Rating: PG-13

Category: Case Story/Drama

Series: 4th in "Daedalus" Series

Warnings: Caveat Lector, but it's really not that bad.

Notes: This series began a week or so after "Murder 101," and will continue through the fourth season. I now have 15 stories planned for the series.

Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own them, I'm just playing with them. The only characters I claim are David Noble, Tracey and Amy West

* * * *

From "Daily Variety," Thursday, April 22, 1999:

A NEW "DEAL" IN PRE-PRODUCTION

"Fans of the 1970's cop show Braddock's Way rejoice! A new chapter

in the life of Private Investigator Ben Braddock is set to begin filming

May 30 in Los Angeles and Cascade, Washington."

see page 17.

* * * *

Blair Sandburg forced open bleary eyes, blinking against the harsh florescent desk lamp shining into his eyes. He picked up his head, felt something on his cheek. Blair reached up and pulled an empty granola bar wrapper off of his face.

"Gross," he muttered, tossing the wrapper into his over-filled wastebasket.

He glanced around his office, trying to remember falling asleep here and failing. Blair checked his watch—after eleven. The last few days had really gotten to him. Things always went crazy around Rainier when Easter Break set in. It was often a last chance for professors to give tests before finals, thereby infuriating students who just wanted to look forward to a long weekend. Blair was looking forward to it, too. Classes were canceled Friday, Monday and Tuesday, giving Blair a break from one chapter of his jam-packed life.

In fact, most students and professors were already gone by this hour. Blair glanced down at the stack of essays he'd been reading, wondering why he'd turned down that offer to accompany six other TA's to Vancouver for the weekend. He flipped through the essays with one finger—only four to go. He'd hoped to have them done before he left.

"Screw it," he said, shoving the essays aside. They were for his Tuesday/Thursday class, so they would keep until next week.

Blair shoved a stack of ungraded tests into his backpack and reached for the light.

A piercing scream echoed down the hall, abruptly cut off an instant later. He dropped the pack and barreled out of his office. In the hallway Blair paused to listen. He heard shuffling sounds down the hall to the right and sprinted in that direction.

He followed the sound to girl's bathroom. Sheets of paper were scattered around the hall. Blair shoved the door open. An auburn-haired girl was backed up against the wall by a man in a ski mask. One of the man's hands was under her skirt and the other over her mouth. Both heads swiveled in Blair's direction. The girl attempted a muffled scream.

"What the hell—?" Blair shouted.

The masked man shoved the girl into an open stall, eliciting a painful shriek as she hit the toilet. He dove at Blair, catching the smaller man in the chest. They both tumbled backward into the hallway, the back of Blair's head slamming into the floor as they fell. Bright bursts of color distorted Blair's vision. He missed the fist that slammed into his jaw.

Blair's mind swirled. He was vaguely aware that the man was gone, footsteps receding down the hallway. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. The world came back into semi-focus, bringing a headache with it. Blair rubbed his sore jaw as he sat up and scrambled back into the bathroom.

"Hello?" Blair asked.

He crawled over to the last stall, not trusting his wobbly legs to carry him. The girl was still sitting where she'd been thrown with arms wrapped around her legs, her head resting against the porcelain toilet. Soft sobs wracked her body.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Her head nodded yes, but she didn't look up.

"Listen, I'm going to call the police," Blair said. "Do you know who that was?"

No.

"Did he have a weapon?"

Another shake.

"Hey," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "It's okay."

She finally looked up, her brown eyes brimming with tears and shame. "He touched me," she said, breaking into deeper sobs.

Blair's heart went out to her. He moved closer and gathered the terrified student into his arms. She held tight, her tears soaking his flannel shirt. Blair softly stroked her hair, as he couldn't do for another friend so many months ago.

~*~*~*~

Megan Connor strode through the Anthropology Building, allowing the sound of various voices to guide her in the right direction. She'd never actually been inside the building, only outside by the fountain. Megan made a left turn and almost ran into a campus security guard.

"CPD," she said, flashing her badge at the weary-looking man.

He moved aside and let her pass. The circus was located at the far end of the corridor. Two more campus security guards were milling about. An EMT knelt over Blair—who sat cross-legged on the floor—examining the back of his head. Jim was overseeing the process, saying something she couldn't make out. The second EMT spoke to a girl against the far wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around her body. Officer Wendy Johns stood nearby, listening to the girl as she spoke.

