A small bell over the door jingled a merry welcome to the Olde World Spice and Herb Shoppe as Blair pushed the door open and paused to toss a wave at his departing partner. True to this word, Jim was headed to wash the truck and would meet Blair and his mother back at the loft, which was only a short walk from the shop. Upon entering the store, Blair and Naomi were surrounded by the heady aroma of a myriad of herbal and spice combinations. Both paused to inhale and enjoy the rejuvenating scents.

"May I help you?"

Startled, they turned to face a man Blair assumed to be the owner, since he certainly didn't project the image of an employee. Blair blinked in surprise-- the man had appeared from seemingly nowhere. Tall and slender with brown hair, an angular face and dark, penetrating eyes, he had certainly made a striking first impression, if Naomi's reaction was any indicator.

Blair opened his mouth to state they were just browsing, but then snapped it shut as Naomi glided over to the man and began working her magic. "Oh, we just had to come in and investigate this wonderful shop!" she enthused. "It just has the most marvelous aura about it! I can almost feel the positive energy vibrating within these walls. My son," she waved in Blair's direction, "says you have a wonderful assortment of herbs and spices."

The proprietor's expression quickly turned from bemusement to pleasure as Naomi continued to sing the praises of his shop. Blair smiled. Another one bites the dust, he chuckled silently.

"Thank you very much," the man replied, bowing slightly at the waist and extending his hand. "I do pride myself on maintaining the most diverse and freshest stock of herbs in Cascade. I'm Darien Cantwell. Welcome to my shop."

Naomi smiled happily and took the proffered hand in her own. "Naomi Sandburg. And this is my son, Blair."

Blair grinned, casually threw up a hand and murmured, "How ya doing?" since it was obvious the man only had eyes for his mother.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Cantwell inquired, coming around the counter to stand closer to the vivacious redhead. "I'm sure I have whatever you need."

Blair almost laughed at the flirtatious dance going on in front of him. He'd seen his mother wrap many a man around her finger, and he always found it amusing. It appeared she had met her match in Darien Cantwell.

"Well, I'm in desperate need of some fresh sage..." Naomi began, looping her arm through Cantwell's and drifting toward the herb aisles. Blair grinned again and took up a position leaning against the counter near the cash register. It wouldn't do to trail along behind his mother and cramp her style.

"You should have seen her, Jim!" Blair chortled, flinging himself across the couch upon their return to the loft. "She practically had the guy eating out of her hand by the time we left!"

"Oh, Blair, you're exaggerating," Naomi admonished gently as she hung her shawl on the coat rack near the door. She placed her newly acquired bag of fresh sage on the kitchen counter and turned to regard her son with an expression which was meant to be serious, but which actually fell somewhat closer to pleasantly embarrassed.

"Am not!" Blair returned playfully. He turned to Jim. "She already has a dinner date with him- - tonight!"

Jim shook his head in amusement. "I dunno, Naomi. Sounds like pretty fast work to me," he smiled.

"Oh, you two!" was the best retort Naomi could manage in the face of the dual onslaught. "Now, I simply must figure out what I'm going to wear. I didn't come prepared for a dinner date!" Naomi paused as a thought struck her. "You don't mind if I go out tonight, do you, Sweetie?" she asked in sudden concern. "You didn't have plans, did you? Because I can always cancel..."

Blair rose to his feet and crossed the room to hug his mother. "Of course I don't mind, Mom! You go and have fun! I need to finish this report I'm working on for Simon, anyway. We'll have plenty of time to be together while you're here because you're going to stay a while this time. Right?"

Naomi flashed a quick look at Jim, who nodded encouragingly. "Yes, Sweetie, I'm going to stay a while this time." She smiled gratefully at her son's best friend.

Taking a break from putting the finishing touches on his report, Blair stretched in the kitchen chair and watched in amusement as Naomi fluttered around the apartment like a nervous teenager before her first date. "Mom," he laughed, "you're going to be exhausted before he ever gets here! I've never seen you this nervous before."

"I know. Silly, isn't it? It's just that we seem to have so much in common, it's almost frightening." Naomi paused to regard her son with a wry smile. "I hate being out of control like this."

