Category: Crossover

Rating: Strong PG

Series/Sequel: sequel to "From Out of the Shadow…"

Warnings: Minor spoilers for various episodes. Also for the film "US Marshals."

Note: Takes place two months after FOOtheS, about five weeks before the events in USM

Disclaimer: Jim, Blair and Co. belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. Gerard and the Marshals belong to Warner Bros. I make no money, so please don't sue me.

~*~*~*~

SUNDAY

Cascade International Airport was a bustling din of activity—passengers seeking relatives, relatives seeking the correct gate. Flight attendants desperate to not be late. Small children scared of flying. Flight numbers called over a loudspeaker barely audible above hundreds of voices. In the midst of rushing passengers, attendants, security personnel, and service folk were Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. They stood side-by-side, watching people pour out of the nearest gate.

"You're sure he said Flight 25?" Jim asked, still scanning faces.

"Yeah," Blair replied. He pulled a folded copy of the printed e-mail message out of his pocket. "Arrival time 2:15, East Gate 4."

"There he is," Jim said, pointing into the crowd.

Deputy Marshal Noah Newman stepped out of the tunnel, a black carry-on bag slung over his left shoulder. The young man smiled and waved. His once-long curly hair was growing in quickly, already lying near his collar in tight dirty-blonde ringlets. He looked tanner than when they had first met and slightly stronger. Blair just smiled, pleased to see his friend again after so long.

"Blair, Jim," Noah said as he strolled over to meet them.

"It's great to see you," Blair said. He gave Noah a quick hug.

"Same here," Noah replied. He shook Jim's hand heartily. "You look better."

Jim nodded. "The burns healed really well. Although I'd say not as fast as your little problem."

Noah's hand automatically reached up to touch his hair. "It's getting there. Another few months and it'll be back to normal."

Jim shook his head. "Leave it short. It sheds less," he said, shooting a teasing glare at Blair.

"I do not shed," Blair said, slapping Jim's shoulder. "Noah, do you have any other bags?"

"Nope," Noah replied, hefting the carry-on. "I'll only be here for four days, so I didn't bring much."

"Then let's get out of here," Jim said. "Traffic back into the city is going to be murder."

~*~*~*~

Noah tried not to laugh on the trip back into Cascade. Sandwiched between Jim and Blair in the front seat of the truck made him feel like an amalgam of the two. He imagined they made quite a line-up: Detective, Marshal, and Anthropologist. Noah watched the windshield wipers swish back and forth across the glass, wondering if it was going to rain his whole trip.

"I really appreciate you guys letting me hang out for a couple of days," Noah said. "I start back next week and God knows when I'll get another chance at a visit."

"Not a problem," Blair said.

"Are you looking forward to going back to work?" Jim asked.

Noah thought hard about that one. Ever since his last assignment in Cascade two months ago, Noah had been on medical leave, recuperating from the shot he'd taken to the head. Life in the United States Marshal's Warrants Squad had gone on as usual and Noah had gotten an occasional e-mail from Sam Gerard, detailing their current assignment. Those notes had made Noah homesick for the chase, for the stress and the excitement of tracking fugitives and escapees. He'd spent the majority of his down time with his younger sister on the shores of Lake Michigan, where he'd built up his tan and read a lot of books.

He thought he couldn't wait to get back to work. Then one of Blair's frequent e-mails two weeks ago—detailing a case involving aging actor Vince Deal—had made him realize he'd done very little during his time off. He'd immediately made plans to visit Cascade during his last few days of sick leave; partly wishing he had more time until he went back to Chicago.

"I think I am," Noah finally said. "I miss Cooper and the guys. I miss being on the road."

From their position on the freeway, Noah saw the skyline of downtown Cascade come into view. In many ways it reminded him of Chicago.

"You know," Noah said to Jim. "Cosmo still talks about how you heard that bomb. He calls you the Bionic Man sometimes."

Jim chuckled and shrugged one shoulder. "Just lucky, I guess."

"And I almost forgot," Noah said.

He dug into his duffel bag and produced a plastic bag. Noah reached inside and pulled out a square of plastic mesh. Inside were dozens of rocks that resembled pale gray charcoal. He dangled the mesh bag out in front of him where his hosts could see it.

"Cosmo sent along a little gift," he said.

Blair leaned forward, scrutinizing the item. "What is it?"

Noah grinned wickedly. "Gonzo Air Deodorizer. Guaranteed to eliminate smoke odor from rooms, closets, and clothing."

The radio crackled to life, interrupting their laughter.

<"All units, 211 reported at Mendoza Hardware. 7-5-7 Deerborn Avenue.">

"That's only four blocks from here," Jim said, shooting Noah an apologetic glance.

Blair nodded and picked up the mike. "Dispatch, this is David 152. We are four blocks out. Over."

<"Copy, David 152. Dispatch out.">

Noah leaned back in the seat, smiling. Damn if Blair didn't sound like any other policeman. He watched the outskirts of Cascade rush by. Jim turned off the freeway and, in minutes, parked the truck in front of a run-down hardware store, nestled in a seedy suburb of the city. The windows were covered with ancient, yellowed advertisements and broken bottles littered the sidewalk.

//I guess poor neighborhoods look the same in every city, // he thought.

The trio climbed out of the old Ford truck. A young Hispanic man was hyperventilating in the doorway of the store, bouncing from foot to foot. His eyes were wide and staring and he clutched a baseball bat in both hands.

Jim pulled his badge out. "Cascade Police," he said. "Are you the owner?"

The man shook his head, lowering the bat to his side. "His son, Luis. My father was not here today." He was close to tears.

"My name is Detective Ellison," Jim said. He pointed to Blair. "This is my partner Blair Sandburg."

"And him?" Luis asked, shaking the bat at Noah.

"Deputy Marshal Noah Newman," Noah said, pulling out his own ID.

"A marshal?" Luis asked worriedly.

Noah smiled. "I'm on vacation."

Luis slowly nodded, calming a bit. He turned and led them inside. "A person comes in and puts gun in my face," Luis explained in choppy English. "Say empty the cash register into bag, so I do."

He stopped near the front counter of the cluttered hardware store and pointed up. The three followed his direction, spotting a tiny surveillance camera in the shadows.

"It is broken," Luis said. "Papa meant to fix it, but we have not the extra money now."

"Did you get a good look at the person who robbed you?" Jim asked. "Male or female?"

Luis shook his head dejectedly. "I think male. He wore all black and mask, and I saw no face."

"What about his voice?" Noah asked.

"They talked fake," Luis replied.

Noah frowned. "Fake how?"

Luis scrunched up his brow as he thought. "He spoke not in his real voice, I think. It sounded too deep and the accent was very bad."

"What kind of accent?" Jim asked.

"Scarlet O'Hara," Luis said.

"You mean Southern?" Blair prompted.

Luis nodded his head vigorously. "Yes, that is it."

"How much did they get?" Jim asked.

Luis's eyes squinted and his jaw shook, as if fighting back tears again. "Almost six thousand dollars. All we had."

Noah's heart went out to the young man. It was always hard seeing the effects of a crime on the victims, especially when it so profoundly affected their livelihood. A pair of uniformed officers walked in the door. Jim walked over and began talking to them. Noah glanced around the store. It certainly wasn't much to go on. Unless they found fingerprints, Luis and his father would probably never see their money again.

~*~*~*~

That evening, the loft was awash with the scents of good things to eat. Garlic toast was in the broiler and a large pot simmered on the stove. Noah and Jim busied themselves setting the table while Blair rushed around the kitchen.

"Are you sure it's safe to eat?" Noah whispered to Jim.

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, it is. It's actually pretty good."

Noah made a face. "Yeah, but aren't there certain birds you're just not supposed to eat?"

"What are you whispering about?" Blair asked, stirring the pot. A spicy scent wafted out on a pillow of translucent steam.

"We're debating the pros and cons of eating an ostrich," Noah said, fixing the order of the knives and spoons. His sister was nuts about a neat table.

"Come on," Blair said. "Not you, too. It took me three weeks to convince Jim to try it, but it was worth it. Ostrich meat is not only lower in cholesterol than beef, it's also—"

"Okay, okay," Noah said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I give. I'll eat it."

"That's what I thought," Blair replied. He grasped the pot handles with two oven mitts and carried it to the table.

The timer dinged. Jim crossed to the oven and pulled out a pan of toasted bread. Noah opened the refrigerator and removed three beers—he already felt at home in the loft, more at home than in his own apartment. Of course, he lived in his apartment a total of five weeks out of the year. It always felt more like a hotel room than a home. When all food was on the table, they sat down to eat.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Blair asked, handing Noah the serving spoon.

Noah took the spoon and heaped out a helping of chili. "Not really, I figured whatever came along."

"I have a class in the morning, but I'm free after ten," Blair said.

"If you don't mind," Noah said hesitantly. "I'd like to sit in on your class. See what it is that keeps you from being a cop."

Jim laughed. "That would be his mother," he teased.

Blair stuck his tongue out at Jim. "Naomi *would* throw a fit if she ever caught me in a uniform, but she'd eventually understand."

"After the sedatives wore off," Jim added with a cocky grin.

Blair tossed a piece of garlic toast at Jim's head, which Jim deflected and sent flying into Noah's plate. Chili sauce splattered into his eye.

"Wonderful," Noah said, wiping the sauce away. "They're already throwing things at me."

"Sorry about that," Jim said. "I was aiming at the professor."

"And speaking of which," Blair interrupted. "I think it would be great if you came to class. It's an intro course, so maybe you'll get an appreciation for anthropology."

"We'll see," Noah said. Blair may find anthropology exciting, but law enforcement was Noah's one and only true love. Still, it would be fun to see how the other side lived—so to speak.

The telephone rang and Blair sprang up to answer it.

"Hello?" Blair said. "Hey, Larry…You're kidding." His eyes flickered over to Jim as he listened. "I don't know, but I'll ask—can you hold on one second? I think I have another idea."

Blair covered the receiver with his hand and looked at Noah. "How are you at public speaking?" he asked.

Noah quirked an eyebrow.

"The reason I ask," Blair rushed on, "Is a friend of mine, Larry, he's a Teaching Fellow in the Criminal Justice Department. He had a guest speaker lined up tomorrow, but turns out they guy has to go to court in the afternoon and can't make it. I would have asked Jim, but the last time he gave a speech at Rainier it ended with a smoke bomb."

Noah remembered hearing about that story, involving someone called Brackett. "What would I have to talk about?"

"For about forty minutes," Blair said. "Talk about being a Marshal, working with Warrants, that kind of thing."

"What the hell," Noah said.

"Thanks, man," Blair said. He put the phone back to his ear. "Larry? Instead of a detective, how would you feel about a United States Marshal?"

~*~*~*~

MONDAY

"The physical traits that we think of as belonging to particular peoples often have a much broader distribution," Blair said, casually leaning against the podium of the lecture hall. "And those traits continue well outside the geographic areas in which a 'race' is supposed to exist."

Noah listened to Blair's lecture with less interest than he thought he would. Blair was anything but a boring speaker, but the material was substantially less than exciting. He let his eyes wander around the classroom, taking in the mix of students in this 100-level course. About fifty students were seated in the lecture hall, three-fourths of who were standard nineteen and twenty year-olds. Half a dozen students, all female, were around Noah's age. An older gentleman—probably forty-five—sat in the row across the aisle from Noah. Most were taking notes, others passing notes, still others staring blankly ahead.

All in all, he didn't miss college one bit.

To his left, two rows down, a pretty face caught Noah's eye. She was looking to the right, her face tilted slightly toward him. Short, auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was probably slim, but baggy sweats hid her figure well. Even at the slight angle, there was something unusual about her eyes, a guarded sadness that intrigued Noah. He was vaguely reminded of a basketball game he'd attended many years ago with his parents. His Uncle Jonathan had been there, too.

The girl looked familiar, but Noah was sure he didn't know her. He followed her gaze across the room, but saw nothing of interest on the far wall.

"Genetically inherited traits often have a clinical distribution," Blair said. "I know someone out there wants to share with us what exactly that means."

The lecture hall was silent as unknowing students avoided eye contact, hoping to not be called on.

"Is it safe to assume no one actually read the chapter?" Blair asked with a faint smile. "And you're all feigning interest and understanding in order survive yet another painful lecture?"

Several students chuckled. After a short pause, the older gentleman lifted his hand.

"Paul?" Blair asked.

"Clinical distribution is a continuous, progressive gradation moving from one geographic region to another," Paul said.

"That's right," he replied. "An example given in your book—which I shall use for the benefit of those who did not read it—is the frequency of yellow-brown hair among Australian Aborigines. It is exactly zero percent along the Eastern Coast, but reaches eighty to one hundred percent in Central Australia. Clinical distribution shows us that yellow-brown hair becomes more common with distance from the coast."

Blair glanced down at his watch. "I expect all of you to know that and the rest of the material on Physical Anthropology for Friday. What does that mean?"

"Pop quiz," the class groaned in unison.

Noah swallowed his laughter. He sat quietly while the class filed out of the hall, noting the girl in sweats was one of the first students to bolt out the door. When the last student was gone, Noah dragged himself to his feet and trotted down the steps to Blair's podium.

"Rousing speech, Professor," Noah teased. "You had them riveted to your every word."

"A lot of students take the class as a general requirement," Blair said. "Every once in a while I get an actual non-Anthropology major who seems to get something out of the course."

"Well, I certainly know a lot more about the hair color of Australian Aborigines," Noah said.

"You're getting that quiz," Blair shot back.

"If I fail it, do I have to go back to work?"

Blair considered him curiously. "I thought you wanted to go back?"

"I do," he replied, watching Blair gather his notes. "I mean, I think I do."

"Getting used to being out of work?" Blair asked.

Noah shrugged. "That and…things."

Blair put his notes down and perched expectantly on the edge of the nearby table. "You're going to have to explain that one, mister."

Noah leaned forward, resting his elbows against the podium as if delivering a very laid back speech. "I love what I do, but it takes up so much time. Did you know that out of the five of us in Warrants, Bobby Biggs is the only one of use who is married?"

"I noticed the wedding ring," Blair said. He seemed to understand where Noah was going with the conversation. "But it's working for them, isn't it?"

Noah snorted. "They hate each other and Biggs is on the road most of the time, so yeah, it does work for them."

"I'm sorry," Blair said.

"Don’t be," Noah said. He stood up straight and squared his shoulders. "I guess you could say it comes with the territory. I mean, how many cops do you know with meaningful relationships?"

"Point taken," Blair replied after a short pause. "Law enforcement only seems to attract psychos, criminals and married women."

"Yeah, but you've got the University to fall back on," Noah said. "And while we're on the subject, I had a question about one of your students."

"Female?" Blair asked.

"Yeah," Noah said. "She sat six rows backs, aisle seat. Wearing gray sweats. She kind of stared into space the whole time."

Blair chuckled, picked his notes back up and walking to the door. "Maggie Maxwell and I don't think she dates. Her father is a bit overprotective."

Noah quirked an eyebrow and followed his friend. "And how do you know this?"

