Author's webpage: http://www.crl.com/~boyd
Author's disclaimer: i don't own most of'em, pet fly does. no money has changed hands, it's all just for fun. no copyright or trademark infringement of pet fly, micro$oft or any other company/agency/product mentioned herein intended in any way shape or form.
Author's notes: "due to the outstanding sales skills of one blair sandburg, major crimes wins a vacation at a new mexico dude ranch. five fun-filled, relaxing days of fishing, hiking, camping, and horseback riding. But with this crew, can romance, danger and intrigue possibly be far behind?"
this is the auction story bought by my wonderful household diety, saraid, at the expense of some hellacious writer's cramp. sa wanted long, so long it is. she wanted everyone to get some, and they mostly do, although no het sex (eek!) is on screen. thanks much, for everything, sa. fond swats, dear, you're the absolute* best! i hope you like it :-)
mondo thanks to the twin goddesses of the red pen: wolfling and ashtareth there is a *real* san ysidro, new mexico, but this ain't it. there wasn't a new moon on august 14, 1998, but what the hell. the perseid meteor shower is real and pretty cool. check it out every august in the northern hemisphere. for narrative purposes, 'business suite' is a brand-new micro$oft product with built-in, heavy duty anti-piracy encryption. to my knowledge, micro$oft has no such product at this time. maybe they'll pay me a gazillion dollars to write it for them. ;-) software piracy is illegal in most countries, boys and girls, and transporting encryption technology out of the u.s.a. is too. See these pages for the gory details: http://www.spa.org/piracy/homepage.htm, http://www.crypto.com/ and http://www.rsa.com/ * * => empasis
$Id: mag8.txt,v 1.15 1999/01/05 04:58:55 boyd Exp $
~~
The Magnificent Eight
~~
IotaTech Headquarters
With midnight 10 minutes away, IotaTech Founder and CEO Benjamin
Mitchell stared bleakly at the May financials. Maybe he'd
miscalculated, screwed up the Excel macros or something. Maybe he'd just
happened to misplace $147,934 and somehow, the money would
miraculously appear so he could meet payroll next month.
Three hours, two cups of espresso, half a pizza and a roll of Tums later,
the 32 year old MBA, named one of 'Internet Age' magazine's hot, up-and-coming
'Infopreneurs' was still nearly 150 grand in the hole.
"Shit."
~~
Cascade PD, Major Crime
During the post-lunch lull, Simon Banks perused his inter-office
memos. The latest announced a station-wide raffle benefiting the
Cascade Battered Women's Shelter. Leaning back in his chair, he
listened to the quiet hum of activity from the bullpen, enjoying the
rare peace before the next crisis. Through the blinds he could see Ellison,
Sandburg and Connor discussing a case.
Sandburg worried him: the kid still wasn't a hundred percent. Too pale,
shadows under his eyes, coughing, limping and much quieter than usual.
Down right subdued. Wasn't natural, he thought, shaking his head.
He remembered first meeting Blair Sandburg. Long haired, hyperactive,
definitely not 'Cop'. Remembered being skeptical that he could help
Ellison master hyper-acute senses that seemed to Simon a curse as much
as a blessing. Amazed, he'd watched the kid transform Ellison, a
talented detective, to one of phenomenal, oftimes frightening
skill. And from an aloof loner to an occasionally congenial, often smiling
friend. Simultaneously, Sandburg had become a welcome addition to the
department, and a valued friend. Cop or not, he was a
perceptive student of human nature, brilliant in dealing with victims
and suspects alike, with the skills of a natural profiler. Together,
Sandburg and Ellison formed an unorthodox yet effective
partnership. One that had raised numerous eyebrows over the years, but
had garnered him more than a few kudos from his superiors as
well. Thinking back, Simon had wanted to throttle Ellison that crazed
night Ellison had read Sandburg's dissertation. Not only had the whole
business been unprofessional but it'd nearly destroyed their
partnership and torn two of his closest friends apart.
Simon winced and rubbed his eyes as the horrific events following that
night flashed past. Deadly nerve toxin stolen. Sandburg
drowned. Ellison a complete wreck. Weeks later, Alex Barnes' bleeding,
blank-eyed corpse in the sweltering jungle heat. Thankfully, Blair and
Jim had patched their differences. But there was something very
different about them both since that cold April day. They'd always been
close. Unshakable -- or mostly unshakable -- friends. Always been aware
of one another to an uncanny degree. Sandburg right there with that eerie
voice while Jim was ferreting out something at a crime scene. Ellison
responding instinctively to his partner's confident direction. But this
seemed different, or perhaps it was a matter of degree. They were like
dancers who had been practicing unfamiliar choreography. Graceful, though
slightly out of sync at first, but now nearly flawless on the eve of
opening night.
Suddenly, Blair and Jim turned towards his office in unison and
smiled, as if feeling his attention. Perhaps they did. Who knew what
a Sentinel and a Shaman could perceive?
With a sigh, Simon rose and went to the door. He'd procrastinated long
enough. Time to inform his detectives that they were going to become
salesmen in the next few weeks.
"All right everybody, listen up..."
~~
Plaza Diego Towers Hotel, Suite #823
"Are you sure this is going to work?" The tow-headed IotaTech CEO paced
the hallway, running nervous fingers through his hair.
Timothy Redford Barrows, his skinny, nerdy companion -- the living embodiment
of 'pencil-necked geekdom' -- scoffed, "Of course I'm sure, Ben. Utterly
untraceable and very nearly trivial. No problem at
all. These people are pros. Trust your Sys Admin and best buddy Red,
willya?"
"I don't know, Red," Ben said nervously. "This still doesn't feel right."
Red was a truly amazing hacker, but was seriously lacking in the morals
department.
Red tucked in his faded blue T-shirt emblazoned with some arcane
computer mumbo jumbo and the words, "This T-Shirt is a
Munition". "I'll admit, it skirts the edge, man, but hell, I figure Bill
Gates owes me big time for having to put up with the rotting, stinking
piece of fecal matter that is Windows-NT."
"Skirts the edge? Red, this is patently illegal. We could go to jail
here!" Ben whispered fiercely.
"Not if we don't get caught. Besides, how else were you thinking of coming
up with that cash, man, huh? Minting some?" Hands on his narrow hips,
Red scowled. "It's not like we're selling secrets to the commies or something."
"Red, it's the nineties. The Cold War is over."
"I know that, ya moron, it's just a figure of speech." Red shook his
head with annoyance. "Now shut up, calm down and let me do the talking
with these guys, okay?"
Ben put his head in his hands and moaned, "Oh god, what have I gotten
myself into? Rob and Leslie are gonna kill me."
"Ben, I've got everything covered here. Don't worry about Rob the Amazon.
She won't find out and neither will Les. Trust me, okay?"
Ben straightened with a sigh. At this point, it was all or
nothing. Time to put up or shut up. "Okay, man. I'm trusting that you
know what you're doing here."
"Well, then let's go make some cash," Red smiled and rapped on the door.
~~
Cascade Police Department
As the 7:00 pm shift-change approached, the bullpen was abuzz with activity
and conversation. Another long day keeping the citizens of Cascade safe
from crooks and sleazebags and the troops were ready to head home.
"Hey Jim! You wanna go to happy hour tonight?" Brown called from his
casual slouch in the doorway.
Jim looked up from what seemed to be the thousandth incident report he'd
typed that week. Did these things breed when he wasn't looking?
"Where are you guys headed?" he asked, more from habit than any real
desire to join them.
"They're going to *Izzy's*," Megan broke in disgustedly, looking up from
her computer.
"Whatsa matter with Izzy's, Connor?" Henri snickered, "Entertainment
not to your taste?"
"Nothing's wrong with Izzy's, Brown," she shot back. "Nothing that is,
if you fancy sticky floors, bad food, worse music, watered down drinks
and jail bait."
"Beer, babes and dancing! That's the definition of a good time!"
"Babes," Megan rolled her eyes. "Babies is more like it."
"Hey!" Rafe protested, ducking under Brown's arm and heading to his desk,
"Izzy's has only been busted twice for underage drinking."
"Yeah, Rafe, twice this month," Jim chuckled.
Megan shook her head in disbelief, "I can't believe you're going, Rafe.
Brown here, well I expected that. 'Mr. Smooth-talker Ladies Man' and
all that. You, though, I thought you had more class."
"I resent that," Brown said indignantly, hands on hips. "Anyway,
we're not asking you, Connor. You already turned your nose up at the
idea. Too 'low-brow' for you or something."
"Or something," Connor sniffed. She winked at Jim then turned back to
her report.
//Ah,// Jim smiled to himself, //Izzy's.// A T and A bar in one of Cascade's
seedier neighborhoods. Regularly frequented by horny
off-duty cops and almost as regularly raided by Vice for underage dancers
and liquor license violations. Not exactly wholesome family entertainment.
For a moment, Jim considered the options. Go out with the guys, spend
a couple hours ogling scantily-clad, jiggling women in a crowded, noisy
bar and try half-heartedly to get a couple of phone numbers. Or, enjoy
the evening at home with Blair, basking in his Guide's bright laughter,
over steaming lasagna and mellow red wine.
In short, the choice was between a stale Snickers bar or a thick, juicy
steak. Steak won out, hands down.
"Sorry guys, I've gotta head home. I forgot, it's my turn to make dinner
tonight."
"Good for you, Jim," Connor smiled approvingly, "It's nice that at least
one man around here has some taste and good sense and doesn't think with
his hormones."
Brown and Rafe, however, were aghast. "Dinner?" they chorused
incredulously.
"You have to cook dinner tonight?" Brown choked. "You'd rather
scrape together some pathetic excuse for a hamburger-helper casserole
than partake of Cascade's wildlife? What's up with you these days, Ellison?"
"Like Connor said, H, I've got good taste," Jim retorted. "And
besides, my lasagna is not pathetic."
"I dunno Jim," Rafe chimed in. "For the last few months it's been 'Gotta
get home', 'Gotta make dinner.' What's next? 'Gotta clean the oven?'
You're turning into a regular Mr. Domesticity."
"Funny, Rafe. Really. Watch me laugh. Ha. Ha." Rafe did have a point,
though. He'd been spending a lot of time at home lately -- or, more accurately,
spending a lot of time at home with Blair.
Brown wouldn't let it rest. "Seriously, man. When's the last time you
been on a date?"
"None of your business, H." Jim mentally shrugged. Could he help it if
Blair's company was more enjoyable than trying to be on his best
behavior for some woman who'd end up wanting to remake him anyway?
"What about you, Joel? You wanna come to Izzy's with us tonight?" Brown
asked Joel Taggart as he passed through the bullpen on his way to Simon's
office.
"You've got to be kidding me, H. I haven't been in that place since --
well since I was single."
"Well, man, you're single again -- a free agent. Time to dust off the
old dancing shoes and hit the floor." Brian tapped his toes against the
side of the desk for emphasis.
"Almost single, Rafe. The papers haven't been finalized yet. Besides,
I'm years out of practice with the bar scene."
"Practice makes perfect, Joel."
"Dunno, Rafe," Henri grinned wickedly at Jim. "Practice sure hasn't seemed
to help Ellison any. He can never get past the second date."
"What is it with you guys and my dates?" Jim demanded indignantly,
"I had no idea that my social life was such a source of fascination to
you all."
"Actually Jim, it's your lack of a social life that we find
fascinating."
"People in glass houses, H." Jim groused. "I don't see you getting
all that many call-backs from your 'babe-scouting expeditions' as Sandburg
calls them."
"Zing!" Megan crowed, "He's got you there, Henri! For all your suave,
debonair ways, you seem to always be scrambling for a date on Friday
night."
Shaking his head, Jim turned back to his report, trying to tune out his
colleagues' banter. Without Blair nearby to ground him it was difficult
to keep his senses focussed. Was it that obvious that he hadn't been
dating? And that, when he did, it was half-hearted at best? In the last
few months, honestly, all he really wanted to do was spend time with
his partner, especially after Alex Barnes had nearly killed him. He'd
never felt such intense satisfaction from using
'lethal force' than he had that night. The law abiding detective was
faintly ashamed but the primal Sentinel wanted to rewind and do it again.
"Hey! I do not scramble," Brown protested.
"Henri," Megan said patiently. "The only person around here who never
lacks for dates on Friday night is Sandy."
"Yeah, what is it about Hairboy, huh?"
"The eyes? The earrings?"
"I got earrings," Brown scoffed.
"Come on Megan, you're a woman, clue us in here about Sandburg's
appeal."
"Forget it guys," Megan laughed and shook her head. "If you have to ask
then you just won't get it."
"So you admit he has appeal?"
Jim laughed silently at their speculations. Megan was right, they wouldn't
get it. After several years of careful observation, Jim had uncovered
his partner's secret -- the source of his undeniable charm and success
with women. The truth was blinding in its simplicity: Blair was sincerely
nice to any and all women. Sure, he could be a bit of a dog when it
came to actually juggling his many girlfriends and scoping out prospective
dates. But one fact remained: when Blair Sandburg focussed his attention
on you, you were it, to the exclusion of all others. No woman -- or
man, Jim conceded privately -- was
"I know, it's the student thing. The grunge look."
"Must be the hair. Maybe I should grow my hair out like Sandburg," Rafe
postulated. "Get a pony tail. Maybe I'd get more action."
"You're fine just as you are, Rafe, dear." Megan smiled sweetly at him.
"If I'm fine as I am, how come you never wanna go out with me, huh?"
"Perhaps it's your piss-poor taste in night clubs, Rafe," Jim commented
wryly.
"Hey!" Rafe protested plaintively.
Ten minutes later, their banter was cut short as Joel all but scurried
out of Simon's office, impressive for a man his size. Simon followed,
scowling furiously.
"Okay everybody, listen up! All raffle booklets are due back tomorrow
afternoon by 5:00pm."
The assembled detectives released a collective groan.
"Come on people, upgrading the facilities at the Cascade Battered Women's
Shelter is a good cause. Don't you want to beat out Vice and Traffic?
Win that nice trip for eight to New Mexico?"
"C'mon Captain. We're cops, not door-to-door salesmen!" Brown
protested. Not a few heads nodded in agreement.
"I don't want to hear it people! The drawing will take place at the Awards
dinner, Saturday, July 25th. Turn in those damn booklets." Simon stalked
back into his office and slammed the door.
"Joel, what'd you say to Simon that's got him so pissed off?"
"Me? I said nothing, man! All I did was drop off the new budget for the
Bomb Squad."
"You call that nothing? Especially after Nitro got chomped by that overgrown
lizard! No wonder he's pissed!"
"Simon's always pissed about something these days, anyway, H. Joan, Daryl,
the Chief, you name it. Everything seems to set him off." Rafe shrugged.
"I think someone needs a vacation!"
Brown chuckled, "Or a nap."
"Well, if our illustrious 'croc-spotter' had lived up to her
reputation, Nitro -- may he rest in peace -- would still be with
us. And not taking a bite out of Simon's latest budget." Taggart chuckled.
"I said my brother and I used to go 'croc spotting'!" Megan
protested. "I never said we caught any!"
"Yeah, yeah, Connor. Try to weasel your way out of it..."
"Speaking of the raffle," Megan changed the subject abruptly,
pointedly ignoring Brown, Taggart and Rafe, "how are you faring with
selling the tickets, Jim?" Miffed at being snubbed, the trio headed to
the break room to rinse their coffee cups and piss away the rest of the
shift.
Jim groaned and rubbed his eyes. Those damn raffle tickets. "I've sold
a grand total of five. I know it's for a good cause and all, but I'm
not and never will be a salesman."
"Know what you mean," Megan smiled. "I haven't done so well
myself. I've only got you beat by two. What about Sandy?"
"Oh god. Sandburg is downright scary. He's sold a million of the
things. There's a shopping bag full of raffle stubs in his room and people
calling at all hours wanting to buy them."
Megan chuckled, "Good thing he's a force for good in the universe, eh?
Otherwise we'd be up to our eyebrows in food dehydrators and
'never-need-sharpening' knives."
Jim laughed. "Yeah, he's really gone all out for this raffle. He
really wants to win that trip."
"I happen to think he deserves a vacation, after everything that
happened. Heck, you both deserve a vacation."
"Yeah," Jim agreed softly.
"How is he doing, Jim? Really? I haven't seen him around much lately."
As nosy as she could be, Megan really did care a lot about Sandburg.
"He's had a lot of work at school what with working on his
dissertation." Jim sighed, "Physically, he's okay, I guess."
"No permanent damage from the neurotoxin and the pneumonia?"
"Fortunately, no. He's a little weak and has some trouble with stairs,
but physical therapy should eventually take care of that. He still has
nightmares though." So do I, for that matter, he added silently.
"And what about you, Jim?" she asked softly.
"I'm okay. The arm is fine of course," Jim misdirected, hoping she'd
drop it. He'd rather not attempt to explain the unfathomable morass of
his feelings to anyone else.
Catching the hint, Megan gathered her papers together and shoved them
in her briefcase. "Well, I'm calling it a night. I'll just hand these
over to Simon and head home. Tell Sandy I said 'Hi', Jim."
"Will do."
"You'd better slip them under the door, Connor," Brown suggested
wryly, heading for the elevator with Rafe, "it'll be a lot safer that
way. Less likely to lose any body parts."
"First good idea you've had all day, Brown!"
"Night Jim, Megan," Rafe called. "If you guys change your minds, you
know where we'll be."
Megan snorted her opinion and Jim smiled. Unbidden, his hearing
reached out to track Brown and Rafe's quiet conversation as they
walked to the elevator.
"What do you think, H? Maybe I shouldn't go tonight. Megan sounded kinda
pissed off."
He smiled again. Rafe had been trying, with no visible success, to ask
Connor out since she'd arrived. He couldn't figure out exactly why she
was playing hard to get. Given their vital signs, the attraction was
mutual.
"Rafe, you are so whipped, my friend. She hasn't even agreed to a date
with you for godsake, and you're going, 'What would Megan
think?' Jeez, man, grow a spine!"
"I don't want to ruin my chances here, H. I really like her."
"I know you do man. Don't worry man, she likes you," Henri said
smugly. "I can tell."
Rafe sounded a bit mollified. "Yeah, well, maybe. Now, what I want to
know is what's with Jim these days?"
"Oh yeah man, ever since Lila died, he's been like this. Heading home
right after work. Only hanging out with Hairboy."
"Yeah. And then Sandburg came back from the dead..."
"Oh man, was that weird or what? Three hours lying on a slab in the
morgue and the kid just wakes up."
"That was fucking bizarre. Weird was Ellison stalking the hallways
going, 'He's not dead! He's not dead!' like some ghost outta
Hamlet. Thought he'd seriously slipped around the bend at that
point..."
"No shit, man. Nerve toxin -- who'd have guessed? Mimicking death and
all that."
"I figured Hairboy would be a vegetable after being dead for 3 hours,
but hell, the kid is just as sharp as before. No question about it."
"They say dying changes you, man," Brown intoned sagely. Jim clenched
his pencil so tightly it snapped: Henri had no idea.
"Yeah, well, life is never boring with Ellison and Sandburg around is
it?"
"You got that right, man."
Jim shuddered as the elevator doors closed upon their conversation. He
closed stinging eyes tightly upon the awful image of his Guide lying
dead, pale skin, blue-tinged lips. Chaotic indigo grief sealed his throat,
clutched his heart. He reexperiencing the visceral
rootlessness and existential horror of being alone, anchorless without
his Guide. He sighed and shrugged off the heavy mood with
difficulty. His partner was alive and whole, warm and breathing; he'd
survived.
One more report and he could go home. To Blair. Jim smiled and typed
faster.
~~
852 Prospect, #307
His backpack grew heavier with each step. After weeks of physical therapy,
stairs were still a bitch but dammit, he refused to cave and use the
elevator. In the last few months, he'd finished the initial draft of
his dissertation, endured endless meetings with his advisory committee,
consulted on several of Major Crime's cases and spent every waking moment
left over selling raffle tickets. By god, he was going to win that trip.
It was the only way he could afford a well-deserved vacation after the
financial, emotional and physical hell of the past six months.
Blair paused on the top step and leaned against the wall, gasping. Oh
yeah, there was that small matter of pneumonia. And let's not mention
having recently died, too. Almost died. Whatever. He stretched to ease
his aching back and pulled up short with the pinch of still healing ribs,
courtesy of Simon's enthusiastic CPR technique.
All he wanted was to grab a shower, crawl into bed and sleep for a week.
Or better yet, sleep and spend a week baking in the high deserts of New
Mexico.
His mouth watered as he entered the apartment, the wonderful aroma of
Jim's lasagna teasing his nose. The stereo was softly playing -- his
tribal drums CD? What was his guilt-ridden, overly solicitous Sentinel
up to now?
"Hey, Chief!" Jim met him at the door, immediately taking his jacket
and backpack. "Tough day?"
"Hi Jim," Blair sighed -- Jim was at it again. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Well, go take a shower and grab a glass of wine. Or would you like some
tea? Dinner is almost ready." Depositing Blair's pack on his bed, Jim
hurried back into the kitchen, rattling pots and pans and setting the
kettle to boil.
"Thanks man. It smells great." Blair shook his head in disbelief. It
was like living in the Twilight Zone. Or with a Stepford
Sentinel. Ever since his 'resurrection'// If I have to listen to
one more 'Lazarus' joke ...//, Jim had been acting, well,
peculiar. In the morgue, Jim had swept him into a fierce embrace and
refused to let go. Not that he'd minded at the time, since he was stark
naked in an ice-cold room freezing his nuts off and Jim was, at the very
least, warm. The stunned doctors had had to pry Ellison away. Literally.
With a hypodermic needle and a sedative. His partner had capped that
stellar performance with thirteen consecutive
all-nighters bedside in the hospital, constantly underfoot, driving the
doctors insane, refusing to let Blair out of his sight. He'd
finally drawn the line after Jim had followed him into the
bathroom. Neurotoxin be damned, he could still pee on his own, thank
you very much. Not for the first time, Blair wished Incacha had
dropped off a 'Your Sentinel Owner's Manual' the day Incacha had
bequeathed him the Way of the Shaman and an infuriatingly cryptic phantom
wolf.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Blair felt marginally more
human when he returned to the candlelit living room. The table was set,
complete with a bowl of salad, basket of foccacia and an expensive bottle
of red wine. A soft breeze blew through the open balcony windows.
"Come sit down and eat, Chief."
"Who are you and what have you done with Jim Ellison?" Blair asked his
companion, only somewhat joking. 'Twilight Zone' didn't begin to cover
it.
"Very funny. What? I can't do something nice for you for a change?"
"Hey man, I'm not complaining here. Just surprised."
"I don't ever want you to think that I take you for granted, Blair."
Jim said, placing a veritable slab of lasagna on his plate. "Eat
up. You're too thin."
Shaking his head, Blair sat down and started in on Jim's
ever-fantastic lasagna and the mellow red wine. They shared news of the
day, talked about Blair's progress on his dissertation, Jim's latest
cases and the raffle. The entire evening echoed the excellent Merlot
-- warm, smooth and slightly spicy, lingering pleasantly on the tongue.
Blair glanced at his own plate and then Jim's, startled to see it mostly
full, whereas his own had been emptied. Twice.
"Jim, you're not eating."
"What? Oh, sorry, Blair. I was just listening to what you were
saying." Jim had been literally hanging on his words. And, painful as
it was to admit, a discussion on cross-cultural divination practices
was likely of little or no interest to his Sentinel.
Blair smiled at his friend and began gathering his dirty dishes, "You
don't have to pretend to be interested, you know. I don't mind."
His partner smiled a little sadly. "Blair, I'm always interested in what
you have to say. If I'd listened more carefully before, maybe..."
"Jim, stop it. It's in the past, " Blair gently touched his friend's
hand. "We're beyond that now, okay?"
"It may be in the past, but I'll never forget what my failure to
listen, to trust, almost cost you. Us."
Unsure what to say next, Blair nodded silently. Jim squeezed his hand
and rose to take his plate to sink. It had been happening a lot
lately. This strange, unfamiliar dance of deepening intimacy. Where once,
there would have been an awkward pause after such an admission, now,
there was renewed closeness and a quiet current of
understanding. They finished clearing the table and washing the dishes
and spent the rest of the evening in a warm, companionable silence.
"Blair?"
Blair turned as Jim stopped him on his way to bed. His friend's eyes
were dark and his hand lingered on Blair's shoulder. For a stunned instant,
he thought Jim was going to kiss him. His lips tingled with anticipation.
Insanity.
"Good night. And pleasant dreams."
"You too, Jim."
Slipping between the cool sheets, Blair puzzled over the naggingly familiar
pattern of Jim's behavior, and his own. He and Jim had always been close,
and despite the disastrous rift initiated by Alex, seemed to be growing
closer still. A bone always knitted back stronger after it had been broken.
