Disclaimer and Notes: Not mine, never mine, but oh so pretty. This started as a drive-through fic, written in fifteen minutes, and it’s evolved greatly.

Canon notes, since Leslie Fish asked: Endgame and The Source don’t exist here.

Also, this has nothing to do with anything I’ve ever written in HL or HLTR before; it’s…different.

Prompts #22-25 of the crossovers100 LJ challenge apply: enemies, lovers, family, and strangers, which only goes to show that I have a hard time limiting myself to 100 words.

Pairings: Jim/Blair, Jim/Amanda, Joe Dawson/Lucy Becker, Jim/Amanda

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/Labels: Judging by the shows, this is a touch more explicit than what they showed. Not by much, though.

Thanks to Dusty, who caught a character naming glitch in part 6, and to everyone who’s cheered me on as I wrote this.

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Strangers and Other Friends

By Raine Wynd

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Part 1

May 2005

Retired Watcher or not, Joe had never gotten out of the habit of sizing up his patrons. Dixie’s wasn’t his bar, but the Watchers had bought him out in Seacouver and he’d been at loose ends until a friend in the blues club circuit had said they knew a guy who needed a manager for his club. Bored, out of the Watcher business, feeling the distance from Duncan as the Scot started his life over somewhere else, and needing something to do, Joe had found himself once again managing a blues bar.

Amanda was one of the few immortals who’d made it her business to stay in touch with him, sending her own personal bulldog, Lucy Becker, his way. Joe pushed aside the twinge of regret that the immortal he’d been assigned to, the one who’d once shown him the depth of friendship, had apparently chosen to ignore him this decade. Joe couldn’t say he blamed Duncan for the distance -- Duncan's death had been too public this last time -- but it still hurt. More to the point, Joe knew perfectly well that Lucy was Amanda’s blanket, all-purpose apology to make up for some of that distance, even if Duncan was completely oblivious of the gesture. Joe did his best to ignore the fact that Lucy was exactly the kind of sassy, forthright, articulate, street-smart, mortal woman Joe would’ve picked for a friend even if he hadn’t had his heart stolen by her, and took the introduction for the incurably romantic gesture it had been on the surface.

Tonight, Lucy was busy arranging Amanda’s life, leaving Joe to sing his heart out in blues. Joe knew better than to ask why Lucy had to be up at this hour; Amanda might have gone legal in the US with her own, now well known and reputed security-consulting firm, but she wasn’t necessarily legal elsewhere – though Joe suspected that she was trying her best. She had a reason to prove she could, and Joe could only hope that that reason would notice sooner than later.

Overall, Joe was content. The bar was doing well; Joe had a place to call home, and everything he’d left behind in Seacouver were things best left buried. He had a feisty lady in his life, his daughter emailed him regularly, and he had more friends who weren’t Watchers or immortals than not. Still, he’d been a soldier in a secret war for longer years than he cared to count, and he still tensed whenever he recognized a cop stepping into his bar. Right now, the count of cops stood at two.

He let his fingers choose the tune on his guitar, and the old soft rock tune spilled out before he was consciously aware of it. Joe let a brief smile tighten his lips as he realized what he was playing, and let his focus drift towards the cops. The oldest of the pair had the added stamp of ex-military. The younger seemed to be constant motion, even standing still, and though a casual observer might peg him for a wayward geek, Joe had had entirely one too many Vice cops in his bar over the years to be fooled by the appearance. There was something about them both that made Joe think he knew them from somewhere, but that didn’t seem likely. He’d only been in Cascade less than a year, and he’d given the cops no reason to be familiar with him.

Then Amanda stepped up, greeting them with such familiarity that Joe blinked and nearly lost track of what he was playing. Only sheer habit had Joe maintaining his professionalism, and he purposefully lost himself in finishing out the damned tune. Knowing Amanda, she was going to introduce them anyway.

---

Part 2

“She's a thief, Jim,” Blair argued as they got out of Jim's truck in the parking lot of the blues bar.

Amused, Jim slanted a look at Blair. “Was a thief. Now she owns the best security consulting firm in the Puget Sound. And whatever happened to the guy who said everyone deserves a second chance?"

"I was wrong," Blair bit off. He didn't like the way Jim was acting; hadn't liked the way a stunning brunette had been waiting for them in the loft -- without triggering any of the alarms on the security system -- or the intimate, knowing way she'd flirted with Jim. Blair knew he was being jealous and possessive, even paranoid, but damn it, he had reason to be. Too many beautiful women in Jim's life had turned out to be bad news. Finding out that Amanda Montrose had been arrested for theft in another state had raised all sorts of questions, even if she had been released and the charges dismissed.

"Relax, Chief," Jim said. "She's not a suspect, remember? She gave us the information we needed to break that robbery case, and we're here to celebrate."

Blair blew out a breath. "You still haven't explained how you know her."

Jim shrugged and moved towards the bar's entrance. "We got stranded at the same airport, then the hotel the airline put us on only had one room left," he said easily. “When it came time to upgrade the security system in the loft after Freeman dumped that load of manure, I was surprised to find out Fortress Security was hers.”

“You never said anything.”

Jim shrugged again. “You know I don’t talk about the time I spent in the Army,” he reminded his lover. “Besides, you had enough on your mind, trying to finish your dissertation.”

“I know, but damn it, you never could resist a woman, especially not one you’ve slept with!”

Stepping close, Jim looked at Blair, studied him a moment. "Worried about my virtue?" he teased.

Blair snorted, mildly relieved by the teasing. “More like how much trouble she'll pull us into," he said seriously.

“Well," Jim considered, "we could always just go home, but then you'll always wonder if we could pass this test.”

Shocked, Blair stared at him. He hadn't been considering that -- had he? His eyes narrowed as he realized Jim was right. “Then you'd better kiss me,” Blair said steadily, “and mark your claim.”

Chuckling, Jim did just that, then, when Blair was still off-balance from the thoroughness of that kiss, Jim drew him through the entrance of the bar. Amanda greeted them almost instantly.

As she hugged Blair, she whispered, “Good, I was hoping someone would catch him. He’s too good to be alone.” Drawing back, she winked at Blair. “Come, you two, let me introduce you to Joe.”

Reflexive habit had Blair standing unnecessarily close to Jim. He didn’t like the way Amanda flirted with Jim, and her words – as congratulatory as they had been – didn’t mean she didn’t still want him. Hell, everyone wanted a piece of Jim, it seemed; it was hard to ignore the man who’d set the record for Cop of the Year until he’d respectfully requested his name not be in the running for a fifth year. Jim was equally hard to ignore in a different way, as he’d refused to hide his relationship with Blair. There had been some flak, initially, until a high-profile case had left no doubt as that what both men could do professionally had nothing to do with their private lives.

Still, Blair didn’t like the way his sense of danger was saying to proceed with caution. On the surface, everything looked fine: Dixie’s was housed in what had once been the Bryn Town Hall before Bryn had been annexed to Cascade. The stage was set in the rear of the club; the bar itself ran most of the length of the north side of the room, with the kitchen and restrooms occupying that corner. As it was a Thursday night, the tables were about a third full. Having been to Dixie’s before, Blair knew it was packed on Friday and Saturday nights.

With a mental sigh, Blair reminded himself there was only so much in life he could control. Jim wasn’t going to leave him for Amanda; that much was clear. As for Joe – well, from what he was seeing and hearing, the man definitely could play.

“Why don’t you two have a seat?” Amanda suggested. “I’ll see if I can coax Joe off the stage.” So saying, she headed off to do so.

“She’s not you, Chief,” Jim said, cutting into Blair’s thoughts. “Beer?”

Blair shook his head. “Not until after I know why we’re here.”

Jim looked at him, puzzled. “Paranoia doesn’t suit you.”

“No? Then why do I feel like there’s more to this ‘celebration’ than what it seems?”

“There’s not,” Jim argued. “Relax, will you? I thought I’m supposed to be the paranoid son of a bitch in this relationship, not you. Quit stealing from my playbook.”

Still, Blair had to be sure. “You haven’t seen the panther or my wolf, have you? No visions, no—”

Jim leaned over and kissed him, hard, leaving Blair breathless and aching. “You know I’d tell you if there was. Now quit being jealous and possessive. Amanda did say she thought we’d like this place, and I wouldn’t mind meeting Joe, not after hearing him play like that.”

Aware that Jim wouldn’t appreciate it if he continued voicing his fear, Blair decided it was best to wait and see.

Joe finished playing another song before he spoke into the microphone and thanked the audience. There was a scattering of applause before he made his way off stage, the rolling gait indicating clearly there was something wrong with his legs.

Aw, shit, Blair thought. No wonder my sense of danger’s screaming – this guy tried to recruit me! He’s older, of course, but I know this guy. Shit.

Jim leaned over. “His legs are gone,” he told Blair quietly.

“I know,” Blair said.

“You know?” Jim asked, startled.

Blair shot his lover a wry glance. “Yeah. He and I met a long time ago.”

---

Part 3

“You brought cops to my bar, Amanda? I thought you’d have gotten enough of that with Nick,” Joe hissed as she picked up his cane and took possession of his guitar.

Setting his guitar in its stand, she smiled blandly. “My, my, Joseph, you’re cranky tonight,” she observed. “Have I been keeping Lucy that busy? Maybe I should call her and tell her to hurry up.”

“Don’t you dare,” Joe shot back. “You know how she fusses. Not good for her heart.”

Amanda narrowed her eyes. “She said she was fine.”

“Doc put her on blood pressure medication. She refuses to take it. Thinks she’s immortal. Wonder why?”

“She’s not, Joe,” Amanda shot back, irritated. “And I brought two cops here because one of them’s a friend, and the other’s his partner. Can’t a girl try to keep what friends she has together?”

Joe paused at that, hearing the ache Amanda didn’t quite hide. He knew that Amanda would die for what friends she considered hers; Duncan’s leaving had been expected, but Nick’s angry refusal to be a part of her life had wounded something in her, driven her to take up the security firm she’d started two years before she’d met Nick, to become a law-abiding citizen. It had been ten years, and she was still hopeful he’d come back to her.

Sighing, Joe conceded that what Amanda wanted, Amanda usually got. “I really don’t need help from the cops, Amanda.”

“No?” Amanda arched her eyebrows. “That’s not what I heard.” 

“Leave it alone, Amanda,” Joe snapped, irked again. It wasn’t that big of a problem, and he could handle it. “Not the first time in your life you’ve looked the other way.”

“Maybe not,” Amanda said softly, “but maybe I’ve learned when not to.” She straightened and pulled her shoulders back in a way that told Joe she’d already made up her mind. His only hope now was to mitigate whatever chaos she had planned. “Come on, Joseph. They don’t bite.”

“That you know of,” he muttered.

She shot him an annoyed look, but as she hadn’t surrendered his cane to his control, he had no choice but to sigh. “All right, all right, I’ll talk to them,” he conceded. “Now give me that cane so I can get off this damned stool.”

Pleased with his surrender, Amanda handed it to him.

Resigned, Joe let himself be led to the two men who waited at a table, Joe noted, that afforded them the best view of the whole bar while still leaving them plenty of access to an exit. Both men rose at Joe and Amanda’s approach.

Summoning a smile, he waited for Amanda to perform the introductions.

“Joe,” she said charmingly, “this is Jim Ellison and his partner, Blair Sandburg. Jim, Blair, this is Joe Dawson, bluesman extraordinaire and the manager of this fine establishment.”

“You play really well,” Blair remarked to Joe once everyone was seated and drink orders had been placed. “You look familiar, though. Didn’t you used to work in a bookstore in Seacouver called Shakespeare and Company?”

At that question, Joe paused. “Yeah, a long time ago. You would’ve been a kid.”

“No, I was legal,” Blair returned. “I was working on my master’s thesis on ancient tribal warriors and one of the girls at the bookstore downtown thought you might have some good sources. You thought I might be interested in some other myths, join this research group that thought they might exist. It was June ‘91 – I remember the date because driving to Seacouver was something I’d never done before, and I didn’t realize it was a two-hour trip one way with all the traffic.”

Joe silently swore as the mental file clicked. Shit, he’d tried to recruit this guy for the Watchers, back when he’d been naively passionate about what he was doing, before he’d had his eyes opened. Blair had refused, saying he had enough on his plate without getting involved in something in Seacouver. Joe had let it go at that and promptly moved on. Still, Blair had made an impression. “You were pretty ecstatic that the bookstore had a copy of a text on the Huna.”

Blair grinned. “Yeah, it totally made my thesis and helped me get my degree. Say, did your group ever find what they were looking for? Something about immortal warriors and a dangerous game?”

