One

1988

Gary knew that he wasn't supposed to be out of bed, but he just couldn't sleep. Playing seemed like a good idea, so he crawled out of bed and went to his toy chest. He tiptoed. He didn't want Daddy to hear. Daddy was all grouchy if he caught Gary out of bed when he was supposed to be asleep, and Daddy was scary when he was grouchy.

Gary eased the chest open and reached inside, feeling around. He wished he could turn on the light--there was a special stick attached to the light switch, so he could turn it on and off all by himself. That made him feel like a big boy, but Daddy had sneered about it. He'd said that the sooner Gary learned that the world wasn't built to suit him, the better. The General had told him to shut up; it was good for a man to learn to take care of himself.

Gary's hand closed over something, and he pulled it out, carrying it over to the little night light by his bed. He sat on the floor and held the toy close to the dim, shaded bulb. It was one of his GI Joe dolls. The General called them 'action figures'. He said that dolls were for girls. Gary sighed. He'd rather play with one of his dinosaurs, but he thought that maybe Daddy would hear him if he went back to the toy chest. He supposed that the GI Joe would have to do. He started to play with it, almost reluctantly. It wasn't even his favorite Joe--it reminded him too much of The General.

He looked up when he heard the door slam out in the living room. His little face scrunched up in worry. He didn't like it when Daddy slammed the door when he came home. Gary knew what was coming next, and his bottom lip started to tremble.

It didn't take long. The voices rose quickly. He couldn't make out most of what was being said, but the tone was sadly familiar--sharp, and angry. It would get louder, and louder, and then there would be another slamming door, before it got quiet again.

It was different this time. This time there was a scuffling sound, and heavy thumps. It wasn't just raised voices now--it was yelling. Gary put his hands over his ears, but he could still hear the noises. Then there was a crash as something slammed into his bedroom door. He scrambled quickly under the bed, pulling his GI Joe sheets down to make a cave, and curled up into a ball.

There were more thumps, more yelling. He could hear Daddy shouting, "I been letting you put me off, but no more! I own you!"

"I told you--I'm not your bitch! Now, let go, or--"

There was a sharp, smacking sound, and Gary started to cry. That was the same sound he'd heard when The General slapped Daddy. That must mean that Daddy had slapped... There was a different sort of crash. It sounded like something had broken, and Gary started to cry harder. Broken things made Daddy really mad.

After a little while Gary noticed that it had gotten very quiet. This was so unusual that his crying died down to sniffles as he listened, wondering why Daddy wasn't still shouting. He was very curious, but he was also very tired.

He started to drift off to sleep, but then the door to his room opened, and the light came on. Gary was instantly wide-awake, and afraid again. He stayed very still, pretending he was a mouse, hiding from a cat. In the cartoons, the cat could never get the mouse out of his hole.

"Joshua?" Gary lifted his head at the sound of the voice, most of the tension leaving his body. It wasn't Daddy, but Daddy might still be awake, and Gary knew that hiding under the bed would be sure to get him in trouble. Daddy didn't like people to hide from him, or run away.

"Where are you?" He heard his closet door open, and a mutter of, "Not here." Then there was a lot of rustling, and he could hear hangers clicking together, like someone was grabbing big bunches of them. "Josh, c'mon. We don't have a lot of time."

There were footsteps, and suddenly the sheet flipped up, letting light spill under the bed. Gary squeaked in fear. But the figure's hair was bright blond, not brown, and he relaxed with relief. The voice was gentle. "Come out of there, sweetie."

"Daddy's mad. I heard."

"Don't worry about that. Everything's going to be all right, but we have to move fast." Gary scooted forward, holding out his arms. He was pulled out and lifted into a gentle embrace. "I love you, Joshua. You know that?"

Gary nodded. "Better'n anything." He squinted, noting the rising bruise on his rescuer's cheek, and the split lip that dribbled blood. "Daddy hit you! I hate him!"

"Don't waste your energy--you're going to need it. We're going away. I put most of your clothes in this plastic bag, see?"

"I need my toys! I want my dinosaurs, and..."

"We don't have time, Josh! But don't be sad. I'll buy you more when we get where we're going."

"Where we going?"

"I have no idea, but I'll know when we get there. Now, I need you to do something for me. It's not hard. I need you to put your head down on my shoulder, and press your face against my neck. Then, close your eyes, and keep them closed till I tell you to open them. Can you do that, Joshua? It's really, really important."

"I'm not a baby. I can do that. But Daddy won't like it if we go out at night."

"Daddy isn't going to say a word. Daddy... Daddy's gone away."

Gary looked puzzled. "Like Mommy?"

There was a soft, sad sound. "No, not like Mommy. Even if he did go away like Mommy, he sure as... He wouldn't end up in the same place. Daddy went to... France. Okay, are you ready?" In answer Gary put his head down, nuzzled up close, and closed his eyes tight. The little boy felt a hand softly stroke his hair. "Outstanding. Hold tight, and we'll be out of here in no time." The child was carried out of his bedroom. He didn't see the big man sprawled on the floor, his head surrounded by dirt, leaves, and shards of pottery.

Once the door was unlocked, the keys were tossed back into the apartment. There was a battered Volvo sitting a couple of blocks away that nobody knew about--the seller had been perfectly willing to take cash, and forget about filing paperwork. Nothing belonging to the man on the floor was needed, or wanted.

Gary said, "Sandy, my coat. Want my coat."

"Sure, I should have remembered that. You're as cold natured as I am." The coat was retrieved from a peg and draped over Gary's head. "You can open your eyes now, but don't look around till we're outside." There was one more backward glance. The figure was very still, but before going into Gary's room, the rescuer had made sure that Daddy--also known as Mason Kincaid--was very much alive.

Jacob Blair Alexander hoisted Gary a little higher in his arms, and grabbed the bag. "Let's go, little brother."

Two

1991

Cindy Crowder pulled her ratty rabbit fur jacket a little tighter, glaring at the boxes that loomed around them. "This sucks, Dan. They don't have the heat on back here. I'm freezin' my tits off. Why can't we meet him at the coffee shop in the food court?"

Dan Washburn, a short, skinny man with a junkie's twitch and pasty complexion, shrugged. "Sorry, babe. The guy has to be cautious--he hasn't flown low enough, and the cops have noticed him. He won't meet anywhere public." Dan's eyes skittered around the room. They'd snuck back into the network of maintenance halls that ran behind the stores of this mall. This must be a storeroom for one of the furniture stores, considering the size of the crates stacked around them. "It could be worse. At least he didn't want a meet out of the city."

"Who is he? Are you sure he's good for the money?"

"Oh, he's good for it, all right. You don't really wanna know who he is, babe. The less you know, the..."

Cindy smacked him on the back of the head. "You can forget that 'protect the little woman' crap, Dan! We're partners, understand? Besides, I know the answer to the jackpot question, too, and what good would it do me if somethin' happened to you before you could collect? I need to know who's going to be paying out."

Dan rubbed his head. "Yeah, I guess so. His name is Mason Kincaid. Look, Cindy--you've got to hide when he shows up. No, don't start squawking about it. He likes using his fists on people who can't fight back, and I know you--you'd probably lip off to him. It ain't that I don't want to protect you, but he makes people disappear."

"Nasty, huh?"

"Bad enough, and his old man is even worse. I'm just glad Mason is taking care of this himself. The son is scary paranoid, but Garret if fuckin' nuts. Sucker literally has an army to back him up."

"I still don't like you meetin' him alone."

"You're a stubborn lil' bitch." She narrowed her eyes, and he grinned. "That's what I like about ya." Dan looked up sharply as the echo of footsteps reached them. "Fuck! You gotta hide. I told him I was coming alone." He dragged her over to a tall box--one that was open on one side. He shoved her in, reaching for the panel.

"Get a thousand!" she said feverishly. "At least a thousand. It's his kid, right? It should be worth..."

"Shut up!" He set the panel in place, then hastily walked a few steps away, waiting for the man he'd come to meet.

~*~

The Cascade Mall was busy, as was usual on a weekend. The Atrium, rising three stories, echoed with the sound of the crowd. Carefree shoppers milled on the ground floor, and the traffic on the walkways that ringed the other floors was just as thick. The upscale shops were doing brisk business.

There was a man--a big man--standing at the railing on the second floor, gazing down into the crowd. He'd have been hard to ignore at any time, but he certainly didn't blend into the bright, cheerful crowd. He was wearing a loose, long duster. The sunlight streaming through the skylight above him was muted by tinted glass, but his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. He was handsome, but looked almost grim. That could have been the intensity of his expression. You couldn't see his eyes, but a close observer could tell he was watching something.

...or rather someone.

A handsome young man, perhaps ten or twelve years younger than the watcher, was making his way across the Atrium floor. He was big, but he moved gracefully, slipping easily through the press. He paused at a freestanding sales cart, speaking to the young woman minding it. Unseen, the watcher's eyes narrowed, as if he were concentrating. After a moment he shook his head, expression showing irritation and pain. The walker continued on his way, and the watcher began to follow him, walking around toward the escalators.

His prey entered a clothing store, and spent a few moments charming another sales girl, looking at ties, but he left without making a purchase. When he came out of the store, he glanced around. He was smiling, but his eyes were sharp. Then he began to move more quickly, with a sense of purpose.

His observer hurried toward the escalators. The down escalator was busy, almost full of shoppers, but he wasn't content to simply ride. There were several angry mutters as the big man made his way to the ground floor, bumping others out of his way. None of the mutters were too loud, though. One look at the man's size, and his expression, made outrage seem a little stupid.

By the time he'd reached the floor, the other man had disappeared. The pursuer hurried over to the area where he'd last seen the young man. The stores there all had large plate glass display windows, and the interiors were clearly visible. The big man gave each store a quick look, and determined that the man he was interested in wasn't there. His eyes fastened on a set of double doors that said EMPLOYEES ONLY. Without hesitation, he pushed through them.

~*~

Mason Kincaid walked past a couple of decorative statues, noting idly that they looked pretty cool. It was a matched set of black jaguars, each seated on a pedestal, staring ahead with bright green eyes. They were enameled shiny black, and so beautifully formed that the glancing of light on their surface almost made it look as if muscles were shifting under sleek fur.