Wendy looked up and spotted Megan. Megan walked over, offering Jim a nod.

"What happened?" Megan asked.

"Sarah Loman," Wendy said. "She was looking for a photocopier to Xerox some flyers for a party. Said a guy in a mask came out of nowhere and shoved her into the bathroom. He was trying to molest her when Blair burst in. He got his head pounded on for his trouble, and the guy took off."

Megan glanced down at Blair as the medic applied a small bandage to the back of his head. A rosy welt was rising on his jaw. Blair caught her eye and smiled. She forced herself to smile back.

"But Sarah's okay?" she asked.

Wendy shrugged. "She's scared and embarrassed, but yeah."

"Connor?"

Megan turned toward Jim's call and walked over to him.

"Did you find anything?" Megan asked Jim. "Any fibers or hairs? Something?"

Jim measured his reply. "It's a public bathroom that hasn't been recently cleaned," he said gently. "There are hundreds of hairs and fingerprints, and no way to separate them. The suspect was wearing black clothes and a black ski mask. Sarah barely heard his voice and, so far, there aren't any other witnesses."

"So hoping we can ever catch this guy is a lost cause," Megan said. The idea that this was happening again infuriated her.

"You know we'll all do what we can," Jim said.

"Right," Megan said. "I'll go tell Sarah that." Feeling foolish for her anger, yet somehow justified in it, she spun on her heel and walked back across the hall.

~*~*~*~

Jim flipped through the thin case report, wishing a lead would jump up and bite him. No such luck. That morning Megan had agreed to take herself off the case. Given what little they even had to go on, it was the best move. She and Boomer had a home invasion that was keeping them busy.

He glanced over at Sandburg. The younger man was hunched over his own desk, concentrating on a pile of tests.

"Hey, Blair?"

Jim and Sandburg looked up simultaneously. Jeremy Raines, the department's youngest photographer, strolled into the bullpen. A manila folder was tucked under his right arm. Jeremy and Blair had similar tastes in dress, but were physical opposites. It was almost comical when Blair stood up, his shorter frame dwarfed by Jeremy's lanky six-foot six-inches.

"Hey, Jeremy," Sandburg replied. "That them?"

Jeremy grinned and handed over the folder. "Yep."

As Sandburg opened the folder, Jim tried to see what he was looking at. From this angle it was impossible to get a good look. Not that he wouldn't see them sooner or later.

"Thanks, man, these are awesome," Sandburg said.

"I gotta run, Blair," Jeremy said, weaving his way back out of the bullpen. "Catch ya later, man."

Jeremy was gone before Blair had a chance to respond. Jim watched his partner expectantly. When Sandburg's attention stayed riveted on the contents of the folder, Jim cleared his throat.

"Hey, Darwin," Jim said. "Is it a secret?"

Sandburg looked up. "Oh, hey," he said, bouncing over to Jim's desk. "You gotta see these, man. Jeremy went to visit a friend in Los Angeles last weekend and got some great photographs of the Aztec exhibit at UCLA."

That was all the information Jim needed. "Thanks, Chief, but I'll pass."

Blair just shrugged. Crossing to his desk, Blair bumped into David Noble as he entered the bullpen.

"Sorry about that," Sandburg said.

Noble cocked an eyebrow and smiled. "Don't let it happen again, Shorty," he joked. "I'll have to smack you around."

Sandburg feigned horror, backed up against his chair.

"Hey," Jim said, joining in. "Nobody abuses the kid but me."

"You know what?" Blair said, throwing his hands up. "I'm disowning all of you. Right now."

Noble laughed. "You might want to wait until after Sunday," he said.

"What's Sunday?" Sandburg asked.

"Easter, genius," Jim said.

Sandburg made a face. "Thank you, Jim. I'm so glad you're here sometimes." He looked at Noble. "Why Sunday?"

"Because I am opening my apartment for Easter dinner," Noble explained. "And before you start, I am an excellent cook."

"Is that why you burnt a can of tomato soup last week?" Megan asked as she approached the group.