Blandly, Joe lied, “Nah, it was a bust. Turned out to be an excuse to play poker with a specially made deck and watch old reruns of Star Trek.” He shrugged. “I probably should’ve expected more out of a bunch of bookstore geeks, but it was more exciting when I first started. My fault for believing in conspiracy theory, but—” Joe shrugged again “—I was younger then. Sorry I dragged you into it.” He smiled, though Jim looked at him as if Jim knew he was lying. “How does an anthropology major become a cop?”

“I’m not a cop,” Blair replied easily. “I’m a forensic anthropologist.”

Joe blinked. “Which means?”

“Profiler, shaman, consultant on evidence and patterns of behavior with a special emphasis on how cultural and social traditions impact crime,” Blair answered.

“So that’s how you used what I gave you,” Amanda said, admiring. “I just hated the guy, professionally. He was stealing my business and giving me the creeps.”

Joe chuckled. “Someday, Amanda, you’re going to accept that what’s yours isn’t always going to stay yours.”

“Bite your tongue, Joe. I know that,” she said lightly. “But while it’s mine, I’d like to keep it that way.”

Joe shook his head as the other two men looked on, equally amused as the waitress arrived with a tray of drinks. Both cops, Joe noted, were drinking non-alcoholic beverages; Amanda had her usual glass of red wine while he’d opted for a club soda.

“So how did you and Amanda meet?” Jim wondered after taking a sip of his soda.

“A dear friend of mine introduced us,” Amanda replied. “Joe had this most wonderful blues bar then.”

Joe snorted. “Yeah, complete with the mortgage from hell. Man, am I glad not to have that hassle anymore.”

“But you couldn’t stay away,” Blair noted. “How long have you been in Cascade?”

“Moved here in August,” Joe replied, “so…ten months. It’s her fault.” He jerked a thumb at Amanda.

“Mine? No, you aren’t blaming me for this one.”

He laughed. “I most certainly will. You sent Lucy after me, as if I needed rescuing.” At the inquiring looks on Jim and Blair’s faces, Joe explained, “Lucy’s Amanda’s personal assistant. They apparently thought I needed a kick in the pants.”

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. “That wouldn’t be Lucy Becker, would it? Older German woman, looks like someone’s grandmother but the kind who’d encourage you to go play in the mud and then conspire with you to hide the evidence before your parents showed up?” Blair asked.

“You’ve met Lucy?”

“She was a witness in a trial we had to testify at a month ago,” Jim replied. “Sharp woman, but the attorney did fluster her into dropping her accent and proving she spoke flawless English.”

Joe and Amanda chuckled. “That’s Lucy,” Joe agreed, trying for stern and only managing to sound fond. “She won’t be in trouble for that, will she?”

Jim shook his head. “She never perjured herself. Lawyer was being an asshole, trying to show she wasn’t a credible witness.”

Amanda’s sigh of relief was palatable. “Oh, good. I’d hate to train a new assistant. Lucy’s like a sister to me.” She pinned Joe with her gaze. “So when are you going to marry her?”

Joe nearly choked on his drink. “Amanda! Let me ask the woman first before you plan the security for the wedding!”

Blair and Jim laughed. “You know,” Blair mused, “many pieces of the modern ceremony has its roots in ensuring that the bride and groom were safe. Arranging a marriage would be simply in line with –”

“You are not helping,” Jim said, interrupting him with a chuckle. He turned to Joe. “Ignore him. He can’t help himself.”

Joe chuckled. “Neither can Amanda.”

“Hey! Just for that, I’m leaving you two alone. Come on, Jim, let’s leave these two to get better acquainted by themselves. I haven’t had a moment to talk to you alone.” She rose, taking Jim’s arm in a way that made him stand with her.

Not willing to make a scene, wondering what Amanda wanted, Jim rose with her. “Be right back,” Jim promised.

For a moment, Joe thought Blair would protest, but then Jim whispered something to Blair Joe didn’t hear.

Blair looked at his lover questioningly, then shrugged philosophically before turning to Joe. “What the lady wants, the lady gets,” he observed. “She always like that?”

Joe chuckled. “Sometimes. She’s never let very many obstacles stand in the way of what she wants. So, what do you do you when you’re not working?”

---

Part 4

Amanda led Jim to another table on the other side of the room. For a brief moment, Jim listened to the conversation between Joe Dawson and Blair. It sounded like they were getting along well, and Jim breathed a relieved sigh. It had been a long time since he'd seen his lover so animated by a conversation; he'd almost forgotten what joy Blair found in meeting someone who was a fellow observer of people. Jim didn't know what else Dawson was besides a blues guitarist, military veteran, and owner of a bar, but his gut instinct told him whatever it was had something to do with Amanda.

He hoped he’d have answers soon. His senses told him there was a faint trace of ozone and steel lingering around Amanda, woven under her perfume, and it intrigued him. Her friendship with the manager of a blues club didn’t entirely surprise him; he remembered clearly how she’d charmed him. His memory supplied him with the details he'd tried to forget: that gentle laugh of hers, the smoothness of her skin, the way she’d looked flushed with passion. She’d freely admitted to being a fascinated with a man in uniform, yet had handled his hidden weapons with an ease that betrayed her own expertise with them.

Stranded in the Milan airport together due to a busted plane, they’d taken the option of a hotel and an early morning flight the airline had offered. Amanda had charmed the hotel concierge into giving them the honeymoon suite…yet hadn't ever let him come between her and the door, or between her and the sword he'd found in her coat when he'd picked it up. Back then, Jim was still a Ranger, headed the long way back to the US courtesy of the military’s infinite wisdom in scheduling travel. He had far too many secrets of his own to keep and had figured it was better if he didn’t ask her questions; if he kept silent, she’d be less inclined to pry into his life. Still, he’d wondered what a beautiful woman was doing with a broadsword.

They’d shared one passionate night in a hotel in Milan, and gone their separate ways. Even now, he remembered just how passionate and educational that night had been. She’d been completely uninhibited and sensual, teaching him a few things he hadn’t known he’d liked – like having his prostate stimulated while being sucked off.

Six years later, he’d been surprised to run across her profile in connection with the theft of an expensive piece of art from the Cascade Art Museum. He’d chuckled wryly at the thought of having had a one-night stand with an international art thief – and been relieved when the real culprit turned out to be an employee of the museum. He hadn’t wanted to arrest Amanda, and he knew it was because she’d been one of the few bright spots in the years he’d spent as a Ranger. For one night, he’d felt as though he was someone else, someone normal, someone who hadn’t chosen to run screaming from the demons of his childhood into the depths of hell.

When it came time to secure the loft after in the manure incident, Jim hadn’t known that Fortress Security was Amanda’s, not until after he’d investigated it. She’d been out of the country then, he’d been told when he’d inquired. The email that had arrived in his inbox at the CPD had thanked him for the business, and invited him to call her on her cell phone. He’d chosen to reply via email instead, thanking her company for doing a good job, and left it that. As far as he was concerned, she was a part of his yesterdays, and whatever feelings he had about her belonged to then.

He’d been shocked to see her standing in the loft three weeks before, especially since it looked as though she hadn’t aged a day in the twenty years since he’d first met her. Whatever secrets Amanda was keeping, she had a friend in Dawson – and if Jim didn't want to pry into her secrets, well, it was only fair; he didn't want her prying into his. Still, he had heard Joe’s comment to Amanda about trouble, and he couldn’t help wonder if that was the real reason Amanda had invited him here.

As if sensing his introspection, Amanda took the seat next to Jim. "I don't suppose I could incite you into not being curious?" she asked hopefully.

He chuckled and turned to look at her. “Bribing an officer of the law, Amanda?” he shot back dryly.

“Would I do that?” she asked archly, looking guileless. He didn’t buy it for an instant.

“Hell yes,” he shot back, sure of it.

She laughed. “Ask no questions, and I will tell you no lies.” Her hand brushed his with deliberate casualness. “Or it that hard to turn off being a cop?”

Jim chuckled shortly. “It’s who I am now,” he told her. “People change, Amanda.”

Her lips curved. “So they do.” She paused. “You look a lot happier than when I last saw you.”

He returned the smile, sensing a genuine affection behind her words. “You look the same. I can’t believe you look just like I remember: beautiful.”

She preened. “I don’t suppose your handsome boyfriend is open to sharing?” she tried.

“He might be,” Jim returned evenly, “but I’m not.” He sharpened his gaze. “That’s not why we’re here, although something tells me you were hoping for a yes anyway.” She had a good poker face, but her body was too still, too deliberately poised. Jim didn’t need to be a Sentinel to figure out she wanted something, but the additional clues his senses were giving him said clearly she wanted him, and not just for sex.

Amanda’s eyes widened. “We could work on that,” she suggested.

“And I could find out just how many other aliases you have, Amanda,” he returned mildly, “and if any of them have outstanding warrants. Why did you want us here tonight? The real answer, not the lie.”

She hesitated. “Can’t a girl want to catch up with an old friend?” she tried.

“Sure,” Jim returned evenly. “And I can be the same cold son of bitch you took to bed that night and tried to tame, or I can be the more open guy who brought his male lover to meet you.” He smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something about her was bringing out all of his cop tendencies. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink, shrugging as if he didn’t care one way or the other. “Your choice.”

She hesitated again, studying him. “In my business, you learn a lot about people: what they value, what they cherish, what they’ll pay money to insure and what they’ll consider trash. I can’t stop them from valuing things over people, but I do what I can to protect my friends.” She pursed her lips. “Joe thinks being stalked is nothing, that it’s something he can handle.” She shrugged. “He…has his reasons.”

“You don’t agree with them.”

Amanda flashed Jim a smile, as if he’d just won a prize. “Hardly. He won’t go to the cops, because he would have to reveal just why he would think stalking isn’t a bad thing.”

Jim snorted, shaking his head. “So you brought the cops to him.”

She gave him an elegant shrug. “If you knew each other….”

“Even if we didn’t, if he’s having a problem, it has to be reported,” Jim told her. “If Joe doesn’t feel threatened, my hands are tied.” Firmly, he added, “I won’t be your pet cop. I’m already on call as it is.”

“I wasn’t asking for that,” Amanda said sharply.

“No?” Jim looked at her, amused. “Your act needs work, Amanda.” He rose and crossed the room to where Joe and Blair sat, still talking.

Joe looked at him. “You buying what Amanda’s selling?” he asked.

“Not this time,” Jim answered. “Not unless there’s some reason you might need us for something other than an audience.”

Joe shook his head. “Just a couple of punk kids picking on the helpless cripple, spray painting my fence and tossing rocks at my car. Nothing I can’t handle.” Now the older man smiled. “I ain’t no helpless cripple.”

“Where do you live?” Blair asked.

The apparent non sequitur caught Joe by surprise. “Garden City Way and 15^th,” he said. “Why?”

“That’s Nitro territory,” Blair told him. He dug out his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Next time they hassle you, call me.”

Joe’s skeptical look said volumes. “I don’t think you’ll do much better than the two cops I talked to when my car windows got busted.”

“Maybe not,” Blair admitted candidly. “But give me a few days and see what happens.”

The older man studied him a moment. “I don’t want trouble. I’m retired from trouble.” He pointed at Amanda, who’d joined them. “She’s as much trouble as I want in my life, her and Lucy.”

“Darling, I am not trouble,” Amanda protested. “Now, Lucy, she lives to badger both of us.”

Half afraid of being roped into something else, Jim decided enough was enough. “Thanks for the invite,” Jim said, cutting off the conversation. “We need to go. My father wants to meet him for breakfast, early.”

“So much for sleeping in on our day off,” Blair grumbled, but he rose. “My pleasure meeting you, Joe. Nice seeing you again, Amanda.”

She smiled and leaned in for a hug, which he gave freely, before turning to Jim and hugging him as well. “Good night, you two.”

“Nice meeting you,” Joe said, shaking both men’s hands.

It didn’t take long for Jim and Blair to reach the truck. “I sincerely hope you were joking about breakfast with your dad,” Blair said as Jim started up the truck.

“No, that’s on Sunday,” Jim said blandly. “Thanks for volunteering us, by the way. You managed to do what Amanda wanted from us.”

“I did?” Blair said, startled. “Shit, Jim, you know I can’t drop this now.”

“I know,” Jim said grimly as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Blair looked at his Sentinel. “If you want me to drop this, I will.”

Jim slanted a disbelieving gaze at him. “Since when do you drop something because I said so? Especially when it involves someone you know?”

“Oh, right, like you were planning on it.”

Jim chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah. And I’d just about convinced Amanda of it, too.”

---

Part 5

It was a silent ride back to the loft and up the elevator to their home. Though Blair knew Jim had wrestled with his anger management issues and was less likely to lash out at Blair, it didn’t change the fact that Jim was seething. Resignedly, Blair contemplated his options. Six years ago, he would’ve debated the matter further until Jim would feel compelled to explode or walk away or both. Six years ago, he wouldn’t have known that Jim’s first instinct was to protect himself, then everyone else. Six years ago, Blair would’ve taken on the guilt until it reached epic proportions and he would’ve taken more than his share of the blame.

