboard.  "Karen, we're going to use the
big boss's office for a while," he said.  The older lady with the curly
blonde hair looked up and smiled pleasantly.

     "I don't think he'll object, Adam," she retorted with a little
laugh.

     Opening the door to the private office, Detective Kelley stood
back and waved his visitors inside.  There was an oval conference table
at one end of the nicely appointed room, surrounded by six chairs.  In
the center of the table was an ominous stack of files and paperwork. 

     "Have a seat.  Would either of you like coffee?  Soft drinks?"

     "Coffee would be great," Blair responded, and Jim agreed. 
When all three were seated with coffee Detective Kelley obtained from
the machine near Karen's desk, he pulled the stack of files closer to
himself and began the task of guiding his visitors through the case
history.

     "The first victim was Sheila Ryan, a 30-year-old nurse who
worked at the local hospital here.  Her body was found on the bank of
Bayport Lake, on the outskirts of town.  She had been stabbed
repeatedly."  

     "Was there any sexual assault?"  Jim asked as Blair accepted
the file, opening it and spreading out the content so both Jim and he
could review it.  

     "Yes.  She was raped and beaten, then stabbed repeatedly.  It's
all in the autopsy report."   

     "Certainly must be a very angry individual," Blair observed,
reading through the autopsy report, shaking his head.  "It sounds more
like a *hacking* than a stabbing, judging by the nature of the wounds."

     "That's a fair assessment, I guess."

     "Was the rape post mortem?"  Blair asked, jotting notes down
on a small pad he produced from his jacket pocket.

     "No, she was still alive at the time of the sexual assault.  You'll
notice further on in the autopsy report, it details a series of what the
M.E. considered 'defense wounds'."  Detective Kelley paused.  "The
second victim was Arlene Olson--her father is on the Board of Regents
at Bayport College--*Olson Hall*?"

     "Wealthy family, obviously," Jim observed.

     "Very.  She was 36 years old, a counselor at a shelter for
battered women in Bangor."  He shook his head.  "She was raped and
then bludgeoned to death with a blunt object."  He passed the file over.

     "She was the woman you knew personally?"  Blair asked,
noticing Kelley's slightly strained demeanor when discussing her.

     "Yes.  We saw each other briefly a few years ago...I know the
family."

     "She resembles Sheila Ryan quite a bit.  Is that one of the things
that made you consider these cases related?"  Jim asked.

     "I thought it was a possibility, but also the fact that we haven't
had two young women raped and killed in this town...well, *ever*. 
And now we have two within a short span of time?"

     "It was two months between Sheila's death and Arlene's...and
Arlene was killed at the end of August.  So if this is a pattern, the killer
must be about due to strike again," Blair commented, leaning back in
his chair.  

     "Obviously the murders took place elsewhere and the bodies
dumped.  Arlene was found in a field outside of town, but there was no
extensive amount of blood near her body or near Sheila's, correct?" 
Jim asked.

     "That's right.  Sheila was wrapped in a large garbage bag and
Arlene was wrapped in a blanket and then a plastic drop cloth."

     "Hm."  Blair shook his head.  "It's like the killer disposed of
Sheila, but took care of Arlene," he observed, and Kelley frowned.  Jim
nodded in agreement.  As usual, they were thinking in synch.  "See,
with Sheila, the killer stuffed her body in a trash bag--just like you'd
dispose of any kind of trash.  With Arlene, he wraps her in a *blanket*,
and then wraps her in plastic, and dumps the body."  Blair went back
through the papers.  

     "What're you looking for, Chief?"  Jim asked.

     "The sites where they were found--I'm wondering how they
were dumped."

     "You're thinking that if your theory is valid, Sheila would have
been *dumped* while Arlene was *left* there, right?"

     "Exactly.  It would go a long way toward proving that theory if
the killer was rough in his handling of Sheila's body, and gentle in his
handling of Arlene's."

     "What difference does it make?  He murdered both of them--he
certainly wasn't gentle with Arlene when he smashed her head in,"
Kelley objected.

     "That was in the heat of passion--in the act of killing.  But when
he cooled down and had to deal with the details...  Maybe it's two
different guys then.  I just see a real difference in how he handled one
victim as opposed to the other."

     "It says here that there were tire tracks onto the shoulder of the
road not far from where Arlene was found in the field...and footprints
leading out to the spot where the corpse was left."

     "There are a lot of tire tracks on the shoulders of roads," Kelley
stated, shaking his head.  We certainly couldn't glean anything
conclusive from that."

     "What about the footprints?"  Jim asked.

     "Men's athletic shoe, size 12."

     "Good-sized perp, obviously," Jim added.  "I see that in Sheila's
case, there's evidence the body was tossed from the path that's at the
top of the hill--so he probably released the body up there, and it rolled
down to the edge of the water."

     "Maybe he was aiming for the water, but didn't want to go down
there."

     "Maybe," Jim agreed with Blair's idea.  

     "So you don't think the two homicides are related?"  Kelley
prodded.

     "Well," Blair shrugged and sat back, "I can see an argument
either way.  How about you, Jim?"

     "I have to agree with that.  There are some really noticeable
common elements here--two young women, similar in appearance, both
raped and brutally murdered.  Bodies dumped in remote locations on
the outskirts of town.  And given the usual homicide rate around here,
the fact they were murdered at all puts it in the realm of possibility that
it could be the same guy."  Jim shook his head.  "On the other hand, we
have two victims who didn't know each other--?"  He looked toward
Kelley, who nodded a confirmation.  "And were murdered with
different weapons, the bodies dumped in manners that are similar on
the surface but not on closer analysis.  In a big city setting, we'd
probably look at the coincidences but not necessarily draw any great
conclusions from it, unless a third victim showed up, God forbid."

     "There's something about this that just isn't right," Blair said,
sifting through the papers again.  "I mean, it's like this guy murdered
these two women, motivated by some kind of *anger*, but then totally
changes his M.O. for how he wraps the body for disposal."

     "Maybe he was out of trash bags," Kelley offered, shrugging.

     "Sure, that's possible.  I just don't know why this doesn't *feel*
right."

     "I agree with you, Chief.  There's something here that's not
adding up."  Jim paused, then asked Kelley, "Could we have a look at
the physical evidence?"  

     "Sure.  Follow me."  

     They made their way downstairs to the basement level and
approached a stocky, older cop who was working at the counter.  

     "Hank--I need to see the stuff from the Ryan and Olson
homicides," Kelley said.

     "Hey, you're Blair Sandburg," the older man said, rising and
holding out a hand to Blair, who shook it with a smile.

     "That's me."

     "Your book on that Lash nut was great.  Read it for eight hours
straight one night down here.  Had me jumping at shadows," he
admitted, laughing.  

     "Thanks.  I'm glad you enjoyed it.  This is my partner, Jim
Ellison."

     "The one who saved the day--yeah, I remember him," Hank
joked, shaking hands with Jim.

     "Yeah, he's saved more than one for me," Blair said, smiling up
at Jim, who returned it with a little pat to Blair's back.

     "I think it's usually a team effort," Jim responded.