He came to the storeroom that had been designated for the meeting, and paused just inside the door, looking around. Danny Washburn stepped out of the shadows, and Mason said, "You come alone?"

Danny nodded jerkily. "Sure, sure. Just like you said."

Mason kept his expression neutral, but he wasn't as comfortable as he should have been. This junkie was no threat to him, and if he had the information he claimed... Well, it would get Dad off his back, and give him back something he not only wanted, but needed. "Well? Let's have it."

"It... It's gonna cost you... a thousand." Mason just stared at him, and Danny said hastily, "Of course that's not my final figure. Seven-fifty would probably be... I know seven-fifty would be fine."

Mason grunted, and came deeper into the room. "Tell me what you've got, and I'll take care of you, Danny."

"Seven-fifty?"

Mason's voice was cold. "You don't expect to be paid before I hear what you have to sell, do you?"

"No, of course not." Danny swallowed. "I was out of state last week, making a delivery for Corky, right? And guess who I ran into?" He smiled. "Your ex."

Mason smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up. "You saw Jacob? How'd he look?"

"Great! Like a million." Danny laughed. "Like three million, right? He's changed his hair, but he looks good."

"Did he see you?"

"No. I had to change a tire, and I looked up, and there he was, across the street, taking the kid into a school."

"Which school?"

"Astoria Elementary School, in Astoria. Oregon."

Mason repeated it, slowly and thoughtfully, turning away from Danny and walking a few paces. His hand slid casually into his jacket. With his back still to Danny he said, "Did you tell anyone else?"

Danny snorted. "Of course not. I'm not stupid."

Mason turned and shot Danny twice. The gun was silenced, and it made only a muted thumping sound. The junkie slumped to the floor with a shocked look on his face. "You're not?" Mason stared down at him dispassionately, studying him closely. In a few seconds his chest stopped moving, and his heartbeat fell silent.

Mason started for another exit on the other side of the room. He had to work quickly to cover his tracks. Just before he exited the room he paused, frowning. He'd killed Danny--it should have been quieter in the room, but somehow he still thought he heard a faint, rapid thudding, and a rush of air that couldn't be the air conditioning. It troubled him, but he didn't have time to investigate--he had a murder weapon to dispose of, and an alibi to set up.

He hurried out into the corridor. After a few turns, he found a large dumpster filled with cardboard boxes, plastic, and Styrofoam. He ducked behind it as a couple of men in janitor jumpsuits walked past the crosswalk a few dozen yards away. Once they were gone, he reached deep into the opening in the side of the dumpster, stashing the gun in a bag of crumpled paper. Then he arranged more trash over it, and made his way toward an exit into the mall.

~*~

The big man in the duster was standing at an intersection--halls in all four directions. The only way he knew was wrong was behind him. He swore softly under his breath. Damn it. I'm going to have to do it after all. He closed his eyes--and listened.

~*~

Cindy stared through the small slit that Danny had left between the box and the panel. She couldn't have seen what she thought she'd just seen. She shoved the panel aside and crept out, slowly approaching the man on the floor. She bent over him and whispered, "Danny?" There was no response. She hesitantly touched him, and there was no movement. His eyes gazed blindly up at the ceiling. "Oh, shit," she whispered. Even in her fear she knew enough not to scream--screaming might bring the murderer back to investigate. "Oh, shit, Danny. You said he was dangerous, but I didn't think he'd kill you. Danny..." Her whisper rose to a breathy whine. Danny had been a pretty nice guy, and now he was dead, and she still didn't have the thousand dollars...

~*~

The big man tilted his head slowly, then his head jerked to the right. He started off at a run, pulling a gun from a shoulder holster. There was a large storage room ahead. He ran past two statues--big black cats--and burst into the storeroom. There was a man sprawled on the floor. He was dead--there wasn't even any reason to check. The weeping girl circling him was alive though--and a witness.

She saw him and screamed. He winced, but pulled his shield with his free hand and flashed it, saying, "Police--Jim Ellison! Where's Kincaid?"

The girl's eyes flicked toward an exit on the other side of the room, but she said, "Who?" She pointed at the corpse, babbling, "I didn't do it! I didn't kill him!"

"I know you didn't, but you know who did." Jim shoved his shield back in his pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he had a pair of handcuffs.

Before Cindy knew what was happening, she found her wrist circled by cold steel. "Hey! I didn't do nothin'."

"You're a material witness."

Jim bent down, and she had no choice but to bend also. He snapped the other cuff around Danny's wrist. "You can't do this!"

"I just did. Don't go anywhere." He ran out, leaving the girl swearing and tugging at the (literally) dead weight on the other end of the cuffs.

~*~

Mason strolled into the Aphrodite and Adonis Salon, winking at the various cosmeticians and techs as he made his way toward the back of the room.

His father was at the station of the most expensive and popular stylist. Garrett Kincaid, draped in a black plastic poncho, sat ramrod straight in a chair that had been designed to be relaxing. He had his back to the mirrored wall, and was holding a hand mirror, turning it this way and that, examining the back of his head. "I don't like it. I don't like what you've done with it at all."

Mason dropped into a chair opposite him. "It looks the same as it always does, Dad. Cut them some slack." When Garrett frowned, Mason said, "I have some great news."

Garrett snorted. "You always exaggerate, Mason. Everything is always great, wonderful, terrific. What's so great this time?"

Mason leaned forward slightly. "I've found him."

Garrett sat even straighter, suddenly intent. "Gary!"

Mason's eyes flickered, and he paused for a second, then said, "Yeah, both of them."

Garrett made 'give me' motions. "Tell me!"

"Just let me handle it, okay?"

One of the nail technicians, a tiny Oriental girl, approached. She gave him a charming smile, and said, "Anything we can do for you today, Mister Kincaid? Maybe a manicure?"

Mason returned the smile. "How can I say no to you?" She rolled her worktable over and took a seat across from him. Mason gave her his hand. As she began to file his nails, he gave his father a smug look and said, "Don't worry, Dad. I have everything under control."

The girl was just starting on his second nail when the man in the flapping duster came into the salon. He made a straight line toward the little group at the back of the room. As he passed, customers and staff alike noticed his gun. There was surprisingly little noise, but a lot of scrambling. One customer, draped in a poncho and with her hair slathered with an iridescent color solution, ran right out the front door. She was going to end up with hair like Bozo the Clown, but she figured that was better than a possible early death. Someone had the presence of mind to call security.

The first thing that let Mason know something was wrong was the look in his father's eyes. The voice saying, "Police officer! Mason Kincaid, you're under arrest," was a nasty surprise, but not entirely unexpected. "Put your hands behind your head and stand up."

Mason sighed, and did as instructed. He glowered at the policeman. "Ellison, not again! When are you going to leave me alone?" His tone was angry, and aggrieved.

"Drop the gun!"

Jim glanced back, and almost groaned. A mall security guard was aiming a gun at him. Jim thought, I knew we were going to regret passing that law to let them carry weapons. He fished his badge out of his pocket again and offered it to the guard. "I'm police, and you're interfering with an arrest."

Mason raised his voice. "Can't you see that this guy is crazy?" Two more security guards, weapons drawn, came through a door at the back of the store. Mason, knowing that only Jim was really looking at him, smiled for a split second, then called, "Shoot him!"

"I'm telling you, I'm a cop! Check it out." Jim allowed the first security guard to take his badge. The guard studied it fiercely, then went to the phone. He couldn't hold the badge, and the gun, and still dial (though he tried for a few seconds). Finally he thrust the badge into a junior guard's hands, and made the call. He had his colleague hold up the badge so he could read off the number when he got hold of the Cascade Police Department.

While the guard made the call, Garrett Kincaid said, "You're getting desperate, Ellison. You can't do this to my son. It's harassment."

"Yeah," said Mason, indignantly. "It's humiliating. I'm just trying to get a manicure. I have witnesses."

Jim smiled at him, but it was more like a baring of teeth. "I have a witness, too, Mason." He felt grim satisfaction at the sudden doubt in Mason's eyes. "That's right. You slipped up this time." His voice lowered to a growl. "And you're mine now."

Three

Megan Conner stood behind the girl who was sitting in the interrogation room. Cindy was twitching. She was going to need a little something soon. If they could just keep her here for a few more hours, she'd be ready to sell her first born for something to take the edge off. Cindy started chewing on a nail--an acrylic one. Hell, she'd be willing to get pregnant and have the baby to sell. The trouble was, they didn't have any excuse to keep her. But maybe they could work around that.

Megan came up beside Cindy and leaned down to her. "We know that Danny was trying to sell Mason information about the guy that ran off with his money. Mason had to be pissed, having his boy toy scam him like that. C'mon, Cindy. Danny must've told you something. What's he look like now? Names? He's been underground for awhile, and we'll need more than just a general location to..."

"I've told you--nothin'," It was something between a snarl and a whine. "Just Astoria, that's all. I wanna go now."

"Sure. It won't take a minute to set the line up. Once you identify Kincaid..."

"No! I told that other cop, I didn't see nothin'. If I did see anything, and I talked about it, my life wouldn't be worth shit."

Megan sighed. "Look, you do the line up, I'll drive you home. I'll even cook you dinner."

Cindy glared at her. "You can fly in Emeril to bam me, and it's not gonna make a difference."

~*~

In the observation room, Jim looked at Simon Banks. "Who's this Emeril guy?"

The police captain stared at him. "Do you ever watch anything but the sports channels?"

"Let me go in there."

"Oh, right, and have us end up with a civil suit?"

"I wouldn't touch her!"

"You wouldn't have to. Damn it, Ellison--when you get going you can practically give a Decathlon athlete a heart attack. Sit down."

While Jim stared at Simon, Cindy shoved her chair back in the interrogation room, standing. "I'm outta here!"

Megan pointed to the chair, barking, "Sit."

Simon repeated himself. "Sit!"

Megan got in Cindy's face. "Sit!"

Both Jim and Cindy slowly obeyed. Megan made her voice reasonable. "You do this, and you won't have to worry about Mason. We'll put him away for thirty years, and you'll be safe."