"Her dad is Owen Maxwell, Rainier's new head basketball coach."

"Owen Maxwell?" A series of tumblers were falling into place for Noah. "He played for the San Diego Clippers, right? From '82 to '87, until he hurt his knee?"

Noah followed Blair into the hallway.

"Yeah, in the car accident that killed his wife," Blair said soberly.

"Right," Noah said. "He retired for a while to raise Maggie. I didn't realize he'd started coaching again."

"So what's with the Q and A?" Blair asked. "Do you know them?"

"I did," Noah said. "You ever heard of Jonathan Kesco?"

"No, why?"

"He was my mother's brother and Owen Maxwell's best friend," Noah explained as they crossed campus and headed to Wright Hall for the Criminal Justice lecture. "They grew up together, played basketball together, went to UCLA on scholarship together. He even dated my mom for about a week until Uncle Jonathan found out. He and Maxwell were hoping for the NBA someday." Noah paused, ordering his thoughts. "Their sophomore year, Maxwell was driving them to San Francisco. They got caught in the rain and hydroplaned off the road. Maxwell was fine, but Uncle Jonathan's left leg had to be amputated."

"Man," Blair muttered.

"He never made it to the NBA, not like Maxwell," Noah said. "But he got my family game tickets to see the Clippers a few times. That's how I remembered Maggie. I saw her at the games and at Uncle Jonathan's funeral four years ago."

The funeral had been in San Diego; not a week after the Kimble case had ended. He'd been in shock for a while, angry that a near stranger had taken care of the arrangements. Sam Gerard had even flown out with him and Elizabeth, driving them to the funeral and waiting in the car until it was over. Noah had appreciated the show of support from Sam. They had only been working together for a year and it had been the first real display of friendship Sam had shown him.

"I'm sorry," Blair said.

Noah shrugged. "I hadn't seen him in a couple of years. We sort of drifted apart after my parents died."

"He's only been at Rainier a year," Blair said. "But Maxwell has taken us all the way to Nationals. With him and Orville Wallace coaching, they're unstoppable. Speaking of which, there's a game tonight if you want to go, maybe say hello."

"Isn't basketball season over?"

Blair shook his head. "It's a charity game. The Northwestern Slam-Dunk Contest. A few dozen universities send teams out to play one another and they whittle it down to the final two teams. There's only three games left. Rainier plays Portland U tonight, then Sacramento State tomorrow. If we win both games, we play Thursday night's winner on Friday. All the money from ticket sales go to the charity of the winning team's choice."

"That sounds like a great idea," Noah said. "It's been years since I've been able to enjoy a basketball game."

"Good deal," Blair said. "Too bad the Jags don't have any pre-season home games while you're here. Did I tell you about what happened last month? This guy named Garrett Kincaid…."

Noah followed Blair into Wright Hall, listening to a story of basketball, hostages and a submarine that could only have happened in Cascade…or maybe Chicago.

~*~*~*~

<"We end the second period with a score of Rainier: 45; Portland: 27. And here come the Rockettes, Rainier's own State Champ cheerleaders to perform their award-winning routine, 'Blister in the Sun.'">

Blair watched the string of mini-skirted cheerleaders file onto the auditorium floor for a moment, then scanned the crowd. He, Jim, Noah, and Simon had been sitting together at the start of the game, but Noah had disappeared midway through the second period. Blair had chalked it up to the bathroom or the snack bar, but now he wasn't so sure—not after twenty minutes.

Next to him, Jim and Simon were discussing the finer points of Rainier's defense.

"Maxwell made a mistake putting Lyman at center," Jim insisted.

"Are you blind, Jim?" Simon asked incredulously.

Blair snorted, eliciting a glare from the captain.

"Sorry," Blair said.

"Lyman's the best center that Rainier has," Simon said. "He's got the height, the speed and he gets the ball every toss."

Blair tuned out the argument, convinced neither man would change the other's opinion. Instead, he kept looking around. He wasn't worried—Noah could baby-sit himself. No, he was just afraid the young marshal would get lost in the intersecting hallways and dead ends of the sports arena. Blair had often gotten lost as a freshman, ending up in a storage room or outside a metal door that led to the catwalks above the basketball court. It was worse than a maze.

His eyes traveled courtside and Blair finally spotted his friend. Noah was sitting on the bottom bleacher, some twenty rows down, deep in conversation with someone. Blair's eyes widened when he saw who was with him. Maggie Maxwell was looking at Noah intently, a bright smile on her pretty face. Blair blinked. He'd never seen Maggie talk unless answering a question in class, but she was speaking now. And speaking frequently, from what he could tell.

"Chief?"

Blair's head whipped around. "What?" he asked Jim.

"We need a tie-breaker," Jim said. "Lyman or Snyder at center?"

Blair groaned. "Forget it. I am not getting in the middle of this."

On the court, the cheerleaders shouted, "Hey!" and ended the cheer in a perfect pyramid.

~*~*~*~

The game ended Rainier 104, Portland 87. Noah said good-bye to Maggie, promising to meet her the next morning. He left their conversation feeling good. He'd been nervous to approach her during the game, fearing she may not remember the gawky adolescent he'd been so many years ago. But as they talked, his fears had slipped away and been replaced with familiar ease.

Maggie had told half a dozen humorous stories about Jonathan, including a wooden pirate's leg she's made for him for Christmas when she was ten. She had painted it black and red and attached a Nike sneaker to the bottom. Jonathan wore it for an entire week without complaint, probably because it was winter and he could hide it under long pants. Noah had laughed along, trading a few memories of a man he wished he'd known better.

He barely remembered the game when he finally met up with Blair near the Concession Stand. Jim and Captain Banks were still arguing about player positions as they left the Arena for their cars.

"So?" Blair asked as they walked out into the night air. A fine spring mist lay near the ground all around them.

"She remembered me," Noah said. "And Elizabeth. We're going to meet for coffee tomorrow morning, if that's okay."

Blair nodded. "It's your vacation."

~*~*~*~

TUESDAY

The next morning, Jim and Blair were once again on campus, this time strolling towards the Records Office at the east end of campus. Jim hadn't been on this part of the campus in a while, so he let Sandburg take the lead. They maneuvered through a throng of students and up the steps of a large, red-bricked building with a sign reading 'Old Main.' Two campus security guards nodded when the pair entered and pointed down the left hallway.

"So what would anyone want from the Records Office?" Jim asked as they walked.

Sandburg shrugged. "Isn't that what Simon pays *you* for?"

"Funny," Jim said.

They stopped in front of an open door. The wire-reinforced glass window had 'Records' painted in black letters. Inside, a patrol officer was standing by a large desk. Next to him were two women in sweater sets and long skirts, wearing identical expressions of dismay.

"I'm Detective Ellison," Jim said, flashing his badge. "My associate, Blair Sandburg. What happened?"

"Someone broke the window behind the desk," the officer replied, pointing to the two-inch hole in the window to his right. "Rifled through the filing cabinets in the back room there."

Jim crossed the office and poked his head into the connecting room. Rows upon rows of silver filing cabinets filled the room like a giant labyrinth. Each looked the same as the other. He couldn't imagine finding anything in there.

"Was anything stolen?" Jim asked.

The older of the two ladies nodded. "Yes, they messed up the employee records pretty badly, but we think they stole Coach Maxwell's file. We can't find it anywhere."

Jim glanced at Sandburg, who had an odd, mystified expression on his face.

"Security didn't see anything?" Jim asked.

The officer shook his head. "No, sir. The security system was disabled. Electricity must have been shut off, because the computers in the lab downstairs were in start-up mode this morning."

"Does Maxwell have an office?" Jim asked, this question directed at Sandburg.

Blair nodded. "Probably over in the Sports Arena."

"Let's go, then."

~*~*~*~

Jim couldn't believe how complex the basement of the Sports Arena was. All of the athletic offices were on this level, but the hallways were about as logical as a purple watermelon. Offices were interspersed with specialized weight rooms, exercise rooms, gymnastic studios and equipment storage, all located in a maze of six interconnected corridors that honeycombed off one another. The lack of door numbers made their task that much harder.

"There it is," Sandburg announced.

The door at the end of the corridor had a piece of masking tape stuck to it with the word 'Maxwell' printed in magic marker. Jim grinned. It reminded him of Sandburg's first office door with his name stuck over 'Artifact Storage.' This door was partly open and soft, melodic music drifted out. Jim knocked sharply.

"Come in," a gruff voice said.

Jim pushed the door open and paused in the doorway, amazed at the Spartan look of the room. A metal desk sat in the center of the room. Pressed wood bookshelves lined the left wall, but only one shelf was filled with various sports books. A first aid kit rested on the floor near the door. Two folding chairs sat opposite the desk, which held a stack of papers, a computer, and a framed photograph. A man sat behind the desk, his eyes looking up from the framed photo when Jim entered.

"Can I help you?" Owen Maxwell asked, standing to his full six-foot-five inches. Maxwell still looked every inch the professional basketball player he had once been. Steely green eyes watched the newcomers with keen interest and he adjusted the sleeves of his sports jacket.

Jim introduced himself and Sandburg. "The Records Room was broken into last night and your file was the only thing stolen," Jim said.

Maxwell blinked. "My file? Who on earth would want that?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Jim said. "Do you have any enemies, Mr. Maxwell?"

"No," he replied automatically. "I mean, I suppose every college basketball coach in the Pacific Northwest has reason to hate me, since Rainier is about to win the Slam Dunk." Maxwell spoke with such deprecating humor that Jim couldn't take that remark as snobby, only proud.

"You haven't received any threats recently?" Jim went on, watching the man more closely. "No players or students are mad about a grade or anything?"

Maxwell shook his head, never missing a beat. "I have no idea why anyone would want my personal file, Detective. I wish I could help."

Jim nodded and pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Maxwell. "If you can think of anything—no matter how long ago—give me a call. I'll keep in touch."

"Fine," Maxwell said. He took the card and placed in on his desk. "I appreciate the concern."

"One more thing," Jim said, almost as an afterthought. "Do you know of any enemies your daughter may have?"

Maxwell paused briefly, his eyes dropping to the photograph nearby. "None. I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Mr. Maxwell," Sandburg said.

Jim led the way out of the office and down the corridor, still mulling over Maxwell.

"What do you think?" Sandburg asked, taking faster steps to keep up with Jim's pace.

"I'm fairly sure he was telling the truth," Jim replied, relieved to find the stairwell. The mustiness of the basement was starting to make his nose itch. "I don't know if he told the *whole* truth or not."

They left the arena and strolled across the large lawn in front of the complex. The morning rain had stopped and students milled about on the grass in small groups. Jim's eyes fell on one particular pair and he stopped, a smile spreading over his face.

"What?" Blair asked.

Jim pointed across the lawn, waiting until Sandburg saw what he saw. Noah Newman and Maggie Maxwell sat near a stone monument, once again deep in conversation.

~*~*~*~

"It's been fun," Maggie said, leaning back against the monument. "I love basketball, been around it since I can remember. And seeing so many new places. I'm not really shy. Each move just makes it hard to make new friends. I never know when we'll be leaving again."

"It sounds like neither of us have had a very stable life," Noah said.

"But do you regret yours?" she asked. When Noah didn't respond, she tapped his arm. "What are you thinking?"

"It's a shame I have to leave in three days," Noah replied.

Maggie smiled. "Ever heard of a little invention called email?"

"I've heard of it," Noah said. "Don't use it very often. I guess I prefer old-fashioned hand-written letters. My job doesn't leave much room for anything else."

"But you love your job," she said.

"I do. But sometimes I feel like there should be something more. Something that I don't have yet."

"My dad likes to say that if we persevere, we will find our heart's desires," Maggie said. "Do you believe that?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "I've worked hard my whole life, never giving up. Even after our parents died Elizabeth and I never gave up. I still don't have my heart's desire."

She fixed her new friend with a steady gaze. "Are you sure about that?"

~*~*~*~

Blair stifled a yawn as the elevator slowly rose to Major Crime. Next to him, Jim once again proved the old adage that yawning was contagious. They had spent the better half of the day in a fruitless search for leads in both the Mendoza Hardware Store robbery and the Records burglary. Neither case was exactly Major Crime-caliber, but the city had been quiet for a few days, and Simon could spare them. Simon also knew the pair had a houseguest and didn't want them to neglect Newman over a case that could be assigned elsewhere.

Noah, on the other hand, had spent the afternoon touring the city. He'd called Blair from the Space Needle, recounting the magnificent view it offered of the city. Blair was glad his friend was enjoying his time in Cascade, especially after his first visit had ended so badly. Nothing could sour your opinion of a place quite so well as being shot there.

The elevator reached their floor and the partners walked off. Blair trailed a few steps behind Jim as they approached the doors to the bullpen. It was almost dinnertime and the place was fairly empty, save Rafe scribbling madly at something on his desk. He looked up briefly as they entered, nodded, and went back to what he was working on.

Blair took a step forward and hit Jim square in the back. The detective was stock-still, staring straight ahead.

"Jim?" Blair asked, tapping his partner on the shoulder. "Hello?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Jim muttered.

"What? What did I do?"

Jim sighed. Blair followed his gaze to Simon's office. The blinds were open and two men were talking to Simon at the conference table. Blair recognized them immediately.

"What are they doing here?" Blair asked.

Before Jim could venture a guess, Simon noticed them and waved. Taking their cue, Jim and Blair walked across the bullpen and into the captain's office. The three men inside stood up.

"Jim, Blair," Banks said. "You two remember Marshals Gerard and Renfro, I'm sure."

"Of course," Jim said.

A round of hand shaking went around. Samuel Gerard hadn't changed a bit, but Cosmo Renfro was noticeably blonder than he had been two months ago. Both men seemed almost embarrassed to be there.

"We haven't kidnapped Noah, if that's what you're worried about," Blair joked, trying to break the barrier that formed the instant they had entered the room. Although the Kinski/Roberts case had ended on a high note for all concerned—except the bad guys, of course—there was still friction between Jim and Gerard. Those two were the stereotypical alpha males, circling each other over all matters concerned.

Renfro smiled. "If it were only that, Sam woulda just sent me to find the kid, not wasted his own precious time."

Gerard shot Renfro an indecipherable glance, then said, "Believe it or not, this is another business call."

"Lucky coincidence, huh?" Renfro quipped.

"Yeah," Jim said dryly.

"Does Noah know you're here?" Blair asked.

Renfro shook his head. "Cell phone's off. We can't reach him yet."

"So why *are* you here?" Jim interjected.

Gerard slid a mugshot across the table. "Kurt Black."

Jim picked up the picture and Blair studied it over his shoulder. A man in his early forties stared blankly back at them. Wild hair stood out like Einstein's, his wrinkled face and sagging jowls creating a picture of the neighborhood drunk.

"Who is this guy?" Blair asked.

"Sixteen years ago, he held up a bank in San Diego," Gerard said. "He killed the teller and shot two cops trying to get out. Black was caught and three witnesses from the bank testified against him in court. Two months ago, Black escaped custody and since then, two of those people who testified have died under unusual circumstances. Both deaths were deemed accidents, because we couldn't prove otherwise."

