Author's webpage: http://www.squidge.org/~flashpoint/

Author's notes: This story was published in Love and Guns V.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Sentinel characters, nor do I make a claim on them. Established characters are the property of Pet Fly Productions. Original characters and story are the sole property of the author.

Summary: A Sentinel Alternate Universe story in which Blair Sandburg is a gifted musician and singer in need of a bodyguard.

Rock and Roll Fantasy - part one
By Y. S. McCool

Jim Ellison cringed after seeing how easy it was to get into the Banks Entertainment Group building. He had flashed the young guard his library card with his picture set into it, and he had been allowed inside. Who gets in and how would be the first thing he would change when he officially started this job.

The building was well made, with easily controllable access points, but the personnel, in particular the door guard, had no idea what real security meant. No one challenged him as he made his way into the small rehearsal hall. His serious suit, dark glasses, and short hair sent the right image to everyone he passed--"Danger, do not cross."

People were often leery of him because of his muscular build and unemotional expression. He coveted that image and did little to lessen the impact that his square jaw, military bearing, and quick reflexes sent. Jim was the best bodyguard in the business, and this would be his first face-to-face with his new client, Blair Sandburg.

Inside the rehearsal hall, he found the person he would now be guarding. There were fifteen rows, with twelve seats each, on a slight incline which ended at the stage. The seats were reached from a central aisle, where Ellison now stood. Jim came to a halt at the ninth row. It afforded him the best view of the musician and the rest of the room.

The young man on the small stage was perched on a tall stool with a single light illuminating him. His eyes were closed, shutting out the world as he touched the inner soul of his music. The long fingers were quick and precise on the silver strings of the guitar. No words were necessary as the music, soulful and truthful, streamed from the instrument.

Jim's first thought on seeing Sandburg was that he was taller in person than he appeared on the television screen. Perhaps it was because he wasn't standing with his band, all of whom, including the female drummer, were well over six feet tall.

The musician was wearing dark brown leather pants which tightly hugged his compact body and a dark blue silk shirt which was opened at the top to reveal the man's hairy chest.

When the musician lifted his head, Jim got the full impact of the man's appearance. He had blue eyes which looked like rare jewels, lips so full they automatically invited nibbling, a long neck, solid jaw, dimpled chin, and nearly waist length, wavy, dark brown hair. He was gorgeous. Somehow even more exotic in person than any CD cover or video could ever convey.

The guitar continued its magic song, and Jim was drawn in.

He shook off the effects of the music when he heard the door open behind him. Jim turned to see his old friend, Simon Banks, coming through the door.

The other man had become even more gorgeous over the years since they were roommates, lovers, and best friends in college. He was stylishly dressed in a deep blue suit and collarless black silk shirt. He was taller and heavier than Jim was, but just as muscular. His smile made his handsome dark face irresistible.

"Jim!" Banks called, his dark brown eyes twinkling with merriment.

"Hey, Simon." The two men hugged tightly, reluctant to release each other.

The big man held Jim's chin for longer than was strictly necessary, but it was not in any way an unwelcome touch. They almost kissed, but the moment came and went. "No one told me you were here," Banks said, breaking the silence.

Ellison frowned. He put his "business" expression back on. It was the expression which allowed clients to feel safe and managers to shell out his high fees without a qualm. "I wandered in unchallenged, Simon. That's not the way to run things."

Banks cringed. He glanced nervously at the stage, somehow conveying with his body language he had failed. "That's why I called you. I appreciate you coming so fast."

Jim gave his friend a hard squeeze. It made the bigger man relax. "We go back a long way, Buddy. When you said you needed me, that was all I had to hear."

"I definitely need you. Things are getting out of control around here. I mean, I'm no security expert. So I called you." Banks gazed at his friend. "You look good."

Ellison grinned. He was indeed "looking good," as they say. He was darkly tanned and sporting a new custom fit Philippe suit. It was perfection. The jacket was padded and hung on his body to conceal his shoulder holster. "I just spent four months in Hawaii guarding a diva working on her first movie." He sighed. "Their only hope of making their money back is the soundtrack. She couldn't act her way out of a paper bag." The bodyguard punched at an invisible barrier with his pinkie.

Simon snickered. "Another Streisand wannabe? I bet I know who you're talking about."

"I never mentioned a name." Jim gazed at the manager. "Tell me about Mr. Sandburg."

Banks retrieved a photo out of his wallet of a younger version of Blair and himself sitting on lawn chairs in someone's backyard. Simon looked pretty much the same, but Sandburg seemed to be around twenty. "I first met him six years ago at the University. He was the work study assistant of a friend of mine, George Davis, in the music department." The manager touched the edge of the photograph as if the physical contact helped reinforce the images in his mind. "Blair gave me a tape of songs to listen to. The music was raw and powerful. It was like a chill went up my spine ten seconds after his voice came out of that ratty little tape player. I signed him that very day. We had a record deal with Epic within three weeks."

Simon continued. "You know the rest. His first album was a critical success and a minor commercial hit. He won his first Grammy, as Best New Artist, with that album, which pushed sales for his second album 'Expedition'. 'Expedition' went platinum. We're recording his fifth album."

Jim tracked a technician who entered the room and walked into the control booth. "So what's changed?"

"His older fans were never much of a problem. But, it's been madness since the movie 'Ravished' came out."

"He did the sound track for that, right?" It wasn't Jim's kind of film. Too much blood, supposedly underage flesh, and high volume screaming. But, damn, the thing was making money.

"Yes, he did. He also had a small part in the film. Six lines--all of which I can repeat in my sleep." Simon rolled his eyes dramatically. "Working on the film was something Blair always wanted to do. The camera loves him."

The big man sighed, and Jim automatically placed a hand on his friend's arm. Offering his support because he could see how much this whole thing was wearing on Banks. "Now, he's regretting getting his wish. The movie is still packing them in, and the stores can't keep the soundtrack on the shelves. He's never had this kind of publicity. It's the crazy ass fans of that movie who scare me. You wouldn't believe the stuff that comes in his fan mail now." He shuddered and wiped his hands on his pants, as if he were wiping away some contaminant.

Ellison mentally added to his "to do" list. First, retrain or fire the door guard. Institute stricter screening as to entrances and exits. Install a metal detector. Hire and train a staff as to the proper handling of packages received. There was nothing like an amateur to muddy up an investigation when criminal charges had to be filed.

Such precautions could be taken with minimum disturbance for the client. In this business that was the main thing. Keep them safe, but don't do it so that they become paranoid, pull a Howard Hughes, and try to hide under their beds.

"How's he holding up?" Ellison asked, seriously.

"Jim, the guy is into his music now. It's up to us to protect him." Simon gazed fondly at Blair. "He's put his trust in me, and I have no intention of letting him down."

Ellison hesitated. He didn't want to ask this of his old friend, but he needed to know the lay of the land. "Are you and he... together?" And would he be jealous if they were?

Simon shook his head with... regret? "No, that would be awkward. I'm his manager." He looked into the bodyguard's eyes. "Being his lover, while exciting, would make me question my judgment too much. As his manager, I need him out selling himself. As his lover, I would want to protect him behind high walls."

Jim smiled. "Can't have it both ways?"

"No," the big man said sadly. The music ended. Simon and Jim clapped enthusiastically. Sandburg grinned and gave them a little bow. "Come on, let me introduce the two of you." They climbed onto the stage. "Blair, this is Jim Ellison. He's your new shadow."

Sandburg took a long hard look at the man whom Simon Banks, the man Blair most trusted, had entrusted with his safety. Ellison was a major stud and a total babe. His face was chiseled, his mouth kissable, and his eyes were an almost electric blue. Definite eye candy.

"I've never cast a shadow this big before," Blair said as he shook the bodyguard's hand. The musician gave the larger man the squeeze test--a gentle squeeze of the fingers to test how comfortable Jim was being touched by another man. Ellison didn't pull away, and almost, but not quite, lingered over the contact. The bodyguard had passed the squeeze test.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sandburg."

"Blair. Call me Blair." The two men regarded each other.

"Well, Blair, I just want you to know that I will only interfere in your routine when it comes to your safety. Other than that, you won't know I'm here."

"I hope not. I love to talk." Blair placed his guitar in its case. In fact, if he ever decided to have an entourage, he would insist on a conversationalist as a permanent position.

Ellison nodded. "I can do that, too. I just want you to be as comfortable as possible."

Sandburg was tempted to tell him that kisses were also required, just to see the look on the other man's face. But decided against it. They were supposed to have a working relationship, not a "chase around the desk" relationship. Most of all, he didn't want to insult Simon's old friend.

Ellison was there to protect him, not cater to Sandburg's sexual desires. Not unless he wanted to cater to Blair's sexual desires. The musician smiled. "Cool," he said as he walked off the stage. "Let's head home, now. I have an appearance on the Buddy Wilkins show in two days, and I need to have some material ready."

Flopping on the Wilkins show was flopping on the world stage. Buddy had the highest rated late night show in America, and he had recently been syndicated for same night broadcasts all over the world.

This would be Blair's third appearance on the show. The producer had made a point of telling Sandburg that he was a "favorite guest" of Buddy's. That gave him a goal to strive toward. A favorite guest should never let his host down.

"Let me check around before you leave the studio. As easily as I got inside, I have little confidence that we're secure." Jim headed out the door and walked around the facility.

Blair watched Ellison stride away. The taller man had a grade 'A' ass. "I feel safer already," he remarked to Simon.

"Good." Banks put his arm around the shoulders of the smaller man. "Now, about all this hair..."

Ellison started at the top of the Banks building for his survey. The fifth floor had ten offices, including a corner office with an ocean view for Simon and two not quite as nice offices for Simon's two top assistants.

There were sixteen offices on the fourth floor, one of which was Blair's. Photography and video conferencing studios were among the offices on the third floor, and a recording studio took up the entire second floor. The first floor had the rehearsal hall, a music library, lobby, gift shop, cafeteria, employee lounge, pressroom, and two smaller rooms which looked like dance studios. The basement held storage and a young man with two cameras who was hiding down there. Jim tossed him out.

