by Beth Manz
Simon pursed his lips and thought about what the kid was proposing. "You know I can't authorize you to ride with Ellison in an unofficial capacity."
"I know," Blair agreed. "But I'm not letting Jim go out alone."
"So you expect me to look the other way, is that it?"
"You've done it before, sir," Jim said.
"Thank you for reminding me of that, Detective!" Simon barked. "And may I remind you of the trouble it's gotten us into!" The two men simply looked at him, silently, with unreadable expressions on their faces. But Simon could tell they were neither intimidated nor repentant. He scowled at them. "What am I going to do with you two?"
"Just let us keep doing what we've been doing all along, sir," Jim suggested, a grin breaching the detective's features.
"Unofficially," Simon summated.
"Unofficially," Jim echoed.
Simon sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Fine!" he growled after several seconds. He pinned Jim with a warning look and pointed at Blair. "But you watch out for him, Detective! I don't want him getting so much as a scratch while he's out there, riding around with you unofficially. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir. We'll be careful, sir," Jim promised.
"Very careful," Blair agreed, grinning widely and bouncing up on his toes.
"Oh, heaven help us," Simon intoned in a martyred voice as he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling.
Part Two
Blair watched as the last of the police cadets filed out of his classroom. He'd finished teaching his two morning courses but instead of heading straight home, he'd decided to hang around for a bit and see if he could meet some of the other instructors he'd be working with over the next several weeks.
Shoving papers into his backpack, he headed toward the small break room at the end of the hallway. As he pushed through the door he saw three police officers standing around the coffee machine, talking quietly. He recognized only one of them-George Mitchell, the officer he'd met at Tom Brayden's funeral. The officer who had made it clear he blamed Blair for Tom's death.
Great! A perfect beginning.
Shifting his pack more comfortably onto his shoulder, he strode inside. The men glanced toward him, their gazes taking him in. Blair smiled uncomfortably under the obvious scrutiny.
"Hey, guys," he said, moving toward them. "How's the coffee here? The stuff they serve in Major Crimes could peel paint off the walls."
"We all know you work in Major Crimes, Sandburg," one of the men ground out. "You don't need to remind us."
Blair stared at the man in stunned silence, then sputtered, "I-I wasn't. I was just trying to make small talk."
"Small talk with the grunts, huh?"
Blair could hear the sarcasm behind the words. He took a deep breath. "You know, I'm just trying to get to know you guys. We're going to be working together for the next few weeks-"
"Yeah, until you go back to your university job, Professor."
"Yes, I am a professor at Rainier," Blair bit out, his own anger beginning to surface, "but I worked damn hard for that job. Just as hard as I work in Major Crimes. I haven't been handed anything, if that's what you're implying."
Mitchell shifted slightly where he stood, his gaze taking in Blair. "Say what you want, Sandburg, but you didn't come up through the ranks to get the job you have here. You haven't walked a beat until you wore blisters on your feet or pulled neighborhood patrol for so long that you know all the kids by name. You've hidden behind your detective friend while I've put cadets on the street who risk their lives every shift they pull. And it's those cadets-the ones who've paid their dues-who deserve that post. Not you." Mitchell stepped up to Blair and glared down at him. "And all your fancy talk won't change that fact."
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Jim glanced up at the sound of Blair's key turning in the door of the loft. A moment later, his partner entered, a scowl pulling down the corners of his mouth. Jim sighed as he took in the unhappy expression on his partner's face, the slumped shoulders. He'd hoped that things would go smoothly at the academy, that their current problems with Collier would not be compounded with any additional ones. But it was pretty obvious that that wasn't going to be the case....
"Not such a good first day, Chief?" he asked sympathetically.
"You could say that," was Sandburg's quiet answer. He tossed his keys into the basket beside the door before moving toward the living area. Dropping down into the chair across from the sentinel, he ran a hand through his hair. "Those cops...." He shook his head. "You know, I've worked in Major Crimes for almost five years without any problems. I guess...I guess I just assumed that most of the other cops would be like you guys."