Noble looked around in a state of mock bewilderment. "Did you guys hear that? Sounds like someone who dropped her gun into the river four days ago."

Sandburg snorted.

Megan bit her lower lip and pivoted on her heel. "See you guys," she said as she walked away.

"Dinner on Sunday," Noble called after her.

"I'll be there," she yelled back, ducking into the break room.

"Big group coming?" Jim asked.

Noble shook his head. "Just six of us," he said. "Daryl is with his mother, so the captain will be there. Rafe is going to his girlfriend's—"

"Fiancee," Blair added.

"His fiancee's house," Noble finished. "Joel's with his family. Add Henri to our mix and that's us."

"Should we bring anything?" Jim asked.

Noble grinned wickedly. "How do you get along with apple pie?"

~*~*~*~

"So when are you setting a date?" Henri asked as he steered his car down Lakeshore Drive.

Rafe groaned at the latest in his partner's never ending string of questions. He was tempted to say they hadn't as he had done the last twenty-six times H had asked the same question in the month since his engagement. But last night he and Tracey had finally agreed on a day.

"August 8th," Rafe replied. "It's a Sunday."

"You're wedding date is August 8th?" Henri asked.

"Yes, H, it is."

Henri laughed. "So why get married in August?"

Rafe shrugged, staring out the window as urban Cascade whizzed by. "It gives us three and a half more months to plan. She has an amazing number of relatives that want to come to this."

//And I don't have any, // Rafe thought. He could feel Henri's eyes on him.

"You gotta huge family in the department that wants to come," Henri said, swatting the back of Rafe's head. "And don't forget that."

Rafe offered his partner a warm smile. "I don't think you'd let me."

Henri glanced out the windshield as he parked by the curb. "Ten-Thirteen Lakeshore," he said. "That's the address, right?"

Rafe double-checked a scribbled note. "Yep, this is it."

He looked up at the dilapidated tenement and shivered. It was less than three blocks from the area Dills was shot and killed last month. Major Crime was still smarting from the sudden loss. Being so close to the area again gave Rafe the chills.

"Looks quiet," Henri said.

"Neighbor said she saw someone climbing in and out of a downstairs window," Rafe said. "Hasn't seen the owner, Mr. Sutter, in days."

"Yeah," H said. "Which neighbor."

Rafe saw his point. Most of the adjacent row houses were boarded up and deserted. Only this one and about a dozen others seemed to be occupied…legally, at least. Rafe picked up the handset.

"Central, this is One Adam Seven. Arriving at Ten-Thirteen Lakeshore for possible 459. Over."

<"Copy, One Adam Seven. Central over.">

Rafe dropped the mike and nodded. He and Henri drew their weapons and strode over to the front porch. They climbed rickety steps that almost gave way under their feet. Henri rapped on the door.

"Cascade Police!" Henri yelled.

Utter silence inside. Rafe tried the knob and it turned easily in his hand. He pushed the door open. It squealed terribly on its hinges. A rank odor greeted them, strong enough to make Henri stumble backwards. It made Rafe think of the rotten egg he'd broken open last week, only sweeter.

"Mr. Sutter?" Rafe called. "Hello?"

His voice echoed through the house. Rafe stepped inside first. The front room was empty save a pile of old newspapers and glass bottles. They passed through to a small living room decorated with an overstuffed couch and an amazing amount of Nascar memorabilia. The last room held a grimy washer and dryer set, a basket of unfolded laundry. Everything had several days of dust on it.

Henri started laughing. Rafe spun around to face him. His partner stood in front of a half-open window just above the living room couch.

"What?" Rafe asked, walking over.

"That," H said. He pointed to small paw prints on the dusty windowsill. "Guess we've found our first legitimate cat burglar."

"I'd say so," Rafe said. He coughed. "No other dust down here has moved. But we still haven't found Mr. Sutter."

Henri led the way into the back room, then turned around. A staircase was almost hidden behind a set of shelves overloaded with pornographic magazines. Rafe gazed over the well-worn stash as they ascended the steps.

"Guess this guy was alone a lot," Rafe commented.

At the top of the stairs, a hallway branched left and right. Henri turned to the left. Rafe turned right and picked his way carefully down the dimly lit hall, noting the noxious scent was much stronger up here. A soft, shuffling sound drifted from behind a closed door.