Blair groaned. "Oh, please Mom, don't you turn into a control freak! I don't think I could deal with two of you!" He grinned, grabbed a wadded-up piece of notepaper and lobbed it at Jim, who sat quietly reading on the couch. Ellison casually captured the missile without lifting his eyes from the page and tossed it back toward Blair's position at the dining table. "Careful there, Khrushchev," he warned. "Don't start a war you can't win."

Darien Cantwell arrived promptly at 6:00, knocking firmly on the loft door. After smoothing her dress and casting a last, nervous smile at her son, Naomi opened the door to admit her date. "Darien!" she greeted him warmly, no trace of her previous nervousness evident. "Please come in."

Smiling at Naomi, Darien entered the apartment, his sharp eyes casting about him in a quick assessment. As his eyes fell on Jim in the kitchen, clad in his flowered apron and busily chopping vegetables for stir-fry, he frowned in confusion. Sensing Cantwell's bewilderment, Blair swiftly performed introductions. "Darien, this is my roommate, Jim Ellison. Jim, Darien Cantwell."

"Ah, nice to meet you Mr. Ellison."

Jim wiped his hands on a dishtowel and shook Darien's hand. Blair watched as Jim's nose twitched and a frown creased his brow. Wonder what that's all about. "Nice to meet you, too. Can I offer you a drink?"

"Thank you, but no. Our dinner reservation is at 6:30, so we'll need to leave shortly."

Nodding his understanding, Jim returned to his vegetables. "So, what's on the menu for tonight?" he asked casually as Blair took a drink of beer. Blair almost choked in shock.

"Tortino's for dinner, then perhaps Valhalla for drinks and dancing." Darien replied, smiling at Naomi, who returned his smile.

Jim raised an eyebrow and whistled softly. "Pretty swanky places. Herbs must pay well."

"Jim!" Naomi swatted him on the arm, "Can't you stop acting like a detective for even a few minutes?" she chastised.

"Sorry," he grinned an apology at Cantwell, "old habits are hard to break."

"Detective?" Cantwell asked with interest.

"Cascade PD, Major Crime division," Jim clarified. "Didn't mean to give you the third degree, though. I think it's in the blood or something. Just can't help myself sometimes."

"Oh, think nothing of it," Darien waved off the apology. "It's nice to know someone cares enough about Naomi to ask."

Blushing like a schoolgirl and throwing a quick frown at Jim, Naomi grabbed her sweater and announced brightly, "Well, hadn't we better get going, Darien? I certainly don't want to be late for what sounds like a perfectly wonderful evening!"

Taking his cue, Darien took Naomi's elbow and gently guided her toward the door. "Good evening, gentlemen. It was nice to meet you, Jim."

"Good night," Blair responded with a smile and a wave.

"Have fun," Jim replied, reapplying himself to his meal preparation.

As the door closed behind the couple, Blair turned to his partner, who was now staring thoughtfully at the carrot he had previously been chopping. "Okay, Jim, what gives? What was with that routine?"

Jim shook his head and admitted, "I don't really know, Chief. There's just something about him... I can't put my finger on it. You should have heard his heart when he found out I'm a cop. I thought he was going to have a heart attack for a minute there."

"You were listening to his heartbeat?" Blair asked in surprise. "Why?"

His partner shrugged and admitted a bit sheepishly, "I always do, now. It's just sort of second nature to me."

Blair pumped his fist in the air. "Yes!"

"Don't let it go to your head, Chief," Jim advised with a smile. "And there was a strange scent about him..."

"You sniffed him too?"

Wrinkling his nose, Jim retorted, "You're making me sound like some sort of dog, Sandburg."

"Not a dog, Jim, a sentinel! That's your job, man, protecting the tribe. And that includes my mom," Blair grinned, then became serious. "So, what did you smell?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know. It seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it. It just smelled strange, that's all." Then he made a face. "But then, he does spend his day cooped up with a bunch of weird roots and herbs. I'd be surprised if he didn't smell odd."

Making a face at his partner, Blair turned back to his laptop to finish his report.

"I'd love to ask you in, but Blair's sleeping on the couch while I'm visiting," Naomi whispered, as Darien walked her to the loft door late that evening. She dug in her purse for the key Jim had given her earlier in the day.

"I understand," he smiled pleasantly then grasped the hand that held her purse and looked deeply into her eyes, staying her search. "I'd like to see you again while you're here, Naomi."