Jim nodded. "You're here to see if Black tries for this third guy who testified, so you can nab him?"

"In a nutshell," Renfro replied.

"Who?" Jim asked.

Simon sighed and shoved a thin file across the table. "Owen Maxwell."

Blair's jaw dropped. "Coach Maxwell?"

Gerard nodded. "Since you're familiar with Rainier's campus…." He trailed off, which Blair found terribly amusing. The man couldn't bring himself to ask for help.

"I don't know him very well, but—" Blair glanced at him watch. "Damn."

"What?" Gerard demanded.

"He's got another game tonight, in about forty-five minutes," Blair said. "It's a charity thing, so you won't be able to talk to him for a while. I think Noah said he'd be there, too."

Renfro grinned and looked at his boss. "You up for a little b-ball tonight, Sammy?"

~*~*~*~

A steady stream of raindrops poured down from the dark clouds, ending the reign of the afternoon's sunshine. Lights from dormitory windows and classrooms still in use cast a shimmer of gold on the rain, making it seem to dance. New and old puddles quickly filled, waiting to be splashed through. In all his life, Noah had never seen so many different kinds of rain as he had in the last day and a half.

He and Maggie strolled across Rainier's campus, dry under the expanse of her red umbrella, intent on reaching the basketball game before it started.

"So Kimble points Sam's own gun right at him," Noah said, caught up in his own story. "And he says, 'I didn't kill my wife!' So Sam, he looks right at the guy and says, 'I don't care.'"

"He didn't," Maggie said, her deep-timbre voice filled with wonder.

They crossed the Commons, heading for a small cluster of classroom buildings.

"Yeah, he did. Sam likes to be blunt."

"I can see that," she said, chuckling. "That was such a famous case."

"It was my first major case with Warrants Squad," Noah said. "Most are more routine."

"So what happened after that?" Maggie asked.

A bright burst of color and light danced in front of Noah's vision, even as a dull throb began at the base of his neck. The world tipped and soon it was all wet. He vaguely heard Maggie scream as darkness stole over his thoughts.

~*~*~*~

Jim drove to Rainier slowly, trying not to lose the marshals in the rainy dark. It was seven-twenty by the time they arrived—the game had already started. He could have sworn he heard sirens in the distance, but concentrated on the job at hand. Jim, Sandburg, Gerard and Renfro ran through the rain to the entrance of the Sports Arena. They entered the packed gymnasium at court-level.

"That's Maxwell," Sandburg said, pointing him out for the marshals.

Gerard and Renfro headed for Maxwell, but Jim chose to hang back. He had a feeling Maxwell wouldn't be too receptive to what the marshals had to say at this moment. Instead, Jim began to scan the crowd for anyone who looked like Kurt Black. He noticed Sandburg doing the same thing. The marshals were back before he'd made it through a quarter of the crowd.

"What did he have to say?" Sandburg asked.

"He seemed to think this matter could wait until tomorrow morning," Gerard said.

"Except he used bigger cuss words," Renfro deadpanned. "You?"

"I don't see any sign of Black," Jim said. But that wasn't all that was bugging him. "As a matter of fact, I don't see any sign of Maxwell's daughter, either. Chief, didn't you say she never missed a game?"

"Yeah, she hasn't as far as I've heard," Sandburg replied. "Weird, 'cause Newman's supposed to be with her."

"Newman's got a girlfriend?" Renfro asked.

"Not exactly," Blair said.

Sandburg pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Jim listened to the familiar buzz, then the automated voice announcing the user was not answering his or her phone.

"Still not answering," Sandburg reported.

"Maybe they're just running late," Renfro commented. "You know how kids are."

"Maybe," Jim said absently. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, like he was being watched.

Blair's cell phone chirped to life, startling him. He hit 'receive' and put the phone to his ear.

"Sandburg," he said. "Hey, Noah. What hap—you're where?"

That got everyone's attention. Just over Sandburg's shoulder, Jim could see Coach Maxwell standing next to the team bench. He'd been handed a cell phone and was wearing an expression of shock similar to Blair's.

//It's going to be a long night, // Jim thought.

~*~*~*~

Noah sat on the table in the ER exam room, his feet dangling off the edge. He'd felt silly enough calling Blair to say he'd been mugged. He felt sillier still when he found out Sam and Cosmo were there. Blair didn't give him any specifics, just that they were on their way. Noah's head ached from the recent blow, the painkillers not quite kicking in.

He barely remembered what happened. Walking to the game, then waking up facedown in the mud with ambulance sirens screaming at him. He hadn't seen Maggie and no one was talking about her. After making his call to Blair, he'd tried to find the exam room she was in without luck. An orderly had escorted him back to his room and left him there.

Loud voices cut through the normal ER din, traveling through the closed door. Noah groaned as the voices came closer. Seconds later, Sam shoved open the exam room doors and stopped. Sam's expression flitted from concern to relief to minor annoyance. Cosmo and Blair appeared behind him.

"Well, young man," Sam said, stepping into the room. "I'm going to make this city off-limits if you keep doing this."

"I was told this is what people did for fun around here," Noah replied. "Have you heard anything about Maggie?"

"I'll see what I can scare up," Cosmo said. As he left Jim came in.

Sam walked up to the gurney, intent on the small bandage at the base of Noah's neck.

"It's a slight concussion," Noah said, staving off the inevitable grilling. "Not serious."

On that, Jim switched from concerned friend mode to police mode. "What do you remember about the attack?"

Noah shrugged. "Not much. I didn't see who hit me, just recall waking up on the ground. The ambulance was already there. That's it."

"An officer found your wallet and ID," Jim said. "If you had any cash it's gone. Same with Maggie's purse."

"Who called the ambulance," Noah asked.

"Two students," Jim said. "They were on their way to the game and said they heard moaning. They found you two and called 911. Said they didn't see anyone else nearby."

Outside, a furious voice barked out, "I want to see my daughter!" Coach Maxwell's booming voice echoed through the waiting room. "Why won't anyone tell me what's going on?"

Noah slid off the gurney, ignored Sam and walked unsteadily to the door. Holding onto the frame, he watched Owen Maxwell stare around like a lost child. Cosmo approached him once, but Maxwell brushed him off. A doctor came and led Maxwell to a pair of chairs closer to the exam room. Noah felt guilty listening, but he had to know.

"Mr. Maxwell, I'm Dr. Rice. Your daughter is stable, and she's on her way up to surgery."

Maxwell blanched. "Surgery? For what?"

"She was beaten rather severely," Rice said. "The surgery is to repair a ruptured spleen. Her right arm is fractured and there is some swelling around her spinal cord that is causing temporary paralysis."

Noah's head spun. How had he gotten off so lucky with just a concussion?

"She's paralyzed?" Maxwell asked.

"We won't know the extent of that injury until after she wakes up," Rice explained. "Right now she's stable and that's a good sign. Why don't you go up to the surgical waiting room? A nurse can take you up."

Maxwell nodded mechanically. A nurse came over and directed him to a bank of elevators. As he passed Noah, Maxwell graced him with a contemptuous glare. That didn't bother Noah. It was the naked fear he saw behind Maxwell's hate that touched him.

~*~*~*~

Gerard rode back to the university with Jim, leaving the rented Suburban behind with Renfro. It was still raining when they arrived. Yellow tape cordoned off the area between two science buildings, the narrow alley already a muddy mess. Two cruisers remained, but most of the curious onlookers had moved on. Jim parked and headed straight for Rafe and Brown, Gerard by his side.

"What do you have?" Jim asked.

"Not too much," Brown said, eyeing Gerard. "Rain washed most of the blood and footprints away. We sent the two students who found them home. They'll be in tomorrow to give formal statements."

"And we're sure no one else saw anything?" Gerard asked, sharp eyes scanning the scene.

"No one that's come forward," Rafe replied.

Jim ducked under the tape and walked down the alley. His shoes squelched through the mud. He wiped rainwater from his eyes and peered around, searching for anything. A glint of light hit something in the corner of his eye. Jim turned and squatted. He picked up the object, turning it over in his hand. It was a brass button, smooth with a single indentation in the center.

Across campus at the Sports Arena people began to cheer. A male voice in the distance cried out, "Rainier wins! Rainier wins!"

~*~*~*~

Noah leaned against the bed, feeling useless. Dr. Rice had insisted he stay overnight for observation. Cosmo had agreed it was a good idea and threatened to call Sam if Noah didn't cooperate. Noah didn't fight. He had no inclination to leave the hospital anyway, not until he got word on Maggie.

He felt responsible for her, for not being able to protect her. He was a United States Marshal, for God's sake. He should have done something, right?

Ellison had placed uniformed officers on the surgical floor and would transfer them once Maggie was settled into Recovery. Noah knew the detective was not inclined to believe Sam's fugitive was responsible for the attacks, because the MO just didn't match. Why would Black fake a mugging if he just wanted revenge on Maxwell? Which left Captain Banks the ringleader of two separate investigations around the same people. Noah didn't envy him *that* job.

Blair and Cosmo appeared in his doorway. Noah brightened.

"Food?" Noah said.

Cosmo laughed. "Boy takes a blow to the head and it doesn't affect his appetite."

Blair handed him a foil-covered plate and can of generic cola.

"The cafeteria only had day-old tuna fish left," Blair said.

"As long as it isn't green," Noah said, "it's perfect. Why don't you two go? Nothing interesting is going to happen tonight."

"You sure?" Cosmo asked.

"Yeah," Noah said. "Besides staring at each other is boring and I need my beauty sleep."

Cosmo snorted. "Ain't that the truth."

"Good night," Noah said.

"I'll see you tomorrow, man," Blair said.

"Bye."

Noah watched them leave. He unwrapped the sandwich and bit in. The bread was stale and tuna tasted old. But his stomach rumbled and food was food. Noah swallowed and stared up at the ceiling. He thought about sleeping, but couldn't see that working. He was too keyed up. Noah briefly considered calling his sister, but it would be after midnight in Chicago and Elizabeth would just worry. No, he would call in the morning after he was released from the hospital.

~*~*~*~

Owen Maxwell gently stroked his daughter's left hand, careful to avoid the various tubes and wires. She had slept through the night following surgery. The doctors were giving an optimistic prognosis, but they foresaw months of physical therapy following an attack of such severity.

It all felt like a dream, a very bad dream. Why would anyone want to hurt his little girl like this? He'd taken that Marshal's warning of Kurt Black as rubbish, not worth his time. Now Maxwell wished he'd taken the time to listen. Of course, the CPD gave him a different story. No one in law enforcement seemed sure if it was Black or someone else entirely. Compound that with the arrival of Noah Newman, whose resemblance to his late uncle was somewhat unsettling for Maxwell.

Maggie whimpered. Maxwell held her hand in his, feeling how cool her skin was. She looked so pale and small in the hospital bed. A faint sense of déjà vu ran through him like ice water as he thought of Anita and how his wife had looked as she lay dying in that hospital in San Diego so long ago.

"Daddy?"

Maxwell blinked and looked up. Maggie peered at him through blurry eyes. He hit the call button and stood up, bending closer.

"Hey, missy," he said. "Have a good nap?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, daddy," she said.

Maxwell's own eyes began to sting. "It's not your fault, sweetheart," he cooed. "But we'll get the bastard who did this, I promise. It'll be okay."

He hugged Maggie as best he could without hurting her. Father and daughter cried together.

Neither noticed Noah Newman watching silently from the doorway.

~*~*~*~

WEDNESDAY

Bobby Biggs and Savannah Cooper arrived in Cascade early the next morning. After a bit of regrouping, the hunt began.

Renfro and Biggs, along with Megan Connor, were sent to follow up on recent motel check-ins, hoping to locate Black. Copper and Taggart were going over a compiled list of Owen and Maggie Maxwell's enemies—albeit a very short list. Brown and Rafe went out to hit up their informants on the street.

Sam and Jim arrived in the ICU at Cascade General just after the last breakfast tray had been collected.

They located Maxwell in the ward waiting room, staring vacantly at a magazine. He looked up when they entered, his icy expression never changing.

"Mr. Maxwell," Jim began. "I'm—"

"I remember you," Maxwell said. "And don't say how sorry you are. I'm sorry. I should have listened to you yesterday, Detective."

Jim blinked, a bit thrown by the apology. "You're not to blame," he said. "We had no way of knowing this would happen."

"We could have been prepared," Maxwell said. "For something."

"Mr. Maxwell," Sam said. "If you can think of anything that would help us out now...."

Maxwell paused, weighing his words. "There were some phone calls," he finally admitted.

"What kind of calls?" Jim asked.

"Vague threats," Maxwell said. "Directed to me, but never about anything specifically, like basketball or Maggie."

"Did you recognize the voice?"

"No, it was distorted somehow."

"When did you get them?" Sam asked. "Do you remember the dates?"

Maxwell thought. "First one was three weeks ago Sunday. I got another the following Thursday. Maggie said she answered one last Monday."

Sam jotted those days down in his pad. "Plenty of time for Black to make those calls," he said to Jim.

Jim was inclined to agree, but, "Why steal the Records file if he already knew how to contact Maxwell?"

Sam was silent.

"I'll get a warrant to check Maxwell's phone records," Jim said. "See if we can track down who made the calls."

Sam nodded and turned to Maxwell. "If you can think of anything else that will help us," Sam said, handing him a business card. "Call us as soon as possible."

"I will," Maxwell said.

~*~*~*~

After his morning class, Blair headed straight for the hospital. Noah was being discharged that morning and he promised to take him back to the loft. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Jim and Gerard both had their ideas on what was going on. The worst part was, both were valid arguments. Blair sighed and turned his windshield wipers up another notch, wondering when the misty spring rain would cease.

When Blair double-parked his Volvo in front of the hospital entrance, Noah already sat on a bench under the carport. Sam Gerard sat next to him, the pair conversing intently. They stopped abruptly when they noticed Blair, both standing. Noah said something else, to which Sam nodded and walked off.

Noah trotted over to the Volvo and climbed in.

"Am I late?" Blair asked, watching Gerard walk through the rain to the parking garage.

"Nah," Noah said. "Sam came by earlier to talk to Coach Maxwell, so we talked while I waited."

Blair pulled out of the hospital lot and headed for home.

"Did you see Maggie this morning?" Blair asked.

"For a few minutes," Noah said. He brushed a hand through his short curls. "She sleeps a lot, which is probably good. Kept apologizing to me for what happened even though it wasn't her fault. Maggie's had a hard time of it."

"I've heard a little about that, her mother dying," Blair said.

Noah shook his head. "It's more than that. Maggie's mom died in the second car crash when Maggie was eight. Maxwell's injury forced him to sit out the year. But it wasn't so severe he couldn't have come back for the next season."

"But he didn't, right?" Blair asked. "He retired to—"

"He didn't retire to raise Maggie."

"He didn't," Blair repeated.

Noah shook his head. "No, he crawled into a bourbon bottle and pickled in there for the next eight years."

Blair blinked. "Owen Maxwell is an alcoholic?"