     "I'll go get that stuff for you."  Hank disappeared into the
evidence room and returned with two small cartons, one stacked on top
of the other.  He set them side by side on the counter, and Kelley
opened the first one, labeled from the Olson homicide.  "Is there
something in here that you think'll help you get a handle on the killer?" 
Hank asked, obviously wanting to see the author of one of his favorite
books at work for real.

     "We hope so," Blair responded.  "Oh, man, this is weird."  

     "What?"  Kelley asked, pausing as he unloaded a plastic-wrapped 
blanket, brightly printed with a Southwestern-type pattern.

     "I've seen that blanket before.  Damn, I just can't remember
where."

     "Think, Chief.  If you recognized it--could it be similar to one
you've got at home, or a similar pattern to something you've seen
somewhere else?"

     "No.  I saw *that* blanket.  I liked the way the colors blended--and 
the pattern itself.  I remember because I liked it.  But I don't
remember where I saw it.  It's like I only saw it for a second or two..." 
Blair shook his head.  "Damn..."

     "There has to be more than one of them in the world like this," 
Jim opined, looking it over.

     "Possibly, but not many of them around these parts," Blair
responded.  "I think it's handmade.  Is it okay to touch it?"

     "Sure.  All the samples have been taken from it."  The detective
removed the plastic covering and stepped back while Blair felt the
fabric and looked at the edges.

     "There's no manufacturer's label, and this looks *exactly* like
some of the blankets I've seen on real Indian reservations--Naomi has a
few of them at her place."  He looked at Kelley and Hank.  "My
mother," he added, smiling. 

     "So maybe it's like one of hers?"  Hank asked.

     "No--these colors are quite dark.  Hers are very vibrant, bright
colors--yellows, oranges, reds, greens.  This is all deeper, darker colors
and tones."  Blair shrugged.  "Sorry.  I can't place it."

     "Hopefully it'll come to you.  But even that information is
helpful.  The killer obviously has some feeling for Native American
art, or has traveled somewhere he could buy something like this."
     
     "Or knows someone who would give it to him for a gift," Jim
added.

     "If we assume it's something he had handy that he used to wrap
her up in, it could mean that we should expect his dwelling to have
some kind of Native American or Southwestern flavor to the decor,"
Kelley added.
     
     "Can we get more information on the victims?  Like profiles on
their lives, their activities, things like that?"  Blair asked, moving away
from the blanket as Detective Kelley put it back in its plastic bag.

     "Some of that's in the files, some of it is part of my notes.  I can
put something together for you," he offered.

     "That would be helpful.  If we could get a better feeling for the
victims and their backgrounds and activities...maybe something will
stand out."

     "Excuse me," Karen said from the stairs which were in view of
the evidence counter.  "Detective Kelley, Councilman Franklin is on
the phone for 'whoever's in charge'--you want to handle it?  Everyone
upstairs is either out on calls or doesn't want to take this one," she
added with a little chuckle.

     "Tell him I'm in a meeting.  I'll call him back."

     "He isn't going to like that."

     "I'll get a hold of him before the end of the day."  He shrugged,
and she mirrored the gesture and headed back upstairs.  "I'll be glad
when they get on the stick and get a new chief in place.  Chief Tanner
resigned last month--got a position in Rhode Island--and the city
council is still dragging their feet with the whole process.  Shit, I hate
politics."

     "So you're in charge?"

     "I'm the highest-ranking detective right now, so I guess that
means I'm it.  I'll see what I can put together for you on the victims.  It
should just take a few minutes."

********

     "So what's really bothering you about this case, Chief?"  Jim
served his partner a piece of the pizza they were sharing, then took one
for himself.  The small Italian restaurant was about four blocks from
the police station.

     "I can't put my finger on it.  The difference in weapons troubles
me a little, but the disposal of the bodies troubles me most.  Maybe we
*should* just look at this as two different guys.  I mean, a stabbing and
a bludgeoning are quite different."

     "Both are extremely violent--and rather personal ways--of
killing someone.  A gun is neat, impersonal--just aim and shoot."

     "But think about this.  Sheila was raped, then stabbed to death. 
Her body was stuffed in a trash bag and rolled down a hill.  Now,
Arlene, on the other hand, was bludgeoned--but according to the
coroner's report, one of the first blows would have knocked her out. 
The autopsy wasn't conclusive on whether or not she was conscious
during the rape--there were no defense wounds, and it's a pretty safe
assumption she didn't *feel* many of the blows, if that first major one
to her head knocked her out.  Then, when he's done, the killer wraps
her in a blanket, and then when he gets to the dump site, *carries* her
there, and *lays* her on the ground."

     "There's an element of a sick sort of tenderness in there that's
not present in the other killing."

     "Exactly!"  Blair shook his head.  "I think Kelley's on the wrong
track saying this is the same guy.  I think it just *looks* similar--lots of
coincidences."

     "We need to take a look at the press coverage, and see how
much detail was given out in the papers.  Maybe it was a copy cat.  If
they didn't give details on how the murder was carried out..."  Jim
shrugged.

     "I sort of doubt that.  I mean, considering these are like one of
the only handful of homicides they've had here, it had to be huge news,
with every gory detail in the press."

     "I remember seeing a few articles on it in the local paper in
Gull Coast.  Nothing major--a few small blurbs."

     "Must be tough for Adam--he knew the second victim, even
dated her a while."

     "Hopefully they weren't too serious.  I doubt he'd be on the case
if they were."

     "Who'd take him off?  With no chief, and him being the top-ranking 
detective..."  Blair reached for another piece of pizza.  "I just
have to remember where I've seen that damn blanket.  I suppose it
could just be one similar to one I've seen, but I don't think so."

     "Maybe something'll jump out at us when we have some time to
read up on the victims," Jim suggested.  "What?"  He looked at Blair,
who was just watching him with a big grin on his face.

     "I was thinking that this just felt so much like the old days.  It's
nice."

     "I had that thought myself."  Jim smiled back, sliding his hand
over to hold Blair's hand, their fingers lacing together.  "But this is
better than the old days.  Back then we wouldn't go home and read the
files in bed together."

     "I'm going to be really glad when this semester is over.  I hate
being so busy.  I feel like I'm missing too much of our life."

     "You're not missing anything, sweetheart.  You're rebuilding. 
That takes some effort."

     "What about you?  Jim, be honest with me.  You've got to be
about stir crazy with running the inn--a lot of the time by yourself."

     "I'm going to have to do something else eventually to keep the
old gray matter from drying up, but I'm okay.  We're taking it one step
at a time."  Jim pulled Blair's hand up and kissed the back of it.  "We'll
get there eventually."

     "But it feels like I'm taking all the steps.  It doesn't seem fair.  I
mean, I've got a whole new career with the books, and I'm in school
again, and you're...still at the Inn."

     "And I'm out of the spotlight and off the hook about the whole
sentinel mess, and I'm relaxed, my senses have never been easier to
control--and you wouldn't be rebuilding your life if you hadn't trashed it
to save mine."

     "I love you so much...I just want to be sure you're happy."