When he went to pick up Blair in Simon's office, the young man's hair had shortened to just past his shoulders. "Haircut?" Ellison asked quizzically.

Blair smiled. "No, those were hair extensions for the photo session." The musician combed his fingers through his hair, letting the mahogany curls fall softly to his shoulders. "I've never worn my hair that long. It's enough trouble as it is at this length." He lifted his guitar case. "Are we ready to leave?"

In other circumstances, he would have taken the case from the younger man. But, he was on duty and that meant he had to have his hands free for instant action. "Yes, I'm ready to go," Jim said as he held the door for Blair.

"Dinner at 8 o'clock, Simon. Don't be late," Blair warned, as he placed his guitar case on the floor and reached for his dark brown, well-worn bomber jacket.

Banks helped Sandburg into his jacket so smoothly Ellison knew this motion wasn't for show. "Late for one of your dinners? Don't talk crazy." The big man smiled and gave Blair a tight hug.

Jim was pleased to see the genuine affection on Simon's normally stern face. Banks liked to keep his "game" face unreadable, but there was no mistaking the big man's expression--he adored Blair. Jim would make it a point to get to know the young man beyond the client relationship he normally preferred. No spoiled brat musician could ever make Simon grin like that.

Sandburg knew every employee by name and greeted each of them as they made their way to the garage. This was hardly the action of a stuck-up rock star. "Nice wheels," Blair announced as he climbed into Jim's SUV, a dark blue Chevy Tahoe.

"Thanks, what do you drive?"

"A Dodge Viper," the younger man said sadly.

Ellison glanced at his client and catalogued his expression and body language--anger and sadness. "Broken down?"

"No, the National Tattler published a picture of it on the cover, complete with the license plate." The sadness was now losing to the anger. The younger man's heart beat increased, a sound easily picked up by Jim's sensitive hearing, and he clenched his fists. "Now, Simon doesn't want me driving it because he's afraid people would follow me." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Jim pulled out of the parking garage. "Sorry to hear that." After circling the block twice, they pulled onto the main street.

The bodyguard took the time to study his passenger while they made their way from downtown Cascade to the beach house where his client resided. The slow moving traffic afforded him time for a thorough inspection. The bodyguard checked his client for signs of drug use. It was a sad but necessary task in this day and age, and step number one in covering himself and his people.

As frightening as "over the top" fans could be for a celebrity, Ellison knew the number one security risk for a "known" person was illegal drugs. Finding, buying, taking, and hiding drugs and the people drugs attracted always led to an unhappy conclusion--injury, arrest, or death. Jim was not risking his neck or the necks of his people so some idiot could indulge in some perceived pharmaceutical bliss.

To know what kind of trouble Sandburg might represent, Jim wouldn't have to depend on a urine test. Ellison had an extraordinary sense of smell. So sensitive, that if the young man had used cocaine or marijuana within the last forty-eight hours, Jim would be able to smell the residuals on his skin and hair. There was none. In fact, Sandburg smelled like an early morning in the herb garden--ginseng, jasmine, mint, rosemary, green tea, catnip, and lemongrass. He smiled. At least they wouldn't have to battle over illegal drugs.

"I don't believe it," Sandburg muttered. "Traffic slowed to a crawl so two guys can wear orange vests and lean on their shovels while smoking cigarettes."

The traffic finally cleared, and they were on their way to the musician's home. Simon had given him clear and distinct directions, but Blair told him about a shortcut. Sandburg either talked, or he wrote on his notepad. His mind obviously didn't believe in down time. Jim turned his attention back to his driving.

Ellison was amazed by all the changes which had occurred in his hometown. He hadn't spent any significant time here since he had graduated college, even though his brother, Steven, and his father still lived in town.

His father, businessman and tyrant William Ellison, he couldn't care less about, but Steven was an entirely different story. Jim would have to find some time to spend with Steve, perhaps while Blair rehearsed or was recording his music.

They left the downtown area, with its new glass and steel buildings, and pointed southwest toward the ocean. They were headed to Harbor Point, one-time sixties commune, and now upscale beach-side community. My, how times changed.

When Jim had been a kid, this area was choked with warehouses and bums. Now there were condos, a park, a maritime museum, jogging trails, bike paths, and mansions. As his friend, Tina the realtor, had said, "The ocean calls to money."

Harbor Point was situated on a high bluff which overlooked the ocean. As they crested the hill on Lighthouse Point Road, they could see the Cascade Yacht Club to the north.

The neighborhood boasted a security patrol, a currently empty guard shack, and a gate which was opened by a remote Blair had on his keychain. Jim didn't like that. It gave too many people access because the gates closed so slowly. Good for letting in stretch limos, but bad for keeping extra vehicles out.

The house, mansion was too cold a word for this beautiful place, was situated on the highest bluff in the neighborhood, overlooking a horseshoe shaped cove. The front and back yards were terraced, beautifully landscaped, and surrounded by a tall, custom wrought iron fence.

"Welcome to my home," Blair said cheerily as he pulled the mail out of the box. He tapped in his security code and started to enter the house, but Jim held him back.

"Do you have a dog?"

"Yes," Blair responded suspiciously. "Can I go in now?"

"No, I need to listen." Ellison scanned the premises. "Okay, there's just the dog inside."

The musician made a disgusted noise and then walked through the door. "I can see this is going to take some getting used to," he mumbled before stepping into the foyer. The smaller man stopped and waited in the middle of the black and white marble floor. "Watch out for Quentin," Sandburg warned.

Jim instantly recognized the sound of a huge dog coming their way. It was an Irish Wolfhound--enormous, ugly, and looking at Jim as if he were only waiting for the steak sauce to be generously applied to Ellison's butt.

"Nice doggy," the bodyguard said softly.

"Quentin, sit," Blair commanded. The dog sat, practically on Sandburg's feet, but continued to regard Jim warily. "Quentin, this is a new friend." The animal looked decidedly unconvinced. "Hold your hand out, Jim, and let him sniff you."

Ellison offered his hand to the huge brute. Quentin sniffed him, but seemed to withhold judgement on Jim's worthiness to be inside the house.

Blair made a beeline to the sunroom, where he opened the back door. The dog raced outside after one final look at Jim which promised chewing, eating, and spitting out if something happened to Sandburg.

"He looks like quite a guard," Jim remarked. "I feel superfluous."

"Hardly. Quentin is good company, but he can't hold up his end of the conversation." Blair moved into the kitchen and began rummaging around the refrigerator.

Ellison noted a message attached to the front of the refrigerator. "Is Carmelita your girlfriend?"

The younger man snorted. "No, she's my housekeeper."

"She left you a note on the fridge."

Blair snagged the note, then turned to look at Jim. "How did you read the name from way over there?"

"I have excellent eyesight."

Sandburg looked down at the floor. "One foot per tile would put you at approximately fourteen feet away from the refrigerator." He looked at the note. "That means you have at least 20/5 vision. That's phenomenal, man."

"I know," Ellison responded cryptically. "But still within human norms."

Blair blinked. "Okay, man. I can take a hint. I'm making a mental note about it."

"I didn't mean--"

"No, it's okay," Sandburg assured the older man. "It must be nice to have those skills in your job." He fished his eyeglass case out of his pocket and popped on his glasses. "I, however, wear glasses."

Ellison relaxed. He was a little uncomfortable discussing his skills with strangers. Sandburg had sensed that. "They make you look like a very young professor."

Blair laughed. "I almost was one."

"Oh?" Ellison moved closer to his client.

"Before Simon discovered me, I was on my way to becoming a professor." Blair went back to pulling foodstuffs out of the refrigerator.

"In music?"

"No. I love music, that's why I wrangled a work study in that department, but I was studying Anthropology."

"What was your field?"

"Physical Anthropology." He closed the refrigerator and started pulling down pots and pans. "Actually, I was only hoping to sell some of my songs to Simon to pay the bills. Who knew that it would end up like this?" He waved the stick of butter he had in his hand around.

Blair was such a cutie, an intoxicating combination of intelligence and enthusiasm. That stick of butter in the younger man's hands was giving Ellison some seriously wicked thoughts. "I could find a better use for that butter than as a pointer," Jim mumbled. It was okay to fantasize. Which was good, but he reminded himself why he was here--to help his best friend by protecting Sandburg.

"How far had you gotten in your studies?" he asked aloud. Academic pursuits were a far safer subject than almost anything else.

"I have my master's degree. It was awarded just after my first album came out." He moved to the sink and began rinsing vegetables. "Do you eat meat?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"You have that 'my body is a temple' look."

~If I declared it a temple, would you promise to worship at it?~ Ellison shook himself out of this fantasyland he had constructed around the other man. It was ridiculous. Sandburg, even though Jim had already figured out the younger man was interested in men, would never find Jim attractive. People Sandburg's age thought people Ellison's age were tragically unhip and had one foot in the grave. There were millions of young people swooning over the musician, and he could have his choice of any of them.

"I watch what I eat, but I'm a firmly entrenched omnivore." He patted his rock hard stomach.

"Good. I do a mean lasagna, and there is a lot of meat and cheese in it."

"Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm all right at the moment. Take a look around the place while I get this going. Pick a bedroom. Just don't touch the mess on the piano or my desk. I have a system."

Jim looked around the big house. Besides the foyer, sunroom, kitchen, and breakfast rooms he had already seen, there were six bedrooms, each with a private bath, a music room, an office, a media room, a formal dining room, living room, and family room.

Even though he had abandoned his pursuit of a doctorate, Sandburg had not abandoned his love of anthropology. There were artifacts, books, clippings, and correspondence from people in the field. Perhaps that attention to something real and important kept the young man grounded.

Jim chuckled at the so-called system, which consisted of stacking everything in barely stable piles all over every surface Sandburg had alluded to--projects started, paused, ended, and somewhere in between.