Six years ago, he’d thrown himself on his sword to protect a friend, and found just how much that friend regretted his harsh words. Love hadn’t fixed everything – Blair had insisted they attend counseling sessions to work through why Jim kept having problems with trust, and to his surprise, Jim had agreed. He’d told Blair while it was likely he could live without his Guide, he didn’t want to live without the man he loved, and if it meant seeing a shrink…well, Blair had faced worse dangers in the name of helping Jim.

Now, Blair knew to not to say anything until Jim was ready. It wasn’t easy. Blair’s first instinct was to press the issue and talk it out -– but as they’d discovered, if Blair did that, Jim would fight him every step of the way. Blair had been surprised to find that Jim would listen if Blair gave him the time to figure out a way to deal with whatever it was – and then, and only then, would Jim consider alternative options. It was a legacy of Jim’s military training: as the senior officer in command, he was used to making initial plans without much input from other people. Blair had always lived by a combination of wits and charm; persuading others to do what he wanted was a skill he’d honed as a child. Not allowing Jim the time to decide whether he wanted to do it, but sweeping him along as if he was flotsam in current, was a fault of Blair’s that he constantly strove to correct, just as Jim did with his anger.

He wasn’t altogether surprised, then, when Jim proceeded to go through his usual evening routine, still not speaking. Blair followed in his wake, brushing his teeth, taking a shower, making sure he was ready to share Jim’s bed.

Jim was already in bed, the light on the nightstand turned on in deference to Blair’s inability to see that well in the dark. Slipping under the sheets, Blair took the side farthest from the door and turned on his side, facing Jim. Jim shut off the light and settled under the covers as well, his right arm curling against Blair’s waist to draw him close.

Blair bit back the sigh at the realization that Jim wasn’t naked, a clear signal that Jim was more interested in sleeping than sex. Maybe in a little while, Blair thought. When he’s not so angry anymore.

Feeling the disappointment, Jim stroked his lover’s back reassuringly. “Aside from the fact that you like to help everyone, why should you help Joe? I told Amanda no.”

Good, Blair thought. He’s willing to discuss this. Just not where I can see his face, damn it. He knew better than to reach for the light; Jim was more comfortable with this kind of discussion in the dark.

“It’s not right that a guy like that gets harassed. He’s paid his dues, as far as I can tell. You know he was Special Forces in Vietnam? Stepped on a land mine. I still remember how he came right out and told me that the first time we met –- man, was I embarrassed to be caught staring. Thought I was cool, y’know? Except for the part where most of the people I’d been around had all of their limbs. I know, I know, open mind versus reality not so cool. Naomi would’ve been so ashamed of me.”

Jim chuckled dryly. “How old were you?”

“Twenty-two and still very naïve about some things,” Blair admitted. “Championing the disabled wasn’t something I picked up until after I’d met him.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Jim asked rhetorically.

Blair smiled. “What I don’t get is why you don’t want to help.”

Jim shrugged, the motion clearly felt by Blair as Jim kept an arm around him. “Case load, for one. We barely got today off. The other is…Amanda’s interested in both of us.”

Blair blinked. “No way.”

Jim’s silence spoke volumes.

“That’s…that’s…she doesn’t know you that well, does she? Or me, for that matter. You’re not the guy she met in Milan! I am not sharing you with anyone, you got that?”

“Loud and clear, Chief, which is why I told her no on that. The last reason is – when she and I met, she was carrying a broadsword. She had steel on her tonight, like those knives you made me smell for that case a few months back, though I have no idea where she would’ve hidden them in that dress she was wearing. She has secrets she’s not willing to share, and Joe’s a part of that. You know there are things I can’t tell you, but at least you know what they’re from. Hers – I didn’t ask then, and I’m not entirely convinced I want to know now.”

Blair contemplated that answer. “Look, it’s probably nothing more than a couple of Nitros trying to prove something. Maybe if I knew what the initiation rites were better, I’d know how far this has escalated.”

“You have contacts among the Nitros?”

“Not directly,” Blair said. He knew from the tone Jim used that he couldn’t obfuscate, and for a moment, Blair was sorely tempted; it certainly was easier. Too many fights, too many nights sleeping alone when he’d known just how warm and safe being in Jim’s arms felt, too many heated words exchanged, and entirely too much time spent with a therapist (even by Blair’s standards) had all left their mark. There were other times when obfuscating was important, necessary even -– but this wasn’t one of them. Especially now that he’d met Amanda, and saw how Jim still cared about her.

“Then how?”

“Friend of a friend, that sort of thing. I can’t afford to have direct contacts – you know that would mean I’m choosing sides. Bad enough the 357s and the Deuces think they can claim me for helping maintain their truce.”

Jim sighed. “Tell what you find out,” he said, and Blair knew the matter was settled, for now. If Blair could handle it without pulling Jim in, then Jim could save face with Amanda by telling her honestly that he didn’t think it needed his expertise. Silently, Blair hoped that would be the case.

Blair couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that anything involving Amanda was trouble. It bothered him that Jim was pulling away from her; that too, was a clear sign of danger. Sighing, Blair set his mind to worry about it all in the morning, and breathed in the comfort of Jim holding him close until they both were asleep.

---

Part 6

Tuesdays were, in Joe’s opinion, sacred. Tuesdays were his day off…and ever since the Watchers had rather forcefully retired him two years before – buying out his bar, confiscating his computers, taking away his journals and handing him a retirement package that barely rewarded him for all the hassles he’d endured – Tuesdays had taken on an added meaning. It meant he wasn’t obligated to host or attend the weekly Watcher meeting, often disguised as a ‘friendly’ poker game.

Joe snorted, remembering. Watchers were, by and far, a vicious, gossiping lot, and he was glad to be done with them.

Just as glad as he was that the idiot teens who’d been playing pranks on him had apparently stopped. It had been nearly a week, and he hadn’t heard from Blair Sandburg or his partner. Amanda had mentioned that Jim had been reluctant to get involved. Joe didn’t doubt for an instant that the cop had bigger fish to fry and would have convinced Blair not to intervene. The kid looked smart enough to know when to listen to his partner. Still, Joe worried. Blair had driven all the way to Seacouver to find a reference book – who knew what lengths he’d go to now that he had the backing of the Cascade PD? What if Blair’s assessment was right and it was gang-related?

“You shouldn’t frown like that, your face will set that way,” Lucy admonished, bustling into the bedroom with her customary efficiency. She wasn’t a small woman, but she moved with the determination of a steamship. She carried a mug of coffee, and waited until Joe had rearranged himself into a seated position before handing it over. Lucy’s bedroom had been modified so that he had the necessary handholds, including custom-made grab bars, to get himself up and out of bed, but they were artfully done so Joe never felt as though he was back in a hospital room.

He sipped the coffee gratefully. “You been up long?” he asked her.  

“Longer than you,” Lucy dodged tartly, leaning in to kiss him good morning.

Savoring the kiss, Joe prolonged it a moment longer, loving the way she sighed into it, as if she’d been looking forward to being kissed. He drew back. “I hope you have nothing planned for today,” he told her, certain she had.

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I think you know what my plans are,” she answered huskily, moving until she was lying next to him and could wrap her arms around him.

“Mmm, I like the way you think, Lucy,” he told her, kissing her until they both forgot everything except their passion for each other.

---

Across town, Amanda surveyed the latest damage done to her friend’s residence. The windows were shattered, courtesy of the bricks that had been thrown through the windows. Joe’s car had also been vandalized, its tires slashed, the windows broken, the radio stolen and the wiring for the hand controls ripped out. Inside, the house hadn’t fared much better; everything that could be pawned had been taken. Debris was everywhere. Thank God she’d insisted that Joe allow her to install a set of motion-activated security cameras. Thank God, too, that she’d wired the system to page her when the cameras were activated.

If Joe hadn’t accepted the invitation to stay with Lucy last night…Amanda shuddered. The level of violence was shocking. Everything had been torn apart – flour and sugar poured out in the kitchen, couch cushions torn apart, the pantry ransacked, drawers pulled out and overturned. The thousand-year-old thief surveyed the scene with a professional’s eye, frowning over the sheer lack of finesse over the job. She gave them credit for being thorough – but careless. They’d tracked flour across the hardwood floors; broken glass and wood from broken drawers lay everywhere. Even the mattress had been pulled from the bedroom, its stuffing slashed. The shotgun-style house wasn’t that big – in Amanda’s opinion, the level of devastation showed a distinct lack of preparation. If she’d wanted to rob Joe, she’d have certainly done a better job of canvassing him.

“Amateurs,” she muttered, disgusted at the mess. Still, she reminded herself, if this was done by professionals, there’d be very little left behind to prove who’d done it. Be grateful for small favors. This was more likely a scare tactic, leave him off-balance so he’d have no place to run. They even broke off the wheels on his wheelchair and spray painted the seat – Joe is not going to like seeing ‘baby killer’ on that, even if he does hate that damned thing. I’ll have to figure out where to get a new one for him – and he is not going to be grateful. Then again, I’ll just get Duncan…no, Duncan will want to get involved. He’s not talking to me this decade either, so it’ll have to be Lucy. She does have a way of shutting Joe up when he’s being grumpy. That’ll settle that.

Careful not to touch anything, her hand on the small purse she carried to avoid bumping it into anything, Amanda continued to work her way to the single back bedroom. If she was lucky, the sword she’d convinced Joe to keep “as decoration – it’s not worth anything, won’t even cut a mouse” would still be hanging on the wall. Luck wasn’t in Amanda’s favor today, however.

The sword was missing. The wall where it hung had been spray painted with a message.

It was a familiar trefoil tattoo, with a red X painted over it. Underneath it were the words, “Die, Watcher, Die.”

Oh, shit, Amanda thought. Who the fuck is hunting Watchers now? Cascade’s supposed to neutral territory for immortals; it’s built on top of a huge Indian burial ground. Of course, that only applies the central core now, and that neutrality only applies to immortals, but... damn it, Lucy was right to worry. I hate when she’s right. She was burning up the phone lines the other night, and not all of it was to make sure the accounting for the bar in Paris was in order. I know her too well; she was tracking my enemies for me. Used to be a girl could go decades without a challenge; now it’s sometimes weeks. Wonder what the weather’s like in Sydney right now?

“Whoa. This is extreme,” a male voice cut into her thoughts, and she hurried out of the bedroom, in time to see Blair standing in the doorway, clearly mindful of disturbing any potential evidence. “I thought the car was bad; this place looks like a hurricane hit it. Man, I just thought I’d come by, see how he was doing, since he wasn’t at work. You okay? Joe alright?”

She picked her way through the remains of a couch as she replied, “Yes, he is. He wasn’t home when they did this.”

Blair surveyed the wreckage. “You called the police yet?”

“No, but since you’re here, won’t that count?”

Blair chuckled. “My authority doesn’t go that far.” He reached for his cell phone. “You don’t mind?”

Amanda shook her head. “This isn’t my house,” she said honestly. “Joe’s been renting it. I managed to convince him to put in a couple of cameras and some simple monitoring so maybe we could catch whoever’s been harassing him.”

“Good thinking. You were paged when this happened, then?”

She blew out a breath. “Too late to do anything to stop it,” she said ruefully.

“Yes, but you weren’t hurt, and neither was he. Things can be replaced; people can’t,” Blair said practically as he dialed 911. Ignoring him as he made his report to the operator, Amanda contemplated her next move. She had to get out of here and protect her friends. Rumors of the rogue segment of Watchers who’d hunted Immortals had spread among the immortal population, and Amanda was terrified that someone had mistaken Joe for one of them.

Tuning into Blair’s conversation, she realized he was nearly finished with his initial report. Summoning her best smile, she asked, “Do you need me here?”

To her disappointment, he seemed to resist her charm, deflecting it back at her with an apologetic shrug. “Afraid so, yes. I don’t suppose you could get the feed from the cameras? Oh, and get Joe here? He’ll need to identify the things that are missing.”

For a moment, Amanda wondered if Blair’s relationship with Jim meant he considered her off limits. Her charm usually failed on committed relationships, but she’d hoped… Shutting off that depressing thought, she focused on the now. Getting through Blair’s hoops meant she could get this matter settled her way that much sooner.

Decision made, she moved into the kitchen where she would have the semblance of privacy without further disturbing anything. After fishing out her cell phone from her purse, she hit the speed dial for the house she shared with Lucy and waited for an answer.

“Lucy?”

“Sorry, Amanda, she’s sleeping,” Joe said huskily. “What’s up?”