Was that what was happening? Their relationship had been nearly torn
asunder the night he'd come home to find his entire life in boxes, his
best friend sullen and distant, a dangerous stranger. Although technically
spring, that night had seemed
The evening Jim brought him home from the hospital, he'd stood in his
room, amazed -- every book, mask, statue and knick-knack had been returned
to its original place, bearing witness to his Sentinel's incredible powers
of observation. Meriting Jim no few subsequent tests for eidetic memory,
too. Since that night, their friendship's threads had been rewoven, strengthened
and sometimes, felt almost solid and warm to the touch.
Settling in to sleep, he listened to Jim's comforting ritual as his friend
walked the perimeter, secured their home and climbed the stairs to bed.
As sleep claimed him, his over-active conscious mind relaxed and the
perplexing pattern gently resolved itself into a single clear thought.
Delight, peace and knowledge rushed through him, deep and wide as the
Amazon, rich and fertile as the verdant Peruvian
jungle. This is love.
~~
IotaTech Headquarters
Ben leaned against the window sill in the office suite watching his colleagues
spar with one another. As usual, Red and Rob were going after each other,
this time about data storage strategies. Both did excellent work and
were more or less friends, but still fought like cats and dogs over anything
and everything, minor or major, technical or otherwise. He let them argue
for a while, sharing an amused glance with Leslie, then brought the meeting
back to order.
"Okay people, enough personal crap. I want to hear status."
Director of Research and Development Robin McAndrews glared once more
at Red, then passed out photocopies of her latest
schedule. "So. Here's our current delivery timeline. As you can see,
we're well within schedule and have met all relevant milestones for the
past two months." The tall red-head paused for a moment, clearly pleased
about the team's progress. "I've got vacations coming up for two of the
engineers -- Shawn and Mark, but that won't impact things at all."
"When will we be begin testing and validation?"
"Late July, early August. With a scheduled release date of October 31.
We'll burn the CDs on November 1st. We should make it, no
problem. Also, I've got the patent work on the encryption algorithm drawn
up and will be going over things with the lawyer on Monday. The patent
will be filed mid next month."
Ben was pleased. They were actually ahead of schedule, a situation
virtually unheard of for a software project. "Excellent work. What about
you, Leslie?" He turned to Leslie Randolph. His CFO and
marketing manager was a quiet, genteel southern gentleman, but a
ruthless negotiator and shrewd product positioning tactician.
"My preliminary reports indicate an initial market size of
approximately $58 million. More conclusive numbers, with market
segmentation figures, will be available by the end of next week." Leslie
smiled and passed around his latest report. "All in all, I have every
confidence that this product is going to hit and hit big. There is literally
no other firm, national or international poised to take such complete
advantage of it. Oh, and our graphic design firm will have product and
marketing literature samples available in three
weeks."
"Red? What about ops? Where are we?"
"We're cranking, man! Nightly backups have gone off without a hitch for
the past 6 weeks. Lost a couple of disks in the past week, one motherboard
and one Ethernet card, but all were still under warranty and there was
only minimal data loss." Red consulted his Palm Pilot To-Do list. "The
security systems are fully operational and the order for the T-1 line
was placed last week. It should be installed sometime around the first
week in August. I'll have the routing tables
configured soon afterwards."
Ben glanced at Rob, surprised she'd held her tongue. It was no secret
that she was opposed to leasing the T-1 line. He'd had to talk fast to
come up with a good justification for what was essentially payment to
Red for patching the hemorrhage in his budget. The words 'consulting
fees' covered a multitude of fiscal sins.
"What about production?"
Rob shook her head. "Les and I still need to finalize the agreement with
the replication facility. We're not yet in full agreement with the vendor
about materiels cost and final ship date. We've got plenty of time for
that, though."
"Okay people. I'm really pleased. I've begun negotiations with two big
players for embedded data encryption support and it's looking like a
third may fall in line by the end of next week. We're gonna do it, guys!"
Ben was enthusiastic. Now, if his secret little scheme was never discovered,
they'd all be fabulously wealthy.
"I'm not one for counting the proverbial chickens before they hatch,
but yeah, I think so too, Ben," Rob agreed. Red nodded assent.
Red and Rob actually in agreement, for once? Would wonders never
cease?
~~
Cascade PD, Major Crime
Late Friday afternoon, Blair Sandburg strolled into the station
looking inordinately pleased with himself. Jim monitored his partner
carefully. Although he was far too thin and pale and still walked with
a slight limp, Sandburg seemed relaxed and in good spirits.
"Hairboy! How goes it?"
"H-man, long time no see!"
Jim rose from his desk, smiling warmly at his friend, "Hey Chief, got
all your raffle tickets?"
"Yep, right here in this bag," Blair hefted a huge shopping bag.
"Jesus Blair! What'd you do? Rob a bank?" Simon Banks stepped out of
his office and gasped at the evidence of Blair's ticket-selling
prowess. The rest of the Major Crimes crew followed on his heels
gawking shamelessly.
"Here ya go, Simon." Blair handed over the bag. "All eight hundred thirty
seven."
That statement drew a collective gasp from everyone within earshot.
"You sold how many, Sandburg?" Simon boggled.
"Eight hundred and thirty seven," Blair offered with a smug smile.
"Eight hundred thirty seven? At ten bucks each? Jesus, Sandburg, I hope
you're not carrying around that much cash."
"I'm not crazy, H. These are the raffle booklets. I deposited the cash
in the bank and wrote a check."
"Exactly how the hell did you manage to sell that many raffle tickets,
Sandburg?" Simon wanted to know. "Rhonda's the only one who managed to
get rid of more than ten."
"Guess it's just my natural charm," Blair replied with a cocky grin.
"Natural charm, my ass," Simon grumped. "How many of them were women,
huh? Just a rough estimate, Sandburg. 80 percent? 90 percent?"
"Yeah, Sandy. And how many phone numbers did you collect?"
"Hey! I resent that!" Blair said indignantly, "And not many."
Rafe snickered, "Right. You bat those baby blues and women fall all over
you. Ellison here can't get a second date to save his life."
"Gimmie a break guys!" Jim protested. They just wouldn't let up about
his goddamn dates, or lack thereof.
"I would have sold more if I'd had time to hit up the Chemistry
department and the Business School."
"Just how many departments did you hit, Hairboy?"
"Let's see," Blair ticked them off on his fingers, "the Anthro
department obviously, Linguistics, Computer Science, Biology,
Sociology, Psychology, Engineering, the Law School, the Classics
Department, the Registrar's Office, and a bunch of other
departments. Oh, and I hit up the Fair Oaks Country Club, too."
"Fair Oaks? Who the hell do you know at a country club, Sandburg?"
"Well. Um." Blair actually looked a bit sheepish and to Sentinel ears,
his heart seemed about to pound its way out of his chest, "I sorta talked
to Jim's dad."
"My father?!" Jim was flabbergasted, "You convinced my father to
buy raffle tickets?"
"Hey, Jim, you didn't wanna talk to him, so I did. I just poured on a
little of the old Sandburg charm and 'voila' the rest is history! The
wealthy can be very philanthropic." His Guide grinned impishly. And
a bit desperately too, if Jim read his expression correctly. Hoping to
avoid getting brained by a pissed Sentinel, no doubt.
"Sandburg?!" Jim didn't know whether to be pissed, amazed or
impressed. He'd known that Sandburg and his father had kept in contact
but hadn't realized the extent of the relationship. After a moment, his
roiling emotions settled upon amazement tinged with no little affection.
Connor was right, his Guide was one frighteningly
resourceful and competent salesman. God help the American public if Sandburg
ever decided to sell used cars.
"Blair Sandburg, you have no shame!" Simon declared, shaking his head.
"I get no respect!" Blair raised his eyes skyward. "This is the thanks
I get for putting Major Crimes in the best position to win that trip!"
"What is it with you and this trip, Sandburg? You've been keyed up
about it since they announced it."
"It's gonna be fun, Simon. Fishing, hiking, camping, horseback
riding. You know--fun! They had fun way back in the 70s didn't
they?"
Connor, Rafe and Brown were holding their sides, shaking helplessly with
laughter.
"Keep it up, Sandburg," Simon growled, "and I'll see to it that you're
at every single autopsy from now 'til the end of the year."
"Ouch! That hurts, Simon," Blair clutched at his chest dramatically.
"I thought we were friends."
Unable to help himself, Jim snickered.
"And you, Ellison, you watch your step, too." Simon glowered.
"Uh, right, sir." Jim winked at his partner, covering his smile with
one hand. To hell with the raffle. He'd already won the lottery with
Blair Sandburg. And he suspected that within a few weeks, he'd be on
a plane to New Mexico to spend five glorious days with his perfectly
amazing Guide. What a delicious thought.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
Leaf-sifted moonlight cast eerie shadows on the dusty path as Ben made
his way to the stables for his midnight meeting with Red. Like Red, he
lived here on the Ranch. Some of the others, including Leslie and Rob
made the commute in from other towns on a regular basis, daily or biweekly.
Ben was still uneasy about this whole bootlegging business. It was unethical,
illegal and he still wasn't convinced he hadn't made a pact with the
devil. Fundamentally, he was ashamed of himself. Stuck
between a rock and a hard place, he'd sold his ethical soul rather than
admit that running a business was harder than they taught you in B-School,
and ask for help. If she ever found out, his mother would kill him.
"Ben, my man!" Red met him at the stables, looking scruffy as usual.
"So Red, how are we looking?" He asked as they walked along the
perimeter of the barn, talking quietly.
Red consulted his PDA. "We made out with a final total of
$383,247. Plenty enough to pay the debts plus interest."
"Yeah? Well the deal broker certainly seemed happy."
"No kidding. The encryption on 'Business Suite' was a bitch to crack,
but I pulled it off just fine. With a little hacker magic and a whole
lotta elbow grease courtesy of our new hardware," Red said
insouciantly, tapping playfully on an imaginary keyboard. "Think about
it! We're the first known people on the planet to crack that
algorithm." He crowed. "Derek even said Charrington might have other
jobs they want us to do..."
"Forget it, Red." Ben shook his head vehemently. "This was a one-time
thing. We've got the money, now let's get out. I don't want to risk any
more exposure than we have to."
"Ben, don't worry about it. They have no idea who we really
are. None whatsoever. It'll be okay, I promise."
"I know, I know. But, still, I'm worried."
"You worry about everything, man. Don't stress. Everything will be just
fine. Look at it this way. We could just as easily turn them over to
the Feds for piracy, theft and export violations, now couldn't we?"
"Well, I guess so."
"All we did, really, was crack the code..."
Red was hell-bent on diminishing this, but Ben was really concerned:
jail and bankruptcy were very real possibilities were they caught.
"...And those guys really seem interested in the decryption
algorithm. Not to mention the fact that I made some really nifty
improvements on it..."
"Red, we can't sell them that. That would be really illegal,
instead of just mostly illegal."
"We should think about it, man. You're the one who wanted to do this
company without venture capital funding. This could be our ticket."
"No. I draw the line here. We will not sell the algorithm. Or your
'improvements'."
"Okay, man. You're the boss," Red nodded, appearing chastened. But with
Red, you never really knew.
~~
Awards Banquet
To the delight of the trustees of the Cascade Battered Women's
Shelter, the city-wide raffle raised over $120,000. Blair's first place
award for selling the most tickets came as no surprise to anyone from
Major Crime. The next closest competitor had only sold 112
tickets. Upon receiving the award from Chairwoman Marge Willis,
Blair's off-hand comment about going into sales if anthropology didn't
work out evoked much laughter from the audience. Jim and Megan
exchanged wry but knowing looks.
Thirty minutes later, Jim covertly eyed his companion at the buffet table
as he rattled off the caloric and fat content of every
dish. Blair looked positively radiant in a dark blue silk shirt and black
jeans, long sable curls held back neatly with a leather tie. To his secret
delight, Blair's left ear glittered with the two new silver earrings
Jim had given him earlier in the week. Delicious, seductive innocence.
Tonight, Blair had been the focus of attention of every female, single
or otherwise. With no few males -- who were only
marginally more subtle -- thrown in for variety.
"Ah, here's another one, Chief. See the gorgeous red-head at the
bar. She's checking you out, buddy." Jim nodded towards a leggy woman
with auburn hair and jade green eyes who was openly staring at his partner.
Blair filled his plate and glanced over to the woman, who smiled
encouragingly. He shook his head. "Nah, Jim. Not my type."
"That's what you said about the blonde, too. And the brunette and every
other woman tonight." Jim laughed outright. "Your type used to be anything
in a skirt. Getting choosy in your old age, Chief?"
"Well, Jim," Blair smiled and looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "I'm
into tall, buff and handsome these days," he said lightly.
Startled, Jim eyed his friend speculatively; Blair's heartbeat had been
rock-steady. "Are you flirting with me, Sandburg?"
Surprisingly, rather than deny it, Blair instead blushed to the roots
of his hair, bit his lower lip and looked away. "Uh..."
Sudden warmth blossomed in his belly as Jim smiled down at his
partner. A vermilion flash and his knowledge of the world and himself
burst and reassembled itself in a new, delightful configuration. The
underlying theme of the past months' confused protective, affectionate
and jealous feelings was suddenly clear, undeniable. This rich,
ruby-red feeling, shot through with the electric blue of desire -- this
is love. Unexpected perhaps, but not unwelcome.
He gently caught Blair's chin and tilted his friend's head, meeting deep
blue eyes, "Because, if you are," he continued softly, "I think I'd like
that."
Feeling a blush warm his own cheeks, Jim retreated to the dance floor,
leaving a stunned, flushed Sandburg standing at the buffet, hand
against his cheek, staring in wonder.
~~
Still easily tired, Blair relaxed at the dinner table trying, with out
success, to cheer up Joel. He was astonished at his own behavior. He'd
actually blushed at Jim. Like some adoring teenager with a
crush. Pathetic. He'd meant it as a joke. Correction -- he'd meant it
to sound like a joke. But Jim's nearness, the sound of his voice had
twined around his tongue, wrapped around his brain stem and strangled
his powers of reason and obfuscation. Sheesh.
Unable to help himself, he stared at his baffling, gorgeous partner,
who was dressed to kill in a new charcoal gray suit accentuating his
clear blue eyes. Jim had spent the past hour dancing with a dizzying
assortment of women: blondes, red-heads, brunettes. Even the 78 year
old silver-haired Chairwoman. More women than Blair had ever seen Jim
with in the past three years. Babe-magnet Ellison. What a switch.
At the moment, his Sentinel was tangoing seductively with Megan,
giving a credible impression of Antonio Banderas in 'Zorro'. The
delighted, cheering crowd had cleared a space in the center of the dance
floor for their undeniably erotic display. Jim moved with sleek, economical
grace, Megan fiery and lithe within his embrace. They made a striking
couple. Who knew Ellison could move like that? Or Connor? Certainly
not Simon or Rafe, whose matched stunned expressions likely mirrored
Blair's own.
"Jim and Megan make a fine couple, eh Blair?"
Courtship display. That's what it was, plain and simple. Projecting hidden
sexual desire onto a socially acceptable object of affection via a context
appropriate medium -- dance. His eyes met Jim's briefly and his partner's
devilish smile and sly wink over Megan's bare
shoulder confirmed it: Jim Ellison was flirting with him.
"Huh?"
"I said, Jim and Megan make a fine couple."
"They sure do," Blair agreed, staring at his partner across the dance
floor.
"I had no idea Jim was such a great dancer."
"Me neither."
What the hell was Jim doing? Was he serious? Did he really mean it? In
three years, Jim had only once given any indication that he was not happily
hetero. Jim had arrived home early from a failed date wearing a morose
expression and Blair had teased him, "What's with you, man? One date
and it's all over. Maybe I should give you a few pointers." Jim had shaken
his head. "Maybe. Or maybe I should just give up on women and try men
for a while". A brief exchange, couched as a wry joke, but in retrospect,
Jim's tone had been thoughtful.
"I don't think Rafe looks too thrilled about it, though," Blair
chuckled.
Joel smiled. "No, he looks downright pissed. Think he's going make a
move?"
"You can count on it, man. Megan is really making him sweat for it."
As the music climaxed, Jim dipped Megan dramatically, to thunderous applause.
They posed for a moment at the end of the song, lips nearly touching.
"Check him out! There he goes!"
Rafe waited a bare moment while Jim and Megan bowed and waved to the
crowd, then with a glare, swept Megan out of Jim's arms and into the
next dance. Megan smiled winsomely, flicked imaginary lint from Rafe's
lapel and danced away willingly. Jim simply laughed and took the hand
of the elderly matron standing beside him. Pants suddenly too tight,
Blair shifted uncomfortably in his seat, more than a little aroused at
their display. He wished for nothing more at the moment than to cut in
on the old blue-haired bitty coyly batting her eyelashes at
Jim. Wouldn't that get a few looks?
"So, Joel. How come you're not out there on the dance floor? As I recall,
you cut a mean rug."
Joel sighed, "I guess I haven't much felt like dancing lately."
"Oh yeah, the divorce. Sorry man." As much as he wanted to help, Blair
definitely felt in over his head with Joel and this divorce thing.
"That's okay, Blair," Joel shrugged. "It's a sad thing when a marriage
ends. Even if you're expecting it, even if you're not in love
anymore. It doesn't matter. It's just hard."
"It must be difficult. I really can't imagine." And he
couldn't. Frankly, he had very little idea of how a normal, long-term
romantic relationship was conducted. Naomi had had many friends and lovers,
but no long term romantic partnerships. With Naomi as an
example, he'd always treated commitment cautiously, afraid that it meant
limiting options, ruling out other, more interesting
possibilities. He'd never considered that committing to another person
could mean opening up new opportunities. That reordering the
universe into a pattern of two instead of one could be liberating. It
had never occurred to him, until Jim.
"I guess you can't, huh Blair? Your mom never got married did she?"
Blair shook his head. "No, she didn't." He always felt a little
uncomfortable talking about his mother's choices to people like Joel.
People who, however well meaning, had led more traditional lives.
"Have you ever been in love?" Joel sounded almost wistful.
"Yeah, man. A few times." Blair forced his gaze away from Jim and looked
at Joel. He was supposed to be cheering his friend up, not lusting after
his roommate. "I'm a lot more acquainted with lust than love, though,"
he smiled.
Indeed. It felt strange to fall in love backwards. Usually, he fell headlong
into lust, waking unpleasantly when the giddy romance burned away to
reveal the everyday dirt and grit of reality and
incompatibility. But all that had already happened with Jim. They'd fought
over the remote, the toothpaste and the 'proper' way to fold towels and
clean the bathroom. They'd argued politics, economics and music, haggled
over phone bills and dinner plans. They'd already made all the compromises
couples made and then some. And nonetheless, it was there -- this feeling,
this passion. What had started as a tiny alpine spring had become,
three years downstream, a deep, wide river coursing through a fertile
valley.
"You think that feeling's going to last forever, you know? But it doesn't.
It never does." Joel said bleakly.
In the long silence that followed, Blair stared at his clasped hands,
acutely aware of situation's irony: Joel ending a lengthy
relationship, and Blair, for the first time, contemplating --
forever. With a man, no less. The 'man' portion of the equation wasn't
really a problem. He'd fooled around with guys before. It was the 'forever'
part that was troubling. Would this happen to them? Would the fantasy,
the possibility of forever dissolve, like it had with Joel and Alicia,
and Jim and Carolyn, into arguments,
"Look Joel," Blair changed the subject, tabling his concerns in favor
of a problem he could solve instead. "I won eight tickets to New
Mexico tonight. Why don't you come too?"
Joel looked dubious, "I don't know, Blair..."
"It'll be great! A change of venue, get your mind off things a bit. A
new setting. Maybe have some fun. Go fishing, horseback riding, camp
out. Get away from all the hassles here, you know?"
"Well...I wouldn't want to impose..."
"C'mon man, it's no imposition. I'm inviting you! Jim is going. Megan,
Brian and Henri are interested. I may even convince Simon and
Daryl. What do you say? You could use a little time off."
"Okay, Blair. It sounds great. It would be great to get away for a
bit. Maybe change of scenery is just what I need."
"Excellent, man!" Blair smiled with satisfaction. He might not be able
solve anyone's problems or answer his own burning questions, but thanks
to the Lazy K Ranch, he could provide a distraction.
~~
The new shoes pinched his toes, his jaw ached from smiling mindlessly
at his dance partners and his nose was congested from the confluence
of perfumes and colognes in the room. However, Jim stubbornly refused
to leave the safety of the dance floor. Especially since Sandburg would
inevitably corner him and talk him to death about what he'd meant earlier.
Three fox-trots, two cha-chas and four waltzes later, he still couldn't
quite decide what to do about what he'd
meant. It was all too obvious that he wasn't flying solo --
Sandburg's pheromones and his body's rather revealing heat pattern were
undeniable evidence that the attraction was
reciprocal. //Dance. Just keep dancing, Ellison, and you'll be safe.//
The orchestra launched into a tango and Megan abruptly cut in on his
current dance partner.
"So Jimbo, how's your tango?" Connor eyed him speculatively. Jim
blinked, startled for a moment. She was incredibly alluring in a dark
green, strapless dress that complemented her auburn hair. He was more
accustomed to thinking of Megan as an aggressive, no-holds-barred cop
rather than as an undeniably sexy woman.
"My tango? Fine, Connor. Why?" Jim asked over the opening strains of
the music. "Trying to make Rafe jealous?"
"When you have to work hard for something you want, you appreciate it
more when you finally get it," She smiled deviously, eyes
twinkling. "What about you, Jim? Trying to make Sandy jealous?"
"What? What the hell are you talking about, Connor?" //Careful
Ellison, don't give it all away. // "There's nothing between me and Sandburg."
"Methinks the detective doth protest too much," Megan chuckled. "Nice
try, Jim, but unlike the rest of your colleagues, I can recognize true
love when I see it."
Too late. She's figured it out. "Oh you can, huh?" Jim raised one eyebrow
quizzically. What the hell to do now?
"Yep. Now, what do you say we show'em how it's done, eh?"
Okay, he could do that. "Fine." Jim grabbed her hand and flamboyantly
drew her into his embrace, "You're on." And so they danced.
Sandburg probably had some fancy academic term for it, but it all boiled
down to flirting. Megan flirting with Brian and Jim flirting with Blair.
Moving through the sensual dance, Jim could feel the heat of his friend's
speculative gaze. Jim glanced over Megan's shoulder at Blair who was
ostensibly talking with Joel but who was staring
intently at him. He wondered what it would be like to dance with Blair,
to feel his partner's hard, wrestler's body in his arms, the silken cascade
of dark curls flowing over sensitive fingers.
He should be bothered by falling in love with a man, shouldn't he? It
wasn't like there was anything wrong with it, objectively. Other people
did it all the time. But, all his life, he'd followed orders, played
by the rules. Rules about what was acceptable, how to behave, whom to
kill and ultimately, whom to love. And a man loving another man definitely
wasn't in the rule book.
But loving Blair was so easy, so obviously right, rule book be
damned. Long ago, his childhood mentor, Bud, had counseled him to trust
himself, his feelings. And now, strange or unsettling as they might be,
Jim decided to follow his heart. He could count on Sandburg to figure
it all out. Likely his Guide had some complicated theories on latent
homosexual desire in Sentinels; his partner had a theory on just about
everything else.
The tempo of the music increased and he spun Megan flamboyantly. She
was a fantastic dance partner, light on her feet and seductive as all
hell. If Rafe didn't make a definitive move after this, his libido should
be declared dead. Jim's own was hopelessly confused, spiking on the heady
combination of Connor's supple body in his arms, her perfume and pheromones
and Sandburg's dark, smoldering gaze, lush with
possibility. Exactly how did one make love to a man? Jim failed to
suppress an evil grin. He had some research to do in the next few weeks.
"Those must be some mighty wicked thoughts, detective." Megan
commented wryly, crushing her bosom against his chest as the music surged.
"Mmmm," Jim responded noncommittally. "Connor, you have no idea." And
swept her across the dance floor, the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd
ringing in his ears.
~~
Cascade PD, Major Crime
Frustrated with his dissertation's latest revision, Blair decided take
a break and head down to the station to help Jim on a robbery
case. After two tedious hours combing through a suspect's credit card
receipts and phone records, he was pretty sure the trip had been a mistake.
He should have been suspicious when his partner looked so happy to see
him.
"Sandburg! My office!"
Now he was positive he'd made a mistake.
Megan raised an eyebrow and Brown snickered, "Uh oh, Hairboy. What'd
you do now?"
Blair mutely appealed to Jim, who held up his hands. "He specifically
asked for you, Chief. You're on your own here."
"Thanks very much, partner," Blair muttered sarcastically under his
breath. "And no eavesdropping!" His irritating Sentinel chuckled.
Once in the office, Simon slammed the door and silently pointed to a
chair with his cigar. Puzzled but unintimidated, Blair sat down as Simon
began to pace. He stifled a cough but wisely forbore to mention
the department's 'No Smoking' policy.
"Exactly when were you planning to tell me that you'd invited the entire
department on your little excursion to New Mexico?"
Uh oh.
