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Disclaimer: See front page.
After the events of the previous day, Sunday turned out to be quiet and relaxing. Jim watched the ball games, and Blair spent some quality time on his dissertation.
They got to the station at nine Monday morning. Blair went to get them both some coffee. When he returned Jim was already on the phone. He heard his friend ask for a Colonel Duffy as he sat down in the chair next to the desk, placing one of the mugs in front of Jim. Blair waited silently, listening and watching intently as he sipped his coffee. It intrigued him to see Jim unconsciously square his shoulders and sit straighter when the colonel came on the line.
"Hello, sir. Jim Ellison."
The detective hung up nearly thirty minutes later with a heavy sigh. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk as he rubbed his temples.
"Do your breathing, Jim. Relax, and let the tension flow out of you." Blair's voice was sentinel-soft, and had the desired effect on his friend.
Jim cast him a tiny smile, relaxing back in his chair. "Paul Morrow, age fifty-three. He retired three years ago. He was a medical officer."
Blair blew out a breath. "Same as Hill."
Jim nodded once, toying with a pencil. "Hickman and Johnson had the same MOS. Now it turns out Hill and Morrow did too. I'm getting a really bad feeling about this, Chief. I know I'm missing something here, but I don't know what it is. Dammit!"
"We'll figure it out, Jim. We always do."
"Yeah, we've been telling ourselves that for weeks." Jim sighed.
"Jim? What's M.O.S. stand for?"
The older man's lips quirked a bit. "Military Occupational Specialty."
"Ah. So what was your M.O.S.?"
"Detachment Commander," Jim replied off-handedly. "Let's get some of this paperwork cleared off my desk before any more piles up."
Blair smiled and set to work. His mind continued to mull over the problem of the coins.
April 19, MondayThe ninth day from the last coin delivery dawned with one very tense and grouchy Sentinel. As the week had progressed, Blair had noticed Jim becoming more and more uptight, almost like when he'd first met the detective. Knowing the reason for his friend's growing unease, Blair had put extra effort into keeping his Sentinel relaxed. Apparently he wasn't the only one to notice Jim's testiness. The anthropologist had observed some of the other detectives beginning to act like they were walking on egg shells around Jim. Blair hadn't blamed them. In a way, they were.
Blair's anxiety had increased as the next delivery date approached. If the pattern held, the next coin would belong to one of Jim's men, and he worried about his partner's reaction. Fortunately, their workload remained steady, providing a necessary distraction. When they were working a case, Jim could focus on it instead of the puzzle of the coins.
Blair was certain the only reason Jim hadn't snapped was the fact that they'd gotten an ID on their John Doe. His name was John Haley, age fifty-six. When the identification came in, it matched a Missing Persons report filed by the victim's wife a day after the murder. With resignation, the two men went to see Mrs. Haley.
"God, I hate this," Blair said softly, staring out the window of the truck at the modest two-story home they'd come to visit.
Jim nodded. "Yeah." He got out of the truck, and Blair quickly followed. As the two men walked up the sidewalk, Blair noticed his partner automatically surveying the area.
The door opened before Jim could knock. A pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and hazel eyes greeted them. "You're the police, aren't you?"
Jim took out his badge and showed it to her. "Yes, ma'am. Detective Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg,"
"You've found John, haven't you? He's dead, isn't he?"
Blair was sure his eyes reflected as much pain as Jim's did. "Yes, ma'am." The woman's calm cracked a little with this confirmation, tears filling her eyes. "Please, may we come in?" Jim asked.
Silently, Mrs. Haley nodded, and opened the door wider, admitting the two men. She led them to the living room, where she mutely offered them a seat, and sat down on the sofa. "W…What happened?"
Jim sat down on the edge of a cushioned chair, turning to face Mrs. Haley. Blair stood beside his partner. "Mrs. Haley, I'm sorry. This isn't going to be pleasant." Jim paused. "Your husband's body was found nine days ago…."
"Nine days! What…?"