Cindy crossed her arms belligerently. "Oh, yeah, witnesses are always perfectly safe with you guys. You've never lost one."

"He killed your boyfriend."

"I hardly knew the guy." She jumped up again and stalked over to the two-way mirror. Peering angrily through it, she said, "I know you're there, Ellison. I told you before, and I'll tell you again: I--ain't--doin' it! And you got no reason to hold me, so I'm goin'." She turned and made for the door.

Jim got up and stepped out into the hall, followed by Simon, just as Megan came out of the interrogation room. They were just in time to see Cindy starting down the stairs. She paused just long enough to shoot the finger at Jim before continuing down. Simon sighed. "That went well. Megan, meet Jim Ellison. He's been after both of the Kincaids for close to two years now."

Megan offered her hand, and Jim took it and gave it a brisk shake, but he wasn't looking at Megan. "We've got to have that identification, or he's going to slip through my hands again."

"Pleased to meet you, too," said Megan, dryly. Jim gave her a look that said he recognized the irony in her tone, but wasn't the least bit concerned about it.

"Jim," said Simon patiently, "this is Detective Megan Conner. She's on an exchange program from our brother organization in Australia. She'll be working with you on this."

That got a reaction. Jim scowled. "I don't work with a partner."

"Mainly because no one is willing to put up with your sullen ass," said Simon. "I wasn't offering, Ellison--I was telling you. Deal with it, and maybe you'll get somewhere with this. So far you've been slipping back on your own." Jim looked like he wanted to reply to that, but Simon gave him a hard look, and he refrained. Giving them a curt nod, Simon turned and left.

Jim and Megan just looked at each other for a moment. Finally Jim said, "Nothing personal. Just try to stay out of my way, and I'll get Cindy to co-operate."

Megan's tone was sarcastic. "How? By dragging her back by the hair?"

Jim started down the stairs. "At least I won't offer to cook her dinner."

Megan yelled at his retreating back. "No--from what I hear you'd offer to take her through the Wonderburger drive-thru."

~*~

Every major city has its 'mean streets', and Cascade was no exception. A traditional pick-up truck (not a 4x4, no extended cab or bed liner) pulled up to the curb, just in front of a narrow alleyway that ran between two dilapidated buildings.

A dozen or so rough looking men and women were congregated on the sidewalk around the entrance. There was an altercation in progress. One of the men, one sporting gang colors, was arguing with a woman--or rather he was yelling at her. She wasn't doing much more than pleading, her body language supplicating. Jim could see the man's fingers sinking into the soft flesh of the woman's upper arm. There were already faint bruises. As he watched, the man made a final statement and shoved her back into the alley. The woman stumbled and fell, but quickly picked herself up and limped toward the door set in the wall at the back.

The group by the alley was congratulating the gang member on his technique in handling women, but the laughter died as the truck's door opened. The man that got out was enough to stop conversation. He came around the truck, sunlight glinting on his shades, a slight breeze billowing the hem of his duster.

One of the men snorted. "Who let the shit kicker into the neighborhood?"

Another called, "Yo, man--how much shit will that thing haul--besides you?" This earned him high fives of approval, but Jim ignored the jibes. One young man, smirking, leaned against the passenger side door, twirling an old-fashioned punch can opener through his fingers, like a magician manipulating a coin. "Nice ride, but too plain, man. It needs to be branded."

The gang member who'd fought with his girlfriend, ready to bolster his recent rise in his friends' estimation, stepped in front of Jim. "Hey, man--you lost?"

Jim stopped, regarding him. His tone expressionless, he said, "I know it's hard to believe that anyone would come here on purpose, but no--I'm not lost." He indicated the door at the end of the alley. "But I'm not where I need to be yet."

"Yeah? Well, you're on my turf, uninvited, so you need to leave."

"Can't do that."

"Well, maybe I can help you make up your mind." He committed one of the stupider acts of his life--he took a swing at Jim Ellison.

Jim didn't even have to bother to move a step to dodge the punch. That was convenient, since it meant that he didn't have to move back in to throw his own punch. His connected, and the gang member went down hard. It had all happened so quickly that no one around them moved for a second. Jim looked around, rubbing a fist into his palm. "Does anyone else want to give me directions?"

There was a little shuffling. The men didn't want to lose respect by letting a single man get away with facing them down, but it was taking them a minute to work up to an attack. Jim made up their minds for them. He reached into his duster, up behind his back, and pulled out a sawed off pump action shotgun. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Jim Ellison," he pumped the shotgun, "and I love my truck."

The can opener disappeared, and the man who'd been flashing it pulled a bandana out of his pocket and began wiping the windshield. "Don't blame you, man. I'll look out for it for you. Ain't nobody going to touch it."

"Thank you. That's very neighborly." He rested the shotgun against his shoulder, turned, and strolled back into the alley. He could hear the thumping music the moment he stepped into the grubby hall. He gave the interior a quick once over, noticing the woman who had been pushed ducking into a door at the end of the hall. She wasn't Cindy, so Jim ignored her, and followed the music upstairs.

Either the building was owned by a drug dealer, or a gang member, or he was writing the place off for tax purposes. He certainly didn't seem to care what happened to his property. The general grime looked like it had been there for a couple of generations, and there was trash on the floor. Jim knew that some chi-chi designers liked to use graffiti themes in their decorating, but the tags on the wall were colorful in more than just their tints.

When he reached the second floor, it became apparent that there had been some renovation within the last couple of years, but Jim hardly thought that there'd been any building permits involved. Walls had been knocked out to form a large party room. He decided that he ought to get his business here over quickly. Jim thought idly that the party people would probably be taken completely by surprise when the ceiling eventually collapsed, from lack of support.

They had delusions of exclusivity. A chain link fence had been erected across the open space to keep out the riff raff. Jim walked over to the gate at one side. Another badass stood on the opposite side, arms folded in a 'you shall not pass' stance. As Jim approached, he could see the bouncer swelling with his own importance as he said, "You can't come in."

Jim didn't even slow down. He just kicked the gate. Hard. These people needed to sue whoever put it up; it shouldn't take just one kick to knock a gate off its hinges (no matter how hard that kick was). The bouncer ended up on the floor, under the gate, stunned. Jim stepped through, saying, "Thank you."

There was a collection of tatty sofas and chairs scattered around the room, probably hauled laboriously away from someone's curbside discard. The cast-offs were occupied by a motley group of rough sorts, all in mid-party.

It's surprising how quickly a shotgun can clear a room.

Well... maybe not.

The only thing that looked even remotely new, or quality, was the boom box that was currently booming out Nirvana. There might have been a few teens in the room, but there was very little spirit, even if it did smell. Blues, fine. Classic rock, terrific. But grunge? Jim put the first blast through the box. Over the screams and yells, he called, "Party's over!" The next blast took out a ratty wingback chair. "Everybody go home." The exit of most of the partiers was chaotic, but quick.

There were a few foolish ones, like the large man sitting next to Cindy on a dainty love seat. "Who the fuck are you, man?"

Right about then another thug got foolishly brave, and tried to sneak up on Jim. When the man got within arm's reach, Jim twisted, grabbed his arm, and jerked him over his hip. The man crashed through the glass coffee table in front of the love seat. As he staggered up and headed toward the door, Jim said, "I'm the party pooper."

The man on the loveseat nodded. "Yeah, it has gotten pretty dead."

"Mind if I sit?"

"Naw, man, have a seat. I was leaving, anyway." He got up, stepping gingerly over the glass, and headed for the door.

Cindy squawked, "You can't leave me!"

"Watch me, bitch." He hurried away.

Cindy started to rise, too, and Jim put a hand on her shoulder. He didn't shove, but he didn't let her stand up, either. "Cindy, Cindy, Cindy. You can't go now, not after I went through so much trouble to get us a little privacy." He sat beside her, setting the shotgun on the floor, propped against the loveseat. "Nice to see you again."

Cindy looked at him with disbelief clear in her eyes. "What do you want from me, asshole?"

"Such foul language. You disappoint me. You shouldn't use such crude language, not a classy girl like you."

Her voice was a whine. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

He threw an arm across her shoulders and smiled at her. She shivered. That was not a warm, chummy smile. "I have nothing to do. I have nowhere to go, and I like you, Cindy. I want to be with you. I want to hang with you--a lot. Days. Nights. Weekends. Holidays. I can devote all my time to you--and I will--till the end of time." Cindy put a hand over her eyes, groaning. Jim smelled victory, and his smile grew even more feral. "Unless..."

~*~

The six men filed into the line up room and... lined up--standing in front of the ruled wall. The officer who accompanied them said, "Space out. Okay, face front, and hold up your card. Not in front of your face, you comedian!"

In the room on the other side of the mirror, Simon Banks glanced over at the jittery young woman. "They're ready, Cindy. Take a good look, and tell us if you recognize the man who killed your boyfriend."

Mason Kincaid's defense lawyer, standing in the corner, said, "Take your time, Cindy. Think. This is one of the most important decisions of..."

Banks rounded on him. "If you say one more word to her, you'll find yourself in a cell next to your client." The lawyer shut up.

Cindy's eyes skated quickly over the men in the other room once, then again. Then they bounced back to one particular man, and fixed. She took a step toward the glass, saying, "They can't see me, right?"

"They can't, and they won't. You'll stay in here till they're taken back to lock up. He won't be able to get to you."

She heaved a sigh. "All right." She pointed. "Him. Number five."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fuckin' positive, okay? Now will you lock him up again? The thought of him not bein' behind bars scares me."

Simon patted her shoulder. "We have it from here, Cindy. Don't worry."

"But I'll have to testify?"

"Don't worry about that now. It might not even come to trial." Simon gave the lawyer a look. "He might get some good legal advice, and plead out. Wait here till an officer tells you it's clear. Councilor, you need to get started working for you piece of garbage... Oh, excuse me--your client."

Simon and the lawyer stepped out into the hall, and went to the line up room door. Simon spoke to the officer in the room. "Number five." Simon indulged himself in a moment of satisfaction when he saw the look on Mason Kincaid's face as he was handcuffed. The lawyer consulted briefly with an obviously stunned Mason, then left to begin earning his hefty fee.