"Yup. Uncle Jonathan lived with them. He raised Maggie and took care of Maxwell when he was plastered. Maggie saw her father do some scary shit. She was afraid of him for a while."

"But he, I mean, when did he—?" Blair fumbled for the right words.

"Sober up?" Noah provided, his face darkening. "Maxwell was on a bender one night, sleeping it off on the couch. Maggie slept over at a friend's house. The house caught fire, police said it was the furnace. Smoke woke Maxwell up. He stumbled outside as the fire trucks arrived and the house went up.

"Firemen pulled my uncle out of the fire—he'd been upstairs and had fallen trying to get out. He was so badly burned he died in the hospital a few days later. Maxwell went into rehab and got his life back together. Maggie got her father back." Noah stared out the window for a moment. "I always knew the fire was an accident, but I never knew Maxwell was drunk when it happened."

Blair shook his head. It amazed him how much he would never know about his friends and students. Maggie was shy, but he never would have guessed the amount of pain hidden in her past. It made him sad…and angry. And even more determined than ever to find the man or men who attacked her and Noah. Blair parked the Volvo and sat with his hands on the wheel.

"I take it Deputy Gerard knows all this," Blair said.

Noah nodded. "I told him this morning."

Blair stared out the window at the rain and made a face. "Ready to make a run for it?"

Noah laughed. "Whenever you are."

The pair opened their car doors and sprinted out into the rain.

~*~*~*~

Gerard added a packet of sugar to his coffee and sat down at the table. Jim crossed the length of the break room and grabbed a stale donut from a plastic tray. Rafe was due back with lunch at any moment, but knowing the well-dressed detective, he'd probably stopped to flirt along the way.

Jim nibbled the donut, racking his brain for another small-talk topic that he and Marshal Gerard had not yet discussed. Case evidence was rolling in slowly, nothing coming together to form a collective whole. It felt like putting together a puzzle where you know that one specific piece, if put in out of order, could make the entire thing explode. No ID's on the attacker and no sightings of Black made their job excruciatingly hard to do.

Rhonda walked in holding several sheets of paper.

"Detective Ellison?" she said. "These were just faxed over for you from Pacific Bell."

She handed Jim the papers.

"Thanks, Rhonda," Jim said.

Jim shuffled through them as she left.

"Maxwell's phone records for the last two months," Jim said.

He sat next to Gerard, spreading the papers out between them. He skimmed the first page. Gerard produced a pen and circled the three dates Maxwell had given them for the threatening phone calls. Several minutes later, Jim and Gerard took the list to Simon's office.

Jim knocked once and walked in. Simon looked up from his computer.

"We got the phone records," Jim said, handing them over to the captain. "Maxwell gave us three days he remembered threats. Each day has a call from the same cell phone number."

Simon glanced down at the pages. "Tate Grissom," he read, frowning. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"He's a bookie," Jim said. "Takes bets on all the sporting events in the Pacific Northwest, so I've heard. Even college basketball."

"Which could prove Black wasn't responsible for the attack last night," Simon surmised.

"Possibly," Gerard said. "But cell phones can be cloned."

"True," Simon said. "Pick up Grissom for questioning."

"He'll have an alibi, Captain," Jim said.

"I'm sure he will," Simon replied. He handed the papers back to Jim. "But let's make him sweat a bit, shall we?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir."

Jim left the office and marched to his desk for his truck keys. As he left the bullpen, he became vaguely aware Gerard was no longer behind him. Jim did a three-sixty, but the head marshal was nowhere to be seen.

Shaking his head, Jim walked to the elevator and pushed the button. It arrived immediately. Cosmo Renfro stepped out as the doors slid open.

"Hey," Renfro said. "Seen Sammy?"

"No, I haven't," Jim replied, stepping into the elevator. "You busy?"

Renfro turned and slipped in next to him as the doors closed. "Whaddaya got in mind?"

~*~*~*~

Connor pulled into a spot in the Sahara Motel parking lot. The motel was a throwback to garish fifties style, the sign a faded sphinx outlined in neon tubes. It was painted a nauseating combination of pink and gold, each door along the strip adorned with a different painted Egyptian god.

"Places like this should be demolished," Connor said.

Marshal Biggs nodded. "You got my vote, sister."

They exited the car and walked toward the office, a smaller building shaped like a pyramid. The pair had spent the last six hours driving to all the motels in and around Cascade, showing a mugshot of Kurt Black to everyone who worked at them. Connor never imagined Cascade had so many motels.

She entered the office first, relieved to find subtler décor and plain white walls. Biggs tapped the bell on the counter. A soft curse drifted from the back room. In seconds, a skinny Asian man appeared behind the counter.

"Welcome to Sahara," the man said. "I am Ho-Jon. You want room?"

"I'm Inspector Connor," Megan said, showing her badge. "This is Deputy Marshal Biggs. Have you seen this man recently?"

Biggs held up the mug of Black. Ho-Jon squinted at the photo. He studied it for several seconds, then looked at Connor.

"Wore hat," Ho-Jon said.

"Who did?" Connor asked. "This man in the photograph?"

Ho-Jon nodded. "Yes, he wore hat. University hat. Has come for three days."

"I'll call Sam," Biggs said, yanking his cell phone from his coat.

~*~*~*~

Tate Grissom leaned into his high-back leather chair, glaring contemptuously at his guests. The chair creaked under his awesome weight, enveloped in an enormous Italian suit. Black eyes peered from the folds of his doughy face, challenging the detective and marshal to make their allegations.

Jim folded his arms across his chest, holding Grissom in an icy stare. Renfro perched nonchalantly on the edge of Grissom's desk, twirling his sunglasses between two fingers.

"So what brings you to my office, Officer Ellison?" Grissom sneered.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Detective, Mr. Grissom. Ever heard of a man named Owen Maxwell?"

Grissom snorted. "Ever heard of the Easter Bunny?" he challenged.

"How about Maggie Maxwell?" Renfro asked.

"I take it they're relations," Grissom said. "His daughter or something?"

"You take it right," Jim said.

"Hey, I know what this is about." Grissom picked up today's newspaper. "She got hammered last night, right? Her and someone else. That what this is about?"

"Do you know anything about it, Mr. Grissom?" Renfro asked.

"Not anything I haven't read in the paper," Grissom replied. He looked at Renfro. "And would you mind getting off my desk, Marshal?"

"Yes," Renfro said.

Jim took the phone records from his pocket and tossed them onto Grissom's desk. Grissom picked them up, skimmed them. He looked at Jim.

"So?" Grissom said.

"Mr. Maxwell reported several threatening phone calls," Jim said. "We checked the dates and those calls were made from a cell phone. Your cell phone."

Grissom reached into his breast pocket and produced a small Nokia phone. He held it up and smiled.

"This cell phone, Detective?" Grissom asked.

Jim frowned. "Phone number 555-2420?"

Grissom chuckled. "That was my old phone. I threw it away over a month ago."

"And you didn't cancel the account?" Renfro asked.

"Must have slipped my mind," Grissom said.

"Yeah," Renfro said. "Must have."

""Besides, cell phones are cloned all the time," Grissom said. "And to save you the trouble of asking, I was at the game with several friends last night. Besides, why would I want to hurt Maxwell? I *want* Rainier to win the tournament."

"I'll bet," Jim said.

"Are we done?" Grissom asked.

"For now," Jim said. "But we'll be in touch when we find whoever has your cell phone."

"Yeah, you do that," Grissom said.

Renfro picked up the phone records and stood. He wiped the seat of his pants. "Desk is a little dusty," Renfro quipped as he followed Jim out of the office.

~*~*~*~

Gerard arrived at the Sahara Motel at the same time Grissom's interview was winding down. He parked his rental next to Connor's car and climbed out. He met Connor and Biggs in front of the office.

"He's in room 14," Biggs said.

Ho-Jon exited the office with a key. "I show you," he said, leading the way down the row of motel rooms.

Gerard followed Ho-Jon, Biggs and Connor behind him.

"Have you seen Black today?" Gerard asked.

Ho-Jon shook his head. "Left early this morning."

"Driving?" Connor asked.

"Walking," Ho-Jon said. He stopped in front of 14. The door had a bad portrait of Rah on it. "Here is room."

Ho-Jon stuck the key in the lock. Gerard froze, a familiar acrid scent rising to his nostrils. But why would he smell smoke—?

"Don't!" Gerard yelled. At the same instant Ho-Jon opened the door.

A blast of heat and flame knocked the door off its hinges, slamming into Ho-Jon and sending both flying backward. Gerard fell back against Biggs and Connor, knocking them flat as the window shattered above their heads. Fire jetted out in orange fingers, the awesome heat singeing his nose hair. A raucous roaring filled Gerard's ears, threatening to pull him from consciousness.

~*~*~*~

In less than half an hour, the parking lot of the Sahara was a circus. Three fire engines worked to control the blaze that had consumed the rooms on either side of Black's and threatened to take two more. Two ambulances and the coroner's van was also there, paramedics feeding oxygen to Biggs, Connor and Gerard. Police officers wandered around, keeping the curious crowd from getting too close.

Jim's truck pulled into the lot and parked as close as it could get. Jim and Renfro climbed out and jogged over to their colleagues.

"What happened?" Jim asked.

"You okay, Sammy?" Renfro said.

Gerard pulled the oxygen mask away, earning a nasty look from a paramedic.

"I'm fine," Gerard said. "It was a backdraft. I smelled the smoke too late. Motel manager's dead."

He glanced over his shoulder. Two men placed a black bag in the back of the coroner's van.

"Looks like a pretty hot blaze," Jim said, watching the firemen struggle to control the flames. "We won't get much evidence out of there."

"If Black left any behind," Gerard said. "Which I doubt."

"Things like to blow up around here, don't they," Renfro muttered.

Jim walked over to Megan, who sat on the back of an ambulance with Biggs. Both were streaked with soot.

"How're you doing?" Jim asked.

Megan rolled her eyes. "I was overdue for an explosion," she quipped. "Besides, Marshal Biggs makes an excellent cushion."

"I think she bruised my ribs," Biggs said. When a paramedic closed in on him, Biggs added, "I'm kidding."

The paramedic frowned. "Just keep the oxygen on."

Biggs saluted the paramedic. Megan laughed.

~*~*~*~

Noah poked his head into Maggie's hospital room, surprised to find her alone. Maggie lay flat on her back, awkwardly reading she held up with one hand. She looked up from her book and smiled.

"Come in," she said.

He stepped inside and looked around. "Where's your father?" Noah asked.

"I forced him to go to the cafeteria and eat something," Maggie said. "How are you?"

It broke his heart to hear that, looking at her cut and bruised face.

"I'm fine," he said. "What about you?"

Maggie shrugged, then winced from the effort. She tossed the paperback to the foot of the bed. It was then that Noah read the title: Living Disabled.

"There isn't a part of my body that doesn't hurt," she said. "Except my legs, of course, but I can't feel them."

Her chin trembled. Noah sat on the edge of the chair by her bed and gingerly place a hand on her arm.

"The doctor says my toes twitch when I try to move them," Maggie said. "But they still don't know if I'll get full use of my legs back."

"I'm so sorry, Maggie," Noah said.

"It wasn't you, Noah," she said.

"But I'm a marshal—"

"Blame yourself," Maggie said. "And I'll never speak to you again."

The steely determination in her voice shut him up. He only nodded.

"Say it, Noah."

He swallowed. "It wasn't my fault."

Blair chose that moment to rush into the room.

"Noah, we gotta go," Blair said. "Brown called and said there was an explosion at a motel downtown."

Noah jumped to his feet. "Was anyone hurt?"

"He didn't know for sure," Blair said.

"I'll come back tomorrow," Noah said to Maggie.

"Go," she said.

Noah squeezed her hand lightly and followed Blair out the door.

~*~*~*~

"I swear, Jim," Blair said as they entered the loft. "You're going to give me a heart attack one day."

Jim tossed his keys into the basket and closed the door behind Newman. Noah headed straight for the couch and sank down into it with a groan.

"Brown didn't mean to scare you guys," Jim said.

"I know he didn't," Blair said. "But after the last explosion you were in, I can't help but be a bit paranoid."

Jim instinctively touched the faint burn scars on his hands, a constant reminder of the painful hell he'd gone through a few months ago. They made him doubly grateful neither Connor nor the Marshals had been hurt tonight.

"Well, I'm all for a beer," Blair said. "Anyone else?"

"Sure," Jim said.

Blair looked at the curly head poking above the couch. "Noah?"

Jim craned his neck to see the young marshal. Noah Newman was sitting up and fast asleep, his mouth hanging slightly open. Jim looked at Blair and grinned.

"Long day," Jim quipped.

Blair nodded. "Yeah. I get the feeling they're gonna get longer."

~*~*~*~

THURSDAY

Early the next morning, Serena Chang was daydreaming about a caramel frappe with whipped cream. Non-fat, of course. She vaguely wished someone would invent a caffeine gum that tasted like coffee. Her java intake over the last few hectic nights had Serena running to the bathroom every two hours.

She was returning from one of these particular runs when Jim and Blair walked into Forensics.

"Morning," Serena said.

As the pair repeated the greeting, Serena walked to a glass cabinet and removed a plastic baggy. Inside was the brass button Jim had found at Rainier.

"You identified the button," Jim said.

"Sure did," Serena said. She produced a photograph of a Rainier warm-up suit. "It came off one of these. They use special snaps so runners can easily tear the sweats off as they warm up."

"So you're saying a student attacked Noah and Maggie?" Blair asked.

"Students," Jim said. "It's becoming clearer that Kurt Black wasn't responsible for the attack."

"Clear as mud," Blair mumbled.

Jim frowned. "Come again, Chief?"

"Just because it came from a Rainier uniform," Blair said. "Doesn't mean it wasn't already there."

"If it was," Serena said. "It wasn't there long. With all the rain we've been having, the button wasn't even rusted."

"Thanks, Serena," Jim said. "Come on, Sandburg. We're going to school."

~*~*~*~

Jim found a space in the visitor's parking lot by the dorms. Passing students looked away—everyone knew why they were there. As they climbed out of the truck, a string of thirty students jogged by. Each wore a blue and gray warm-up suit.

Blair walked over to the passing students and waved at one.

"Hey, Donald," Blair said. "Come here a sec."

A blonde-haired boy slowed to a walk and trotted over to the waiting pair.

"Professor Sandburg," Donald said, eyeing Jim. "What's up?"

"My name's Detective Ellison," Jim said, flashing his badge.

"Look, man, I didn't do anything," Donald said. He glanced from Jim to Blair and back again.

"Nobody said you did," Jim said. "I just have a few questions about your jogging suit."

Donald looked down at his clothes, then back up at Jim. "What about it?"

"Do all the athletes use the same warm-ups?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, mostly," Donald said. "School spirit and everything."

"Are they issued?" Jim asked. "Or bought?"

"Some coaches give them out, but most of us have to buy them in the school store." Donald looked over his shoulder at his departing teammates. "Look, I really have to go. Is there anything else?"

"No, that about does it," Jim said. "Thanks."