"I'd like that too. Very much," Naomi breathed, feeling as if she was drowning in the intensity of his dark gaze.

"If I could be so bold..." Darien began softly then completed the sentence by taking Naomi in his arms and kissing her gently.

Simon closed the manila file folder and leaned back in his chair. "This is a very thorough report, Sandburg," he congratulated his newest detective.

"Thanks, Simon. I had the department psychiatrist go over it quickly to make sure I hadn't made any erroneous assumptions. As I told Jim, there's some conflicting information out there about Satanic cults. I wanted to be as accurate as possible."

"Well, it certainly gives us a lot to think about," Banks admitted. "I never looked at Satanic cults that way before."

"Most people don't. They prefer the Hollywood melodramatic image."

The police captain rose and crossed to his office doorway. "Rhonda," he called softly. When she joined him at the doorway, Simon handed her the file folder and quickly outlined his plan to copy and distribute the report to each division in the Cascade PD. Rhonda acknowledged his instructions and swiftly moved to begin her task.

Ellison entered the office and stood by the window, resting a hip against the window frame. He frowned at Simon's coffee pot. "Still working on that weird brew, Simon?"

Directing a glare at Ellison, Banks snapped, "No, I'm not 'still working on it', Jim, and it's not weird. I happen to be savoring it. I like it. Now, do you have something useful to share or did you just come in to malign my choice of coffee flavoring?"

"Nothing definitive," the detective admitted with a sigh. "I've just finished plotting the locations of each of the pet mutilations as well as the murder." With Simon and Blair following, he moved into the adjoining conference room and unrolled a large map of the city. Blair helped him tack it to a large, portable bulletin board and they all stood back to silently contemplate the information before them.

"Well," Banks groaned finally, rubbing his eyes, "if there's a pattern here, I'm not seeing it."

Ellison and Sandburg admitted that they could see no pattern either and the impromptu meeting broke up so Simon could communicate their lack of progress to the mayor and Ellison and Sandburg could visit Serena in the forensics lab.

Serena looked up as the pair entered and sighed. Jim raised his eyebrows at his partner and joked, "Well now, there's a greeting designed to make a guy feel welcome, huh, Sandburg?"

"Sorry, guys," Serena smiled. "Nothing personal. It's just that I was hoping I'd have some good news to share with you." Serena sighed again. "But I don't."

"Well, why don't you tell us what you do have," Ellison prompted, moving to peer into the microscope Serena had just abandoned. Blair idly wondered if sentinel senses were even more enhanced when combined with microscopic magnification and made a mental note to test his partner on that very theory later.

"The black candle wax was nothing special other than it was made out of beeswax. But beeswax isn't unusual, it's readily available anywhere you can find candles."

"But black? Are they that widespread? Black candles, I mean," Jim asked, glancing up from his microscopic inspection.

Serena shrugged. "I don't have any experience in that area, Jim, so I have to say I don't know."

"I wouldn't think so," Blair mused. "Party stores maybe-- you know, to celebrate that 'over- the-hill' birthday you're swiftly approaching, Jim." Blair grinned at the glare his partner threw in his direction, then continued, "Or some specialty candle shops. I can make some calls when we get back upstairs."

Jim nodded and Serena continued, "Some cotton fibers-- from a rough-hewn fabric it appears. There were some black fibers and some white ones, as well. Again, it's difficult to tell where they might have come from. But if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say the fibers almost looked hand spun."

"Any progress on the 'compliant cocktail' the victim apparently ingested?" Ellison furrowed his brow as he scanned the list of ingredients the head of forensics handed him. "What the hell is all this stuff?"

"Mostly herbs, many of which we still haven't been able to identify," Serena explained. "So far we've picked out traces of Valerian Root and Cherry Laurel, both of which can cause some loss of muscle control in sufficient doses. As best I can tell, most of them are essentially inert, but I can't guess their function as yet. Sorry, Jim, that's all I've got. I'm still working out the particulars."

"Well, it's a start, Serena. Thanks." Jim grasped his partner's shoulder and steered him toward the door. "C'mon, Chief. Let's get busy trying to track down some more leads."

"Oh, Jim?" At Serena's call, both men turned. "The blood work turned up one more thing." The forensic scientist's face grew grim. "She was pregnant."

Jim summed up his feelings in one heartfelt word. "Shit."