Rafe raised his gun and twisted the knob. It turned easily. He pushed the door inward and stepped inside. A hissing, spitting shadow leapt past him and made a beeline for the stairs. Rafe barely registered the cat. The terrible odor was centered here and something squished on the floor. Rafe looked down and yelped. He backed out of the room, slamming into the wall behind him.

"Shit," he muttered, looking down at his brand-new loafers.

Henri appeared by his side immediately. "What happened?"

"I found Mr. Sutter," Rafe said, feeling ill. He looked up, fixing H with a disgusted stare. "And I stepped in him."

Henri grimaced. He shuffled over to the door and flicked on the light switch. Orange lamplight cast a sickly glow over the dead man. Henri quirked an eyebrow and looked over at Rafe.

"Yeah, you did," H said.

~*~*~*~

Megan tore another crust off her uneaten sandwich and tossed it at the flock of pigeons at her feet. She fed them slowly, enjoying the clear spring day. She had walked two blocks to Angel Park, a small strip of green that was more a glorified garden than an actual park. It had two cement benches surrounded by small trees and flowers. If she closed her eyes and blocked out traffic noise, it was almost like the park near her childhood home in Sydney.

"This seat taken?"

She jumped, dropping a piece of crust before she could break it up. Four pigeons dove in and fought for control. Megan looked up and smiled. "Boomer" Noble hovered over her, smiling back.

"It's all yours," Megan said. She scooted over to give her partner more room.

Boomer sat down carefully, trying not to disturb the birds.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

Megan dropped her sandwich onto its plastic wrapper. She leaned back against the bench, letting shards of sunlight warm her face.

"I keep thinking about Sarah Loman," she admitted.

"Anything in particular about her?" Boomer asked.

She sighed. Sometimes Boomer was more annoying than a therapist. But it was nice to know he cared.

"That she was attacked," Megan said. "That we'll probably never catch the guy that did it. And Sarah has to live with that and move on."

Boomer's hand moved to gently rest on her shoulder, brushing back a few dark curls from Megan's face. "Hey, we got Kro—"

"We didn't get Kroeger," Megan said. "He killed himself before we could. He got us…again."

She quieted as old memories, old pain began to surface. Megan fought hard against tears that came involuntarily, just as they had more than once in the last three months.

"I'm usually fine," Megan said. "Sometimes I just can't forget."

Megan dared to look up. Boomer watched her with a gaze of intense empathy, as if he could sense her sadness, see it from the inside. His emerald eyes glistened with an unspoken connection, something too strong for words.

"We all have things we can't forget," he said softly, his voice deep and soothing.

Boomer slid his arm around Megan's shoulder and she let herself fall against his chest. They sat together, enjoying the warmth and presence of each other's company in a world gone sour. Neither wanted to break the spell.

~*~*~*~

When Simon poked his head out of his office at ten after six and hollered for everyone to "go home and enjoy the weekend," Jim had never been so relieved. A Friday afternoon filled with dead ends and no new leads made for an excruciatingly slow day. He gathered up Sandburg and his papers. With a "See you Sunday," to Noble and the others, they were gone.

"Hey, Jim?" Sandburg asked as they drove out of the parking garage. "Can we swing by Rainier so I can post these grades?"

Jim sighed. "No one is going to be on campus until Tuesday, Chief," he said.

"A lot of freshman are," Sandburg replied. "This is for my 101 and most of those students couldn't get home for a five-day weekend."

"So you want to ruin their holiday by posting lousy test grades," Jim said, only half-serious.

Sandburg caught on. "Yes, Jim. That is my mission in life: to ruin Easter weekend for fifty freshmen."

Jim made a turn in the direction of the university.

"Jim?" Sandburg asked after a short silence. "Can you make apple pie?"

"Not really," Jim said. "But there's a first time for everything."

The Ford truck pulled up in front of the Anthropology building a few minutes later. Sandburg hopped out and grabbed his papers.

"Five minutes," he promised.

Jim set the brake and turned on the radio. He flipped through several stations before finding a classic Santana song. Jim leaned his head against the headrest, trying to decide what he wanted for dinner. He was too hungry to cook. Wonder Burger sounded extremely tempting.