"Well, Sim -- uh, Captain, the entire department is a bit of an exaggeration,
isn't it?" Simon glowered at him. "I, uh talked to a few of the detectives
at the Awards' Banquet and they all said they had vacation time coming
up, and -- "
"And you couldn't find a slew of co-eds to take with you? A bunch of
professors or grad students or something? Instead of half the
detectives in my department?"
"Uh, well -- "
"Do you have any idea what a logistical nightmare this little scheme
of yours has caused?" Simon paced to the door. "Four of my detectives
and the Captain of the Bomb Squad?" Back to the window again. "All with
more time off accumulated than is legal for City workers." Simon paused,
muttered as an aside, "With the exception of Connor, who's a special
case entirely." Midway to the door again, Simon
stopped in front of him and glared. "All putting in vacation requests
at once?"
Shit. Simon wasn't gonna let them go on the trip. Damn. Jim would kill
him and the rest would help hide his poor pathetic body where it'd never
be found. Most likely after they'd hidden Simon's
first. Hmm. Simon. Now that was an idea.
"But Captain -- "
"Look, Blair, I know that the 'real world' is difficult for you
academic types to understand, but unlike professors and students, crooks
don't take summers off."
"It's just for a week, Simon. One week. Six days total,
actually. That's all."
Simon held up a hand and shook his head, "And to top it all off, you
just had to go and tell Daryl, didn't you?"
"What? What was wrong with that?"
"Don't try that innocent thing, Sandburg. The 'Lost Puppy Dog Look' may
work on Ellison, but it sure doesn't work on me!"
"Simon, I have no idea what you're talking about, man"
"On top of everything else, now I have a furious ex-wife on my
hands." Simon stalked around his desk and sat down with a
huff. "Ex-wives, Sandburg. Do your best to never get one. Daryl and Joan
were supposed to go to her parents' the second week in August." He
stabbed at Blair with his cigar for emphasis. "The exact same week as
your trip. Now, she's pissed because she thinks I'm trying to keep my
son from seeing his grandparents. Her parents!"
Oops. "Jeez, Simon. I'm really sorry to hear that," Blair
stammered. "But, you and Daryl are going. What's wrong with taking along
everyone else? Why can't you just rearrange the duty roster? Besides,
I've already invited them."
"You haven't heard a word I've said here, Sandburg." Simon chomped on
the cigar and pointed to the door. "You're just going to have figure
out a way to uninvite them. I simply can't let five principals in this
department go on vacation at once."
"Can't or won't?" Blair muttered under his breath. //And he didn't even
say 'Thanks for inviting me and Daryl, Blair'.// As the door slammed
shut behind him, Blair pondered his options. Telling five stressed out,
over-worked detectives that their vacation was cancelled didn't have
much appeal.
"So, Sandy, what gives?"
"Yeah, Blair, what'd Simon want?"
"Hey guys, look. Don't be pissed off at me, but I think that it'd be
better if I took along some of my friends from the University on the
trip to New Mexico."
"What?"
"Are you univiting us, Hairboy?"
"Explain yourself, Sandburg," Jim literally growled.
"Well, you guys are the best detectives in the department and having
you all gone at once would create a big personnel hole and complicate
the schedule and I didn't exactly clear it all with Simon first..."
As one, Taggart, Connor, Rafe, Brown and Ellison leaped to their
feet. "What?!"
"He's gonna cancel our vacations?"
"This is ridiculous!"
"I've got five weeks of vacation saved up!"
"I haven't had a day off in seven weeks! Screw the schedule!"
"He can't do this!"
Blair sat down in Jim's vacated chair and shrugged, "Tell it to the man."
He leaned back and put his feet up on the desk.
Again as one, the group turned and stalked towards Simon's office.
//Ah yes,// Blair thought smugly, //that'll work.//
Fifteen minutes, forty-three seconds later, four detectives and one Bomb
Squad Captain exited the office looking pleased. Blair
smiled. Until he caught sight of Simon's face.
"Sandburg!"
Revising his dissertation one more time was looking mighty good right
about now. "Sorry Simon! Academia calls!"
Blair grabbed his pack, darted into the elevator and frantically
jabbed the 'Door Close' button. Who knew Banks could move that fast?
~~
IotaTech Headquarters
"You dumbshits!" Rob shouted. "I can't believe you'd do this!" Red,
Leslie and Ben winced involuntarily.
The tall red-head stalked around the office suite shaking her head, "Red
-- you, you I can believe. You're the one who's ethically
challenged. But Ben, you're the straight arrow here! I trusted you! With
my fucking life savings! You total, complete idiots! What the hell
were you thinking?"
"Calm down, Rob," Red placated lamely. "It's not that big a deal."
"I humbly beg to disagree," Leslie said quietly, arms folded across his
chest. "You morons could get us all sent to jail."
"Jail? Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit here, Les?" Ben
asked, desperately trying to downplay the situation. "Nothing's going
to happen. We've got the cash, we're solvent again and no one is the
wiser."
"Did you guys ever stop to think exactly what might happen if you'd gotten
caught? Software piracy is illegal. Fines and jail time are all real
possibilities here," Leslie pointed out reasonably.
"It's not really piracy," Red protested. "All we did was strip the
encryption from the software. That's it."
"Right, Red. First you defeated the anti-piracy encryption on
Microsoft's 'Business Suite'. And then you made the application available
to an agent who, quite likely, duplicated and distributed it."
"Okay, I'll admit. It is a bit of a gray area, but..."
"Gray area, my ass! Bits are bits, gentlemen. Whether they're on a disk,
a CD-ROM or wrapped up nice and neat in a TCP/IP packet floating in the
ether doesn't matter worth a damn. You copied the bits and illegally
transported them. That is known as software
piracy!"
"How did you guys find out about it anyway?" Red grumbled.
"It wasn't all that hard, genius. You're not the only person who can
hack. Try using a less obvious password next time."
His jaw dropped in shock. "You guys broke into my machine?"
"Damn straight we did!" Leslie snapped uncharacteristically. "Partners
in a business venture tend to get a bit suspicious when over $300,000
seeps into their accounts via some mysterious and later verified to be
bogus consulting fees from the CEO and CTO."
Rob put her hands on her hips and glared. "It wasn't difficult to figure
it all out with the two of you guys skulking around -- midnight meetings
and absurd equipment requisitions. Like the damn T-1 line and the multi-processor
Sun box."
Ben closed his eyes and sighed, defeated.
"On top of everything else, you, Timothy Redford, committed another
federal crime by arranging to sell the modified encryption algorithm,"
Leslie added forcefully.
Red was stunned. "How the hell did you know about that?"
"Next time, Red, try encrypting your email, too."
Ben was furious. "Red! We agreed not to do that! You weren't going to
sell the algorithm! What the hell have you done?!"
"Software as munitions. That law is so bogus! A simple algorithm is
somehow the equivalent of a side-winder missile." Red waved his hand
dismissively.
"Yeah Red? Well tell it to the Feds. And then get set to meet your new
cellmate, Bubba." Rob was furious.
"Ben," Leslie's voice was quiet, though harsh in the silence. "You should
have known better. This partnership, our business was built on trust.
You've seriously jeopardized that trust with these actions. Do you understand
that?"
"Guys! You have to understand. I had to meet payroll, I had to pay
you guys and pay for the equipment and the new T-1 line," Ben said desperately.
"Fuck payroll!" shouted Rob, "Fuck equipment! And fuck the goddamn T-1
line! Red's the one who thought it was such a great idea. I was just
fine with the friggin 56k and my laptop! We didn't need additional workstations
to write more Java and GNU C++ code! Red just needed that extra equipment
to run the decryption sequences."
"Yeah, and what would you have done without money, huh?" Red sneered,
affronted, "You can't pay the damn nursing home with IOUs."
"Screw you, you amoral asshole!" Rob shouted. "Leave my mother out of
this! I would have figured something out!"
She continued to pace the room agitatedly. "My engineers are 3 months
from going live with this product. The graphic designer has all the product
lit and the graphics completed. Les has all the joint venture agreements
in place. We've got two major embedded systems deals about to go through.
Three months 'til we launch the product that will revolutionize the way
data is securely transported over the web. Three months! And you absolute
morons do something illegal and fuck it all up!" Rob gestured furiously.
"I am so absolutely pissed at you both I can't see straight."
Nauseous and weak, Ben sat down heavily at the conference table.
"You know what we're going to do?" Leslie rose and walked to the
window. "We're going to cut a deal."
"Deal?" Red asked stiffly, suspicious. "What deal? With who?"
"Whom," Leslie corrected absently. "Ben is going to call up some of his
Wharton JD-MBA buddies and we're going to go to the Feds and cut a deal."
"Hello! Guys? We haven't been caught. Don't you get it? No one
knows about it. We're free and clear." Red said, desperately,
circling the table to stand beside Ben's chair.
"I know about it, shit-for-brains!" Rob stormed. "It's wrong, it's
illegal and I'm furious that you got me involved in all this!"
"I'm not going to let all my hard work, not to mention my investment
capital, go for nothing because I stood back and kept my mouth shut,"
Leslie sighed, shaking his head sadly.
"Look guys. I don't think that you understand here. The people that we
worked with aren't exactly going to be 'thrilled' that we turned them
in, if you know what I mean," Ben protested weakly.
"Do it, or we'll do it for you." Rob spun his chair around and leaned
forward threateningly, pinning him in the seat.
"You've got several friends in high places." Leslie picked up the portable
phone and handed it to Ben. "Make the phone call, Ben."
"Dial. Now." Rob added, scowling menacingly.
"C'mon Ben, don't cave, man! We haven't been caught. Nobody knows we
did anything wrong."
"You!" Rob pinned him with a hard stare, "Shut the hell up or I'll tie
you up and stuff your bony ass under the floor in the machine room."
At 6' 2" , 155 pounds, former Ironman triathlete and now pissed off software
engineer Robin Christine McAndrews was more than capable of doing just
that. Red, wisely for once, shut the hell up. And Ben, hands trembling,
made the call.
~~
Cascade International Airport
The airport was quiet at 5:52 am with only a few other business
travelers awaiting flights in the United terminal. Weak, early morning
sun streamed through the windows sparking distracting red highlights
in Sandburg's hair. Jim felt very old, very tired and very horny
following Blair into the gate area, admiring his partner's
flannel-clad form.
The Major Crime crew was slumped around the gate area, baggage strewn
here and there. Brown was dozing over one of Rafe's GQ Magazines, with
Daryl sprawled in the aisle at his feet, head on a rolled up
jacket. Simon was reading a cheesy spy novel with his eyes closed and
Joel snored intermittently, propped up against a cement pillar. Megan
and Rafe snoozed obliviously sharing Rafe's Armani raincoat. Together,
they made the proverbial 'cute couple'.
"Hey guys! What's up?" Blair dropped his bags next to the row of
seats. "I am so looking forward to getting out of this town." He planted
his feet and stretched indulgently, the loud popping of
vertebra startling the bleary-eyed group assembled at Gate 16. "This
is gonna be great!"
"Sandy! Ick!" Megan roused from her doze and grimaced.
"What? What'd I do now?"
"Number one, that thing you just did with your spine is
disgusting. And number two, no one should be so -- so awake at
6:00 am!"
"Yeah, Sandburg. Just how much caffeine have you had anyway?"
"Caffeine? No caffeine here, Rafe, my man! Just high on life! Looking
forward to five days of fun in the sun. Fresh air, fishing,
camping. And best of all: no dissertations and no crooks!"
//High on life, my ass.// His partner had quaffed at least a gallon of
coffee yesterday afternoon and had been slamming black tea all night,
huddled over his laptop into the wee hours of the morning -- "Gotta email
this last revision before we leave for the airport, Jim."
Despite the superficial bounce, Sandburg looked to be one very short
step away from falling flat on his face. Get him horizontal and he'd
be asleep in ten minutes. Ellison knew he didn't look much better. In
contrast to Blair's death-on-speed imitation, he was death reheated,
a casualty of the week's three stakeouts, two shoot-outs and endless
reports, like every one of the assembled detectives. Summer crime sprees
were a bitch.
"I hear you, Blair," Joel said between jaw cracking yawns. "This week
has been something else. I don't think I've been this exhausted in ages."
Megan and Rafe nodded bleary assent. "Can't wait to get to New Mexico!"
Jim tore his eyes away from Sandburg's furry stomach left exposed by
the stretch, "Did they call our flights yet, H?"
"Yeah. We should be boarding in a couple of minutes. Ours -- yours, Sandburg's,
Joel's and mine goes out of Gate 14, by the way." Henri said, rising
from his seat and throwing the magazine back to Rafe.
"Separate flights?" Blair smacked his forehead. "Oh yeah, that's
right. Department rules. I forgot."
"Yeah, Sandburg, wouldn't want to take out all of Cascade's primo detectives
in a single flaming plane crash."
Yawning widely, Daryl rubbed his eyes and shuddered. "Do you guys mind
not being so morbid?"
"Daryl doesn't like flying," Simon commented.
"I don't either," Joel shuddered. "I've never gotten used to it."
"Well, look on the bright side. You're more likely to be killed in a
traffic accident than a plane crash," Blair said optimistically.
"Thanks for enlightening us, Sandburg," Simon growled at him, then scowled,
"Oh, and by the way, I'm still not talking to you."
"Come on Simon. Are you still mad at me about the other day? I was just
preserving my hide from the wrath of a bunch of pissed off
detectives." Blair indicated said detectives with a sweep of his hand,
"Next time, do your own dirty work."
"My own dirty work, huh? Do you guys have any idea how difficult it
was to convince Chief Warren to let half the squad go on this trip?"
"Yeah, Simon. How did you pull it off?" Rafe wanted to know.
Simon managed to look simultaneously annoyed and smug. "Well, I had to
pull in a few favors."
"I'll just bet you did, sir. Who had all the unpaid speeding tickets
and minor drug violations?"
"None of your damn business, Ellison. Just be glad that they did."
The gate attendant announced boarding for flights 53 and 26 to Denver
and Phoenix, respectively, with connections to Albuquerque. They
gathered their bags and trudged wearily down the jetway and onto their
planes.
Nearly giddy with exhaustion, Jim yielded to temptation and, as Blair
leaned over to take seat 23 next to Brown, he grabbed one luscious ass
cheek. Sandburg yelped in surprise and whacked his head on the
overhead bin. "Ow!"
"You okay there, Chief?" Jim asked solicitously, rubbing the top of Blair's
head, ruffling his hair.
Sandburg glared at him with commingled lust and annoyance, "Just
fine, Ellison." He bared his teeth in a not-quite smile, and
proceeded to make the next several hours a little slice of
hell.
Blair Sandburg -- owner of the smallest bladder in all 50 states. Each
of his numerous trips to the restroom required shoving his ass in Jim's
face or an 'accidental' brush against his thigh. For reasons unknown,
Jim's meals were deemed exceptionally tasty and Sandburg spent breakfast
and lunch slathering his pheromones all over Jim's silverware, croissant
and sandwich. Finally, after Brown fell sleep, his partner launched into
a muttered recitation of obscene,
Three hours into the flight, Jim Ellison had conclusively determined
that long flannel shirts where a good thing, death by embarrassment was
actually impossible and that payback was definitely gonna be a bitch.
~~
Albuquerque, New Mexico
The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the large, dusty windows of the
rental car agency. Jim leaned against the counter, as near Sandburg as
he could discreetly manage, watching the drama unfold.
Captain Simon Banks drew himself up to his full height and glowered impressively
at the petite, blonde manager. "I booked two
cars. See, I have the confirmation right here." Silently amused, Jim
smiled and glanced at his partner. Sandburg was holding back some pithy
observation on alpha-male displays right about now, no doubt.
"Sir, I understand," the manager explained patiently for the third time,
"but there was a mix up with the reservation and we don't have two cars
available. All we have in the lot is a minivan."
"A minivan? Hell no. I am not driving around in a minivan,
dammit. Do I look like the kind of guy who'd drive a minivan?"
"That's all that's available, sir. It's our larger model and it should
comfortably seat all of your colleagues."
Simon, hands on hips, drew a deep breath to protest, but Blair quickly
stepped up to the counter. Ah, Sandburg to the rescue.
Tucking his hair behind one ear, he smiled winsomely, "Surely there is
something we can work out here, Ms.... del Plano." Blair leaned closer
to read her name tag.
The pupils of her pale blue eyes dilated and pheromones tickled Jim's
nose.
"Exactly what did you have in mind, sir?" she all but purred.
"Well," Blair suggested huskily, "what if you were to give us a
reduced rate on the minivan, maybe with unlimited mileage and throw in
collision damage coverage?"
"Hmm. Well," she bit her full bottom lip prettily, "why don't I see what
I can do..."
Fifteen minutes and one giggle-filled phone number exchange later, his
Captain stood in the parking lot, scowling as his son and half the department
piled into the dark green minivan.
"Come on, Simon, don't look so glum," Connor consoled. "It's not that
bad."
"Yeah, Simon. It's the Cadillac of minivans!" Brown quipped, tossing
his bag into the back seat.
"A mommy-mobile is more like it," Rafe chuckled unrepentantly, ducking
around Brown to squeeze in beside Megan, "I'm positive that this is dog
hair and dried baby food on the seats."
"I feel like the den mother to a pack of oversized boy scouts," Simon
grumbled.
"A-hem!" Megan cleared her throat loudly, "I am not a boy!"
"Da-ad! Are we there yet?" Joel snickered. Daryl, smiling broadly, wisely
refrained from comment.
"You're too big and ugly to be a den mother, Simon," Jim observed.
"Watch it, Ellison, or I'll let your partner navigate."
"Hell," Jim laughed amiably, settling in beside Blair and slapping his
Guide's thigh, "I always wanted to see Poughkeepsie."
"Hey!" Blair objected, jabbing his ribs, "That's not fair! I'm not that
bad at reading maps!"
Jim smiled. Sandburg could get lost in a supermarket. "Actually,
Chief, you are."
The answering glare suggested that his partner wasn't quite as amused
as the van load of snickering cops.
~~
Ten miles outside San Ysidro
Marketing propaganda notwithstanding, the minivan did not
comfortably fit eight passengers. Especially with five eighths of those
passengers well over six feet tall. Blair was stuck behind
Simon, knees virtually up his nose. Poor Daryl, now nearly 6' 1", in
the midst of an adolescent growth-spurt, was squashed in the back left
corner, boxed in by Henri; Joel had lucked out and was riding
shotgun. Rafe and Megan were in the seat just behind Blair and Jim, all
but cooing at each other. And Jim, well Jim Ellison was the
Sentinel from hell.
Not only had he confiscated Sara del Plano's phone number, but for the
past forty-eight minutes, he had been rubbing his thigh against
Blair's. Nothing obvious, but his smug look implied deliberate
action. The seats weren't that small, dammit! All week they'd teased
each other. Almost ready to just come out and say it, but not
quite. Aborted confessions, smoldering looks, lingering touches. And
someone always walking in at the wrong damn time.
Then, a crime wave hit the city, spawning stake-outs galore. That, on
top of yet another dissertation deadline, and by Friday morning, Blair
was exhausted, sleep deprived, and had been living with a near constant
boner, courtesy of Detective James J. Ellison. He'd briefly considered
jacking off in the shower and shouting Jim's name in retaliation but
hadn't dared go quite that far. He wasn't even going to mention the ass-grab
on the plane. At least Jim's squirming and flushed face over the dirty
limericks had made up for it.
If he'd had any lingering doubts about Jim's romantic intentions, they'd
been laid to rest twenty-three minutes into the drive when Ellison had
'accidentally' spilled a box of milk duds into Blair's lap. Then proceeded
to enthusiastically grope around for them
'accidentally' brushing his crotch. The son of a bitch.
"So, guys," Blair sounded rather desperate and squeaky to his own ears,
"did you know that the Perseid meteor shower is starting up tonight?
With the new moon, we should really get a good view." The caffeine jitters
were beginning to catch up with him.
"Really, Sandy?" Megan leaned over the seat between them, brimming with
false enthusiasm. "Tell us more."
Jim groaned, shaking his head.
"Well, the Perseids are the most famous of all meteor showers. The earliest
record of their activity appears in the Chinese annals in 36AD. Other
references appear in Chinese, Japanese and Korean records throughout
the 8th, 9th, 10th and 11th centuries, but only sporadic references are
found between the 12th and 19th centuries, inclusive."
Blair paused for a desperate breath and continued.
"The Perseids have been referred to as the 'Tears of St. Lawrence', since
the meteors seemed to be in abundance during the festival of that Saint
on August 10th. They're also called 'the Perseids' because they appear
to come from a double cluster in the constellation
Perseus. The brighter meteors leave faint spindle-shaped glows along
their paths called 'trains' which can last anywhere from seconds to minutes.
Since tonight is a new moon, we should be able to see
zillions of them for hours!"
Following his monologue, the van was silent. With the exception of Daryl,
who thought flaming chunks of rock were cool and Megan, who sighed and
thought all it sounded romantic, most everyone else looked like he'd
taken leave of his senses. Jim just looked predatory: as if Blair would
be mighty lucky to glimpse any part of the sky tonight, or any night
hereafter.
Blair shivered, heat licking in his belly. It was going to be a long
ride.
~~
San Ysidro, New Mexico
In Daryl's opinion, the minivan pulled up the long driveway of the Lazy
K Ranch not a moment too soon. Knowingly impolite but unable to help
himself, he all but flattened Henri, Blair and Jim -- "Sorry guys!"
-- scrambling to get out of that damn van. Not only were his legs cramped
and aching and his nose stuffed up from Henri's cologne and Megan's perfume,
but being trapped in the back corner of the
minivan had reminded him how much tight spaces drove him nuts. First,
four and a half hours aboard a disease can, then another ninety
minutes trapped in this econobox. With no one to talk to even, since
Blair was sitting two rows up with Jim and Henri knew zip about
computers, video games or decent music. Although to be fair, H did
have some promising tips for sweet-talking honeys. Everybody else in
the van was acting strange. Megan and Brian both wearing goofy,
starry-eyed expressions, Joel big time bumming about his divorce, his
dad was being dad-like and Jim and Blair -- well, he couldn't
figure out exactly what was up with them, but whatever it was, it sure
as hell was bizarre.
Regardless, he was still psyched to be on the trip. His parents had had
a real knock-down drag-out over it, but dad had won. Thank
god. Although the two of them didn't have the greatest track record with
vacations, five days on a real ranch beat out two weeks worth of cheek-pinching
and "Daryl, you've grown so big", straight up. Although he would miss
his Nana's peach cobbler.
"So, whaddya think, Daryl?" Blair asked him, coming up beside him, "Pretty
cool place, huh?"
The ranch itself was nestled in hillside of a small valley in the majestic
San Pedro mountains. Red-roofed, adobe-style main buildings were arranged
in a U-shape with a beautiful central fountain. A pool glittered behind
a wrought iron fence and several large adobe
out-buildings and split-rail enclosed corrals and paddocks surrounded
the area. Grazing cows and sheep dotted the hillsides.
"Yeah, man. This place is seriously bumpin'!" he agreed, looking
around at the guests milling about the courtyard.
His father scowled at him and grumbled, "Speak English, Daryl."
"Yes, daddy," Daryl said sarcastically. "Well, gosh, golly,
gee, Mr. Sandburg, this ranch sure is neat-o!"
"Wise guy," his father muttered, cuffing the back of his head. "Okay
people, let's go check in, shall we?" his father grabbed up their bags
and headed for the registration office.
While everyone else signed in at the desk, Daryl relaxed on one of the
brown leather couches and checked out the sights -- and some mighty fine
sights there were. Blondes, brunettes, red-heads. Tall, short, slender,
athletic, lush and exotic. Oh yeah. This was gonna be one excellent
vacation!
~~
The extensive lobby was cool and dark in contrast to the late summer
heat and dust outside. Jim placed his and Blair's bags next to one of
the leather couches and scanned the room. Terracotta and colorful ceramic
tiles lined the floor and the white washed walls, hung with bright Navajo
blankets, rose to meet heavy wooden beams in the ceiling overhead. Tables
throughout the room displayed Native pottery and baskets and the floor
was covered with several large, black and white cow-hides. Sandburg gave
his name at the desk and the clerk, seeming impressed, went to fetch
the owner.
"Okay. So which of you handsome gentlemen is Professor Blair
Sandburg?" A tall, stately, raven-haired woman in leather trousers and
blue denim shirt entered the room. Beautiful silver and turquoise jewelry
adorned her throat and wrists.
"That would be me." Blair smiled warmly as everyone else
groaned. "And, it's just 'Blair', not 'Professor'."
"Well, Blair, everyone," she indicated the assembled group, "Welcome
to the Lazy K Ranch. I'm the owner, Elena Martinez-Mitchell."
"Glad to be here, Elena," Blair smiled. "Chairman Willis mentioned that
you two are sorority sisters from the University of Colorado."
"Oh yes! Marge and I go way back! When she called me about the
raffle, it being for such a good cause, I was happy to help out."