Back in the bullpen, the partners scoured the business directory section in the Cascade telephone book and then divvied up the party and candle stores. After his sixth unproductive phone call, Blair sighed in frustration and leaned back to eye his equally unsuccessful partner. "Not to be a stick in the mud or anything, Jim, but it just occurred to me that all of these items are readily available through the Internet. And the chances of tracking that source down are mind- boggling."

Jim twirled his pen between the fingers of his right hand as he unconsciously rubbed his temples. "Yeah, I had that same thought a couple of minutes ago. But this is what we have to work with right now, so maybe we'll get lucky." In an effort to lighten the mood for a few minutes, Jim ventured, "So, how did Naomi's date go?"

Blair grinned. "You jealous, Jim? Worried that Darien might be horning in on your territory?"

Ellison snorted and retorted, "As you're so fond of reminding me, Sandburg, she's your mother. I'm not too likely to get involved with my best friend's mom, for Heaven's sake." Then he guffawed as Blair looked at him with an evil glint in his eye and muttered, "And she's way too normal for you, too, man."

"Yeah, that too, Sandburg." Jim was still chuckling when Sandburg went on with his story.

"Anyway, she says she had a great time. The dinner was wonderful (her words) and he's a divine dancer (her words again)." Blair grinned and shook his head. "She's so totally smitten, man." His face turned serious as he studied his suddenly solemn partner. "Jim, what is it, man? You keep going all hazy whenever we talk about Darien."

"I don't know, Sandburg. It's just that every time we talk about him, I find myself trying to place that scent. It just keeps hanging with me, for some reason. It's really starting to bug me."

"Well, don't try so hard, Jim. The harder you try to think of it, the farther away it gets. Just try thinking about something else and it'll come to you. That's what I used to do when I'd freeze up on a test answer. I'd go on to the others questions and come back to that one. Most of the time the answer would just come to me out of the blue."

"If you've ever forgotten a fact in your life, I'd be surprised, Sandburg," Jim countered. "I don't know where in the world you keep all those tidbits of information you keep popping out with." Blair smiled in surprised pleasure at the off-hand compliment, but was forestalled from replying when Jim held out his coffee cup. "If you feel like taking a walk, Chief, I'd appreciate some more coffee. You're still the junior detective you know." His smile quickly assuaged Blair's potential indignation.

"Yeah, yeah, senior detective Ellison," he groused. "As soon as I figure out when I'm not a rookie, you'll be getting your own coffee... and waiting on me!" Then he grabbed his own cup and bounced off toward the break room.

After a spine-cracking stretch, Jim rose and wandered into the conference room to stare morosely at the map on the bulletin board. There has to be a pattern here somewhere, he mused, regarding the street guide from different angles. After a few minutes, Simon Banks joined him in his perusal, the ubiquitous coffee cup and unlit cigar in hand.

"See anything?" the big black man asked quietly.

Ellison shook his head. "I know there's a pattern there, I just can't see it."

Banks clapped his best detective on the shoulder and declared, "Well, Jim, if you can't see it, I suspect nobody can!" Both men laughed at the inside joke as Blair joined them, handing Jim a steaming cup of coffee.

"Is this a private joke or can anyone join?" he asked.

Simon's eyes twinkled as he pronounced, "It's a sentinel thing."

Recognizing his captain's reference to all the times he'd been averse to hearing explanations that dealt with "sentinel things," Blair grinned in response then touched his nose in acknowledgement, ala Paul Newman and Robert Redford in The Sting. He then turned his attention to the large map. "There's a pattern there, I just can't see it," he declared, unknowingly echoing his partner's statement. "Hey, Jim, mind if I take it down and make a copy of it? I'd like to look it over some more tonight at home."

"Knock yourself out, Chief," Jim sighed. "I'm not seeing anything, that's for sure."

As Blair reached to remove the pushpins and roll up the map, Jim wrinkled his nose again and regarded Simon's coffee cup intently. Picking up on the detective's scrutiny, Banks demanded, "What is this sudden fascination with my coffee, Ellison? You don't like it? Fine, you don't have to drink it. I happen to enjoy it!"

Without answering, Ellison suddenly strode into the captain's office, bent low over the coffee maker and inhaled deeply. He exhaled, closed his eyes and inhaled again. He stood that way for several seconds while Blair and Simon looked on in puzzlement. Simon cast a look at Blair and raised his eyebrows. Blair simply shrugged and turned to regard his partner in concern. "Jim?" he asked hesitantly as Simon simultaneously asked, "Ellison, what in the hell are you doing?"