"His body wasn't identified until this morning," Blair supplied quietly. The woman looked up at him in confusion.
"This morning?"
Jim bowed his head for a moment, then looked back up at her. "Nine days ago, your husband's body was found in a dumpster behind the steam plant. He'd been murdered." Jim swallowed. "The reason it took so long to identify him--is because the body had been burned."
Mrs. Haley gasped. "Oh, dear Lord in Heaven! I saw something about that on the news." She shook with the effort to control the tears that wanted to break loose.
Without hesitation, Blair sat down beside her. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Haley. Can I get you a glass of water or something?" When the woman nodded, he leapt to his feet and quickly located the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a tall glass, handing it to Mrs. Haley. He realized Jim had waited for him before saying what he had to next. Blair flashed his partner a grateful smile, and sat down beside the grief-stricken woman.
"Mrs. Haley, I need to ask you a few questions," Jim said quietly.
She nodded. "I figured you did. Go ahead and ask, Detective."
"Did your husband have any enemies that you were aware of? Any personal problems that could have gotten him in trouble?"
Mrs. Haley smiled a little. "If you're wondering if he had any vices like gambling, the answer is no. John didn't gamble. He played poker with some friends once in a while, but he didn't even buy lottery tickets. As for enemies, the construction business is very competitive, but as far as I know, John has never made any enemies from it. He was a good man, stern, but fair. As far as I know, everybody liked and respected him."
"You mentioned construction business?"
"Yes, we own Haley Construction. It's a small business. We've only had it about five years."
"Are there any partners involved? Any financial difficulty that you're aware of?"
"Only one partner, John's brother Frank. He's a banker. I handle the books. The first three years were very lean, but the past couple have been steadily improving. We made it into the black last year, and so far it's stayed there."
"Okay. Can you give me your brother-in-law's phone number and place of employment, and a list of your employees and their numbers? We need to talk to everybody your husband might have had contact with."
Mrs. Haley nodded, and got to her feet. Several minutes later she returned from the office across the hall with a computer printout. "This is our employee roster. Their names, addresses, and phone numbers are in here. This is Frank's business card."
Jim took the offered information. "Thank you. How about the friends he played poker with?"
Again, Mrs. Haley disappeared briefly, coming back with a list of names and addresses. By now Jim and Blair were standing. Jim accepted the additional piece of paper with a quiet thank you, and they prepared to leave.
"Mrs. Haley, is there anyone we could call for you?" Blair asked, reluctant to leave the woman alone with her grief.
"Thank you, Mr. Sandburg, that won't be necessary. I have a sister in town. I'll call her."
Blair smiled, then with another quiet thanks for her help, followed his partner out the door.
The rest of the afternoon was spent tracking down and questioning the employees of Haley Construction. By day's end, both men were exhausted, but no closer to finding their killer. As they drove home that evening, Blair found himself hoping against hope that there wouldn't be another delivery waiting. It wasn't to be. The moment Jim opened the mail box, both men spotted the familiar cardboard mailer. Blair groaned. Jim said nothing as he extracted their mail from the box and moved toward the elevator. He didn't have to. The stony face and twitching jaw muscles said it all.
Once upstairs, Jim stripped off his jacket, hung it up and strode to the table. Blair followed a little more slowly. He wasn't relishing the possible impending reaction. The big man wasted no time opening the package and dumping the contents into the waiting evidence bag.
"Whose was it?" Blair asked softly after watching Jim simply stare at the coin for nearly a minute.
Jim's eyes flicked to him, then back to the coin. "Ben Sarris." With an audible sigh, the older man tossed the object on the table and walked into the kitchen. "He was my Engineer Sergeant."
Blair inclined his head, pursing his lips as he mulled over this information. "Sarris? Why does that name sound familiar?" Absently, he took the beer Jim handed him.
"Does the Switchman ring any bells, Chief?"
His eyes rounded. "That crazy woman who was blowing up parts of Cascade in a vendetta against you? Veronica, right?"
Jim nodded. "That's her. Ben was her father."