For a moment, she hesitated. Old habit would have her lying, downplaying the damage, but this wasn’t something she could conceal. Something about the way Blair was watching her as he waited for the squad car to arrive made her a little more honest than usual, made her remember another cop who’d made her be a little more honest even as he helped her hide the bodies. “Your car and house are toast,” she said bluntly. “And Blair’s here.”

“Aw, shit, not those punk kids again,” Joe moaned. “I’ll wake Lucy and we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

He hung up before Amanda could say anymore, and she decided he’d see the message soon enough. No use worrying him ahead of time. In the meantime, she had a police consultant waiting patiently for her, and she never liked to keep a man waiting for too long.

---

Part 7

Jim stared at the file folder his captain handed him as if it was a rattlesnake. He knew better than to refuse to take it, but there were days when he wished he wasn’t the guy who kept getting all the ‘impossible’ cases. Some of them came his way because he’d refused to deny he was in a relationship with a guy, a mixed blessing on multiple fronts. Some came because he’d earned his accolades as the city’s best cop. A few were his because he was a member of one of the city’s oldest and richest families, and a few…well, more than a few came because he’d admitted to the police commissioner and the DA’s office to having the senses Blair had claimed to be fiction. He was a man of honor, and Jim couldn’t stand himself if he’d let the lie stand. The result had been a carefully crafted deal. Blair attended a few classes at the Academy, just enough to satisfy the legal requirements. The police commissioner vouched for Blair’s reputation in a press conference that made it clear that Blair’s previous statements had been made under duress and had been a heroic attempt to deflect attention away from the entire Cascade PD. Nothing was said publicly about Jim’s abilities, but in a private session with the DA, Jim’s abilities had been carefully noted and logged, in case a legal challenge was mounted. On a personal note, Jim’s relationship with Blair would not be treated as fraternization as long as Blair remained available as a civilian consultant to all of Cascade PD.

Today, however, all Jim wanted to do was to go home and forget he was a Sentinel or a detective. Though he held the highest average of cases cleared, it had still been a very busy spring, and summer was just around the corner. He needed, wanted a break that was more than twenty-four hours long. With a sigh, he opened up the folder and began to read.

“Sandburg not coming in today?” Simon asked after Jim had digested most of the first page.

Jim shook his head. “He’s helping the Public Affairs guys coordinate the Big Brothers/Big Sisters rally, and he’s checking up on a friend of ours. He said he’d be in and out today, but not to expect him here unless we needed him.” Jim glanced up at his captain and longtime friend. “Why didn’t we get this case sooner? Six people are dead. Isn’t the threshold for kicking it up to us four?” 

Simon shrugged. “Since when do we want more work?” he asked. “Homicide’s been operating without a captain for a few weeks now, ever since Robertson went on maternity leave a few weeks earlier than planned. We wouldn’t even have this if Sandburg hadn’t stopped by to chat with the department secretary down there and overheard the lead detectives on it talking about ‘six murders does not make a pattern.’”

Jim groaned and mentally consigned himself to another late night. “Let me guess. One of the vics is the mayor’s godchild’s second cousin.”

Simon pretended to widen his eyes in surprise, but both men knew the score. “Not the mayor, but Councilman Montgomery.”

Jim grumbled, but rose to his feet. “I’ll get on it, sir.”

Simon nodded. “See that you do.” His tone was a dismissal, and Jim walked out of the office.

The scent of an unfamiliar, musky cologne caught his attention first, even before he saw there was an old man in a gray blazer seated in the guest chair next to his desk. Automatically, Jim cataloged details: gray hair, lean build, eyes that missed nothing even though he appeared to be deeply engrossed in a thick paperback book. The clothes he wore weren’t new; they had the look of items worn many, many times over the years he’d lived. The stranger sat turned towards Jim, and Jim guessed someone had told him Jim was with Simon.

I don’t like this, Jim thought, nearly growling at the unexpected visitor. Whoever he is, he’s not the harmless old gentleman he appears to be. Harmless old gentlemen aren’t calm in this environment –- they’re nervous, a little scared…him, he’s acting as if he’s at the library and tasked with watching an energetic but well-behaved six-year-old.

As a general rule, Jim did not like surprises. “Can I help you?” he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. He’d never claimed to be a diplomat, and without Blair around to temper his reactions, he didn’t try.

The stranger smiled genially, shut his book, and rose, extending a hand to shake. “Detective Jim Ellison, I presume? Sergeant Acevedo directed me to you. I’m Melville Béland,” he said casually, his voice strongly French-accented.

Deciding he’d been rude enough, Jim shook his hand, finding the grip firm, professional. “Something I can help you with?” He gestured Melville to sit as he sat down, adding the file folder he’d just received to the pile of folders already on his desk.

Melville smiled hopefully. “Calvin Hilger was a friend of mine,” he said.

Jim looked at him blankly, then, remembering the file he’d just received, took a stab in the dark. “I’m sorry about your friend. Is there anything you’d like to add to the file?”

Melville gave him an odd look. “You’re not going to find answers, only questions,” he said as he fished out a business card and laid it on Jim’s desk, though not before Jim caught a flash of a recently healed scar on his wrist, as if he’d had a tattoo there and it had been laser-removed. “When that happens, please call me.”

“Withholding evidence is a crime, Mr. Béland,” Jim reminded him coldly.

Melville chuckled and rose to his feet, not in the least intimidated. “Ah, but I am volunteering to be available. You, on the other hand, don’t know what you’re looking at – or looking for.”

“Does it have anything to do with your new scar?” Jim asked, going on instinct.

Melville met his gaze, and some of the confidence he’d held looked shaken, as if Jim had gotten a little too close. “We all live with the scars we choose, Detective. Someone pointed out to me that perhaps it was time I stopped being reminded I was youthful and foolish.”

Left with nothing to say in response, Jim let him go, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into.

---

Melville made his way down to the visitor’s level of the parking garage. Slipping into the passenger seat of an otherwise unremarkable sedan, he said, “You should come forward; the police will need your help. You are being unreasonably secretive.”

“Am I, Mel?” the driver asked tiredly. “I know how cops work. Someone else will be dead before they can find their asses from a hole in the ground.”

“The case has been reassigned to Major Crimes, to a Detective Jim Ellison.”

“And how is he different from the asses in Homicide?”

Mel chuckled. “He is very observant; he noticed the scar on my wrist. Just like you, Nick. He will not be like the others.”

“And how many case folders were on his desk?”

“No more than others in the room,” came the calm, unruffled reply. “You have been playing Bert’s shadow games too long, my friend. You have become paranoid.”

“Yeah, well, I play the Game. Paranoid comes with the territory. You should’ve been, Watcher.” He started the car, but Mel placed a hand on his arm before he could turn the wheel.

“I would not have survived, if I had been,” he said gently.

The angular-faced man who sat behind the wheel flinched as if struck. “Doesn’t change the fact I hate what you do,” he muttered. “Reporting on my life. As if it matters. Here’s one for your journal, Melville: I ate a bagel while I was waiting for you, and I found us a hotel with an Internet connection. Think those idiots in Lyon will appreciate that?”

“Only if you decided to change to a wheat bagel,” Melville said placidly. “Let us go now. You need sleep and I need to make my report. Shall we go to the hotel?”

He waited, aware that the young immortal he Watched vacillated between a deep depression over his life and a consuming rage at everything that had happened since his immortality had been triggered. Not for the first time, the old Frenchman wished his assignment had been someone who’d had a better set of mentors for his immortality, wished Nick hadn't walked away from the life and love Amanda had offered. Too much darkness could crush a man’s soul.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief when Nick complied with his request. Some days, Mel wasn’t sure the naïve but determined cop Amanda had fallen for was the same scarred, angry man who was now his constant companion. Some days, Mel prayed he was, and acted as though he was. It had saved him so far. Mel just wasn’t positive his luck would continue to hold.

---

Part 8

Three hours later, Jim found himself wondering just what Melville knew. The six murder victims all had been within thirty and sixty years old, with residences scattered all over the city. None had occupations in common: what did a food service worker at a dockside café, a truck driver for national chain, a career-technology teacher, a photographer for a department store’s studio, a copy-firm machine operator, and a cost estimator for an engineering firm have in common?

What did they do in their spare time? Jim wondered. That diverse of a crowd, they had to have something in common. Not ethnicity– Acevedo did note they were mixed races. All fairly squarely middle-class, too – Acevedo did request a financial records check just to be sure, but it hadn’t come in yet. No wonder she and her partner didn’t want to kick this upstairs; they looked like they were onto something. Gonna have to go ask them, see where they thought this was going. Damn, I wish they’d taken the time to update the electronic case notes!

He knew, though, that updating the case notes was something the old-line cops were having the hardest time getting used to doing. It wasn’t like the old days of Post-It notes, things scribbled on a legal pad, and the stuff in a cop’s head –- the electronic age had come to policing. For cases that had been transferred to Major Crimes, the e-notes were critical, as it meant the detectives didn’t have to waste time chasing other members of the police force for important information. Unfortunately, Jim knew Acevedo’s partner, Brewster, was an old-line cop, and probably had stuck her with the task of updating the files -– something that was difficult to do alone with a full caseload. 

Sighing, Jim left a message on Brewster’s voicemail and sent an email to Acevedo, requesting a meeting to go over the case. He was still pondering the file when his phone rang. “Ellison,” he answered.

“I think you’d better come here,” Blair said.

“And here is…?”

“Joe’s place.” Blair rattled off the address. “He’s been robbed, and there’s something you need to see.”

For a moment, Jim considered saying no. The edge in his lover’s voice, however, added to the fact that whatever Blair got into was rarely ever simple and had, in the past, proven dangerous, even deadly, made Jim rise to his feet. “Have you called it in?”

“Yeah, Patrol’s on the way. Amanda’s here – I guess she got the page when the security cameras were triggered – and Joe and Lucy just pulled up. ”

“I’m sure you can handle it, Chief.”

Blair chuckled humorlessly. “I appreciate your faith in me, Jim, but this is different. Someone spray-painted a death threat on the wall of Joe’s bedroom. Amanda's so composed, I'm freaking out, because no one's that calm. Either she's pissed or she's scared; I can't tell, I don't know her that well.” In a lower voice, Blair added, “I saw the sword she’s wearing, in the same way I sometimes see my wolf or your panther. Blink and you’re not sure of what you saw.”

“That changes things,” Jim said grimly. “Hold tight, Chief. I’ll be there soon.”

---

Standing on the front porch of Joe’s rented house, Amanda didn’t like the uneasy feeling she was getting. Though she knew the police were going through the house with Joe, making a list of what was missing and taking notes on everything, she had the sense that someone was watching her.

Of course someone’s watching you. That’s what they do, Watch and record and observe, and interfere occasionally even when they’re sworn not to, because it’s hard not to get involved. She drew in a careful breath. Time to move on, Amanda. You’ve become settled. They didn’t used to be able to Watch you so closely.

With a sigh, she thought of the ties she’d made in the community, the peace of living somewhere where the police weren’t knocking on her door to accuse her of theft, where her head wasn’t under constant threat like it had been in Seacouver, Torago, and Paris. Amanda could be at her villa in Majorca in a day or two; all she had to do was tell Lucy that it was time and it would be all arranged, complete with the ‘accident’ where Amanda ‘died.’

Amanda wasn’t ready to go just yet. She’d come to love Cascade; the sometimes insane periods of high crime in the city made it the perfect place to be the owner of a security firm, which made her rich without having to worry about keeping up with the advances of the kind of technology that would keep her in prison for years. Seeing her face from WWII plastered on the Internet had been a huge wake-up call; hearing about killers being DNA profiled made her decide that perhaps for a little while, playing on the legal side would be worth it.

“You look worried,” Blair observed as he and Jim walked up to her.

She smiled wryly, grateful he couldn't read her thoughts and know why she was worried. “Joe’s a good friend. If Lucy and I had our way, he’d be packed and on a flight to Majorca tonight.”

“Majorca might be a bit far,” Jim replied, “but sleeping somewhere else will help. Sounds like the guys are almost done with the inventory of the big-ticket items. Why don’t you and Lucy take Joe home? Whatever’s left can wait; he can always call in and add to the report.” He nodded to Lucy, who was waiting in the classic Cadillac convertible, calmly reading a book.

“I’m waiting for one of my security guards to come,” Amanda told them. “Not there’s much left, but I’d hate to leave the house as it is.”

“Good idea,” Jim said. “You saw the message in the bedroom?”

“How could anyone miss it?” Amanda asked dryly, as she heard Joe coming out of the house with the two uniforms who’d responded to the call. Sensing Jim had more questions, she deliberately focused her attention on Joe. “Everything taken care of, here?”