The sentinel ignored them both and demanded without preamble, "What kind of coffee did you say that was?"

"What in the hell..." As if he could read the answer to his question in the bottom of his cup, Simon stared into the dark brew. Then he decided to humor his sentinel detective and replied in his best long-suffering tone, "Hazelnut Vanilla. Do you have a problem with that?"

"That's it!" Ellison declared, turning to his partner.

"That's what?" Banks demanded.

"Really, Jim? You've placed it?" Sandburg broke in excitedly.

"Yeah! Hazelnut! It's hazelnut!"

"Will someone please tell me what in the hell is going on here?" Banks bellowed, losing patience with the cryptic conversation. He slammed his mug down on his desk to get their attention (along with the attention of every other detective in Major Crime) and turned a belligerent stare on his men.

"The odor at the murder scene, sir. I haven't been able to place it, but your coffee just triggered my memory sense. I smelled hazelnut. It was all over the murder scene. Well, that and blood."

Simon had retrieved his mug and was lifting it to his lips when he paused and regarded the brew with sudden distaste. He gently set the cup back down and crossed his arms across his chest. "So, what does this tell us?" he asked, his hopes for a quick resolution to the case rising.

"Not much at the moment," Jim confessed, "but it continues to lend credence to Sandburg's Satanic cult theory." He turned to his partner.

"Pseudo-satanic cult," Blair interjected.

"Okay, Sandburg, pseudo-satanic cult," Jim snapped. "I still think we're splitting hairs here."

Blair opened his mouth to respond, but Banks stopped him with a look. "So, gentlemen, I assume this means we still have work to do, right?"

Recognizing the dismissal, both men quickly chimed, "Right!" and headed for their desks to continue the mundane task of tracking black candles and, compliments of Simon's coffee flavoring, hazelnut incense.

As he eased into his chair, Jim noted an addition to the paperwork pile on his desk. Marked Confidential, the report carried the title Satanic Cults -- Conceptions and Misconceptions, by Detective Blair Sandburg. A memo, ostensibly from Simon Banks, but actually created by his secretary Rhonda, offered the report as a resource in the department-wide effort to track down the perpetrator of the pet mutilations and, more recently, the murder of one Melissa Wakefield. He urged each officer to read the report to become more familiar with the mindset of the perpetrator, to keep their eyes open for items listed in the report that might prove evidentiary, and to touch base with their snitches for street chatter.

Jim was proud to see his partner's name gracing the cover of the report. It certainly wasn't on a par with publishing a doctoral thesis, but it was tangible evidence of Blair's importance within the department.

"Maybe we should check with Sneaks," Ellison mused, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers beneath his nose as he grinned at his partner.

"Maybe you should check with Sneaks," Blair retorted. "I don't have any shoes to spare!"

"That's what the snitch fund is for, Sandburg."

"Yeah, well, I seem to recall sacrificing my best pair of Nike's to the cause, man, and it taking forever to get the money back! This time I'm not buying! So, if we're going to see Sneaks, we're going shopping first-- with department money."

Sneaks leaned back in the diner booth and patted his stomach. "That was good, Ellison. Thanks." He eyed Blair. "What cha' wearing?" Blair felt like the recipient of an obscene phone call. "Hiking boots," he responded shortly.

"You're no fun," Sneaks pouted.

"Doesn't mean we didn't bring you something," Ellison smiled, indicating a bag on the floor next to his chair. Sneaks excitedly reached for the bag, looking like a kid at Christmas, but Ellison quickly swept it out of his way. "You know how it works, Sneaks," he admonished. "We ask, you give and then maybe we give."

Sneaks slouched dejectedly in the booth. "Like I said, you're no fun."

"We need some answers, Sneaks," Ellison pressed. "Heard about any new religious groups in town? Or, more precisely, un-religious groups?"

"Un-religious groups?" Sneaks thought for a moment. "Hey, you're talking about that creep that's offing people's pooches, aren't you?"

Grimacing at the blunt description, Ellison snarled, "Heard of anyone?"