     "I am, baby.  Happier than I've ever been.  I'm a little bored
professionally right now, but I'll deal with that when the time's right."

     "I was thinking...maybe we ought to go home and I ought to
play hooky from writing and we could put off the victim profiles for a
few hours..."

     "Let's get this baby boxed up and hit the road."  Jim smiled and
flexed his eyebrows.

********

     The pizza was tossed into the fridge carelessly before the two
men made their way up to the bedroom, taking time to turn back the
bed and strip off their clothes.  Both wanted to make the most of this
stolen time to just enjoy each other, with the responsibilities of the
world held at bay.  Tony was still minding the office, Blair had given
himself a day off from writing, and the information from the Bayport
PD case would wait until later that night.

     They started out slowly, stretching out on their sides, arms
wrapping around each other, legs tangling together, thoroughly and
lazily exploring every bit of each other's mouths.  Neither man was sure
how long they spent that way, both content to share the simple intimacy
of kissing, naked bodies pressed close together, hands roaming,
exploring.

     "69?"  Jim suggested, nibbling on Blair's ear.

     "Perfect," Blair agreed, hugging Jim once, tightly, before they
shifted positions.  

     Blair nuzzled and licked at Jim's balls, reaching around to trace 
his lover's center with a saliva-slicked fingertip.  He could feel the
sensations of what he was doing mirrored by Jim, and moaned a bit at
what he knew the other man was doing--following him through each
move, doing exactly to Blair what he was doing to Jim, until both men
would feel as if he were causing his own pleasure with each move.  

     Knowing what he wanted to feel most, he engulfed the head of
Jim's hardening shaft in his mouth, teasing the head with his tongue,
increasing the activity of his finger as it circled the little pucker, then
poked inside, rubbing gently.  Their whimpers of pleasure were trapped
in the backs of their throats as their mouths were busied pleasuring
each other.  Not sure if they wanted the completion their bodies were
starting to demand, or the prolonged intimacy of their positions, they
vacillated between putting serious pressure on each other's cocks and
then withholding the final stimulations that would push them over the
edge.

     Blair felt the hot wetness around his cock retreat, and he
released Jim, looking down into his lover's face with a little confusion.

     "Why don't you finish up in me, baby?"  Jim gently rolled
Blair's balls in his hand while he posed the question, and it was all
Blair could do to pull back and not thrust into that hand, and come
before he could ever meet Jim's request.  

     Without waiting for an answer, Jim located the lube and tossed
it to Blair with a little grin.  Since his head was already at the head of
the bed, he rolled over and spread his legs while Blair rose up on his
knees between the spread legs.  Leaning down, Blair dragged his
tongue in broad strokes over Jim's left cheek, then moved to the right. 
The larger man was humping the mattress until Blair placed one strong
hand at the small of his back.

     "You keep that up, babe, and you're going to get there without
me," he scolded.  "Bad boys who hump the mattress have to get up on
their knees so they aren't tempted," he teased, moving back a little as
Jim wordlessly complied with that directive, giving Blair a delicious
view of the perfect ass, spread open, the little pucker looking out at
him tantalizingly, still a bit slick from the wet finger that had played
with it earlier.  

     "I'm ready, Chief," Jim panted, and Blair leaned forward,
dragging his tongue over Jim's center.  

     "Settle down, lover.  We'll get there."  Blair paused, grinning. 
"When I say so."

     "Sandburg."  It was a bit of controlled frustration and an
attempt to sound intimidating.  As usual, Blair was undaunted,
spreading the gel on his fingers and sliding one into Jim, spreading the
lube and wiggling the finger enough to make the other man writhe
shamelessly along with it.  

     When he was satisfied he'd teased Jim enough, he slid two
fingers inside the snug passage, scissoring them and stretching, letting
one fingertip brush Jim's prostate.  The other man's head shot up off his
folded arms, the second, firmer rub over the little nub made him cry
out and rise up on his arms.

     "Do it, Chief.  Come on, baby."

     "I'm coming, lover.  God, you're incredible.  Beautiful," Blair
gasped out, coating himself and rising up behind Jim.  "Love you." 
With that, he began slowly sheathing himself inside the tight passage,
goaded by Jim to finally slide in all the way in one quick move.  

     "Give it to me, baby," Jim ground out, and Blair was in no
condition to argue.  Gripping Jim's hips, he rocked behind his lover,
moving in and out in rapid strokes, Jim moving back to meet his thrusts
until their sweaty bodies slapped together satisfyingly, their grunts and
moans mingling.

     "So tight...God, Jim...so *good*," Blair managed, moving
faster, pumping harder, giving Jim the kind of drilling that Blair knew
he himself loved, that always made him scream and grab the
headboard, the pleasure so intense it hurt.  He angled his thrusts to hit
Jim's prostate over and over, not happy until he had the larger man
screaming like a banshee, overtaken with complete wild sexual
abandon, sweat pouring down his back, muscles tensing and untensing
in rhythm with their sex, ass writhing wantonly, trying to increase the
intensity of the fucking.  "Yeah, baby, move that sweet ass for me. 
Ugh...yeah..."  Blair gave up on words, but he knew a few of the right
ones had a definite effect on Jim.

     "Harder...come on, baby, fuck me...ugh...oh yeah..."  Jim ground
out, finally doing what Blair had come to call the "headboard clutch", a
sure sign that the big moment was close at hand. //Hand...//

     Blair's hand went down to Jim's leaking shaft and started
pumping, hard and fast.  With an animal cry of pleasure, Jim reached
his climax, bathing Blair's hand and the bed, his tunnel clenching and
spasming around Blair, whose climax followed closely, as he made his
final frantic thrusts into Jim's overheated body.  

     Slumped in a heap on the bed, Blair plastered to Jim's sweaty
back, still inside him, they did their best to share a few awkward kisses.

     "Jim...oh my God..."  Blair let that statement stand, kissing his
way across the broad shoulders.

     "Best ever, baby," Jim sighed, completely boneless and totally
sated.  

     "So I guess I'm not the only bottom slut around here anymore,
huh?"  Blair teased.  "God, you're so gorgeous with your ass pumping
like that.  I could come just watching you on your knees with it up in
the air."

     "You could, huh?"  Jim smiled over his shoulder.  "We'll have
to experiment with that next time."

     "I'm gonna pull out now."  Blair eased out of Jim and moved
aside so Jim could move.  Settling on his back, Blair waited for Jim to
curl up around him, head on his chest.  There was nothing Blair loved
more when the hot, wild sex was over than a long cuddle to reaffirm
the love behind it.  He wanted to return that favor to Jim, being the
"cuddle*or*" instead of the "cuddle*ee*"...//if those are even words,//
Blair thought, laughing to himself.  "I love you."

     "I love you too," Jim replied softly, the sound of the sleep of the
sated tinging his voice.

     "Nap time?"  Blair asked, grinning.

     "You got it," Jim said through a yawn.  In moments, he was
sleeping.  As much as Blair wanted to stay awake and watch his lover
sleep, he felt his own heavy schedule catching up with him, combining
with the delicious post-orgasm lassitude, and succumbed to the lure of
sleep.

