Tandy Randall lived in a nondescript section of Cascade, in a nondescript apartment building, Blair reflected the next morning as he hurried to keep pace with his striding partner. Jim's distaste at their acquisition of the Bouquet Bandit case shone in the stiff set to his shoulders and with every pounding step he took down the hallway that led to Tandy's apartment. Jim's strides were naturally longer than Blair's, often causing his partner to hustle to keep up, but he darn near marched when he was unhappy. Blair decided that Jim was very, very unhappy at the moment, as he was slightly breathless from his attempt to keep pace.

"Jim, man, slow it up, would ya?" he panted, lengthening his stride even more. "I'd hate for Ms. Randall to have to give me mouth to mouth the minute she opens the door."

Ellison paused and regarded his partner in slight confusion. Confusion changed to a chuckle as he realized that Sandburg had had to walk double-time to keep up with him. "Sorry, Chief," he smiled as he resumed walking at a much more accommodating pace.

"I'd love to say no big deal, but that would take too much breath," Blair joked, falling into step beside his partner. He earned a soft slap to the back of the head for his trouble, but he smiled in satisfaction as the rigid set to his partner's shoulders relaxed slightly. The last thing Ms. Randall needed was to open her door to face a sentinel detective in full snit.

Jim consulted the paper in his hand and stopped in front of apartment number 210. He listened briefly then announced, "She's home," before knocking briskly on the wooden door. A moment later a soft voice called from behind the door, "Who is it?"

"Detectives Ellison and Sandburg from the Cascade PD, Ms. Randall," Jim responded, holding his badge up in front of the peephole so Tandy could clearly see it. Blair tried to put a non-threatening expression on his face.

The detectives heard the sound of the deadbolt being thrown back, then the door opened to reveal the apartment's occupant. Blair quickly revised his earlier opinion of the advisability of Tandy Randall having to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. While not pretty in the conventional sense, Tandy was far from unattractive and had deep brown eyes that immediately sparked of intelligence. She smiled slightly, further improving the view in Blair's opinion, and invited the detectives in.

"Would you like something to drink?" Tandy offered after the men had seated themselves on the comfortable couch. "I was just about to make myself some tea."

"Tea would be great, thank you," Blair blurted out before Jim could refuse the offer.

Jim frowned slightly at his partner after Tandy disappeared into the kitchen. "Did we come here to drink tea, Sandburg?"

"Relax, Jim." Blair let his partner's attitude roll off his back. "Preparing tea is a very calming ritual and sharing tea can remove the intimidation from a very intimidating situation. It creates an air of informality."

"I am not intimidating," Jim growled, then sulked at his partner's ill-concealed snort of disagreement. He was saved from having to further defend himself by Tandy's timely return. She set about distributing the steaming cups and making sure milk and sugar were available. Jim had to admit that Sandburg probably had a point in the calming benefits of the ritual. Of course, he had no intention of openly conceding that point to his partner.

"Now," Tandy said with a smile as she settled in an overstuffed chair across from the couch, "the officer yesterday told me someone would probably have more questions for me, so I assume that's you?"

"Yes ma'am," Jim replied, setting his cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of him. He pulled his notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped to a clean page. "I wonder if you'd mind going over yesterday's events one more time."

Tandy shrugged. She had indulged herself in her own personal pity party the previous night and had finally come to grips with having been used as a diversion in a bank robbery. Mostly, she'd been disappointed by the fact that the flowers were not a genuine offering from an admiring man. "Sure, although I don't know that there's much I can add to what I told the officer yesterday."

"You never know," Blair offered helpfully. "You might remember something today that totally slipped your mind yesterday."

"Well, I was working my window as usual. Friday afternoon is always a busy time at the bank, so it was filled with people cashing their checks before the weekend. I saw this flower deliveryman come through the door and stop at the reception desk to speak with Linda. Linda Bellaman," she clarified as she saw Ellison open his mouth as if to ask the question. He smiled his thanks and she continued her story. "The next thing I know, he's standing in front of my window, telling me the flowers are for me. It sort of caught me off guard," she admitted shyly. "I'm, uh, not, uh, seeing anybody right now, so I certainly wasn't expecting flowers." Her expression became gloomy. "I was distracted, so I wasn't expecting anything like a robbery."

"You had no reason to suspect anything was wrong," Blair offered sympathetically and returned Tandy's grateful smile.

"He held a clipboard out to me and asked me to sign the delivery receipt. That's when he told me to put all the money in my drawer in the satchel and showed me the gun he had hidden under the clipboard." Tandy shuddered, recalling vividly the joy draining out of the moment as she stared at the menacing weapon. "He said he didn't want to hurt anyone, so for me to wait until he'd left before activating the alarm. I was so scared, I didn't know what else to do, so I did as I was told."

