Hot Time in Chicago

by Cindy Combs

  "I hang out with Jim. How'd you think it happened?"

  Suddenly, the shooting stopped as police men and women poured out of the door and surged in from both sides. For a few moments, the people in blue dashed around them. Ray, with Fraser right behind him, rushed up to where the young men lay. "Are you two all right?"

  "Blair cut himself when we were shoved behind the planter," Sam told him.

  "It's not that bad," Blair denied as Fraser knelt beside him to look at the wound.

  "How'd you get shoved behind the planter?" Ray asked.

  "Well, this guy " Sam turned around. "Blair, did you see where that guy who rescued us went?"

  Blair hissed as Fraser gently probed the cut. "No, he was right here a minute ago."

  "We'll worry about him later," Ray decided. "Now, who would be shooting at you two?"

  "Well, anyone who'd want to take a shot at me should be dead or still in jail," Blair replied. "Besides, they'd be more likely to look for me in Cascade than Chicago."

  Ray turned to his suspect. "What about you?"

  "I don't know," Sam replied thoughtfully. "Most of the people I've ticked off live in Bosnia, or Central America, or are in jail."

  "Sounds like you two tick off a lot of people," Ray commented, studying them.

  Blair tried to shrug, but Fraser kept a tight hold of his arm. "Well, Sam's a photo-journalist, I'm a police observer who rooms with a cop, and our father is an ex-DXS agent. Take your pick. But may I point out that no one was shooting at us until Sam found this bomb."

  "The kid makes a good point." Lt. Welsh had walked up to hear Blair's little speech. "Mr. Malloy here may know or have seen something our bomber doesn't want him to tell. Until we know more of what is going on, I suggest we place Mr. Malloy and his brother under protective custody."

  "After we have a physician attend to Mr. Sandburg's arm," Fraser added.

  "Great," Blair muttered. "In Chicago less than three hours, and I already need a trip to the emergency room and then to a safe house. Jim and the guys are never going to let me live this down." Fraser didn't say a word as he helped the anthropologist up, but there was an amused twinkle deep in his eyes.

  A couple blocks away from the chaos, Chuck finally caught up to Gary swiftly walking away. "Gary, you are DEFINITELY nuts! You could have been killed!"

  "Well, at least Sean Malloy wasn't killed," Gary retorted. He unfolded the newspaper for his friend to see:

  Shooter Targets Wedding Bomber Suspect at Police Station

  Suspect under protective custody; Police suspect conspiracy

  "This way, if he's innocent, he has a chance to prove it."

  Chuck sighed. "Okay, but try not to do that again. My heart can only take so much. Now, can we go back to the restaurant and solve our waitress problem?"

  "No, next I have to save an elderly man from falling into the river," Gary stated as he quickened his pace.

  Chuck threw up his hands and glanced skyward. "This is worse than trying to make an appointment with Superman!" he complained as he chased after his friend.

  Safehouse, a few hours later

  Diefenbaker trotted through the kitchen, his toenails clicking across the tile floor. The thudding of Fraser's boots followed in the wolf's wake. As they entered the livingroom, Blair looked up from the coffee table where he worked. Softly he asked, "Are we secure?"

  Fraser nodded and sat in the chair across from the anthropologist, the wolf picking a spot in front of the fan. "Ray has gone back to the precinct to further investigate the bombing. How is your brother?"

  Blair shrugged as he closed the laptop. "He's taking a nap. He didn't get much sleep the last two nights and woke up with a headache. Plus all this is bothering him more than he'll admit."

  "It is hard for an innocent man to be accused of a crime," Fraser agreed. He glanced at the laptop. "What are you working on?"

  "Just going over some notes," Blair replied.

  Noting the slight edge in Blair's voice, Fraser casually asked, "For your police subculture research, or your Sentinel research?"

  Blair paused a moment, then sighed. "I said I wasn't working on the Sentinel stuff any more."

  "My mistake." Fraser leaned back to study the young man. It wasn't hard to realize his friend was lying. He continued, "Though I remember how enthusiastic you were on the topic. You were certain that a full-fledge Sentinel with all five senses heightened was out there. It seemed that finding him or her was your version of finding the Holy Grail."