********

     Jim was jolted out of his comfortable sleeping position when
Blair lurched awake, heart pounding, drenched in sweat.

     "What's wrong, sweetheart?"  he asked sleepily, second nature
prompting him to scan the environment for anything out of the
ordinary.  Only Blair's disturbed state and the usual sounds of the wind
and the ocean reached Jim's ears.

     "Oh, man, that was nasty."  Blair let out a long sigh.  

     "Nightmare?"

     "Yeah...  It's so weird.  I've been going over some really ugly,
unpleasant *stuff* since I got into this writing deal, but for some
reason, I guess this case just...*got to me*."

     "You want to talk about the dream?"  Jim raised up on one
elbow, running the backs of his fingers along Blair's arm.

     "I was in this...*room*--like a living room or a den or
something, and that blanket was on the couch, I think, and somebody
came at me, but I couldn't see his face, and we were fighting, and he
had a knife..."  Blair swallowed hard and took a deep breath.  "Man, I
didn't expect this to freak me out this way."

     "We don't have to follow through on working this case, Chief. 
It's just a voluntary thing--not part of our jobs anymore."

     "But I want to be involved with it.  I want to help get to the
bottom of it."  Blair shook his head.  "There's something *wrong* here,
something I can't put my finger on."  Blair sat up, drawing up his knees
a bit and resting his arms on them. 

     "Maybe it was a copy cat who didn't have the same tools handy,
or who didn't have the stomach to use a knife.  Maybe some lunatic
wanted to off his girlfriend and make it look like the same guy who
killed Sheila killed Arlene.  She was seeing some guy from some other
little town around here, wasn't she?"  Jim referred to the profile they'd
only glanced at earlier.

     "That's a thought.  I mean, it would explain the difference in
M.O.'s, and the fact that Arlene's death wasn't as...prolonged and
painful as Sheila's."

     "I'll go get the profiles, huh?"  Jim suggested.

     "Let's grab a shower, the left over pizza, and then get the
profiles and bring 'em up here--sound good?"

     "Great."  Jim got up, and reached back to pull Blair to his feet. 
Looking down at his lover, he smiled and wrapped his arms around the
smaller man's waist, hoisting him up a few inches off the floor.  He
staggered a little to adjust as strong legs wrapped around him.  

     "You planning on carrying me?"  Blair asked, grinning.

     "Not with your legs wrapped around me like that.  I can't walk,
Chief."  Jim kissed the full lips.

     "Oh, right."  Blair released his lover and landed back on his
own two feet.  He had to chuckle at Jim sniffing the air and making a
horrible face.

     "This smelled a lot better fresh," he commented, pulling Blair
along behind him toward the bathroom.

     After a long shower with a number of distractions, the two men
ended up back in bed, reheated pizza on the nightstand (having
unseated the lamp from its usual place), victim profiles in hand. 
Glasses in place, Blair was studying Arlene Olson's profile carefully.

     "Hand me my robe, will you?"  Blair asked, shivering a little.

     "I can turn up the heat," Jim offered.

     "Nah.  Then you'll roast."  Blair took the robe Jim handed him
and put it on over his t-shirt and sweat pants.  

     "Get over here."  Jim held out an arm, and Blair scooted happily
up against his lover, soaking up the warmth of the larger man's body
like a greedy sponge.

     "Arlene was dating some guy named Walt Parsons.  Looks like
he's from Bayport too.  They questioned him but didn't have any
evidence on him.  He's about my height, wears a size 9 « shoe."

     "Well, that leaves him out as the likely one to have disposed of
the body.  I don't think he could navigate in a pair of size 12's."

     "Well, I'm an 8 «, and you know how well it worked that time
you tried to loan me your boots--remember on that fishing trip?"

     "I think Simon has a picture of you trying to walk in those
things."  Jim laughed, shaking his head.  "So I guess good old Walt's
not too likely a suspect.  We know she dated Adam Kelley a while
back, but I wonder who else?"

     "Wouldn't it be bizarre...?  No, that'd be too bizarre, man."

     "What?" 

     "If Kelley did it?"

     "I really don't think he did.  If he did, he was awfully calm
about it.  I didn't get any impression that he was lying or covering
anything up today."

     "You'd probably know if something was wrong."  Blair let his
head drop back against Jim's shoulder.  "Maybe there's somebody else. 
There *has* to be."

     "Maybe we should be looking at Sheila's case this hard."

     "I think Sheila's death is the one everyone has to be worried
about.  Everything about it screams out as the work of a violent
psychopath."

     "And Arlene's *doesn't*?"

     "Well, yeah, but it's...well, it's just different.  Too different." 
Blair yawned widely.  "We'll have to call Adam tomorrow and see if he
can come up with anything else on Arlene."

     "You ready to call it a night, Chief?"

     "Yeah.  Hope I don't have any more of those damn dreams.
Man, that was *ugly*."

     "Just hang onto me, sweetheart.  Come on, let's put this stuff
away for now."  Jim piled up the files and slid down in the bed, pulling
Blair into his arms, rubbing his back in soothing circles.  He took
Blair's glasses from him and set them carefully on top of the file
folders, then turned out the light.

     "I love you," Blair said quietly, winding his arm firmly around
Jim's middle.

     "I love you too, Chief."  Jim smiled into the curls tickling the
lower half of his face.  "Sleep tight, sweetheart.  Just good thoughts,
huh?"

     "Yeah...thinkin' about earlier."

     "You're supposed to be going to sleep."

     "I am.  I'm just remembering, that's all," Blair replied with a
smile.  "G'night, Jim."

     "'night, Chief."  Jim kissed the top of Blair's head and cuddled
him close, dozing off almost as soon as he felt the relaxation of sleep
flowing through the younger man's body.

********

     "Blair?  What is it?"  Jim looked down at the man curled around
him, watching the dark lashes move with the rhythm of blinking.  He
wasn't sure how long Blair had been awake, or what had happened to
disturb himself sufficiently to join his lover in that state.  "Nightmare?" 
he asked, tightening his arms around the smaller body.

     "I know where I saw the blanket."

     "Where?"  Jim picked up on the tension in Blair's voice.

     "In Arthur Whitcombe's house."

     "What?"  Jim looked down at Blair, who didn't move from his
spot in Jim's arms.  

     "It was in another room--he had me wait in the library, but
across the hall, the living room is right off the entry way.  I saw that
throw, and it was on the back of his couch."

     "Are you positive?"

     "Beyond a shadow of a doubt," Blair responded gravely.

     "It's almost six," Jim said, leaning over to look at the clock.  "I'll
fix breakfast for the guests.  Why don't you call Kelley and tell him
what you remembered?"

     "I just didn't want to have to tell him how I ended up in
Whitcombe's house."

     "None of that was your fault.  And if I recall correctly,
Whitcombe was the one with the sore jaw when all was said and done."

     "I guess."  Blair sighed.  "Why would he kill her?"

     "That's anybody's guess, Chief.  Could be she knew something
about the kiddie porn issue--he still hasn't been charged with that,
pending them identifying the guy in the picture, and finding out his age
at the time.  Maybe they had an argument.  Maybe he was messing
around with her on the side and she threatened to tell his wife.  It could
be any number of things."