"Okay, I remember now. That's why Veronica had it in for you. She blamed you for her father's death." Blair cursed himself when he saw Jim's clamped jaw and icy blue eyes. "Jim, man, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have prevented their deaths! The helicopter was shot down."
Jim's stare bored through Blair. "I was responsible for them."
The anthropologist wiped a hand over his face in frustration. Setting the beer down, he went to Jim and gripped his friend's arms. Meeting those cold blue eyes, he said, "You were responsible for them, but you are not responsible for their deaths. Whoever shot the helicopter down, or whoever ordered it shot down, is responsible."
Jim's gaze melted, though the jaw muscles still twitched. "I know, Chief. I know. But that still doesn't prevent me from feeling like I should've known…something."
"How, Jim?" he asked reasonably. "Your senses weren't even online then. They didn't come on-line until you were faced with surviving in that isolated jungle, alone. Don't beat yourself up for something you had no way of predicting."
Jim tilted his head in reluctant agreement, and Blair dropped his hands. "It was just such a waste," the big man said with disgust, moving toward the balcony doors.
"You're right, Jim, it was a waste, and it's good that you remember them, but it's over. It's in the past."
Ellison shook his head sharply. "Someone's sure trying their damnedest to make it current."
Blair had no answer for this, and shrugged helplessly. Instead, he fell back on a tried and true response. "We'll figure this out, Jim."
The older man nodded. "Yeah," he said without much conviction.
Blair watched his friend for a long moment, as the Sentinel stared out at his city. Finally, he turned and headed for the kitchen.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Jim was mostly silent, but listened as Blair described the latest activities going on at the University. The older man would even ask questions now and then, but the anthropologist was perfectly aware of where his friend's thoughts were. Finally, finished eating, Blair picked up his bottled water and sat back in his chair. He took a drink from the bottle, then idly toyed with the label. "So, can I ask about it?"
"Ask about what?" Jim didn't look up, concentrating on finishing his own meal.
"About the Army. What you did there. The structure and dynamics of your team."
Jim smirked. "Careful, Darwin, this is sounding suspiciously like a Q&A for your dissertation."
"Jim, not everything is about my diss." Blair's voice held a touch of hurt. "I thought we were past that. I'm just curious. I don't know much about the Army or your time in it."
The older man's hand reached out and gripped Blair's forearm briefly. "I know, buddy. I'm sorry." Jim pushed his plate away and sat back. "I just don't know how much I can tell you. You already know about the crash, and generalities about the mission. Whatever else I can remember, which isn't much, is classified."
"I know, Jim. I'm not interested in the crash or Peru right now. I'm more curious about your team."
Silence for a long moment. "Okay." Ellison sighed wearily. "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about the dynamics of the team. Each man had his own specialty or responsibility, what were they?"
Jim didn't answer right away. Instead he got up and busied himself with clearing the table. Blair could tell his friend was thinking about what to tell him, or how much, so he kept quiet and watched. Finally, the dishes soaking in the sink, leftovers put away, Jim came back to the table and sat down. "Each A-Team actually consists of twelve men."
"A-Team? Sounds like a TV show."
Jim chuckled a little. "Detachment Alpha, otherwise known as A-Team."
"Is there a B-Team and C-Team, too?" Blair couldn't resist asking. To his surprise, Jim nodded.
"B-Team is a support team. You could call them the information coordinators, I guess. They're never on the front lines."
"Okay, so tell me about A-Team."
Jim smiled faintly. "Well, there are five specialties. The Communications Sergeant handles all electronic communications. The Medical Sergeant is just shy of a full M.D. He's up on the latest field medical technology and limited surgical procedures. The Engineer is the explosives expert. It's his job to destroy targets and build buildings and bridges. The Weapons Sergeant is obviously the weapons expert. He has to know how to use most weapons, American and foreign. Finally there's the Operations and Intelligence officer. He develops operations and intel for the missions. It's his responsibility to advise the commander on the best way to employ the information gathered. Four of those five have assistants. The O&I man is basically an assistant to the Team Sergeant. Then there's the XO, and finally the Detachment Commander. Twelve men in all."