"No problem," Donald said. He dashed off at a full run to catch up with his team.

Blair watched him go, then turned to Jim.

"Should we go to the school store?" Blair said. "See if anyone has bought a new warm-up suit lately?"

"That's out next stop," Jim said. "First I want to see Carol."

~*~*~*~

Noah Newman looked at the kitchen clock and groaned. Vacation or not, the day was just passing too slowly to keep hanging around the loft all day. Besides, someone was trying very hard to kill his friends, and something like that didn't sit well with the young marshal.

He wandered slowly around the loft, examining the titles on the bookshelves, the various artifacts and photographs accumulated over the years. He found a familiar picture, one he'd seen on his first visit to the loft. In it, Jim stood next to Blair, his elbow on the shorter man's head as if leaning on an armrest. Noah chuckled.

The French doors to Blair's room were open and Noah walked over. He looked in and felt a wave of homesickness. Not for his own apartment in Chicago, but for the room he'd had as a child. It had been cluttered and unruly, truly lived-in. The bedroom waiting for him at home was as generic as a motel room. Noah's eyes flickered over the pieces of Blair's life—the unmade futon, overflowing desk, full bookshelves, piles of papers and notebooks next to a wooden tribal mask.

One book lay apart from the mess. It was an old, leather bound tome. Stamped across the front in gold was its title: The Sentinels of Paraguay. Noah's fingers brushed across the cover, but he did not open it. Looking around was one thing, but this felt somehow like snooping. He left the little room and looked around the loft, still bored.

Noah walked over to the couch and grabbed the cordless phone. He quickly dialed the hotel number the Warrants Squad was staying at, half expecting no one to be there. But the line picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, Biggs?" Noah said. "It's Newman. What's going on?"

~*~*~*~

Carol Stowe stared at the empirical equation for the seventh time in an hour, still unable to wrap her mind around the math. Sometimes the nineteen-year old really hated being a computer science major. There were just too many math courses to please her.

She slammed the book shut and stood up from her desk, stretching tired muscles. Carol's eyes wandered over to the empty bed across from hers. While she and Maggie Maxwell were never best friends, they were close. And Carol missed her very much. She'd been glad everyday of the semester for Maggie's insistence on living on-campus, as opposed to home with her father. Maggie was so introverted and Carol knew the atmosphere was doing Maggie some good. She'd even had a beer at the last Phi Kappa Gamma party they'd attended.

Carol wandered over to the stereo and put her Cake CD in. She was about to push PLAY when someone knocked on the door.

"What?" she yelled, her finger poised to turn the CD on if she didn't like the response.

"Carol Stowe?" a gruff voice asked. "Cascade Police."

For one panicked second, Carol looked at her mini refrigerator and hoped all the beer bottles were gone. Then she recognized the voice and realized it was about Maggie. Carol walked over to the door and opened it.

The tall man standing there smiled. "Miss Stowe, I'm Detective—" he began.

"Ellison," Carol supplied. "I remember you. Hi, Mr. Sandburg. Come on in."

Ellison and Sandburg came in and stood rigidly by Maggie's desk.

"So what's up?" Carol asked.

"Did Maggie know anyone who was involved with the sports teams?" Ellison asked.

Carol blinked. For some reason, that wasn't the question she was expecting. She thought a moment, chewing softly on her bottom lip.

"Maggie knew a lot of people," Carol said. "Even if she wasn't too close with many of them."

An image hit her then, of Maggie arguing with two boys at the Soccer Barbecue last fall. Their faces were clear, but their names seemed to elude Carol.

"There were two boys on the soccer team," Carol said. "Actually, she saw them quite a bit around campus. I don't think she liked them very much. At least, it didn't seem like it."

"What were their names?" Ellison asked.

"We called one kid the Hornet," Carol said. "He had a funny last name, Hornby, I think. I can't remember…."

Carol walked to her bookcase and took down the yearbook from last spring. She began flipping through pages until she reached the sports section. Carol located the soccer team photograph and skimmed the caption at the bottom.

"Leo Hornby and Trent Page," Carol said. "That's them."

She pointed them out in the group photo.

"Did you ever hear them threaten Maggie?" Sandburg asked.

"Not directly," Carol said. "But Hornet called one night a while ago. When I said Maggie wasn't in the room, he got all pissed. I heard him say 'that bitch' before he hung up." A horrible realization hit her. "You think they mugged Maggie? That they hurt her like that?"

"We're not saying that," Sandburg said, although the look on his face clearly said otherwise. "We're just exhausting all of our leads right now. Thanks for your help, Carol."

"Thank you," Ellison said. "If you think of anything else—"

"I'll call you," she said.

Carol showed them out and closed the door behind them. She glanced over at the math book, then turned the Cake CD on at full volume, trying to drown out the horrible thoughts surfacing in her mind.

~*~*~*~

Sam Gerard met Newman and Biggs at the intersection of Placid and Chicago Streets, three blocks from the Sahara Motel's crisped remains. While he had objections to Noah being out with them until his vacation time was officially up, he was glad to have the junior member of his team back. His Warrants Squad was a five-man team and Sam always felt a bit off when one of them wasn't there.

Cascade PD was still sifting through the ashes of the burnt out motel rooms, but so far nothing of any value had turned up. They were back to canvassing the area, checking if any of the locals had seen Kurt Black in the last day or so.

Sam sipped his coffee as Newman and Biggs joined him by the crosswalk, each man armed with a mugshot of Black. This area was most small businesses and each one had to be approached.

"All right, kids," Sam said. "Let's get to work."

~*~*~*~

Jim and Blair entered the Student Union less than five minutes after their fruitful interview with Carol Stowe. The building was bustling with students on their way to class, the school store or the Café. Blair navigated the way through the crowd to the front of the school store.

A mousy girl with glasses stood behind the counter.

"Is your manager in?" Jim asked.

"Gerry's in the back," the girl said. "Want me to get him?"

"Maybe," Jim said. "Do you work here every day?"

"Every morning," she said.

"Has anyone bought a warm-up suit in the last three days?" Jim asked.

The girl watched them thoughtfully. Her eyes darted over to a rack of the blue and gray suits.

"I've sold a couple," she said.

"Do you remember who bought them?" Jim asked.

"It's a huge campus," she said. "Why? Are you guys cops or something?"

Jim showed the girl his badge. "I'm Detective Ellison, Miss…?"

"Brandy," she said. "You know, Trent was in here yesterday. I do remember him."

"Trent Page?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Brandy said.

"Just Trent," Blair repeated.

"Just him," Brandy said. "But he bought two suits."

Jim and Blair exchanged a look. Bingo.

"I think it's time we had a talk with Page and Hornby," Jim said softly.

Blair nodded, then turned back to Brandy. "Do you have a student directory behind the counter?" Blair asked.

"Sure," she said.

~*~*~*~

Sam cracked his knuckles as he walked out of the Laundromat. He'd covered three blocks of businesses so far and no one had seen Black around. This was the part of the job he hated the most, the mindless asking of questions. Or the asking of the same mindless questions. Whatever.

He looked at the small strip mall across the street. A donut shop, a pawnshop, a Subway and two empty storefronts. Sam picked up his walkie-talkie as he crossed the parking lot.

"Biggs, Newman," he said. "Talk to me."

<"I'm at 450 Chicago,"> Biggs said. <"Nothing bitin' so far, Sam.">

Sam picked his way between a pair of cars and stood at the corner with half a dozen people, also waiting to cross. Several more people stood on the other side of the street.

"Newman, what about you?"

<"Zippo, Sam. I'm three blocks down Placid and I've got nothing.">

The light changed. Sam stepped into the street with the small crowd, hoping to get a cup of coffee at the donut shop.

"Keep going," Sam said. "I—"

The words caught in Sam's throat as a familiar face crossed into his view. Kurt Black passed Sam less than an arm's length away. Sam watched him walk, completely dumbfounded.

<"Sam?"> Newman asked.

Black turned, his eyes meeting Sam's. Both men stared at each other, stock-still in the middle of the street. A car horn blasted them into action.

Black raced for the other side of the street. Sam pivoted and bolted after him, shouting into the radio as he went.

"I've got him," he said. "1175 Chicago."

Sam shoved his walkie-talkie back into his pocket and reached for his gun. Black made a sharp turn into the small Laundromat parking lot and grabbed a young man walking out with a basket of laundry. The young man yelled as Black produced a gun and held it to his temple. People nearby screamed and backed away.

Sam skidded to a stop two yards away, his gun trained on Black. "Drop it!" Sam ordered.

"No way," Black said. His finger twitched around the trigger. "I'll kill him."

It was not a bluff. Sam saw that in Black's eyes, in the tiny snarl at the corner of his mouth. Sam loosened his grip and placed his gun on the pavement, never taking his eyes off Black and his hostage.

"Smart man," Black said. "Now stay."

Black backed away toward an alley between the Laundromat and the brick building next door. Sam matched him step for step. Black's finger squeezed the trigger ever so gently.

"Stay," Black said.

Sam stopped, letting Black back away. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Biggs round a corner and skid to a stop as he took in the scene. Black noticed the shift in Sam's attention. Black raised his gun and fired three wild shots.

The crowd ducked as the shots rang out. Sam pushed down several bystanders as he dove for the pavement. When he looked up a split second later, Black and his hostage were gone.

Biggs dashed over to Sam, Newman a few yards behind him. Sam scrambled to his feet and bolted to the alley Black had been near. Turning the corner, Sam was faced with an empty alley. It stretched several hundred feet with smaller streets branching out all over.

"Get CPD out here!" Sam yelled.

Newman nodded and pulled out his cell phone. Sam charged down the alley, Biggs close on his heels.

~*~*~*~

Jim and Blair arrived at the Sports Arena five minutes before Weight Training let out. They waited silently outside the men's locker room as students filed past. No one paid them much attention.

Leo Hornby exited the locker room first. Tall and lanky, he wore a pencil mustache with the arrogance of a man who knows his own talent. Trent Page, a head shorter than his companion and quite a bit stockier, followed next. They spotted the two men immediately, but made no move to stop.

"Leo Hornby," Jim said, stepping away from the wall with his badge. "Trent Page?"

The students stopped, annoyance topped by a quiet fear.

"I'm Detective Ellison," Jim said. "And my associate, Blair Sandburg."

"This gonna take long?" Hornby asked. "I only have ten minutes to get all the way to the Science Center."

"Anatomy?" Jim said.

Hornby blinked. "Huh?"

"You're next class," Jim clarified. "It's anatomy."

"Yeah, so what?" Hornby asked.

Jim disliked the student already. He turned his attention to the silent Page and noticed a familiar aftershave on the boy.

"Where were you two nights ago?" Jim asked.

"At the game," Hornby said.

Jim fixed Hornby with a contemptuous glare. "I was asking your friend." Jim looked at Page. "Where were you?"

"Like he said," Page said. "At the game with Leo."

"Did other people see you there?" Blair asked.

"Lots of people," Hornby said. "Ask anybody on the team."

"Were you there all night?" Jim asked. "Didn't happen to leave the auditorium around seven-twenty?"

"Hey, man," Hornby said. "If you're talking about Maggie, we had nothing to do with that. Sure, we hung out some, but she knew a lot of people."

"Aren't you concerned about her?" Blair said.

"Sure we are," Page said. "But people are saying she's okay."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Maggie could be paralyzed for the rest of her life."

Page was startled. He found an interesting spot on the floor and glued his eyes to it. Hornby seemed unfazed but feigned shock.

"So you were at the game all night," Jim said. "Never left the building and your friends can corroborate that."

"Absolutely," Hornby said.

"Then I guess we're done," Jim said.

Hornby and Page hurried down the hall. Jim watched them go, zeroing in on their conversation even as they disappeared from sight.

"Shoulda burned them," Page muttered.

"Quit worrying," Hornby said. "No one rummages around in the cans."

A horn blew somewhere in the complex and Jim cringed. He brought his hearing back down to normal levels.

"Well?" Blair said.

Jim glanced at his partner. "I think we should check out the garbage dumpsters."

"Which ones?" Blair asked. "There are dozens on campus."

Jim could still smell Page's cologne and knew it was not a scent he would forget.

"I'll know," Jim said.

~*~*~*~

Owen Maxwell gazed at his daughter with tender eyes, but a familiar dryness in his mouth. He had never wanted a drink more badly in his life. But a lot of hard years had removed the liquor bottle from his lips for good. All those years of sobriety had been for Maggie. He couldn't screw that up now.

A Bugs Bunny cartoon ended and Maggie's eyes drifted from the television screen. She looked at him and smiled. In that smile she was eight years old again, innocent of the brutal crime that had been committed against her.

"I've decided something, Maggie," Maxwell said. "I'm not going to the game tomorrow."

Maggie blinked, unsure if she'd understood him correctly. "But Dad—"

"No," he said firmly. "I have assistant coaches that can fill in for me. Wallace will do great. I want to be here with you."

A fine sheen of tears spread across Maggie's eyes. "But it's important for you. For the team."

"They'll play fine without me," Maxwell said. "I'm sorry I've been so distant, sweetheart. I've forgotten about a lot of things lately. But you know I'll be with you everyday until you're better."

The tears spilled over onto Maggie's cheeks. "I'll be fine. We'll be fine, Daddy."

Maxwell gently kissed her forehead, careful of the surrounding bruises. He'd been selfish for far too long. He had almost lost his daughter, the last of his family, forever. Maxwell would not make that mistake again.

~*~*~*~

Jim knew that if you wanted to get rid of evidence, you wouldn't throw it away in the dumpster nearest the crime scene. Nor would you dump it anywhere near your dorm. That was too obvious, even for an amateur. With Blair's help, Jim found the farthest distance from both the Sports Arena and Grady Hall: the Anthropology Building.

"Fate is not without a sense of irony," Blair muttered as the pair approached his building.

Jim nodded and led the way to the back of the building. Anthro, Archeology and Sociology all met at their rears to form a T. The crux of the T was a student lounge with windows on two sides and walls on a third. A door led outside to a grassy area between Anthropology and Sociology where two blue garbage dumpsters sat.

Students milled around the area, entering and exiting the building. Blair had been here many late nights and knew it wasn't often traveled in the evening hours. He and Jim walked over to the dumpsters. One was marked WASTE, the other PAPER ONLY.

Jim took a deep breath and opened his sense of smell. He sifted through paper, ink, banana peels, stale crackers and metallic soda cans, pencil lead and aging pizza crusts. The wind shifted slightly and Jim picked out two new scents. Mixed with the sharp scent of blood was Page's aftershave.

"They're in the waste dumpster," Jim said. He jacked a thumb at the metal container. "You want to do the honors?"

Blair shook his head and backed up a step. "Hey, man. I'm just an observer."

~*~*~*~

Serena looked up from her third cup of coffee in time to see Ellison and Sandburg enter the Forensics Lab. Jim held a plastic bag of clothing. Her nose wrinkled at the fetid odor surrounding both men.

"Sleep in a dumpster, Detective?" she asked.

Blair snorted. "Close," he said.