The last room he inspected was the master bedroom. He was there to check for entrances and exits, but also to look for other clues about his client.

Sitting in a raised stand was a Jimi Hendrix guitar. Oh my! Photos of Sandburg with his friends, family, other celebrities, the Dalai Lama, and Donald Duck at Disneyland. He stepped out onto the large balcony and walked around the hot tub. There was a spectacular view of the ocean from here. The balcony was secure because there was nothing for anyone to climb up on to get into the house from here. But, there was a rope ladder here for escaping down, in case of emergencies.

He could see Blair snuggled up to some sweet young thing, sipping wine, and getting his groove on in the large redwood hot tub. How could they resist him?

Jim retreated from the location of no doubt countless sexual encounters to pick out his own bedroom. He chose the one at the far end of the hall. His hearing was so acute he would be able to detect the other man's every move, and he already knew he didn't want to be the witness to any of Sandburg's sexual romps. In less than three hours, he already had it bad.

Simon arrived a little early, laden with a chocolate cake, two bottles of wine, and some news on the financial front for his number one client, Blair.

"Sandburg, I have some very good news. Epic has corrected your sales report. I have your adjustment check in my pocket."

"Don't you mean you have my stub after you deposited the money?" Blair asked.

Banks grinned. "Normally, yes. But this time no. I know you wanted to buy Naomi a house." He placed his burdens on the kitchen counter and retrieved the check from his pocket. "Now, you can." He placed the check in Blair's hand.

"Naomi?" Jim asked.

"My mother." Sandburg turned the check over and read the amount. His jaw dropped. "Good Lord."

Jim didn't bother to glance at the amount on the check. He could have seen it from where he was sitting if he wanted to. But it wasn't any of his business. He figured it would be a huge amount if the goal of buying a house was being bandied about. Especially if the house was in this neighborhood.

Quentin scurried into the kitchen, and unlike his greeting of Jim, he bounced excitedly around Simon.

"Hey, fella. How's it going?" The big man roughhoused with Quentin. He and the dog obviously got along well. The wolfhound rushed out of the kitchen, and Simon took a seat at the breakfast bar beside Jim. "Are there any changes we need to make at the house?"

"Yes. The security system Blair has is fairly good, but I want to upgrade him. I can have a team out here in less than two weeks. By then I should have a full report on what I want changed."

"Is all that necessary?" Sandburg asked. "It's tough enough with a keypad on my door."

"It will still be just a keypad on your door, Sir. You won't notice a change," Ellison assured his client. "We specialize in hidden systems."

"What kind of changes do you want to make?" Banks asked. The big man was trying to ignore Quentin, who had returned with his leash.

"He needs a panic button. The gate guard is absent too much. The security patrol needs more training. I'm sure the neighborhood would like to see those changes."

"I don't know if the neighborhood association would go for increased fees," Blair said.

"Two words, Sir--home invasion."

The three men were silent. Quentin took the opportunity to start whining.

"He's just using me, you know," Banks remarked to Jim. "I'm just someone to fulfill his walking needs. It'll never be anything permanent." He sighed.

"Does he ever make promises?" Jim asked, getting into the game.

"No," bemoaned Simon. "But, he makes a guy believe this could be the one true relationship. Quentin knows how to play me along." Simon snapped the leash on the dog and headed outside with him.

Blair may have been Quentin's master, but Simon was the one who was strong enough to keep the big dog under control. Sandburg probably didn't take the animal for a walk, so much as Quentin took Blair on a pull.

Jim watched his old friend take the suddenly friendly beast outside. "How did you end up with such a large dog?"

Blair wiped the fog, which was caused by leaning over the large pot of boiling water, off his glasses with the tail end of his white apron. "Simon and I went to the shelter to pick out a dog for me."

"Why did Simon go with you?" Jim sprayed the bottom of the large casserole dish with a vegetable non-stick spray. He leaned over to watch as Blair placed a layer noodles, followed by a layer of ricotta cheese, in the pan. The lasagna was promising to be both tasty and fattening.

Sandburg continued to layer noodles, meat, sauce, and cheese in the dish. "To keep me from bringing them all home. I whined a bit, but he was right. I appeased my guilt by leaving a nice check."

Jim laughed. "Go on." The bodyguard began quartering the tomatoes and dropping them into the blender for the soup.

The musician placed the lasagna in the oven. "Anyway, I had an idea of what I wanted, maybe a Golden Retriever, a German Shepherd, or perhaps a Collie. Something in the working class. No lap dogs or curious crosses between rats and squeaky toys." He washed his hands, then started chopping herbs.

Ellison laughed. He ground down the tomatoes into a satisfyingly chunky consistency. "So what happened?" he asked as he poured the tomatoes into the saucepan. "How did you end up with the largest dog known to man?"

Sandburg tilted his cutting board into the sauce pan and let Jim slowly stir the herbs, onions, and garlic into the fresh tomatoes. "I went past the puppies, because they can always find a home. As I was walking down the rows of the older dogs, I asked the attendant which ones were on the shortest times." Blair passed the cutting board to Ellison so that he could wash it. "Quentin was two weeks past the longest he should have been kept." The younger man paused and looked back at the dog dishes sitting in the laundry room, which was just off the kitchen.

"He was just out of puppyhood. The poor guy had been abandoned at a park." Blair looked so sad that it caused a catch in Jim's heart. The younger man had such an emotional face, it hid nothing.

"Maybe the family just lost him," Ellison suggested, trying to take the sting out of the memory for his client.

"No," Sandburg sighed. "Witnesses saw them put him out and drive away. I guess once he got so large, he was no longer cute. I asked them to let him out of the cage." He opened the breadbox and extracted a bag of garlic bread.

"That was risky." Ellison found a cookie sheet and placed it beside the smaller man. It struck him that no matter how unorganized the younger man's work area, his kitchen was thoughtfully laid out. Jim took a deep breath and fought the urge to reorganize the spice rack. Alphabetical was the only way to go. How could anyone work with the spices organized by the height of the bottle? He looked back at Blair.

"Not really, you should have seen his eyes, they were so gentle and intelligent. It was probably the reason the clerks were shuffling his arrival date so he wouldn't be put down." The younger man's hands drew pictures from the past in the air.

"You saved him," the bodyguard soothed.

"We saved each other. He's been a wonderful constant. It can get lonely in this business and very hard to separate real friends and people just along for the ride." He was suddenly silent.

Jim was very glad Blair had Simon to fight for him in this cold, hard world. Anyone as open as he was would be trampled in no time.

The wave of sadness which had taken Sandburg passed quickly. "Why don't you pick us out a wine?"

"Was it love at first sight for you and Quentin?" Ellison asked as he turned to inspect the chilled wine rack. There were some really great choices here. He chose a nice California label which had always served him well.

"Definitely. We bonded right there. I took him home, and we've been pals ever since. Even if he does like to tease Simon." Sandburg wiggled his eyebrows.

The two men set the table in the breakfast room. By the time dinner was ready to serve, Banks was coming back in. "Something smells good," the big man announced.

"It's my lasagna," Blair said as he removed the dish from the oven.

"Great. Just let me wash up." Simon released the animal into the house and hung up the dog's leash.

Quentin moved into the family room and flopped down in front of the fireplace. Jim could have sworn the large animal was smiling. Simon returned, kissed Blair's forehead, and Jim's too when he pouted, and took his seat.

"How was your walk?" Blair asked.

Banks grinned. "Excellent. Who needs a gym when I can wrestle Quentin along."

Blair held Simon's bowl while Jim ladled the soup. "Normally, he obeys you."

"Normally, we don't run into an Afghan hound in heat." Banks tasted the soup and gave Blair the thumbs up signal. "Excellent."

Jim shuddered. "Those would be some incredibly ugly pups." He tasted his soup, smiled, and then devoured it.

"Jim, that's not nice!" Blair complained.

"I don't understand it though, Quentin was snipped," the manager mused, between spoonfuls of soup.

"That doesn't stop him from being interested in the opposite sex," Blair suggested. He started in on his soup.

"It should," Simon said. The three men were silent as they finished their bowls of minestrone.

Jim took the bowls to the sink, while Blair cut the lasagna into wedges. Banks accepted his filled plate from Sandburg. He moved it over slowly as if it just weighed too much to move quickly. "Trying to fatten me up?" he asked with a brow raised in suspicion.

The younger man used his fork as a pointer. "I know you didn't have lunch, and you probably only had coffee and a bagel for breakfast." His voice was the perfect pitch for lecturing a naughty child.

"Are you following me around, Kid?" Simon asked with mock hostility.

Jim was enjoying this little domestic scene. The two men were sounding very "married" right now.

"Someone has to look out after you," Blair explained. "I can't have you wasting away." He placed a much smaller amount on his plate, but loaded up Ellison's.

"He was pretty scrawny in college," Jim said. He was not going to complain about the amount of food on his plate. He was starved. His stomach had totally forgotten his breakfast.

"You two go back that far?" Blair asked, before blowing on the steaming piece of food dangling from his fork.

Jim's sight zoomed in on those perfectly puckered lips--plump, berry red, kissable, and totally off limits. He wondered what kind of skin care regimen the younger man indulged in, because his skin was flawless, except for the beginnings of a heavy beard which only gave Blair that "Miami Vice" look.

"Oh, yeah," Simon said. "Jim and I were assigned as roommates in our freshman year of college."

Ellison snapped back from his tight close-up on the singer's lips. "Simon was the brain, and I was the brawn." Jim tapped his chest. "Both of us were on scholarships. Simon's was academic, and mine was Army ROTC. We were too poor to get into much trouble."

"Jim was pretty buffed out, even then. I was about thirty pounds underweight."

"More like forty," Jim corrected. He sucked in his cheeks. "The word skinny hardly covered the boy's tragic state." He grinned at his old friend, who was trying to look offended. "I took him under my wing to help him fill out, and he kept me from flunking chemistry, algebra, physics, and geometry."