He sat up straight and turned off the truck, his hearing going out in all directions. Jim was sure he had heard….

A girl screamed.

Jim bolted from the truck, tracing the sound to behind the Anthro building. With one hand on his gun, Jim raced past the building. The scream had become a muffled sob, but not too soft for him to follow. He turned a corner and came out in a parking lot. At the far end, shadows moved at the edge of a pool of light cast by a lamppost. One of the shadows abruptly ran, disappearing behind a tall hedge.

Keeping one ear on the receding footsteps, Jim sprinted over to the remaining shadow. A young woman was curled into a ball near the fender of a Jeep Cherokee. Her bare knees were scraped and her clothes disheveled.

"Are you okay, Miss?" Jim asked softly, crouching beside the girl.

She nodded and looked up, her eyes wide. "Detective Ellison?"

"Amy," Jim said, his stomach sinking.

Amy West blinked, her blue eyes filling with new tears. He hadn't seen Tracey's little sister since she acted with Sandburg in a play last fall. Her blonde hair had been shorter then. Rafe was going to shit kittens.

"What happened, Amy?" he asked.

"I had to turn in a paper," Amy said. "He grabbed me and pushed me down. I hit my head." Her voice broke. "He…with his fingers he…then he ran."

Amy broke completely and Jim held her tightly against his chest.

Footsteps. Jim looked up. Two campus security guards were running towards him with Sandburg in tow.

"Call an ambulance," Jim said as the trio neared.

Sandburg recognized Amy and fell to his knees next to them. "Amy," he said.

Jim carefully transferred Amy to a bewildered Sandburg. "He just took off," Jim said as he stood. "Call her sister."

Sandburg nodded. Jim walked around the hedge the attacker had run behind. Footprints cut through the damp grass. He followed them for twenty feet until they disappeared onto a sidewalk. A few damp prints went to the right, then petered out. Jim opened his other senses. The class buildings around him were empty. The nearby dorms were too noisy to filter anything useful. He sniffed the air: grass, cigarettes, sweat, oil, beer from a party.

"Dammit," Jim muttered.

~*~*~*~

Tracey and Rafe arrived at Cascade General less than a minute after the ambulance. Jim and Blair met them in the ER waiting room as the distraught sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law burst in. Tracey looked ready to collapse, supported the entire way by Rafe.

"Where is she?" Tracey asked.

"With the doctor," Jim said. "She hit her head. They want to make sure she doesn't have a concussion."

Tracey lurched away from Rafe and went to stand by the exam room doors.

"We think it was the same guy as last night," Jim said to Rafe. "Amy gave us the same description. Black clothes, ski mask, medium build."

Rafe glared at him with fire in his eyes. "Who is this sonafabitch?" he roared.

"I wish we knew," Jim said, unable to do more for his friend. "I wish we knew."

~*~*~*~

Jim was already dressed and sipping coffee when Blair stumbled out of his bedroom at quarter to eleven. He was exhausted. They had been at the hospital until after midnight the night before. Tracey was in hysterics, furious at everyone that they hadn't caught Amy's attacker. The butt of her rage was directed at Rafe, who only comforted the West sisters as best he could. Blair had spent the wee hours of the morning tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Jim had dozed and heard the fretting cease when Blair finally nodded off around four a.m.

Blair plopped down into a chair and let loose a jaw-cracking yawn. A mug of black coffee appeared in front of him. Blair looked up. Jim smiled down at him.

"If you'd been drunk last night," Jim said. "You'd have an excuse to look like that."

"Your support is touching," Blair said.

Jim sat down, leaning back in the chair. Blair sipped his coffee and watched his roommate.

"What are you up to on this rare day off?" Jim asked.

Blair shrugged, his head beginning to clear somewhat. "Visit Amy this afternoon, I guess. I think Die Hard is on TV tonight."

Jim nodded. He reached for the morning paper, already unfolded and read through. Blair took a big gulp of the bitter brew and put his mug down with a thump.

"What are you thinking, Jim?"

Jim put down the paper, caught. "The spring term is over in a month, Chief."

It struck him then. Blair fought back another yawn and said, "You're thinking about the dissertation, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Jim, I'm not defending it this term," Blair said. "I want to have the summer to edit and polish it, so I won't turn it in until the fall. You've got plenty of time to think about…what to tell people."