Jim handed her the bag. "Two running suits. The buttons on it match the one we found and I think you'll find the blood on them matches Maggie Maxwell's."

Serena accepted the clothing. Blood and bits of trash clung to the nylon material. She turned it over in her hand. Upon closer examination of one side, she found a small, frayed hole. Exactly the size of a missing button.

"I'll get this back to you double-quick," Serena said.

"Thanks, Serena," Jim said.

"It still doesn't make good sense," Blair commented as they left the lab.

"I hear you, Chief," Jim said. "If the blood matches, we have them on assault and robbery. But we don't have a clear motive. All they got between the two of them was fifty bucks."

"What about Tate Grissom?" Blair asked. "He could have had them set it up to look like a mugging."

"Possible," Jim said. "If they owed him money, this could have been Grissom's way of collecting. Time to talk to Maggie about her choice in school friends."

~*~*~*~

Sam double-parked his rented Suburban in an alley off of Dryer Boulevard. Two police cruisers were already there. He climbed out and walked over to the uniformed officers, Newman and Biggs on his heels. Sam flashed his badge as he approached.

"I'm Deputy Gerard," Sam said.

"Officer Twoey," one man said. He pointed at a body partially covered by ripped garbage bags and strewn trash. "Is that him?"

Sam walked over to the body. His face remained stony, but he groaned inside. The teen Black had taken hostage outside the Laundromat stared up at him with empty eyes.

"That's him," Sam said.

"A kid found him here about ten minutes ago," Twoey said. "It looks like his neck was broken."

"He was just a kid," Newman muttered from Sam's elbow.

Sam silently agreed. He looked around the alley, unsure why the street they were on seemed so familiar.

"What's around here?" Sam asked Twoey.

Twoey thought for a moment. "A couple of apartment buildings, a pizza place. Cascade General is a few blocks south of here."

Without a word, the three deputy marshals turned and raced back to the Suburban.

~*~*~*~

Maggie watched television alone and with the sound off. She glanced over when she heard footsteps in the door.

"Professor Sandburg," she said. "Detective Ellison, come in."

"How are you doing?" Blair asked, following Jim into the room.

"I've seen better days," Maggie said. "Sorry I missed class."

Blair smiled. "I think you've got a valid excuse. Where's your dad?"

"Cafeteria. I'm forcing him to eat every few hours."

"Miss Maxwell," Jim said. "I'd like to ask a few questions about some classmates of yours."

An odd, blank expression stole across her battered face. "Okay."

Jim measured the response before saying, "Leo Hornby and Trent Page."

"They're on the soccer team," Maggie said. "Trent and I had a class together last semester, that's how I know him. Leo is his best friend."

"Do they do everything together?" Jim asked.

"I guess," she said.

"Do either one of them have any reason to do you harm?" Jim asked. "A grudge of some kind against you or your father."

"They don't know my dad," Maggie said.

"Maggie," Blair said. "Your roommate said she heard Leo Hornby threaten you over the phone. Has he ever done that directly?"

"No," she said firmly. "You think that—they wouldn't have done this, Detective. Why would they, for God's sake?"

"Do you know if either one of them gambled?" Jim asked. "If they ever used a bookie?"

"This is insane," she said. "Everything keeps circling back down to my dad. You think Leo and Trent hurt me because of a gambling debt?"

"It is a possibility," Blair said. "We need to look at this from every angle."

"So you've decided they're guilty," she said.

Jim could understand her loyalty to her friends, but she needed to understand. "Maggie," he said. "In about an hour we should have a warrant and conclusive evidence proving Hornby and Page were the ones who attacked you."

Her eyes widened. "Evidence? You mean, they really could have done it?" The possibility finally seemed to have sunk in.

"That's what we're going to find out," Jim said.

~*~*~*~

Cosmo Renfro walked into the main lobby of Cascade General at the same moment Ellison and Sandburg were leaving. He hadn't seen the pair since yesterday and the chance meeting made him curious as to their end of the investigation.

"Detective!" Cosmo yelled.

He jogged over to meet the pair.

"Deputy," Ellison said politely. "What brings you here?"

"I'm meetin' Sam," Cosmo said. He quickly filled them in on Black and the murdered hostage. "Sammy's worried that Black might make an appearance here."

"Do you need extra men?" Ellison asked. "There are plainclothesmen stationed all around the hospital."

"Probably won't go down," Cosmo said. "But thanks. Where is Coach Maxwell?"

"Cafeteria," Sandburg said. "Down the hall to the left."

"Gotcha," Cosmo said.

"So where now?" Sandburg asked as he and Ellison walked away.

"To play a hunch," Ellison replied.

Cosmo watched Ellison and Sandburg leave the hospital, his eyes scanning the main entrance for any sign of Sam. Cosmo turned around and walked through the lobby, into the first corridor intent on finding Maxwell. He followed posted signs, easily locating the hospital's cafeteria.

Cosmo pushed through the double doors. The room was wider than it was deep, filled with rows of pressed wood tables and metal chairs. The food line began at the entrance and wrapped along the right wall. An EXIT sign advertised a service entrance in the far left corner of the room. Twenty people—doctors, nurses and visitors—ate at various tables around the room.

He spotted Maxwell sipping coffee at a table in the center. Cosmo's attention was entirely focused on his target and he missed the soft click of the service door opening. But less than an arm's reach from Maxwell, Cosmo looked up in time to see Black appear in the doorway, a .38 leveled at Maxwell's head.

Cosmo yanked his own Glock from its holster. "Get down!" Cosmo yelled. He heard chairs scraping and people yelling as he threw himself at Maxwell, knocking the larger man from his seat. Cosmo heard a gunshot and felt a strange heat spread through his arms and chest.

~*~*~*~

Sam, Newman and Biggs were in eyesight of the cafeteria doors when they heard Renfro's shouted warning and a single gun firing. The deputies charged at the cafeteria, forcing their way inside as a crowd of people fought to get out.

"I need some help!" Maxwell shouted inside.

Sam shoved his way inside. Coach Maxwell and two young doctors were clustered around someone on the floor.

"Dammit," Sam muttered as he bolted over.

Cosmo was conscious, blood blossoming from a bullet wound in his right shoulder. Maxwell knelt by Cosmo's head, staring in shock at the wounded man. Cosmo spotted Sam and fixed him with a pained frown.

"You're about ten seconds late, Sammy," he said. "Black went out the service door in the back."

"You're going to be fine," Sam said. "Newman, Biggs. You're with me."

"We've got him," one doctor said.

"Bastard got blood on my new jacket," Cosmo muttered through clenched teeth.

Sam drew his Glock and led the way to the service door. He gently pushed it open with his foot. A narrow cement hallway cut the right and connected to the kitchen. It also stretched out ahead for twenty feet before ending in an emergency exit. The marshals dashed ahead, noticing immediately that the exit alarm had been disabled.

Sam reached the emergency door and shoved it open, barreling out into the night air. They stood near a loading dock at the back of the hospital. A service road ran in both directions. Directly in front of them was the cement parking structure. Nothing moved or made a sound.

Black was gone.

Sam kicked the wall of the hospital—the only expression of anger he would allow himself.

"I want CPD over this entire area," Sam barked. "Helicopters, searchlights, foot patrols, you name it. Get it done."

Biggs whipped out his cell phone to make the necessary calls. Sam left his Biggs and Newman on the loading dock and went back inside to tend to his deputy.

~*~*~*~

Jim and Blair entered the Financial Aid Office just as the receptionist returned from her lunch break. Terri Lourdes lived for long skirts and sweater vests, too much blue eye shadow and creme-filled donuts. She sat down in her black leather chair, flipped on the computer monitor, and finally turned her complete attention over to Jim.

"How're you doing, Terri?" Blair asked.

"Good, Blair," she said, offering him a flirtatious smile. "What can I help you with?"

"We need some financial information on two students," Jim said. "Leo Hornby and Trent Page."

"I really can't just give out—" Terri began.

"I could come back with a warrant," Jim said. "But I don't think that will be necessary. We just need some general information on their financial status."

Terri considered them briefly, then typed in Leo's name. As his records flashed across the screen, she asked, "What information?"

"Have they ever been in financial need?" Jim asked. "Been late paying for tuition?"

Terri committed the information to memory, then checked Trent's records. The same numbers came up. She looked up at the men.

"Both Leo and Trent were overdue on their account balances," Terri said. "But two days ago, they each paid off their balance in cash."

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "How much cash?"

"Three thousand each," Terri said.

"Thanks, Terri," Blair said. Alarm bells rang in his head. "We really appreciate it."

Blair led the way out of the Financial Aid Office. He stopped in a small alcove and grabbed Jim's arm.

"Six grand," Blair said. "That's what was stolen in the Hardware store robbery earlier this week."

"Yeah," Jim said. "The problem is, neither Hornby nor Page match the description of the perp. One's too tall; the other's too chunky. Something doesn't make sense, but I want to bring them in now—"

Jim's cell phone chirped. He yanked it from his pocket.

"Ellison."

<"Jim, it's Serena. The blood on the running suits belongs to Maggie Maxwell. I also found several blonde hairs on one suit. I'm having them analyzed right now.">

Page had blonde hair.

"Thanks, Serena," Jim said. As he hung up, Jim looked at Blair. "Let's go get them."

~*~*~*~

While the endless search for Kurt Black continued under Sam Gerard's careful watch, Noah Newman spent the remainder of the afternoon in Major Crime. He worked with Biggs and Inspector Connor to coordinate foot and car patrols around the city. The trio had commandeered an empty desk by the break room. Noah didn't mind the work, but he always preferred being out in the field as opposed to cooped up indoors.

It was nearly three-thirty when Jim and Blair entered the bullpen. Blair spotted him. He walked over with deliberation, as if measuring his words with each step he took.

"What's wrong?" Noah asked.

"We think we found the two guys that attacked you and Maggie," Blair said. "But some of the evidence doesn't make sense."

Noah's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

"Sandburg!" Jim bellowed.

The young men looked over at Jim, who jacked his head in the direction of the interrogation rooms.

"Jim's talking to them now," Blair told Noah. "Why don't you watch with me?"

If these were the guys, there was no way in hell Noah was going to stay out here. He nodded and followed Blair out of Major Crime. They walked down a corridor and entered a door between two smaller interrogation rooms.

Captain Banks was already waiting inside the room. He nodded at them. The room had two-way glass on both walls and looked into cold gray rooms where Hornby and Page already sat alone. Noah glanced back and forth between the boys, noting the enormous difference in the two. While Hornby relaxed in his chair, confidant in his own ability to beat the system, Page drummed nervously on the top of the table. He was already sweating.

"Just watch this," Blair said.

Noah folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the show to begin.

The door to Hornby's room opened and Jim waltzed in. He closed the door and leaned against it, fixing Hornby with a contemptuous gaze.

"You should have burned the clothes," Jim said.

Hornby's shield faltered briefly. "What clothes? And I want my phone call. I got rights if I'm under arrest and I want a phone call."

"You'll get your phone call," Jim said. "But you aren't under arrest…yet. I just want to ask you some questions."

"Where's Trent?"

Jim scowled, tiring of Hornby's belligerent attitude. "You don't get to ask questions until you answer some of mine."

"You haven't asked anything."

Jim grunted in a queer combination of a chuckle and sneer. "Okay, how's this? Where did you get the three grand to pay off your tuition two days ago?"

Hornby paled noticeably. "Student loan."

"No, you see I checked your paperwork," Jim said. He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Hornby. "You haven't received financial aid in three semesters because of bad grades. After they just yanked your soccer scholarship."

"So what was the question?" Hornby asked, his voice quavering with anger.

Jim took another step forward and leaned over the table. "Where'd the money come from?"

Hornby also leaned forward, matching Jim move for move. "I won the lottery."

Jim tensed at the boy's sarcasm. He sat down in the room's other chair, clasping his hands together as if saying Grace.

"Do you know Tate Grissom?" Jim asked.

"Who?"

But it was the wrong response. His voice cracked and Hornby had finally begun to sweat.

"I think you know who he is," Jim said. "Big soccer player like you. Grissom is a loan shark who loves betting on college sports. You know, you were hot stuff freshman year, Leo. What happened?"

"I hurt my knee," Hornby said.

"Yeah, you did." Jim leaned forward. "And during the State Championship, too. Rainier lost by four goals."

"Wasn't my fault," Hornby said, although his voice clearly showed he knew otherwise.

Jim leaned in for the kill. "Are you a betting man? What do you want to bet that if I checked your financial records, it would show you received a large amount of money just after that game? Four to one odds? Fifty to one odds?"

"I want a lawyer." Hornby crossed his arms and stared at the table.

"I thought you might," Jim said.

Noah watched this play out, extremely impressed by Jim Ellison's interrogation skills. The bluff about the State game had worked like a charm and while Hornby had not confessed, Jim had more than enough to work with on Page.

Jim stood and left the room. As they turned to the window behind them, Noah heard Blair mutter, "Sounds like Ventriss." Noah was about to question the reference, but Jim entered Page's interrogation room.

Page looked up, his eyes wide and frightened. Jim stood opposite Page, letting his size cower the young man.

"Your partner isn't as great an actor as he thinks he is," Jim said. "Did Grissom put you up to this?"

Page blinked and his mouth formed a small "o." He didn't speak for several moments. "Are you talking about Tate Grissom?" Page asked, genuinely confused.

"Do you know another Grissom?" Jim countered.

"No," Page said. "But what has he got to do with anything?"

"So you admit you know him."

"Yeah, but so do half the athletes at Rainier," Page said. "He talks to everyone, trying to get an edge in his odds."

"Did he ever approach you about throwing a game?" Jim asked.

"Sure, but I told him to fu—uh, to go away. I haven't placed a bet with him in years."

Jim absorbed this information. Noah didn't envy him his position. The varying facts were enough to make anyone dizzy. Jim switched up.

"We found the jogging suits you threw away," Jim said. "We positively identified Maggie Maxwell's blood, as well as blonde hair that will turn out to belong to you."

Page's chin trembled.

"Why'd you do it?" Jim asked. "Did Grissom hire you to hurt her in order to hurt her father?"

Page's jaw fell open. "No!" he shouted.

"No what?" Jim asked.

Inner conflict played out on Page's face. "No, he didn't hire us."

"No, he didn't hire you," Jim said. "Not no, we didn't hurt her. Not no, we didn't attack Maggie Maxwell and Noah Newman."

Page bowed his head as tears sprung to his eyes. He mumbled something.

"What?" Jim said.

"No, Grissom didn't hire us," Page said.

"Why then?" Jim asked. "Did you do it for kicks?"

"No," Page said, his voice breaking.

"Why?" Jim stood up, slamming his hands onto the table. "Where did the three grand come from, Trent!"

Noah stepped closer to the glass, fixated on the trembling boy in the next room. Page was mumbling his reply. Noah could see the words, but could not hear them. He was sure what Page had said was wrong.

"What?" Jim asked, also not believing what Page had said.

Page looked up, a picture of defeat. He glanced at Jim, then at the two-way mirror, as if he could see the people on the other side. Page looked back at Jim.