"You did the right thing, Ms. Randall," Ellison assured her. "Can you give us your description of him again?"

Tandy closed her eyes and concentrated on recreating the Bouquet Bandit's image in her mind. She kept her eyes closed as she worked to describe him. "Well, he was young, I think. Late twenties, maybe. I don't know about his hair. It was tough to see under the ball cap he was wearing, although I guess maybe that means it was kind of short. The cap was black with the Jags logo on the front. And he was wearing a black windbreaker that had the Jags logo on it, too." Tandy frowned as she struggled to remember the more tangible features of the criminal she'd been face to face with. "He was great looking, I remember that much. But I think the most distinctive feature I can recall is his eyes. They were the brightest, most beautiful shade of blue. Just like your eyes, Detective Ellison." Realizing too late that she had uttered that last statement out loud, Tandy opened her eyes and blushed furiously, unable to meet the detective's eyes.

Blair flashed an amused look at his partner and was amazed to see him blushing as brightly as Tandy was. He fought hard to stifle the grin that threatened to break through. Jim might be fair game for a round of teasing, but the flustered witness was off limits. There would be plenty of time later to razz his embarrassed partner.

Ellison cleared his throat, rose to his feet and extended his hand to the still blushing young woman. "You've been a great help, Ms. Randall. If I have any further questions, I'll be back in touch. Thank you for the tea."

Tandy regained her composure and firmly shook the handsome detective's proffered hand. "I'll be glad to help in any way I can." Her gaze fell on the vase of flowers adorning her dining table and she caught the larger detective's arm. "Oh! I almost forgot! I was so flustered yesterday that, when I left, I just grabbed the flowers he delivered. Nobody stopped me, but I realized later that they were probably evidence. I'm so sorry. I've probably messed up fingerprints or something! But with all the wondrous forensics techniques today, perhaps they can salvage something." Tandy's expression was wistful as she offered to return the only positive thing to come out of the previous day's horror.

Jim silently agreed that the young woman probably had destroyed any latent fingerprints on the vase, so it took only a moment for him to flash her one of his rare, heart-stopping smiles and assure her that she had done nothing wrong and could keep the flowers. The reports on the previous Bouquet Bandit-attributed robberies had revealed no prints on the vase, so the odds weren't good to start with. Oh sure, they could always get lucky and find that the thief had gotten sloppy, but it didn't seem likely. Tandy had been terrified the day before but had held herself together admirably and Jim felt justified in granting her this simple favor. Tandy's smile as she opened the door to let the officers out simply solidified Jim's opinion that he'd done the right thing.

As the door closed behind them, Sandburg playfully punched his partner in the arm and asked, "So, Mr. Beautiful Bright Blue Eyes, where to next?" He artfully dodged the expected swing and chortled at Ellison's gruff response.

"What's the matter, Sandburg, you jealous because it wasn't your eyes she noticed?"

"Devastated, but I'll get over it somehow," Blair grinned as they exited the building and slid into their respective sides of the blue and white truck.

"Good," Ellison gloated, "because I'm planning on giving Ms. Randall-- Tandy-- a call once this case is solved. I think she's kind of sweet."

Caught by surprise, Blair, for once, had no snappy rejoinder for his partner's choice of date. He had to admit to himself that Tandy Randall did seem like a sweet girl and it would certainly do his partner good to go out with a woman who wasn't a husband killer, hit woman, ghost, or Blair's personal favorite, deranged sentinel. Oh, face it Sandburg, he huffed to himself, recalling the Iris debacle, you haven't got a lot of room to talk here!

Ellison, realizing he had rendered his partner speechless, grinned in satisfaction and began to whistle a lively tune under his breath.

Drew Thomas pulled up in front of the Cascade First National Bank. He deftly parked the rusted old Honda Civic using one-handed steering. The other hand, and his attention, was focused on the state-of-the-art stereo system and loading the next CD. It was getting to be late in the day and this would be his last delivery. Just one more bouquet of flowers to one more giggling woman and then he could get back to his life. He sighed the sigh of someone weary with the rut he was trapped in and leaned back against the car seat to soak up a few more minutes of the music blaring from the four speakers. The body-jarring and head-slamming rhythm of Tupac always relaxed him.

With a sigh Thomas switched off the car's ignition, silencing the vibrating bass. "Time to get this over with," he groaned. "I have got to find a better way to make a living. This is killing me." Reaching over into the back seat of the Civic, he pulled the lid off the cooler and retrieved a large bunch of spring flowers. Before leaving the car he took one more look in the rear view mirror to make sure that he looked presentable. He didn't need someone complaining to his boss about him looking grungy or rumpled. The job was the dregs, but at least it, and the pizza delivery job, paid the bills. Singing the final few words to the song that had just been playing, he exited the car, unaware of the commotion he was causing.