"We."

Blair blinked. "Huh?"

Jim grinned. "We have plenty of time. We're in this together, pal."

The phone interrupted with a shrill briiiiiing!

Jim stood and snatched the receiver from the wall. "Yeah?"

Blair downed the rest of his coffee. It wasn't until after he put down the empty mug that he noticed Jim staring at him.

"We'll be right there," Jim said into the phone.

He hung up, his expression mixed.

"What's up?" Blair asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

"They caught the attacker," Jim said.

~*~*~*~

Rainier University

He was sprawled in a bed of marigolds, wearing the black clothes and ski mask. A red slash extended across his throat, ear to ear. The flowers behind his head were stained dark red.

"Is that him?" Jim asked.

Blair looked from the body to Jim. "Looks like him. Same clothes, right size. But she didn't see anything?" he asked, glancing to his left.

A female student was talking to Officer Johns a few feet away. The girl had been on her morning jog when the dark man jumped out of the bushes at her. He'd hit her, knocked her down. Before she could get her bearings, another man had appeared and slit the attacker's throat in one fluid motion. The stranger fled immediately. She hadn't seen his face.

"Instead of a molester," Jim said bitterly. "We're hunting a vigilante killer."

"Seems too easy, doesn't it?" Blair asked. "He attacks three women in two days and suddenly ends up dead."

"Yeah."

Jim caught something in the corner of his eyes. He turned, looked at the far end of the flower bed. His vision telescoped in on a playing card.

"Jim?"

He ignored Blair, walked over to the playing card. It was caught in the rocks surrounding the flower bed, fifteen feet from the body itself. Jim squatted and picked it up. Blair stood behind him, studying the card.

"A suicide king," Blair said.

Jim slipped the card into a plastic bag. "That's weird, isn't it?"

"Someone could have dropped it after a party last night."

"No," Jim said, holding up the bag. "There's no dew on it. It looks and feels brand new."

"But it could still be a coincidence?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded. "Could be." But for some reason Jim couldn't put his finger on, he doubted it was.

~*~*~*~

Jim descended the steps to the living room, straightening his striped sweater. He was never much for religious holidays, but figured the sweater and slacks were the right amount of dressy. He stopped at the foot of the stairs. Something was wrong.

It only took a split second to put his finger on it.

The warm aroma of apples and cinnamon was absent from the loft. He crossed to the kitchen and opened the oven door. The Sara Lee apple pie sat on the top rack…still frozen.

"Sandburg?" he called.

Blair poked his head out of his room, wrapping a band around his ponytail. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember when I asked you to stick the pie in the oven?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Blair said cautiously, stepping into the hall.

"Did you turn the oven on first?"

A blank look stole over Blair's face and instantly melted into horror. He dashed to the oven and peeked inside.

"Crap," Blair muttered. "Can we stop and buy one?"

"What bakery is open Easter Day, Darwin?"

Jim and Blair looked at each other. "Now what?" they asked in unison.

~*~*~*~

David Noble's apartment was actually a converted garage on the back of the Swanson's property, a three-story house in an upper-class neighborhood. A service driveway led around to the garage apartment. The main floor was a tasteful living room/kitchen combo. A bathroom had been built below the wooden staircase that went up to the bedroom. It was a cozy pad, perfect for a bachelor.

David and Megan were busy setting a folding table that had been carefully concealed by a borrowed tablecloth. He'd also borrowed chairs from the Swanson's the day before. David was proud of his place, but it was too small to hold much company. Which explained why this was the first time most of his guests had ever been to his apartment.

"Do you have paper napkins?" Megan asked, straightening the last dinner fork.

"I know I bought some," David muttered. He began rooting around in the kitchen cabinets.

Someone knocked on the door.

"I'll get it," Megan said.

She crossed to the door and opened it. Jim and Blair smiled at her, sheepishly enough to make her curious. Megan invited them in, noting the rectangular box Blair carried.

"Found 'em!" David shouted, coming out from a bottom cabinet with a package of napkins in one hand. He noticed the new guests. "Hey, guys. That the pie?"

"Not exactly," Jim said. "The pie is still at home, frozen."

David chuckled. "Someone forgot to turn the oven on, I take it?"