     "Guess we better get moving, huh?"  Blair started to move out
of Jim's embrace, but the other man tightened his arms and pulled his
lover close for a kiss.  

     "I love you," he said softly, brushing a few strands of hair away
from Blair's face.

     "I love you too," Blair answered, leaning into Jim's hand briefly
before getting out of bed.  

********

     Blair pulled on his coat and walked across the leaf-covered
ground to the motel, where Jim had just finished serving breakfast to
their ten guests.  With the patrons happily eating, Jim was back in the
kitchen cleaning up the cooking mess.

     "I talked to Adam.  He's going to put together a statement for
me to sign, and then they're going to get a search warrant--*again*--for
Whitcombe's house."  Blair leaned against the counter.  "You want
some help?"

     "You have to ask?"  Jim responded, gesturing at the greasy mess
in front of him.  Blair took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.  "If
we're lucky, maybe he didn't know enough to get rid of the couch or
clean it--if there were no other stains on it, he may have just taken the
throw off the back and wrapped her in it.  Which would mean there
were still fibers from the throw on the couch."

     "And there may be trace evidence left of Arlene having been
there."

     "Possibly."  

     "Should I call Tony to watch the motel again?"  Blair asked.

     "Good idea, Chief.  We'll probably be gone a while, and we've
got too many people here right now to just lock up and go.  What
would you think of hiring him on--you know, having him come out
here every day for a few hours?"

     "I thought we couldn't afford that yet."

     "Well, it's sort of a risk, but I think we can pretty much count
that the next book is going to sell, and business has picked up here and
stayed steady during the fall.  We even have some reservations for
skiing season already."

     "You want me to talk to him about it?"

     "Sure.  I was thinking maybe eight bucks an hour to start.  All
he has to do is sit on his ass and answer the phone.  If he ends up doing
more, and we can afford it, we can always give him a raise later.  At
least he seems pretty reliable."

     "Yeah, he sure does.  And we need the help.  We also need to
see about getting some help cleaning up the grounds before winter."

     "He could put in more hours doing that, depending on how
much he wants to work through the day with his schedule at the bar
during the evenings."

     The two men discussed more possibilities for enlisting Tony's
help, and their plans for the day, which included the trip into town to
sign the statement at the Bayport PD, a run to Bangor for supplies, and
hopefully dinner if they had time before Blair's evening class.

********

     Jim and Blair accompanied Adam Kelley and Jason Marshak, a
technician from the Bayport PD lab, to the door of Arthur Whitcombe's
home.  After ringing the bell, they were greeted by an attractive middle
aged woman.  Tall and slender with neatly styled auburn hair, Nancy
Whitcombe was dressed in a pair of jeans and an old sweater, her
relaxed day being rudely disturbed by the arrival of cops with a
warrant.

     "I don't understand.  You've already searched the house once.  I
must tell you, Detective Kelley, I consider this harassment and will be
in touch with our lawyer."

     "Mrs. Whitcombe, do you recognize this?"  Adam uncovered
the end of the folded throw, still protected in the plastic evidence bag.

     "Where did you get that?"  Her eyes involuntarily darted briefly
toward her barren living room sofa.  

     "You recognize it?"

     "I should.  I made it," she said, a bit defensively.  "I have a loom
upstairs.  It's a hobby of mine.  Art said he lost that at the laundromat."  

     Jim and Blair exchanged looks, wondering if she realized that
in her annoyance at her husband for having misplaced one of her
masterpieces, she was crucifying him with the police.  Of course, given
the types of charges Whitcombe had been hauled up on, maybe she
didn't care.

     "Mrs. Whitcombe, perhaps you should read the warrant a bit
more carefully.  This has nothing to do with the child pornography
charge currently under investigation.  This is in relation to the Arlene
Olson homicide."
     
     "Homicide?"  She crossed her arms over her chest.  "So now my
husband is not only a child molester, but a murderer, too?  Perhaps you
have a couple of unsolved shoplifting cases you'd like to try him for!"
she shot back angrily.

     "Ma'am, this blanket was found at the crime scene for the Olson
homicide.  Now I have the appropriate warrant to search the premises,
and I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

     "Fine.  You come right on in, and you can plan on a lawsuit,"
she stepped aside, waiting while the four men filed in past her.  "My
husband isn't even living here now, and I resent the intrusion on my
privacy."

     "It was on the back of that couch right there," Blair said, leading
Jason into the living room, where the younger man proceeded to
examine the piece of furniture carefully.  

     "Mrs. Whitcombe, did you have a throw on the back of that
couch at one time?"  Kelley asked.

     "Well, yes, but--"

     "Thank you.  If you'll excuse us, ma'am, we will get on with this
as quickly as possible so as not to inconvenience you any more than
necessary."

     Ignoring the woman's hushed but vituperous response, Adam
led the way upstairs to the second floor, with Jim close behind him. 
The two cops gave the entire level a thorough going over, nitpicking
and fly-specking their way through each personal paper, each trinket,
each individual item that might hold any clue to how or why Arlene
Olson and Arthur Whitcombe would be connected.  

     "I suppose you don't get a Ph.D. and then be stupid enough not
to cover your tracks," Adam opined, shaking his head as he sifted
through a mound of papers on Whitcombe's desk in his upstairs study. 
"He's probably moved all the juicy stuff to his own place.  Gotta get
that address from her before we leave."

     "Well, this guy isn't known for his finesse.  That little stunt he
pulled with Sandburg was about as subtle as a freight train."

     "Guess it was one of his last mistakes of that nature," Adam
responded, pinning Jim with a bit of a skeptical expression.  Jim said
nothing, merely looked away and continued rifling a nearby file
cabinet.  "We never did figure out who called in that anonymous tip
about the kiddie porn thing."

     "Well, anonymous tipsters usually go to some pains to make
sure they aren't found out, especially if they're not gunning for some
kind of reward money," Jim responded calmly.  He truly didn't know
who the tipster was, only that it was someone on the staff of the
investigator who had dredged up the dirt on Whitcombe.

     "Well, whatever it takes to bust a dirtbag who preys on kids is
fine by me," Kelley added casually, opening another drawer and sorting
through the files there.  He looked up and caught Jim's brief gaze in his
direction.  "Come on, now, Ellison--I might be a small town detective
but I'm not stupid.  What happened to Whitcombe reeks of how an ex-Covert 
Ops guy would take somebody down.  I'm not asking you to
confirm or deny anything.  I'm only saying that whoever did it, it was a
damn fine piece of unofficial police work, and I never enjoyed
anything as much in my life as I did leading that arrogant prick out of
this pretentious rattletrap in handcuffs in the middle of some egghead
dinner party he was having."  Adam shook his head, looking back down
at the files.  "I just wondered what he'd done to piss you off.  Now I
know."

     "Know what?"  Jim asked.

     "Nothing.  This was all speculation, remember?"  Adam smiled
knowingly.  "So how long have you and Blair been together?"  He went
back to his task.

     "You mean as a couple?"