~*~

Arraignment, Next Day

"Your honor, Mister Kincaid, has never been convicted of a violent crime. It's obvious that he's the victim of a personal vendetta by a loose canon police officer who has paranoid delusions about..."

The DA interrupted the defense lawyer. "Mister Kincaid may not have been convicted of any violent offenses, but that's only because witnesses were intimidated into silence, or disappeared."

"Your honor, that is pure speculation, and I consider it slander!"

The judge said, "Councilor, you have no way of proving why witnesses failed to cooperate, and unless a body turns up, disappearances could be from many causes. Maybe they wanted a change of scenery. Maybe they got tired of paying our state taxes and headed for Texas. Maybe Elvis came down in a UFO and took them for a joyride."

"Thank you, your honor," said the defense attorney. "I know that I can't realistically ask to have Mister Kincaid released on his own recognizance, but I'm hoping that the court will set a bail commensurate with the flimsiness of the state's case, and..."

"Hope springs eternal, Mister Palenta, but get real. Your client is up for murder one--he doesn't get bail. The defendant is remanded to custody, pending trial."

Jim and Megan were sitting behind the prosecutor's table, and Megan leaned over to whisper to Jim. "Mason wasn't expecting that. I haven't seen anyone look that shocked since my grandma accidentally walked onto a nude beach."

Palenta was speaking earnestly to Mason, patting him on the shoulder. When an officer came to handcuff him, the lawyer said, "Can't he have just a moment to speak to his father?"

"He can't have any contact unless he's handcuffed," said the policeman. Mason put his hands behind his back, and the cuffs were snapped on.

When he was secured, Mason stepped up to the rail. Garrett had been sitting, grim faced, behind him, and now he rose and went to his son. There was a moment of stillness, then they both leaned forward, and Garrett embraced his son. Mason whispered, "You know what to do?"

Jim scowled at the scene before him, thinking, What's wrong with this picture? He concentrated. Garrett was whispering back, but it was hardly tender, paternal sentiments. Don't try to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, son.

Megan was watching the exchange, too. "What do you suppose those two are so cozy...?" Jim was moving down the aisle. "Damn," Megan muttered. "I wish someone would tell me when I turn invisible."

The officer was leading Mason down a back hall toward the holding cells, when Jim Ellison stepped out of an empty jury room and grabbed Mason's arm. He showed the court officer his badge, and said, "I need to borrow him for a second." He jerked Mason back into the room.

Mason raised his voice. "Hey! Don't leave me alone with this maniac."

Jim shoved him down into a chair. "Relax--your virtue is safe. I'll leave the door open." He loomed over Mason, arms folded. "I got you dead to rights this time. You roll over and tell me what you know about your old man and his Sunshine Patriot buddies, and I'll tell the DA what a good boy you are. Maybe he'll knock a few years off your sentence, and you can get out before your joints start to creak."

"Screw you. All you've got is the word of one strung out junkie bitch. They won't even hold me. You think you can just cowboy me into jail? I'm a Kincaid, Ellison!"

"I wouldn't sound so proud, if I were you."

Mason bared his teeth at him. "Don't sound so superior, cop. You've been chasing me so hard and so long that without me, you wouldn't even have a life."

Jim's expression stiffened. "You know shit about me, Mason."

"I know that we're more alike than you'd like to admit. Hey, my lover ran off--your wife divorced you. It's just that Jacob had a reason--the money. Yours--she just couldn't stand you."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Jim jerked him up out of the seat, hauled him into the hall, and shoved him toward the officer. "Get this hyena locked up."

Jim found Megan out in the public hallway. She was plugging coins into a vending machine. As he approached she punched a button, and pulled a plastic wrapped sandwich out of the vending tray. "I've never seen anyone your size eat that much." She unwrapped it and took a healthy bite. "Forget that. I've never seen anyone eat as much as you--period. You must be braver than I thought if you're going to risk that."

"You're usually pretty safe if you stick with the turkey. Besides, I'm hypoglycemic. If I don't eat regularly, I go a little nuts." They started for the exit. "So, Ellison, tell me about yourself."

He shrugged. "I'm a cop."

She snorted. "Fairly obvious. No, I mean tell me about yourself. If we're going to be partners, the better we know each other, the better we'll work together."

"If we're partners."

"You're partners, all right." Simon was standing near the doors, and he waved them over. "We've got to find that missing money, and that means finding Kincaid's runaway boyfriend. Since we only have a town, and a school, we're going to have to send you two in to locate the ex."

"A school?" asked Jim.

"When Alexander took off, he took Mason's kid with him."

Jim blinked. "His kid? Mason has a kid?"

"A son. He was about three when Alexander disappeared with him and the money."

"But I've never seen any missing person report on a kid."

"Mason didn't file one. It turns out that Alexander is the kid's half-brother. There was never an official inquiry, but we hear that both Kincaids have been shelling out bucks to private eyes. None of them have had any success, but Danny, the vic, apparently ran into Jacob in Oregon. He knows that Gary, Mason's son, is enrolled in the Astoria Elementary School."

Jim nodded. "I'll go. I'll have him in..."

"Slow down, Jim. Yeah, you'll go, but not alone. If a cop shows up asking questions, the guy will be in the wind again, and we'll never find him in time to take Kincaid to trial. No, you and Megan will go in undercover. We've set Megan up as a substitute kindergarten teacher at the school, and you're going to portray her husband. Between the two of you, you ought to figure out which kid is Gary Kincaid, and that will lead you to Jacob Alexander. Once you find them, you tell Jacob that we'll give him immunity if he turns over the money as evidence, and testifies against Kincaid."

"Senior, or junior?" asked Jim.

Simon shrugged. "Preferably both, but we'll take what we can get. Don't tell him that, though. This is too big to soft peddle."

Jim said. "I want to go on record that I think I could handle this more effectively solo."

Simon patted his pocket, coming up with a cigar. "Duly noted. You're both booked on a plane to Portland tomorrow morning. Good luck." He strolled outside, lighting his cigar.

Megan was staring at Jim. "You think you'd be more effective alone."

"No insult intended, O'Connell."

"Of course not. You think that you'd be more effective than me undercover as a kindergarten teacher?" Jim hesitated. "Right. Well, I have been a kindergarten teacher before." She started away. "Why do you think I became a cop? And by the way, the name is Conner."

Four

1985

When the taxi dropped him off, Jacob was a little surprised. The address his mother had sent him had turned out to be in one of the ritzier parts of Cascade. He'd never been one to read just the comics or sports section in the newspapers, and he vaguely recalled an article about this particular building going condo. The possible figures quoted for purchase had been hefty. It just didn't seem like the type of place that Naomi would choose, even if she could afford it.

He consulted the slip of paper again, comparing it to the numbers on the polished plate next to the entrance. This is the place, all right, he thought. It might not be champagne dreams and caviar wishes, but it's darn sure past herbal tea and vegetarian chili.

He made his way to the fifth floor, passing a few residents in the halls. At the time, he had a glancing thought--he wondered why he wasn't getting funny looks from them. He knew that he didn't look like he belonged here.

He was going through a self-declared 'punk' phase. Oh, not the philosophy and angry attitude--just the style. When someone had accused him of being a poser, he'd cheerfully countered that a poser wanted to be mistaken for, and accepted by, the people he was emulating. Jacob just liked the style. He'd bleached his hair bright blond, and wore it in a spiky, messy, all-over-the-head style that took as much time to fix properly as the hair styles of some of the women he'd dated. He was also into jewelry--two earrings on the left, one of them on the right, none of them matching. Well, he had the mate of the silver hoop, but he was wearing that through his right nipple. Then there was the wolf tattoo on his left thigh.

He was comfortable with his own appearance, but he was beginning to think about making a change, now that he'd gotten into the Cascade University graduate program. He was hoping for a job as a TA, and possibly a full professorship later, and he knew that, while Cascade wasn't Boston, it certainly wasn't San Francisco.

He was mulling over this as he pushed the bell beside the door leading to 5B. When the door opened and he saw Naomi, those trivial thoughts were wiped from his mind, but not entirely from the natural joy of seeing her after a long separation.

Jacob stared at his mother. Specifically, he stared at her abdomen--her distinctly dome shaped abdomen. The silence spun out. Finally Naomi said, "Well, I wasn't quite ready for the world to come to an end."

Jacob blinked. "What?"

"I've rendered you speechless--that has to be one of the signs of the coming Apocalypse."

"Damn, Mom, give me a second to wrap my mind around this, will you? I haven't even put my luggage down."

"Then come inside." She opened the door wider, stepping back. Jacob still hesitated. "If this is going to be a short visit," she said, "I could have met you at the curb."

Her tone was tart, but Jacob disregarded it, instead going by the expression in her eyes, and that was hurt, and a little unsure. Unsure? Naomi?, he thought. He entered the apartment, dropped his duffle bag, and embraced his mother warmly. When he put his arms around her, she was a little tense, but as the hug continued, with Jacob rocking her slightly, she relaxed. "I'm sorry, Mom. It was just a bit of a shock, you know?"

She patted his back as he released her. "Not just for you, sweetie. It pretty much took us all by surprise. Come on in the kitchen. I have some of that catnip tea you like."

Jacob glanced around appreciatively as they walked through the apartment. His childhood homes had never been palatial--they lived on the fly, and it was almost always some form of rooming house, or commune. This place was nice. Looked like at least three bedrooms, lots of windows, good neighborhood, and everything was expensively furnished and finished. It didn't really speak to him of Naomi--it was too... done. It looked like a professional decorator had done a job, and nothing had been changed since then--only cleaned and maintained.

The only thing that looked personal was a photographic portrait on the wall--a stern looking middle aged man in some sort of uniform. Must be Daddy, Jacob thought. I never would have expected Mom to go for the military type. Life is full of surprises.

Naomi put a kettle of water on to boil, and prepared the teapot. Jacob, at the kitchen table, felt a sense of comfort as he watched the familiar routine. "Well, am I gonna be passing along tips on how to pick up girls, or guarding the front door with a baseball bat?"

Naomi laughed. "The doctor said that sometimes the ultrasound is indeterminate, because the baby curls up so tight, but your little brother was practically flashing the camera."