Blair digested this for a moment. "XO stands for Executive Officer, right?"
Jim nodded. "He's the second in command, and usually has the most knowledge and experience. Everyone is cross-trained in at least one of the other specialties so the team won't be crippled by a loss. With each specialty having an assistant and each specialty cross-trained in at least one other field, it makes for an incredibly versatile team."
"That makes sense, but if an A-Team actually consists of twelve men, why did your mission only have eight?" Blair could have slapped himself when he saw the pain in Jim's eyes.
"On rare occasions special missions are put together, sometimes with as few as three members. It depends on the mission and what's required. A team of eight was supposedly all that was required for Peru. And truthfully, twelve men for that mission would have been unnecessary. At least four men were spared that crash." Jim fell silent, idly tracing the imperfections only he could feel on the tabletop.
"I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to make you dredge all that up again."
Jim shrugged. "You didn't, Chief. Those coins are doing a fair job of that all on their own." He stood up, moving toward the kitchen. "God, I wish I knew who was doing this, though."
Blair watched him for a moment, then murmuring a soft, "Yeah, me too," he got up and joined his friend in the final clean up.
"We're approaching drop zone, sir."
He nodded and signaled his men to get ready for the rappel from the chopper. The ropes were dropped. Harnesses, equipment, and hardware were checked, and one by one his men signaled their readiness. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled. He turned to look out the open side of the helicopter. Above the noise of the engines and the whirring of rotor blades, he heard a whistling sound. Within seconds he had the sound identified, but it was too late. In helpless horror he watched as the streaking missile found its target. The ship shuddered under the explosion. For a suspended moment the helicopter seemed to hover in the air, before beginning its plummet toward earth. Thick, black smoke filling the cabin.
"We're goin' down!"
Jim sat up, gasping. His heart was pounding, and sweat drenched his face. With one last gulping inhalation he closed his mouth and forced the air out through his nose. It helped. His heart and respiration were already beginning to slow back to normal. He rubbed a hand over his face as he drew his knees up, and with a sigh, leaned his forehead against them. He closed his eyes, and immediately opened them again. The images were still there. Sharp. Crystal clear. Sharper than they'd ever been. This was just like the dream he'd had several weeks ago, only with more horrifying detail. Until now, he hadn't remembered actually seeing the instant the missile hit.
After several long minutes, Jim lay back down, the images receding. He hoped he could go back to sleep, but he wasn't counting on it. Almost without conscious thought, he reached out his hearing, and found his Guide's steady heartbeat. He tuned in to that soothing, familiar sound. Several minutes later, a restless sleep reclaimed him.
"Sarris! Hold on, buddy."
"It's too late for me, sir."
Jim clenched his jaw, knowing it was true. The Engineer was losing a lot of blood, fast. There was nothing he could do but continue to press the gauze against Sarris' side. Most of the medical supplies had been destroyed in the crash. The smell of blood, oil, and fuel filled the air. The mingled scents threatened to overwhelm him, and he swallowed hard against the sudden nausea.
"Complete the mission, Captain." Sergeant Sarris' brown eyes slowly closed, and he breathed his last.
Ellison could only stare at the now lifeless figure. "Complete the mission, Captain. Complete the mission, Captain. Complete the mission…."
Jim opened his eyes, Ben Sarris' final words echoing in his mind. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to dispel the haunting images. Sarris hadn't been the last man to die, but he had been the last one able to speak. Jim closed his eyes, cupping his hand over them as he took a slow, deep breath, and let it out. Several seconds passed. Finally dropping his hand, Jim glanced at the clock. 6:12 AM. With a sigh, he sat up, deciding it wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep.
Blair shuffled out of his room, intent on heading to the bathroom for a shower. He stopped when he noticed his Sentinel standing watch by the balcony doors. Uh-oh. "Jim?"
The other man turned his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Morning, Chief. Go ahead and grab a shower, I'll fix breakfast."