     "Yeah--I was wondering how forward-thinking the Cascade PD
was.  One of our guys is gay, and maybe it's because we're such a small
department and we're more like family...but nobody's given him a
hassle.  Just wondered how a big city PD handled it."

     "Blair and I have been living together for over three years now. 
But we weren't involved until shortly before we left Cascade.  So I'm
not sure how the PD would have handled it.  Our friends handled it just
fine."

     "I think we're striking out here."  Adam slumped back in
Whitcombe's desk chair.  Jim's eyes fixed on something next to the
other man's head where it rested on the tweed fabric chair.

     "Maybe not.  You have an evidence bag with you?"

     "Sure."  Adam produced one and handed it to Jim, who,
wearing the latex gloves they'd been using to conduct the search,
carefully lifted a long, dark hair off the fabric of the chair and eased it
into the bag.  "How'd you *see* that?"  the other detective asked,
obviously baffled.

     "Just dumb luck--the way the light hit the chair from that
window right there," Jim smoothly explained, handing Adam the bag
with a little smile.  "Long, dark hair.  Mrs. Whitcombe's is auburn, and
the man himself has short hair.  So how did a long, dark hair make its
way up here, I wonder?"

     "We've got samples back at the lab.  Let's go run us some tests," 
Adam replied, getting up out of the chair.  The two men headed
downstairs, then searched the first floor with Blair's guidance, as he
pointed out likely spots for papers or other personal information he'd
found while wandering around waiting for Jason to finish gathering
samples.

     With the hair and myriad of fiber samples from the couch, the
four men left a grumbling Mrs. Whitcombe and headed back to the
Bayport PD.  Jason fled to the lab with his stash of goodies and after
appropriating the blanket and a couple other items from evidence,
settled in for a long stint of testing.  The hair sample was sent to the
nearest FBI crime lab, while Jason ran a series of basic tests on a few
of the fiber samples.  He would send them on to DC for more extensive
and conclusive testing later, but with Mrs. Whitcombe's admission that
she made the blanket, there was very little doubt they wouldn't match,
and that they wouldn't be strong physical evidence to help convict
Whitcombe.

     "Jason seems really good at what he does.  How long has he
been here?"  Blair asked as they filed into the chief's vacant office and
sat around the conference table.  

     "About two years.  This is his first job in his field, but you're
right--he's top notch," Adam opined, taking a drink of the coffee they'd
brought into the office with them.  "We were lucky to get him.  The
chief paid him a little more than what we planned for the position, but
he had great credentials, and that's not always easy to get in a small
department."

     "At least he got hired without a lot of experience after his name. 
I think that's one of the biggest losses sometimes--people with fresh
training and ideas don't get a chance because they haven't been in the
profession for ten years."  Blair rubbed his hands together to ward off
the chill in the office.  "No wonder the chief left.  Did you guys cut the
heat off on him?"

     "No," Adam responded, laughing, "although it's a good idea,
now that you mention it.  Just an old boiler.  One of those things that
need replacing when the city council decides we're worth decent
heating.  But of course, these two homicides just reinforce the concept
that we're sitting here on our asses playing solitaire on our computers
all day."

     "At least you've got indoor plumbing," Jim quipped, and the
other man chuckled.  

     "Yeah, better be grateful for small favors.  Even if the johns in
the men's room *do* back up more often than not."

     "There's a pleasant thought," Blair added, checking his watch.  

     "Now if we can just get the judge on the phone and get that
damned warrant out on Whitcombe, we can go pick him up."

     "Maybe we ought to go grab the old boy for questioning right
now.  We have enough to justify that," Jim stated.  "Otherwise, we sit
here on our asses waiting for a warrant while his wife tips him off."

     "You're assuming she doesn't want him led off in leg irons,"
Blair added.

     "I just don't want to see us take any chances.  Then, if the
warrant comes through while he's here, we just slap the cuffs on him
and haul him down to lock up."

     "Works for me."  Adam said, rising from his chair.  "Let's go get
him."

********

     It didn't appear that Arthur Whitcombe was suffering in his
exile from his home.  His new address was a condominium in a posh
new development on the outskirts of Bayport.  There was an ocean
view, a gate with a guard, and conspicuously expensive landscaping
surrounding the attractive light blue complex.  Accents of fieldstone
and large, lantern-like fixtures decorated the exterior.  

     Blair stayed out of the potential line of fire as Jim and Adam
approached the door of unit 16 and knocked.  When there was no
immediate answer at the door, Adam knocked again, more loudly this
time, and Jim drew his weapon.  It struck Blair then just how right Jim
looked in a police setting.  He was back in his element, every
heightened sense on alert.  

     "He's not there," Jim stated simply, relaxing his stance.  

     "How do you know?"  Adam frowned at the other detective. 
Jim looked at Blair, then fumbled a bit for the explanation.

     "Call it a hunch, I guess.  I don't think he's the type to shimmy
out the back window.  If he's not answering, I assume he's not there."

     "Yeah, well, I don't like to *assume* anything.  I'll check
around back."  Adam took off around the building, weapon in hand.  

     "You think he flew the coop already?"  Blair asked Jim, who
shrugged.  

     "He doesn't have a job at the college anymore after all the
allegations of misconduct.  But even the bad guys have to go grocery
shopping or run errands now and then."

     "Looks like the place is empty," Adam announced as he
rounded the building again, starting to walk toward the complex's
office.  "Let's get the manager to open it up.  We've got the warrants."

     The complex manager, an older woman with curly gray hair and
glasses, dressed in a pair of slacks and a blazer, unlocked Whitcombe's
condo and left the three men to their business.

     "Nice place," Blair commented as they walked into the living
room.  "Unemployment should be so good to everyone," he opined, and
Jim snorted a little laugh.

     "Whitcombe's old money, Blair," Adam clarified.  "He could
buy and sell most of us three times over.  I'm still surprised the Board
of Regents at the college had the balls to fire him and cut off all that
support."  

     All three men donned gloves and began digging through all of
the personal effects in the place.  Jim and Blair went over the desk with
a fine-tooth comb, while Adam ransacked every inch of the bedroom
closet.  When Blair wandered into the bedroom, all he could see of
Adam were two legs sticking out from under the bed.

     "Anything interesting down there?"  Blair asked.

     "Yeah," came the muffled reply.  "Whitcombe should fire his
cleaning lady."  Within moments the other man crawled back out and
stood up, brushing off the sleeves of his sport coat.  "I'm not sure what I
expected to find in here.  He's not dumb enough to leave a major piece
of physical evidence lying around in plain sight."

     "We've been all through his desk, the liquor cabinet, under the
furniture in the living room...Jim's going over the kitchen right now. 
Nothing."

     "I'm still trying to sort out a damn motive.  I mean, we've got
shoes," Adam held up a large sneaker.  "I'd lay odds these'll match the
footprints we found.   We've got physical evidence out the ass, but not
the *why* of it."

     "Means and opportunity are enough to bring him in, aren't
they?"  Blair asked.