  Blair was examining the coffee table more intently than the wood surface warranted. "Sometimes goals change."

  "True," Fraser admitted. "In my experience, however, a person searching for a Holy Grail will not stop until he finds it." Blair flinched slightly. Fraser continued, "Though sometimes, finding the Holy Grail places the Grail itself in danger."

  Blue eyes wide with fear locked onto blue eyes. "It would be wrong to destroy what you have searched for by revealing it to others."

  "Agreed," Fraser responded. "A wise man would protect it by keeping its existence a secret."

  Blair slowly released his breath as he realized what Fraser meant. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. If I had been your Grail, I, too, would have preferred to remain anonymous. It is the least I can do."

  Blair relaxed, then changed the subject.

  In the nearby darkened bedroom, Sam laid staring at the ceiling. He had been awakened by Fraser's entrance, thus overhearing the disturbing conversation. Blair's research ISN'T on police subcultures? What is this Holy Grail called a Sentinel about? Why does it need to be kept a secret? Why hasn't Blair said anything about something so important to him?

  Taking a deep breath, Sam pulled his thoughts together. Okay, by the sound of it, this Sentinel thing is a person, a person with heightened senses. What does that mean? Heightened senses would mean that a person could sense things other people can't. Does that mean ESP? No, the mountie said all five senses. That means we're probably talking about the regular senses of sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste. So, such a person could, say, smell something other people couldn't. Could that person smell smoke sooner than others? That would be handy in case of a fire. Could that person smell something better than others, like a perfume tester? Perhaps track a smell like a bloodhound can? That would be useful as well. Yet, how easy would it be for a sensitive person to be overwhelmed, like those who become ill from strong perfume or chemical odors? Would that danger multiply by five if all their senses were heightened? Is that what Blair and Fraser meant by putting this person in danger?

  No, Blair is worried about revelation. So much so, he's changing his research. Who would he protect to that degree?

  Then all of a sudden, it hit him. There was one person Blair would most definitely protect to that degree. Thinking back, the pieces began to fall into place. He remembered Jim lightly feeling his broken arm. Not even the doctor had been that gentle. It had been Jim who had somehow known before Blair that Dad was Blair's father. It had also been Jim who had found them in the vast Colorado wilderness in the middle of a snowstorm. Who had somehow managed to stay awake in a cabin filled with ether. Who had found a bomb in that ghost town without entering the building it was in. Oh God, Ellison is Blair's Sentinel. Now what do I do?

  Chicago PD, 27th precinct.

  Ray sat at his desk, going over all the reports. Now that his possible suspect was no longer a suspect but a potential victim, he had to rethink the whole case. He was going to have to talk this over with Fraser again. He was amazed at how much bouncing ideas off someone like the Canadian helped to clear his own thinking.

  "Hey, bro, I got the info on the Sandburg guy," Frannie declared.

  She sat on a corner of his desk. Well, the desk he was keeping warm for her real brother. Ray leaned back to look at her. "Wha' cha got?"

  "His story checks out. He teaches at the University there, working on his doctorate in anthropology. A couple years ago, he started working with the PD."<
br />
  "How is he working for them? Anthropology doesn't usually top the list for police department recruitment."

  "Well, I was told different stories. You know, one person said something about him being an observer. Another said he's gathering data for his degree. A third told me he works as a consultant for the Major Crimes division, or something like that. What they all agree on is that he rides exclusively with a Detective James Ellison." Frannie smiled, remembering the vivid description the secretary had given her of the hunky Ellison. "Apparently, Det. Ellison is an ex-Army Ranger who was one of the best but coldest cops in Cascade before Sandburg joined him. Now, they say he's almost friendly and considered THE best detective in the city, perhaps even the state. Since they figure Sandburg has something to do with it, nobody questions why he's still riding with Ellison."

  "Hmm," Ray murmured, not realizing he was sounding like Fraser. "I wonder what he's like in person?"

  "It sounds like you're going to find out," Frannie stated.

  "Huh?"