Blair nodded and handed over the box. "Nothing was open, so we did the best we could to come up with a dessert."

David lifted the box lid and laughed out loud. Inside were two dozen assorted donuts.

"Perfect choice," David said. "Real cop food."

Jim turned and looked at the door an instant before another knock came. Megan opened it. Simon and Henri entered. Henri seemed more chagrined than Blair had.

"This is from Daryl for all of us," Simon said. He handed David a two-foot, ten-pound chocolate rabbit. He gave Megan a bottle of wine. "And this is my contribution to dinner."

"Is that thing solid?" Blair asked, tapping the rabbit.

David hefted it in his hands. "Feels that way."

"I know I said I'd bring rolls," Henri said. "But I kinda overslept."

He held up a can of Pillsbury crescent rolls, still in the can.

Everyone laughed. Megan took the can.

"I'll stick them on a baking sheet," she said.

"Get comfortable," David said. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

David placed the chocolate rabbit in the center of the table, aware that Jim was standing by him.

"How did you domesticate Connor?" Jim whispered.

David glanced over, watching his partner twist the crescent rolls and lay them on a sheet. He shrugged. "Guess we all have hidden talents," he said.

"Hey, Jim," Henri said, walking over.

"Yeah?" Jim said.

"You heard about the dead guy Rafe and I found Friday, right?" Henri asked.

"The one Rafe stepped in," Jim said. "Has he gotten the smell out of his shoes yet?"

"Threw them away," H said. "Anyway, autopsy said Sutter was poisoned. Died from the venom of the South Sea conch. Sound familiar?"

Jim frowned. "Yeah, it does. A couple months ago, what was his name? Remus. He killed himself with that stuff."

Henri nodded. "Dale Remus. That's why I thought you'd be interested. For such a rare substance, it's quite a coincidence that it has shown up twice in the last few months."

"Any relationship between Remus and your man?" David asked.

"None that I can find," Henri said.

"It may just be a coincidence, then?"

"Maybe," Jim muttered. "Or someone is selling the venom around Cascade."

"Boys?" Megan walked over to them. "It's Easter. Can we save the police work for tomorrow?"

A timer shrieked in the kitchen.

"That would be the roast," David said, dashing to the oven.

He opened the oven door and poked the meat with a fork. Perfect. David stood up straight.

"Someone want to pour the wine?" he said. "Dinner's ready."

~*~*~*~

Megan crept up the stairs to the apartment's lofted bedroom. Her head rose above the floor and caught site of a pair of booted feet dangling off the edge of a bed against the far wall. Contrary to the rest of the cozy residence, David's bedroom was as homey as a monk's cell. A dresser and closet occupied the wall opposite the bed. One framed photograph sat on the dresser.

David was sprawled on the bed, one arm across his eyes.

"Your guests are leaving," Megan said.

She stood next to the dresser and glanced down at the framed picture. A young woman with curly black hair and laughing eyes leaned against a pier railing. Her windbreaker billowed open on what must have been a breezy day by the ocean.

"Her name was Emily," David said.

Megan jumped and looked over at him. David was sitting up, his green eyes fixed on the photo. They flickered briefly over to Megan. He smiled.

"I should say good-bye," he said.

It took Megan a moment to realize he meant their friends. He stood up and led the way downstairs. Megan looked at the pretty woman once more and followed him down.

Henri and Simon hovered near the door. Jim sat on the couch, lost in thought, while Blair nibbled on the remains of the chocolate rabbit.

"Thanks again for dinner," Simon said. "I haven't eaten that good since my family reunion in Baton Rouge three years ago."

David shook the captain's hand. "I'm glad everyone enjoyed it. I used to cook a lot more, but it's hard now with just myself."

"I hear that," Simon said. "I do most of my cooking when Daryl's home."

"Hey," Henri said to David. "Thanks, man. Later, Connor."

"Good night, H," Megan said. "Captain."

As the two men left, Megan sat next to Jim. He jumped slightly and looked at her.

"You okay, Jim?" she asked.

"Yeah, just thinking," Jim replied.

"About the case," Megan said.

Jim nodded.

Blair walked over, a smudge of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. "Jim, you ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Megan remained seated while David showed the pair out. She watched them leave, laughing softly at something David said. With a final wave David closed the door behind them. He leaned his back against the door and grinned at Megan.