     "Sure.  We got the warrant.  But nobody seems to know what
the deal was with them.  His wife was clueless--but then, she seemed to
be missing the clue bus on a lot of issues with her husband.  But
Arlene's parents never mentioned Whitcombe, nor did any of her
friends."
     
     "If they were having an affair, maybe they were super-discrete. 
I mean, both of them from good families, high social standing...maybe
they were both a little kooked on not having a scandal."

     "Could be.  One thing I can tell you--once she found out about
his activities, Arlene would have been out of there.  She didn't take a
lot of crap, and if she found out he was playing grab-ass with his
students and faculty, and may have even taken photos of an underage
boy, she'd have dumped him.  Maybe even blown the whistle on him. 
But that had already been done by the time she was killed."

     "Kitchen's clean," Jim stated, joining the other two men in the
bedroom.

     "Shit," Adam sighed and waved one of the sneakers.  "Well, at
least it isn't a total loss."

     "You think they're a match?"  

     "I sure as hell hope so."

     "Are we going to stick around here and wait for Whitcombe?" 
Blair asked.

     "You bet your ass we are," Adam responded, walking out to the
living room and peering out the window.

     "We should move the car.  Park it somewhere else.  Let him
walk in here stone cold," Jim suggested.  "No point in giving him
warning so he can make a run for it."

     "Good idea.  I'll go move the car," Adam responded, heading
out to do just that.

     "Too late," Jim darted for the door and was out near the car by
the time the other two caught up in time to see a white Lincoln
Continental make a squealing turn in the lot and head for the gate at
full speed.

     "Son of a--!"  Adam jumped behind the wheel, Jim in the
passenger seat and Blair in the back.  The blue unmarked Crown
Victoria squealed into reverse, then took off in a blaze of screeching
tires, chasing the other car through the gates, past the baffled elderly
security guard who hadn't even had time to close them from
Whitcombe's arrival yet.

     "Siren might be nice," Jim muttered as he reached over and
activated the lights and siren himself.

     "Sorry.  This is the first high-speed chase I've been on in the last
four years," Adam responded calmly.  He was the only one calm at that
concept as the car swung wildly around a corner, other motorists
jamming on their brakes to avoid the white Lincoln as it sailed through
a number of stop streets with the blue Ford right behind it.  Adam
snatched up the microphone on his radio and called in the chase,
reporting their location and the direction they were headed.

     "Where do you think he's planning on going?"  Jim asked.  Blair
admired his lover's powers of speech.  As close as he'd just come to
being the hood ornament on a pick up that had almost missed stopping
to let them through, Blair himself was too busy clutching the armrest
and praying to whatever deity would listen.  

     "Probably for the highway--maybe he thinks he can lose us by
cutting through all this fucking *traffic*!"  Adam's voice rose to a shout
as he swerved around a car that got halfway into the intersection before
freezing to let the two cars careen around it.  "Are these people fucking
*deaf*??!!"  he fumed as another motorist failed to move out of the
way in the lane ahead of him, causing him to make a death-defying
pass, cutting between said motorist and the one who was oncoming.  

     "Nice driving," Jim opined, as his own scalp drew a bit tight.  

     "Thanks.  I race on weekends," Adam responded, his tone
completely serious.  At the ensuing silence, he added. "Really."

     Once the traffic thinned out a bit, it became more of a muscle
contest between the Lincoln and the Ford.  Adam had the pedal to the
floor, and judging from the look on his face, he still wasn't happy with
the response he was getting out of the sedan.  Whitcombe was traveling
at an insane speed, and both drivers had to know that one unexpected
incident would throw them both out of control.

     That incident came in the form of a car traveling at a normal
speed, which had been obscured by a hill.  Neither driver saw it until
they had sailed over that hill.  Whitcombe, having less concern for the
motorist, smashed the back end of the smaller car and sent it sailing out
of control.  As Adam tried to avoid the spinning vehicle, he swerved
too far, too fast, sending the blue sedan off the road and into a roll.

     Jim moved first, his hearing immediately reaching out for the
backseat, where he heard the rapid, but healthy thud of Blair's heart. 
They had blessedly landed right side up.  Adam was slumped back in
the seat, having smacked his head on the roof of the car during the roll. 
The airbags were inflated, saving the two front seat passengers from
any severe facial cuts.  

     "Blair?"

     "Yeah, I'm okay...I think.  Smacked my head on the window a
couple times.  How about you?"

     "Same here."  Jim reached for the radio, and finding it still
worked, called for back up and an ambulance.

     "How is he?"  Blair leaned over the front seat, as much as he
could with the giant dip in the roof of the car from one of the many
impacts it had suffered.

     "Heartbeat's strong, pulse is healthy.  I think it's just a big bump
on the head," Jim stated, checking the other man's pulse to confirm
what his hearing had already told him.

     "I can't believe Whitcombe got away from us.  Dammit!"

     "I'm going to check on the other car, and I want to have a look
at this one and make sure there aren't any gas leaks we need to worry
about.  I don't smell any, but..."  Jim shrugged slightly and then got out
of the car.  Blair followed suit, getting his slightly shaky legs back to
their solid selves.  

     The older couple in the other car were shaken up badly, but
didn't appear to be injured.  Jim stayed at the side of their car, talking
with them and keeping them relaxed until they heard sirens on the
horizon.

     "Now the back-up gets here."  Blair shook his head, finding it
perversely amusing that Adam's call reporting their chase and where
the suspect was and hadn't yielded a response until now.

     "Must've been too busy watching their soaps in the break room
to respond.  They have too fucking little to do all day to be *that*
slow," Jim groused, standing near the wrecked Ford now as two squad
cars arrived just ahead of the ambulance.

     "Where's Detective Kelley?"  The first uniformed officer to get
out of his car, a middle-aged man, approached Jim.  

     "He's out cold, in the driver's seat.  Where the hell were you
people?!"  he demanded.

     "And you are?"

     "Lieutenant Ellison, on leave from the Cascade PD in
Washington State.  I'm working on a case with Detective Kelley," Jim
responded icily, pinning the other man with an angry glare.  "One thing
I do know is how long it should take to get back up in a situation like
this, and your response time was pathetic!"  he bellowed.  "Do you
realize we just lost a murder suspect here?"

     "No, sir, I didn't realize that.  We had to cut through downtown
traffic, and I think you can appreciate that we had to exercise some
caution in regard to civilian lives."

     "Did you use your siren?"  Jim shot back sarcastically.

     "Jim, look, let's just concentrate on making sure everybody gets
taken care of?  We can do this later," Blair intervened, and Jim took a
deep breath, then shook his head and walked away.

     "Thanks."

     "You guys *were* pretty slow.  What happened?"

     "Who are you?"  The officer frowned at Blair's response, and
Blair introduced himself.

     "Blair Sandburg.  Detective Kelley invited me to consult on the
case."

     "You wrote that book on that David Lash character."

     "That would be me."  
     
     "My wife read that thing in one sitting.  Had every light burning
in the house for a week straight while I was working nights," he
concluded with a laugh.  

     "Is that good or bad?"  Blair asked, smiling.

     "She loved it.  If I brought her book in, you wouldn't be willing
to sign it for her, would you?"