Banks nudged his old friend. "And Jim kept me from failing girls. I practically made it on his castoffs."

Ellison laughed. "Don't let him fool you, Blair. Simon Banks was breaking hearts, even back then."

"I was never a heart breaker." Simon drew a halo over his head. "I was there for an education."

"You were also in charge of keeping me sane," Ellison said introspectively.

"Oh?" Blair inquired while he passed the breadsticks around.

"I had nowhere to go during the Christmas holidays, so Simon always took me home with him. He also took me in when I didn't have a summer job lined up." Jim could have gone home, if he had felt he had a home that wanted him. The Banks had understood. The two roommates had gone to Simon's hometown of Greenfield, just forty miles outside Cascade. Steve had come to see Jim there.

"Two days on a bus, both ways, and we're still speaking to each other," Simon smirked.

"How did you get along with Simon's family?" Blair inquired. "I love them."

Ellison didn't have to be told what the musician thought of the Banks family, it was written all over his expressive face. "So do I," Jim said quietly. "When I first attended the Christmas services at their church, Simon's father introduced me to the congregation as the son he had just found out about."

Blair laughed. "He said the same thing about me. Frank really gets around."

"And Barbara is really understanding," Jim continued.

Banks touched the bodyguard's shoulder. The half wanted, half expected teasing press of fingers did not come. Jim expanded his sense of smell toward his old friend. There was a woman firmly in the big man's life. The scent of her body and the light touch of her perfume clung to Simon. The man was taken, and Banks did not cheat. That safe and delicious avenue of sexual release was closed to Jim.

"Mom told me you were a bad son," Banks said solemnly. "Because she only got two cards and four lousy phone calls from you last year."

Jim leaned away from Simon, breaking their physical contact. "I was out of the country."

Simon raised his voice to a falsetto. "And they have no mail services nor telephones in this foreign land?"

Blair chuckled. "I will never tell Barb you imitate her."

Simon shivered. "Okay, I'm twice her size, but I'm still afraid of my mother's wrath."

"And well you should be," Jim said. He flashed back to Simon's old room in his parents' house and sharing a bed with his friend. A bed, a kiss, a grope, and sex so passionate that they nearly broke that old bed. Barbara had known. She had that "mother's instinct" about things.

That knowledge had not turned her against Jim. In fact, they had become closer. To this day, they remained tight. Barbara had become the mother Jim had never had, since his own mother had died when Jim was five.

Ellison's gaze settled on Simon's face, and he could tell they were both remembering. Their affair had lasted until they had graduated. Neither had given up on women. In fact, they would sometimes share a lusty lady. The two men had gone their separate ways after college--Jim into the army, and Simon into the Harvard Business school.

When they got back together over the years, the sex had still been there, but best of all, the friendship had grown and deepened. Therefore, when Simon had said he needed Jim, Ellison had come, no questions asked.

"What did you do after college, Jim?" Blair asked as he filled Simon's wineglass.

"I went to Officer's Candidate School, then on to special training. I was a Dragon Scout."

"What every Navy Seal, Green Beret, and Army Ranger wants to be when they grow up," Banks teased.

Blair nearly spilled the wine he was pouring. "Wow, Special Ops, search and rescue, extractions, those kind of things?"

Jim smiled at Blair's no doubt glamorized version of what was a very dangerous job, especially when considering the relatively low pay. If it hadn't been for hazard pay bonus, which often tripled his base pay, he wouldn't have been able to make a living. Then there was the fact that most of what you did was secret. God, how he missed that job. "Yes, those sort of things."

"So, do you have any stories you can tell?" Blair asked, brightly.

Jim sighed. He had stories. He had stories that would make both of these civilized men cuddle and soothe him into the night. He had stories that would cause his friends to wonder about his sanity. He had stories, but he couldn't share them. "Not really. Except to say that I was in the only branch of the military where we rescued other Special Ops groups."

"Why did you leave?" The young man's eyes seemed bluer now in the soft light of the breakfast room. It was nice being the recipient of his intense stare.

"I was promoted to Lt. Colonel, which took me totally out of the field. I rode a desk for six months before I knew I had to get out." He turned and smiled at his old friend. "Simon gave me a loan to start my own guard company. He even sent me clients."

"Best investment I ever made," Simon remarked before he took a sip of his wine. "Jim is the man. That's why he's here personally and not just one of his people."

"I'm here because you called." Jim stroked the larger man's fingers tenderly. "You know I could never deny you anything." He didn't have to worry about shocking Sandburg. Banks had told Jim that the musician knew Simon was bisexual.

"Well, well. Should I leave the two of you alone?" Blair asked impishly.

"No, I'm not ashamed," Simon admitted before he kissed Ellison's palm. "Jim was my first man. I'll always be grateful for his tenderness in my ... initiation."

The former Dragon Scout inhaled the scent which signaled that his old lover was becoming aroused. He glanced under the table and saw that Simon's cock had begun to stir with those sweet memories. Ellison smiled. "I got a lot out of it too." He could have pushed now, he knew all of Simon's sexual buttons. Sweet, sweet memories could have easily become hot and sweaty reality. But that time had passed. Their time had passed.

They smiled at each other. Two old lovers who had made the transition from friends to lovers and back to friends successfully. Simon lifted his wineglass and saluted Jim.

Blair nudged his bodyguard. "I should warn you, man. Simon is stepping out with Lorna Broadway, an English professor at Rainier University, and she's already named the children."

Banks nearly choked on his wine. "Blair!"

"I'm just trying to save the man's life here," the musician said defensively. "Lorna is a very serious woman. Your past is that, but if you cheat on her... Let's just say that I refuse to be dragged out of my nice warm bed to help bury you."

"It would be one big hole," Jim asserted.

"It would be a lot smaller if Blair would quit feeding me," Simon retorted.

Jim awoke at 5:30 a.m. as was his custom. The Cascade early morning air was crisp and perfect for an early morning run. Quentin looked so forlorn when Ellison was about to head out that Jim took a chance with his continued existence and hooked the big brute on his leash.

He had expected to be held up by the pampered animal, but he was wrong. Quentin loved to run, and the loose and gravelly sand on the beach didn't even slow him down. He took the opportunity to have a good look at the approaches from the beach to the house. Short of cutting Blair off totally from his neighbors and limiting the man's access to the beach Sandburg was paying top bucks to live beside, there wasn't a lot he could do. They would have to rely on the patrol.

When they returned from their exercise, Blair was already up and going through his yoga routine. The young man was focused, limber, and highly skilled. His every movement spoke of discipline and concentration. Jim thoroughly enjoyed watching the smaller man work out.

"Good morning," Blair called. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did." Jim placed the leash back on its low hook. "Quentin even let me take him for a run."

Sandburg ruffled the dog's fur. "Good boy." He headed toward the kitchen. "I like a big breakfast, because you never know when you can get lunch."

"Sounds good to me. According to the itinerary, we'll be at Top Shelf Records for two hours this morning."

"It'll be longer than that, Man. I heard on the radio that people were sleeping on the sidewalk so they'd be the first in line today. I'm not washing over people who slept out on the streets to get me to sign their CDs."

Jim was impressed. Most people who had "made it" hardly cared about what their diehard fans would do to see them.

"You're the boss. Just let me get a shower."

Breakfast was mostly silent, at least after Quentin got through crunching the contents of his bowl. They drove to the studio first. While there they picked up some giveaways the record company sent along with some promotional stuff for the movie "Ravished". Then Jim, Blair, and four assistants loaded into two vans for the one-hour drive to the big record store.

The line snaked through the parking lot.

"How many in line, do you think?" Blair asked no one in particular.

"About three thousand, I would guess," Jim said. They would be facing three thousand rabid fans. Joy.

They actually entered the building through a secret access door from the adjoining complex. Jim spoke to the three off-duty officers who had been hired by the store to handle crowd control inside the building. Four additional officers were responsible for the crowds still in the parking lot.

Blair shucked off his light jacket, popped on his glasses, and took his seat. When the curtain was lifted from the small stage, the crowd went wild.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Blair Sandburg." The fans became silent, as if someone had turned off a switch. Jim suddenly had an image of Blair as a Prophet, leading his followers into the halls of righteous Rock and Roll. "If we all work together," Sandburg continued. "I can sign everyone's item and greet you. Please keep the line moving, and remember to treat your neighbors the way you want to be treated."

For the next three hours, Blair signed CDs, albums, photos, t-shirts, casts, panties, one jockstrap, and Teddy Blairs. A bestseller in upscale toyshops, the toys, designed by Naomi Sandburg, were two-foot tall teddy bears with curly dark brown fur, dressed in leather vests with sunglasses and plush guitars. The Teddy Blair had begun life as a decoration on the cover of his second album "Spend the Night" and the co-star of the video "Play With Me".

Jim had been amazed at how Blair kept the lines moving while managing to make a personal comment to everyone he met.

Three hours and seventeen minutes into the event, a drab little mouse of a girl with greasy, badly bleached, blonde hair and pitch black roots, presented her movie poster from "Ravished" to be signed.

"Who should I make it out to?" Blair asked, still surprisingly chipper.

"My darling wife, Sharon," she answered. Her dark brown eyes stared unblinkingly at the musician. The pupils were so dilated that the brown was almost invisible.

"How about just Sharon?" Blair answered in an uneasy voice.

"Wife, wife. Wife! I'm your wife!" Her Southern California touched voice rose from sweet and interested to an ear-shattering screech. She lunged at Blair only to find herself thrown painfully down against the table.

Jim relieved the little nutcase of her weapon. It was a ritual blade, which the bodyguard recognized as being from the movie "Ravished". The posters were everywhere. The eight cases of the movie soundtrack they brought with them, which had long ago sold out, also featured a picture of the blade.

"We're moving, Blair," Jim announced after he handed off the young woman to the waiting police officers.