“Much as it can be, tonight,” Joe replied, with a glance at the two policemen.

“Whatever you find after you’ve cleaned up, Mr. Dawson, you can call it in, as my partner said inside,” the senior of the two officers told him. “But you’re better off with friends, at least for tonight.” Noticing Blair and Jim, he indicated them. “Especially if you’ve got friends like Ellison and Sandburg. We’ll do our best to get your things back and find who’s responsible for this.”

Blair grinned at the implied compliment. Though he didn’t know either of the patrolmen personally, most of the PD was aware of who he and Jim were.

“Appreciate it,” Joe said tiredly. “I have your cards, and if I lose ‘em, I’m sure Jim can help me find you again.”

“Try to have a good rest of the evening,” the senior officer bid. “Ms. Montrose, you’ll have the tapes to us soon?”

Amanda nodded. “I’ve already called; the courier will have them delivered to you by the time you’re back at your precinct.”

“Then we’re done,” the senior officer said. “Good night, everyone.” With that, he gathered his otherwise silent partner with him and departed.

“I still don’t see why I shouldn’t stay here,” Joe said.

“Most people don’t feel very safe in their homes after they’ve been robbed,” Blair pointed out. “You did say that Amanda’s house was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.”

“Just feels like I’m giving in,” Joe said stubbornly.

“If you want to spend the night cleaning and being on guard, you won’t do it alone,” Amanda countered. “But I’ve already called in a cleaning crew and you’d be in the way.”

Joe sighed. “I suppose you want me to go with Lucy like a good old boy.”

She widened her eyes, trying for innocent. “Joseph! You know I’d never accuse you of that. You know she worries.”

Joe chuckled. “So do you, Amanda. Come here and give me a hug, woman.” Closing the distance, he leaned in and, under the cover of the hug, whispered, “I still have connections. Want me to use them?”

Amanda smiled tightly. “No. Let me handle this, Joe.”

“The way you handled Kalas?”

Stepping back, Amanda narrowed her eyes. “That was uncalled for, Joe.”

He met her gaze. “Just don’t lose your head.”

Now she smiled. “Stronger men than Kalas have tried. Go on; I’ll be home in a bit.”

After giving her a skeptical look, Joe moved towards the car. Amanda waited until he was in the car before she turned to face the two men who remained, grateful to see that while she did, an SUV bearing the Fortress Security logo pulled up.

“You know who did this,” Jim stated with certainty.

“No,” Amanda said flatly. “I don’t. And I appreciate you two helping out, but—”

“Who’s Kalas?”

Stunned he’d overheard that, it took Amanda a moment to recover. “A dead man,” she replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to give instructions to my employee. Thanks for helping me here.” She strode off to greet her employee.

Jim watched her go a moment before he turned to Blair. “Come on, let’s go home. Nothing more we can do here.”

“You sure of that, Jim?”

He looked at his Guide. “Yeah. Nothing here that a halfway decent forensic team can’t find.”

“And the threat to Joe?” Blair pressed.

“Is long gone. If I was hunting him, I’d follow him back to Amanda’s house.”

“And we’re not, why?”

“Because you’re standing there, arguing with me? You did take the bus here?”

Knowing Jim didn't expect a reply to either question, Blair rolled his eyes, but followed Jim to the truck.

---

Unnoticed by the pair, the observer stepped back from a window in a house across the street and smiled, satisfied. The prey was running, and the hunted would soon be vulnerable. Not even the thief could protect him forever. That was their undoing; trusting the wrong people, trusting that those who they Watched would protect them.

Dawson would die screaming, just like the rest.

Then the circle would be complete. With his death, the ritual could begin, and she could rise from the ashes, just like a phoenix.

She would be immortal, just like the stories said.

---

Part 9

Nick was frustrated. He knew he was close to tracking down Nea Vähälä, the woman responsible for trying to burn down a house with Melville in it. He was getting tired of driving around in circles in an unfamiliar city, trying to find the one elusive hint of a certain pre-immortal. With a sigh, he located the parking area of a nearby city park and decided to take a break. Melville would be calling him soon, likely frantic, as Nick had left their hotel without telling him where he was going.

Melville didn’t like it when Nick slipped his leash. Without Nick, Melville had no reason for living; he was a devoted Watcher, which meant he’d given up any semblance of a normal life in his pursuit to be closer to his assigned immortal. The fact that Nick was now considered one of the more dangerous immortals meant that Melville’s closeness to Nick was seen as being completely at Nick’s whim and therefore did not violate his Oath.

Nick rolled his eyes at the way the Watchers split hairs. The effort seemed like a colossal waste of time to him; Nick didn’t see himself as all that interesting, especially since he’d figured out trying to die took more effort than trying to live.

Gift, hell. Immortality hasn’t been a gift, it’s been hell, Nick thought as he stepped out of the car and made his way to a hotdog stand. On the other hand, I wouldn’t know how to track Nea.

Not for the first time, Nick considered the irony of having learned how to sense pre-immortals from a man who had no qualms about removing them permanently from the Game. Nick knew Sander was a murderer; he’d gone to him, deliberately provoking a fight Nick had hoped he wouldn’t win – but to his surprise, he had, and then not been able to take that last, killing blow.

In exchange for sparing his life, Sander had taught him how to survive the Game. Sander used Nick as bait for the pre-immortals – and when Nick protested, forced Nick to share in the Quickening of an older immortal, binding Nick to him so that he’d still feel it when Sander took a head regardless of whether he was around or not. Then Sander had lost his head, and Nick had found himself at the mercy of another immortal named Adelfo Calabresi, who’d offered him a very simple choice: fight and die, or surrender and live as that immortal’s slave. Six months later, thanks to seeing Melville about to be tortured, Nick found the strength to fight back, and took his captor’s head.

Nick never intended to let Melville become a friend, but the elderly Watcher had refused to give up on him, even though Nick suspected he’d absorbed more of Calabresi’s angry personality than was wise. Rescuing Melville the second time had made Nick decide it was better to know who his Watcher was; at least then, he might be able to control the information.

I wouldn’t be here if that idiot, Nea Vähälä, hadn’t tried to kill him. And for what? She’s going to be immortal anyway. And I’m still going to take her head, because the last thing the Game needs is another psycho.

For a moment, Nick let himself remember when his life had seemed so simple. He’d been a rising star in the Torago PD, well on his way to a captaincy. The only thing stopping him from that promotion had been a very notorious thief named Amanda -– but then the promotion came with more strings than Nick had been willing to accept. He’d had his honor and his pride.

And where did that get you, Nicky boy? Poisoned and then shot to death by someone who thought immortality was a gift. All it means is that you’ve been --

Shutting his eyes, Nick tried to drown out the voice in his head. It sounded suspiciously like a mix of Calabresi and Sander at their mocking best.

Then a wave of strong, old immortal presence washed through him and he looked up, one hand automatically going for his sword.

One look, and the heart he’d done his best to lock away shattered, again. One word, and the voice he’d tried to avoid hearing slammed a flood of memories into his mind front and center, silencing the ghosts of his mentors.

“Nick?” Amanda looked at him, puzzled. “Nick, is that you? Oh my God, what happened to your face?”

Almost in a daze, he reached up and touched the left side of his face, which still bore the scars of the fire from which he’d rescued Melville. Immortal healing only went so far, he’d found out the hard way, and some things took longer to heal, like tattoos and scars.

Somehow he found his voice. “I was in a fire.”

“Oh, Nick,” she said, compassion filling her voice. Then she was gathering him in her arms and he let himself forget, for a moment, why he’d ever left.

---

Part 10

“Read off that list of addresses for me?” Blair asked Jim as he stood before a map of the city. As an official consultant, Blair had the privilege of having his own office, in what had formerly been the old server room for the Control Room. Thanks to the demands of their workloads, this was the first chance they’d had all day to collaborate on the serial murder case Jim had been handed the day previously.

“Hilger: 4946 Coal Road, Reese: 54 Goldie Lane, Pearson: 2384 Par Drive, Lott: 2634 Ferrell Street, Williams: 1006 Ruckman Road and Batchelder: 3827 Deer Ridge Drive,” Jim said, reading the list off Blair’s computer screen.

Taking Post-It note flags he’d already marked with the victims’ names, Blair marked off the locations. Done, he stood back and surveyed the map. “Well, it’s an irregular circle,” he mused, “but it’s a circle.”

Jim considered the locations. “Didn’t we walk that one day, when you wanted to see if I could sense the limits of the ancient Indian burial ground in relation to the 1907 city limits? You got blisters because you were trying to break in your new hiking boots and all I got was a headache and an ear ache?”

In reply, Blair kissed him, mindful that his door wasn’t completely shut. “Yes! That’s it, the old city limits! But…I don’t get it. Why would someone kill people who were living just inside that boundary line?”

“Not my job to figure out the why, Chief,” Jim reminded him. “Just need to figure out who, so we can arrest him.”

“Maybe they’re related to that tribe that sold the land to Sean Walker for the medicine he promised would cure them of disease,” Blair mused. “Too bad the medicine Sean promised them wasn’t much more than rotgut. Supposedly a healer named Grace Chandel convinced them not to curse the land, but she wasn’t too successful. Story goes that if any of those who live long lives breaks the truce, the land will fall back into the sea.”

Having heard several variants of the story growing up, Jim shrugged. “Yeah, and some great protector and his shaman will stop the long-lived ones from breaking the truce.”

Blair blinked. “You – where’d you hear that part?”

Startled, Jim looked at him, then actually considered the question. “My great-aunt Ruth,” he said. “Or maybe she was my great-great-aunt. I can’t remember; she was crazy. Used to fall into these…” He broke off as his memory supplied him with a sharper clarity of what his aunt was, and he couldn’t stand the knowing grin on his Guide’s face. “Aw, shit, Chief, I was a kid, and nobody thought different of her. She was just crazy.”

“She wasn’t crazy, she’s proof you inherited your abilities from someone in your family.”

Jim rolled his eyes, knowing that Blair would likely demand to see if Jim remembered anyone else in his family tree with Sentinel abilities.

“Besides, I’ve never heard the part of the story where we fit in,” Blair told him. “I only ever heard the part about the shaman.”

Jim shook his head. “This isn’t solving the case, Darwin.”

“You sure about that? Ever think about why one city out of all the rest would need a Sentinel and a shaman? Why it would have a rate of crime that’s twice the national average? We’re way smaller than LA, man, yet our stats put us right up there.”

“You just answered your own question.”

“Okay, okay, so that in itself might be part of it. But what if there’s something to that curse? Jim, you know some legends are true – hell, I thought I was looking at a myth when I found you!”

Jim had to smile at that. “Still isn’t getting us any closer to figuring out who did this, and I’d like to go home at a decent hour today.” He checked his watch; it was already past four. “Damn. Amanda knows something, and so does Joe and Lucy. You get anything out of them?”

Blair shook his head. “No. I called Dixie’s this morning, but I was told that Joe had quit. He’s not answering his cell phone, either. Neither Lucy nor Amanda is listed in the phone directory; I’d wager we’d need special permission to get their numbers released to us. I left a message with the receptionist at Fortress Security to have Amanda call us, but that was well before lunch and she hasn’t returned my call yet. What was the deal with that question you asked Amanda, something about a guy named Kalas?”

“Something I heard Joe ask her.” Jim frowned as he rewound his memory of the conversation. “Sounded like she screwed up something big.” He frowned again as he considered everything he’d come to know about Joe. “It’s almost as if he’s afraid she’ll do something that’ll get them killed. He was trying to warn us not to get involved with her the night we met him in the bar.”

Blair looked at Jim. “What I don’t understand is why I saw her with a sword.”

“She had one in her coat the night we met.” At Blair’s surprised look, Jim added, “I didn’t ask why she had it then; I had secrets of my own to keep. But she was more comfortable with removing the weapons I had on me than I’d expected of someone who looked like her.”

“You think she might be the killer?”

“None of the victims were killed with a sword.” Jim flipped through the autopsy results. “Knives, yes, but that was only in the last two – the rest were poisoned, drowned, or suffocated.”

“Which wouldn’t be out the realm of possibility for someone who knows how to hide a sword in a mini dress,” Blair replied. “Think about this a minute – you actually saw a sword in Milan?”

“Weighed down the trench coat she had; I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t picked up her coat.”

“I saw one strapped to the back of her dress, in a way that made me think of the same kind of mystic stuff that allows us to see our spirit guides,” Blair continued. “And you’ve just told me a part of the Cascade curse I’ve never heard of before. What are our chances this is all connected?”

“Still doesn’t find us a killer,” Jim reminded him with an impatient sigh. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think Amanda’s the killer. She’s too concerned for Joe.”

Blair lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t think Lila could be a murderer, either.”