Jim frowned. "Like what, Chief?"
"Accepting," Blair said simply. "The guys in the department accepted me right away. They didn't hassle or question me. You presented me as your partner and that was that. I was in."
"Well, Chief, I wouldn't go that far. You proved yourself pretty quickly with the way you handled yourself during the Kincaid takeover." Jim leaned forward, resting his arms against his legs as he studied his partner. "So is that the problem? You're not being accepted? It's just your first day. You've got to give it some time."
Blair leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't think time is going to make the difference here, man. These guys...." He let out a long breath, glancing at Jim again. "After I taught my morning classes, I went to the break room. There were a bunch of older, uniformed cops in there and you should have seen the way they looked at me when I came in. You'd have thought I just shot their mother. I got the message real quick-I was not wanted."
Jim pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "I don't know, Sandburg. I've found that most cops are just regular guys. Do you think you could be overreacting?"
Blair shook his head adamantly. "No, man, you weren't there. They did not like me. And you know who was the worst one of all? George Mitchell."
Jim frowned, for with the name came a memory...a memory of George Mitchell standing beside Tom Brayden's casket, George Mitchell informing Sandburg that if he had just remained "dead," Tom would still be alive. Jim remembered the anger he'd suppressed at the time, choosing to believe Mitchell would come to his senses after some time had passed. Obviously, Jim had been wrong....
"It was pretty damn obvious that Mitch still blames me for what happened to Tom," Blair was saying. "And I think he must have talked to all those other guys about it because I got the same kind of vibes from them." He sighed and slouched back in his chair. "This is going to be a helluva long six weeks," he concluded.
Jim leaned back against the sofa and propped one foot up on the coffee table. "But like you said, Chief, not all cops are like that. You have to remember that."
"I know," Blair admitted quietly. "But, I gotta tell you, being in that atmosphere, seeing those rookies and cadets...I could never be a cop. No offense, man."
"None taken. Besides, I wouldn't want you to be a cop."
Blair's eyes widened and he stared at Jim. "What?"
"You heard me. I don't want you to be a cop."
Blair sat forward in the chair and studied his partner. "You've never thought about it? You've never thought I should maybe take some courses or something?"
Again, Jim shook his head. "No, I really haven't. I remember mentioning once that you take firearms training, but it was obvious you weren't comfortable with that. Besides, you haven't seemed to need it."
"You mean that?" Blair pressed, still studying Jim intently. "It never crosses your mind that I'd be a better partner to you if I were a cop?"
"It never crosses my mind," Jim assured him. "You're my partner, but you're also my friend, Chief. And as your friend, I wouldn't want you to be something you're not."
Blair thought on that for a moment, gave Jim a grateful smile, then laughed. "Yeah, now that I think about it I guess it would be like me asking you to give up field work and spend all your time in a classroom, teaching."
&
nbsp; "Hey, I could do that," Jim told him, propping his other foot on the coffee table. He leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. "Sounds positively cushy," he wisecracked.
Blair chuckled. "Uh huh. What subject?"
"You mean what subject would I teach?"
"Yeah."
Jim shrugged. "I don't know."
Blair shook his head and laughed lightly.
Jim lowered his hands and scowled at Blair. "What? You don't think I could teach, do you?"
Sandburg held up a hand and chuckled again. "I'm sure you could."
"Uh huh," Jim drawled out, unconvinced.
"I am!" Blair insisted, grinning widely. "In fact, I even know the perfect department for you."
Jim frowned, unsure. "You do?" he asked hesitantly.
"Absolutely." Blair smiled and gestured around the loft. "Domestic Engineering."
Jim took his feet off the coffee table, leaned forward. "Domestic engineering?" he repeated. "What in the world is that?"
"Fancy name for an old art, Jim. Used to be known as Home Ec." Blair laughed at Jim's feigned look of warning. "With your penchant for neatness and your house rules, you'd be a shoo-in, man. You could even wear your flowered apron."