"Cool! I'll have a little brother to teach the manly arts, and..." He trailed off. "If he needs me?"

"Well, of course! You're his big brother, and... Oh." She eased herself into a chair opposite him. "Mason isn't exactly the fatherly type. That's the main reason I so wanted you to come back, Jacob. I've been feeling a little isolated lately."

Jacob stared at her for a moment. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" The kettle started to whistle, and she braced herself to stand up.

"Sit. I'll do it." Jacob got up and began to prepare the tea.

As he set the pot before her, she said, "What makes you think anything's wrong?"

"To begin with, the fact that you tracked me down and asked me to come. You're always happy to see me, Mom, but you're also happy to let me live my own life. And second--you, isolated? That's unnatural for you."

She poured tea into two mugs, then picked up hers, sighing. "I know. I didn't start out to become a hermit, but things just... happened." One hand rested on the mound of her belly, and she winced. "Oo, I think that was an elbow." She stroked the curve. "Part of it is the baby. This hasn't been an easy pregnancy. I swear, Jacob, I remember carrying you as being an absolute joy."

"I'm sure a lot of it is time and distance, and you're..." He bit his lip.

"I'm older now. You can say it--I have." She stared into her mug. "The doctor said that I really shouldn't have this baby."

Jacob put down his mug abruptly. "Then why are you?"

"Jacob!"

"Mom, I know how sacred you hold life, but you've always upheld other women's right to choose. And if this is endangering you--is it endangering you?"

She looked away. "I haven't felt well for a long time, but the baby is healthy. Anyway, there's nothing to be done about it now. I'm due in a week."

Jacob rubbed his face. "I'm sorry, Mom. I wasn't suggesting that. I was just wondering. I can't recall you ever saying you wanted more kids."

"I didn't think I did. I didn't, at first. I'm not even sure how it happened. I thought we were being careful, but... Well, there were one or two times when there was a little too much wine, and too little patience. When I missed a couple of periods, I honestly thought that it was menopause. Then I had a check-up and mentioned it to the doctor. He did the test, and it was 'hello, Mama'." She shook her head. "The look on his nurse's face. I told Mason, I figured I owed it to him to discuss things before I made a decision. He wasn't really interested--but he told his father. Kincaid Senior was very interested."

"The old man is looking to continue a dynasty?"

"Something like that. Anyway, Garret can be very persuasive. Pretty soon it was too late to terminate the pregnancy safely, and by then I found that I didn't want to." She smiled at Jacob softly. "You're the greatest joy of my life, Jacob. How could I resist giving the world someone else who might turn out to be as wonderful as you are?" Jacob stuck his tongue out at her, and she laughed. "Anyway, let's give this a rest. We'll have plenty of time to discuss it while you're here. You are staying."

"There wasn't a rise at the end of that sentence, so I guess I am."

"Good. And I'd rather you didn't discuss this when Mason is here."

"Why?"

The sound of a door opening came from the front of the apartment, and she looked up, expression tensing subtly. "Because I don't want you to. They're early."

Jacob heard male voices, and a moment later the man from the photo in the living room entered the kitchen. He stopped abruptly, giving Jacob a sharp, assessing look. "So, Naomi. This would be Jacob."

Time to make a good impression, Jacob thought. He stood up, offering his hand. "Yes, sir. Pleased to meet you. And I'd just like to say that I'm thrilled about this. I've always wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister."

Now the man's expression was slightly amused. "I'm glad to hear that, young man."

Another man--a little older than Jacob--came in. He was tall, and built like an athlete, broad shoulders stretching his expensively tailored jacket. He had brown eyes, and his hair was dark brown, worn in a ponytail. He glanced at Naomi, then stared at Jacob, suspicion in his eyes.

The older man said, "This is Jacob."

The younger man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, then he grinned. "No joke? You're Naomi's kid?"

"Yeah."

He offered his hand. "I wasn't looking forward to meeting you, but now I'm glad you're here..." They were shaking hands. "...son."

Jacob froze, his hand still in the other man's grip. After a second he said tentatively, "You're Mason?" Mason nodded. "You're...?"

He hooked an arm around Naomi's neck. "Your mother's old man, and the father of your soon-to-be half-brother." He hooked a thumb at the first visitor. "And this is my father, Garret."

"I have to apologize for not introducing myself properly," said Garret. "But I'm afraid I couldn't resist. I wish I had a camera right now. The look on your face is priceless."

Jacob glanced at his silent mother. Naomi returned his look with defiance. "Can't say I blame you, though somehow I don't think that Kodak would promote this as one of their 'moments'."

~*~

1991

Once the plane was in the air the next morning, Megan and Jim agreed that it would be good to again go over the information they had. "What little there is," said Megan, taking a folder from the briefcase she'd stowed in the overhead rack. She sat back beside Jim, opening the folder. "I've seen more information on professional terrorists who've gone to ground in a protective network."

The children sitting behind them were arguing. There was a dispute over whose turn it was to play with a plastic robot. It had only been going on for a couple of minutes, and Jim was already mentally cursing the parents for not buying one for each of them. He tried to ignore their bickering as Megan said, "He's Jacob Alexander, and the little gossip we could dig up says he was usually called Sandy, or JB. He was twenty-four when he disappeared, so he'll be about twenty-seven, twenty-eight now. We don't have an exact birth date, because his mother didn't apply for a birth certificate till he was almost three. Turns out she had him in a commune, or on an ashram, or something, with a mid-wife in attendance." Megan handed Jim a photograph.

Jim studied it. It had been taken at night, outside some sort of trendy club. He easily recognized Mason Kincaid, but his attention was focused on the young man standing beside him. His light hair was short and spiky, what Jim's father would have called 'hedgehog hair'. As for his features... It was full night, but he was wearing sunglasses that covered most of his face. All that was really visible was a strong jaw, and a pouty, sensual mouth. He was wearing tight, club style clothes, and they showed off a sturdy, but graceful looking, body. His arms were crossed, and gold glinted at his throat and wrist. He grunted. "Boy toy."

The arguing had intensified behind him, and suddenly the robot came sailing over his head, to land in his lap. Jim picked it up and twisted around to look at the boys behind him. He glared at them, saying, "That wasn't a request," and handed the robot back. The quarrel had recommenced before he turned back.

"That seems to be the general opinion," said Megan. "Mason liked to take him to clubs, show him off. It's a little more complicated than that, though, since his mother had a child by Mason."

Jim looked up, his tone colored with disbelief, "His mother?"

"That's right. You knew that Jacob is Gary's half-brother. How did you think it happened?" She showed Jim another picture. It was of a handsome, redheaded woman in her forties, and she was holding a baby. Jim wasn't all that good at estimating age for infants, but the child couldn't have been more than a month or two old. "Naomi and Gary Alexander."

The boys had progressed to kicking the back of the seat. Jim gritted his teeth, trying to ignore them. "Don't you mean Kincaid?"

"No--Alexander. Naomi never married Mason, and she put down 'unknown' in the space for father on the birth certificate."

Jim smiled slightly, "She must have been a brave woman. I can't imagine that Garrett Kincaid was very pleased about that." He noted the woman's pale thinness, and the deep shadows under her eyes. "She doesn't look well."

"She wasn't. She died not long after that was taken. The death certificate says blood clot, but with Mason..." She shrugged.

Jim winced. "Christ, the very idea of Mason Kincaid as a single father..." The voices behind him were rising again, and this time the robot clipped him on the head. He snatched it up and stood, turning abruptly. "Where are your parents?"

The boys, about ten and twelve, had fallen silent, staring up at him with evident astonishment. Finally the eldest one squeaked. "We... we're flying alone. They're meeting us in Portland."

He flashed his badge. "If you don't sit still and be quiet, I'll lock you up for making an in flight disturbance. And if that isn't enough, I'm going to give your parents a report that will keep you without television, video games, and desserts for the next two months." He sat back down. There was no commotion from the back seats. In fact, the stewardess later wondered if the children had somehow been replaced by pod people during the flight.

Megan was shaking her head. "You have such a delicate touch, Ellison."

"It worked, didn't it? How is it that the kid wasn't taken away by Social Services?"

"Because apparently Jacob Alexander took over the boy's care. He'd been in a graduate study program, but he quit and dedicated all his time to caring for the kid."

Jim grunted. "All the time he wasn't partying with Mason. Do we have a more recent picture of Gary, and a better one of Jacob?"

"Yes, and no." Megan handed over another photo. "We managed to get our hands on a security video from Mason's building on the night that they took off, but it isn't really any good."

The photograph showed Jacob walking down a hallway. He was holding a bulging plastic garbage bag in one hand, and using the other to support the child he was carrying. The toddler was draped in a coat, with only a tiny sliver of his face showing. Jacob had his face turned to Gary, apparently talking to him. This picture was blurrier than the other had been--the only thing recognizable about Jacob was his wild hair. "This is useless."

"It's all we have."

The hostess came by, pushing a cart laden with covered trays. "Lunch?"

"Yes, please," said Jim.

As the hostess handed Jim the tray, Megan said, "No, thanks."

Jim looked at her in surprise. "You're refusing food?"

"I'm just feeling a little queasy."

Jim looked at her closely. "You are looking a little clammy."

"Thank you. I think I'd better go to the bathroom."

Jim started to get up. "Now you're looking a little green."

"I said I have to go to the bathroom--now!." Megan managed to climb over Jim, who just barely held onto his tray. Megan banged into the hostess, and made apologetic noises from behind the hand clamped over her mouth.

As Megan fled to the restroom, the stewardess said, concerned, "Is your wife all right?"

Jim listened to the retching sounds coming from the restroom. "Compared to what?"

~*~

When they reached Seattle, it didn't take Jim long to retrieve the luggage. He got both sets, since Megan had gone right from the restroom on the plane to the one in the terminal. She came out while he was filling out forms at the car rental desk, but she turned around before she reached him, and went back in.

It was raining as they pulled away from the airport. Megan huddled on the passenger side, moaning quietly every now and then. "Are you sure I shouldn't take you to an emergency room?" asked Jim.

"No, I'll be okay. I think it's getting better." She groaned again. "Maybe it was that burrito, or it could have been the sausages. I think the crab salad was okay. It couldn't have been the donuts..."