"A trip for eight is a mighty generous contribution,
Ms. Martinez-Mitchell," Simon commented. "I'm Simon Banks, by the way."
"Elena, please," she smiled at Simon warmly. "My late husband and I were
very fortunate, Simon. It's only right that I give some of that back
to others in need and help a good cause."
Simon smiled, seeming intrigued. "Well, Elena, on behalf of the
Cascade PD, we're very grateful to be the recipient of your good
will." Jim chuckled to himself, noting the automatic way that Simon and
Elena responded to one another. Sandburg had noticed the exchange as
well and Jim caught the speculative, match-making gleam in his partner's
eye.
Following other introductions, Elena described the ranch. "We've got
some wonderful amenities here, everyone. In addition to 45 guest
rooms, we have two heated swimming pools, a Jacuzzi, fitness center,
50 miles of riding and hiking trails, sight seeing tours of dinosaur
bones and Paleolithic Native American sites, and, of course, some cattle
roping demonstrations."
"This isn't a ranch, it's a resort!" Megan exclaimed.
"Rustic is all well and good, Megan, but it's nice to have all the comforts
of home and then some after a long day on the trails," Elena said, smiling
graciously. "Oh, and tonight is the first night of the Perseid Meteor
Shower. For those of you know don't know what ..."
"We know all about it, thanks," Brown chuckled. "Courtesy of
Professor Sandburg, here."
Elena raised an eloquent eye brow, "Well, if any of you are
interested, we're having a meteor watch tonight in the lower
valley. If you've never seen it before, it's truly the sight of a lifetime.
Perhaps you'd all like to come along? We're meeting tonight in the lobby
at 9:30pm."
"So, let's get you keys to your rooms." Elena took several keys from
behind the desk and distributed them. Brown and Rafe were less
thrilled about having to share a room however, Megan's charming smile
and discreet jab to Rafe's ribs eased tensions.
"Blair, as first prize winner in the raffle, you have been given the
Santo Domingo Suite, #105." Elena handed the final key to Blair with
a flourish. "This suite features a master bedroom, dining room, media
room, fireplace, Jacuzzi, and a beautiful view of the mountains."
"A suite? Cool!" Sandburg looked and sounded like a kid on Christmas
morning.
"Dinner Hour begins at 7:00pm in the main dining room and the bar is
open until 2:30. If you'll follow me, Blair, I'll show you to your suite."
~~
"Just checking in today?"
Daryl looked up quickly and gaped at the red-haired goddess addressing
him. He stood and smiled. Taller than he was, she was built like, well,
like a goddess. Spiky hair, creamy skin with freckles, lots of earrings
and legs...damn! The woman was phat! //Speak Daryl! Open your mouth
and talk to the woman!//
"Uh, yeah. My friend won a trip here in a raffle and invited me to come
along. My name is Daryl, by the way."
"Daryl. Nice to meet you. I'm Robin. 'Rob' for short." They shook hands
briefly.
"Do you work here Rob, or are you a guest?"
"Actually, my partners and I have a software company located here on
the ranch. IotaTech. Perhaps you've heard of it?"
Daryl wracked his brain for a moment, "Oh yeah! It's an Internet
startup, right?"
"Exactly!" She looked very pleased. "You into computers?"
"Oh yeah. They're pretty cool."
"You should stop by. I'll show you around. We're in Suite #107."
Daryl could scarcely believe his good fortune. "That's sounds great!
I'd like that."
"Yo, Rob! C'mon, they've installed the T-1!" Rob turned as several guys
across the lobby called and waved her over. "Hey, look I've gotta go,
Daryl. But, see you later?"
His knees weakened when she smiled and winked at him, before heading
out the door with her friends.
A moment later, Jim and Blair walked by, accompanied by the ranch owner,
Elena. "Hellooo, Casanova!" Blair snickered, slapping Daryl's back. "Taking
lessons from H these days?"
"Yeah, Daryl," Jim agreed. "If that smile gets any wider, your face'll
crack!"
"Blair, man, did I already thank you for inviting me on this trip?"
~~
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #105
The suite was every bit as amazing as Elena had indicated. Each of the
three rooms was beautifully appointed with Native pottery, blankets and
carvings. After briefly scanning the interior, Blair simply had to comment
on the authentic furnishings.
"Elena, this suite is wonderful!" he enthused. "The Navajo baskets
and ceremonial sand paintings. Everything! This is just great!" Unable
to help himself, he swept through the main room examining the artifacts,
dragging his partner behind him. "Check this out, Jim!" he pointed to
a sand painting hung next to the fireplace. "These two sand figures represent
the Warrior Twins, indicative of thought and
action. And these here are the Talking God and the Calling God!"
Jim leaned against the wall and chuckled, "Leave it to you Sandburg,
to end up with a hotel room that doubles as a museum."
"I'm glad you like the suite, Blair. I see that you know a lot about
the various artifacts we have here on the ranch."
"Yeah, I'm an anthropologist, so I'm pretty familiar with the art of
many cultures."
"Anthropologist? I thought Jim said you were his partner on the
force?" She looked at Jim for confirmation.
"He's both." His partner smiled, shaking his head. "It's a long, long
story."
"And Simon Banks is your captain?" Elena asked, sounding more than casually
interested.
"Yes. Simon's a great guy." //I knew she was interested in Simon!//
Blair was thrilled and magnanimously decided to do Simon a good turn,
even though they were ostensibly at odds.
"And the young man on the couch -- Daryl was it? -- is his son?"
"Oh yeah. Daryl's great! He almost didn't get to come on the trip because
of Simon's ex-wife and all but I guess they got everything worked out."
"Simon seems like quite a gentleman."
"Oh he is! Simon is a regular 'Officer and a Gentleman', right Jim?"
What harm could a little obfuscation and exaggeration do?
"Matchmakers rarely prosper, Sandburg," Jim muttered under his
breath, pretending to examine one of the Hopi wall hangings.
The bathroom alone was bigger than his bedroom in the loft and the master
bedroom, complete with fireplace and king size bed, was frankly enormous.
A big screen TV and state-of-the-art stereo system completed the well-appointed
media room which was stocked with a dizzying
assortment of laser and compact disks.
"Like Megan said, this isn't a ranch, Elena, this is a resort!"
"Well, Blair, we get lots of vacationing Hollywood stars here, so luxury
is a necessity for our clientele. We want them to feel right at home."
Elena smiled and handed him his key, "Please feel free to call upon me
if you need anything, Blair, Jim. Hope to see you both tonight for the
meteor shower."
"Thanks again, Elena!" he called as she left the suite, closing the door
behind her.
Alone for the first time in hours, he and Jim awkwardly stared at one
another for a long moment.
"Blair, I -- "
"Jim -- "
They spoke simultaneously, both nervous. Blair's hands shook and huge,
hairy moths knocked around in his stomach. Weeks of innuendo,
merciless flirting, teasing and unabated lust collapsed precipitously
into this single moment of passionate expectation. Gathering his
nerve, he stepped close and slowly reached up with both hands, gently
sliding his fingers along Jim's lips, then cheek, caressing the rim of
his ear, slipping his fingers into Jim's short, silky hair. His
partner closed the distance and Blair found himself in a warm, solid
embrace, body pressed tightly against Jim's, their lips mere inches apart.
He tilted his head obligingly, offering himself to his friend, eyes sliding
closed, body thrumming with anticipation.
"Hey Hairboy! Open up!" Henri's voice was accompanied by several loud
thumps on the door.
"Yeah, Sandburg! C'mon and show us the 'Presidential Suite'!"
"Dammit!" Startled, they both jumped apart. "Of all the times to want
a tour --"
Jim smiled wryly, "It's okay, Chief." He bent and kissed Blair
softly. "Just hold onto these thoughts for later, okay?" His
Sentinel's piercing blue eyes were dark with lustful promise.
Stunned, Blair could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a
verbal response. He probably looked like he'd been hit in the back of
the head with a 2" x 4". He certainly felt like it.
"A speechless Sandburg!" Jim marveled, shaking his head and walking to
the door, "I should have kissed you years ago! See you at dinner."
The Major Crimes horde spilled into the room and Blair gave them the
ten-cent tour, completely on auto-pilot. The utterly mundane 'now' evaporated
in the searing heat of the fascinating passionate
possibilities of Jim's promised 'later'.
~~
IotaTech Headquarters
"So, Amazon. Who was the big, buff guy you were talking to? Conan?"
"None of your business, you little shit," Rob folded her arms and glared
at Red.
"Fraternizing with the guests is a no-no, oh Xena, Barbarian
Princess."
"Ben," Rob warned menacingly, "put your pet snake on a leash before I
skin it and make a belt."
Ben grimaced. Tensions were still high within the group. How could they
not be? Changing the subject seemed like a good idea. "Red, you had
news about the T-1?"
"Yeah. The T-1 was fully installed, I've got the routing tables set up
and we are officially on line!"
The announcement was met with stony silence from Leslie and Rob.
"Well, our meeting with our lawyer and the Feds and the D.A. is at 10:00
am tomorrow morning. We'll meet at Preston's office at 9:30. Don't be
late, okay people?" After weeks of negotiation and anonymous
communications, they would finally meet face-to-face with the Feds and
the District Attorney.
"Cops and Feds working on a Saturday. Who'da thunk, eh?" Red commented
wryly. They had yet to convince Red this wasn't all a big joke.
"Right, Red," Leslie shook his head. "Your tax dollars hard at work."
Ben turned back to his computer and printed out the final reports requested
by their attorney, Michael Preston. He wondered if his group could ever
mend things and reform into the cantankerous, optimistic and effective
team they'd been three years ago when they'd created IotaTech. Eyes closed
briefly against the pain, he sighed, missing the camaraderie.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
After unpacking and showering in a sumptuously large and well-appointed
bathroom, Jim went looking for Sandburg. According to Rafe and Connor,
his elusive partner was last seen with Daryl and a tall red-head, heading
in the direction of the Southwestern-themed bar. Probably the woman Daryl
had been talking to earlier. Instead of Blair, he found Joel staring
morosely at the bottom of a martini glass.
"Hey Joel. You seen Sandburg?"
"Nah, Jim. I haven't. Sorry."
"What's the matter, man?" Jim sat down beside him, gesturing for the
bartender. For some reason, the bar was relatively empty just before
the dinner hour. "You look like you lost your last dollar and then stepped
in dog do."
"It's just the divorce, Jim." Joel heaved a big sigh and polished off
his martini. "I signed the papers this morning. Dropped'em off on the
way to the airport."
"Ouch. That hurts. Sorry, man." Jim sighed inwardly, torn between the
desire to help Joel, be sympathetic, and his underlying excitement and
happiness about his nascent relationship with Blair. It was tough being
ridiculously happy around people who weren't.
A moment later, Simon walked in, taking another barstool next to
Joel. The bartender plunked down Jim's beer and Simon requested a second
one. "Jim, Joel, what's up guys?"
"Joel signed his divorce papers this morning."
Simon nodded sympathetically, patting Joel's shoulder. "If any two people
understand, we do, Joel. Jim and I definitely know the drill."
"Too true, my friend," Jim agreed, baffled by his own optimism about
a relationship with Blair. Here, he'd never even been with man -- //Be
honest, Ellison -- you've looked, you've just never touched// --
and yet somehow he knew, with cellular certainty, that their crazy mating
dance would end in a life-long partnership. What was it about his friend
that made him willing to throw away his self-image, the expectations
of others and nearly 40 years of conditioning?
Love. And the triumph of hope over experience.
"I mean, we've been separated for almost a year, but, it still hurts,
you know?"
"Yeah, Joel. We know," Simon said somberly. "At least you didn't have
kids."
"I guess I should be thankful for that, huh? You and Joan seem to always
be at each other's throat over Daryl."
"Yeah. She was furious about this trip, about Daryl not seeing his grandparents
this summer. Took a lot of convincing to get her to
agree."
"I thought this was an amicable divorce. Shows you just how much I
knew."
"I hear that," Jim nodded. "My divorce started out 'amicable' too, but,
it was still a mess. No matter what, it always ends with
shouting."
"And this dating scene," Joel continued glumly. "Man, I just can't figure
it out."
Simon and Jim both laughed, "Even the people already in the scene can't
figure it out, Joel. You're no worse off than the rest of us there!"
"I'm doomed," Joel sighed heavily. "Alicia didn't want me. No one will
want me. I'm going to spend the rest of my life alone."
"Just be yourself, Joel," Simon counseled. "The rest will come
naturally."
Joel shook his head, unconvinced. Jim had no idea what to say since *he'd*
never figured out the dating scene either. James J. Ellison, the One
Date Wonder. He tried hard to hide his smile; after tonight, that problem
would likely be history!
"Will you look at that?" Joel said dismayed, pointing to Henri Brown
who'd just entered the bar with a voluptuous, chocolate-skinned beauty
in a tight leather miniskirt. "What is it about that guy? I
swear. Brown and Sandburg. Give'em ten minutes in a room and women are
drooling all over them."
All three men turned and watched as a smugly smiling Brown escorted his
new lady friend past them and over to a private table.
"Sure is a looker."
"Mmm hmmm! Look at those legs!"
"Legs? Oh yeah, legs. I was looking at something else!"
"I don't know guys," Jim shook his head slowly. "There's something about
her...I just can't put my finger on what it is, but..." She was beautiful.
Gorgeous even. But there was something that was out of place, something
missing. Or maybe something extra? Perfume? The shape of her eyes? Her
hair? A judicious application of silicone?
Something. He just couldn't put his finger on it.
"Hell, Jim," Simon guffawed. "No wonder you rarely get past the first
date, if you find something strange about that woman. I mean,
wow!"
Jim shook his head and dismissed the problem from his mind. "Anyway,
Simon, speaking of dates, I should probably warn you. Sandburg is playing
matchmaker for you."
"He's what? With whom? I'm gonna kill that kid!"
"Relax, Simon. It's the ranch owner, Elena. The one you liked? She sounded
pretty interested when she talked to Blair and me this
afternoon."
"She did? Hmm. Well, now." Simon seemed mollified, "The kid at least
has good taste. If he pulls it off, maybe I'll start speaking to him
again."
"Hey, isn't that Maria Sanchez? The painter?" Joel asked suddenly.
"Who?" Simon and Jim asked in unison.
"Maria Galveston Sanchez. Naturalist-painter. Water colors and
acrylics? The next 'Georgia O'Keefe' according to 'ArtNews Magazine'?"
Simon and Jim looked at one another and shrugged.
"At the table near the window." Joel indicated, "See her. Pretty
woman. Dark-hair, red and orange scarf, sketch pad?"
"Elena told us that a lot of celebrities stay here. Could be her."
"She's a fantastic painter. I've got three of her prints." Joel said
animatedly. "Paid a fortune, but it was well worth it. She's a master
of color and light. She creates truly amazing compositions using
ordinary subjects like flowers, trees...man! I can't believe you guys
have never heard of her!"
"Why don't you go over and talk to her, Joel?" Jim suggested.
"Nah," Joel shook his head dismissively. "I shouldn't interrupt her."
"C'mon man. She'll be flattered that you recognized her." Simon
encouraged. "Maybe you could get an autograph."
"You guys really think it'd be okay?"
Simon gave him a push, "Go man! Quit stalling."
"Okay, okay! I'll go." Joel slid off the stool, adjusted his jacket and
tie and walked over to see Maria Sanchez, like a man with a
purpose.
Simon raised his beer bottle, "And so, on August 14, 1998, Joel
Taggart made his first foray into the modern dating scene," he intoned
solemnly.
"Here's to his success," Jim clinked his bottle against Simon's,
smiling in return.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
In the company of about fifty other ranch guests, Blair trudged down
the dusty trail towards the meteor-watch sight in the lower
valley. Flashlights flickered through the trees as they wound their way
down into the valley, murmuring quietly among themselves. In the dim
lighting, he noticed his friends among the crowd. Megan and Rafe, walking
hand in hand, Daryl and his new friend Rob, Simon talking quietly with
Elena and H and Joel standing beside two women he didn't recognize. Jim
was nowhere to be seen. He'd lost track of his partner after dinner and
decided it would look too obvious if he hung around trying to find him;
especially since he'd raved about the meteors all afternoon. With his
abilities, it'd be easier for Jim to find him anyway.
The combined effects of caffeine, adrenaline, endorphins, not to
mention a three-candy-bar sugar rush, had all worn off leaving him exhausted
and shaking. A full night's sleep was a distant memory. He stifled a
yawn with the back of his hand, vision blurring. As much as he wanted
to see the meteors and meet up with Jim, he didn't know how he'd manage
to stay awake for either set of fireworks.
Fifteen minutes later, the trail opened onto a broad meadow, where all
the watchers assembled. He stood quietly, apart from the others, and
stared up into the fathomless night sky. Within seconds, dozens of meteors
streamed overhead, streaking the sky with red and gold
trails. The sight was breathtaking.
"Enjoying the show, Chief?" A warm, amused voice at his right startled
him. Jim stood at his shoulder wearing a Jags baseball cap and
carrying a backpack.
"Yeah man, but I should have brought a jacket. It's freezing out
here." Blair rubbed his arms briskly. "I am so cold."
"It's August in New Mexico, Sandburg. It's not that cold."
"We're at 5,100 feet man. I know you're like, the heater that walks like
a man, but some of us mere mortals get cold."
"Mmmm..." Without warning, strong arms wrapped around his waist under
the cover of his two layers of flannel. "...You're just not thinking
the right thoughts," his Sentinel purred into his right ear. Blair glanced
up at his friend. Jim strongly resembled a very large cat who'd just
caught sight of an unguarded bowl of cream. He shivered as Jim's large,
warm hand stroked the length of his chest and belly, coming to rest just
below his belt buckle. Jim's unexpected boldness surprised him and his
own nervousness puzzled the hell out of
him. Perhaps it was because nothing in his life had ever meant more than
this partnership.
"And what thoughts might those be, Jim?" he asked hoarsely, leaning into
his friend's powerful embrace and lacing their fingers. Heat flared in
his belly from his Sentinel's touch, spread outward, warming him intimately.
Staying awake was suddenly made a helluva lot easier.
"It's kind of crowded here." Warm breath caressed his ear. "Why don't
we go someplace else at little more private and I'll tell you?"
Blair smiled up at his friend, deliberately licking his lips. "Sounds
like a plan."
"Come on. I saw a place further up the trail."
Bereft of Jim's body heat, Blair shivered, following his friend back
up the trail and into the dark woods on the hillside. Their footsteps
were muffled by the thick carpet of scrub pine needles littering the
ground. With the moon new, the darkness was complete and Blair
stumbled over unseen tree roots. Even after months of PT, he still hadn't
fully banished his limp. He grabbed the back of Jim's
sweatshirt. "Slow down, man. I can't see in the dark like you."
Warm, strong fingers laced with his own, "That better?"
Blair trembled as the warm hand caressed his then squeezed a little.
"Uh, yeah man. Just fine." His throat was suddenly dry. "Exactly where
are we headed?"
"There's a rock outcropping with a view of the entire valley up
ahead. We can watch from there." Jim's voice was close in the
darkness. Electricity, palpable and nearly visible arced between
them.
The trees yielded to a large rock ledge overlooking the valley
below. Pulling a blanket from his pack, Jim sat down and gestured for
Blair to join him. Heart racing, Blair sat beside his friend and gazed
up at the majestic night sky. Above their heads, the Milky Way spilled
its sparkling gems across the black velvet of the Southwestern night.
"Look at that, Jim!" Blair pointed towards a falling star, its fiery
death etching an orange streak across the sky. "Did you see that?"
"Mmm. Yes," Jim's voice dripped like honey into the
silence. "Beautiful, isn't it." Blair sighed deeply, warmth spreading
through his limbs; his Sentinel had not been looking at the
stars. "Connor was right, Chief. Flaming rocks are romantic."
Blair chuckled softly, looking up at his friend, whose eyes were
luminous and compelling in the darkness. "Did you make a wish?"
"I made my wish long ago, Blair," Jim said seriously. "It's only just
now coming true."
The soft night sounds, the deep velvet of the sky, the forest's tang
teased Blair's senses. How much more intoxicating must it be for his
Sentinel? He felt he'd waited his entire life for this moment; as if
all the universe were bearing silent, majestic witness to his love for
Jim. Leaning against Jim's shoulder, he sighed, "Do you feel it, Jim?"
"Yeah. I do," His partner agreed, wrapping an arm around Blair's
waist, drawing him closer. "Ever since -- since you came back to me."
"Since I died, you mean?" Blair asked softly.
"Since you died," Jim agreed, sliding fingers along Blair's cheek, gently
stroking.
"But it started way before then, didn't it?" Blair pressed. "It's been
between us a long time." He turned and looked up at his companion, tracing
lips and jaw with gentle fingers.
"It has. I just didn't know what it was." Jim gathered him close, drawing
the blanket up and around his shoulders. "Didn't recognize the feeling
at first."
"Me either. It didn't happen all at once,though," he agreed, shifting
deeper into his friend's embrace. As if from a mountain spring hidden
beneath a cracked boulder, peace seeped into him, filling his troubled
soul with certainty.
"No. It was slow, gradual."
"Like cognac. Or a fire on a cold night. Something smooth and warm, comforting.
With depth."
"That's what it feels like to me," his partner gazed out across the valley
for a moment, then turned to look deeply into Blair's
eyes. "Rich, like velvet." Jim's voice trembled with erotic
harmonics.
"But it's here. It's always been here, Jim. Hasn't it?" Blair moaned
softly as Jim's fingers sank into his hair, slowly caressing.
"Yes," Jim nodded, looking into his eyes. "It's always been here, from
the very beginning."
"What do we do about it, Jim?"
Jim brushed his thumb gently across Blair's lower lip, slowly nuzzling
his cheek with warm, soft lips. "What would you like to do about it,
Blair?"
Strange. There was no courage needed for this moment. No anxiety, no
fear. No more questions. Only a curious certainty and the undeniable
reality of their shared love. "I want to love you forever."
"Forever?" His Sentinel searched his face. "You're that sure?"
"I'm that sure, Jim. Can you do forever with me?"
"I'll do my best, Blair" Jim whispered, forehead against his.
Intuitively, he understood the fear in Jim's voice; the ghosts of Carolyn
and his failed marriage hung between them. "I've never even tried 'forever'
before, Jim. But, we'll make it work. I promise."
"I believe you, Blair," Jim said quietly, banishing the past with his
hopeful tone. "We'll have a lifetime to make forever come true."
"A second lifetime."
"A second chance, a second lifetime. Together." Jim's lips softly brushed
his with the words. "Yes, Blair. I can do forever with you."
Jim's lips were warm, soft, his tongue gently probing. Blair parted his
lips on a heartfelt sigh, inviting his lover's tongue to twine with his
as Jim's fingers tangling in his hair. He slowly pulled Jim downwards
until they lay side by side, warmly wrapped in the blanket and each other's
arms. For a long time, they lay, exchanging slow, deep kisses and soft
words of love. Exclamations from the crowd in the valley below drifted
to their ears as the meteor shower reached its peak overhead, criss-crossing
the sky with flaming strands of red and gold, weaving an elaborate, cosmic
tapestry.
Sighing deeply, Blair pressed his face against Jim's neck, inhaling,
imprinting his lover's scent and and enjoying the prickle of unshaven
skin, "Jim?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
Blair smiled, warmed to his toes by the endearment. "Let's head back
to the room." He continued quietly, "I want to make love."
Jim's lips curved against his cheek, "I thought you'd never ask."
~~
Lazy K Ranch,
Jim followed his blanket-shrouded Guide into the darkened suite. His
body alive with the awareness of his new lover. Quietly closing the door,
he paused mentally to savor that term. Accustomed to choosing a course
and following through without question, nonetheless, Jim was surprised
at the lack of conflict, the overwhelming rightness and ease of physically
loving Blair.
"How about a fire?" he suggested, opening the chimney flue and
stacking fire wood on the hearth.
"Sounds good, man. I'm frozen." Blair dragged several pillows off the
sofa and went to the linen closet to fetch another blanket.
"Still?" Jim asked, amused, arranging the firewood and lighting the kindling.
"Even after I gave you my sweatshirt?"
"Yes still," Blair grumbled. "And I have been thinking the right
thoughts, dammit!"
"I know you have," Jim chuckled and went to close the drapes over the
floor-to-ceiling picture windows on the northwestern wall. With the fire
started, he kicked off his hiking boots and settled down in the nest
of cushions Blair had created in front of the fire. "Come get some hot
chocolate, Chief," he called, pulling a thermos from his pack and pouring
a cup.
"You had hot chocolate the whole time and you didn't offer me any?" Blair
asked indignantly, flopping down beside him and snuggling
close. He took a sip and smiled blissfully.
"I was a little preoccupied," Jim protested wryly. "What with your tongue
down my throat and all."
"Mmmm," Blair hummed, straddled Jim's hips and began nibbling on Jim's
lower lip. "There is that minor fact, isn't there."