Blair didn't say anything for a long moment, simply watching his friend with a growing sense of concern. "Okay," he said finally, deciding to let the matter alone until he was more awake.
His algae shake, eggs, and toast were waiting for him when he ultimately emerged from his room. Jim was looking over the paper while he drank his coffee, a plate of barely touched eggs in front him. "All right, Jim, what is it?"
The older man glanced up, but quickly turned his attention back to the paper. "What's what?"
Blair took a seat, but only leaned his elbows on the table to look at Jim. "Come on, man, don't play dumb," he admonished quietly. "I find you standing sentinel at the balcony, you fix my algae shake, you've hardly tasted your food, and to top it off, you look ragged this morning. So what is it?"
A tiny smile twitched the corner of Jim's mouth, but it quickly faded. "I had some bad dreams last night. I didn't get much sleep, and I guess I'm still thinking about them."
Blair pursed his lips, studying his friend. "About Peru," he said knowingly. He knew he was right when he saw the jaw muscles flex. Silently, he began eating, knowing Jim would talk about it when he was ready. He didn't have long to wait.
"Yeah," Jim confirmed. "One was the same as the one I had a few weeks ago, only even more detailed."
"What was it about?" Blair interrupted softly, sensing he was on the verge of learning something new. The older man stared into his coffee mug for a moment.
"The crash. Actually, it was just before the chopper went down."
Blair remained quiet, though he felt his excitement rising. When Jim gave him a rueful smile, he knew the Sentinel had picked up the thrum of his nerves. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I can't help it. I get the feeling you're about to tell me something I haven't heard before." He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Jim's arm. "This was more than a nightmare, wasn't it? You're remembering something."
Jim nodded. "I heard one of the missiles, and saw it hit."
Blair was stunned. "You saw it?"
"The one that hit the rotor. Another went right through the cockpit."
He stared at the Sentinel. He hadn't expected a revelation like this. Eventually he found his voice. "No wonder you've repressed most of that. I can't imagine what you must've felt."
Jim gave him a faint smile, nodding in agreement.
"What else do you remember?"
The older man sighed, moving to pour himself more coffee. Blair watched, shaking his head when Jim held up the pot. "Ben died from a hemorrhaging spleen. There was nothing I could do."
"Ben? Veronica's father?"
"Yeah. He took a piece of shrapnel in the side. I tried to stop the bleeding, but we both knew it was useless."
"Wait a minute. He was alive?"
Jim gave him a puzzled look. "Yeah."
Blair realized what he'd said, and felt the heat rise in his face. He lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry…. I thought they'd all died in the crash."
"It's all right, Chief. It was a reasonable assumption," Jim said quietly. "The fact is, the chopper was only about fifty feet in the air, so it didn't have all that far to fall. When I came to, four men were dead, and three others were critically injured. There was nothing left of the pilot."
Blair waited for Jim to say more. When his friend didn't, he asked, "What about you?"
The big man grimaced. "Somehow I came out of it with nothing more than a few cuts and a major headache."
"And you're still blaming yourself for what happened." The statement was made without accusation.
Jim met his gaze reluctantly. His jaw muscles twitched as he nodded slightly in agreement. Blair put a hand on his Sentinel's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Do you think your men would blame you? Do you think even one of them knew or thought they were being set up?"
"No."
"Then you shouldn't either. Jim, you were meant to die in that crash too, remember? Why you didn't, only a higher power can answer, but I have a theory."
Jim smirked, getting up and beginning to clear the table. "A theory, huh? Do I want to hear this?"
Blair stood and carried his own dishes to the kitchen. "Yeah. You said you heard one of the missiles. Did the others hear it too?"
Ellison sighed. "An incoming missile makes a very distinctive sound, Chief. I'm sure they heard it too."
The anthropologist waved that answer aside. "Think, Jim. Over the noise of the helicopter, you heard the missile. Did the others hear it then too, or did it take a few seconds?"