  Frannie leaned closer as she told the juiciest bits she had dug up. "I was told Ellison just about hit the roof when he found out that Sandburg and Malloy were shot at today. Apparently, a perp nearly drowned Sandburg a few weeks ago. The EMT's even pronounced him dead at one point, but I guess they managed to revive him. Isn't it amazing what modern medicine can do nowadays?"

  Ray blinked at her impatiently. "Ah, what is your POINT?"

  Frannie rolled her eyes, but continued, "Anyway, Ellison didn't take it well and has been rather protective of Sandburg ever since."

  "Can understand that," Ray commented, wondering how he'd feel if Fraser was killed. How much would it hurt to lose the mountie who had become a true friend? For that matter, how in the hell would he explain it to the real Ray Vecchio?

  "Anyway," Frannie continued, "Ellison skipped the first plane headed for Chicago and should be here soon."

  "Skipped?" Ray raised his eyebrows at her. "Do you mean 'hopped'?"

  "Skipped, hopped, same diff," Frannie waved off her misuse of slang.

  Ray sighed. At least he could usually figure out which slang term Frannie had mangled. Poor Fraser didn't know the original phrase half the time. He glanced back up at the Civilian aid. "Could you get a picture of this Detective Ellison? He'll certainly want to see his partner and I want to make sure I take the right guy out to the safe house."

  "No prob, bro," Frannie replied as she turned back to her desk.

  A few minutes later, Sister Steve entered the precinct. Coming straight from her Junior High boys softball game, she was dressed in jeans and the team's T-shirt. Only her head wear indicated that she was a nun. "Excuse me, could you tell me where I might find a Det. Ray Vecchio?"

  Frannie was about to make a wise remark until she took a good look at the visitor. "Well certainly, Sister. Ray is over in the corner by the door."

  "Thank you," Steve responded politely. She walked over, then paused a couple feet from the desk. Is that? Yeah, that looks like him But I thought it was Ray Vecchio I was looking for, not Kolwalski. She quickly covered the remaining steps. "Ray?" she asked hesitantly, noting that the name plate did indeed say Vecchio.

  Ray glanced up, his blue eyes widening in surprise. "Steve?" He stood up and walked around the desk, giving the girl from the old neighborhood a big hug.

  "Vecchio?" Steve whispered in his ear, still puzzled.

  "A life depends on me being Vecchio," Ray whispered back.

  "Gotcha," Steve returned before stepping back. If Ray needed to be someone else, Steve trusted him enough to play along. She'd have to remember to warn Frank.

  "So," Ray said out loud, "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

  "I understand you are working the bombing case at St. Michael's," Steve replied. "Frank and I pulled together as much information as we could that might help you."

  "Great!" Ray responded enthusiacally. "I could use some help right now." He pulled out a chair for Steve.

  "First off, is Sam okay?" Steve asked. "We'd heard something about a shooting?"

  Ray quickly explained what had happened, concluding, "We have him and his brother staying at a safe house."

  "Good," Steve sighed. "Sam's a great guy. This whole thing that he might be the bomber was ridiculous."

  Ray smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I was figuring that out right before the shooting. Only now, I not only got no suspect, I've got someone who's a target."

  Steve shook her head, then laid a thick manilla folder on Ray's desk. "Hopefully, these should help."

  Ray glanced at them questioningly. "What are these?"

  Steve began ticking the items off her fingers. "A list of everyone who was in the church this morning and whatever background we know of. A list of the events being held at St. Michaels this weekend. A list of everyone who might have a grudge against Father Frank and I, a "

  "What?" Ray interrupted. "Why would anyone want to hurt you or Father Frank?" Even a priest and a nun have people out to get them? What's the world coming to? Steve looked sheepish, but was saved from answering when two men walked up.

  Ray glanced up to Welsh, noting the large man with a military bearing next to him. "Lieutenant?" he asked, slowly standing up.

  "Det. Ray Vecchio, this is Det. James Ellison with the Cascade PD. He's friends with our former suspect's brother." Welsh couldn't believe he'd just said all that and hoped it made sense. This case was getting more and more complicated all the time.

  Ray held out his hand, making another survey of the man who was also sizing him up. Did he want to know what the best of Cascade thought of him? Probably not. "Sandburg's roommate the cop, right? He mentioned you."