"No," Sandburg answered, shaking his head and crossing his arms.

Ellison leaned toward the smaller man, his jaw dropping in shock. "What?"

The smaller man looked up at his bodyguard through his thick black lashes. His voice was steady, despite what had just happened. "You removed the threat, and I want to stay."

Ellison ground his teeth in agitation. How in the hell was he supposed to do his job when the client didn't want to cooperate? "Sir, haven't you had enough ego gratification for one day?" Jim whispered harshly.

Blair fumed. He shot out of his chair and hauled the larger man toward the back. "Look, Ellison, let's get something straight right now. These people have been waiting hours for me to sign their item and say hello." He looked back toward the anxious people whispering and watching at the front of the store. They had fallen back into line. "The troublemaker is gone, and I'm not just going to walk out of here because of her."

Jim interrupted. "Sir, procedure is to leave--"

Blair's voice rose. "That would mean she won, and everyone else lost."

Applause started, building and building until Jim worried he would be deaf for the rest of the day.

Ellison looked at the four lackeys they had brought with them, but there was no support coming from them for either side. They got paid no matter what they did.

"Okay, but the next threat means we leave."

"Fine." Blair held his hand out to the man who had been standing behind Sharon. "Hi."

Ellison could hear the young man's heart beating like a triphammer, and the acrid smell of fear still hung over him, but his voice was rock steady.

"Hey, man. Thanks for not leaving. I skipped school to be here."

"Hey, don't skip school, Dude, not for me, not for anyone. Where do you go?"

"Washington Polytech. It's nothing but a hassle."

Blair looked up at the skinny, disheveled young man. His jacket was too large, his pants a little high at the cuff, the shirt too loose. "What's your name, man?"

"Kenny Marks." The youth pushed back his bright red hair from his overly freckled face, then extended his hand. Blair shook it firmly.

"I was where you are a few years back." Blair deftly signed the album, a copy of his first effort. "Hey, this is an original print." He touched the cover with a look of awe on his face.

Kenny smiled. "Yeah, I work at a record store, and I get to hear all the new stuff first. I was blown away by it and pushed it every time someone came in and didn't have a selection in mind. It was like you were talking right to me."

Several people in the eerily quiet crowd made noises of agreement.

"Thanks. I wrote those first songs over a period of years when I had few friends, and I really doubted myself." Blair snagged the next item, a concert T-shirt from his first tour, and smiled at the owner.

"Cassidy Yates," the plump young woman said.

Blair signed the T-shirt, kissed the owner's cheek, and accepted the next item, a Rolling Stone magazine that had Blair on the cover. "Name?"

"Blair Stone," the older man announced.

"Not many of us," Sandburg grinned.

"How did you doubt yourself?" Stone asked.

Sandburg held up a finger for each of the faults he enumerated. "I was short, shy, wore glasses, was covered in pimples, and I was clueless about women." Blair sighed. "I had all these words inside and no one to share them with. My mother understood where I was coming from, but we were speaking different languages from about the time I turned eight years old."

"Bob Vanness," the next young man announced.

Sandburg continued to sign autographs until the last of the line of people, who had made it inside the store by the initial two-hour deadline, were served. During that time, he spoke of how he had lived all the events in his anti-suicide song "Missed Chances".

As he spoke of those tormented times, several people in the line began to sniffle. Quite a few needed hugs from the total strangers they stood beside. If Jim had been a therapist, he would have cleaned up by passing out cards.

They closed the store and ushered out the last of the customers. Many fans still pressed themselves against the windows, even after they had pulled down the blinds and dropped the security bars. Blair talked to each of the clerks and thanked them all for their hard work. One of the young men had brought his digital camera, and despite Ellison's whispered insistence they leave, Sandburg posed with them.

Jim was eager to get out of the "lovefest." When he was tense, his senses went into high gear. "You were born with these senses, Ellison, just like you were born with your cock," the voice of his instructor, Kim Davis, at Dragon Scout training had beat into his head. "Concentration and discipline, young man."

If there had been any Teddy Blairs left, he would have squeezed one while he concentrated on raising the threshold of his senses. But the only soft thing he could lay his hands on was Sandburg's jacket. Grabbing it turned out to be mistake.

The young man's sweat clung to the garment. So instead of lowering his sensitivity to outside stimulation, he trained his senses on Blair. Jim could hear the man's skin making casual and rough contact with his jeans. He could list every ingredient in his shampoo and hand lotion. He watched the capillaries on the young man's face expand and fill in a blush. He stepped closer to see what had caused that reaction. He touched Blair's shoulder.

The expression on Ellison's face frightened the young clerk to the other side of the store. She probably didn't know that guarding Blair also meant protecting him from sixteen-year-old store clerks who wanted to lose their virginity to a rock star.

"Are we ready to leave?" the bodyguard asked casually. His senses had dropped back to manageable levels the moment he made physical contact with Sandburg.

"Yeah," Blair said, in slightly stunned voice. "Man, I can't believe she just came out and asked me that."

"You must get that kind of come on a lot." He handed the jacket to his client.

"Yeah, but usually in print, hardly ever in person." He shook his head. "She only thinks she knows me, Man. Gwen wants to make love to the man who's on the CD cover and rocks her dreams in the videos. He doesn't exist." Blair started walking toward the passage door. He was walking a little stiffly from sitting in that hard metal chair so long.

"That's pretty profound," Ellison remarked as he fell into stride with the younger man.

"I'm a pretty profound person." Blair grinned.

There was nothing to reload in the vans as all the posters, photos, CDs, and Teddy Blairs had been sold. Ellison hustled his young client into the van and didn't relax until the record store was well behind them.

He turned to his client, and cleared his throat. "Sandburg--"

The musician looked out of the van at the receding store. "I know what you're going to say, and I don't want to hear it. Those people are the only reason I am a success, and I treat them with respect." Blair's voice was low and dangerous. The rest of the staff edged away, trying to make sure that they were out of the "zone of destruction" clearly forming around Ellison.

Jim closed his eyes, and spoke softly. "Actually, Sir, I was going to apologize. I thought that the only reason you wanted to stay was because you were being worshiped. I was wrong. I've never seen anyone connect with so many strangers like that. It was inspiring." He opened his eyes and saw that Blair was regarding him with respect. Probably, because he had just afforded Sandburg his "props".

"Thanks, again." Blair leaned his head back and closed his eyes as they hit the early afternoon lunchtime traffic.

"There's just one thing I have to know," Ellison stated as he leaned toward his client.

"What's that?" Blair asked without opening his eyes.

"Were you really shy, pimply, and clueless?"

Blair smiled, but his eyes remained closed. "Yes, yes, and I'm still clueless about women."

Jim laughed.

Jim grabbed his cell phone and opened it, mortified that its ringing might have been recorded. "Ellison."

"Hi, James. It's Kirk."

Jim did not have to be told whom that smoky voice belonged to. Kirk Franklin was the only thing Jim's successful brother, Steven, had that he truly envied. "Hey, guy. Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Oh, no. It's just that I found out that you're in Cascade. As in you didn't call and tell us you were in town."

Jim looked around and listened to the other conversations. No one was complaining about his phone. "I was going to call this evening."

"Un-huh," Kirk responded suspiciously.

"I was, I swear," Jim promised sincerely.

"I'll let it slide, James," the older man said magnanimously. "Here's the thing, I'm throwing Steve a surprise birthday party tonight."

"It'll be a hell of a surprise since his birthday is next month."

"I know that, J. The thing is that we will be in Japan on his birthday, and our hosts will insist on doing something for him. I want him to have a family party. I sent you several e-mails about this, but you never answered."

Jim was terrible about keeping up with his email. His server was always making grave threats about the amount of unread messages that he had stored. "The thing is, Kirk, I have a client right here in Cascade. His situation is tight, and I don't have much down time."

"Bring him along," Kirk suggested.

Jim hesitated. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"I see." Franklin sighed. "I can play it straight, all night long, if that's what's bothering you."

"Oh, Kirk, it's not that. I'm not ashamed of you or Steven. It's just that he's a new client. I don't want him to think he's some kind of accessory that I'm hauling around. We had a bit of a dust up this morning, strictly my fault, and I need to mend fences with him."

"But, James, I'm cooking, and you know you can't resist my cooking."

Jim smiled at his "brother-in-law's" words. Yes, he loved Kirk's cooking. He loved Kirk. He wanted to see the man and his brother, but he was on duty. "Oh, that would be wonderful, but I can't ask Blair to come to my brother's birthday party."

"Why not?" Sandburg inquired.

Ellison was stunned. A total amateur had snuck up on him. If he were still a Dragon Scout, he would have been busted down, or at least been assigned some menial task to reinforce his training.

Jim tried to take the panic out of his voice. "Blair, it's my brother's significant other and--"

"Put him on the phone," Kirk demanded.

"Kirk, he's my client--" Jim began.

"Let me talk to him," Blair said as he took away Jim's phone. Ellison couldn't figure out when he had lost control of the situation. Blair stood there, hand on his hip, chatting away to Kirk like they were old friends. "What time? ... Definitely. Do you have a theme?" The musician laughed. "That's so cool... What can I bring? Okay, see you tonight. Bye." He closed the phone and gave it back to Jim. "This will be great. I love family parties."

"You don't have to do this, Blair. Steve would understand."

"But Kirk wouldn't. I already told him that I would come." He paused. His deep blue eyes lasered their way into Jim's soul. "Or don't you want them to meet me?"

Jim sputtered. "Don't be ridiculous. You're one of the few clients whom I would want my brother and Kirk to meet."

"Then it's settled." Blair started to walk away.

"Blair?"

Sandburg turned. "Yes?"

"What's the party's theme?"

Blair smiled. "Kirk's transformed the basement into a single's bar."

Ellison gaped. "What?" He pretended to clean his ears. "Steven's never been in a single's bar in his life."

"I think that's the point, man." He grinned. "You have to dress like you're going on the prowl."