Inside First National, a young woman stood watching him. Merilee James had read all about the infamous Bouquet Bandit and how the Cascade Police had been unable to stop him. She couldn't really remember if the newspapers said he was dangerous or not, but he was a bank robber. That was enough for her to call the security guard.

"Mr. Franklin, you see that man getting out of the car over there?" She pointed a long, manicured finger at the yellow Honda. "I think he might be the thief they were talking about at the staff meeting this morning. They said that he came in delivering flowers and that he was young." Merilee pouted as she watched the deliveryman put the "On Delivery" sign on the dashboard. Darn, they never said anything about him being so cute. Oh well.

George Franklin had spent a good deal of his youth in the military. Life was a no-nonsense enterprise as far as his job was concerned. Now heading for retirement and a home in Florida, his perfect record with Pinkerton's was in jeopardy because of some kid who had decided that his bank was an easy target. He put a hand on the butt of the revolver that hung at his side. "Don't worry, Miss James. I'll keep an eye on him. If he's your Bouquet Bandit, he's walked into the wrong bank." He squinted through the pop-bottle lenses of his glasses to get a better look at the thief. "You just head back behind the desks there." He pulled himself up to his full height. "I'll keep things safe."

Merilee James looked at Mr. Franklin uncertainly. She wasn't sure that such an old man would be able to stop the thief. Franklin must have been at least 55, if not older. "Just be careful, Mr. Franklin. Maybe we should call the police," she suggested.

"No, no," Franklin waved her off. "We'll only call them if we need them."

Still not sure that a call to the police wouldn't be a good idea, Merilee decided that it might be best to talk to the bank manager. "Okay, if you're sure, Mr. Franklin." She was about to turn on her three-inch heels when the doors from the bank lobby swung open. She raised her hands to her mouth to cover a gasp. "Look, he's here!" The whisper carried over to the people standing in line.

Drew Thomas strolled through the lobby of the First National Bank of Cascade on a bright afternoon and straight into pandemonium. His practiced smile faded as he saw the customers pointing at the door he had just entered from. Their screams of "It's him!" had him turning to see who had come in behind him. He heard a gruff voice yell, "That's far enough!" just before a hand grabbed him by the back of the collar, throwing him to the ground.

A very surprised Thomas hit the tiled floor face down with a grunt. Losing his grip on the bouquet of flowers when his elbow struck the hard surface, he sent a shower of daffodils, tulips and African violets across the polished marble. Before he could catch his breath to ask what was going on, a bony knee landed in the middle of his back, forcing out what little air he had managed to pull in.

"Don't try anything, kid," the same voice he had heard earlier threatened in his ear. "You've made your last robbery."

Drew was about to protest when something that felt too much like the barrel of a gun was placed behind his ear. At least he thought that if he had ever had a gun barrel behind his ear before it would have felt like that. "Okay, okay, I won't move," he squeaked out. "Just be careful with that thing!"

Satisfied that he had his culprit well controlled, George Franklin smiled up at the pretty Miss James. "I think you had better call the police now," he crowed. He gave the young man's collar a rough shake. "I think they'll be very interested to see who we have here."

"Thanks, Fred." Blair smiled at the officer behind the desk and picked up the remaining two boxes of evidence. Groaning dramatically, he followed his partner to a small cubicle to sort through it. "Geez, Jim, it's going to take us the rest of the day to go through this stuff." The evidence gathered from the five previous thefts filled seven boxes to the brim. An assortment of flowers, bagged and tagged from each incident, sprang from the cartons in an odd mix of color. The deep or pastel shade of each plant, and the delicate scents, seemed incongruous with the more lethal and solemn items usually found in the Evidence Room. "At least it smells nice."

"Speak for yourself, Sandburg." The sentinel's voice had become slightly nasal and Blair thought he detected just the slightest raspiness in it as well.

Jim turned the corner into the cramped workspace and dropped the boxes onto the table. Shaking his head in disgust, he picked up a bundle of folders, held them a few inches from his nose, and scowled at his friend. "Everything in these boxes smell of flowers. Even the files." Angrily yanking out a chair, he sat down. "I can't believe Simon gave us this case. Why us?" He pointed a finger at his young partner. "Don't even think about using any of the bad puns I see coming to your lips."

"Wouldn't even think of it, Jim." Blair gave the other man a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Are the scents bothering you? You sound like you're getting stuffed up." Any glint of amusement that had been on his face was now gone. "Maybe we should ask Simon about assigning this to someone else if you're reacting badly to it."

Ellison looked up sharply from the file he had opened in front of him. He wondered if Blair had just got him with another zinger, but all he saw was concern. "No, I'm okay, Chief," he grinned softly. "I think it's more the mold down here than the flowers." He went back to studying the report. "Thanks for thinking about it, though."