Jim stopped what he was doing, turning his gaze inward. "Uh, I remember feeling my skin prickle. I thought I heard this sound, and looked out. It took me a moment to identify it. By the time I figured out what it was, the others were hearing it too, but it was too late."
Blair knew his eyes probably shone with the excitement he could hardly contain, but his voice was serious and sincere. "I think your senses were starting to come online then. Not all at once, and definitely not overwhelmingly. Your instincts were probably kicking in, kind of like an early warning system."
The big man made a disgusted noise. "My instincts, huh? Well, we know where my instincts lead me, don't we?"
"Only when you try to force them down the wrong path, or try to ignore them altogether, Jim." The curly-headed man saw his friend flinch. "Shit. Jim, I'm not specifically talking about what happened last year. I'm talking about all the times your senses or your instincts have warned you something was wrong, but you've dismissed them until almost too late. Lila comes to mind." He saw Jim stiffen, and he added softly, "I know, Jim. That was a low blow, but it's a good example. You had those sensory spikes because your instincts were trying to tell you something wasn't right."
"I wasn't trying to ignore my instincts last year," Jim interrupted quietly.
Blair closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. Blowing out a breath he looked up at the Sentinel. "Jim, we've been over that. We were totally out of sync with each other. I accept partial blame for that, just as you do. Alex messed us both up. If you'd told me about your visions, I probably could have helped you interpret them, but likewise, if I'd pushed you more for answers like I usually do, you would have told me. It's over with, done, put to rest. Hopefully we've forged a stronger bond because of it?" Blair knew it was true, but he still sometimes needed affirmation from his partner.
Without hesitation Jim strode quickly to him, and gripped Blair's shoulders. "We have, Blair. I have no doubt of that."
Blair reached up and squeezed one of Jim's hands, gazing steadfastly into those azure eyes. "I don't either."
A slow smile spread across Jim's lips. He nodded and straightened. Backing away a step, he said, "Come on, I think work calls."
Blair grinned. Within minutes, they were in the truck, headed for the precinct.
The next nine days were a study in endurance for Blair. Recurring nightmares plagued the Sentinel, robbing the big man of sleep, and increasing Blair's concern. Fatigue could be dangerous for anybody, but for a cop it could be downright deadly. Perfectly aware of that fact, Blair stuck closer and closer to his partner when they were out on cases. Despite this, they investigated and solved two murders and a high profile jewelry store robbery. Unfortunately, the Haley investigation stalled. Not one employee or known associate had a motive to kill the man. They couldn't even find a potential suspect among the rival construction firms. The lack of leads only added to Jim's frustration level.
For the most part, all Blair could do was try to keep his friend from becoming too agitated, and hope some kind of clue to who was sending the coins would present itself soon. Finally, Blair decided to take matters into his own hands, at least as far as his friend's well-being was concerned.
"Jim, I have an idea I want you to let me try."
The detective arched an eyebrow. "An idea about?"
Blair rolled his eyes in disgust at Jim's tone. "I'm worried about you, Jim. We both know you're not getting enough sleep."
"I'm touched, dear," the big man said sarcastically.
"Man, I'm serious. You know you can't go on like this."
Jim sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at Blair. "Yeah. I know. What's your idea?"
"I want you to let me try to put you into a form of meditation sleep."
"Chief--"
"What can it hurt, Jim? You need at least one good night's sleep, and if we don't do this, I'm going to bet you won't get any sleep at all tonight, since tomorrow is…you know." Blair overrode Jim's automatic rejection. He'd attempted to get the Sentinel to accept this idea earlier in the week, with no luck. This time, he was determined to win the argument. He was both surprised and worried when Jim nodded his head in acceptance. To Blair, this spoke volumes about how tired his friend was.
A couple of hours later Blair settled himself in the lotus position on Jim's bed as his friend got comfortable under the covers. "Okay, Jim. Do your breathing. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly." The Sentinel obeyed, instantly falling into a more relaxed state. Blair watched his friend closely as he guided the big man toward releasing all tension in his body. The Guide could almost see each layer of tension fall away as he talked. Forty-five minutes later, the big man was sound asleep.