Jim smoothed down his silk shirt, then checked his ass in the mirror. The dark blue khakis were tight and accentuated his long legs and firm butt. On the prowl? If that's what Kirk wanted, that's what he would get.

The truth was, when Ellison had been able to prowl, he never had to work at it. Now his job seemed to suck the very soul out of his social life. In fact, this party would be the closest he had come to a date in over nine months.

"Whose fault is that?" he asked himself. Jim didn't have to work the long hours or take the difficult assignments. He had a staff. But since leaving the military, he had found himself craving the excitement. Therefore, Ellison took as many of the tougher assignments as he could. It kept him focused. The bodyguard checked himself in the mirror again. Focused... and lonely.

"Ow!" Blair hissed from the kitchen.

Jim dashed down the stairs. Other than Quentin, there were only himself and Sandburg in the house. "Blair?" he shouted.

"I burned my finger," he complained. "This potholder has a hole in it." Ellison could hear his client toss the defective potholder into the trash can.

Ellison came into the kitchen and screeched to a halt. Blair was sucking his injured finger while standing beside the double ovens. The younger man was dressed in black, body hugging denims, a nearly transparent dark green bolero style shirt, and his long hair gently framed his face. Jim would have to give him an 11 on a scale of 10 for gorgeous. "Wow."

"Weren't you in your room?" Blair turned from the sink and gasped. "Whoa, excuse me while I wipe the drool from my chin. Man! When you go on the prowl, you don't plan to let anyone escape, do you?" He looked Jim up and down. "You better take a second gun because you will definitely be carried off looking like that."

Jim blushed. He could smell the younger man's arousal and hear his heart beating like a synthesized drum. "Thanks." Sandburg continued to stare in open approval of Ellison's wardrobe and physique. "What were you going to ask me?"

"What?" Blair asked huskily.

"You were going to ask me something when I came into the kitchen," the older man prompted.

Sandburg tore his eyes away from Jim's crotch. "Yeah. Ah... I didn't make that much noise, but you heard me?"

Jim nodded. "Right."

Sandburg appeared to think. "From your room?"

Ellison had no idea where the intense look on the smaller man's face came from, but he answered. "Yes."

Sandburg frowned, then continued his interrogation. "Was your door open or closed?"

"Closed," Ellison reported sharply.

The younger man's eyes widened. "Man, how good is your hearing?"

"Do you know the Darby scale?"

Sandburg pushed his hair behind his right ear. "Sure, I studied it in school."

Jim took a deep breath and prepared to label himself as a "freak of nature" with his client. "I have level 27 hearing."

Blair stared at Jim's face as hard, if not harder, than he had stared at Ellison's crotch. "That's phenomenal. Besides hearing and sight, what other senses are high on the Darby scale?"

'Here it comes,' Jim thought. "All of them."

Blair grabbed his bodyguard's arms and gave him this huge smile. "Good, Lord. You're a sentinel!"

'Well, that came out of left field,' Jim thought as he regarded the grinning man who was holding him. "What is a sentinel, and have I been insulted?"

Sandburg rolled his eyes, noted how hard he was holding the other man, and released his bodyguard. His hands animated and tried to compete with the sparkle in the almost professor's eyes. "Richard Burton, the scientist, not the actor, wrote a monograph on tribal guardians he called sentinels. You are a sentinel." Sandburg began to bounce excitedly.

Ellison had never heard the phrase sentinel before. But it was strangely comforting to know someone besides the military found his skills of interest. "If you say so."

Blair touched the older man's shoulder. "Was that why you were chosen to be Dragon Scout?" he asked softly. He visibly calmed. His voice had dropped, his heart rate decreased, and his pupils dilated. Ellison was now the center of Sandburg's world.

The bodyguard smiled. According to everything he could read of the other man, and Blair was highly readable, he was not a freak to the younger man but something wonderful. For once, he was not hesitant to talk about his senses. "Yes. It's not a secret. To be a Dragon Scout, you have to have at least three senses which can be measured a six or better on the Darby scale." A six on the Darby scale meant your ability was roughly three times better than normal.

"How many, besides you, had hyperactive levels of all five senses?"

"What's a hyperactive score?" he asked as he examined the smaller man's injured digit.

"Darby level of 15 or better."

Ellison placed the smaller man's finger under running water, while he thought about that question. "Just three of us, as I recall."

"Man! I would love to interview them. We could conduct some tests."

"What kind of tests?" Jim asked suspiciously. "I don't want to be poked." Blair placed his hand on the larger man's lower back and gently rubbed it. Instantly, Jim relaxed. How the hell had Sandburg known exactly what to do? None of the people the scouts had trained to calm a "spiked" dragon could have brought him down so quickly.

"No, nothing invasive, just sensory tests," he assured his bodyguard.

"I got my fill of those in the military. It seemed like every month there was another scientist trying to figure out our trick so they could teach it to more soldiers." He made a noise of disgust.

"Jim, I would never treat you like that. It would just be quantitative stuff. If it bothers you, then we stop. I would never want to be the cause of anything which caused so much as a frown to cross your beautiful face." He touched the taller man's jaw.

Ellison smiled. "If you could bottle that charm of yours, you would rule the world."

"I already rule the world. Inside every Teddy Blair is a mind control device." He cackled wickedly.

Jim laughed hard. The image of Blair Sandburg, Evil Genius, was filling his head. He wiped his eyes and brought himself under control. "What are we taking to the party, besides those brownies I smell?"

"What else do you smell?" his client asked, casually.

Jim sniffed. "Beef, garlic, red peppers, mushrooms, sweet onions, green peppers, and mesquite."

Blair grinned. "Beef kabobs. Strictly finger food on the menu."

"Smells delicious."

"Does Simon know about your special skills?" Blair asked.

"Yes," Jim answered. "He thought what I could do was a blast. Simon was practically the only person, until you, who thought what I could do was something wonderful and extraordinary. My dad just didn't want to know, and Steve always worried that other countries would target me because of them."

"That's a shame, Jim. Not that you have these skills, but that you didn't have a lot of people in your life who saw it as something wonderful."

Blair was going to eat Jim alive. Man! The guy was so hot! It was just stirring the beast in Sandburg, and that was never wise. 'I wonder if he can smell how much I want him?' The former Dragon Scout probably could, but he was either too much of a professional to do anything about it, or he found Blair unappealing. The latter was the more likely scenario.

What could a top of the line Studmuffin like Jim see in Blair? With that miserable thought, he turned to stare out the window as they drove away from the house.

It was ironic that he lived only a few miles away from his bodyguard's brother. Steven and Kirk lived in the older part of Cascade, in the Sweet Water Lake area where the railroad and timber barons had built their mansions. He watched as the houses became older and grander.

"You okay, Blair?"

"Just thinking... Tell me about your brother."

"Steve is the person I love the best in the whole world."

Blair smiled. "That's nice."

"He and his wife stayed with me in my first apartment while I was stationed in Washington, D. C. They pretty much had it to themselves, as I was on assignment most of the time."

"Wife?" Blair asked uneasily. He hoped he hadn't tripped onto an unpleasant part of the story.

"Yeah. He was married for about five years-- five miserable years. I don't think he would have stayed in it that long if it hadn't been for Donald."

"Donald?"

"His son. He's fourteen now and a pistol."

"Does Donald live with his mother?"

"No, thank God. Steve got custody. Brenda never sees the kid, and she's about four years behind in child support."

"Does she have trouble holding down a job?" Blair couldn't imagine not seeing your kid, no matter what your circumstances.

"No. She hates Kirk. It's her excuse not to pay child support. Brenda lives well, but feels no obligation to support her own son. Not that she came around much before Kirk." Jim didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"That sucks."

"I think so."

"Will Donald be at the party? The theme seems pretty grown up?"

"Yeah, Don will be there. He'll probably cut out early, though. Last time I checked, girls were still yucky, and other boys were gross."

"That won't last."

"It didn't with me," Jim remembered.

"Any sign of hyperactive senses with Don?" Sandburg asked.

"Not a hint," Jim responded.

They pulled up to the tall steel gates of Hummingbird House. "Wow, Steve must be really loaded," Sandburg exclaimed. "I couldn't afford a place like this. There must be hundreds of acres inside the fence."

"It was Kirk's house first." Jim displayed his driver's license to the guard, who not only scanned it, but also noted the plates on the car. He waved them through after ticking them off the guest list. The entry gates opened, then closed behind them before the second set of gates opened. "The family estates don't you know," Ellison said in a posh English accent.

Blair didn't know what to expect after finding out that Kirk was from old money, but the handsome older man who opened the door was not it. Franklin was a little shorter than Blair. The handsome middle-aged man was graced with large brown eyes and black hair touched with fingers of silver. He had that wonderful cafe au lait skin which reminded Blair of his roommate during his freshman year, Jon Edelman. Jon had been from New Orleans and was a party all by himself.

"James!" Franklin exclaimed in a deep and sexy voice. He hugged Jim and kissed his cheek.

"Kirk Franklin, may I introduce Blair Sandburg. Blair, this is my brother-in-law, Kirk."

"Well, you are a very beautiful child, and a lovely match for Jim. Please come in."

"I made chocolate brownies, with and without walnuts, and beef kabobs," Blair said.

"Beautiful and he cooks." Franklin pressed his hand dramatically to his chest. "This one is a keeper." He waved at two incredibly beautiful women. "Ashley, Sylvia, this is Blair and James. Show them where to take the food."

Ashley was petite, auburn haired, and had one of the most sensuous mouths Blair had ever seen. "I saw you in concert in Montreal," she said as she led the way to the basement. "You were great. I just wish you had misplaced the comedian who opened for you."

Blair cringed. "He was part of the local contract, and there wasn't much we could do with him, other leave him behind."

The other woman was taller, heavier, and older than Ashley. Sylvia was aggressively blonde with a short spiky haircut. "How do you know Kirk?" Sylvia asked. "I thought we knew all his playmates."