Jim threw up his hands and fought the urge to snap a reply he knew he’d regret. “I didn’t say I didn’t think Amanda’s not a killer. There’s no reason for her to be carrying a sword the way she is, if she didn’t intend to use it. Nobody carries a weapon they don’t expect to use.”

Blair stared at his partner. “Did you just say you thought Amanda’s capable of murder?”

“Yes, but she’s not the one we’re looking for,” Jim said calmly, and went to the computer to pull up the autopsy photos. Arranging them in a tiled view, he turned the monitor so that Blair could see. 

Blair stared at the photos. Though they’d all been marked in different locations, mostly on the wrist, he could see the same trefoil tattoo that had been spray-painted on Joe’s bedroom.

“I’d bet that Joe used to wear that tattoo,” Jim said. “He’s scarred on his wrist in the same place as two of our vics. I also had a visit from an old gentleman who claimed to have information about the case – but said I wouldn’t find the answers.”

“When?”

“Yesterday. Acevedo said Mr. Melville Béland was annoying and ultimately useless as a source of information, but she did mark him down as a potential suspect.”

Blair rolled his eyes. “Acevedo’s not known for her patience with reluctant witnesses,” he informed Jim. “And her partner, Brewster, is too much of a short-timer to care about much other than how many days until his retirement. I’m surprised they held on to this case as long as they did.”

“Lack of direction,” Jim summarized. “No captain, no one to remind them they’re bound to kick it up to us after a certain threshold.”

Blair shook his head. “I don’t get how anyone could not care about these people. They mattered to somebody, somewhere.”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe that’s why they have you teaching that Community Relations seminar next month,” he suggested. “Think you can try getting a hold of Joe again?”

“Not likely,” Blair said with some disgust. “I played a hunch. He and Lucy are booked on a Spanair flight to Majorca that left at nine-forty-five this morning.”

“Damn it,” Jim swore.

“They’re also booked on a flight to Paris,” Blair added. “And three other flights, all to various destinations out of the country. If I hadn’t been able to verify they’d boarded the Majorca one, I’d be running around in circles. TSA agent said Joe was asleep through the security check; they had to wand him and he barely stirred.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “He wasn’t willingly asleep.”

Blair nodded. “Probably; he didn’t strike me as a guy who’d go just because his girlfriend said so, but if Lucy kidnapped him that’s something we have to deal with later. I left a message for the airline to forward a message to Joe to have him call us. I checked with the two cops following up on the robbery – they said they got a message from Lucy on Joe’s behalf saying that he was going to be out of town for his safety, so if Lucy did kidnap him, it would fall under ‘taken for his own protection’ and my sense of this is that when Joe wakes up, he’s going to be mad as hell – but not exactly upset that someone was watching out for his safety, you know?”

Jim sighed. “Which only goes to show that whoever’s after Joe is someone deadly enough to scare Lucy into action,” he summarized. “And that doesn’t help us find who killed the other six. I’m with you – I wouldn’t go after Lucy for whisking Joe out of harm’s way, even if it means we’ve lost a lead in the case.”

“Maybe we should go back,” Blair suggested. “You were afraid of pushing your senses with Amanda, Joe, and Lucy there, weren’t you?”

Uncomfortably, Jim tried to evade. “We have the report from Forensics,” he countered. “And you know they’ve gotten better since Hurtado was promoted to Chief of Forensics.”

Blair stared at him incredulously. “Six people are dead, a friend of a friend’s been targeted, and you want to solve this case through your skill as a detective alone?” he demanded. Switching to Quecha, he demanded, “Why are you holding back, Sentinel?”

In the same language, Jim shot back, “Ever think there’s some things we aren’t supposed to know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Blair surprised him by answering, reverting to English, “but I’m not going to stop doing my job. Pushing you to do yours is part of it. Soon as you get done talking with the DA, we’re headed back to the crime scenes and seeing what Forensics missed.” More gently, Blair added, “I know. If the security guys are running out the door, you’re supposed to follow them, right?”

Whatever Jim was going to say was interrupted by the phone. Picking it up, Blair said, “Good morning, Dr. Sandburg speaking, how can I help you?...Yes, I am working the serial murder case and I did put an alert on the Dawson robbery…. Yes, go ahead and bring them up. Thank you.”

Jim looked at him expectantly.

“You didn’t listen in?”

Jim shook his head. “Your heart rate didn’t spike, and I didn’t see a reason to.”

“That was Dispatch,” Blair explained as he went to the keyboard and brought up the case note system. “Mr. Melville Béland is dead. Two patrol officers are on their way up with a witness who claims she thinks she knows murdered him.”

“So who are we talking to?” Jim leaned over to read the report the arresting officers had entered. “A cleaning woman, Nea Vähälä, who claims to be the one who found Mr. Béland.”

Jim frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Why not? Seems perfectly all right to me.”

Jim took over the keyboard and brought up an Internet window to look up the location where Mr. Béland was found. Grabbing the phone, he dialed a number. “Yes, this is Detective Ellison of the Cascade PD. I was wondering what kind of room a Mr. Melville Béland was checked into? A single room? Did he have anyone with him? I see. Thank you, Claire, you said your name was? Yes, thank you, Claire.”

Blair stared at his partner. “What’s going through your head?”

“Béland wasn’t alone when he checked into the Waterside Hotel,” Jim said. “And the Waterside isn’t a no-tell motel, but it is one with a single entry and exit point: past the registration desk. Béland checked in with a man named Nick Wolfe, who hasn’t been seen since yesterday.”

“What gave it away?” Blair asked, admiring.

In reply, Jim pointed to the screen, which read: “Verify whereabouts of hotel roommate.”

“Didn’t read that far,” Blair said sheepishly. “And no, this doesn’t mean we’re going to Wonderburger if we wind up being here late again. We ate there last night.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “You say that because you’d rather go to Shari’s,” he argued as they stepped out of Blair’s office and moved across the hall to the interrogation rooms Major Crimes used. “And don’t try to push that bullshit that you like going there because they have healthy choices on the menu. You always order the same thing, and it’s no worse than me having a burger.”

“Didn’t I tell you guys to keep the personal stuff out of this office?” Simon demanded as he overheard the last bit of Jim’s comment on his way back into the bullpen from the men’s room.

Feeling victorious, Jim shot Blair a smug smile as he apologized, “Sorry, sir. We have a witness on the serial murders; Patrol is bringing her up now.”

“Good work,” Simon said approvingly.

---

Part 11

“What do you mean you lost the witness?” Simon demanded two hours later. He listened to the dispatcher relay that the witness hadn’t been a suspect and so when she’d asked to go to the restroom at the hotel before they got to the station, the two male patrol officers hadn’t been suspicious. When the witness hadn’t come out of the restroom, they’d started to inquire about Nea Vähälä – and found that the woman hadn’t been employed at all by the hotel. They had, however, found a bound and gagged housekeeper stuffed into a closet in an unused room.

“Great,” Simon groaned, then sighed. It wasn’t the dispatcher’s fault. “I need everyone looking for this woman. Thanks for the update. Please keep me posted.”

Simon looked at the two men occupying his office. “Think you can track her, Jim?”

Jim considered it. “Maybe, but I’m not much better than a K-9.”

Simon snorted. “I’ll take it. Get with Parelli and Watkins; they’re on the scene at the hotel and I’ll make sure they’re waiting for you. Sandburg –”

“Yeah, yeah, make sure he doesn’t zone, got it.” Blair rose to his feet.

“Sandburg!”

Blair smiled. “Yes, sir?” he managed, sounding far more business-like than his grin indicated.

Simon stared at him for a full minute before shaking his head. “Damn it, Sandburg, you’re worse than my son. Get out of here, and take Ellison with you,” Simon growled.

“Yes, sir!” Blair said crisply, completely not intimidated by Simon’s rank or his considerable height. Jim fought off a grin of his own; Blair had never been intimidated by Simon and, after eleven years, wasn’t about to start now.

Blair was unusually quiet as they made their way to Jim’s truck. Once inside and away from the precinct, he spoke. “You know, Jim, usually if someone’s in trouble, you’re right there with me trying to figure out how to help them out of it. You’ve been acting like you don’t give a damn about Joe – and that’s not the guy I know and love. You know something you’re not telling me? See something you haven’t told me? You’re not thinking you need to protect me, are you?”

Jim didn’t immediately reply, focusing instead on negotiating the road. Finally, he said, “I keep getting these flashes – blood on a body, the smell of the air after a lightning strike, the sound of a man’s voice but I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, and Amanda. I just know it’s wrong and I shouldn’t be there, and neither should you.”

“Memory or vision?” Blair prodded.

Jim hit the steering wheel in frustration. “I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “And all I can think of is that I don’t know Joe as well as I should, and I should care more what happens to him because he’s someone I’m supposed to protect, but –” He took a deep breath as they pulled up to a stop light. Glancing over at Blair, he finished, “It’s like there’s this wall and I’m the guy I used to be. I didn’t care what the crime was or who the people were that were involved; I just did the cases I was assigned to and not much more than that.”

Blair’s eyes widened. “Can you break past it?”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?” he snapped. “I don’t like it when people are getting death threats, much less being murdered!”

“Maybe it’s some magic connected to Amanda,” Blair mused.

“Great, all we need is voodoo.”

Blair rolled his eyes. He knew Jim knew the difference between magic and voodoo, thanks to a case years earlier, but Jim wasn’t really in the mood to hear the reminder. “Don’t make me quote David Bowie,” he shot back instead. “Look, after everything we’ve seen, don’t you think magic’s real?”

The light changed to green and Jim accelerated through the intersection. “That’s not the point,” he argued.

“No? What if accepting that it’s real is the key to breaking down that wall?”

Jim set his jaw, and Blair knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Still, Blair tried. “Come on, Jim, just because you’re seeing it with something other than ordinary senses doesn’t make it less real. You’re reacting as if you’ve seen it – the primitive Sentinel in you recognizes it even if you don’t want to acknowledge it.”

Jim said nothing.

Undeterred by his lover’s silence, Blair continued, “Come on, Jim. You know the world’s bigger and far more mysterious – I mean, really, what are the chances you and I wind up meeting in the first place? I spent years looking for a Sentinel; I was about ready to give up. You can’t just let this stop you, whatever it is. Amanda asked for help; even if you didn’t consider her to be a friend, we owe her for the information she provided on that robbery case. Besides--”

“We’re here,” Jim announced as he pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. Silently, the two men exited the vehicle. Before Blair could stride forward, he found himself in Jim’s arms.

Relishing the opportunity to be held by his lover, Blair nonetheless asked, “What?”

In reply, Jim kissed him, hard, fast, dirty. Pulling back, he declared, “The only magic I trust is what we have. That’s love. That’s real.”

Dazed from the blaze of desire Jim had ignited in him, Blair stared at him. “I love you, too, Jim,” he managed, recovering with the aid of a deep breath. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other forms of magic.”

Jim looked at him, and for the first time he could remember, Blair read a hint of the fear Jim kept leashed. “I can’t fight that,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t know how.”

Blair smiled, though he was far from calm. “Isn’t that why you have me around, for the parts you can’t figure out?” he half-joked.

“I’d be more reassured if I didn’t know you were making half of it up as you go,” Jim groused, but the complaint was one Blair had heard before, and he ignored it as a matter of course. In all the time they’d known each other, Jim hadn’t ever dealt well with the things he couldn’t explain, preferring to leave them to Blair. It was, Blair realized, a measure of how rattled Jim was that he had admitted there was something mystical going on. Blair was just glad that he’d gotten Jim to admit it before things got worse. Before Blair could say anything further, Jim gestured towards the sliding doors of the hotel. “Shall we?”

The hotel was one of the city’s oldest boutique hotels, which meant it was a small, pricey, architecturally interesting hotel done in a distinctly Scandinavian style.

“Remind you of anything?” Jim asked with a grin. “Any of your friends into IKEA?”

“This isn’t IKEA,” Blair shot back. “This is what IKEA dreams of growing up to be. Wow.”

Jim left him admiring the furnishings while he checked in with the desk. A few minutes later, they were on their way to the fourth floor in an elevator so small it was rated for a maximum of six people. Jim winced as the old mechanism creaked loudly before depositing them on the requested floor.

The room they wanted was to the left, at the end of the hallway. They found two very sheepish-looking officers waiting for them outside the room, along with an older cop Jim recognized as one of the precinct captains, who immediately briefed them on the progress so far. Forensics and the coroner were on their way, and a search of the hotel and surrounding areas had turned up an abandoned housekeeping cart.

It didn’t take Jim long to find the telltale scar on Melville Béland’s wrist. Béland had been shot at point-blank range; he still wore an expression of surprise. Studying the body, Jim decided he didn’t like the way it sat. Following his hunch, Jim checked the bottom of the victim’s feet; he found faint traces of carpet fibers.