"No problem." Blair sat across from the sentinel and reached into the box nearest him. The first item he pulled out was a small, black incident report book carried by most street cops. Flipping it open to the first page, he jotted down any information that might be important. He noticed that Jim was going through the robbery detectives' report on the same case.

The two worked together in silence for over two hours. Each file and report book was methodically reviewed and notes made. The only sound was the hushed scratching of pen against paper and the odd sneeze from Ellison. It wasn't until three cold cups of coffee later that Jim broke the silence.

"Chief, anything strike you as odd about these robberies?" He had put the last folder back into the evidence box, happy to finally be through them all. "You been able to pick out any kind of rhyme or reason?"

Blair shook his head and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. "No, nothing's really jumped out. I guess this is what Simon was talking about." He scanned his notes. "I don't know what Robbery had to say, but the beat cops' reports may as well be about five different guys. The only similarity seems to be that he's young. He hasn't worked to disguise his age. Every account seems to put him between twenty-five and thirty years old. If we are dealing with one guy, he's really good at altering his appearance."

"Or just good at sleight of hand." He smiled at Sandburg's look of confusion. "Well, I was thinking about each eye-witness account. It seems that everyone remembers only one thing clearly and the rest is vague. He's using a magician's trick of sleight of hand. You distract everyone's attention and no one is the wiser until after the trick."

"Yeah, I see what you're getting at," Blair said. "In robbery number one, he wore a very brightly colored jacket with an insignia on the front and back. That's the first thing that people reported. Robbery number two, he used a cane and walked with a serious limp. Number 3, he... how did one woman describe it?" He flipped through a few pages of notes. "Here it is," he chortled. "And I quote... 'that guy, he just came walking in here with that big bunch of flowers, exuding sex. You should have seen that walk, those tight jeans. That cowboy hat.'"

Jim laughed out loud. "Cowboy hats exude sex?"

"I guess for some they do." Shrugging his shoulders, Sandburg went on. "'And that wonderful southern accent.'" He glanced up at his partner. "I think that this is the only time anyone mentions an accent."

"So I think," Ellison offered, "that we can skip trying to put together a composite drawing and circulating it. Unless we say that if you see someone who doesn't look anything like this guy, contact your local police." He stretched languorously. It was shaping up to be a long afternoon.

"His getaway car is just as anonymous, too." Sifting through his notes again, Blair listed the different cars reported as being the car used in the robbery. "They're all different makes, even if they are late model. The color's never the same, but at least they're all compacts." He rubbed at tired eyes. "The only real clue we have is that sign people have noticed on the doors. Perfect Petals and the FTD logo is the only information that seems to be on it. As far as I know, no one's been able to track down that store."

"You know," the sentinel smirked as he stifled another sneeze, "I wouldn't be surprised to find out, since everyone mentions what a nice, polite young man he is -- until he tells them to fill the satchel, that is -- that he's renting the getaway cars." Leaning forward again, he rested his elbows on the table. "He probably doesn't want to inconvenience anyone by stealing their car, or involve anyone by borrowing one."

"Sure, Jim, whatever you say." The corners of Sandburg's mouth lifted in a grin. "So much for conventional detective work. You wanna try the physical evidence now?"

"I guess I can't put it off any longer." Ellison heaved a sigh. "I'm not looking forward to it." His nose almost curled at the thought. "I want to start with the flowers. The overpowering fragrance doesn't smell like any flower I've smelled before. So what's number one on the list?"

Blair pulled a long-stemmed rose from the bouquet that had been kept for evidence. "One pink rose coming up." He held it out for his friend to smell, almost bracing for the sneeze that was sure to follow.

The sentinel took a cautious sniff and frowned. "Just smells like your garden variety rose." He shrugged his shoulders at his partner. "Next?"

One by one Sandburg waved each flower beneath Ellison's sensitive nose. Each sniff, and what was gathered from it, was catalogued. None of them was the powerful scent that kept tickling the sentinel's nose. Returning the last flower to the evidence bag, Blair next took out one of the cards that had been left at the scene. "So now you've mentally tagged and eliminated all the floral scents, right?" He waited for his friend's nod. "Okay then, all we have left are the cards and the paper the flowers were wrapped in." He withdrew one of the small cards and handed it to his partner.

"Yeah, this... this..." Jim let loose with a vicious sneeze. "This is the what I've been smelling. It's got to be doused in whatever it is he's using." He tucked the evidence back into the plastic bag and sealed it once again. Wiping his hands on his jeans to try to rid them of any residue from the card, he asked the obvious question. "So, what does it mean?"