"Mmmm, yeah," he agreed, sliding his tongue along his lover's, the warm,
spicy taste of his Guide mingling deliciously with the rich chocolate.
When they finally broke apart Blair gasped breathlessly, "Whew! I've
gotta rest for a minute. You've worn me out!" He leaned back, eyes half-lidded,
arms looped around Jim's neck.
Jim smiled indulgently at his lover. If Blair's vitals were any
indication, his Guide was waging a valiant battle between lust and exhaustion.
Exhaustion was winning.
"Lie down and rest, sweetheart," he said softly, pulling Blair into his
embrace and shifting them both down into the pile of
cushions. Blair protested briefly but yielded, snuggling into Jim's side,
head resting on his chest. Jim cradled his lover's warm, relaxed body
and slowly stroked his fingers through the lush sable curls
gilded by the flickering red and gold firelight.
A few minutes later, he was roused from a light zone by a loud 'pop'
from the fireplace. He looked down at his peacefully sleeping Guide,
eyelashes dark fans upon his fire-kissed cheeks. Jim chuckled to
himself. As predicted earlier, Sandburg was, indeed, horizontal and asleep
in under ten minutes.
"Come on, Blair," Jim gently shook his lover. "Time for bed."
"Not yet, mom," his Guide snuggled back into the blankets, and into what
was likely a childhood memory of getting up for school. "Just a few more
minutes."
"Sandburg, you're really out of it if you think I look like
Naomi," Jim said wryly.
Blair opened bleary eyes, "Jim?"
Jim raised a single eyebrow eloquently.
"Oh man." His partner blushed. "I'm sorry. Did I fall asleep on you?"
"Yep. You're supposed to fall asleep after sex, Chief, not before."
Blair yawned and stretched, "You're not gonna let me live this one down,
are you?"
"Not in this lifetime, Sleepyhead," Jim smiled fondly. "Now, go brush
your teeth and get in bed."
"Are you gonna stay?" Blair rose, looking endearingly rumpled and transparently
hopeful.
"I'll be back in a little while, okay?"
"Promise?" Jim found his arms suddenly full of a sleepy, edible
anthropologist, with lush, kissable lips.
"I promise," he whispered, bending for one more brief taste of his best
friend and new lover.
Thirty minutes later, he left the suite more than a little disheveled,
wearing what was certainly a ridiculously silly, dazed grin. Two steps
down the open hallway, he ran smack into a tall, beautiful woman
dressed in tight jeans and striped t-shirt revealing impressive
musculature and cleavage.
"So. You must be Jim," the red-head said bluntly, looking him up and
down. Jim felt he'd been visually strafed. "Blair and Daryl mentioned
you."
"Uh, yeah. Jim Ellison. That's me," he stammered, completely
off-balance. "And you are?"
"Rob McAndrews. I work for IotaTech. Right next door, here in Suite #107."
They shook hands, Rob's grip was as strong as his own.
"Ah. Nice to meet you, Rob. If you'll excuse me, I've got to head back
to my room." Disoriented by their encounter, distracted by too-tight
jeans and lustful thoughts of his Guide's strong, sexy body pressed against
his, he turned and headed towards his room. His stiff-legged gait probably
gave the whole game away.
"Oh Jim," Rob called softly.
"Yeah?" //What now?//
"You might want to fix your shirt and try to hide that, uh,
mega-hickey on your neck."
Jim looked down at his inside-out, misbuttoned shirt and blushed
crimson, mortified. "Oh god!"
"S'okay, Jim," Rob said comfortingly, "Love'll do that to ya."
"Yeah," he agreed sheepishly, "Guess so."
"Well, night Jim! Pleasant dreams." Rob's emerald eyes held a
decidedly wicked gleam.
"Thanks, Rob. You too." Jim didn't bother to fix his shirt or try to
hide the throbbing passion mark as he crossed the courtyard and fled
to the relative safety of his room. If his behavior was any
indication, love had not only completely rewired his brain, it had fried
it.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
Clawing his way up from the comfortable abyss of sleep, Blair rolled
over, seeking the missing warmth of his bedmate. His groping hand met
empty space. Eyes still closed, he groped further and further until he
found himself unexpectedly airborne. His teeth clacked together
unpleasantly as his bare posterior hit the chilly, tiled floor with a
thump.
"Shhh!"
Baffled and disoriented, Blair stared up at his Sentinel, blinking owlishly
in the dim, early morning light. Jim stood in the middle of the room,
naked, fingers pressed to his lips and head cocked to the side in his
characteristic listening pose.
"Jim? What the hell are you doing?"
"Shhh!" His partner whispered more forcefully and stalked into the living
room. Blair yawned, wiped sleep from his eyes and admired his partner's
muscular backside. Even at 6 am, some parts of his anatomy were awake.
Clambering off the floor, he bundled up in a striped
blanket snagged from the foot of the bed and followed Jim into the living
room. Once in the darkened room, Blair could hear muffled
sounds of an argument from the IotaTech suite, next door.
"What the hell are those guys arguing about at 6 am?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out!" Jim leaned against the wall and
listened intently. "Something about software piracy, a district attorney
and encryption."
Snatching a tumbler from atop the minibar, Blair crept over to his partner
and raised the glass to the wall, meeting Jim's incredulous gaze. "What?"
Blair asked defensively. "Not all of us have Sentinel hearing!"
A few minutes later, they both winced as the escalating argument ended
abruptly with the slam of a door and the echo of rapid footsteps in
the hallway.
"Rob sure sounded pissed, huh Jim?"
His partner stared at him silently, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to
solve this mystery. "What do you know about software piracy,
Sandburg?"
"Huh?" //It's six am and you wanna know about software piracy?//
"You brought your laptop and modem, right?"
"Uh, yeah?" //And your point is?//
"Chief, I need you to do a web search for me. On software piracy."
"Now?" Blair gaped at his partner. They stood, naked, alone, mostly awake,
in a suite the size of Kanasas, with a Jacuzzi tub no less and Jim wanted
to do a web search? Not hardly!
"Jim," he said in his most sultry voice. "Aren't there other, more
interesting things we could be doing than listening at keyholes and
running web searches?" Blair deliberately dropped the blanket.
"Hmm." Jim's cheeks pinked as his gaze traveled downward, coming to rest
south of Blair's navel. "Well. I guess I see your, ah, point."
"Yeah," he chuckled, "I thought you might."
~~
Lazy K Ranch
It was amazing how much the weather could reflect one's mood. Or
perhaps it was the other way around. Whatever. Usually, Jim preferred
the salt-scented air, the cool, bluish hues of the Northwest
Pacific. But the crisp mountain air, the gold-tinged Southwestern morning
sun, clear blue sky and fluffy white clouds all seemed to share his elation
this morning. Jim smiled fondly, glancing over at Blair. //Ellison, you've
got it bad.// His lover was animatedly
"So, Jim," Simon walked over to him leading an ugly beast that looked
more like a mule than a horse, "Did you get a chance to see the meteor
shower last night?"
"Yeah."
"I thought it was pretty interesting. Didn't you?" Simon pressed.
"Mmm hmm," Jim replied noncommittally.
"I didn't see you down at the meeting site," his boss continued,
fishing shamelessly.
"I was there."
"You were, huh?" Simon chomped on the end of an unlit cigar.
"Mr. Ellison?"
Jim turned thankfully to the youthful ranch hand who was saddling his
horse. "Yes? What is it?"
"You're an experienced horseman, right, sir?"
"Yeah." Interesting. The stableman's heartbeat was accelerating.
"Why?"
"Well, 'Panache' here can be a bit, uh, frisky sometimes."
"Frisky?" Jim narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. "'Frisky' just
how, exactly?"
"Well, see...actually, it's kind of funny, really."
"Funny how?" Jim growled. He had a bad feeling about this alleged 'friskiness'.
"Well, um, sometimes, I don't think he realizes that he's actually a
gelding, if you know what I mean."
Jim looked briefly skyward. //Why me?// And it had started out such a
nice day. With a resigned sigh, Jim glared at 'Panache', heaved
himself into the saddle and rode out to meet the rest of the already
mounted gang.
"So." Blair said brightly, sitting astride a chestnut mare. "You guys
ready to hit the trails?"
"You betcha, Sandy," Connor agreed, wheeling her horse. "Go you good
thing!" she cried suddenly, startling them all, galloping out of the
stable yard. A puzzled split second later, Sandburg, Rafe, Daryl and
the rest of the gang pounded down the trail, hot on her
heels. Everyone, with the exception of Simon, who stared at the
retreating group in dismay.
"Simon? What's the matter?" Jim called over his shoulder. "Let's go!"
"Am I the only one here who doesn't know how to ride a horse?" Simon
asked plaintively.
~~
Office of the District Attorney
Ben sat nervously at the wooden table next to his lawyer, Michael Preston,
with his partners behind him. Leslie was characteristically quiet and
stone-faced. Red seemed chastened, his usual obnoxious, arrogant attitude
was absent. Rob looked even more pissed than usual, if that were humanly
possible.
The reality of his actions, his sheer stupidity, was reinforced and magnified
by these intimidating, legal surroundings. Shelves and
shelves of legal tomes stared down at him in the richly paneled room,
accusing him, rightfully, of arrogance and idiocy.
The three federal agents, Special Agents Richard Pearson, Alexander Toomis
and Mark Telford sat stiffly opposite him as the D.A. paced the room.
The two Assistant District Attorneys, Linda Reynolds and Stanton Wallace
watched Ben's team watch the D.A. pace, their expressions hostile.
"So, Mr. Preston, your clients are here today to offer information regarding
Canton Winston Charrington, a man wanted internationally for securities
fraud and industrial espionage."
"That is correct, Mr. Wilson." His lawyer addressed District Attorney
Marcus Wilson.
"And you want the state of New Mexico and the Federal government to simply
'look the other way' regarding some serious crimes your clients have
committed."
"Correct."
"What makes you think this information is so valuable to us,
Mr. Preston."
Special Agent Waters stood and spoke for the first time,
"Mr. Wilson. The U.S. government, not to mention other world
governments, has been after Mr. Charrington for a number of years."
Toomis plunked a file folder down on the table, "This is only one of
many files we have on Mr. Charrington."
"Canton Winston Charrington," Toomis read, "38 years old. Oxford
educated. Harvard JD/MBA. Was a successful securities whiz kid with Lancing
and Sterling, Ltd. in Singapore until he over played his hand in late
1993 to the tune of 48 million pounds. He escaped to Malaysia in 1994,
with over 70 million pounds in offshore accounts and
embezzled funds."
"Near as we can tell," Pearson continued, "he set up his main operation
there and has been dealing in 'hard to get' items ever
since. Endangered species, rare gems, antiquities and art, and most recently,
corporate intelligence and hard-to-obtain software, music and entertainment
products."
"The FBI has worked to get close to Mr. Charrington for several years
now, following the theft of some sensitive
biotechnology. Fundamentally, we want this guy. IotaTech can get him
for us." Telford concluded firmly.
"And the FBI is willing to just ignore the federal, not to mention the
state crimes they've committed in order to get this man?"
"In exchange for this unprecedented opportunity, yes." the agents agreed.
"Well, the State of New Mexico is not."
Ben suppressed his frustration and let his lawyer do the talking. If
the FBI was amenable, what was the damn problem here? They'd been screwing
around with the District Attorney's office for weeks now. The Feds were
fine with the deal but the D.A. wanted concessions. Well, he wasn't going
to get them.
Wilson's statement precipitated yet another hour of what Rob fondly called
'macho dick waving' and 'convoluted legalese'.
"Fundamentally Mr. Wilson, despite their admissions of wrong doing, you
have no independent, corroborating evidence that my clients have committed
any crime whatsoever. I'd especially suggest that you not look such
a gift horse in the mouth during an election year." Preston paused significantly.
"Why go after my clients when what you really want is to put Mr. Charrington
and his organization out of business?"
Wilson and the FBI Agents glared at one another.
"Gentlemen, my clients are willing to arrange a meeting with this organization
in exchange for immunity from prosecution and economic damage." Preston
stated firmly. "If you are not interested, then our business is concluded."
After a lengthy, heated discussion with the FBI Agents, Wilson finally
agreed to the terms.
"Very well, let's set up this sting, shall we gentlemen? And lady." Pearson
appended hastily, when Rob cleared her throat loudly.
Another ninety minutes passed before they'd decided upon the rough mechanics
of the operation. Ben's nervousness morphed rapidly into frustrated boredom.
"My clients will go forth with the revised meeting plan and meet with
Charrington in the abandoned mining town of Coopersville, just outside
of San Ysidro. They will exchange the software technology with his organization
and leave the area. Your agents will move in when my clients have left
the area and apprehend the suspects."
The attorneys and agents haggled over more details and concluded the
meeting.
"Mr. Wilson, Special Agents Pearson and Toomis will draw up the legal
agreements. I'll look over them and we'll finalize the agreement
tomorrow morning. Special Agent Pearson, my clients will meet with you
in the afternoon to finalize the details of the sting operation. Is this
amenable to you all."
As the the Feds and the Assistant D.A. actually agreed. Ben, Rob, Red
and Leslie looked at one another with bleary-eyed amazement. At two o'clock,
they finally left the District Attorney's office, draft
agreements in hand. Could it possibly be this easy?
~~
Lazy K Ranch
Riding along the dusty trail behind his partner, Jim admired the way
the sun filtered through the trees, dappling his lover's cheeks and hair.
Blair's dark blue eyes sparkled as he laughed at one of Brown's jokes,
lips curving into a delicious, sexy bow. Sandburg noticed his attention
and smiled wickedly, just a tip of pink tongue slipping out to wet his
full lower lip. Jim shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as his jeans
grew tight: the little imp was teasing him. Regardless, the entire day
would be perfect if his demon-spawn of a horse weren't hell bent on humping
Sandburg's mare. Goddammed gelding who thought he was a stallion.
"'Little Stogie' rides again, eh Jim?" Brown asked.
Jim laughed shortly, "Yeah, well, 'Little Stogie' wasn't a gelding."
Megan raised an eyebrow, "Well your horse -- 'Panache' is it? -- sure
doesn't think he's a gelding either, Jim."
"No kidding, man," Brown agreed, "The way 'Panache' keeps sniffing around
Sandburg's mare, I'd say no one's gotten around to informing he's, uh,
out of the game, so to speak."
"Do you think horses can catch their riders' 'vibes', Jim?" Megan asked
innocently, seemingly apropos of nothing.
Jim turned in the saddle and glared. If looks could kill, Connor would
be six feet under in an unmarked grave sans daisies.
"Having a good time, Simon?" he asked, deliberately changing the
subject. Simon, sitting stiffly in the saddle, looked no more
comfortable now than he had an hour earlier.
"No, Ellison, I am not having a good time," Simon's look was
eloquent. "Does it look like I'm having a good time?"
"Relax, Simon," Megan counseled, "If you relax and go with the
movement of the horse, you'd be more comfortable."
"Thanks for the public service tip, Connor," Simon said gruffly,
gritting his teeth. "Sandburg, what the hell are you humming now?"
Blair, who'd been humming merrily, looked over and smiled like
sunrise. "The theme from the 'Magnificent Seven', Simon."
"The 'Magnificent Seven'?"
Blair nodded happily.
"As in the movie?"
Another nod.
"Why, may I ask?"
"Well, just look at us, Simon," Blair indicated the group with a sweep
of his arm. "Here we are, the Major Crimes 'posse'. Mounted on
horseback, galloping through the Southwestern countryside -- the wild,
wild west -- ready to right wrongs, defend the innocent and fight for
truth, justice and the American way!" His enthusiastic and effusive description
drew laughs from the rest of the gang.
"Right wrongs? American Way? Wild, wild west?" Simon shook his
head. "Sandburg," he said patiently, "Not only are there eight of us,
but there's a strip mall less than ten miles from here, complete with
a Starbucks, a Burger King and a WalMart."
Blair's crestfallen expression was priceless. With a loud 'huff', he
kicked his horse into a trot and rode away from Simon, muttering about
'stodgy old police captains with no imagination' under his breath. The
assembled crew broke up into hysterics.
"Way to mend fences, Simon," Jim snickered.
Simon threw up his hands in disgust.
~~
They stopped for lunch in a sunlit glade near a stream teeming with trout.
According to the trail map, there were some ruins and
petroglyphs a short hike away. A brief but uneven battle was waged between
Blair's scholarly interest and his libido. With Jim hovering in his personal
space, thigh brushing his throughout lunch,
scholasticism stood no chance.
"So, Jim," Blair murmured under his breath, stuffing a crumpled
sandwich wrapper in his pack, "how about I make it up to you for last
night?" It took less than ten minutes to extricate themselves from the
group without arousing undue suspicion and another twenty to hike far
enough down the trail and into the woods so that no one could see or
hear.
"You said something about 'making it up to me' for last night, Chief?"
"Yup," Blair agreed, pushing his surprised partner against a
convenient boulder and attacking his button fly.
"Slow down, Sandburg!" Jim exclaimed as Blair yanked his jeans down around
his ankles. "Haven't you ever heard of 'foreplay' before?"
Standing briefly on tiptoe, Blair ravished his partner's mouth and then
attacked his boxers. "Jim," he said patiently, as Jim's boxers slid down
to his ankles. "You don't look as if you really need much foreplay at
the moment." He stroked the length of his lover's generous cock, eliciting
a gasp followed by a plaintive moan as he gently
fingered the warm balls. "Now dial up your hearing and make sure no one's
around. I wanna suck you off!" He grinned wickedly.
"Jesus, Blair!" Jim gasped, clinging desperately to the lichen-covered
boulder. "Hang on a second!"
Blair ignored his mate's protests and claimed his naked prize.
//Beefstick? Hell! Maggie had no idea!//
~~
Hiking up the trail a few minutes behind Jim, to avoid suspicion, Blair
could not wipe the idiotic grin from his face. James Ellison certainly
believed in reciprocity in all things. Once over his initial nervousness,
what he lacked in experience, he damn sure made up for with enthusiasm.
If Blair didn't wipe this grin off his face soon, he might as well hang
a sign around his neck reading, "Just
"Have a nice hike?" Megan asked, strolling up the trail, swatting at
branches with a long stick.
//Why is she smiling like that?// "Uh, yeah?"
"Did you see the petroglyphs? Beautiful, eh?"
"Uh, yeah?" //Okay, Sandburg, you don't sound too much like a
complete moron.// Unfortunately, his brains had leaked out of his, uh,
ears into a puddle of goo a few miles back.
"By the way, Sandy," Megan said sweetly, "You have pine needles
stuck in your hair."
Blair brushed at his hair frantically.
"I didn't realize there were any mountain lions in the area."
"Huh?"
"You look as if you've been mauled by a wild cat."
"Shit!" //Thanks so much for the hickeys, Ellison!//
Megan smiled knowingly and patted his flaming cheek, "Don't worry, Sandy.
I think you and Jimbo make a cute couple!"
~~
Lazy K Ranch
Despite the slight evening chill, there were a number of guests in the
heated pool and Jacuzzi. Others milled about near the large buffet tables
set up on the grass, chatting softly. The dying sun painted the nearby
mountains purple and gold and soft strains of Spanish guitar music wafted
through the evening air, mingling with the wonderful scent of barbecued
chicken and ribs.
Simon leaned against the wrought-iron pool enclosure, strawberry
margarita in hand, smiling at the sight of his detectives mixing with
the exclusive crowd. Imagine: movie stars, pop singers, New Age gurus
and artists mingling with a bunch of battle-scarred city cops. To top
it off, it seemed as if they'd all stumbled into some bizarre
Sandburg-esque vortex of romance. There were Rafe and Connor cozied up
in the Jacuzzi, giggling over champagne flutes like
honeymooners. Newly-divorced Joel had gotten over his dating jitters
and was talking a blue streak with Maria Sanchez. Brown was slow
dancing with Marcia and even his son was trailing around after some red-headed
amazon. And, personally, he was more than enjoying the company of his
new friend Elena Mitchell. To hell with the 'Love Boat' -- this was the
Love Ranch! If Sandburg weren't so busy playing
'professor' to bevy of doe-eyed 'school-girls' -- with Ellison lurking
jealously in the background, as usual -- he'd probably have some
convoluted scientific explanation for it all.
"Hey Simon, enjoying the party?" Joel came up beside him carrying some
strange blue drink and leaned against the fence.
"Yeah, Joel. If I weren't so damn stiff and sore from that trail ride,
I'd be having an even better time. You appear to be having quite a
good time yourself."
"Yeah. You guys were right. 'Just be yourself'," Joel smiled
happily. "So where's Elena?"
"She had to take care of something in the office." Simon couldn't hold
back a smile. "Said she'll be back in a little while."
Joel chuckled, "Going well, I take it?"
"Oh yeah," Simon agreed. "For once, Sandburg's matchmaking didn't end
in disaster."
"Speaking of Sandburg. What's the story with Jim and Blair?"
"Story? What story?" Simon chuckled, feigning innocence.
"Like you haven't noticed them!" Joel laughed. "The looks. The
pranks. Them playing footsie in the van, for godsake. If those two
generate any more heat, they'll spontaneously combust!"
"Oh. That story!" Simon laughed. "That, my friend, is called 'True
Love', with a capital 'T' and a capital 'L'."
"Love? You're kidding." Joel looked surprised. "You think?"
"Yup," Simon nodded sagely. "True love. Never seen truer."
"I didn't know Jim swung that way," Joel mused. "For that matter, I didn't
know Blair did, either. The kid doesn't just chase hordes of women,
he catches them. And from the smiles on their faces the next day, he
delivers the goods."
"Don't think any of that matters in the slightest, Joel," Simon
shrugged. "Cupid had'em in his cross-hairs and nailed'em both with the
'Arrow of Luv'." He mimed nocking and drawing a bow, releasing it with
a 'twang'. They both laughed at the image. "I always wondered if this
was going to happen," Simon continued. "Blair crawled under Jim's skin
from Day One. One puppy-dog look from Sandburg and tough-guy Ellison
turns into a big, fluffy marshmallow. I don't think Jim ever knew what
hit him."
"Jim and Blair. Friends, yes. Partners, yes. Lovers?" Joel shook his
head. "Well, stranger things have been known to happen."
"Yeah. Like a bomb-squad Captain getting together with an
international artist, perhaps?"
"Exactly," Joel beamed. "Or, a police Captain getting together with a
wealthy ranch owner. Anyway, Simon what are you going to do about Jim
and Blair?"
"Do? What can I do, Joel?" Simon shrugged unconcerned. "Not only are
they joined at the hip, but after all these years of saying,
'Sandburg, you're not a cop', do you really think I could break up
their partnership because they've gone and fallen in love?" Simon mused
rhetorically.
"Hmm. You do have a point."
"If Jim keeps up his arrest and conviction record and the two of them
can manage to not ravish each other in the bullpen, I can look the other
way," Simon concluded. "Besides, since Blair showed up, Jim is down right
tractable and his paperwork gets done on time. I'll be damned if I'm
gonna give up the new, mellow, post-Sandburg Ellison any sooner than
I have to."
Joel laughed knowingly.
"Simon!" He turned as Elena walked over to him. Leather jeans and a tight
suede blouse accentuated her lush form. "I'm glad I finally caught up
to you! Still interested in that tour of the Lazy K wine cellars?"
"The 90s equivalent of 'etchings', Simon?" Joel whispered, raising an
eyebrow.
"Sounds quite interesting, Elena," Simon grinned. "Lead on!"
~~
Deeply embroiled in a frustrating argument with Daryl Banks, Jim found
himself fervently thankful that he didn't have any kids. Especially teenagers.
"I can't believe you actually told her," Daryl said shaking his head
with disgust.
"Daryl! What exactly did you want me to do? Your father would've
killed her, then me, then you if anything had happened between the
two of you. Regardless, lying about your age wasn't fair to her. As it
was, things went too far."
"It was just a kiss!" Arms crossed over his chest, Daryl glared darkly
at him with the outrage of thwarted teen hormones. Just a kiss? Daryl
was a better bullshit artist than his partner. Jim cast his eyes
skyward. Kids!
"Daryl, look. I was sixteen too, once. I remember the allure of the 'older
woman' --"
"Blair told you, didn't he?" Daryl asked, sounding betrayed.
"No, Sandburg didn't tell me. It wasn't hard to put two and two
together, Daryl. I'm a detective for godsakes!" Sandburg should have
stepped in. Jim made a mental note to 'talk' to his partner about this
little lapse in judgement.
"But Jim, you don't understand --"
"No, Daryl. Actually, I do understand," he interrupted, "and this
was a very bad idea. Rob is thirty years old. And you're sixteen!"
Daryl wasn't buying it, "So this is all for 'my own good', huh?"
God but this was unpleasant. "Ultimately, yes."
Another dark glare and Daryl stalked off, muttering imprecations
under his breath. So much for his cache of Cool-Friend-Of-My-Dad's points.