“You getting anything, Jim?” Blair asked as Jim moved away from examining the body.

“Yeah,” Jim said as he moved into the sleeping area of the room. The bed was made, though with the sort of rough precision someone who didn’t regularly make hotel beds would make. A half-open suitcase lay across the top of a dresser. Next to the dresser was a desk, its chair pushed back as if Melville had been sitting there when his killer knocked on the door. A black rollerball pen was uncapped on the desk; the cap lay neatly on the side. Jim frowned, making a mental note to find whatever he was writing on, and then focused his attention on the footprints he could see in the carpet.

“Béland was sitting there, writing on something. Killer knocks – maybe has a key? Béland gets up, gets halfway to the door, and falls, dead. But his body is in the bathroom. The killer dragged him in there.” Jim took a deep breath. “And it was an effort – I get a faint trace of the same powder-fresh deodorant Connor liked to use.”

“Anything else?” Blair pressed.

Jim frowned. There was something oily, not unlike gun oil…very faint, and not in this room. Tracking it, he found himself in front of a door in the middle of the room. Trying the door, Jim found it unlocked, and stepped into the next room.

The room next door had been neatly made. A toiletry bag on the counter in the bathroom and the suitcase in the closet revealed the occupant was male. More tellingly, though, the suitcase contained a plastic Ziploc bag with a bottle of Hanwei sword oil, a lint-free cloth, and a carefully folded white paper towel; another bag contained Renaissance wax. The baggage claim tag on the suitcase matched the one on Béland’s suitcase and indicated the pair had flown in to Seacouver six months before – about the same time as the first murder. Jim studied the suitcase contents, realizing that whoever had packed it seemed to prefer casual, easily replaceable clothing. Inhaling deeply, he realized that underneath the scent of sword oil and wax was the scent of old, dried blood.

Seeing Jim follow the trail into the other room, Blair called out the other officers in the hall. “Can someone find out who was staying with Béland in the room next door?”

Several minutes later, they had an answer. A man named Nick Wolfe had checked in with Béland. He’d been last seen exiting the hotel sometime around four o’clock the previous afternoon, but as yet hadn’t returned.

After directing the Forensics team to search Wolfe’s room as well and requesting that an APB be put out to look for Nick Wolfe as well, Jim decided to see how far he could track the smells he’d found. With Blair grounding him, Jim got as far as the parking lot, where he promptly lost the trail.

“Damn it!” he swore.

“Anything in the rooms that you could use, like dirty laundry?”

Jim shot him a glare. “I am not a K-9. There are limits,” he growled. A headache from concentrating on one sense over another was starting to pound his head, and he was getting annoyed at getting one step closer only to get so far.

Recognizing the signs, Blair sighed. “Dial it back, Jim, and breathe, steady, deep breaths. Do you want to –-”

“Amanda, I’m not going to stop,” a man’s voice argued from what sounded like two levels down in the parking garage. “You don’t agree with this, then fine. Just drop me off here. Last night was great but that doesn’t mean anything.” 

“You’re wrong, Nick. What happened to the guy I used to know?” Amanda sounded sad, disappointed. 

“You killed him, remember?” Nick said mockingly. A car door slammed. “Have a nice life, Amanda.” 

Grabbing Blair, Jim ran for the parking garage.

“What?” Blair demanded.

“Amanda’s here, dropping off Wolfe. They’re arguing,” Jim told him.

Eyes widening as his mind calculated the implications, Blair didn’t have to be told twice.

---

Part 12

It didn’t take long to reach the underground parking garage. The hotel had a small parking lot in front with its primary parking housed in the garage beneath the hotel. Zeroing in on the familiar scent of ozone and steel that Jim associated with Amanda, he was stunned to realize that it was stronger, and, as the distance between them was narrowed, seemed also to radiate from the man who now stood outside her convertible, still arguing with her. Amanda had stepped out of her car, and the pair stood a short distance away from the vehicle. The section in which they stood was mostly empty but well-lit.

Approaching the pair, Jim slowed his steps, hearing Blair do the same while he called for backup. The way the stairs were positioned, Jim and Blair approached the pair at an angle. Automatically, Jim cataloged details of the stranger arguing with Amanda: dark brown hair, Caucasian, a high-boned face that was bisected by a strong nose, dark brown eyes, and a burn scar that ran along the left side of his face. He had a lean, athletic build, and stood about four inches taller than Jim. The distinctive cut of the black leather jacket indicated he likely rode a motorcycle, a guess correlated by the black harness boots he wore. Underneath the jacket he wore a T-shirt whose logo Jim didn’t recognize. His jeans were worn but far from threadbare.

“And you think your way is better?” Amanda asked archly as Jim and Blair neared. “I never thought I’d say this to you, Nick, but you were a cop once. You can’t murder people.”

“Funny,” came the sharp-edged reply, “I thought that was part of the Game.”

Jim glanced at Blair, seeing him catch the way ‘game’ seemed to be capitalized.

“Get out of my way, Amanda,” Nick growled. “You’re a fine one to judge me.”

Amanda shook her head sadly. “No. You’re living on revenge, Nick, and you can’t.”

Nick snorted. “Then let’s settle this, one on one. It’s our way, after all,” he goaded.

Amanda stood. “I love you, Nick, and I’m not going to fight you. You want to fight, we’ll do it tomorrow, at the Bryn Memorial Park, at dawn. Not here in the old city – it’s holy ground.”

Nick smiled. “You think I don’t feel it? You think I don’t know how to find holy ground? How to find the ones who’ll be us? Sander and Calebresi were such good teachers.”

Amanda looked horrified. “Oh, God, Nick. Not those two. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I wanted to die!” Nick roared. “All I ever wanted was to love you, Amanda, until the day I died and you killed everything I was. I can’t forgive you. Sure as hell can fuck you. Dawn it is.” He started to walk away, and Jim took his cue.

“Freeze, Cascade PD. Stay right where you are, both of you.”

To Jim’s surprise, Amanda told him, “Whatever it is, Jim, this is a private conversation.” Her voice was hard, unforgiving.

“It isn’t when seven people are dead, including someone your friend here apparently knows well: Melville Béland.” Jim had the satisfaction of seeing Nick blanch.

“He was with me last night,” Amanda said quickly.

Nick snorted. “Come on, Amanda, you know he’s not going to buy that alibi, even if it’s true. I didn’t believe you the first time I met you. Why should he?” Before Amanda could reply, Nick turned to Jim. “Mel’s dead?”

Jim stared at him a moment, registering the fact that while Nick seemed angry, he also seemed genuinely shocked to find out his friend was dead. “Someone murdered him.”

Nick looked at Amanda a moment. “You win, this time,” he said to her before turning back to Jim. “I didn’t do it. Mel’s a friend. He gave me a reason to live when I wanted most to die. I’ll answer any questions you want.”

Warily, Jim nodded his acceptance as the backup Blair had called arrived. Nick and Amanda would be escorted to the station; Jim was not about to make the rookie mistake of assuming they’d comply.

---

Part 13

“So who is this guy?” Simon asked as he stood on the other side of the glass of the interrogation room.

“Former detective, Torago PD,” Blair replied, scanning the printout he’d made by running Nick’s name and description. It had been a long shot, but long shots had paid off in the past. “Database lists him as possible accomplice to Amanda, back when she was still a thief. He’s listed as the manager of a bar in Paris, according to the website, which hasn’t been updated in a few years. Amanda’s listed there, too, as owner.”

The captain of Major Crimes looked skeptically at Blair. “So, he fell in love with her and ran away to Paris? You said they were arguing?”

“Over whether to tell us something,” Jim said, nodding. “They didn’t say what, though.”

“But his record’s been clean for, what, six years?” Simon pressed.

“Three, actually,” Blair corrected. “He was arrested in Virginia – drunk and disorderly.”

Simon frowned. “He hasn’t lawyered up yet?”

Jim shook his head. “Amanda offered, but he refused. He’s an ex-cop; he knows how to play the system. We don’t really have anything on him except circumstance – and that’s a tough sell in court. He’s here of his own free will at the moment.”

Simon nodded grimly. “Good luck,” he told Jim.

“Detective Jim Ellison,” he introduced himself as he stepped into the interrogation room a few moments later. “Did Amanda invite you to Cascade?”

Nick eyed him suspiciously a moment, then laughed softly. “No. I’ve spent six years going out of my way to avoid her. She turned my world on its head and nothing’s been the same. I just wanted to see justice done. I owed Mel a favor.”

“How did you know him?”

Nick snorted. “He made the mistake of being obvious,” he said cryptically. “Look. Mel worked for a crazy group of people. They didn’t believe in retiring people. They found ways to get rid of them. Mel was afraid that was happening to him.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound too fond of him.”

“I wasn’t,” came the honest reply. “But I couldn’t let him burn to death.”

Surprised at the comment, Jim asked, “Was the fire deliberately set?”

Nick nodded. “My master was cruel and ruthless. One of his slaves decided enough was enough and set the house on fire. She didn’t care who lived or died.”

“She?”

“Nea Vähälä,” Nick told him. “Now she thinks that if she kills enough people, she’ll be immortal.”

Jim studied him. Gut instinct and experience told Jim that Nick wasn’t telling him the whole truth, but he couldn’t seem to get past a weird fog to use his senses to validate that theory. Apparently, Blair agreed with him, stepping into the room.

“You know,” Blair said conversationally, “when I was going for my master’s, someone tried to recruit me for a crazy-ass group that studied people who could live forever. The person who tried to recruit me had a tattoo that looked like this.” Blair dropped a photo onto the table.

For one wild moment, Nick let everything show on his face. “What did he say?” he demanded.

“More than you’re telling us, less than I know, Old One,” Blair said, his voice deeper than the Guide tone Jim was used to hearing. With a start, Jim realized Blair sounded a lot like his old Chopec shaman had when he was in command of a situation.

Nick stared at him, shocked. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Blair Sandburg, Shaman of the Great City, consultant to the Cascade PD, and doctor of anthropology,” Blair said without a hint of a smile as he dropped a jade wolf onto the table. “And you, sir, are full of magic you aren’t using for good.”

Abruptly, the weird fog lifted as Blair rested his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“Most people don’t notice,” Nick growled. “Let me go and I’ll handle Nea for you.”

“No,” Jim declared. “You show us where to find her, then we’ll see.”

Nick stared at him, then at Blair. His eyes narrowed and Jim felt the faint edges of that same strange fog start to creep in before Blair made a chopping motion with his hand.

Warier now, Nick said something in a language Jim didn’t recognize. “No,” Blair said pleasantly, “we won’t go to hell and die. Who taught you black magic, Nick? It certainly wasn’t Amanda, I’m sure. Way I hear it from the spirit world, Calebresi is burning in hell for what he’s done. Do you really want to go there with him, just because he left a part of his soul in yours?”

Nick’s eyes widened. Abruptly, he closed his eyes, as if in pain. “No,” he whispered hoarsely, in a voice so low Jim was sure Blair hadn’t been able to hear. “Not for that motherfucking son of a bitch.”

“Then quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” Jim shot back, annoyed, “and be the guy Amanda thinks you are.”

“And why do you care?” Nick retorted. “You fucking her too?”

“Much to her disappointment, no,” Blair replied. “Neither of us are.”

Abruptly, Nick grinned. “Then you’re stronger than I ever was.” He sighed. “All right. I’ll take you to Nea.”

“You know where she is?”

“Sort of,” Nick hedged. “I know when she’s near.”

For a moment, Jim was tempted to treat him just like any other suspect who had something to trade. Chances were, Nick would lead them on a wild goose chase. Yet something – maybe it was Amanda’s apparent trust in Nick, maybe it was Blair’s handling of what Nick had thrown at them – said that while it might be a wild goose chase, it wasn’t because Nick wanted it to be one. Magic ranked up there with the mystical shit as far as Jim was concerned – it wasn’t nearly as black and white as he wanted it to be, yet, he couldn’t deny it existed. He’d seen too much of both to believe otherwise, and in the last five minutes no less.

“Do you know it by smell or ….?” Blair asked.

Nick smiled tightly. “I’m not giving all of my secrets to you, Shaman, but if you want to compare me to a K-9, go ahead.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be here when you get clearance to take me along.”

Knowing this was their cue, Jim and Blair left the room.

---

Part 14

Abruptly, Blair doubled back at nearly the same instant Jim did. Flinging the interrogation room door open, Blair smiled grimly, satisfied, as he saw his spirit guide and Jim’s growling at Nick. “Thanks, guys,” Blair said. “Thought you were a little too cooperative. You were hoping we’d be fooled and you could escape, didn’t you?”