Jim shot him a scathing look. "And you could close it and hand me that file," he cautioned teasingly after a few seconds, pointing to a manila folder sitting on the far side of the coffee table.
Blair laughed and passed the file over to Jim. "So, what are you working on?"
"Just wrapping up the details on that murder at the fairgrounds."
"The perp's still in jail, right?"
"With two eyewitnesses to the crime, he isn't going anywhere real soon."
Blair nodded then grew silent. "What about-you know-that other thing?"
Jim laid the folder aside and looked at Sandburg. "You mean the thing with Collier," he stated knowingly.
"Um, yeah," Blair replied softly.
"Simon's still working on it. I think he has an appointment with the chief some time tomorrow." He shook his head. "I don't want you worrying about this, Blair. We'll get this cleared up and you'll be back working as a consultant before you know it."
"Maybe so," Blair countered, "but I'm not at the station to be a consultant to every cop there. I'm there for you, man, and that's it. If that ends...." His voice trailed off and he dropped his gaze to his lap.
"What?"
Blair shook his head. "I don't know. I'll go back to being an observer if that's the only way I can stay with you."
"That's not going to happen, Chief," Jim assured him. "I won't let it."
Part Three
Jim Ellison leaned back in his chair and rubbed absently at his forehead. He allowed his gaze to drift to his partner's desk-his partner's empty desk. Glancing at the clock, he realized Sandburg's second class had ended minutes before. Kid's probably on his way home now. Jim let out a frustrated breath.
It had been nearly a week since Blair started teaching at the academy and each day just seemed to be more stressful than the one before...for both of them. For Blair it was the ongoing resentment he faced from the other cops and instructors at the academy. For Jim it was his senses. He hadn't said anything to Sandburg about it yet, but he could feel himself working harder to maintain normal levels on his hearing and his sense of smell. And more than once his vision had blurred out of control.
He was fine in the office, working on paperwork, making phone calls. But out in the field...he had just never realized how much he relied on Blair to keep him on-line and focused. More than once he'd found himself expecting-needing-to feel the light touch of his guide's hand at his back. That touch alone could center him whenever he felt himself slipping. Without it, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to continue functioning in his job.
And he knew things weren't much better for Sandburg. Besides the hassle the other officers were giving him, he was bored. Teaching two classes a day was just not enough to keep him busy. Jim knew he was spending some of his free time working on his sentinel books with Eli but even that wasn't enough to keep him occupied. Blair was used to their routine at the station and he clearly missed it.
"Collier be damned," Jim muttered, "this has to end."
He looked toward Simon's office. He knew the captain was purposely assigning him cases he could handle on his own, thus making the need for Blair's secret ride-alongs unnecessary...at least in Simon's eyes. But that had to change. Blair wasn't just Jim's backup, he was his control. And he needed him.
Jim pushed his chair back, determined to have it out with Simon about all of this. But before he could stand, his attention was drawn to his partner arriving in the bullpen. Jim settled back in his chair and watched as his friend approached his desk, pushed a chair up next to his and sat down.
"Hello, Chief," he greeted his breathless partner. "You run all the way over from the academy?"
Blair dropped his pack to the floor and proceeded to dig through it. "Nah," came his reply, slightly muffled by his bent posture and the mane of hair obscuring his face. "But I did drive over here as fast as I could. Obeying all speed limits, of course," he added dramatically.
Jim chuckled as he watched his partner, his prior anxious mood having dissipated in Blair's presence. "So what made you race over here?"
"Actually," Blair was saying, still bent over his backpack, "I need your help."
"My help? What kind of help?"
Blair straightened in his chair and extended a piece of folded paper in Jim's direction. "With this," he replied as Jim took the paper.
"What is it?"
"It's a note. It was left on my car, stuck under the windshield wiper."
"A note?" Jim smiled. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Some female cadet wants to meet you for dinner. Did she leave her name or is she making you guess who she is?"