"Well..." Sneaks eyed the prize by Ellison's feet and drew a deep breath. "I ain't heard much," he admitted, then squawked as Ellison moved to leave, bag in hand. "Wait! I heard as how there's this new dude in town, workin' the Rainier campus. Claims to be one with the horned dude himself." Sneaks punctuated his statement by placing his forefingers on either side of his head and wiggling them slightly.

"You mean the devil?" Blair pushed for clarification.

"Yeah, yeah, pointy tail, cloven hoof and all that stuff. That stuff gives me the creeps."

"C'mon, Sneaks, tell me something I don't already know," Ellison growled.

"I don't know any more, Ellison! I promise! All I know is, he's been hanging out at Rainier, recruitin' converts."

"What's his name?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you, man. I would! I ain't never heard his name or even seen his face. I just know he's new in these parts, that's all."

Ellison frowned for a moment, then handed Sneaks his prize. "Don't get used to this, Sneaks. That wasn't enough information to warrant these shoes, so consider this a payment on account. The next time I come to you for information, don't be looking for new footwear. Got it?"

Sneaks snatched the bag from Ellison's outstretched hand and clutched it to his chest, nodding solemnly. "Got it. Thanks, Ellison. You won't regret this."

"I already do. C'mon, Chief, let's hit the streets."

"Rainier?" Blair questioned as the climbed into the cab of the blue and white pickup truck.

"Yeah. You gonna be okay with that?"

"Man, I was okay with that a long time ago. This is my world, now, Jim. I can go back, no problem." He stared intently at his friend. "I've done it before and I can do it again, Jim."

Jim reached over to grip his friend's shoulder. "I know you can, Chief." Then he turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, headed for Rainier University.

Rainier proved to be yet another dead-end. Either no one knew anything or no one was talking. Ellison wasn't sure which. He and Blair had split up, deciding they could canvas the campus better individually, and had agreed to meet back at the student union building in two hours. So Ellison had prowled the northern half of the university, stopping everyone he could, even wandering the halls of the various buildings in search of faculty and students with information, while Blair covered the southern half.

Two hours later he sat on a bench outside the student union, reflecting on the relative youth of the student body and waiting for his partner to return. His feet hurt and his head hurt. He'd dutifully tuned into the heartbeats of everyone he'd spoken with in an effort to determine whether or not they were hiding information, and he was now paying the price. He massaged his temples and smiled noncommittally at a young co-ed he remembered chatting with a bit earlier. She hadn't known anything about any cults on or off campus, but she had promised to keep her eyes and ears open and to call if she heard anything. Her blushing and stammering led Jim to suspect she was more interested in getting his card than anything else, and he was flattered by the attention.

"And you call me a table leg!" his partner teased, dropping to the bench beside him. "She's way too young for you, man."

"Spare me, Sandburg," Jim growled good-naturedly. "You're just trying to get her for yourself."

Blair eyed her swinging hips as she departed and laughed out loud. "Well, I wouldn't turn her down, that's for sure!" He turned to his partner. "Find out anything useful?"

"You mean aside from the fact that that co-ed has a crush on me? Not really," Jim admitted. "A few students have heard something about a new group around, but nobody has any viable information. How about you?"

"Same. Did you..." Blair wiggled his fingers next to his ears and Jim rolled his eyes in amusement at the clandestine gesture.

"Yes, Chief, I did. And I've got the headache to prove it."

"I've got a great tea for that," Blair offered.

"We'll see," Jim was making no promises regarding Blair's herbal remedies. " So, nothing useful?"

Although he didn't need to, Blair opened his notebook and scanned his notes. "Nope. A few kids remembered seeing a guy hanging around the psych building a while back, but this is a university, you know? There are always people hanging around. But they thought he looked a little old to be a student and didn't act like a member of the faculty..." he grinned at his partner. "Wonder what a member of the faculty is supposed to act like? Anyway, one girl said she thought he was tall with dark hair, but that's about all she remembers, other than he was dressed in black."

"That's not going to help us much," Jim agreed, rising to his feet. "I'm ready to call it day, Chief. How about you?"

"More than ready. You cooking tonight?"

"I'm dialing and paying tonight, Sandburg. Does that qualify?"

Blair laughed and thwacked his partner on the arm. "That qualifies, Jim."

The loft was quiet when the two men entered. "Guess Mom went shopping or something," Blair mused as the men went about their business of removing their jackets and storing their equipment.