Tapping his pen against his notepad, Blair quickly ran the evidence through his mind. After a few minutes of fruitless pondering, he knew he didn't have a clue. "Your guess is as good as mine, Jim. None of it seems to be very important, but it still seems that he's gone to a lot of trouble with using the same flowers and scent on the cards. He's definitely leaving a message."

"What about his targets?" Ellison counted them off on his fingers. "A small bank, a department store, a convenience store, a Crispy Creme shop, and a bike shop. What's the connection? They're not even guaranteed to give him a good haul. That last place, the bank, only netted him a coupla grand."

"Makes you wonder if he's really stupid or really smart, doesn't it?" Blair speculated. "Maybe he's not doing it for the money."

"I think you're right there, Chief. I don't think it's money he's after. And he's smart. He's been too successful for it to be otherwise." Ellison was sure he was on the right track. "There's a connection here-- some common denominator with the stores he's robbed. We just have to find out what that is and then we can anticipate his next move."

"Hey, fellas?" Fred poked his head around the side of the partition. "Call just came in. There's been an attempted robbery at Cascade First National Bank. Sounds like it's the case you're working on. The perp was carrying flowers. And get this, they say that the security guard caught the guy!"

Languidly turning the pages of the most recent Cosmopolitan magazine and wondering how the models managed to keep their meager clothing hoisted on their bony bodies, Bettina Swift failed to notice the handsome young man sauntering across the parking lot of the Cascade Rent- O-Wreck. When the jaunty bell over the door announced his presence, Bettina sighed and lifted her eyes in irritation at having her reading interrupted. Her annoyance quickly fled, however, as she caught sight of the vision before her. Dressed in a well-tailored, obviously expensive, deep blue suit, he was, without a doubt, the best looking man she had ever seen in her life. Well, just short of Mel Gibson, that is, and he didn't really count because she'd never actually seen him except in the movies. She was drinking in (or perhaps drowning in) his deep brown eyes and slightly crooked smile when she realized he was speaking to her.

"I'm sorry?" she stammered, trying to return to her senses, but hating to let go of the fantasies she was quickly building in her mind.

"I said I'm in a bit of a bind," the man repeated patiently, smiling as if he hadn't noticed her rather obvious ogling.

Giving herself a mental shake, Bettina yanked herself back to the matters at hand. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to rent a car," the man explained rather unnecessarily, since it was, after all, a car rental agency. "May I sit down?" He motioned to the chair in front of Bettina's slightly battered bright yellow metal desk.

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry! Yes, please have a seat and let's see what I can do for you."

"You see, my BMW just broke down a mile or so down the road and I'm in desperate need of transportation. I have a very important meeting downtown in," he paused to check his watch and Bettina paused to check his short brownish blond hair and sexy wire-rimmed glasses, "thirty minutes."

"How inconvenient," Bettina managed to murmur, taking in the straight nose and firm jaw line, wondering what the man did for a living. He looked like the Wall Street type, perhaps a stockbroker.

"Very," he agreed with a sigh. "So it was providence, you see, that you happened to be so close by and that the tow truck driver agreed to drop me here."

Bettina firmly believed in providence at that moment and fervently wished that she had had just a few moments to refresh her lipstick before the young god had appeared before her.

"And what sort of car did you have in mind, Mr....?"

"Johnson. Maxwell Johnson."

"Well, Mr. Johnson, what sort of car did you have in mind? I'm afraid we don't have anything quite on a par with your own car..."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Ms..." a quick glance at the nameplate on the desk supplied her last name "...Swift. I don't have time to be particular. My meeting is far more important than what car I arrive in. In fact, that car right there in the front row will do me nicely, thank you."

Bettina's gaze followed Mr. Johnson's pointing finger to rest on a baby blue 1990 Plymouth Horizon Hatchback. "Really? You want that car? I'm sure we must have something a little newer and nicer than that..."

"No, really, Ms. Swift. I don't have time to be choosy. If you could just begin the paperwork, I would appreciate it. I should only need it for a day or two." He reached in his pocket, extracted a wad of money and peeled two one-hundred dollar bills off the top. "Will this be sufficient deposit?"

Bettina tried to keep her eyes in her head. No one ever came to Cascade Rent-O-Wreck and offered cash on the barrelhead! She quickly gathered her wits and set about completing Mr. Johnson's paperwork.

An hour later, Alonso Skotty parked his rented compact car in the employee lot behind the Cascade Flora and Fauna Nursery. Waving to Juan, a long time, dedicated nursery employee, Alonso loosened his tie and headed for the small, custom landscape office, where he knew he'd find his uncle hard at work planning his newest landscape job.