"Ha ha!" Blair shot back dryly. He scooted closer and pointed at the paper. "It's not that kind of note, Jim." He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Jim with imploring eyes. "Actually, it's sort of freaky."
Jim straightened in his chair, suddenly serious. "Freaky?" he repeated. Without hesitation he opened the note and scanned it. I'm in trouble and I need to talk with someone I can trust. I've been told you can be trusted. Meet me at the end of Harstens Road at 8:00 p.m. tonight. Alone! I need your help. Jim frowned. "Gets right to the point, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," Blair breathed. "And don't think I didn't notice that whoever wrote this picked the most deserted stretch of road in the entire county." He stared at Jim, eyes searching. "Do you think I should take it seriously? I mean, it could be some sort of joke. After all, those guys at the academy don't like me very much."
Jim shook his head. "I don't know. But I think it needs to be checked out."
Blair pursed his lips in annoyance. "I was afraid you were going to say that."
"You don't have any idea who could have left this?"
"I wish I did, but to be honest it could have been any one of a dozen people." He frowned as he reached over, took the note from Jim, and studied it again. "Believe me, Jim, I wish I could narrow the list of suspects a bit more than that. I'd love to know in advance just who it is I'm supposed to meet."
"Who we're supposed to meet, Chief." Jim looked at his partner. "You're going to this meeting, but you're not going alone. I'm going to be with you."
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The Volvo bumped along the old dirt road, overgrown trees on either side brushing against the small car. It was obvious to Blair that no one had been down this road in a very long time. Whoever sent the note sure wanted privacy for this meeting. Reaching a clearing at the end of the road, Sandburg pulled to a stop and shut off the engine. No other cars were in sight. To him, the place seemed to be totally deserted.
Except I know Jim is somewhere in the woods, watching.
Blair had remained at the station the rest of the afternoon, helping Jim with his paperwork, trying to pretend that things were bac
k to normal. But in the back of his mind, he could still hear Collier's voice, his warning about partnering exclusively with Jim. As a result, he'd been tense as they worked, watching over his shoulder, sure at any moment that Collier would drop in and catch him there.
Jim had tried to make light of the situation, giving him tips on hiding should Collier show up, assuring him he would hear the commissioner long before he darkened the doors of Major Crime. But none of it had helped and an afternoon of working together, something Blair always enjoyed in the past, had ended up leaving him feeling tense, edgy.
When Jim suggested they go out for a quick fast-food dinner before the meet, Blair had jumped at it. The meal had helped but had not been able to totally erase his unease.
Jim had left the restaurant before Blair, heading out to Harstens' Road early so he could position himself in the woods and observe the clandestine meeting unnoticed. Blair glanced at the trees pressing in all around him, but he couldn't see his sentinel.
"Maybe no one will show," he whispered, knowing his partner could hear him. But even as he spoke, he heard the sound of a car approaching from behind. Turning, he watched in his rearview mirror as a dark sedan pulled up and stopped behind his car, blocking him in. A moment later, the driver's side door pushed open and a tall man stepped out. Blair stared in surprise at the figure now approaching his vehicle.
"Jim, it's George Mitchell," he said under his breath, sure the detective was watching everything that was happening but filling him in just the same. He shook aside his surprise, knowing it was time to take some sort of action. "I'm getting out now," he informed his partner. And with that, he opened his door and stepped out.
Mitchell strode toward him, his gaze sweeping the trees all around them. "Where's Ellison?" he asked, stopping before Blair.
"Back at the station," Blair said, lying easily. "I'm here alone-"
"Save it. I know Ellison wouldn't send you out here by yourself." He looked toward the woods again. "Come on, Jim. I know you're here!" he shouted. "You might as well join us!"
Blair turned as a rustling sound reached him from the trees to his left. Seconds later, Jim stepped into the clearing. Crossing to the two men, he stopped beside Blair. "What do you want, Mitch?" he asked without preamble.