Twenty minutes later, Jim wandered through the party goers, nibbling
barbecued ribs and sampling the excellent local brews. From across the
pool, Jim followed Blair with his eyes. Sandburg was doing two of the
many things he did best -- flirting and lecturing. Jim smiled, pleased
by the healthy flush in his lover's once pale cheeks. Watching Blair's
graceful movements, his minor irritation about Daryl evaporated. His
Guide held the rapt attention a small circle of men and women as he described
archaeological excavation techniques, punctuating his
comments with his usual enthusiastic hand gestures. Instead of
jealousy, Jim found himself warming with pride, arousal and amazement
mixed in equal parts. Of all the beautiful women and men -- movie stars,
famous authors and millionaires -- who'd flirted with his Guide tonight,
Jim was the sole recipient of Blair Sandburg's love.
Crossing the patio, he dialed up his senses, filtering out the harsh
chemical tang of chlorine, the laughter and conversation, centering on
vital signs he knew nearly better than his own. He heard the spike of
his lover's heartbeat as their eyes met and smelled the subtle,
distinctively spicy scent of his Guide's pheromones that arose in response.
"Almost finished here tonight, Professor?" Jim asked softly, leaning
close to Blair's ear.
Blair smiled up at him, eyes alight, "I'll join you in a moment."
A few minutes later, Blair joined him in the near-empty courtyard, near
the chuckling fountain. They stood for a moment, nearly touching, under
the benevolent starlight summer sky.
"You up for another meteor watch?" Blair's voice was husky and
suggestive. "Or, perhaps a romp in the woods?"
"I have something different in mind tonight?" Jim moved closer,
tucking an errant curl behind his Guide's ear. Blair shivered.
His lover's response was immediate -- always so responsive. His heart
rate increased, respiration quickened, sapphire eyes darkened to
indigo. "Sounds good. Let's go," he agreed, voice smoky with desire and
promise.
~~
Once inside the suite, Jim pulled him into his arms, nibbling his lips,
nuzzling his hair, caressing his body with long, gentle
fingers. "Ah, Blair," Jim whispered, breath hot against his cheek, "I
want you so much."
"Then take me," Blair shivered, surrendering as passion swept through
him, limbs tingling in the wake of its passage. He relished his
lover's electric caresses and the force of Jim's dark, heated gaze, nearly
palpable against his skin.
Jim undressed him slowly, reverently. Blair reciprocated, enjoying the
glide of newly revealed skin against his fingertips. Closing his eyes
briefly, he reveled in the unaccustomed feel of powerful arms holding,
supporting him, the feel of Jim's naked flesh against his, evening beard
lightly prickling his cheek, the firm, heated length of his lover's erection
pressed against his thigh. Blair's kisses
swallowed Jim's sighs as he ran hungry fingers over the sculpted, alabaster
perfection of his Sentinel's back and thighs. They parted after a final
hungry kiss and smiling, Jim led him into the bedroom.
"Would you like a fire tonight?" Jim asked softly, fingertips brushing
lightly down his spine. Blair nodded, capturing his lover's mouth for
another slow, deep kiss. Drawing away reluctantly, he went to light the
vanilla candles in terra cotta holders located throughout the room while
Jim lit a fire on the hearth.
Lying naked on the huge bed, candles lit around the room, Blair looked
up at his lover though half-lidded eyes. Gloriously nude, Jim knelt between
his outspread thighs, dancing firelight and shadows painting his fine-grained
skin a tawny gold. Gentle fingers slowly stroked from the inside of Blair's
ankles to his inner thighs. He shivered beneath his Sentinel's sweeping,
proprietary gaze and commanding touch, every cell humming with expectancy.
Jim chuckled and stroked one long finger the length of Blair's cock,
sliding along the head, spreading wetness. A delicious tremor coursed
through Blair's body and he moaned softly in response.
With unconscious grace, Jim slowly lowered himself, resting full
length between his spread legs, Jim's smooth, hard chest and belly against
his own furred one. Closing his eyes, Blair tilted his head and parted
his lips, welcoming the gift of Jim's incendiary kiss. His lover's tongue
dove deep, sought and found the secret places that called forth Blair's
soft, pleasured moans. Jim's smooth, sensitive skin trembled under his
seeking finger tips and his lover groaned, inflamed, as Blair slowly,
unbidden, undulated beneath his lover, hips cradling their heated cocks.
"Turn over, sweetheart," Jim whispered against his lips, rising up slightly.
Blair smiled, stretched indulgently and turned onto his side, only to
experience an unexpected nervousness. "Uh Jim, this is a maybe a bad
time to ask, or maybe it's a good time to ask."
Jim spooned up behind him nuzzling his neck, one strong arm wrapping
around his waist. "Ask what, sweetheart?" The endearment spoken so erotically
melted the fear that had pooled in his belly, replacing it with liquid
fire.
"Do you know what you're, ah, doing here?" Blair gasped as Jim's
erection pressed suggestively against his cleft. His lover's large warm
hand gently tugged at his nipple ring, caressed his belly and swept downward
to massage his aching cock.
"Mmm. Why don't you tell me?" Jim's powerfully muscled leg slid between
his, bending his knee, moving his leg forward and exposing him. Feeling
vulnerable, Blair trembled as a long finger, cool and slick, circled
his anus and then slipped in completely. A flick
against his prostate and he gasped sharply, "Jim!"
A dark, sensual chuckle, "Like that, love?"
"Oh! Yes!" The massage continued and it was soon difficult to form words
through the growing haze of pleasure that tangled his tongue, loosened
his limbs and stained his vision crimson and indigo. "How do you know
what you're doing?"
"Research, sweetheart," Jim's soft chuckle caressed his ears. "Now
relax and let me love you."
Awash in sensation, Blair lay quietly, as his lover carefully prepared
him, slick fingers dancing, sensuous and inflammatory, deep
within. Watching the flames' cryptic patterns dance across the adobe
walls, he felt his physical dilation echoed by the unexpected
expansion of his heart. So long since he'd allowed anyone this
intimacy, since he'd yielded control, allowed someone care for him, pleasure
him so completely. So long since he'd placed his heart, his trust, fragile
and trembling, within another's hands.
"I love you, Blair." His lover's soft words preceded a sharp, stinging
pain and then a luxurious sensation of fullness and
completion. Blue-white electricity sparkled along his nerves as Jim moved
deeper within him. Behind his closed eyes, he could see the glittering
stars overhead, the red and gold streaks that had witnessed their forever
pledge. For a moment, rich jungle sounds and smells teased his senses
and he caught the flash of a stone temple. Then, his mind spun away,
fragmenting under the assault of powerful yet gentle caresses, a warm,
surprisingly confident hand on his cock, teasing kisses along his neck
and long fingers tangled in his hair.
His lover's living flesh drove deep within him overwhelming reason. A
sudden bubbling over of affection, love and laughter and he was filled
with his lover's passion. His own spilled hot and thick within Jim's
loving hand. Their commingled cries were sharp and joyful in the
night.
Later, they lay together, the fire burned to embers, the candles
burning low, wrapped in the lush, aromatic scents of pine, cedar, vanilla
and their lovemaking. Exchanging slow tender kisses and
caresses, they quietly reaffirmed their pledge.
"Forever, Blair?" Head tucked under Jim's chin, Blair felt the
question rumble through him.
"Yes, Jim. Forever," he sighed, slipping towards oblivion, safe and cherished
within his lover's trusted embrace.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
"Nothing better'n a morning spent fishing, huh Jim?" Simon's voice broke
the early morning silence, startling him. Hat pulled down, eyes scanning
the dark waters for fish, Jim grunted assent.
Blair stifled a yawn. 5 am was way early for anything on vacation except
for sleepy, slow motion sex. Marvelous sex, in a nice soft bed, in a
nice warm room, followed by a long soak in a nice hot Jacuzzi, and a
nice hearty room-service breakfast. Blair sighed
miserably. //The things we do for love.//
As much as he enjoyed fishing, there were any number of things more pleasant
than standing on the bank of a river at the crack of dawn after decadent
night of passion. No few number of them featured one James Joseph Ellison
on his hands and knees with his gorgeous,
muscular ass in the air. Daryl's petulant expression suggested
discontent as well. He was also probably still pissed at Jim for
ratting him out to Rob.
"Having a good time, Sandburg?" Simon was disgustingly perky this morning.
'Perky' was all the way frightening in a six foot four, two hundred fifty
pound, cigar-chomping cop.
Blair grunted noncommittally, sparing a glare for his partner.
"Why don't you sit down, take a load off?" Simon suggested, "Easier to
catch fish that way." Was there an evil gleam in his eye?
"I'm just fine. Thanks." Bringing his sore hindquarters into contact
with the hard, damp ground was an event he intended to delay as long
as possible. Yes indeed, Jim had proven quite conclusively last night
that he knew exactly what he was doing. Research indeed.
"Sore from the trail ride yesterday?"
//Something like that.// "Uh, yeah. A little."
"Can't figure why the rest of the gang didn't want to join us this morning,"
Simon shook his head, pulling his fishing hat down over his eyes and
baiting another hook. "The fresh air! The sunshine! The
excellent fishing spots! In a couple of hours, we can hike up to this
other little spot that Elena said is chock full of trout!"
Blair and Daryl exchanged long suffering glances.
After an hour of standing, the ache in his knees finally forced his sore
butt in contact with the ground. The next twenty minutes were spent shifting
from cheek to cheek. Could this day get any more
unpleasant? Catching Jim's eye, he muttered, "James Ellison, you are
dead meat."
His infuriatingly smug partner merely smiled.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
Jim relaxed on one of the large leather couches in the lobby and idly
flipped through the latest issue of 'Santa Fe' magazine. He shook his
head over the slick pages replete with fancy homes, expensive jewelry,
and impossibly beautiful models. Despite the opulence of his
upbringing, at heart, he was a 'beer and pretzels' kinda guy. Not 'no
frills', just a few selected frills. A nice TV, stereo, occasional dinners
at good restaurants, a jazz club now and again. Hiking,
camping, fishing, surfing, spending time with his garrulous, sensual
partner. Nothing extreme or outrageous. The finer things in
life. Imported Italian floor tiles at $150 a whack weren't even in the
same league.
Sandburg had yet to appear for dinner. He was probably still pissed about
their fishing trip. Jim smiled, remembering. Not only had they not
caught any fish, but Simon's map reading skills rivaled
Blair's. They'd hiked for 4 hours in the wrong direction, scouring the
countryside for a non-existent trout stream. To top it all off,
Sandburg slipped on some river rocks on the way back and wound up neck
deep in water and knee deep in mud. He'd had to hike the four miles back
to the Ranch in soggy, mud encrusted jeans and boots, thoroughly unamused
by Simon and Daryl's 'Baby Sasquatch' jokes. Jim had
privately concluded that any excursion involving him, Simon, Blair and
a national forest was thoroughly cursed.
Ten minutes later, a cleaner, dryer, significantly less woebegone Blair
entered the lobby and flopped down beside him on the couch with a loud
sigh.
"Well," Jim cocked his head, smiling at his companion, "You at least
smell better than you did an hour ago."
His partner glared up at him darkly, "Yeah, no thanks to you."
"Hey," he protested mildly, "it wasn't my fault that you slipped on
those rocks."
"No, not all," Blair agreed sarcastically. "It especially *wasn't* your
fault that your hand just reached out and grabbed my -- "
"-- tempting little ass!" Jim interrupted, smiling amiably at the surprised
expression on his lover's face.
"Right," Blair struggled valiantly to maintain a stern expression. "If
you hadn't grabbed my ass, I wouldn't have jumped, slipped and wound
up chin deep in muck. And then had to hike back to civilization looking
like some kinda swamp creature."
They stared at one another for a moment, then laughed.
"I half expected you to pull a trout out of your pants, like you did
with that lizard," Jim snickered.
"Yeah," Blair smiled smugly. "I could tell you were dying to see what
else was in my pants that day."
"Was not," he protested, crossing his arms and shaking his head.
"Were. Too." Blair said emphatically, leaning towards him.
"Okay, okay," he admitted after a pause, "So maybe I was."
"Ah ha!" Blair crowed triumphantly, poking his ribs; his Guide had
developed this annoying 'rib-poking' habit. "I knew it, man! I knew it!
I could tell by the look on your face!"
"Knew what, Hairboy?" Brown asked, sitting down next to Blair.
"Yeah, knew what?" Rafe leaned over the back of the couch looking back
and forth between them.
"Uh -- ," Red-faced and stammering, Blair's expression was vintage 'deer
in headlights'.
"Nothing, guys, just a joke," Jim cut in smoothly, rescuing his
partner. "What's up? Have a good time with the ladies today?"
"Yes," They chorused, faces wearing identical poleaxed, dopey
expressions. Jim suspected that he'd worn that look a time or two over
the past few days as well. The endorphin and hormone rush of 'New Love'.
"Will ya look at that!" Blair, who had regained his composure,
turned in his seat and whistled, pointing at the latest arrivals. "We've
got an 'Al Gore' convention in the lobby!"
Three tall men stood uncomfortably in the lobby, dressed in dark
suits, white shirts and red paisley ties.
"No kidding," Rafe agreed in between chuckles. "Those guys have
gotta be Feds."
"Or IBM salesmen," his lover chuckled, though the discreet shoulder and
ankle holsters and cant of their bodies contradicted that notion. Not
to mention the scent of gun oil and powder residue carried on the breeze
from the open windows.
"What are a bunch of Feds are doing here in paradise?" Brown wondered
aloud.
"Who cares." Rafe said dismissively. "We're on vacation at a
resort masquerading as a dude ranch! Let's go eat some ribs!"
As they headed towards the dining room, Jim glanced back over his shoulder
and stopped Blair with a hand on his arm. Intrigued, they watched as
Rob McAndrews, Ben Mitchell and their other IotaTech
partners quietly greeted the agents. The tension in their bodies and
voices was evident.
"What the heck are Rob and Ben doing with a bunch of FBI agents?" Blair
wondered.
Did Elena know about this? "Something doesn't seem right about this,
Chief," Jim frowned. "Let's go talk to Rob after dinner."
~~
IotaTech Headquarters
Following the meeting with Special Agents Pearson, Toomis and Telford,
everyone was subdued. They'd consumed lots of pizza and beer, but had
spoken very little. Despite the late hour, he, Rob, Red and Leslie were
all nervously huddled over their respective keyboards, too keyed up to
go to go home and sleep and worried enough about their upcoming 'sting'
operation to feel that there was safety in numbers. Even if said numbers
were still pissed off at each other. Their friendship's bonds were dangerously
strained, but had not fully snapped. Yet.
A loud knock at the door startled them all.
Rob opened to door to reveal the two guys who were staying in the suite
next door. "Hey! Blair! Jim! What's up guys?"
"Ah, the honeymoon duo emerges from their den of iniquity," Red
sneered, looking up from his keyboard. "Which one of you is the
screamer?"
"Can it, Red," Rob said sharply, obviously hoping to stave off
disaster. Ellison looked about ready to pile drive the obnoxious
engineer. Given Rob's glare, he'd have to take a number.
"Heya Rob, everyone," Blair said a bit sheepishly. "You guys are
working late tonight, huh?"
He'd met Blair Sandburg, winner of the raffle prize his mother had sponsored,
and his friend Daryl earlier in the week. He'd only
glimpsed Jim Ellison, though. Tall and stoic, usually hovering
somewhere near Sandburg, he'd seen enough of the detective to
recognize a sharp gaze that missed little. He'd gotten to know Daryl,
of course, since he was hopelessly infatuated with Rob and was the
son of his mother's latest love interest, Simon Banks, a police
captain, of all things. What a tangle.
"Uh, yeah, we were. Come on in." Rob ushered Blair and Jim into the room
and introduced them.
Following the introductions, Ellison stepped forward, "I realize that
it's late and that you all have work to do, but, we really need to talk."
"What's up, guys?" Rob asked, puzzled. "Here, pull up a chair, why don't
you?" She gestured towards the conference table in the corner alcove.
Once settled around the table, Jim spoke first, calmly and
methodically outlining their suspicions and their evidence. Were they
indeed engaged in organized software piracy? Were they indeed selling
munitions to foreign countries? And so on.
Unlike Red and Leslie, Ben was only somewhat surprised. If his team could
hear the enthusiastic goings on next door, it stood to reason that it
went both ways. Somehow, however, with just a few overheard conversations
and observing their team in action during one of Rob's tours, Sandburg
and Ellison had managed to piece together most of their sordid story.
Ben was impressed. It was now clear why, according to Daryl, Ellison
had been named Cascade's 'Detective of the
Year'. The too-public meeting with the Feds in the lobby this evening
probably hadn't helped.
"So. You've been spying on us?" Red sputtered, predictably outraged.
"Calm down, Red," Leslie said, always the voice of reason. "Blair and
Jim are cops. It probably wasn't that hard to put two and two
together. What exactly do you want, Detective Ellison?" he asked
carefully.
"We only want to understand," Blair said earnestly. "And possibly, to
help."
His partners all looked at him, now. He, the ethical and moral failure
who'd brought them all to this miserable thicket of crime and
intrigue. His lawyers and the Federal agents had counseled him to speak
to no one. However, though he didn't know what good it would do, whether
it was foolish or not, for some reason, he felt the need to confess.
"Okay. What I'm about to say cannot leave this room," he said
heavily, shaking his head. "Here's the deal..."
~~
Lazy K Ranch
After bidding the IotaTech crew good night and good luck, he and Jim
left the suite, crossed the courtyard and walked through the softly lit
garden. The aroma of desert flowers filled the air, wafting from night
blooming plants, cacti and the large flowering vines that
crawled along the painted trellis overhead. Around the glade, a few other
couples were seated on wrought iron benches, making out or
talking quietly.
"So. What do you think?" Blair asked his partner with trepidation, sitting
cross-legged on the grass beneath a flower-festooned tree with leafy,
spreading branches. Jim's expression was grim and worried.
"Of their plan? I think that what they're doing is incredibly
dangerous," his partner said seriously, sitting beside him, arms
around his knees. "If the Feds screw this up, it could get them all killed."
Blair leaned his head against Jim's shoulder, worried about his new friends.
The plan that Ben had outlined seemed fragile and
dangerous. "Yeah. I was afraid of that, too."
"I don't know how these Feds got their superiors to agree to
it. There's no way of effectively securing a location like Ben and Red
described." Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulder and twirled a lock
of his hair. Blair moved closer, lacing their fingers on Jim's
thigh. "Meeting an international criminal in a ghost town, Blair? What
the hell were these guys thinking? Dilapidated buildings and abandoned
equipment? Far too many places to hide and no way of
accurately knowing if Charrington's goons have the place already
staked out. They could be walking into a death trap."
"Maybe they had no choice." Ear against his lover's chest, Blair
listened the slightly elevated heart beat, remembering all too well the
Major Crime's stake outs and sting operations that had gone
bad. Another thought struck him and he changed the subject
abruptly. "Would you have turned yourself in, Jim?"
Warm lips briefly kissed his temple. "Blair, I don't understand all the
implications of software piracy law or the whole encryption thing they
were talking about. But, this kind of stuff always comes out eventually.
Eventually, they all would have been caught and the
penalties would have been much more severe."
"Yeah. You're right," Blair nodded. "I guess I wonder what I would
have done, you know? Would I have tried to hide it all? Or would I
have had the courage that Rob and Leslie had?"
"Of course you would have had the courage, sweetheart," Jim nuzzled his
cheek softly. Blair tingled again at the endearment.
"Look, I know you're worried about these guys," Jim said, following his
thoughts. "I'll make you a deal. On Wednesday morning, we'll go out on
a trail ride, not too far from Coopersville. Make sure that, just in
case something bad goes down, there's some extra back
up. Okay?"
Blair nodded and looked into his lover's eyes. The sexy smile curving
Jim's lips made him shiver. "Okay."
"Let's head back to the room. Before we create any more of a scene."
Blair let the warm promise in his friend's voice wash over him,
igniting the inevitable flare of desire.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
They'd spent the morning in bed. And on the fluffy sheepskin rug in front
of the fireplace. And in the media room, and in the Jacuzzi, and in the
shower. And, Jim admitted with a certain sheepish amazement, leaving
numerous butt-prints on the cool, slick glass of the dining room table.
Thank god it was sturdier than it looked. If it weren't for the undeniable
evidence of his thinning hair, Jim could almost believe he was sixteen
again. They were definitely going to miss the tour of the native ruins
with Joel and Maria if they didn't manage to chisel themselves apart
and get dressed.
At the moment, he lay flat on his back in bed with Sandburg sprawled
on his chest, chin resting on crossed arms, hair disheveled and eyes
bright. The word 'afterglow' simply wasn't in his lover's extensive vocabulary.
Thus far, he appeared to have three post-sex states:
'Unconscious', 'Let's ponder the mysteries of the cosmos' and 'Let's
do it again, babe!'. Jim was rather fond of the third and had a
certain appreciation for the first. Although Blair was an unrepentant
bed-hog, watching his Guide sleep comfortably, nightmare-free at last,
was a rare pleasure. Besides, Jim could enjoy the afterglow himself,
in peace. Pondering the mysteries of the cosmos wasn't high up on his
list of things to do when vertical and clothed, let alone following on
the heels of wild, sticky, animal love with his randy mate. Sandburg
needed a few lessons in post-coital romance.
"So. Jim." Bounce.
He groaned inwardly; so much for 'Unconscious' and 'Let's do it
again'. "Yes, Blair?"
"Wow! You actually used my name!"
"So?"
"You usually call me 'Sandburg' or 'Chief' or some context derived nickname,
like 'Darwin' or 'Shecky' or 'Einstein' or 'Guppy' or
something. In the 'midst of passion', you've called me 'baby' and you've
even called me 'sweetheart' a couple of times. Which I happen to love,
by the way. But you rarely ever call me just 'Blair'."
Jim sighed, "Okay, 'Just-Blair', what is it?" He gasped as Blair
bounced on his diaphragm again. "Will you cut that out, Sandburg?"
"So. Whaddaya think about this new woman H is hot for?"
"Marcia?" Jim chuckled. "She's cute and smart, Chief, but..."
"But what?"
"But, *she's* actually a *'he'*."
"You're kidding me!" Blair whooped, bouncing again and Jim
grunted. "Dammit, Sandburg, I'd like my ribs intact, here!"
"Oops. Sorry. So 'she's' a 'he'? Ru-Paul, move over!" his Guide
crowed, "Marcia is one amazing cross-dresser! How could you tell? She
doesn't have an Adam's apple and her -- uh, his hands and feet don't
look too large, and she's not super tall. Oh man!"
"Trust me, Chief," Jim said smugly. "the nose doesn't lie."
"You can smell that he's a man?" Blair leapt up on hands and knees,
straddling him, narrowly missing Jim's nuts with his knee.
"Shit! Watch it, Sandburg!"
Blair smacked himself in the head, "Well, duh! Of course you can
smell he's a man. Sweat, pheromones..." Eyes narrowed in thought, he
looked around frantically. "Wait a minute, I gotta write this
down. Where the hell did you put my notebook last night."
"Some place you'll never find it, Professor. At least not until this
trip's over," Jim said smugly, eyes roaming appreciatively over his lover's
naked form, his body responding to the enticing sight. "Now, get back
down here. I want to do some more research of my own." To hell with Native
ruins.
"Come on Jim, man, this is important here! It's incredible that you
can tell this, just from scent alone. I don't know why I never
thought of it before! How does it differ from a woman's scent? Body scent
probably differs radically due to hormonal influences. I'll just bet
you could tell if a woman's ovulating -- hey, that'd be pretty useful
for dating, or..."
His Guide's excitement bubbled over him, bathing him in lush
vibrations. Jim surrendered and went with the flow, enjoying the
vibrant, merry sound, ignoring the words. Mid-sentence, Sandburg
paused. "Hey! You're not listening to me, man. You're tuning me out here
aren't you, Jim?"
Jim simply smiled beatifically. At least until the pillow caught him
upside the head.
"Sandburg!" Jim shouted and proceeded to demonstrate the importance of
strength, height and leverage in winning pillow fights.
His Guide was still balefully picking feathers out of his hair -- and
other places -- two hours later on the trail, much to the amusement of
Jim, Joel and Maria.
~~
The Lazy K Ranch
3:22 am and Henri Brown was feeling no pain. Several beers and a
couple margaritas were sloshing around his blood stream. He was
pleasantly warm from the attentions of his lovely friend Marcia and a
few hours of dancing. Yep, he was feeling just fine. Looking forward
to a few blissful hours of very sweet dreams. Until the door to his room
rebounded with a loud slam against the security bar.
"What the hell?" He peered into the darkened space between the
doorframe. "Rafe, open up the door. It's me, H."
Rustling, then, "Go away, man. I'm busy."
"Busy?" Henri said querulously, "Busy?! Brian Marion Rafe, if you don't
open this friggin door right now..."
It was too dark to see into the room, but he could hear Rafe talking
to someone, and an answering feminine chuckle. He recognized that laugh.
Megan. Shit. Rafe and Connor finally going horizontal. In his room.
At 3 o'clock in the friggin AM. What the hell? Megan had her own damn
room!