Reaching for the phonebook, Jim spied a sheet of notepaper on the kitchen island and handed it to his partner. "Or something. I believe this is for you."

Blair took the note and read out loud, "Blair, gone to meet Darien for an early dinner. Hope I didn't mess up any plans. Don't wait up. Mom." He shook his head and chuckled, laying the note aside. "Like I said, seriously smitten."

While Jim called for Thai take-out, Blair spread the contents of the cult murder case file across the kitchen table and settled his glasses on his nose. He quickly became engrossed in the evidence before him and failed to notice his partner handing him a glass of iced tea until Jim bumped him in the shoulder with it. "Oh, thanks, man."

"What are you finding in there that's got you so riveted?" Jim asked leaning over his partner's shoulder to regard the papers scattered across the table's shining surface.

"I'm trying to determine the pattern," Blair explained, pointing at the map. "I'm going back through everything we have to see if it can help me find it. It's right here, in front of my face and I can't see it!" he growled in frustration, raking his hands through his hair.

Jim pulled up a chair, settled next to his partner and pulled a forensics report from the stack. "Maybe two heads are better than one, even if one of those heads still has a splitting headache."

"Oh hey, I'm sorry, Jim! I totally forgot about making you that tea!" Blair pushed his chair back, lurched to his feet and turned toward the kitchen, but Jim reached out and snagged his arm, stopping him. "Better living through pharmacology," he grinned. "I already took a couple of aspirin and this is the only tea I'm interested in at the moment." He staved off Blair's protest by squeezing his arm and assuring him, "If this doesn't do the trick pretty quickly, I'll take you up on the offer, okay?"

"Okay." Blair settled back into his seat and both men bent to pore over the evidence in front of them until their dinner arrived.

The next morning Jim and Blair were sitting at their desks in Major Crime, scouring the Web for any information that would help them predict the murderer's next move, when Captain Banks strode through the bullpen. Without a sideways glance, he bellowed, "Sandburg! My office-- now!" and disappeared into his office.

Casting a curious glance at his partner, who was equally as puzzled, Blair quickly complied with the brusque order. Ellison, although not included in the invitation, had no intention of missing the party and followed Sandburg into the captain's office.

Banks glared at Ellison. "I don't recall including you in my invitation," he snapped, unknowingly echoing the detective's silent analogy.

Regarding his superior officer steadily, Ellison replied, "We're a team," as if that explained everything, which Banks suspected it actually did.

"Fine," he growled, clamping his cigar between his teeth and pinning his newest detective with a withering stare. Blair fleetingly thought, Yesterday about this time he was praising my report. Now it looks like he's going to bite my head off. What'd I do now?

Visibly attempting to calm himself, Banks ground out, "The mayor just had the better part of my ass for breakfast, Detective Sandburg, and I thought I'd share that less-than-pleasant experience with you."

Blair's confused look did nothing to mollify the captain's mood. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Si--, sir," he quickly amended, realizing that Banks would cast a dim view on his tendency toward familiarity at this moment.

"Let me phrase this another way, then," Banks snapped. "Have you seen the paper this morning?"

Blair shook his head in the negative, wondering where Simon was going with his question. "No, we wanted to get in early this morning, so Jim and I skipped the paper," he explained, feeling totally adrift.

"Well, perhaps you should have read it," the irate police captain growled, tossing the early edition onto the desk in front of his puzzled detectives. "Care to explain that to me, Sandburg? Just what part of 'confidential' did you not understand?" he demanded, motioning toward an item on the front page.

Blair leaned forward and blanched as he took in the headline in front of him: Satan Comes to Cascade. Turning shocked eyes to his employer, he declared, "Sir, I don't know anything about this!"

Jim pulled the paper away from his stunned partner and scanned the offending article. "Damn," he muttered, folding the newspaper and carefully laying it back on Banks' desk. "Sir," he began only to be drowned out by his superior's continuing roar.

"Is that or is that not an almost verbatim account of the contents of your report?" Lunging to his feet, Banks moved to tower over the smaller man who, to his credit, didn't flinch and met his captain's gaze directly.

"You read the report, so you know it is," Blair responded. "But..."

"And are you or are you not directly quoted in this article?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what, Sandburg? What grand story are you going to tell me this time?" Banks strode to the window, spun to pierce Sandburg with a glare and angrily waved his cigar in the air.