"Hey, Uncle Howard, how're things today?" he greeted the older man as he entered the office and perched on a desk chair in front of a sorely neglected computer. Alonso had proudly presented his Uncle with the machine a year ago, replete with the latest in computerized landscape design software. But, while the computer had been lovingly accepted, and used occasionally for research, it remained largely idle. Howard Skotty was a man of his hands and much preferred sitting at his drafting table, drawing his landscape layouts, over sliding pre-created images around on a computer screen.

"Busy, as usual," Howard replied cheerfully, leaning back in his chair and stretching the kinks out of his stiffening shoulders. A middle-aged man with slightly thinning, salt and pepper hair, dancing gray eyes and sun-weathered skin, Howard Skotty had spent his entire life digging in the dirt and lovingly making things grow. And for the last 20 years, he had affectionately nurtured the nephew who sat across from him. "No matter the state of the economy, people always want beautiful lawns and gardens." He paused a moment, then asked, "So, what did you get this time?"

"'90 baby-blue Plymouth Horizon." Alonso grinned as his uncle's expression communicated his aversion to the vehicle he'd chosen. "Definitely nondescript." He slid from his perch and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Well, time for the Bouquet Bandit to ride again," he joked.

"Who're you going to be this time?" his uncle asked curiously.

"Ah, but that's a surprise, Uncle Howard," Alonso tossed over his shoulder as he opened the office door.

"Yeah, yeah," Howard chuckled good-naturedly. "You go make like Halloween and I'll get your flowers together."

Alonso paused in the doorway and then cast a serious expression his uncle's way. "Thank you, Uncle Howard. For everything."

The older man rose and gave his nephew a firm hug, his expression matching the younger man's. "I can't say I'm not concerned about what you're doing, 'Zo, and I'm definitely worried about the consequences. But, as long as you're sure about it, I'm behind you, boy." Lightening his expression, Howard swatted Alonso on the butt and added gruffly, "Now shoo." He followed Alonso through the door and while his nephew disappeared into the potting shed to effect his transformation, Howard crossed to the greenhouse to gather the flowers for the Bouquet Bandit's next heist.

Forty-five minutes later, Howard Skotty returned to his office, burdened with a vase full of roses, lilies, daisies and a myriad of other fragrant flowers. He stopped in surprise when he opened the office door to see a stranger standing by his desk, his back turned toward the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked, setting the flower arrangement on the computer table and wiping his hands on his pants.

The stranger turned around and, after a few startled seconds, Howard blurted out, "Alonso?"

Alonso grinned, extremely pleased with himself. "Guess I did good, huh?" Alonso Skotty had vanished, replaced by an urban biker. Alonso's light brown hair was now a deep brown and peeking out from beneath a Harley-Davidson ball cap was... a ponytail?! Gone were his deep brown eyes, hidden by emerald green contact lenses. His left earlobe sported a single silver loop. He had shed his conservative, expensive suit in favor of low-slung, faded blue jeans and a form fitting black t-shirt covered by a denim jacket. The Harley-Davidson theme was repeated in a patch sewn onto the breast pocket of the jacket.

"Holy cow!" Howard Skotty exclaimed, shaking his head in amazement, "If we'd've just passed on the street, I'd never have known you, boy!" He circled his nephew, taking in each aspect of the disguise he'd donned. "You even seem taller..."

Alonso laughed and lifted a cowboy boot encased foot. "Lifts," he explained succinctly.

"And the hair?" Howard asked, fingering the ponytail that dangled from beneath the baseball cap.

"Amazing what a hair extension can do."

The elder Skotty chuckled in disbelief and retrieved the flowers from the desk. Holding them out to his nephew, he pronounced, "Show time!"

Patrolman Scott Hutchence saw the blue and white Ford park behind his squad car. He had first come to know Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg as teammates on the precinct baseball team and had liked them from day one. They not only played a great game of baseball, they were a lot of fun to hang out with after the game. He had learned from the start, in the days before the police observer became a police officer, that the two of them enjoyed a tough case, but better yet, he knew they loved a good story.

"Hey, guys." Scott trotted over to intercept the two detectives before they entered the bank. "Wait up a minute." He had long legs to match his lanky six-and-a-half foot frame and covered the short distance in a few strides.

Both Jim and Blair turned to see who had called them, and Blair, waiting until Hutchence was close enough to hear, nudged his partner in the ribs. "Jim, look who it is. It's that guy who thinks he knows how to play short."

Scott chuckled and shook his head. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you? I overthrow once, once, to second and I'm branded for life."

"Never make a mistake when Darwin's around," Jim said dryly. "So what have we got in there, Scott? You think it's our guy?"