"It's been a long day," he said.

Megan looked at her watch. "It's only nine-thirty," she teased. "But I suppose that's late for an old man like you."

David quirked an eyebrow. "I feel older than my age sometimes, Meg," he said.

His weary tone struck Megan like a blow. In the three months that they'd been partners, David Noble had always been the solid one, the half of the pair to say 'What's next?' Seeing him lean his weight against the door, every movement betraying his fatigue, unnerved Megan. It was a side of him she'd never seen before.

"You should sit down, Boomer," she said.

David straightened immediately, as if caught in a crime. He walked to the dinner table and began gathering dirty pie plates. Megan sighed at his stubbornness. She stood silently and began to help. When the last dish was in the dishwasher, David snagged the last of the three bottles of wine from the counter. Megan picked up two glasses and they sat down on the couch.

"What should we toast to?" Megan asked as David filled her glass.

He poured the crimson liquid into his own glass and held it up to hers.

"Good friends," David said.

"And better partners," Megan added.

Their glasses clinked softly. Megan drank deeply, letting the bitter liquid warm her belly. She licked her lips and looked up. David was staring into his wine. Megan leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee.

"You okay?" she asked.

His reply was a simple movement. David leaned forward, his lips lightly touching her own. Megan did not move, only thinking to return the gesture at the same instant he pulled away. David sank back against the couch, studying her. He blushed and Megan realized how she must look. Her surprise melted into a soft smile.

"David—"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that. It's just been a while since I felt like, well, you know."

"It's okay," Megan said. "I'm actually a bit flattered. You know you're very special to me, but—"

David groaned and poured himself more wine. "Here it comes."

Megan smiled. "I'm just not sure I'm ready right now."

"Oh, God," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't think."

"Relax," Megan said. "This isn't about Kroeger, not at all. I'm just not very good in relationships. My last few have been disastrous and I value your friendship too much to do anything to ruin that."

David sipped his wine and smiled. "I think I can accept that."

"Boomer, you can tell me to bugger off," Megan said. "But that woman in the photograph? Who is she? You never talk about your past."

A shadow flashed briefly across David's face, but never quite left his eyes. He put his glass on the coffee table and shifted to face Megan.

"Her name was Emily," David said. "We met in Portland five years ago. By our second date I was ready to marry her. I took that photograph the day we went to Seattle to see a tour of 'Cats.' She loved theater."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. "In April of '95, I was doing surveillance on a guy named Tucker Dodds. He was a small-time coke dealer, but he had his fingers in bigger things. I caught wind of those things, and we busted his operation for fifty keys of cocaine and about two hundred grand worth of illegal guns. Only Dodds got away from us.

"I came home around midnight. The door was open. He'd cut her throat." David's voice cracked. "Emily had tried to dial the phone, but she didn't make it. We never caught Dodds."

"David," Megan said, squeezing his hand. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," he said. "So I transferred to the Cascade 5-9. I wanted out of detective work for a while."

"And the transfer to Major Crime?" Megan asked. "Another step?"

He nodded. "And I wouldn't take it back for anything."

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. A small clock chimed ten o'clock. Megan glanced at her watch to verify the hour.

"I should go," Megan said. "It's pretty late."

"Happy Easter," David said.

Megan grinned. "Happy Easter. Partner."

~*~*~*~

"It's the same stuff?" Jim asked. "The conch venom?"

Dan Wolfe nodded. "I'd bet my Jags tickets on it."

Jim looked down at the body of nineteen year-old Dick Meridian, sprawled on the floor on his Bunker Avenue apartment. A dart gun and a shattered vial of liquid sat next to Meridian. A single feathered dart was stuck in the boy's foot.

"The kid was dead before he knew he had an accident," Wolfe said. "What the hell was he going to do with it?"

"I don't know," Jim said. "Meridian was a petty thief. He shouldn't have access to something like this unless he stole it from someone else."

Jim looked around the dreary apartment, hoping for a clue of some kind to reveal itself. "Someone is supplying people with this venom, Dan," he said. "We need to find the source and put a plug in it. This stuff is just too damned dangerous to be out on the streets."

~END~

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