"You're making me feel sick."

"Pull over."

Jim glanced at her. "We should be there in..."

"Now." He pulled over, and Megan bolted out into the rain. A few yards from the road she bent over, and Jim turned his head away, wishing for an auto freshener to cover the sour smell. He heard her mutter, "I hate this."

"I hate it, too." She turned, and staggered a little. He was out of the car in a flash, half-lifting the wobbling woman back into the care.

Once back inside, she said, "Sorry. Felt a little faint, there."

Jim started the car, checked for oncoming traffic, and pulled out. "Just hang on. We're about ten minutes from our motel. You can lie down, and you'll..."

"Pull over--now."

Jim went with her this time, unwilling to risk her collapsing. She didn't, but she sort of went boneless when she got back into the front seat. Megan thought that she might actually be able to doze off till she felt something tickling her ear. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

Now there was warm breath in her ear. Ellison was attractive, but she wasn't about to get into anything with him. Work affairs were bad news. "I'm not kidding. Keep your hands to yourself."

"What? Megan, are you sure you're not hallucinating? I haven't taken my hands off the wheel."

"No? Then why do I feel you...?" She opened her eyes, turning her head. She found herself nose to nose with a very odd looking creature, its unblinking yellow eyes gazing right into her own. After a moment she said, "I'd scream, but I'm too sick. I think I am hallucinating."

Jim glanced over, and smiled. "No, you're not. That's Sid, my cat."

"Cat? He looks like an alien. No, wait. He looks sort of like that cat in the Austin Powers movies."

Jim nodded. "He's a Sphinx."

"What's he doing here?"

"I didn't have time to get a sitter for him."

"Well, don't they have kennels, or something."

"Sure, but I couldn't leave him to be caged up for God knows how long. He wouldn't understand."

Megan stared at Jim. "You have hidden depths, Ellison."

Luckily that was the last stop they had to make before they reached their destination. Jim signed in and collected their key. He unlocked their little bungalow, then carried Megan in and dropped her on the bed in one of the two bedrooms. "Conner, seriously, should I call an ambulance?"

"No," she mumbled. "It's getting better. Class doesn't start till nine. I'll be fine."

Jim stared at her, then concentrated. Pulse steady, breathing clear. She should be all right. "Sure you will."

Five

1985

Jacob was sitting in the living room, frowning at a thick, softbound book, muttering to himself as he flipped pages. Mason wearing black silk pajama bottoms, wandered into the room, yawning. "Good morning."

Jacob glanced at his watch, then said, "Good afternoon."

Mason seemed utterly oblivious to Jacob's ironic tone. He came over and sprawled on the couch beside him. "Whatcha doing?"

"Trying to figure out the best way to go when I apply to Cascade U. I haven't quite finished writing up my doctoral proposal, and it will look really good to the committee if I'm adding credits right up till I meet with them. I should have it ready before the end of the upcoming semester."

Mason frowned. "I thought you'd already got the initials after your name."

"Yeah, I got my Bachelor when I was twenty, and my Masters last year, just after my twenty-second birthday."

"Jesus, that means you've been in school..." he did mental calculation, "about eighteen years. When did you start?"

"I fast tracked. Usually the Masters would have taken three years. Anyway, it doesn't really average out to that much time. I didn't spend a whole hell of a lot of time in formal classrooms when I was growing up. Naomi believed in home schooling."

"And they let you get into college? I stayed in high school till the bitter end, and they still wouldn't have let me in without a push from my old man."

"I enrolled when I was sixteen. Sometimes they make allowances, if they think you have potential." Mason's eyebrows lowered. Uh-oh. "Or if they think they'll look good by helping you. Poor little fatherless hippie kid. They could point to me as a charity case."

Mason looked mollified. "I barely forced myself through two years. I can't understand why a sharp guy like you wants to waste his time hanging around chalk boards and libraries."

"Sharp guy? Mason, I'm a geek."

"Bullshit." He gestured toward Jacob's shiny, carefully spiked hair, then reached out and touched the silver hoop that hung from his lobe, below the zircon stud. "This sure doesn't look like a geek to me."

"What do you think an egghead looks like?" asked Jacob, slightly amused. "Tweeds? Short sleeved white shirt? Pocket protector, with calculator? Wait!" He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a pair of rimless glasses, and slipped them on. "There. Now do I fit the image better?"

Mason cocked his head. "I dunno. You look a little older, but not bad. They sort of say 'pull me off him and see how sexy he looks.'"

Jacob blinked at him. If a woman had said that, I'd think it was suggestive.

"Do you need those?"

"Only to see close work. I should have been wearing them while I was looking at the catalogue," He rubbed his forehead. "I have a headache starting up."

"Well, that's a pisser. Me, I've got great vision. Too good, sometimes." He laughed. "The eye doctor used to think that I memorized the chart. I could read the fine print at the bottom just like it was the top."

That got Jacob's interest--talk of enhanced senses always did. "Really? Have you noticed anything similar..." Mason leaned toward him, reaching both hands toward his head. Jacob knew that his eyes were going wide. He managed to keep himself from flinching (that would have been a faux paus), but the truth of the matter was that when he saw Mason's hand coming toward his face, his first thought was that he was about to be slapped. Instead, his glasses were plucked off and dropped in his lap. Then Mason's hands settled on either side of his temples, and began to massage.

Jacob was frozen. This could be nothing more than someone who didn't have a good grasp of the concept of personal space, trying to be nice. But from the smile on Mason's face, he didn't think so. I guess that other remark was suggestive after all. Mason's fingers had moved back, and he was starting to play with Jacob's hair. Okay, this is creepy.

He sat back a little, fervently hoping that he wasn't going to have to do more than that, and felt relieved when Mason let his hands drop away. "Better?" Mason asked, still smiling.

"A little." Fuck it, I am not saying thank you for that. Time to bring reality back into focus for him. "Mom went to have her hair done, since she probably won't feel up to it for a while after the baby comes. She should be back any minute now."

"Yeah? She isn't as fussy about her looks as most of the girls I've dated. But of course, they're younger." Jacob found that he was gritting his teeth. Did this guy realize he was being rude, and just not care, or was he really that clueless? "I guess she's getting a touch up. I wonder how much gray she has now?"

First choice, Jacob thought. "I wouldn't know," he said tartly, "but I bet you put it there."

Mason sat back a little, looking surprised. He obviously wasn't used to someone sniping back. "You've got a smart mouth, haven't you?" He smiled slowly, and Jacob felt a chill. "That's nice, for a change."

Jacob stood up, and felt a twist in his guts when he noticed that Mason's gaze didn't rise to his face, but stayed fixed around his belt buckle. "Want to go out for a bite?" He managed to make it sound dirty.

"Thanks, but Mom left some hummus and cold beef tongue for my lunch."

Mason didn't seem offended. "Yeah? She never cooked when we first got together. She must be going through that nesting stage thing." He frowned. "Not that I mind. She uses too much spice." He shrugged. "Hell, everyone uses too much spice these days. I can't tell you how many times I have to send food back at a restaurant before I get something that doesn't make me want to gag. Well," Mason stood up. He grinned at Jacob as he tugged at his waistband, pulling the black silk tight against his body for a moment. "The place I'm thinking of is casual, but not this casual. Guess I'll go get dressed."

As he went back into his bedroom, Jacob thought, Yes, please do. Shit, I hope Mom decides to leave him after she has the baby. I don't want to lose touch with her, and I'm looking forward to having a brother, but I'd be damn uncomfortable around Mason. Then Jacob thought about what Mason had said about spice. It sounded like his taste might be sensitive, too. Two enhanced senses. He felt a twinge of interest, followed quickly by dismay that he'd let his interest in his pet theory make him forget what an utter bastard Mason Kincaid was.

1991

Megan woke up--sort of. She assumed she was awake. She was pretty sure that she couldn't feel this miserable without being conscious. Anyway, she was hearing bells, so it was either time to get up, or there was a fire somewhere. Either way, it would probably be wiser for her to get out of bed. But first maybe she'd stop that alarm before it split her skull open.

She tried. She flailed out in the general direction of the noise, and managed to add a bruised wrist to her other physical ailments. She must have made it mad, because she was sure that it got louder. She heard Jim call from the other room, "Conner?"

"M-up," she gargled. This time she managed to hit the alarm button. In fact, she managed to knock the clock off the nightstand. "I'm okay, I'm fine." Eyes still closed, she started to sit up. She heard footsteps approaching. "A quick stomach transplant, and I'm good to go."

"Lay back down."

"No, really, I can..."

"Am I going to have to tie you to the bed?"

"Promises, promises. If I don't get up and go in, what are we supposed to..." She opened her eyes. Jim Ellison was standing by the bed. He was wearing sharply pressed trousers and a neat sports jacket--and a tie. She stared.

He spread his hands. "Well, how do I look?"

She stared some more. "Take off the gun."

He grimaced, then took off his jacket and began to remove the shoulder holster. "I guess you're right. I can't bring a weapon around kids if there's no imminent danger." She watched him as he put the jacket back on. "I should have a good idea of the likely candidates by the end of the day. After that, it will go quickly."

"They're going to eat you alive."

He gave her a superior look. "I've worked undercover for a long time. I can handle this easily. After all, they're a bunch of six year olds." He started for the front room. "How tough can they be?"

Megan raised her voice hopelessly. "Take the gun!"

1985

Jacob stood in the hall and fished the new key out of his pocket. It was on a simple key chain, the charm a plain golden lozenge with the initial J. He stared at it a moment, running his thumb over the edge, feeling the still sharp edges. A week ago Mason had come back from lunch and tossed him the key, saying, "My house is your house."

Jacob's first instinct had been to chuck it right back at him. The more he was around Mason, the less he liked him. He didn't, though. One thing he'd learned in his gypsy life with Naomi was that you shouldn't antagonize someone who was providing you shelter--not unless they really asked for it. So far he had nothing concrete against Mason. Oh, he was an asshole, but then there were a lot of assholes in the world.

He let himself into the apartment, calling, "It's just me, Mom." Something squished. He looked down, working his feet. He was standing in a patch of soggy carpet. "What the hell? Mom, I think we have a leak. As much as Mason must pay for this place, he should..."