"I don't," Blair admitted. "I'm with Jim, and he's Steve's brother."

"Oh, you're that James," Sylvia exclaimed. "I should have recognized you from all those pictures of you."

"Where's the birthday boy?" Jim asked.

"Probably still hiding in his bedroom. He's never dressed to prowl before, and he won't come down until it's perfect." Sylvia smiled. "We might all go gray."

Jim snorted. "I'll deal with this." He left Blair with the ladies.

Whatever Ellison said to his brother, it worked. They came down the stairs a few minutes later, looking so much alike that it was eerie.

"Blair Sandburg, may I introduce you to my barely younger brother, Steve." The bodyguard playfully nudged his brother.

Sandburg shook the younger Ellison's hand and marveled at the wonderful shift in Jim's manner--he was relaxed, happy, and grinning. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Steve said. He and Jim had the same strong features and they were close in height, but where James was cut and defined, Steven was long muscled and merely firm. "Please enjoy yourself, Blair. Simon has mentioned you several times, but we always seem to miss each other."

"Hopefully, we'll be seeing a lot more of each other," Sandburg countered. Just then, several guests arrived, armed with presents. The birthday boy went to greet them, and Sandburg made his way to the bar to try one of the local micro brews.

Blair was nursing his second beer when Kirk landed on the barstool beside him. "You're not prowling," he noted.

Sandburg grinned and waved his left hand at the rest of the partygoers. "I was having too much fun watching everyone else prowl." He chuckled. "I could write a paper on all the cultural rituals I see being applied."

"Beautiful, can cook, and is brainy, too. Hmm, you're dangerous, Blair." The older man smiled, showing deep dimples. "But, no cop outs, young man. Go out there and flirt. Even Don came on to one of the ladies before he abandoned us."

Sandburg wiggled his brows and nodded toward the birthday boy, who was dancing with a local golfing legend. "Can I come on to Steve?"

The older man smiled. "Sure, I'm pretty confident that I can deal with a twentysomething, drop dead gorgeous rock star coming on to my husband." He looked down at his drink. "I need to stop drinking. Obviously, I've lost my mind." Blair laughed. "Oh well, it's his birthday. Give him a thrill."

Sandburg looked around the large room, and his gaze settled on the one Ellison he did want to grab up and take home--Jim. The taller man was leaning against a pillar painted to look like marble. The soft recessed lights of the basement were pooled on his head and shoulders. He looked like a classic Greek statue someone had foolishly put clothes on.

Sandburg glided over and sent two lesser admirers packing. "Hello there, big boy. I've never seen you in here before."

Jim smiled. "It's my first time."

"Lucky me to be here during your debut." Blair smiled sweetly. His smile was one of his best assets... and it was working. "So tell me, is this your usual method?"

Jim turned on his million megawatt smile. "What's that?"

"Stand at the edge of the crowd so they can all see you." He brushed Ellison's right arm with his fingertips. "Let them see your bitching bod, make them want you, then wait and see who has the guts to approach you."

Jim leveled his intense blue gaze at Blair. Suddenly, Sandburg was the one with the hyperactive senses. Every part of the bodyguard's body said he wanted Blair. All the musician had to do was find that chink in the "I'm a professional" armor. The moment passed as quickly as it came. Blair had missed the train. "Would you like to dance?" the musician asked after a moment. He was going to console himself with a dance, if the bigger man was willing.

Jim seemed momentarily surprised, but he pushed it aside. After all, it was a party. "Okay."

Blair led the taller man onto the dance floor and let the Ohio Players' "Skin Tight" dictate their rhythm. The older man was quite the dancer, and they soon had a cleared space on the floor all to themselves. They gyrated through two more tunes, before other dancers claimed them.

'Maybe not tonight, but soon he will be all mine,' Blair promised himself as he watched Jim and Simon slow dance across the floor. Steve and Lorna were actually outdoing them in sensuous moves. Blair turned his attention to the local lady sportscaster in his arms.

Jim kept searching for Sandburg in the crowd. He would pinpoint the other man's location and ascertain his current condition. Blair was as popular as Jim was at the party. The younger man may not have had Jim's years of experience at flirtation and seduction, but he made up for it in skills.

He had kept a careful ear tuned to what the crowd was saying about his client. For the most part, it was all good. Most of the negative comments centered on the younger man paying too much attention to Simon, Lorna, Jim, Steve, and Kirk.

A little after midnight, Blair was yawning. It was time to go home. They had an 11:00 a.m. flight to LA, and his client needed to be up and perky.

"Ready to go home, Blair?"

Blair blinked. "Yeah." He looked around and sighed. "Too bad, I was having a good time."

Ellison switched to his professional persona. "I know, but duty calls and all that." They moved to say their goodnights to Steve and Kirk.

Blair prowled toward Kirk and took one last chance to get the older man's phone number, a stated goal of prowling. "Come on, Beautiful. I know you've got a man, but what's that got to do with me?" He leaned toward the smaller man. "Give me your pager number, Baby, and I can 911 you for a little hot action."

"Take him home before I have to bury his skinny little body in the back yard," Steve warned.

"Wait a minute," Kirk whined. "I was weakening to his undeniable charm."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Steve said. He scowled at Sandburg.

"I've got your back, Blair," Jim said in a hushed tone. "Run for it while I distract the jealous husband."

Jim drove them through the quiet streets of late night Cascade. Blair was silent. Ellison looked over and saw that the younger man had slumped down in the seat and was sound asleep. He turned off the radio and instead listened to the soft sound of the other man breathing.

When he pulled into the garage, he found that Sandburg was still asleep and not likely to wake up without Jim startling him. Carefully, Ellison lifted the smaller man out of the car. He was slender, lightweight, and pliable. He clutched the bodyguard's shirt. "Jim?" he asked sleepily.

"Ssshhh," the bodyguard said. "We're almost in bed."

Blair gave him a lazy smile. "Normally, I'm not <yawn> so easy."

Jim grinned. "I know," he whispered. The bodyguard carried his charge up the stairs and laid him on the bed. He removed the musician's shoes and pulled the covers over him.

"No kiss?" Blair pouted.

Ellison hovered with his lips over his client's mouth. It would have been a pure delight to know that lush mouth. But he was here to do a job, and that job was not gigolo. He kissed the younger man's forehead. Sandburg smiled and rolled onto his side.

"Good-night, Sir," the bodyguard emphasized for his own benefit.

After seeing that his client was asleep, Ellison made ready for a little jaunt.

Sandburg had received seven threatening letters from the same person--one a week. They were referred to as the "e e cummings" letters because the poet was quoted in the first paragraph of each letter. Every letter had been kept in a sealed plastic bag in the cold storage area of the Banks building. For amateurs, it was a good evidence conservation effort. Until the letter-writer made a move, it was not a criminal matter. Washington State did not have a stalking law.

Jim had studied those letters carefully while Sandburg laid down tracks for his next album. With his client safely surrounded in the studio, Ellison had turned his full attention to the most disturbing aspect of Sandburg's situation--those hideous, threatening letters.

Besides the precise use of English, the phrasing also indicated a high degree of education and at least some heavy travel in Europe. Besides the sickening and pain filled sexual detail, the thing which set these letters apart was the lingering scent of a man's cologne and sweat which led Jim to believe the writer rubbed the page across his face, neck, and chest after writing it.

Ellison had gone over the building first to eliminate members of the staff. Clues in the letter suggested the writer saw Blair on a regular basis and was conversant with Sandburg's personal habits, right down to whether he had his hair tied back or loose on particular days. All this led Ellison to someone close, but not within Sandburg's personal orbit. Which led him to the staff at Banks Entertainment Group. Blair was terribly friendly with everyone there, but they were not his friends.

Sandburg had a tight group of friends he communicated with via phone or e-mail regularly. No one at Banks Entertainment Group, with the exception of Simon and the members of Sandburg's band, were included.

On the fourth floor, just five doors down from Blair's office, was the office of Joseph Philip Bogart, an agent with the firm. The man was in his late forties, white, tall, father of three teenagers, and married, though his wife had filed for divorce just after the letters had started arriving.

Jim slipped into his favorite stealthy attire-tight black knit shirt, form-fitting black pants, black socks, black shoes, black gloves, and black knit cap, before heading out of the house toward his target.

Jim arrived at the man's new apartment and quickly defeated the door locks and security system. While you might expect to find lots of pictures of the company's number one client in an agent's home, you would also expect that agent to be handling at least a portion of the client's business. But Bogart didn't deal with any part of Sandburg's business.

So why the large stack of photos of Blair?

Ellison moved quietly around the space. Bogart had a virtual temple to Sandburg in his bedroom, including a Teddy Blair with Sandburg's famous pouting portrait covering the face. The fur of the little bear was soiled and crusted from overuse as a sexual substitute.

Joseph Bogart awoke to find himself tied to the bed and Jim's knife holding up his genitals. "What the fuck!?!"

"Bogart, you and I are about to have a little talk," Ellison explained from behind his knit cap. Pulled all the way down, the cap only exposed his lips and his hard cold eyes. Jim had practiced long and hard on his stare.

"What do you want?" Bogart demanded. His European accent reasserted itself in his panic.

"I'm going to make a deal with you, Bogart. Resign from Banks Entertainment Group, get some therapy, and never, ever, correspond with Blair Sandburg again. Otherwise, the next time you wake up, you'll find your penis lying on your chest or stuck in your mouth. It depends on what kind of mood I wake up in." Jim kept his voice level, almost mechanical. Such a cadence was meant to unnerve whoever you were interrogating. Most of the time it worked well.

"I don't know what you're talking--"

Ellison dropped one of the man's lit cigarettes on the bed. "It takes approximately two hours for one of these things to ignite fully. That's a long damn time to know you're going to burn to death," Ellison explained in his monotone. "Pity and a shame the batteries to your smoke alarm have expired. Most people forget to change them twice a year."