"I doubt it." Hutchence's face broke into a wide and dimpled grin. "Tracey and I got here just minutes after the call came through. We were only a few blocks away. You should have seen the scene we walked into." His grin became impossibly wider. "This security guy, George Franklin, has some poor schmuck on the floor, kneeling on him. When Trace and I were coming through the doors we heard him telling this guy that he's robbed his last bank and that he would regret the day he decided to pick on Cascade First National and George Franklin." Scott held up his hand as if swearing an oath. "I promise, I am not making this up. This Franklin must have watched every rerun that he could find of the Untouchables on cable."

"Probably," Sandburg laughed. "So what happened? Was he okay with handing his desperado over to a couple of lowly cops? Or did you have to fight him for it?"

"Well, for a couple of minutes there, it did get a little dicey. When Tracey and I got a better look, we saw that he wasn't only trying to break every rib on this poor guy, but that he had one very serious looking gun aimed at him. This is a pea-shooter compared to it." Hutchence patted his own holstered weapon. "So Tracey was very cool about it. She quietly announced that we were on the scene and to put away his weapon. I was really worried that this yahoo was going to end up shooting someone accidentally, but he got up nice and easy and let us take over."

"So what makes you think that this isn't the Bouquet Bandit?" Jim asked. "It fits."

"When Franklin was finally off the guy's back, I covered Tracey while she got the bandit to his feet. As soon as Thomas, that's the flower guy, was upright he jumped into Tracey's arms and begged her to protect him from the lunatic that had almost blown his head off." Hutchence couldn't help but laugh, remembering the young man's face. "Maybe it was a great performance, but neither Tracey nor I think Thomas is your man."

Ellison started for the bank doors. "Let's go find out. No offense, Scott, but I hope you're wrong. I'd like to be done with case as soon as possible." Holding the door open for his partner and the street cop, the sentinel's hopes died. The floral scent that filled the bank wasn't similar in any way to the one that had been present at the other robberies. He started to tell Blair what he thought, but could see that his partner had already reached the same conclusion.

"Different guy, Jim." Sandburg pointed to the crushed flowers that littered the marble floor. "They're not the same flowers, and it doesn't look like the same paper our thief uses to wrap the bouquets in."

"Yeah, I know." The detective couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice. "I noticed the scent was different as soon as I opened the door. Let's question Thomas, anyway, just in case it is our guy pulling a fast one."

The very distraught Drew Thomas eagerly answered every question put to him. Jim, chewing the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning, noticed that the deliveryman seemed to have developed a nervous tic. Every time George Franklin moved he would jump. The sentinel listened carefully to Thomas' heart and breathing, but the man seemed genuinely distressed and he was fairly sure that he was hearing the truth. The only crime that had been committed that afternoon was the spoiling of the retirement party for one Dorothy Dunphy. Although, from the twinkle in the sixty-seven year old woman's eyes as she approached him, Ellison got the impression that she was enjoying the show.

"Forty years working in the bank and I finally get to see some action." She handed Jim a piece of her retirement cake. "I saved two pieces with flowers on them for both you and that partner of yours."

Taking the plate and plastic fork, Ellison was barely able to taste the first mouthful when his cell phone began chirping from his jacket pocket. He one-handedly flipped it open to take the call. "Ellison." He listened to the brief instructions and followed it with a terse, "Got it, the Fashion Mall on Webster." Putting the cake on the nearest table, he called over to his partner. "Sandburg, let's roll. We've got a report that he's been spotted."

Blair looked from the woman to the cake and sighed. He was about to hand it back to her when she quickly wrapped the plate in a large napkin.

"Why don't you take it with you, dear. You can save it for later."

Juggling the plate in one hand, he gave Dorothy a one-armed hug. "Thanks! And happy retirement." Turning, he saw that his partner was already out the door.

Jim was sitting impatiently in the truck, waiting for his partner, when Blair hopped into the passenger side and deposited a brightly wrapped package on the dashboard. "Is that what I think it is?" The delicate scent of vanilla was making his mouth water.

"Yup," Sandburg grinned as he secured his seat belt. He knew the question that was coming next and he didn't have long to wait. The Sentinel of the Great City had a definite sweet-tooth when it came to cake.

"You're going to share, right?"

"Nope."

"Sandburg!"

The Chief Security Officer of the Cascade Fashion Mall met Ellison and Sandburg at the doors to the main level. "I really hope that I haven't dragged the both of you out here on a wild goose chase." Carl Simpson shook hands with the detectives. "I have a friend in the department who was telling me some of the details about the Bouquet Bandit. I thought that my place would be as likely a target as any." He looked at his watch. "You made it here in good time. I don't think it's been five minutes since I called it in."

"We were on another call not far from here," Blair offered. "We got lucky with the lights."

"What tipped you off about the Bandit?" Jim asked as they followed Simpson to an escalator. "I'm sure that you've seen people carrying flowers through the mall before." The detective was praying that this wasn't another case of someone overreacting.