"Maggie paid us to do it," Page said. "She wanted her old man's attention back. I don't know were she got the money."

Tumblers began falling into place even as Noah was poised to deny Page's accusations. She fit the description of the hardware store robber. Her reaction to the attack was more of resignation than of shock and anger. The fact that Noah himself was not hurt more severely.

//I wasn't part of the deal, // Noah thought. //Then what the hell was I? //

~*~*~*~

When the doctor finally came in to say he could see Cosmo, Sam Gerard barely wasted breath with a thank-you. He followed a chubby nurse into the small hospital room. Cosmo was awake, propped against two pillows. His right arm was immobilized in a sling.

"Sammy, thank God," Cosmo said when he saw him. "You gotta spring me from this joint. I swear to God, the nurses are tryin' to kill me."

The chubby nurse snorted and walked out. Sam glanced over his shoulder as she left and chuckled.

"Being your usual charming self," Sam said.

"Always," Cosmo said.

A silence fell between the two friends. While Sam considered Cosmo Renfro to be his closest friend, he had never voiced the sentiment. He preferred to keep his work as unpersonal as possible—at least for the benefit of his team. Sam was close to all four of his deputies, as they were to each other, but it was a family born of adversity. A family that Sam dreaded losing any member of.

//God help Black is Cosmo had been killed, // Sam thought.

"The doctor said your wound was clean," Sam said to fill the void. "Didn't hit bone or arteries."

"Does that mean I can go home?" Cosmo asked.

"Tomorrow," Sam said. "They want to keep you—"

"Overnight?" Cosmo moaned. "I have to stay overnight? What about Nurse Ratchet out there?"

Sam grinned. He formed a reply, but was cut short by Noah's sudden appearance in the room. He was flushed, eyes sparking with an unusual anger.

"Sam, can I borrow you for a few minutes?" Noah asked. "There's something you need to hear."

"Yeah," Sam said. He turned to Cosmo. "I'll see you in the morning."

Cosmo groaned dramatically and dropped his head back on a pillow. "I hate hospitals," he muttered.

~*~*~*~

After his conversations with Hornby and Page, Jim had conferred with Simon and Blair at length about how best to proceed. Hornby had confessed his part in the "paid attack" after some coaxing, showing his contempt for Jim the entire time. Newman had sat in on the discussion, but had not contributed. They had decided it was best to confront Maggie and her father at the same time, since the evidence was overwhelming when put together.

At the hospital, Jim briefed Gerard on his end of the case. Gerard did likewise, annoyed with everyone and no one that Black had proven so hard to catch. The deputy marshal agreed to sit in on the conversation with the Maxwells.

Jim entered Maggie's room first, relieved Owen Maxwell was there. Maggie's eyes met his, then flickered over the trio behind him. She looked at her father like a child seeking protection, but did not speak. Her respiration and heartbeat increased.

Maxwell didn't notice the tension. Instead, he smiled at the men. "Maggie's got some feeling in her toes," Maxwell announced proudly. "It's not a permanent paralysis."

"That's good news," Jim said.

Maxwell looked at the somber faces, finally catching on that something was wrong. "What is it?" he asked. "Did you catch the men who did this?"

"Yes, we did," Jim said.

"Thank God," Maxwell said. He kissed Maggie's forehead. "Did you hear that, sweetheart? They got 'em."

"Mr. Maxwell—" Jim began.

"Who are they?" Maxwell asked. "Why did they do this?"

"Maybe you should ask Maggie," Jim said. "She knows who they are."

"What are you talking about?" Maxwell asked. "How would she know? My God, were they friends of hers?"

When Jim didn't reply, Maxwell looked at Newman and Sandburg for help. They looked away. Maxwell gazed around the room, completely at a loss.

"Dammit!" Maxwell seethed. "Will somebody please tell me what's going on?"

"Maggie?" Newman spoke up. "Where were you Monday afternoon?"

"In class," Maxwell said. "Where else?"

Newman ignored him. "Maggie?"

When Maggie looked up there was nothing there. Her eyes, her very manner was void of any emotion or energy. She looked directly at Newman. "I'm sorry, Noah," she said evenly. "You weren't supposed to be there and it was too late to change my mind."

Maxwell surged to his feet. "I want you out of—"

"Daddy," Maggie said.

Maxwell looked down at his daughter. He was completely lost, unsure what to think or to understand.

"Daddy, I did a bad thing. I took someone else's money." Maggie did not cry, but the heartbreak on her face was far worse to behold. She looked at Jim. "What will happen to Leo and Trent?"

"We don't know yet," Jim admitted.

"I don't understand," Maxwell said.

Newman stepped forward, his voice bitter. "Mr. Maxwell, your daughter robbed a hardware store and used to the money to pay two students to stage a mugging."

"She what?" Maxwell looked positively ill. "Why would—?"

"I did it for you, Daddy," Maggie said. "I was losing you again. First you loved alcohol. Then Jonathan died and you came back. But this time it was basketball and I didn't know how to take basketball away." She practically whispered, "I just wanted you to love me best."

Maxwell's knees buckled and he fell into his chair, pale and shaking. With his face in his hands, he mumbled, "I don't believe it," over and over.

~*~*~*~

Since his deputies had the Suburban, Sam accepted a ride to his hotel. It was a tight fit, but he, Jim, Blair and Noah all managed to squeeze into the Ford. Sam claimed a window, sticking the younger men in the middle. They rode part of the way in silence, watching the night's light drizzle fall down the windshield in rivulets, eventually sloshed away by the wipers.

"What will happen to Maggie?" Noah asked, breaking the silence.

"She'll undergo psychiatric evaluation," Jim said. "After that, it's hard to tell."

"So this case is solved," Blair said. He shifted a bit to keep his butt from falling asleep. "But Kurt Black is still running loose."

"And he's getting more and more dangerous," Sam commented. "Another murder, attempted murder."

Jim gripped the steering wheel tightly. "And he's loose in my city," he muttered as he turned into the hotel parking lot. Jim pulled into a space in front of the Sheraton and parked. He looked at Gerard. "Do you mind if we all come up? I have an idea I want to discuss with you and your deputies."

Sam considered the detective for half a beat, then nodded. "All right."

The four men piled out of the pickup and began walking toward the hotel. They ignored the rain, letting it run down their collars and dampen their shoes. Tonight, there were more pressing issues to worry about.

~*~*~*~

FRIDAY

When Jim and Sam arrived at Cascade General, they found an uniformed policeman standing by Maggie's door. Jim told the man to take a few minutes for coffee and went inside. Maggie sat in an electric wheelchair. A young intern was explaining how to use it properly. Maxwell sat silently nearby, his face drawn and tired. Sam asked the intern to leave, flashing his badge to hasten the younger man's retreat.

"Mr. Maxwell," Jim said. "Kurt Black tried to kill you yesterday. We have no reason to doubt that he'll try it again."

Maxwell glared at Jim, but nodded along.

"Deputy Gerard and I have come up with a plan to draw Black out," Jim continued. "We don't want him to think it is a set-up, but we also want an environment we can control. Black will have to believe everything is perfectly natural."

"You and Maggie will both be wearing Kevlar vests," Sam said. "We will have deputies and plainclothes policemen everywhere. It *will* be controlled. If Black tries anything, we will be able to respond immediately."

"Where?" Maxwell asked.

"The basketball game tonight," Jim said.

Maxwell looked at Maggie, who sat silently in her chair. She looked away. Maxwell closed his eyes briefly, then said, "What's your plan?"

~*~*~*~

Blair found Noah on the balcony, sitting on the brick wall with his feet dangling out over the sidewalk below. He held a cooling cup of coffee, his thoughts distant. Blair stood next to his friend and put his elbows on the cement banister. For several minutes they looked silently out toward the bay.

"Is it just us?" Noah asked, turning to look at Blair. "Or is it the job that attracts the wrong kind of people?"

"I think it's a little of both," Blair said. It was a familiar conversation. "Besides, in your line of work you're more likely than most to come across the, uh, wrong kid of people."

"In your line, too," Noah said.

Blair nodded. "True. She was my student. And I know her friendship meant a lot to you, Noah."

Noah placed his untouched coffee on the banister. "I feel sorry for Maggie. She felt cheated out of love."

"Yeah," Blair said. "But there are much healthier ways of expressing that than robbery and assault." He put a hand on Noah's shoulder. "And don't guilt yourself. Sometimes we can't help people no matter what we do."

"My sister says that sometimes," Noah said.

"She sounds pretty smart," Blair teased. "And when do I get to meet this sister of yours?"

Noah shrugged. "Come out to Chicago in a couple of months. I'll show you around my hometown. Besides, with my track record, I don't think I'll set foot back in Cascade ever again."

They laughed, but Noah's hid a shade of bitterness. As if on cue, the gray clouds open up and let down a soft, pelting rain. Blair ducked into the protection of the loft, but Noah remained outside. He turned his face up to the sky and closed his eyes, letting the cold water spill down his cheeks.

"Some vacation," he mumbled.

~*~*~*~

The Sports Arena was packed to the rafters for the last game of the Slam-Dunk Contest. It was an all-star line up with Rainier versus Portsmouth. Dedicated fans of both teams lined the bleachers. Amidst them were members of two very different law enforcement agencies.

Jim, Simon and Cosmo Renfro—no one could convince him to sit this one out—stood in the Arena's security control room. They scanned a dozen security monitors hooked up to twenty cameras around the building, making sure their teams were in place.

Cooper, Rafe and Taggart sat at intervals by the second level exits. Connor, Biggs and Gerard had places at court level. Brown had donned a Concessions uniform and popcorn tray, freeing him to wander around. More than thirty plainclothes officers dotted the crowd, several more "selling" peanuts and popcorn. Newman sat in the front row by Rainier's bench, Maggie Maxwell in a wheelchair next to him.

Jim double-checked his headset. "All right, people," he said. "This is comm one. I want a comm check. Come back two."

<"Comm check two,"> Gerard said.

<"Comm check three,"> Newman said.

<"Comm check four,"> Biggs said.

"Comm check five," Simon said.

When the last person had reported in, Jim said, "Game time is three minutes. I repeat, three minutes. Comm's one and five getting into position."

Jim turned to Renfro. "It's all yours," he said.

"Under control," Renfro said.

Jim followed Simon out of the security office. Sandburg was waiting outside. Without a word, the three men headed for their places.

~*~*~*~

Owen Maxwell felt sick to his stomach as he led his team onto the court. It was everything and nothing—the lights above, the screams of fans, the deadly anxiety and dread of what might happen. He tugged at the bottom of his Kevlar vest through his coat, wishing he wasn't wearing it. The damned thing was too uncomfortable.

As he crossed the court to Rainier's bench, Owen almost wished Black would make his move. Try and be done with it. He didn't know if he had the strength to keep this up the entire game. He saw Maggie and Noah court side and looked away. It was hard to look at his daughter knowing what she had done. And why she had done it.

Nothing made sense, but as the game started he vowed to find peace with what had happened in his life. Peace for himself and peace for Maggie.

He had to try.

Orville Wallace clapped a hand on Owen's shoulder, and he turned his attention to the game at hand.

~*~*~*~

At half time, Jim found a spot on an empty bleacher and did another comm check. Each person reported his or her position and status, all of which remained tediously the same. No one had seen Black.

Renfro reported back from the security office. <"Nothing here either,"> Cosmo said. <"You think Black will take the bait?">

"I hope so," Jim said. "Out."

Blair's gaze had landed on the catwalks above the basketball court. Jim followed his line of sight.

"Don't worry," Jim said. "We have someone at the door to the catwalks."

"I know," Blair said. He looked down, spotting Noah and Maggie. They sat silently, watching the half-time cheerleading show with feigned interest. "Cheer up, Noah. You've got the best seat in the house."

His only reply was a cryptic snort over the comm.

Jim gazed around the packed arena, opening his senses to anything that could spark his attention. Two more periods before Black was officially a no-show.

~*~*~*~

Renfro paced the short length of the security office, watching as the game time dwindled down to its last minute. Maxwell called a time-out and pulled his starters in. Cosmo stared at the security monitors, sure that Black would be a no-show tonight. He was about to turn back to the game when one of the monitors caught his eye.

"Go back to camera nineteen," Cosmo said.

A security guard hit a button and brought nineteen up on the central monitor. The fourth floor corridor it covered was empty. Nothing was up there but storage and maintenance catwalks. But still, something had alerted him.

"Can you change the angle of the camera?" Cosmo asked.

The game resumed and the clock ticked away, now at thirty-six seconds.

The guard hit a switch, then moved a knob. The angle of camera nineteen remained the same.

"What the—?" the guard muttered.

Cosmo saw it this time. A hat passed at the bottom of the camera, just barely in its line of sight. The input blurred slightly, then jumped. Then the hat was gone.

The guard was still tapping on the knob. "I think the system is broken."

"It's not broke," Cosmo said. "It's on a loop." Cosmo hit his radio receiver and spoke into his mike. "Comm one, this is Central. Security camera nineteen has been tampered with. Fourth floor by the maintenance catwalks."

<"Dammit!"> Ellison shouted.

~*~*~*~

"Rainier wins! Rainier wins the title!"

The announcement came over the arena's loudspeaker an instant after Jim's epithet. Rainier's basketball team surrounded their coach, hugging and congratulating each other. Maxwell broke off from his team and lifted Maggie out of her chair in a bear hug. Even as fans began to surge to the court, Jim's gaze went straight up to the catwalks. With a vague sense of déjà vu, Jim spotted a figure high above the crowd, peering out from a metal walkway with a .50 caliber rifle trained on the people below him.

"I see him," Jim said. "West side of the arena. Newman, get Maxwell down—"

The report from the single shot was almost lost in the din of the cheering crowd. The bullet propelled Maxwell forward, knocking Maggie from his arms. Both fell to the ground as people around them began to scream.

"Brown, Rafe, get down there!" Jim ordered. "Everyone, keep this crowd in line!" He looked up once more, but the catwalk was empty. "I'm going after Black!"

Jim fought his way through the surging crowd. "Renfro! What exit is nearest the catwalks?"

<"One second,"> Renfro replied.

Jim jumped over a railing and found himself in the main lobby of the Sports Arena. To his left was the Concessions Stand, to his right the Ticket Office.

"Now, Renfro!"

<"West side of the building,"> Renfro came back. <"A set of service stairs goes straight out to the parking lot.">

Jim turned and bolted down the hallway to his left. He pushed against the crowd that desperately sought to get out. Human resistance thinned the closer he got. Jim yanked his comm out, the amazing mix of shouting voices too much to take. The metal doors to the service exit came into view. As Jim approached, Sam and Officer Rowe came into view, running from the other direction.

"Wait," Jim said. He listened briefly, but heard nothing in the stairwell. Jim turned to Sam and Rowe. He nodded.

Jim pulled his gun and went in first. Although he knew it was empty, he did a quick search as he led the three across the landing to the outside exit. It was a metal door with no window. Sam pushed forward and shoved the door open.