"Jacob..."

Jacob was galvanized by the sound of Naomi's voice. It was far too weak, and strained. He dropped the book he was carrying, letting it thump unnoticed to the floor as he ran for the room his mother shared with Mason.

Naomi was lying on the bed, fully dressed. The front of her skirt was dark and wet. Her face was pale and sweaty, and her eyes were frightened. "Jesus!" Jacob bent over her. "Your water broke."

"You noticed," she said faintly. "I just wanted to sit down for a minute before I called a cab, and I guess I fell asleep."

"Passed out, you mean," said Jacob. He'd picked up the phone and was dialing 911. "You know better than that, Mom."

"911. What is your emergency?"

"I've got a woman in labor. She passed out for awhile, but she's conscious now."

"Do you need an ambulance?"

"Fuck, yeah, I need an ambulance." He took a breath. "I'm sorry, I'm stressed here. It's my Mom. Look, she's a high risk pregnancy, and she doesn't look too good right now."

"Give me your address, and we'll have someone there as quickly as possible." Jacob gave them the address. "Now, stay on the line, and..."

Naomi whined sharply. "No can do," said Jacob, shutting off the phone. Naomi was reaching out to him, and he grabbed her hand. "Don't push, Mom, don't push! Remember what the Lamaze teacher said."

"Screw the Lamaze teacher!" she said through gritted teeth. "He's a man--all he has is theories. I won't push, but you're getting nail marks on your hand, sweetie."

"No problem." When the contraction ended, Jacob said, "Where's Mason?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Naomi. "He went out to eat, and said something about going by a club."

"But the doctor told him that it could be at any time." Naomi gave him a look. "Right." He picked up the phone again, pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket. "I have his cell phone number." There was a knock on the door, and he shoved the paper back in his pocket, dropping the phone on the bedside table. "It can wait. Coming! Mom, hang on. I'll be right back."

It was the paramedics. While Naomi was loaded onto a stretcher, Jacob scribbled a note to Mason, and taped it to the outside of the front door. One of the paramedics started to say something about Jacob following them, since they usually didn't let anyone other than a guardian, or the father ride along. Jacob had told them in no uncertain terms that the father wasn't available, and if they thought they were keeping him out of that ambulance, they could see how well they could drive with him spread eagled on their hood.

They got Naomi checked in at the hospital, and Jacob went to a pay phone in the lobby while they took her up to a labor room. He couldn't get an answer. He tried three times before he gave up and headed for obstetrics. He was lucky in that the nurse in charge on the floor believed that a close relative was a close relative. She didn't give him any lip about staying with Naomi.

It went on for hours. Jacob coached her through the contractions, held her hand, and brought her ice. During the lulls he'd go try to call Mason. Finally the doctor said that the labor wasn't progressing, and they'd have to do a C-section. They were wheeling Naomi into the delivery room when someone finally answered the ring.

Jacob was met with a blast of music and crowd noises. "Hey-ya!" said a bright female voice.

Jacob blinked. "I'm trying to reach Mason Kincaid."

"Yeah, this is his cell."

"Well, can I talk to him?"

"He's dancin', dude. He doesn't like to be interrupted when he's dancin'."

"This is important."

"So's the dancin'. Mason has been tryin' to put the moves on this guy all night."

Jacob felt cold. "Tell him that his son is almost here." He hung up, got into the sterile gown, gloves, and hat the nurse had waiting for him, and went into the delivery room.

Naomi was conscious through the entire procedure. Jacob stayed on her side of the draped cloths they'd set up to screen her from the sight of her own abdomen being sliced open. He was grateful for the screen as well. Natural childbirth was one thing--major surgery was another.

"A little pressure, Mrs. Alexander," said the doctor.

Naomi gritted her teeth. "No Mrs."

The doctor glanced up at her, but said agreeably, "Whatever you say. Hold very still, now." The doctor made a few motions. "And here we go. Come here, you wiggle-bug. Yes, he's a boy, all right. Clamp. Give me that other scalpel." He looked up at Jacob. "Unless you'd like to cut it?"

"Oh, hey, no!" Jacob said hastily. "I'm not a doctor yet, and when I am, it's not going to be for medicine. You handle it."

"Can do." He worked a little more.

"Why isn't he crying? Shouldn't he be crying?"

"One second, he has a little mucus here. Syringe." There was a thin wail, and Jacob felt an immediate sense of relief. "Here, Maggie. You take this little man to meet his family, while I fix his mama up."

The nurse came around the screen, carrying a squirming, screaming baby, cradled in a blood stained towel. Naomi tried to reach for him, but her arms were entangled in monitor wires and her IV. "Give me my baby, please," she said.

"Lay back and just crook your arms," the nurse instructed. She gently lowered the baby into Naomi's arms, keeping her own hands on him to be sure that he was secure. "There. He looks so healthy it's almost scary, but we have a couple of evaluations that we'll do when we clean him up."

Jacob bent over them, reaching out to touch the baby's slick shoulder. "Wow."

"He must be a marvel," said Naomi tiredly, "if he can reduce you to monosyllables already." She studied the baby fondly. "He didn't get that squashed lizard look."

"He's fantastic," whispered Jacob.

Naomi smiled at him fondly. "You're prejudiced."

Jacob's hand curved over the baby's damp head, and the infant blinked, his cries dying. "He likes me!" he said, delighted.

"Of course he does. I don't have stupid children." Her voice softened. "He's going to love you, Jacob--very much."

Maggie took the baby to the side of the room to get him weighted, checked over, foot printed, and braceletted. Another nurse came over to Naomi and Jacob, with a clipboard. "Time to fill out his birth certificate." She showed it to the two. "Weight and length. He's a little small, but not enough for us to consider him premature. Date and exact time. You've got a little Aquarius. Now, mother's name?"

"Naomi Margaret Alexander," said Naomi.

"Father's name?" She glanced at Jacob, smiling.

He began to shake his head, but Naomi said firmly, "You can just leave that blank." The nurse gave her a puzzled look. "Like I told the doctor--there's no Mrs. involved in this."

"But you do know the father?"

"Of course I do," she snapped.

The nurse blushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything... It's just that if you don't fill in the father's name, and, well, something happens to you, the father might have some legal problems proving his parentage. There could be a lot of trouble for him to keep custody, if there was another claimant."

Naomi stared at her. "Father unknown." She sighed. "The baby's name is Joshua Garrett Alexander--two final T's in the middle name." She looked up at Jacob. "I don't like the man, but I don't have the strength to even think about the hell he'd make my life if I didn't pass along that name. Anyway, we don't have to use it."

The doctor came around the screen, and patted Naomi's arm. "You're set up. I'm afraid you're going to hurt like fire in a little while, but you've got a beautiful son."

She smiled, but it was Jacob she was looking at. "Yes, I do."

Six

1991

Jim Ellison had always prided himself on his ability to blend in. As an undercover cop, it was his key to survival. He was confident that he could look at home in any place from a high society cocktail party to the grungiest biker bar. Right now he felt as conspicuous as an elephant in a pink tutu.

He was taller than anyone he'd seen since entering the building--a lot taller, in most cases. Take his companions right now. He was sitting on a bench in the hall outside the principal's office. When he'd breezed in a few minutes ago, expecting to be seen immediately, he'd been firmly sent outside to wait his turn. Now he had a girl who barely looked old enough to be here on his right. A boy of about nine sat on his left. The boy had obviously been crying recently, as evidenced by his flushed, streaked cheeks, and the beginnings of a snot trail under his nose. Neither of them would have come up much past Jim's belt buckle, and both were gazing up at him with something very like awe.

He felt like twitching, but restrained himself. Since it was class time, the halls were deserted, though he could hear the muted drone of voices nearby. The door to the boys' restroom was situated right across the hall, and now the door opened, and a young man came out. Jim was immediately alert. He didn't look like a janitor--no uniform or work jumper--so what business did he have in a grade school? The man approached, and Jim began calculating how he should respond to him. Should he demand that he justify his presence immediately, or wait and watch? In the end, he didn't have to respond at all. He was ignored.

The stranger handed the boy a paper towel. "Blow." The boy honked into the towel, wiping vigorously, then offered the crumpled towel to the man. "Why don't you just put that in your pocket till we can get to a wastebasket?" He passed over a damp handkerchief. "Now, wipe your face." While the boy obeyed, he said, "Okay, Matthew, you know why you're here?" The boy nodded. "I hated to do this, because you're usually a good kid, but you just can't go around punching girls."

"But Jenny poisoned my hamsters!" the boy protested.

"I'd probably have punched her, too." Matthew and the man both turned to look at Jim. The stranger frowned slightly. "Uh... did I say that out loud?" He looked down at the little boy, who was smiling now. "Punching girls is wrong, unless it's self-defense."

The stranger was rubbing his forehead. "Do you have any idea what a nine year old would consider as an act requiring self-defense? It would start at 'she looked at me funny'."

"Oh. Yeah. Matthew, I meant not unless she, like, had a weapon, and..."

"Did you have coffee this morning? Maybe you ought to wait on a little more caffeine before you start on self-defense advice for third graders."

"Sorry. I only wanted..."

The door to the principal's office opened, and the aide said, "Mister Ellison, she'll see you now." Jim stood up. All eyes followed his ascent, and he suddenly thought he understood a little of how Andre the Giant must have felt going out in public.

After the door shut, Matthew looked up at his teacher and said, "Boy, Mister Sandburg, he sure was big."

Blair Sandburg considered the big, buff and gorgeous man who'd just gone into the office, and smiled down at the little boy. "He sure is."

~*~

Principal Ernestine Schlauskill sat at her desk, hands folded before her, staring frankly at the man seated across from her. She'd been doing this for over a minute, saying nothing. Jim was wanting to fidget again. Miss Schlauskill had greeted him with a handshake when he entered the room. She was just about as tall as Matthew, but somehow Jim didn't get that same 'I'm on stilts' feeling from her. No, that level gaze was making him feel a good bit smaller than he had for a long, long time. It was the same sort of gaze that Sally, the woman who'd raised him, used to use when she thought he'd been up to something.