"Security cameras picked up a car parked illegally in the loading area," Simpson explained. "That happens all the time and usually we just let it go. He's up on third." The security chief pointed to another escalator when they reached the second level. "Like I was saying, we usually ignore it, but this car had those magnetic plates on it. I remember my buddy saying that the name that some people had spotted had 'petals' in it. This one had Perfect Petals."

"Bingo!" Blair sang from behind the pair. "I guess you have someone keeping an eye on him up there?"

"That's right, my people have been told to observe and wait for the police to arrive. We didn't want to spook the guy. He was seen heading for the southeast wing of the mall. There's a jewelry store in that end and we're assuming that's where he's headed. The rest of the area is basically a food court. It's down this way."

Ellison and Sandburg followed Simpson through the bustling level of the shopping center. The area seemed to be a mass of confusion and noise, reminding the sentinel of why he hated large, crowded malls. Extending his vision, Jim spotted the bobbing bouquet of flowers as their thief made his way through the throng of shoppers.

"There he is, Chief." Ellison pointed to a spot straight ahead of them. "Carl, he hasn't threatened or harmed anyone up until this point, but if you can get your people to discreetly steer the crowd away from the store that would help."

Blair half-listened to the instructions being relayed by Simpson to his security staff. He was more concerned about how he and his partner were going to be able to sneak up on their quarry with the number of people that stood between him and them. "How do you want to handle this, Jim? Do we wait until he gets into the store?"

"Yeah, I think that might be the best way to do it. If he takes off into the crowd it's going to be hard to track him." They were almost on top of him now. "We just have to get a little closer and then I'd say we... we..."

Sandburg was a pace or two ahead of his partner, but turned quickly to stare wide-eyed at the sentinel. "Oh no," Blair whispered, "Jim, you're not..." He winced at the sneeze that seemed to erupt from his friend and the slew of others that followed without pause. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he rasped, then groaned. "Damn, he's made us, Chief."

The explosive sneeze had not only drawn the attention of the nearby shoppers, but that of the Bouquet Bandit, as well. The two detectives and the security chief watched the man's eyes grow wider as he saw the number of security uniforms that seemed to be moving in on him. Through bleary eyes, Ellison saw him tense. "He's going to run."

At Jim's words, Sandburg took off after the Bandit. He heard his partner call out for him to wait, but he couldn't stand being so close to making an arrest and then losing him. He knew he could overtake the man. He just needed to get through the crowds that were in his way.

"Police! Out of the way!" That hoarse shout had come from behind Blair. Knowing that Jim was there to give him some backup, he poured on extra speed. His adrenaline was pumping and the chase was on. Grinning, the younger detective saw the mass of people part like the Red Sea. They had him!

"Police! Stop!" Blair lunged forward and snagged the corner of the Bandit's jacket. He was getting ready to throw himself into a tackle to bring the thief down when the man did the unexpected. He stopped. For a few moments Sandburg came face to face with the now almost infamous Bouquet Bandit. The fear and panic in the other man's expression was nothing of a hardened criminal or someone driven by desperation to commit a crime. What other thoughts about the man might have occurred to him had to wait. Sandburg now found himself in the strong grip of his prey.

"No! Please!" The Bouquet Bandit gave Blair a firm shove in an attempt to throw him off balance.

It all happened within a matter of seconds. Blair was thinking it an odd thing for a thief to say -- 'Please'. Then he was stumbling backwardsss. He had just about regained his balance when the middle of his back hit the railing that circled the shopping area. Momentum and gravity took him over the side and into empty air. With a panicked shout he realized that it was going to be three long floors down to the bottom if a miracle didn't happen. "Jiiiiiiiimmmmmm!"

The sentinel's heart almost stopped. He watched helplessly as Blair was pushed backwards and into the guardrail. Praying that he would get there in time, but knowing that he wouldn't, he witnessed his partner's fall. Oh God, Blair, I am so sorry. The police-trained part of his brain noted that the man they were chasing had stopped and appeared to be almost as shaken as he was by what had happened. Jim was sure that he had seen him take a step to try to rescue his partner. Police training soon fell away, though, and all that remained was the anguish of what he would see when he looked over the railing. As cowardly as he thought it was, the sentinel was afraid to use his senses to listen for a heartbeat, fearing that all he would hear would be the sickening crash.

Ellison skidded to a halt at the banister, barely registering that Simpson now stood next to him, yelling at his men to call for the paramedics. Closing his eyes, Jim tried to steel himself for the sight he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. Holding his breath, he looked over the side. It was almost with shock that it registered that there was no broken body lying on the floor three levels down.

"Jim?" Blair's voice was a terrified gasp coming from below him. "Help!"

Blair Sandburg hung, dangling from a decorative support beam, a hundred feet above the heads of the shoppers below.