The three men spilled out into the night air. They were at the very edge of the parking lot; a fifteen-foot strip of grass separated them from the street. They fanned out into the lot, emerging from between the cars onto the blacktop.

An engine gunned and a black Mazda screamed out of a parking space less than five feet from Officer Rowe. Jim spun around, shouting a warning too late. Black stuck his hand out of the window and shot Rowe point-blank in the face. The car accelerated. Sam, ten feet from Rowe, didn't have enough time to move out of the way. The right fender of the Mazda clipped Sam's leg and sent him flying. He landed hard on the pavement, swearing loudly. Only Jim managed enough time to roll out of the way, Black's bullets missing him by centimeters. Jim sat up as the Mazda sped past, aimed carefully and shot out its two rear tires. The car jumped the curb and careened straight into a telephone pole.

"Jim!" Connor yelled. "Stay down!"

Jim turned his head and watched Connor and Biggs tear past him. They approached the Mazda slowly. Jim heard a hammer clicking into place and yelled. Black squeezed off a wild shot that hit the dirt by Connor's right foot. Connor and Biggs returned fire, peppering the front seat. One shot tore into the engine, sending the car up in a cloud of flames. Biggs pushed Connor to the ground, shielding her from the explosion.

Jim coughed against the acrid smoke and climbed to his feet. He walked over to Gerard, who was trying to pull himself to his feet using a car fender. Gerard clutched his left leg, his face pained. They both looked at Officer Rowe's body—another victim claimed by the now-late Kurt Black.

"You finally got Black," Jim said.

Sam looked at the burning car. "Yeah."

Biggs pulled Connor to her feet as he said, "You know, things seem to blow up when we're together."

Jim slipped his arm around Sam's shoulder. Grateful for the support, Sam leaned against Jim as the two men limped back to the Sports Arena.

~*~*~*~

Maggie spoke with Dr. Shelly Grant for two hours the following morning. Owen Maxwell sat outside the psychiatrist's office the entire time, absently rubbing his sore back. When he was shot last night, Maxwell was sure he'd been killed. But his vest had stopped the bullet from piercing his skin and tearing through his abdomen.

Maxwell was glad Kurt Black was dead. It was easier to direct his anger at a criminal than at his own daughter. He knew he'd been inattentive lately, but had never dreamed Maggie was ill enough to do herself harm.

When the door to Dr. Grant's office finally swung open, Maxwell shot to his feet. Maggie carefully directed her electric wheelchair into the corridor, her cheeks streaked with dried tears. But she smiled when she saw him.

Dr. Grant beckoned Maxwell into her office and closed the door behind them.

"Please, sit," Dr. Grant said. She walked behind her small desk and sat down.

Maxwell perched on the edge of the visitor's chair.

"Mr. Maxwell, when was the last time you and Maggie talked?" she asked. "I mean really talked to each other."

He was ashamed that as he searched his memory, he could not recall one instance. "I assume," Maxwell said. "That Maggie told you I'm an alcoholic. Eight years of my life are a blur, eight years with her I can't get back. I thought I was making up for lost time by being with her, by being a good parent. But we don't talk, not like she did with her mother or Jonathan. I guess that sometimes just loving a person isn't enough."

"For some it isn't," Dr. Grant said. "Maggie has lost two very important people in her life. She's terrified of losing you, even to a game. I'm recommending extensive psychological counseling for both you and Maggie. Go to family therapy and listen to each other."

"What about the charges against Maggie?" he asked. "Will we have to go to trial?"

Dr. Grant gazed at him carefully. "I spoke to Detective Ellison and D.A. Sanchez this morning. The Mendoza family may be willing to drop the burglary charges if your lawyers can reach a settlement."

"God, I'll do whatever it takes," Maxwell said. He collapsed backward into his chair. "I want to take Maggie home."

"To San Diego?"

Maxwell nodded.

"I think that would be good for her," Dr. Grant said. "After the charges pending are settled, I don't think Cascade is the prime environment for Maggie. I know a doctor in San Diego. He'll help you find the right family counselor."

"Thank you, Dr. Grant."

~*~*~*~

Noah stood quietly at the end of the corridor. Maggie sat outside Dr. Grant's office, picking at the brace on her wrist. He had prepared something to say to her, but his mind completely blanked out now that he was here.

As if she felt his eyes, Maggie turned and looked at him. She smiled, but it never quite reached her eyes.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi back," Noah said. He walked down the hallway, stopping a few feet from her chair. "I just wanted to say good-bye. We're flying back to Chicago this afternoon."

"I hope you have a safe flight," she said softly.

Perhaps not the response he'd hoped for, but certainly one he had expected. "Yeah, well, I'd better—"

"Noah."

A deep regret filled Maggie's eyes. "I know it doesn't mean much to you," she said. "But we were real. I'm glad we had a chance to be friends, even for a little while. And I did like you, I never lied about that."

Noah had steeled himself against such an apology, but when he actually heard it, he realized it did mean something to him. He had a vague idea that in another lifetime, they may have had a chance.

"It just wasn't enough," Noah said, his tone without venom or accusation.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he replied. "Thank you."

"For what?"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but would not come out completely. "For giving me a few more memories of Uncle Jonathan. I wish I'd known him the way you did and I regret that."

"Don't regret it," Maggie said. "We knew very different men, you and I."

Noah bent down and gently kissed the top of Maggie's head. "Good-bye, Maggie."

He pivoted and walked away, a bit too fast. But her voice carried to him, a soft whisper as she replied, "Good-bye, Noah."

~*~*~*~

SATURDAY

Morning found Major Crime a hub of activity as men and women poured over various forms of paperwork. The marshals had shanghaied an empty interrogation room to organize their case for the trip back to Chicago. When the last form was signed and stamped, ten people caravaned to the loft on an open invitation for lunch.

Blair was already there, putting the finishing touches on an enormous pot of ostrich chili, finishing up what he'd bought earlier in the week. It took the positive testimony of three people for Cosmo Renfro to consider trying it. When he finally acquiesced, settling down at the table to eat one-handed, he was pleasantly surprised to discover how tasty it was.

"And good for you," Cooper teased.

The loft was packed, but detectives and marshals mingled easily. Megan Connor and Bobby Biggs ate on the couch, lost in their own continuing conversation. Savannah Cooper, Joel Taggart, Simon, Rafe and Brown joined Renfro at the table, trading tales of chases and arrests. Blair hovered over the chili, keeping bowls full and popping in and out of conversation.

Jim and Sam stood against the wall near Blair's room, occasionally adding to the stories being told around the table, but mostly contenting themselves to listen. They chatted amiably between themselves, conscious of their mutual respect.

Newman's return to the loft was quiet and largely unnoticed. He bypassed food and conversation, heading straight for the balcony. Blair watched from the kitchen, concerned for his friend. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and followed Newman onto the balcony.

Blair didn't speak. He placed the silent food offering next to Noah's elbow and turned to go back inside.

"Thanks, Blair," Noah said. As Blair turned around Noah picked up the beer and said, "I guess I'm not great company right now."

Blair smiled sympathetically. "It always takes some time to figure out," Blair said. He placed a hand on Noah's shoulder. "But don't forget to lean on your friends sometimes."

Noah raised an eyebrow, wiggling it mischievously. He leaned all his weight against Blair's chest, sending both men stumbling backwards. They laughed as they righted themselves.

"Not quite so literally," Blair said. He draped his arm around Noah's shoulders and led him inside, into a room filled with friends.

~*~*~*~

"…So we're all dressed up as department store Santas," Cosmo said. His hands waved frantically when he talked, as if to help better explain the story to his captive audience. "Sam sees Kaufman lurking over by women's lingerie—"

Sam groaned loudly, hiding his face in his hand.

Spurred on by the round of chuckles, Cosmo continued. "So he takes off running in his Santa suit, bells jingling and his padded belly just swinging to and fro. Well, this lady who was looking at undies got so scared by this big old Santa barreling towards her that she starts screaming bloody murder. This alerts Kaufman, who takes off."

"And I'm right behind Sam," Noah added. "I tried to calm the poor woman down, but I've also got this stupid Santa suit on and she hits me repeatedly with her purse."

"Sammy's still chasing Kaufman through lingerie," Cosmo said. "Me and Biggs are catching up, but the guy takes a hard turn and runs up the escalator into Sporting Goods. First thing the bastard sees is a tennis ball pitcher."

"Oh, no," Simon said.

"Yeah," Cosmo said. "Kaufman turns the thing on and starts pelting us with tennis balls as we come up the escalator."

"Those things hurt, too," Biggs said from his spot on the couch.

"Men are such wimps," Megan teased.

"Amen, sister," Cooper said.

"Can I continue?" Cosmo asked, glaring at Cooper. She laughed and shrugged.

"Fortunately the thing only had fifteen balls in it," Sam said. "As soon as it's empty, he turns to start running again."

"Only Coop's behind him in her little Mrs. Claus outfit," Cosmo said. "Sporting a brand-new Glock .38. Kaufman does a double-take, but smartly decides to surrender."

"There was this kid," Cooper said, giggling at the memory. "A boy about nine years old. He looks at his father and says, 'Daddy, Mrs. Claus is gonna shoot a shoplifter.'"

The loft echoed with peals of laughter. The chili pot was empty; the beer had been drunk. Everyone knew it was time to go, but no one wanted the afternoon to end. With heartfelt good-byes and genuine good-lucks, Simon, Rafe, Brown and Joel drifted out. Megan and Biggs said good-bye and promised to keep in touch before she also left. Noah grabbed his overnight bag and everyone filed out of the loft and downstairs to the where the rented Suburban was parked.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Sam said to Jim.

Jim extended his hand and shook Sam Gerard's firmly. "Not a problem. If you're ever out this way…."

"Hopefully it won't be for another case like this," Sam said.

Noah and Blair lagged behind the others.

"Next time I take a vacation," Noah said. "I'm going to Idaho. It's gotta be boring in Idaho. Or maybe Montana."

Blair laughed. "Or you could just lock yourself in your apartment."

Noah shook his head. "My luck I would have a roach infestation or termites in the walls or a grease fire would torch my kitchen."

"You're pessimistic," Blair said.

"All those things have happened," Noah said mock seriously.

Cooper fished the keys from her pocket and unlocked the Suburban. She climbed inside, followed by Biggs. Cosmo turned by the open door and looked around.

"If figures it stops raining the day we leave," Cosmo said, peering up into the cloudless sky. "See you guys!" Cosmo hopped into the back of the Suburban and slid the door shut.

Sam limped around to the driver's door and got inside.

"Thanks for letting me stay in the loft," Noah said to Jim as they shook hands.

"Come again, anytime," Jim said.

"I will." Noah turned to Blair. "Time for things to get back to normal, I guess."

Blair reached out and wrapped his friend in a bear hug, sorry to see him go so soon. "Take care, Noah," he said.

Noah hugged back. "I'll see you soon, Blair. I promise."

They parted and Noah hopped into the front passenger seat. Sam started the engine and backed out of the parking space. Jim and Blair stood on the curb and watched the Suburban until it drove out of sight. When they were gone, the partners turned and strolled back toward the loft.

"So whose turn is it to do the dishes?" Jim asked.

"Hey, man," Blair protested. "I cooked, you clean."

"I don't know," Jim said. "We may have to alter that house rule."

"Come on, Jim."

Jim's eyes sparkled. "Last one upstairs does the dishes." With that, Jim darted toward their building.

"No fair!" Blair said, bolting after him. "You had a head start!"

~*~*~*~

June 12

Blair,

I know you keep asking me to email, but I reiterate that it is easier for me to scribble a note during a long plane/car ride than it is to find an accessible computer. Just wanted to tell you what's been going on in the Mark Roberts/Warren case. I'm on a plane from Chicago to New York as we speak (well, sort of, but you know what I mean). Sam's pretty pissed at the men who are helping us catch Mark Warren because they've been lying about who Warren really is. And who is Mark Warren? Hell if I know. He supposedly murdered two DSS agents in cold blood, but we have a security tape that says differently (which is coincidentally why we are going to NY).

There was another DSS Agent assigned to work with us on this case, John Royce. Seems like a nice guy and all, but sometimes I wonder if he's telling the whole truth, too. Something's really wrong about this whole case. I can feel it in my bones. Sam would probably call it good instincts and say I've got quite a future in the Marshal's Office. Of course, Sam would never say that out loud. He is Sam, after all.

The plane lands soon. Maybe we'll get some answers.

Your pal,

Noah

PS—Don't make any plans for the end of August. I've got a vacation week coming up and you said you wanted to meet my sister.

Blair folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope it had come in. He dropped it next to him onto the sofa, unable to dredge up the excitement one of Noah's infrequent letters brought. But nothing made him particularly happy these days. He wasn't depressed, so much as confused. The last two weeks had been hell on earth and he was still reeling from the shock of it all.

Jim and his dissertation; Zellar and Barkley; Megan and Simon being shot. Then there was the little presentation in the bullpen this afternoon. When Jim had tossed him that badge, Blair had seen a lifeline. While he wasn't sure if being a detective was what he wanted, he now knew without a shadow of a doubt that his friends would stand by him no matter what. That knowledge meant more to him than a thousand job offers.

He hadn't told Noah about what was going on. He honestly didn't know how. But it would keep for now. Noah was in the middle of a big case and didn't need more on his plate.

The telephone startled Blair out of his cold thoughts. He reached behind the couch and grabbed the cordless.

"Hello?"

<"Is this Blair?"> a familiar voice asked.

"Yes it is," Blair said. "Marshal Renfro?"

<"Yeah,"> Cosmo said.

There was a brief pause on Cosmo's end that sent a shiver up Blair's spine.

"What's going on?" Blair asked, a distinct tremble in his voice. "What's wrong."

<"Something happened today, kiddo,"> Cosmo said. <"Something bad.">

Blair's stomach flip-flopped. He tried to speak, but no words formed. Blair knew. Before Cosmo had said another word, Blair knew. He barely heard the marshal's explanation, didn't notice when his own hand turned off the phone. Blair stood on numb legs, crossing the living room in a daze. He opened the balcony doors and stepped out into the rain.

He didn't know how long he stood there, the rain running down his neck and soaking him to the bone. His hair was plastered to his head, his clothes to his body. He became aware of something pulling him back inside the loft and covering him with a large towel. The towel was rubbed against his hair and his face, shaking Blair out of his trance.

Jim watched him with worry in his eyes, his hands gently gripping Blair's shoulders. "Sandburg?" Jim repeated. "Dammit, what's wrong?"

Blair felt warm water trickle down his cheeks. He couldn't seem to remember how to speak. "I'm dripping on the carpet, Jim," he finally said.

Jim blanched as his worry compounded. "I don't care about that. Talk to me, Blair."

"Cosmo called," Blair said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Jim's face blurred in front of him. "He's dead, Jim." Blair's eyes closed and hot tears spilled down his cheeks. His knees buckled. Jim's strong arms wrapped around Blair, keeping him from falling. As Blair hugged his best friend, a harsh damn of anger and grief broke inside of him, and he shivered violently. "Noah's dead."

~END~

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