Equally enraged, Blair leapt to his feet and faced Banks squarely. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, the veins in his neck standing out in stark contrast to the paleness of his complexion. "You think I leaked this to the press, don't you? Of course you do! I mean, who else could have done it, right? There are probably only, what, 100 copies of that damn report floating around this building? But no, it had to be me, didn't it?"

Jim started to rise to his feet to protest, but his partner waved him off with a sharp motion and continued to defend himself. The floodgates had opened and they wouldn't be closed until the flood had dissipated. "This isn't the first time you've accused me of leaking information to the press! I could sort of understand it the first time, you know? I mean you hardly knew me then. But, after four years, I thought maybe I'd proven myself to you. Sorry, my mistake-- again! Oh, and let's not forget that whole dissertation thing, shall we? I thought that was behind me, but obviously I'm the only one who thinks that. Jim and my mom are carrying a truckload of guilt over the whole thing and you apparently still don't trust me not to go around blurting out every secret I know! Well, you know what?" he yelled, "I didn't leak information to Lash; I'm sorry as hell that my mom fucked up and released my dissertation to Sid Graham; and I did not leak this story to the press, either!" Blair stood ramrod straight, literally gasping and shaking in anger. "And if that isn't good enough for you people, then you can all just go to hell!" With that, Sandburg yanked his gold shield off his belt, threw it on Banks' desk and then pushed past his startled partner to yank the door open. He froze as everyone in the bullpen turned stunned eyes on their normally passive teammate. Of course they'd heard the commotion. It would have been impossible not to.

"You're right."

It was the apologetic tone of voice, more than the words themselves that stopped Sandburg's angry departure. He stood, framed in the doorway, feeling the weight of the stares from both directions and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his pounding heart and settle his raging emotions.

"I'm sorry." There was that tone of voice again, one you didn't often hear from Simon Banks.

Blair sighed and slowly stepped back into the office, closing the door and shutting out the concerned expressions on his co-workers' faces. He turned to face his boss and his partner, who was regarding his captain with open hostility, but said nothing. In a silent show of support, Jim moved to stand beside Blair, not touching, yet lending strength through his presence.

"I was wrong, Blair, and I'm sorry," Banks repeated quietly, wearily running a hand across his lower face. "I was embarrassed and angry and I took it out on the handiest target."

Seeing the sincere regret in the man's eyes, Blair wanted to tell him it was okay. That he understood. But the words wouldn't come.

"I do trust you, Blair," Banks continued, his gaze never wavering from Sandburg's. "You're an asset to this department and you've proven yourself worthy of our trust time and time again. That's what I told the commissioner when I fought to get you on the force and I still say it. I had no right and no reason to accuse you like that. I apologize for my behavior." He stepped to his desk, retrieved the brown vinyl case and extended it towards Blair, his warm brown eyes never leaving Blair's pale face. "If you can forgive me, I believe we have a madman to catch and an informant to find, Detective Sandburg."

Silence bathed the room, seeming to freeze time as Blair stared out the window over Simon's shoulder. After several seconds, he sighed deeply, stepped forward to take the badge case from Simon's hand and turned back to the door. He paused and looked back over his shoulder. "I accept your apology, sir, and I'll work on the forgiveness part."

The fury built slowly at first, gaining momentum as he continued to read. The deeper into the article he delved, the hotter the fire burned. His breathing shortened, his lungs constricting under the weight of his anger. His teeth clenched, causing the muscles in his jaw to contract painfully. But his anger was so great that he failed to notice the pain. He pushed himself back from the breakfast table and paced from one end of the small dining area to the other, clutching the newspaper firmly in his fisted hands.

"'Satanic wannabe'?" he snarled, repeating just one of the many phrases in the reprinted police report which had infuriated him. "Playing?" he roared in his anger and flung the newspaper into the living room, scattering pages across the floor. "How dare you! You know nothing!" Breathing hard, he retrieved the front page from the floor and quickly scanned the first paragraph to make sure he had read the name correctly. Yes, there it was. Blair Sandburg had written the offending report.

Detective Blair Sandburg.

He closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. When he opened them again, the penetrating, dark brown eyes now reflected a cold, calculating fury.

Darien Cantwell began to plot his revenge.