April 28, WednesdayThe next thing Blair became aware of was being poked in the ribs. He mumbled and squirmed away from the prodding. A few moments later he felt it again. He realized they were fingers. He opened one sleepy eye and looked right into his Sentinel's amused gaze.
"C'mon, Chief, up and at 'em."
Blair opened both eyes and stared at the covers under his cheek. Blue. Jim's bed. Blair bolted to a sitting position. "Jim, man, I'm sorry. I must've fallen asleep. Why didn't you kick me out of here?"
Ellison chuckled a little as he began to climb out of bed. "Don't worry about it, Sandburg. I didn't even know you were there until I woke up."
"Huh? Wait. Does that mean you…?"
"Slept like a baby, Chief," Jim finished for him. "Not a single nightmare that I can recall. Thanks. Your idea worked."
"Great! So you're feeling better?"
"Yeah, Chief. I feel more rested than I have in days."
"Cool! That's great, man." Sandburg grinned as he virtually vibrated with enthusiasm.
Jim smiled again, heading down the stairs. "Uh-huh. Now, you'd better have your lazy butt out of my bed by the time I come back or I'll help you out."
"Ooo, sounds kinky," Blair quipped.
His friend threw him a mock glare, but couldn't hide the grin stealing over his face. The detective shook his head, and continued toward the bathroom.
Still grinning, the Guide bounced to his feet and hurried down the stairs, making a bee-line for the coffeemaker in the kitchen. Once it was brewing, he disappeared inside his own room. Minutes later he took Jim's place in the bathroom while the detective went upstairs to dress. To his surprise Jim had pancakes and sausage ready when he came out. Blair murmured appreciatively, but made no other comment, not wishing to dispel the only peace his Sentinel had managed to attain in over two weeks.
The lighter mood held until they reached the station. When they entered the parking garage, Blair could feel Jim's spirits begin to falter. He figured his partner was thinking about the Haley case and its lack of leads. He was trying to think of something to say to bolster both their morales, when Jim looked at him and gave him a small smile. "Come on, Chief. We've got work to do." The detective opened his door and stepped out of the truck. Blair quickly followed.
At around 11:00 Blair was thoroughly occupied performing an Internet search, when Captain Banks appeared beside Jim's desk, startling him.
"Sandburg. Where's your partner?"
"Hey, Simon. He had to go over to the DA's office and give a deposition on the Larson case. He should be back pretty soon."
Simon nodded, remembering. "Good. I want to see you in my office for a minute."
"Uh, sure, Simon," Blair said uncertainly.
He closed down the web browser and got up to follow the captain into his office. He stepped inside ahead of Simon, turning to watch as the bigger man quietly closed the door and hung up his suit coat on the hall tree.
"Is there something I should be yelling at you for?"
Blair shook his head, though he swallowed nervously. "Uh, no."
"Then relax." Simon moved around his desk and sat down. "I want to know what's been going on with Jim lately, and why haven't you told me."
"Sir?"
"Sandburg," the captain warned, "if there's something going on with Jim's senses, I want to know about it. You've never hesitated to tell me before. Now, out with it."
Blair held up his hands defensively, and rushed to explain. "There's nothing wrong with his senses."
"Then what is it? And don't play dumb." Simon ordered. "For something like two weeks I've watched a pressure keg known as Jim Ellison building steam, threatening to blow a gasket, and you've been sticking to him like glue. Now, this morning, most of that pressure has either been bled off or diverted. So, which is it?"
"You mean Jim hasn't told you?"
The captain frowned. "Would we be having this discussion, if he had?"
Blair shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's personal, Simon. I thought he was going to talk to you about it. If he hasn't yet, I…." He shrugged helplessly. "It's not my place."
"It's not a sentinel thing?"
"No, it's not." Jim's voice quietly interrupted them. Simon started, and both men turned to look at Jim, who had entered silently.