"Aw, come on, guys. Give me a break. Take the party elsewhere. I wanna
get some sleep."
"Sorry. No can do, H."
"Aw Rafe..." Henri rested his forehead against the door frame. "Where
am I gonna sleep tonight?"
"Don't know, bro. Ask Sandburg. He's got that huge suite."
"But what about my stuff?" Henri didn't usually whine but it just seemed
to come naturally tonight.
There was rustling, a thump, a muffled crash, feminine cursing, the sound
of something sliding across the floor, then a wadded up ball of his clothes
was pushed through the door.
"Night, H."
Slam.
"Shee-it. This sucks, Rafe. This really sucks."
A distinctly wicked feminine chuckle floated through the door.
"I'll make it up to you, man. Really."
"Yeah, right," Henri muttered, stalking down the tiled hallway,
clothes, toothbrush and razor bundled in his arms. He crossed the courtyard
to Blair's suite and banged on the door.
"Hey, Hairboy. Open up."
Henri listened, then banged again. There was a long pause, then a sleepy,
"Go 'way, man. I'm sleeping."
"Come on, Blair. I'm begging you, open up. Rafe kicked me out."
Cursing, rustling, another long pause. Then the door opened to reveal
a sleep-grizzled Sandburg, hair wild, cheeks scruffy, clad in rumpled
boxers and an overlarge Cascade PD t-shirt worn inside out and
backwards.
"It's 3 in the morning, Henri. What the hell do you want?"
"You gotta help me, Blair. Brian and Megan are going at it in our room
and Rafe's kicked me out."
Sandburg looked unimpressed, "So?"
Henri was trying not to whine, but it was late, he was buzzed,
exhausted and he really did want to get some sleep. "So, I've got nowhere
to sleep. Can I crash on your floor tonight? I know you've got space..."
"What?" Blair seemed to awaken abruptly. "No. No, man you can not sleep
here tonight."
"C'mon Blair. You've got that huge room with the fireplace and all. I
figured I could just grab a couple of blankets, crash on the floor. I
don't snore, I'll be quiet, I promise." He couldn't help but sound a
little desperate. The idea of sleeping out on the porch tonight was anything
but appealing. August be damned, it was cold outside.
Sandburg turned to look back in the room and Henri could hear someone
else talking to Blair quietly. //Shit. Sandburg got lucky, too. No wonder
he doesn't want me to stay. Why me, God? I just wanna get some sleep.//
Henri groaned inwardly, leaned against the door frame and waited hopelessly.
Blair caught something thrown to him from the darkness and turned back
to Brown. "Look, H. You can use Jim's room. Number 125. Here's the key,
okay?"
Slam.
Twice in one night.
"What? Sure. Okay! Thanks!" Henri said to the closed door.
"Great. Jim's room. He won't mind." Brown paused, "He won't mind? Who
am I kidding? Of course he'll mind."
The alcohol and lack of sleep caught up with him by the time he got to
room #125. He dropped his stuff on the floor, turned back the covers
on Jim's bed and crashed. Just before sleep claimed him, three thoughts
nagged at the detective's alcohol fogged brain, "Blair's girlfriend sure
had a deep voice," and "What was Sandburg doing with Jim's key?" and
finally, "Where the hell is Ellison?"
"Jesus," he muttered, finally succumbing to sleep. "Everybody got lucky
tonight except for me."
~~
"Blair."
Silence.
"Chief!" A strong shake.
"Mmm?" Grumble, rustle, grunt.
"Sandburg!" A none too gentle thump with the pillow.
"What? What?!" Blair sat up abruptly, wild-eyed and staring.
"We gave Brown my key."
"Yeah." Aggrieved grumble. Snort. Sandburg snatched the pillow away from
Jim and collapsed back onto the bed, snuggling into the covers. "So what?"
"So what are we going to tell him tomorrow morning when he asks where
I was?"
"James." An exasperated sigh. "You were a spy for godsakes. Think
of something!"
"I wasn't a spy. I was a covert operative."
"Spy? Covert operative? What-ever, man." Yawn. "I'm going back to sleep."
Silence.
"Shit."
~~
The Lazy K Ranch
The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The coffee was Jamaican
Blue Mountain and the orange juice was freshly squeezed with just the
tiniest bit of pulp. Polishing off the rest of his French Toast,
complete with real maple syrup and fresh creamery butter, Brian Marion
Rafe smiled. Life was good.
"Thanks for kicking me out, partner. You couldn't have just gone back
to her room could you?" Brown sat down and whapped him over the head
with the menu. "Or given me the key to her room."
"Sorry, man. Couldn't be helped. We were, ah, just getting into it again
when you showed up." Rafe smiled more broadly, remembering.
"Yeah, I'll bet," his partner grumped, signaling the waiter.
"So, where'd you end up?" Rafe asked. "The French Toast is excellent,
by the way."
"Ellison's room."
"Jim's room? No luck with Marcia, oh Suave One?"
"Cut it out, Marion," Brown mock glared. "Anyway, there's always tomorrow."
Rafe paused for a moment while his partner ordered, skipping the
French Toast in favor of the Belgian Waffles. "I thought you were gonna
crash in Sandburg's room."
"I thought so too. But he had somebody with him. He pitched Jim's key
at me and told me to go sleep there. Guess Jim got lucky too."
"Who with? That gorgeous, punk-rock-looking red-head he was chatting
up a couple nights ago at the barbecue? And what was Sandburg doing with
Ellison's key?"
"How the hell should I know, Rafe. It was 3 o'clock in the
morning. I was drunk. Tired. I wanted to get some sleep. And I'd just
been kicked out of my room by my so-called friend." Henri seemed thoughtful
for a moment, "Come to think of it, though, why did
Sandburg have Ellison's key?" He paused while filling his coffee
cup from the tabletop carafe.
"Yeah, why did Blair have the key?" Rafe mused thoughtfully. "You know
what Megan's always saying."
"Well, Blair's 'date' did have a deep voice."
"I still don't know, H. I guess I just can't see it," Rafe shook his
head, trying to wrap his brain around the idea of Jim and Blair -- together.
"I mean, Jim and Blair? Horizontal? Blair 'Babe-A-Week' Sandburg? Jim
'Snap Your Spine Like A Twig' Ellison?" He shook his head again, "I dunno..."
"Well, I have no trouble seeing it," his partner shrugged. "Especially
given their antics on the plane and in the minivan." Brown poured a cup
of coffee.
"I guess...," he mused. "I suppose...Could be." Could it?
"Morning guys," Megan, red hair shining in the sun, entered the dining
room and sat down next to him. She was dressed, in characteristically
eclectic, skin-tight leather riding clothes. Mouth dry, heart
pounding, Rafe wondered how one earth he'd gotten so lucky.
"Hey, Megan," he smiled, probably rather foolishly.
"Hi Brian," she breathed his name, the richness of her voice auditory
caress.
"A-hem," Henri rolled his eyes and cleared his throat loudly. "All you
guys need are little blue birds carrying red ribbons fluttering around
your heads."
"So," Megan said briskly, breaking the spell. "What are you guys
talking about?"
"Well, Connor, since, as you know, Rafe kicked me out last night. I
had to go sleep in Ellison's room."
"I thought you were going to crash in Sandy's suite," Megan chuckled,
thumbing through the menu. "Where was Jim?"
"That's exactly what we were wondering," Henri said. "We think that he
was in Sandburg's room. That maybe they're sleeping together."
"No?" Megan said facetiously. "Really?"
"Ellison's bed wasn't slept in and he never came back in the morning."
"Couple that with everything else, and I guess we've come to the
conclusion that Ellison and Sandburg are, in fact, sleeping together."
"Well," Megan said brightly, "it's about time you two gents figured
it out! I guess there's hope for you American detectives after all!"
~~
Trying not to wince, Jim followed his partner into the dining room. Granted,
turnabout was fair play, but he was definitely not
looking forward to sitting in a hard chair at breakfast or a saddle aboard
a galloping horse this afternoon. He had a whole new
perspective on Blair's irritability during their ill-fated fishing trip.
"Uh oh," Blair said very quietly. Following his partner's gaze, Jim's
stomach clenched and his palms began to sweat. Assembled at a corner
table in the bright morning sunshine, were his colleagues. Staring at
them and smiling. Only Daryl was missing.
"Shit, man," Blair whispered urgently, "Something's up."
"Really, Einstein? You think?" All eyes were on the two of them and conversation
at the table had stopped. Jim gathered his nerve and pushed Blair towards
the table. "Might as well get it over with. Come on, Chief."
"So, Jim, Blair," Simon smiled broadly, as they took the two empty seats
between Henri and Simon. "How'd you guys sleep last night?"
The entire table waited expectantly.
"Uh, fine?" Blair looked up from his menu uncertainly.
"How about you, Jim?" Henri asked, "Sleep well?"
More silence. "Just great!" he said quickly, grabbing the menu from Sandburg,
filled his glass and Sandburg's from the water pitcher on the table and
signaled frantically for a waiter.
"Really, Jimbo?" Megan asked, leaning forward.
"Yeah, Jim," Henri put an arm around his shoulders. "See, we're asking
because you weren't in your room last night."
"You get lucky, Ellison?" Simon purred.
He exchanged a desperate glance with his partner. 'Uh oh' didn't begin
to cover it. Unfortunately, he could literally see the wheels
turning in Blair's head as his eyes grew bright.
Sandburg smiled much too innocently. "Jim was in my room last night."
"Really?" Everyone at the table chorused.
Jim glared at his partner and muttered, "Way to go, Benedict Arnold."
"C'mon Jim," Blair muttered, "Put those 'Covert Ops' skills to work,
man."
"Hey Jim, it's nothing to be ashamed of," his partner continued
placidly. "No one will think less of you." What the hell was Sandburg
doing?
Silently fuming at his cherubically smiling Guide, Jim thought
fast. //Come on Ellison, you were in Covert Ops and Vice. Think of
something!// The solution came in a blinding flash.
"Well," Jim tried to look sheepish. "I had a nightmare."
"You what?" Rafe looked astonished.
"You had a nightmare and ended up in Sandburg's room?" Brown said disbelievingly.
"Yeah," Jim said heavily, looking down and rubbing his finger through
the condensation from his water glass. "I dreamed that he really died
-- and this time, stayed dead." //Maybe this could work?//
"Oh man..." Brown rocked back in his chair.
"Shit, that's harsh," Rafe looked distressed.
Even Simon's eyes teared up and Joel gave a surreptitious sniff. He felt
sure they could all remember clearly Blair's pale body laid out in the
morgue and Jim on his knees wailing with grief. The painful images were
all too clear in his own mind.
"And I'll bet that you had to reassure him that you weren't really dead,
hmmmm?"
"Uh, yeah! And so I figured that, since my suite had so much space
-- " //Shut up, Sandburg. The beauty of a good lie is it's
simplicity.//
" -- he might as well stay in your room in case he had another
nightmare, right Sandy?"
"Er, exactly, Megan."
"I see."
After a long silence, filled with the occasional clink of silverware
against plates, and earthenware cups against saucers, Henri spoke up,
"You know something, Jim?"
"No," Jim ventured cautiously, shifting uncomfortably in his
chair. Damn, but his ass hurt. And where the hell was that waiter? "What?"
"Your story would hold together better if you'd actually slept in your
bed last night."
//Shit!//
"And if you hadn't been feeling each other up on the plane," he continued
mercilessly, grinning widely.
Blair blanched paper white.
"Or the van," Joel noted, tapping his forefinger against his
chin. "The Milk Dud Grab, Jim. Simply brilliant!"
"And Jim," Megan said thoughtfully, "if I hadn't seen you scurrying,
half-dressed and covered in hickeys from Blair's suite at 5:45
yesterday morning, as I was on my way to the weight room." She
chuckled. "You cheeky bugger!"
"And you two hadn't snuck off into the woods, holding hands the night
of the meteor shower," Simon offered.
"Not to mention the gooey, sticky 'we're so in love' glances across the
dinner table," Joel chuckled.
"And what about the footsie under the table!"
Jim's cheeks grew hot and beside him, Blair gaped. "You mean, you guys
knew?" his partner gasped.
Joel laughed heartily, "C'mon guys! What kind of detectives would we
be if we couldn't see what was going on?"
"When were you going to tell us?" Brown wanted to know.
Blair tried and failed to form a coherent sentence, "Uh. Uh."
"Sandburg speechless," Simon laughed, slapping Blair's back. "Alert the
media!"
"We thought we were keeping it a secret," Jim protested weakly.
"A secret?" There was general laughter around the table. "Right, Jim,
good one!" Simon guffawed. "When Daryl asks me, 'So, when did Jim and
Blair start going out?' I'd say that the cat was out of the bag!" The
entire table broke into applause.
He'd already determined it was impossible to die of embarrassment, but
melting into the floor seemed to be a distinct possibility.
"So, Jimbo, Sandy," Connor smiled devilishly, "When's the wedding?"
Jim glanced once at his stunned partner then placed his head in his hands
and groaned.
~~
IotaTech Headquarters
Huddled over the table in the conference room, stressed out beyond reason,
Ben and his friends reviewed preparations for tomorrow's sting operation
yet again. After Jim's analysis of their plan's weaknesses, he'd forced
the FBI agents to modify it a bit. They'd increased
the security around the abandoned warehouse where they were to make the
exchange, provided his partners with ultra-thin Kevlar vests, and made
adjustments to the electronic surveillance equipment they were required
to wear.
"So. Red and I will drive out there at 8:15 am to make the drop off."
"And exactly where are the Feebs gonna be at this point?"
"For the tenth time, Red, there will be agents stationed along the
access road going into town, we'll be under surveillance from the air
and ground once we enter the town perimeter."
"Forgive me if I have so little trust in our illustrious federal
government," his partner said snidely. "Especially when it comes to keeping
our asses intact."
"Concern noted, believe me. Leslie and Rob, you guys will follow in a
second car with Toomis and three other FBI agents. Red and I will meet
with Charrington at the appointed time. We'll hand over the goods and
we'll be on our way. Afterwards, the Feds will pick them up just
outside of town."
"Honestly, Ben, I'm really worried about this," Leslie drawled softly.
"This scheme has a lot of holes. The original plan was to make an electronic
exchange. Then, it was changed so that we make the
technology exchange via an intermediary. Then, somehow, Charrington
-- an internationally wanted criminal -- just happens to want to meet
us in person?" He shook his head slowly. "This just doesn't all add up."
"I know, Leslie. It all seems somehow too convenient," Rob agreed.
"But there's nothing we can really do about it now."
"My contact claims that Charrington wants to meet us in person because
we pleased him with our first 'product' and that he wants to see a live
demonstration," Red commented.
"He could be planning to make an appearance just to take the
technology and kill us all, you know."
Red stopped fiddling with his Palm Pilot and snickered, "Always the positive
thinker, eh Leslie?"
"Seriously, people," Leslie said, "I can't help but feel that we're in
over our heads here. Shit! We're engineers, financial analysts -- normal
people. What the hell do we know about international
crime?"
For a long moment, Ben stared across the table and out the window, where
the dying sun dipped behind the purpling mountains in a flash of red
and gold. Tomorrow, it would all be over, one way or the
other. His foolish excursion into the criminal justice system and possibly
his life and the lives of his friends. As Ellison had said, there were
so many things that could go wrong with this plan. So many ways it
could end in disaster.
"Look guys," he said quietly. "I know that I brought us all to this point.
I want to say that -- I'm really sorry. I should have been honest, up
front with you all, but I panicked. I hope, though, that we can make
it past this, both as friends and as business partners. No matter what
happens tomorrow."
His friends were very quiet for a long moment.
"Ben," Rob rose and placed her hand on his shoulder. "I know that I've
been pretty hard on you these past weeks. I was pissed. And you know
me, when I'm pissed I don't bother hide it. Anyway, it's okay now, alright?
We've been friends a long time and we've been through a lot together.
We can make it through this."
"Ben, man, I share as much blame here as you do. I was a shit;
thinking with my wallet instead of my morals," Red said, in a hushed
voice. "I'm sorry guys. I really am. But we've still got a great
product, thanks to Rob and Leslie. I think we're gonna make it."
"Ben, Red, I think we can all get past this. I only hope that all goes
well tomorrow," Leslie said softly.
Gazing at the faces of his friends, who hadn't deserted him or
abandoned the vision they'd all shared for IotaTech, for the first time
in weeks, Ben allowed himself the luxury of hope.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
After the 'Panache' fiasco, Jim had requested a different horse. This
time, the stable master gave him 'Spartacus', a huge sorrel who seemed
to realize, unlike 'Panache' that he was not entirely anatomically correct.
'Spartacus' stepped placidly along the groomed trail beside Blair's horse
named 'Chestnut' with nary a twitch. If his ass weren't so sore, the
ride would have been a complete pleasure.
"Too bad it's the last day, huh Chief?" Jim squinted in the early morning
sunshine slanting through the ponderosa pines shading the trail. The
trail wound it's way through a small grassy canyon roughly in the direction
of Coopersville.
"Yeah, this has been some great vacation, huh?" His lover stretched in
the saddle, grinning from ear to ear.
"The best, Sandburg. Really." Jim smiled, "Thanks."
"My pleasure, man. And see, you guys made fun of me for going all out
on those raffle tickets!" Blair laughed, eyes sparkling.
"Well, Hairboy, we were wrong! Dead wrong!" Brown laughed. "We've all
had a great time. Haven't we gang?"
"Thanks, Blair!" Everyone chorused in response.
"I am certainly glad that you won the raffle, Blair," Elena smiled, glancing
fondly at Simon, "It couldn't have been won by a nicer man."
"Why thank you, Elena," Blair said gallantly, barely hiding a smirk.
~~
A few miles down the dusty trail, while everyone was complaining about
packing and the long flight ahead of them, Jim struck the listening pose
Simon had seen so often. Head cocked to the side, Jim held up his hand,
"Hang on a second you guys. I think I hear something."
"Are you getting 'vibes' now, Jim?" Megan asked eagerly.
Baffled, Brown asked, "Vibes? What the hell are you talking about, Connor?"
"I could have sworn I heard -- there it goes again. Sounds like -- gunfire?"
Jim looked puzzled and irritated. "It's hard to tell with the echoes
in this canyon."
"Jim, none of us are hearing anything," Simon complained. //You'd think
I'd be used to his hyper-sensitive Sentinel ears by now.//
"From which direction, Jim?" Blair asked intently, placing a hand on
Jim's arm. Doing that 'Guide-Thing' again. "Can you tell what it is?"
"Up ahead. About three to three and a half miles north-west of here."
Blair paled, exchanging a worried glance with Jim. Elena looked at him
quizzically, "Simon?"
He shrugged. "What the hell is going on here, you two?"
Sandburg ignored him, "Do you think that it's from the ghost town?"
"Ghost town?" Elena interrupted. "You mean Coopersville? The abandoned
mining town? What's going on there? What do you mean?"
"Could it be the Feds, Jim? Could you tell what kind of weapon?"
"How the hell do you hear anything?" Rafe wanted to know. "I don't
here anything."
"Quiet, Brian. Jim's getting vibes!" Megan shushed. "Don't interrupt
him!"
"Feds? What Feds? What are you guys talking about?" Simon demanded. It
drove him nuts when the two of them got sucked into the Sandburg Zone,
tuning out the rest of the universe.
Jim decisively urged his horse to a faster pace down the trail that would
lead them up out of the arroyo, towards Coopersville. "Come on Chief,
let's get on up there."
Simon took a deep breath and shouted, "Ellison! Sandburg! Hold it right
there you two! Neither of you are going anywhere until you tell me exactly
what's going on."
The two of them exchanged worried glances and spoke at once.
"Uh, Simon. We're not supposed to say."
"We're wasting time here, Sir."
Simon glared. //The two of them and their damn secrets!// "One of you
had better explain this right now!"
In his typical over-eager, round-about, wordy, confusing fashion -- that
just screamed out for you to shout 'What happened at the end, Blair?!'
-- Sandburg spilled the entire sordid tale.
"They were pirating what?" Simon was stunned.
"Microsoft Business Suite. But you have to understand. It's not them
that's pirating, Simon. Not exactly. They're just supplying the
technology, it's this other international industrial espionage guy
Charrington that's doing the pirating!" Sandburg said emphatically.
"You've got to be kidding me," Brown shook his head in
disbelief. "Just about every PC sold these days comes with that
software already installed. Hell, it's easier to buy a whole new
computer than try to install the damn program. Believe me, I've
tried."
"What?!" Elena exclaimed. "I give them a suite for their office and they
start bootlegging?! I'm gonna kill that son of mine!"
"And you say they were originally selling it to some guy in Malaysia?
We're not even near a coast for godsake." Simon tried to wrap his nonscientific
brain around the whole thing.
"Welcome to the 90s, Simon," Blair lectured, "They are these itty bitty
little things called 'electrons' that travel through phone
wires. Not to mention that fact that DHL delivers internationally."
Simon leveled a glare at Sandburg who grinned unrepentantly.
"How the hell do you know so much about international shipping,
Sandburg?"
"How do you think anthropologists get artifacts from Point 'A' to Point
'B', Simon?"
"Well, thank you, oh international trade guru. How'd you two find out
about this? How'd you piece it all together anyway?"
"Uh, well, sir," Jim's expression was a peculiar mix of sheepish and
impatient. "IotaTech's office is right next door to Blair's suite and
well, the walls are pretty thin and well, we ended up asking them about
it..." //Jesus! Sandburg is starting to rub off on Ellison!//
"And the Feds have set up this sting operation?"
"You mean those stiffs in my lobby last night were FBI agents?" Elena
asked with annoyance.
"And what is all this about encryption, anyway?"
Ellison held up his hand suddenly. "I definitely hear gun fire
now. And radio chatter. And -- " Jim paused frowning, "an engine of some
sort? A helicopter, maybe?"
"Gun fire? Radio? Helicopter? Jim, I don't hear anything," Brown said
with dismay.
Blair and Simon shushed him.
Connor looked thrilled. "More 'vibes', Jim?"
"Jim," Blair said reasonably, placing his hand on Jim's arm. "If it's
really gunfire, we should try to call this in or something, right?"
"With what? A string and a tin can, Chief? We're out of cell-phone range.
Besides, if the Feds did what they're supposed to, the
authorities are already aware of it. This trail connects up with the
Coopersville access road at a fork, about a mile up ahead." Jim put spurs
to his horse and galloped down the trail. "C'mon! Let's ride!"
A heartbeat later, Sandburg raced after Ellison, shouting, "The
Magnificent Eight rides again!" The kid was absolutely nuts.
"I'm not just going to kill Ben," Elena said tightly, clucking to her
horse, "I'm going to turn him over my knee and tan his hide! Then I'll
kill him!"
"Daryl! You stay behind! I don't want you anywhere near gunfire!"
"Dad, if Rob's in trouble, I'm going, too!" His son galloped after everyone
else, dust cloud swirling in his wake.
"Damn kids!" Simon grumbled, galloping awkwardly down the trail after
his son, Elena and his detectives, teeth rattling. "I'm not gonna have
any fillings left after this damn trip!"
~~
Blair galloped down the trail after Jim in the hail of gravel
scattered by 'Spartacus' flying hooves. The sun beat down upon him, baking
the stiffness from his muscles, warming his face and the wind of their
passing whipped his hair from its pony tail to stream in the wind. Were
he not so damn worried about his new friends, he'd be
having the time of his life. On horseback, his limp was unimportant and
his lungs didn't protest from overexertion.
After a few minutes, Jim, astride his larger horse, pulled away and outdistanced
Blair. The thud of trail-muffled hoofbeats echoed back to him as he wound
his way up the switchbacks towards the top of the arroyo.
Up ahead, the trail widened slightly and Megan drew abreast of him, wearing
a wide brimmed hat and a confused expression. "Sandy? Where is Jim?"
"Further up the trail. His horse is faster."
"Just what the heck is going on, Blair?" Rafe reined in behind
her. Brian, Elena and Daryl had finally caught up, though Simon was no
where to be seen.
"We already told you! It's a sting operation!" Blair shouted
breathlessly, guiding his horse along the trail left by Spartacus' churning
hooves. "Take the right fork up ahead!"
The thundering wind in his ears grew louder and Blair gasped as an unmarked
helicopter lifted ominously from the valley below. It circled them once
and flew off up the trail and over the lip of the canyon above. His horse
whinnied in fear.
"Where the hell did that come from," Brown demanded, staring up at
the helicopter. "That's no FBI copter!"
"Holy shit! Jim was right! We've got to hurry!" Blair spurred his lathered
horse faster.
"Don't worry, Sandy! We'll catch'em!"
Sounds of automatic weapons fire echoed through the canyon as the horses
labored up the steep trail towards the plateau. Blair found himself desperately
chanting, "Please! Let us be in time! Let us be in time!"
Moments later, the helicopter swept back over the trail, startling the
horses and kicking up a huge dust cloud. Suddenly, two riders burst around
the bend about 150 yards away galloping back towards
them. Struggling to control his mount, Blair's heart stopped as a beloved
figure leaped from his huge red horse to tackle the blonde, gun-toting
thug astride a glossy black one.