Bogart looked down between his legs and saw the smoke starting to curl up from the mattress. "You can't do this!" the man protested.

"The same way you can't send sickening and threatening letters to Blair Sandburg?" Ellison asked.

"God, please. I wasn't going to hurt him. You've got to believe me," Bogart begged.

"No I don't. Right now, the only thing I've got to do is get out of this apartment before it goes up in flames. Everything else is strictly at my whim."

The fire around the cigarette had gone out, but the mattress would smolder for a while before bursting out into a much stronger flame. A fact sweaty, guilty Bogart knew.

"Okay, okay. I'll resign. Just put out the fire."

Ellison poured the pitcher of water he'd secured earlier over the cigarette and smoldering mattress. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding." Ellison cut the other man loose with one of the man's own kitchen knives.

Bogart had reached a point of obsession where he felt compelled to produce some of the most sickening letters Jim had ever read. Ellison didn't expect the other man to give up so easily. Bogart lunged at Jim as soon as he was free.

It only took Ellison two blows to put the man on his knees. "I was kind of hoping you would try this," Jim said as he ground the other man's face into the carpet. "Your letters have inspired me."

"What?" the hard-breathing man asked.

"I'm starting with your letter of the tenth and proceeding chronologically. I'm going to do to you, everything you promised to do to Blair." Ellison placed his foot on the other man's head and kept him down on the floor. Bogart fainted before Jim could finish getting on the full-length latex gloves.

Simon moved over his lady, without putting his full weight on her, to grab the ringing phone. "Banks," he mumbled into the phone.

A man coughed. "Simon, this is Joe Bogart."

"Joe, what's the matter?" Simon asked.

"I'm resigning from the firm, Simon," Bogart reported stiffly.

"Why?" Simon asked.

"I wrote the Cummings letters," Bogart explained. "I'm also the one who sent the seven dildos and the black panties."

"You sick sonofabitch!" Banks spat. "You sat there knowing how those letters were upsetting him."

"It was the best part, Simon. I could see the fear in his eyes." Bogart coughed again. Going on so long and hard Simon thought the other man was trying to cough up a lung. Not that it would bother Banks one little bit to know the man was suffering.

"What made you confess?" Banks asked.

"A little turn about," Bogart answered cryptically. He hung up the phone.

"What's happened?" Lorna asked. She put her arms around Simon and hugged him. It was strange to him that he could receive so much comfort and a feeling of protection from someone who was so much smaller than himself. It was one of the things he loved about Lorna.

"Do you remember the poet's letters Blair was receiving?" Banks asked.

Lorna nodded, her large brown eyes full of concern. "Vividly," she responded. "If I ever find out who it is, I'll kick their ass into the Sound and drown them."

"It was Joseph Bogart," Banks said flatly. "That was him confessing."

Lorna looked shocked. "The man with the posh accent? He's got a wife and kids."

"His wife left him," Simon reported. "Bogart had hinted he'd been caught in the wrong bed. Maybe she found out about the letters to Blair." Simon thumped the mattress with his fist. "Why didn't Mary say something if she found out about the letters?"

"She probably did it for their kids, so they wouldn't find out their father was a pervert. Do you know what made him confess?" she asked.

Simon knew it was Jim. Ellison must have gone over there and pulled some convert ops kind of thing to make the man give it up. Whatever it was, short of killing or hurting someone else, Banks didn't care. "Attack of conscience," he explained.

Jim slept soundly for four hours before rising, taking Quentin for a full out run, and stuffing down a full breakfast. If Sandburg ever decided to open a restaurant, Jim would be his most faithful customer.

Ellison was lazing over his third cup of coffee when he got a call from Simon Banks. At first he feared Bogart had managed to crawl down to the building to start some shit. But Ellison had left the man barely able to walk. Also, Jim already had the man's building clearance pulled from the B. E. G. computers and security system.

Then he'd found out while he was busily beating the shit out of Bogart, someone had left a sacrifice in Blair's honor at the record shop.

Blair reached into his closet, extracted two outfits at random and tossed them into his suitcase. The wolfhound dropped his rubber bone in next. "Quentin, you are not going." The dog whined. "And the answer is still 'no'." The wolfhound snagged his toy and left the bedroom. "Leaving in a huff?" Sandburg shouted after him.

Jim stepped into the bedroom, looking very solemn. "Blair, I have something to tell you."

"Quitting already? It usually takes longer for me to rub people the wrong way."

Ellison crossed the room and placed his hands on Blair's shoulders. "This is serious. Can we sit down?"

Sandburg nodded. "Okay." He sat on the end of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Do you remember me getting a call earlier from Simon?"

Blair puzzled. "Sort of. I was working on some lyrics at the time. I tend to get real focused when it comes to my music."

"Well, he called me because someone left something pretty disgusting at Top Shelf Records before they opened this morning," Jim began.

Blair's stomach lurched. Closing his eyes, he took three deep breaths. "What?"

Ellison hesitated for three full beats. "A calf's heart, pierced with one of those ritual blades."

Sandburg wavered, but Jim's strong hands held him steady. "Do they know who did it?"

"Yes. They have video from the surveillance cameras. One of the clerks recognized him from yesterday because he bought so much stuff. The suspect paid with a credit card so they had a name and address."

Ellison's voice was so calm, but it did nothing to take the knot out of Sandburg's stomach.

"Did they arrest him?"

"Detective Brown called me just a few minutes ago. Ed Velnik was arrested without incident." Jim gave Blair a reassuring smile. "It's taken care of, Blair."

"Are you expecting more trouble?" the musician asked softly.

"The press will have a field day with this, Blair. I'm afraid that it will inspire imitators. Besides, I wanted you to hear this from me first."

"Oh, man. I think I'm going to be sick." He lowered his head between his legs and tried not to place himself in the role of reluctant heart donor.

Jim sat down beside the young man. "Are you all right?"

"No," Sandburg said as he tried to stop shaking. "I am cursed with a really vivid imagination." He silently begged his last meal to stay put.

Ellison's left hand rubbed a slow and lazy circle in the small the musician's back. It was both calming and reassuring. "Don't worry, Blair. I'll stick to you like glue."

"Could you make that a little closer?" Sandburg asked softly.

The bodyguard's voice dropped in pitch and the hand on Blair's back gained a firmer presence. "How close do you want me?"

If the bigger man could have fit in his clothes, Sandburg would have asked him to share his shirt. How had this happened to him? What had he done to attract these people? What pot of bad karma had he tipped over?

Blair looked up at the earnest face of his bodyguard as the older man rubbed his back. "I have a wig you can wear. You're tall enough to be a member of the band." Jim chuckled. "Can you sing or play an instrument?" A bit of nervous laughter escaped the smaller man before he could capture and control it.

Ellison tipped Blair's chin up with his free hand. His eyes were warm and knowledgeable. Sandburg knew he could trust this man. "You'll be safe with me," he promised.

Safe, Blair would be safe with Jim. Ellison had promised. "Remember Jim, dead men don't give out Hanukkah presents."

"There's something else you should know, but this is good news," Ellison announced.

"I can do with some good news." Sandburg sat up straight and tried to push the image of the heart and blade out of his mind.

"The writer of the Cummings letters won't be sending you anything else," Jim promised.

Sandburg hated the writer of those letters with a passion he normally reserved for Nazis and would-be Nazis. Blair hated those letters, therefore he despised the writer of those letters. The musician could rarely bring the word HATE up in his daily life, but this person he hated.

"Who was it?" Blair asked.

"Joseph Bogart," Ellison responded.

Sandburg stood up, ready to rend and dismember. "I saw that prick almost every day. He knew what those things were doing to my peace of mind. He sat in on our meeting about the letters and was so sympathetic." Blair twirled around and got his face so close to Jim, their noses almost touched. "Let's go over to his house, send his family to the mall, and kick the shit out of him."

"Trust me, Chief, I didn't leave you much to kick," Jim said firmly.

"I want to kick the little bit you left," Blair said just as firmly.

"Chief, he's lost his wife, his kids, his job, some teeth, his personal sense of security, and his looks. I closed both of his eyes, cracked his jaw, busted one of knees, cracked four ribs, and made sitting a non-option for several weeks. Isn't that enough?"

Blair frowned. "Jim, didn't you read those letters?"

"Several times. That's how I was able to find Bogart," Ellison explained.

"But did you really read them?" Blair asked again. "Did you put yourself in my Nikes, and read those words and know someone out there was planning to do those things to your body?"

"I tried not to," Jim responded.

"Well I did, Jim, and trust me, Bogart has not been punished enough."

The two men sat in silence.

"Chief, I can't give you any more details, what you don't know, you can't testify to, but I promise you, Bogart will never do this again. I was a Dragon Scout, and I brought all that expertise to bear in my conversation with the man." He touched the smaller man's shoulder. "My message was loud, clear, and unmistakable."

Sandburg studied the other man's eyes. The message in them said Bogart had been physically punished, brutally punished by Jim. There was a Dragon Scout motto--Taking the pain back to those who caused it. Bogart had caused Blair pain, and Ellison had taken it back to him.

"Thanks, Jim."

"It's what I'm here for," Ellison responded simply.

Sandburg was grateful for Jim's comforting presence. He stayed with Blair until the older man had to pack for their trip. Simon called a little after Ellison had left the room, and they talked until it was time for Blair to depart for the airport. His manager was always able to soothe Sandburg's nerves. It was one of the many reasons he had stayed with Simon, even when other firms had offered him the sky to leave Banks Entertainment and sign with them.

Blair donned his "airport" outfit. It was supposed to allow him to get to his plane unrecognized. It rarely worked these days.

"Chief, what's with the 'one day from homeless' look?" Ellison asked when they met up in the living room.

"It's my disguise." He turned for the older man.

Jim snickered. He effected his professional voice and stance. "Sir, may I make a suggestion?"

URL for text version of part two: http://www.squidge.org/archive/cgi-bin/convert.cgi?filename=au2/rockand_a.html