  Jim nodded in acknowledgement. "Your lieutenant said he and Sam are all right?" He tried not to sound as anxious as he felt.

  Remembering what Frannie had said, Ray gave him a reassuring smile. "They're both fine. We have them tucked away in a safehouse until we have an idea of what's going on." He noticed the other man relax slightly. Frannie was right. The detective had been worried.

  Jim chuckled. "You managed to get both of them to stay still in one place? That is an accomplishment."

  Ray's smile widened, then he saw Welsh's questioning look at Steve. "Oh, this is Sister Stephanie from St. Michael's. She's brought me some info on who all was at the church this morning." Steve quickly shook hands with the Lieutenant and Ellison.

  "Would you mind some help?" Jim asked. While he realized that this wasn't his turf, Jim desperately wanted to do something to insure the safety of Blair and Sam.

  "Would love some," Ray replied, holding up the thick folder Steve had just brought.

  "Why don't you take it into my office," Welsh suggested. "There's more room there."

  Safehouse, two hours later

  Jim quickly surveyed the area as he and Vecchio walked up to the apartment building. He swiftly noted the unmarked car with two men on the street, the barred lower windows, and other security measures. While the former covert operative could see potential weaknesses, he believed that they would be enough against this sniper, whom Jim suspected was an amateur. It would be when Sam and Blair left the building that he would have to be on alert.

  Focusing his hearing, he filtered out sounds until he found the calm voices of the younger men talking with a third, unfamiliar voice. Jim relaxed slightly. Recently, he had been forced to realize just how much his young friend and guide meant to him. He was also growing quite fond of Blair's new-found brother. He didn't like the idea of anyone taking potshots at either of them.

  He took another glance at the Chicago detective. While simple in manner and speech, Jim sensed the younger man had the street smarts and the compassion to make a good cop. A little low on the self-esteem, perhaps. But earlier when he'd gone for a Coke, Jim had overheard something between the nun and the detective about a divorce. That could do it. Jim knew how much a divorce could hurt one's self-worth.

  Ray glanced at the quiet man beside him, wondering
what he was thinking. Cascade's best hadn't said much since they had picked up the food. The visitor had been great in sorting through all the paperwork Sister Steve had brought, but it wasn't hard to see where his cold reputation came from. And here I thought Fraser could be a stiff. Must be the military training.

  After a nod at one of the men guarding the hall, Ray led Ellison to one of the doors half-way down. Knocking, he quietly announced, "It's Ray."

  The door open slightly, then moved back further to admit Ray and his companion. Jim was surprised to see a man in a RCMP uniform on the other side. But before he could comment, he heard the voice he'd been worried about.

  "Hey Jim!" Blair called out as he peeked around the wall. "What are you doing here?"

  The first real smile Ray had seen on the detective's face slowly appeared. "Because I'm suppose to stay between you and the bullets, remember?" He walked over to his friend and guide, gently lifting the arm with the bandage.

  Blair chuckled. "That's just a small cut from some glass, and I thought the bullet-protecting was just in Cascade."

  "You and Sam attract trouble no matter where you are," Jim pointed out as he gently cuffed his friend on the head. He caught the whiff of a very strong dog odor just before a white and cream canine trotted around the corner. "Is that a wolf?"

  "Half wolf," Blair corrected. "This is Diefenbaker." Dief took a sniff at the bags Jim was carrying then headed towards Ray, hot on the trail of the eggrolls.

  Jim glanced into the living room and stepped towards the other young man. "How are you doing, Sam?"

  Sam shrugged, uneasily meeting Jim's eyes. The concern he saw there reminded him that this was his friend, in fact his brother's best friend, who had saved his life more than once. "I'm okay."

  Jim gently gripped Sam's shoulder. "We'll get this sorted out," he assured him, his fingers rubbing the tight muscles he felt there. Then he turned to set the sacks he carried in the other arm on the coffee table.

  He felt the tension in me. Sam then forcefully shoved his suspicions out of his mind. This is Jim Ellison, as I have always known him. He isn't going to bite me or grow three heads. I know all I need to know. "What did you guys bring?"