"Oh my god!" Blair reined in 'Chestnut' and stared in horror as Jim and
the other man toppled from their horses and tumbled down the hillside.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
"Oh god..." Face down, Jim groaned into the towels spread on the bed,
"My toenails hurt." Even after twenty minutes in the Jacuzzi tub, followed
by one of Sandburg's aromatherapy miracle massages, every muscle in his
body ached. Everywhere along his body, he could feel the imprints of
numerous rocks and fists of varying sizes and the
inevitable swelling of the bruises that followed.
"That's precisely what you get for leaping from a galloping horse, ala
'Zorro', wrestling with an international criminal armed with an Uzi and
falling down a ravine," Blair admonished without a shred of
sympathy. "What the hell were you thinking? Now sit up so I can tape
your ribs. And bandage your knee. And wrap your ankle. Sheesh!" Blair
threw up his hands.
He painfully struggled to sit up, sparing a glare for his hairy,
ministering angel. "Exactly what do you suggest I should have done?"
"Gee, is this a trick question?" Blair asked sarcastically.
"Charrington was escaping. I caught him. End of story." Jim smiled, injuries
momentarily forgotten, as the ends of Blair's hair trailed over his shoulder,
releasing a spicy, herbal scented cloud that went straight to his groin.
"End of story," his lover muttered, irritably, stretching the elastic
bandage carefully around Jim's midsection. "Jim! You could have been
shot! Or broken your neck! Or -- "
"But I *didn't*, Sandburg. I'm just fine. And so are Rob, and Red and
Leslie. And Charrington and his goons are in custody."
"Jim," his partner sighed, exasperated. "You look like you've been through
the spin cycle and then were fluff-dried on high heat. And here you
say you're 'fine'? You've got a warped definition of 'fine'."
"Ouch! Sandburg!" Jim gasped as his Guide's gave the bandage a tug and
fastened it tightly.
"Is there any part of you that *doesn't* hurt?" Blair said with exasperation.
He pretended to think for a moment, then smiled wickedly, pointing to
his tented boxers. "Oh yeah. This doesn't hurt."
"I don't believe you, man. You're constantly going on and on about my
excess hormones and I swear to god, you get pummeled by a gun-toting
thug and yet you're 'Boner Man', here."
"You gotta problem with that, Sandburg?" Jim raised one eyebrow
suggestively, leaning in for a kiss.
"Not usually, no," his lover grinned. "However, at the moment, you're
too sore, I'm too tired, we still have to pack, we've got to get
debriefed by the Feds and we've got a 90 minute drive to the airport
for an 8:50 flight."
Jim sighed and shelved his hormones for the time being, wondering, not
for the first time in the last twenty minutes, exactly what had possessed
him to take a swan dive from a galloping horse and how the hell he was
going to survive the plane ride home.
~~
Lazy K Ranch
Simon plunked his bags down next to the counter and waited for the desk
clerk to pull up his account. He sighed heavily at the total. In five
days, he'd managed to rack up over $600 dollars in room fees, between
calling Joan and the office and Daryl's late night Pay-Per-Vue habit.
Glancing at his lanky son sprawled on the lobby couch, he
decided to cut Ellison more slack. Daryl's brand of 'puppy dog eyes'
was every bit as devastating as Sandburg's.
"So, Simon," Elena startled him as she came up behind him. His back tingled
from the warmth of her hand. "I guess all good things come to an end?"
"They don't have to," Simon smiled hopefully. "I've got a conference
in Phoenix in October. Phoenix's not all that far..."
"As a matter of fact, it's not." Elena agreed. She took the bill from
his hand, carefully tearing it in half. Before he could protest, she
smiled provocatively, "Thanksgiving's a rather slow time here, and I
hear that the Pacific-Northwest is beautiful that time of year."
"It is indeed," Simon agreed. "No more beautiful than you, Desert Princess."
Elena raised an eyebrow and purred, "Blair said you were a charmer,
Simon. I'm so glad he was right."
"Seriously, Elena. I really want to thank you for putting up with us
this week."
"No trouble at all. You should thank Blair. He's the one that made it
all happen. I just supplied the lodging and -- entertainment." She smiled
slyly. "Besides, I should be thanking you. You're the ones who saved
my son's life." Elena paused, then crumpled the torn bill in her hand.
"Of course, now I get to kill him!"
Simon chuckled, "Oh yes. I think it's time to have a little talk with
him."
"Well, got to get back to work!" She leaned up and kissed him
lightly. "See you soon, Captain Banks."
"Oh yes, I'll definitely see you soon, Elena," Simon smiled after her,
blissfully plotting his return trip. The smile faded suddenly when he
spotted Special Agents Pearson and Toomis headed his way.
"Captain Banks! I need a word with you!"
"Oh god," Simon moaned, rubbing his eyes. "I thought I'd managed to ditch
these guys."
~~
"Captain Banks!" Special Agent Pearson said aggressively, arms akimbo,
"It is imperative that we get this taken care of as soon as
possible."
"Unless you plan to pay for eight plane tickets and eight additional
nights at this very fine establishment -- you're going to have to put
your butts on a plane and interview my detectives back in Cascade." Simon
growled at the FBI agents in the lobby.
Making their way to the registration desk, he and Blair gave the
arguing men a wide berth.
"Hey look! There's H!" Sandburg bounced. "Let's ask him now!" Henri stood
at the end of the counter, one arm around a sweetly pouting Marcia. Their
serious expressions and Marcia's trembling lower lip were all signs of
a tearful goodbye.
"Sandburg, I said stay out of it," Jim warned, handing their keys to
the clerk. "It's none of your business." His nosy partner was
hell-bent on outing Marcia to Henri.
"Maybe not, Jim, but still. Do you think he knows? Shouldn't we mention
it to him?"
"Still nothing, Chief. Leave it alone. If he hasn't figured it out
by now -- well, it's Henri's business, not yours." Jim's admonishment
had as much effect as, 'Stay in the car, Chief'. Which is to say, none.
As soon as Marcia hugged H a final goodbye, Sandburg was down at the
end of the counter and in his face. Jim leaned against the counter to
enjoy the show.
"H, my man! Looks like things worked out with Marcia, eh?"
Henri smiled winningly, appreciatively following Marcia's departure with
his eyes, "Yeah, Hairboy. You could say so."
"So, I heard that Marcia is from Seattle. You gonna keep seeing her?"
"Yeah," Henri beamed, a slightly glazed look on his face. "She's
something really special."
"Special. Yeah, you could say that."
"Mmmm hmmm," Henri agreed, smiling.
"So, H. About Marcia..." Blair began.
"Sanburg..." Jim's softly growled warning had no effect. Sandburg was
probably too far away to hear him. As if that would make a difference
anyway.
"Yeah? What about her?"
"Uh, there's no delicate way to ask this, man." Blair took a deep breath,
"Did you realize that she's, uh. That she's --"
Henri raised an amused eyebrow, "That *she's* really a he, Hairboy?"
For the third time in a week, Sandburg was stunned speechless, meeting
Jim's glance with dismay. "Uh yeah"
"It so happens, Blair, that Marcia is a transvestite."
"Ah!" Blair coughed in surprised, "And you don't mind?"
"Hey man, 'Anything That Moves'. You and Ellison oughta know, right?"
Brown sauntered off towards the gate with a broad wink, leaving Blair
standing, mouth agape.
"Watch it, Chief," Jim laughed. "You're gonna catch flies like that."
"Jim! I had no idea here, man! Like zero clue. Oh man. I am so
embarrassed."
"Aren't you the person who is always saying, 'don't make
assumptions'?" Jim taunted his companion mercilessly, "Hell, you're an
anthropologist for godsakes! You should know better!"
"Yeah, well, color me stupid!" Blair shook his head, "Let me pry my foot
out of my mouth long enough to take my own advice, 'k?"
Jim chuckled and pushed his dumbfounded mate towards the door.
~~
Sitting on the lobby couch, waiting for his father to check them out,
Daryl experienced a strong sense of 'deja vu'. What a trip! The
meteors were cool. He could have done without the fishing trip, but the
cattle roping demonstration was excellent. And, as terrifying as the
chase had been, it was excellent too. Still, the trip could have been
more fun if Jim ratted him out.
"Hey there. This seat taken?"
Startled, Daryl looked up at Rob, who stood, hands on hips, smiling down
at him.
"Uh, no! Not at all!" Daryl stood hastily, tongue-tied. "Hi, Rob!"
"Hi, Daryl," she said softly, sitting down on the sofa and patting the
adjacent cushion. "Sit down. Please."
Daryl sat slowly and twisted his hands in his lap, intensely
uncomfortable. "Rob. I just wanted to say again that, I'm very sorry
I mislead you about my age," he said, eyes downcast. "It was really selfish
of me."
"Yeah, Daryl, it was," Rob agreed. "But, I forgive you. Plus, I was
flattered. And, if you were just a bit older..." Her voice trailed off
wistfully. "Well, anyway. I wanted to thank you."
"Me? For what?"
"For helping take my mind off my troubles, earlier this week. I had a
great time, even if things did get screwy in the middle. And for
riding to the rescue when the 'sting' operation went bad."
"Rob, that wasn't me!" Daryl protested, "That was my friends. I didn't
do anything!"
"You were there, Daryl. Blair told me you refused to stay behind when
you all heard gunfire."
"I couldn't hang out in the wings when a friend was trouble."
"Well, we -- I -- really appreciated it." Her warm, strong fingers closed
around his. "Hey. You've got a plane to catch and I need to go yak with
the feeb suits." Rob rose, still clasping his hand.
"Oh, Rob?" Daryl stood with her. "Don't worry. I just know
everything is going to work out okay with the business."
"I sure hope so, Daryl."
"The question is, will you remember me when you're rich and famous?"
Rob leaned forward and her warm lips brushed against his for an
instant. "Trust me, Daryl," she squeezed his hand gently, "I'll never
forget you."
Finger tips to his lips, Daryl stared after her, delighted and amazed.
~~
"What is it with you and Sandburg? No matter where you go, you
attract trouble," Simon grumbled as they walked towards the
minivan. "Remind me never to go on another vacation with you two."
"We attract trouble, Simon? I seem to recall flying down to Peru to find
you and Daryl knee deep in drug runners," Jim noted dryly,
smiling at his partner.
"Oh and let's not forget to mention the wonderful luck you have with
High School reunions!" Blair chimed in.
"Well," Simon said, somewhat mollified. "I guess you guys have a
point. Speaking of which, Sandburg, I suppose I oughta thank you for
putting in a good word with Elena."
Blair smiled smugly, arms crossed, "Yeah, Simon. You oughta."
They stared at each other for a moment. "What?" Simon sounded
exasperated.
"Well? Aren't you going to thank me?" Sandburg pressed.
"Okay, Sandburg." Simon opened the minivan's hatchback and lifted his
bags inside. "Thanks."
"That's it?" Blair asked indignantly, hands on hips. "No hug?"
"Don't push your luck, kid," Simon growled, stalking around the van to
unlock the front door. "Hey! Connor! Rafe!" He banged on the window loudly.
"No necking in the minivan, you two! Jeez! I am a den
mother."
~~
Albuquerque International Airport
Jim walked slowly through the terminal, every joint and muscle in his
body screaming protest. What didn't ache, stung. What didn't sting, throbbed.
What didn't throb, had seized up and become practically immobile. He
couldn't take any pain meds and dialing it down hadn't done a damn bit
of good. How the hell was he going sit for 5 hours in a tiny airplane
seat? Fortunately, Blair had snagged a luggage cart to tote their belongings.
Sandburg pushed the cart along at his side, talking a mile a minute.
He hadn't stopped talking about the trip since they'd left the ranch,
carrying both sides of the conversation effortlessly. It was fine by
Jim, since the pain made him irritable and more taciturn than usual.
"Can you believe it Jim? Elena invited us back any time we want!"
"Yeah, Chief, that's great."
"She'll give us a discount on the room and everything!"
"Uh huh."
"It's not surprising though, if you think about it," his Guide mused
thoughtfully. "We did save her son!"
"True."
"And she and Simon really did hit it off." Blair paused for breath,
"Man did they hit it off! Talk about electricity! Sparks! The
works!"
"Uh huh." Jim stared at his partner with disbelief. Sandburg was
practically skipping through the airport.
"Did you know that Daryl caught the two of them necking in the
alcove just off the gardens? Just like a couple of teenagers!"
"Really." Now that was a surprise.
"And can you believe that Joel and Maria are flying back to Cascade
on her private jet?" Blair rocked back on his heels. "Way to go Joel!
Here he was, all nervous about getting back into the dating scene and
what happens? Wham! Next thing you know, he's got a girlfriend who's
an international celebrity. Yowza!"
"Sandburg, just how much coffee have you had today?"
"Me? One cup."
Jim stared suspiciously at his lover.
"Really. Only one cup, Jim. I swear."
//Yeah, right. One cup the size of Alaska.// "Tell me another story,
Chief."
They made it to the empty check-in counter several minutes after
everyone else. Jim handed their tickets and identification to the agent,
waiting while she assigned seats, printed their boarding cards and processed
the obligatory ream of paper that allowed him to
transport his firearm. Afterwards, they joined Simon, Daryl, and the
rest of the crew in the seating area.
"Well!" Blair said enthusiastically, clapping his hands
together. "Another great vacation! Another chapter in the life of Major
Crimes closed. Bad guys defeated, good triumphs over evil, and now we
can all ride off into the proverbial sunset, eh guys?"
Accustomed to Blair's enthusiasm, everyone laughed as he mimed
galloping on a horse towards an imaginary sunset.
"Sunset? Sandburg," Simon said incredulously, "It's dark
outside. Besides, I wouldn't ride off into any sunset with you."
"C'mon Simon, where's your imagination? Just think -- a galloping steed,
wind in our hair -- or my hair anyway," Blair reached out to put his
arm around Simon.
Predictably, Simon shrugged the arm away. "I am not your 'pal'
Sandburg."
"Hey! I got you together with Elena! I invited you on this trip! And
I do most of Jim's paperwork." Blair ticked off each point on his
fingers. "You, Captain Simon Banks, should be nicer to me."
"Yeah, Captain. Let up on Hairboy!"
Simon considered for a moment. "Sandburg, Jim is at least getting a second
date out of the deal. All I get is from you is grief."
"What, Simon? You want a slice now, too?"
"Whoa! Back off Captain," Jim said quickly, smiling. "This one's mine!
Get your own."
"Ellison!" Simon glared. "Give. Me. A. Break. The pony-tail's okay, but
I like'em taller, a lot less hairy, and a helluva lot more
female!"
"Hey! I am not short!" Blair protested with dignity. "I'm -- I'm compact!"
"Compact?!" Simon laughed, astonished. "No, Sandburg. You're short!"
He jabbed his unlit cigar at Blair. "Short, with knobby knees and little
stick legs." Simon glowered down at Sandburg, literally
towering over him.
Chest-high and bristling with feigned indignation, Blair poked at Simon's
stomach with his index finger. "Better than a beer gut and lungs like
charcoal briquettes from smoking illegal Cuban
death-sticks!" That said, he wisely grabbed his bags and sprinted for
the gate.
"Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "Ellison, when I catch that partner of yours..."
Jim shrugged and smiled broadly, "Better start running, sir. Even with
a limp, Sandburg's still pretty damn quick on his feet."
Amazing. In a few short months, he'd lost, then regained his
Guide. Fallen in love. Surrendered to the certainty of his feelings.
Rewired his sexuality and come out to his friends and coworkers. The
sky hadn't fallen, his life hadn't gone up in flames, his career
hadn't imploded and his two closest friends were still indulging in their
favorite pasttime of verbal tag.
Yes, all was right with his world.
~~
852 Prospect, #307
Despite his promise of 'forever', Jim had expected the whole effect to
wear off. Expected their lives to become pedestrian, the sex to get stale
and unimaginative. Expected the intense flare of love to burn itself
into embers and then ash. Expected them to drift apart or for their partnership
to shred under the weight of society's
Instead, Sandburg inspired him. Whipped cream, silk ties, the flatbed
of his truck bundled up in sleeping bags and blankets under a
brilliant alpine night sky. Fishing, camping, lazy Sunday afternoons
spent making love in front of a blazing fire. Working cases, dodging
bullets, arguing over sports, politics, music and household
chores. All of it. And, instead of dissolving, their partnership had
become stronger, deeper and more rich. Like the rock candy he'd once
made in high school chemistry class: mix enough sugar with water, and
some new structure -- something solid and pure would precipitate out.
Enjoying a beer before dinner, with Sandburg -- victim of yet another
academic all-nighter -- dozing in his arms, Jim reflected that a more
unlikely love match could scarcely be found. Himself, an aging,
uptight, reticent cop with heightened senses. Blair, his youthful, frenetic
and frighteningly intelligent urban Shaman. Somehow, it all worked together
flawlessly, like flint on steel rather than oil and water. He and Blair
each compromised a bit and life's rough, jagged edges were smoothed away.
Blair sighed and turned in his arms, undisturbed by the drone of the
evening news, looking far cuter than should be possible for a heavy,
snoring lump bristling with razor stubble. Jim smiled and kissed the
top of his head.
"And now, for our technology news...Microsoft announced today that it
has purchased IotaTech, a small New Mexico-based Internet company, for
$28 million."
Blair sat up abruptly, whacking Jim's forehead and sloshing beer in his
face. "No way!"
"Dammit Sandburg!" Jim rubbed his head and wiped spilled beer from his
chin. What a mood killer.
"Are you listening to this?!" Blair demanded.
"I was trying to!"
Blair leaned towards the TV, shushing him.
The TV announcer continued, "IotaTech was in the news earlier this year
for helping federal agents break up an international software piracy
ring. With their assistance, federal and international
authorities were able to capture Canton Winston Charrington, a man wanted
internationally for securities fraud and industrial espionage."
Blair and Jim gaped at each other with amazement.
"Willya look at that?" Dismayed, Blair gestured towards the screen, "Who
says crime doesn't pay?"
"Said former IotaTech CEO and newly minted Internet millionaire,
Benjamin Mitchell, 'We here at IotaTech are understandably excited about
this development. We knew we had a solid product and are
gratified that a forward-looking company like Microsoft has recognized
its significance.' Industry analysts speculate that Microsoft was primarily
motivated by the desire to acquire IotaTech's encryption technology for
its vast product line, including the popular 'Business Suite'."
During the commercial break, Blair restlessly paced the living room,
obviously upset. "And here I thought I was a good bullshit
artist. Commit a crime. Pass 'Go'. Collect $28 million. Sheesh."
Somewhat surprised, Jim stretched out on the couch and said, "I
figured you'd be happy for Rob and her friends, Chief. They all
could've gotten jail time, but the D.A. and the Feds were willing to
cut a deal."
"Well, I am happy that Rob and her friends aren't going to jail. I'm
sure *Daryl's* really happy they didn't go to jail. It's just that --"
He shook his head, seeming distressed. "Nah. Never mind."
"It's just what, Chief?" Jim pressed, rather puzzled. A reticent Blair
Sandburg was nothing if not out of character.
"It's nothing."
"It is too something. So spill it, Chief. After all your 'talk about
your feelings, Jim' speeches, you're not about to squeak out of this
one."
"Okay," Blair said with resignation, sitting down on the coffee table
and putting his face in his hands. "But this will sound really, I don't
know, petty, maybe." One embarrassed blue eye peeked out from between
his fingers.
"Sandburg..." Jim warned, sitting up and leaning against the arm of the
couch.
"Okay, here goes." A deep breath. "I'm jealous," his partner mumbled
to the floor.
"Jealous?" That was probably the last thing Jim expected to hear. "Of
what?"
"Jealous that a bunch of people my age just made $28 million dollars,"
Blair muttered.
"You're kidding, right?" Jim was frankly astonished. Blair had never
seemed to care much about money. As long as he could fix his car, buy
the necessities -- flannel shirts, jeans and rare books -- money didn't
seem to matter.
"No, I am not kidding," he said quietly. "Man, I love anthropology,
but sometimes..."
Intuition flashed. "Sometimes, you wish it paid better, is that it, Chief?"
"Yeah. Right. Exactly."
"Well, Sandburg, police work doesn't pay much, either. Nor did the Army.
So I understand what you mean," Jim said, running fingers
through his remaining hair. He'd seen too many instances where
stressed, cash-poor cops succumbed to the temptation of bribes and allure
of 'unattended' drug money. "You know, though," he said
thoughtfully, "if you and I were to, say, pool our resources, things
could be easier for both of us."
Blair looked up, surprised, "Pool? You mean, as in 'joint finances' and
stuff?"
"Yeah, as in joint finances," Jim agreed. "And powers of attorney. And
shared investments. And co-owned property. That sort of thing."
Blair stared at him a long time, quicksilver emotions chasing
themselves across his expressive face, "James J. Ellison. Are you asking
me to marry you?"
Jim thought for a moment. Marriage? Not legally possible, at the
moment. But, was that what he really had in mind? He'd promised Blair
forever under a starlight summer sky. Did he mean it? Could the story
turn out differently this time? Could he really have a happily ever after?
"Yeah, Sandburg. I guess I am."
His partner smiled, "Really and truly?"
"Really and truly." Jim grinned. Blair's smile was infectious.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
In an eyeblink, Jim found himself flat on his back, pinned to the sofa
and kissed within an inch of his life. "Yes Jim, I'll marry you!"
"Hey," Blair said brightly, when they broke for air, "you know, if we're
ever short for cash, I could always publish my dissertation as a book."
"Sandburg..." Jim threatened darkly. But it was difficult sound
convincing with 153 pounds of euphoric Guide sitting on his chest.
"It'd be a best-seller for sure!" Blair mused, sitting back on his heels.
"Or, hey, I could write a screenplay, sell the movie rights to, say,
John Woo. Maybe get somebody like Bruce Willis to play you? Hair line
is about right. Who could play me? Brad Pitt? Nah, too skinny."
"And too blonde. And Bruce Willis is too short." Jim heaved a long suffering
sigh. "Blair Sandburg. You know, you have got to be the strangest man
I've ever known."
"Yeah, but it's hopeless!" Blair poked his ribs, laughing. "You love
it, man! You know you love it!"
Looking up at his bright-eyed partner, co-author and co-star of this
most recent, crazy chapter of his life, Jim Ellison realized that it
was indeed all very hopeless, very miraculous and very wonderful.
"Yes Blair, I do indeed love it," he smiled. "And most of all, I love
you."
~~
Finis.
~~
comments to: boyd@crl.com
~~
// // => character thoughts
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107
San Ysidro, New Mexico
Monday, May 11
Cascade, Washington
Wednesday, May 13
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Two weeks later
Major Crime
Thursday, July 9
immune to the intensity of his partner's exclusive regard.
Cascade, Washington
Later that night
mid-winter in its chill and he shivered, remembering. The frayed
threads had nearly snapped completely, irrevocably in the icy fountain
outside Hargrove Hall.
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107
San Ysidro, New Mexico
Friday morning, 10 July
Later that afternoon
San Ysidro, New Mexico
The Stables
Midnight
Cascade Towers Hilton
Cascade, Washington
Saturday 25 July
misunderstandings and betrayal? Abruptly, his resolve
strengthened. There were no guarantees in life, but he could do his best;
that's all anyone could do. If nothing else, he suspected that 'forever'
with a guy like Jim Ellison would be one helluva bizarre ride.
Monday 27 July
Tuesday, 28 July
Early Friday morning, August 14
5:52 am
Sentinel-themed limericks. //How the hell can there be that many
risque words that rhyme with 'Jim'?//
Hertz Rent-A-Car counter
Later that day
Later that afternoon
The Lazy K Ranch
4:45pm
The Santo Domingo Suite
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107
Rancheros Bar and Grill
Later that night
The Lower Valley
9:30 pm
Suite #105
10:43 pm
Suite #105
Early Saturday morning, August 15
6:17 am
The Stables
9:45 am
chatting with Megan and Rafe about the origin of the Appaloosa horse,
of all things. How had one short, long-haired, male anthropologist
transformed his life so completely?
Albuquerque, NM
10:00 am
Somewhere along the trail
Fucked". 'Poker-faced Ellison' probably had no such problem.
Barbecue
Later that Night
Sunday, August 16
5:35 am
Reception Lobby
6:45 pm
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107
9:45 pm
The Generalife Garden
10:38 PM
Monday, August 17
Suite #109
12:22 PM
Outside Room #110
Tuesday, August 18
Early morning
Dining Room
Tuesday, August 18
8:55 am
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107
6:49 PM
Somewhere along the South Fork Trail
4.5 miles south of Coopersville
Wednesday, August 19
8:22 am
Santo Domingo Suite, #105
4:45 PM
Lobby
5:54pm
Albuquerque, New Mexico
8:25 PM
The Loft
6 months later
expectations. Unlike ever relationship before, it hadn't happened that
way.