     "Sure, I'd be glad to," Blair responded, smiling.  "As a matter of
fact, give me your address and I'll send her an advance copy of the new
one when it's finished."

     "That's really great.  Thanks.  I know she'll be thrilled."

     "Ah, Al, I hate to interrupt, but we need a little help."  A
younger officer, apparently Al's partner, approached him with a
knowing smile on his face.  "You must be Sandburg--the writer."

     "That's me," Blair said, shaking hands with the other man.  

     "I heard you were working on the murder cases.  So that was the
suspect you were chasing?"

     "The one that got away, unfortunately," Blair replied, watching
the paramedics as they helped a now-conscious Adam out of the car,
with Jim standing by.  "We came over that hill and the suspect hit the
little brown car over there, and that sent it off in a spin into our path,
and we were going too fast to control the swerve to miss them."

     "What was the suspect driving?  We can get it out on the radio."

     "A white four-door Lincoln Continental--looked like new--a
year old at most."  

     "License number?"  the younger officer prodded, pen in hand. 
While Blair gave the information, Jim approached them.

     "Suspect's name is Arthur Whitcombe, address is #16 Dockside
Court, alternate address 1254 North Oak.  Get an APB out on him right
now.  We have a warrant for his arrest in the murder of Arlene Olson." 
Jim produced the warrant to verify what he was saying.  

     "We'll get right on it, sir," Al responded, leading the way back
to their squad car.

     "I see Adam rallied," Blair said.

     "Yeah, he'll be fine in a day or two.  We almost had the son of a
bitch."  Jim rubbed his forehead in frustration.  "Your head okay,
Chief?"  Jim reached over and slid his fingers into the loose hair,
feeling for lumps.  He found one on the right side of Blair's head that
made the other man flinch a little.  

     "I'm okay.  Nothing a bag of peas won't fix," Blair quipped, and
Jim laughed and that, flopping an arm around his lover's shoulders.

     "Let's go catch a ride back to town.  You going to be all right to
go to class tonight?  I'll drive you."

     "No.  I think my headache's gonna get worse, and I can't really
concentrate too much that way.  I'll call the professor when we get
home."

     "We'll get you checked out--"

     "You can check me out," Blair protested.

     "Your vision okay?"  he asked, turning Blair so they were face
to face, looking intently into the smaller man's eyes.

     "Looks great from here," he quipped, smiling at Jim.  

     "Not dizzy or unsteady at all?"

     "No more than usual."

     "You're a real smart ass, Sandburg."  Jim chuckled a little.  "I
don't think the skin's broken," he opined, separating Blair's hair to take
a look at the lump.  

     "Can I feel for your lumps now?"  Blair flexed his eyebrows.  

     "You're fine."  Jim rested a hand on the back of Blair's neck and
steered him toward a waiting squad car which would give them a ride
back to their truck, still parked at the PD.

********

     "Got quite a storm blowing up out there," Jim commented,
kicking the door closed behind him as he brought in a fresh batch of
firewood.  The house was warm and cozy, a fire in the fireplace, the
smell of dinner still hanging in the air.  It was good to have Blair home
instead of in class.  Despite the fact the cause was a headache, Jim
selfishly enjoyed having the younger man's undivided attention for a
few hours.  

     "Movie's starting in a few minutes."

     "Which one is it?"  Jim asked, putting the logs in the basket
near the fireplace, tossing one in to perk up the flames.  

     "'Magnum Force'.  They're showing two Dirty Harry movies
tonight.  'The Enforcer' comes on after that."  Blair was curled up on
the couch, covered up with the throw and head resting on a bed pillow. 
Jim felt a dull ache in his own head, but it was marginal.  Blair had
taken a much harder whack against the window.

     "How's the head, baby?"  Jim squatted by the arm of the couch
and stroked the curls gently.

     "Still hurts, but it's not bad when I'm resting.  I've had worse."

     "I know."  Jim leaned forward and kissed the swollen spot.  

     "How's Adam?"

     "I called the hospital.  He's bitching and driving the nurses crazy
because they're keeping him overnight for observation."

     "Sounds familiar."

     "Don't push this convalescent thing too far, Chief.  You're on
thin ice now with that smart mouth of yours."

     "Ooh, I'm shakin' over here," Blair teased, smiling and closing
his eyes again.  

     "I can see that," Jim said fondly, smiling at the beloved form on
the couch, just staying there a moment and watching the face he loved
so much.  He leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead.  "Think you'd
still be comfortable if that pillow was in my lap?"  Jim asked quietly.

     "More comfortable," Blair responded, smiling and easing
himself up so Jim could sit down and place the pillow on his lap.  In
moments, Blair was back in position, sighing contentedly under the
gentle stroking of Jim's hand in the long hair that lay on the pillow, the
other resting on his shoulder.

     "We're going to nail Whitcombe," Jim said, still stroking Blair's
hair.  "Don't worry about him, okay?"

     "Okay," Blair sighed, letting the motion of Jim's hand in his hair
lull him into sleep.  

     While Dirty Harry and his colleagues were shooting everything
in sight, Jim spent most of his time watching the sleeping face on the
pillow in his lap.  Blair had accomplished so much since the big blow
up over the whole sentinel thing.  Now people were seeking him out to
sign books.  Jim smiled, wondering how he could have ever doubted
Sandburg's recuperative powers.  Still, he felt a sharp pang of regret
that Blair had ever had to use them.  That he had suffered the way he
had.  But they claim that which does not kill you, makes you stronger. 
Blair was living proof.  The man who went to New York City and
barged into Sid Graham's office and *demanded* restitution--the man
who had made a thriving *career* off that restitution--was a far cry
from the hyperactive, occasionally insecure grad student Jim had met
almost five years ago.  

     Thinking of Blair's ever-present lust for life, his still-wild mane
of curls, and the earrings that had recently made a reappearance, Jim
had to admit that he loved this hybrid Blair more than he could have
ever thought possible.  Blair was stronger, more confident, independent
and self-sufficient than he had ever been in his life.  At the same time,
his flamboyant side flourished too, his self-employed status giving him
the freedom to grow his hair longer, don the earrings again, and pick
out the occasionally loud vest or vibrant shirt to spice up his wardrobe.  

     The anguish and growth of the last year had turned Blair into
something more compelling and more beautiful than he had ever been
before.  Maybe it was knowing that inside that incomparable body was
the heart and soul of a man who would truly sacrifice all he had in the
name of love, or maybe it was Blair's dignity in the face of disgrace. 
Or maybe it was just the privilege of taking his love for granted in a
good way...knowing that no matter what adversity or what treasure
crossed Blair's path, Jim was the thing he valued most, and the one he
would choose.  Not able to recall being first on anyone's list before,
that was a feeling that filled every corner of Jim's heart to overflowing.  

     Was losing his job at the Cascade PD really such a high price to
pay for the treasure sleeping in his lap?  Jim smiled as he leaned back
in the cushions to watch Dirty Harry dispense with some bad guys. 
Hand still tangled in the silky strands of Blair's hair, Jim concluded that
he'd gotten quite a bargain.

********