Nick stared at him, and for the first time since they’d met Jim saw a shadow of something ripple the other man’s face. “What the hell just happened?” Jim demanded, turning to Blair. “I felt the panther run ahead of me, heard Wolfe move from the chair…”

“Part of Calebresi is in him,” Blair explained slowly, as if he was translating from someone else, and Jim’s vision shifted into the mystical for a moment as he saw Blair’s wolf spirit guide speak. “Calebresi knew how to wield black magic; he would’ve made us believe that Nick had disappeared somehow, and then slipped out when our backs were turned. The wolf says Nick’s one of the Old Ones, who can hold a man’s soul in him and know what he knew. Sometimes it goes bad – the holder of the soul gets possessed.” Blair shook his head and turned to Nick. “You know you shouldn’t let him take over. Why do you?”

Nick said nothing for a moment, clearly struggling.

Going on instinct, Jim demanded, “Who are you?”

“A dead man,” came the reply.

“No,” Blair argued, and something about his voice made Jim’s hair stand on end. “You are Nick Wolfe, a man of honor.”

“You’re not going to get through to him,” Amanda cut in, stepping into the room. “Let me deal with this.”

Jim turned to her, eyeing her warily. “I thought you were talking to Detective Rafe.”

“I said all I was going to say,” Amanda told him. “Besides, I was waiting on Nick.”

For a moment, Jim remembered: Amanda, stepping into a hotel room only a few hours after they’d stumbled in, blood on her clothes and smelling of lightning, and looking far older and tougher than she looked. He’d wakened, hearing the latch slide in the lock of the door, and reacted like the combat trained soldier he was. He remembered abruptly her words then: ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.

“What kind of war requires swords?” he’d asked, seeing the blade she carried.

“The kind you don’t want to be in, Guardian,” she’d shot back. “Remember that if nothing else from this night. I wasn’t here and neither were you.” 

“You smell like lightning.” 

“It’s the Quickening,” she said, then closed her eyes as if she’d said too much. “Come on, soldier boy, shower with me, make me forget blood and death. Think you’re up to the challenge?” 

Looking at her now, he remembered he’d never been so certain he could please her. “Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions,” he said slowly. “You knew what I was when we met in Milan.”

She faltered momentarily. “I wasn’t sure you’d remembered.”

Jim laughed humorlessly. “Lot of things I forgot, but I remember more these days than I used to.”

“Then let me help,” she coaxed. “Calebresi isn’t fully in control of Nick yet. I can fix that.”

Jim eyed her warily as Blair looked on, equally dubious. “You sure?”

She laughed softly. “As sure as I am that your Guide is a Shaman.” Stepping forward, she stabbed Nick, killing him instantly.

“Amanda!” Jim roared, shocked. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, hush,” Amanda said, sounding slightly irritated by his reaction, as she pulled the bloodied knife out. Instantly, the wound began to heal, stitched up by lighting, as the smell of ozone filled the air. Nick gulped in a huge breath of air like a fish out of water.

“Jesus, Amanda,” Nick griped, “that’s twice now you’ve killed me. You’ve ruined a perfectly good T-shirt, too.”

Palming the bloodied knife so that it was now resting against her thigh, Amanda regarded him. “I’ll buy you another one,” she promised tartly. “That shut Calebresi up?”

Nick briefly closed his eyes . “Yeah. For now.” He turned to Blair and Jim, looking as if he’d decided to let them know the truth. “Let’s see: yes, I was dead, and no you can’t charge Amanda with attempted murder because what jury would believe you, and yes, I’m having problems, and yes, you really did see magic. The short explanation is that I’m immortal unless you cut off my head. Immortals play a Game in which the winner gets all of the power and knowledge of the loser – a process known as taking a Quickening. The last Quickening I took wasn’t by my choice; Nea arranged to kill my teacher, Calebresi. I was close enough that I absorbed it – which is what Calebresi planned anyway.”

“What I don’t understand is why Calebresi took you on as a student,” Amanda interjected. “He wasn’t known for that.”

Nick looked at her bleakly. “Calebresi liked my ass,” Nick said flatly. “Said I was too pretty to kill. Said he’d teach me to find others like me, and even better, to spot the ones who hadn’t died yet.”

“For what?” Blair broke in, shocked.

“Calebresi was more than a black magic user,” Nick said. “He made his living selling other people. He especially loved to find those of us who hadn’t yet had their immortality triggered and eliminate them as future competition in the Game, whether by killing them outright or by torturing them to death before taking their heads. Officially, he was a headhunter for a recruiting firm; his side business was slavery, but his passion was for taking heads of other immortals.”

“And you took his…Quickening, you said?” Jim asked. “So he’s trying to take over you from inside?”

Nick nodded.

“Where does Melville Béland and Joe Dawson fit into this?” Jim asked.

“Immortals are studied by a group of people known as Watchers,” Nick said, sounding tired. “They’re supposed to only observe, record, and never interfere in the lives of the immortals they Watch. Dawson threw that rule out the window and so did Mel. Except in Mel’s case, he still believed he wasn’t violating his oath. I hated that he used his friendship with me for his work, but I always figured it was better to know who was Watching me than not.”

“And this Nea woman?” Jim prompted, not liking what he was hearing at all.

Nick sighed. “I don’t want to kill her; I don’t want to take anyone’s head, especially not now,” he said. “But she’s batshit crazy, killing Watchers because she thinks that if she kills enough of them, she’ll be immortal. Problem is, all she has to do to be immortal is…die.”

“The fuck?” Jim swore.

“Really, it’s simple. You live your life never knowing what you could be, one day. Someone poisons you, shoots you, then presto, you’re immortal,” Nick drawled. “Or better yet – just die of poison. Calebresi told me that.” Ignoring Amanda’s gasp of horror, Nick turned to Jim and Blair before he added, “Here I was, thinking I was dying this heroic death for the woman I loved, and turns out, nope, she could’ve shot me two days sooner and not let me spent those days thinking my guts were going to turn inside out.”

Amanda winced. “I didn’t know Payton had made a poison that bad.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You didn’t think he could be that cruel,” he corrected.

“Let me get this straight,” Blair began, “if you’re going to be immortal, you die and then get resurrected?”

Nick nodded. “Healed of whatever killed you, no aftereffects. No weird visions, either. Only time I’ve ever gotten weird visions is when I’ve taken a Quickening.”

Jim and Blair exchanged looks, remembering how Blair had been resurrected. “All right,” Jim said, abruptly grateful that the mystical shit he understood was nothing like what Nick had described, “so how do we go after Nea?”

“And how do you keep Calebresi from taking you over completely?” Blair wondered. “If he was hunting others of your kind…what’s to stop him from breaking free?”

“I’ll watch him,” Amanda volunteered.

“Amanda, no,” Nick protested. “He’ll push you into taking my head.”

She smiled fearlessly. “Don’t worry; I want to keep you alive.” Leaning over, she kissed Nick. “I love you.” She stabbed him again, and this time, she didn’t remove the knife.

“Help me get him somewhere we can lock him up,” she suggested. “He’s not the only one who can find a pre-immortal in this town.”

“We can’t leave him like that,” Jim protested. “He’s dead!”

“Temporarily,” Amanda said breezily. At Jim’s incredulous stare, she sighed. “Look, Nick didn’t tell you the rest of it. Calebresi’s taking over Nick because Nick wants to commit suicide. He didn’t want to be immortal, and he resents the fact that I withheld that information from him. Nick’s not strong enough to overcome Calebresi on his own.”

“And killing him repeatedly will?”

“Until I can get him on holy ground,” Amanda admitted.

Blair studied her a moment. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Jim, what if you handcuffed him?”

Before Jim could answer, Nick seized back into life. Taking the knife out of his heart with an effort, he said tiredly, “Look, handcuff me and let me bird-dog this. If I get out of line, shoot me.”

“And how will you find Nea?” Blair wondered.

Nick paused, clearly struggling to describe something he couldn’t put into words. “Honestly? Ask me to describe how being stabbed with an ice pick feels like; I could tell you better. All I know is that it’s this pain in my head and this smell –”

“Like ozone?” Jim interrupted.

“Yeah, but faint, like it comes and goes.”

“Not very reliable then, is it?” Jim scoffed.

Sighing, Nick looked at Jim and Blair, seeing their disbelief. “It’s not a perfect science, and I’m not a K-9. I was tracking her last night in the park when I ran into Amanda. I figured Nea could keep for a night. Mel paid for that assumption.”

“Any chance she might have a base of operations somewhere?”

“Mel thought she might be operating out of her truck, but sticking to a perimeter. She has a half shell camper on the back. I found the camper last night but she was gone.” He rattled off the license plate.

“We’ll get an APB out,” Jim said, “and we’re going for a ride.”

---

Part 15

Between the APB and two hours of driving with Nick feeling his way for Nea, it didn’t take all that long, relatively speaking, to find her. She stood in what had been Joe’s house, ranting that he’d messed up her cosmic calculations to live forever.

“Hate to tell you this,” Nick drawled, “but you didn’t need to kill anyone to live forever.”

Nea swung her gaze at him. For a moment, she gawked, a stocky, horse-faced woman left speechless by the unexpected. “You were supposed to die, Wolfe,” she snarled. “In the fire, screaming, screaming for Calebresi to save you.”

“You screwed up,” Nick taunted her. “You cut off his head, and guess who got his Quickening? The nearest immortal: me. You thought I was just like you, didn’t you?”

“You were never like me. I studied the journals; I read in between the lines. You have to kill the Watchers so you can live forever.”

“Trust me, Nea. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Yes, it does! The ones who lived on the old burial ground will make me stronger. Hilger lived on Coal Road, Reese on Goldie Lane, Pearson on Par Drive, Lott on Ferrell Street, Williams on Ruckman Road, Batchelder on Deer Ridge Drive, and Dawson was supposed to be best of all, because he was in the center – he completed the circle!”

Nick shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

“Nea Vähälä,” Jim said, stepping into the living room as he pointed his gun at her, “Cascade PD. You’re under arrest for murder. Get down on the floor and put your hands behind your back.”

Nea stared at him. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go,” she wailed.

“Get down on the ground, now!” Jim ordered.

Pouting, Nea did what she was told. Jim quickly handcuffed her and began reading her rights as he hauled her off to a waiting patrol car.

Walking back to the house, he was met halfway by Nick. “You’re not going to get very far with her,” Nick predicted. “She’ll lawyer up and plead insanity.”

Jim shrugged. “She’s not going to harm anyone we know, at least not for the next several hours,” Jim pointed out. “You were a detective; you know how the system works.”

Nick laughed shortly, bitterly. “Yeah. I was a detective.” He sighed and stared off past Jim’s shoulder a moment before meeting Jim’s eyes. “Guess it’s my time to get gone, too.”

Jim nodded. “Amanda’s waiting. She’ll take you up to the monastery, now that Blair’s given her directions and made the arrangements.”

Nick took a deep breath, then let it go. “Hope this works. Never was one for all that New Age mediation shit, but if it helps settle Calebresi more firmly so that I’m not hearing him in my head, maybe it’ll be worth it. Damn. Amanda still can get me to do things I didn’t think I would do. Was a time when I would do anything for her – lie, cheat, steal, even kill.”

“Just as long as you’re not killing each other,” Jim suggested. “Preferably somewhere other than Cascade. Though I’d appreciate knowing one way or the other.”

“You got it.” Nick smiled briefly, then started walking to the convertible where Amanda waited as Blair joined Jim.

“Think they’ll work it out?” Blair wondered.

Jim shrugged. “Hard to say,” he said. “But they’ve got more time than we do to figure it out. Or maybe less. If someone was after your head for your Quickening….”

Blair shuddered. “I can’t say I blame Nick for not wanting to be a part of that. That would suck. And having someone record your life for posterity like he mentioned – that must’ve been that group Joe tried to recruit me for – that would suck; you’d never be able to trust anyone. But from what little I managed to get out of Amanda while we were driving over here, it sounded like she forgave Joe for doing his job.”

“Speaking of – did you manage to find out if he was happy to find himself in Majorca?”

Blair chuckled. “That was what helped me get Amanda talking – Joe called her on her cell phone and proceeded to bitch her out for ‘caring too damn much and panicking’. He said he’d be on the next flight home, as soon as Lucy was done fussing over the state of her villa.” Blair shrugged. “Amanda didn’t seem too worried, though. Said if he was truly mad, he wouldn’t be waiting on Lucy.”

Relieved, Jim said, “Good. I wouldn’t mind sitting down and talking with him—”

“You are not going to interrogate him,” Blair protested.

“I said talk, didn’t I?”

“Uh huh, and I know you, remember?”

“Yeah, and you love me anyway,” Jim shot back. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Shaking his head, Blair got into the truck.

Finis 7/31/09 Comments welcome!