Simon glared at Sandburg. "Did you know he was there?"
Blair smiled slightly, gazing at his Sentinel. "Yeah, Simon. This falls under that category of things you don't want to know."
Jim chuckled softly as Simon rolled his eyes. Turning serious, he moved farther into the room and shut the door behind him. "It is personal, Simon, but I had intended to tell you what was going on. It's just that, it's been busy enough around here that there was never an appropriate time."
Simon motioned both men to seats and reached for his coffeepot. After they were settled, the captain gazed at his best detective. "So, what's been going on?"
Jim looked down into his cup for a moment. Raising his eyes to meet Simon's, he spoke. "Every nine days since the middle of March I've been receiving a little gift in the mail."
Simon's lips quirked in amusement. "Have an admirer, huh?"
Blair snorted. "One with a decidedly cruel sense of humor, if that's the case."
Banks looked at the observer strangely, then back to Jim. "Why? What have you been getting?"
"Coins." Jim held up a hand to forestall the protest he saw building. "These aren't ordinary coins, Simon. They're--special."
"Jim?"
Ellison stood and walked to the windows, gazing out at the people going back and forth about their business. Blair kept a close eye on his friend in case he needed his support. Without turning around, the detective continued his explanation.
"And," Jim concluded several minutes later, at last turning away from the windows, "according to the calendar, I'm due to receive another coin today."
Simon did not look happy. "This has been going on for over a month, and you're just now telling me about it?"
"Sir, the first one belonged to one of my men. I thought it was someone trying to return it to his family. When I got the second one and it didn't belong to anyone I knew, I thought it might be a joke, especially when the third one arrived April first and belonged to one of my men again. I admit, by that time I was really beginning to wonder what was going on. We knew there was going to be another delivery, it was just a matter of when. After the fourth one, we figured out they were being delivered every nine days."
"Why every nine days?" the captain questioned.
"It was Sandburg who connected that, sir. If you pair the coins in the order they were delivered, they add up to eighteen days, which corresponds to eighteen months, which is how long I was stranded in Peru."
Comprehension dawned in Simon's eyes. "You think it's someone connected to that mission, or to Colonel Oliver?"
Jim shook his head. "Maybe, but I don't think so. I get the sinking feeling it's more personal than that."
"You're damn right it's more personal than that," Blair piped up. "Someone's waging psychological warfare on you, man." Jim shot his partner an annoyed look, but simply sighed.
Simon glanced at the grad student, but asked Jim, "You thinking the Switchman?"
"This isn't Veronica's style. She was trying to make it public. Whoever this is, is keeping it strictly private. Blair's right Simon. Someone's doing a damn fine job of messing with my head."
Banks frowned, rubbing a hand over his face. "No ideas who it could be?"
Jim shook his head, sighing heavily. "Other than someone with knowledge of the morale coins and connections to the government, no. I've been racking my brain, but so far no one's come to mind."
"Any possibility Brackett might be involved in this?"
"No. Brackett's only interest was in my Sentinel abilities, he couldn't care less about the men who died or my feelings about that."
Simon nodded in agreement. "Where are the coins now?"
"At the loft, in evidence bags. We handled the first three before I gave it much thought." Jim flashed an appreciative look at Blair. "I suspect they were as clean as coins four and five are."
"Even so, we should have forensics check them out," Simon said. "You say another coin is due today?"
"Yeah."
"Why don't you go home at lunch and bring it and the other coins back here?"
"Will do, sir."
"How's the Haley case coming? Any leads yet?" the captain asked, changing the subject.
Jim's jaw clenched as he shook his head. "No. We've turned up no one with a possible motive for killing him. If it weren't for the very professional way he was killed and the obvious attempt to hide the man's identity, I would have to say this was a completely random homicide. I've asked Records to dig deeper into Mr. Haley's past. I should have the results this afternoon. Maybe something will turn up there. Otherwise, I'm completely stumped."
"Good enough for now. Why don't you meet me here after lunch? I'd like to see these coins before you turn them over to forensics."