Finally the woman said, "I was expecting a Miss Conner."

Jim didn't feel like giving her a detailed account of the physical reasons Megan couldn't be here, so he simply said, "There's been a change of plans."

More silence. The principal said, "I don't like this, Mister Ellison. I don't like it at all. I'm already four weeks into the school year, and I get a call from my superiors telling me that I'm going to have to replace one of my teachers. Miss Hagley is a respected member of this staff, with twenty-five years of experience teaching kindergarten, and I'm told that I'm to replace her with a completely unknown police officer," she pressed her hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, eyes narrowing, "and I'm not told why."

"I can't tell you any more than you already know, ma'am. In this case, the less you know, the safer things are."

She snorted. "So say they all. Well, I have news for you, Ellison." She pointed at him, and said slowly. "I'm keeping my eyes on you. I'm going to watch you like a hawk, and if there's the least hint of danger, I'm telling the parents, and they'll start pulling kids out of here so fast that I'll have to close the school down. I can do it, and don't think I won't. The only thing, only thing that matters here is the kids. Understand?"

He nodded. "Understood."

"Good." She gave him another once over. "You do have experience handling children, don't you?"

There was a moment of silence. "Yes." It's not a complete lie. I have talked to them--sometimes.

She sighed. "Well, there's nothing that can be done right now, so I suppose I'd better introduce you to your class." She led him out. Matthew and his teacher had disappeared, but the little girl was still sitting on the bench. Mrs. Schlauskill stopped and spoke to her. "Mary, not again?" The girl looked down at her toes. "You're just going to have to learn the difference between rude words and obscene words, dear." They continued down the hall, and she said to Jim, "She's a lovely girl, but she's growing up with the vocabulary of a sailor, which I suppose isn't surprising, since both her parents are in the Navy. This is your classroom."

The door was set with a window in the upper half, so that anyone passing could make a quick assessment of what was going on in the class. What was goin on was chaos. As Jim leaned closer to peer inside, a wooden block flew past on the other side of the glass.

He didn't need sensitive hearing to make out the babble of voices, some of them rising occasionally to squeals, or shouts. There were about two-dozen boys and girls, none of them more than six, and not a single one of them was giving any approximation of 'still' or 'quiet'. The last time Jim had seen such frantic activity was when he'd first fired the shotgun inside the gang hang out.

"As you can see," the principal's voice was a little smug, "they're looking forward to meeting you." She opened the door, and it didn't make any appreciable difference in the children's behavior. She reached up to the light switch, and rapidly flicked the lights on and off several times.

The result was astonishing. Children screeched to a halt, stopping whatever they were doing, and hurried over to sit on the large square of carpet that filled the middle of the room. There was some jostling, but soon the entire group was sitting or kneeling in place, looking at the adults expectantly.

Good, they're already trained, thought Jim. This should be easy.

Miss Schlauskill said, "Good morning, children."

They chorused, in a sing-song tone, "Good morning, Miss Schlauskill."

"As you all know, your teacher, Miss Hagley, has had to go away for awhile..." A boy with dark hair and eyes so big they reminded Jim of those Keane paintings of wistful puppies, kittens, and urchins, raised his hand. "Yes, Benjamin?"

"Did she die?"

"No, she didn't die."

"People die all the time." The boy said it like he was stating a cherished, often defended belief.

"Miss Hagley did not die--she's just taking care of family business. While she's away, your new teacher will be Mister Ellison. Say hello."

Again the children sing-songed, "Hello, Mister Ellison."

Jim fixed a bright smile on his face. "Hello, kids."

"Introductions completed," said the principal. She gave Jim a smile, one that had an edge to it. "I'll just leave you to get acquainted. Good luck, Ellison." She left.

Seven

Jim stared at the children. They stared back at him silently. He was near the front of the room, so he went to lean (casually, he hoped) against the wall. He hadn't checked what was behind him, and was startled by the discordant noise when his butt hit the keyboard of the class piano. The children immediately burst into giggles, and Jim thought, Okay, comic relief is good--breaks the ice. "You children know who I am, and I'd like to get to know who you are. I want to know more about you. For instance, how many of you were born here in Astoria?"

A couple of the children stuck their hands up immediately. Jim would later learn that kids raised their hands for everything. If he asked for volunteers to grout his tile in his bathroom, they'd raise their hands. Most of the other children were looking doubtful, but after looking around at their classmates, everyone raised their hand. That might have been too subtle for them to grasp. I need to make it simpler. "You can put your hands down. Now, who was born out of state--like in Washington?" Every hand went up again--more quickly this time. He sighed. "Hands down."

The children lowered their hands, and he tried to think of something that they'd be able to understand, that would give him a clue. A little girl, dressed in Strawberry Shortcake overalls, raised her hand. "Yes...? I'm sorry, what's your name?"

She stood up. "I'm Samantha, and I need to go to the potty."

Jim blinked as the other children giggled. He remembered that there was a restroom just two doors down. "Samantha, do you know where it is?" She nodded. "Can you go there by yourself?" She nodded again. "Okay, you can go, but don't go anywhere else, and don't take too long." The little girl nodded a third time, and went out into the hall. "Okay, let's make this simple. Is there anything any of you think I should know?" A boy, who looked like he might have posed as Baby Cupid for Valentines, raised his hand. "You are?"

"Maffew." He even had a cute lisp.

"What do you have to tell me, Matthew?"

He stood up and said clearly, "Boys and girls are different. Boys have a penis, and girls have a bah-gina."

More giggles. Apparently the kids weren't as unsophisticated as Jim had first thought--either that, or this was an old story from this boy. "Thank you, Matthew. Very... informative." Hell, I've had more than one person tell me I need help telling the difference. Samantha came back in, and Jim said, "Very good, Samantha. Very prompt."

"I didn't go."

"But you were just in the restroom, weren't you?"

"Uh-huh." She came to stand before him. "I went, but I didn't go." She was fiddling with the straps of her overall. "I can't do these." She turned big, blue eyes up to him. "You do them."

Jim froze. Benjamin offered. "If she don't go to the potty, something might bust, and she'd die."

Matthew piped up. "If she takes off her clothes, we'd see her bah-gina."

Jim could feel the blood rising in his face. Christ! I can't undress a little girl! "Uh... just a minute. I'll get help." He fled out into the hall. A woman. I need a woman.

The room next door was empty. He hurried over to the one across the hall and looked through the window. The man he'd spoken to outside the principal's office was at the front, sitting on the edge of the desk. He was wearing rimless glasses, and holding an open textbook. "So the main reason the first colonists came to America was for personal freedoms in things like how they worshipped, but they still considered themselves Englishmen. But later on, they started to resent how the people back in England treated..." As he spoke, he looked around the room, making eye contact with his students, and his gaze fell on the door. "Melissa, come up here and read to the class for a few minutes. I think that the new kindergarten teacher needs to talk to me." He handed the book over to the girl who came to the front. "Page twenty-two, and you're in charge." He winked at her. "Don't let 'em walk over you."

As he walked to the door, Jim considered waving him away, but didn't. He told himself that it was because he needed to network with the other teachers to keep up his cover story. It had nothing to do with the man's bright blue eyes, and certainly nothing to do with his compact body, or the graceful way he moved.

The teacher stepped out into the hall, shutting the door. He raised an eyebrow at Jim. "Something I can do for you?"

"I hate to bother you, Mister...?"

The younger man indicated a nameplate beside the door. It read SANDBURG. "But you can call me Blair. I get enough 'Mister' all day long from the kids. What's the problem?"

"Well, uh... It's... Y'see, one of the kids..."

He's blushing, thought Blair. What could a bunch of little bits like that do to make a guy like him blush? Maybe Matthew told him about the difference between boys and girls--lord knows he's told everyone else.

There was a tug at Jim's pants leg. He looked down to find Samantha standing beside him, with a forlorn look on her face. "Mister Ellison, I gotta go real bad." To demonstrate the urgency of her request, she did the classic 'child in need of potty' action--she grabbed her crotch like a seasoned baseball player and bounced up and down.

Jim Ellison's face went from flushed to brick red. Blair managed to fight down a laugh. He reached down and took Samantha's hand, saying to Jim. "What you do is unhook everything, make sure they have a grip on it so that it won't fall down too soon, and send them in, then do it up when they come back out. I'll take care of this. You'd better get back to your class."

"I don't think I've even been gone a minute."

Blair smiled at him. "A kindergarten class is like the ocean. You don't want to turn your back on it."

Jim watched them till they'd almost reached the restroom, then reluctantly decided that he'd better go check on his class. That's when he noticed the noise. Later he had to admit that the only way he could have missed it was that he just wasn't paying attention. It's not like a riot is a quiet thing. Jim had only thought that the class was in chaos when he first saw it.

Most sensible people would have fled, but Jim was first and foremost a cop. When confronted with disorder, his natural instinct was to do something about it. He stepped into the maelstrom. He tried to assess the situation so he could judge what needed to be taken care of first, but it was worse than trying to follow the action in a three-ring circus.

Several children had decided to paint, but instead of using the art paper pinned to the easels, they were slapping tempera on the chalkboard. All except one of them--he was carefully painting red and green streaks on the long, blonde hair of a little girl. The girl was either too distracted to notice, or was going to dye her hair pink the first time her mother let her go to the beauty salon alone.

One small boy was playing 'kitten on the keys', holding on to the top of the piano to keep his balance as he walked up and down the keyboard. He had to duck every now and then to dodge building blocks or plastic action figures. It sounded like... Well a kid tromping on a piano, but the other children must have thought it was music. That would explain the three little girls dancing on top of one of the tables. One of the little boys was making his way around the table, squatting to peer up their skirts. Jim was vaguely surprised that it wasn't Matthew, but then, he supposed that Matthew didn't feel the need--that territory apparently held no mystery for him. One of the little girls looked down at him, frowning. Before she could say anything, the boy offered her an elaborately dressed Barbie doll. The girl took it eagerly, and began showing it to her friends. The boy went back to looking up their skirts.

Just when Jim thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, he noticed the boys back at the sink--filling water balloons.

Jim was so distracted that he didn't notice Miss Schlauskill and her assistant looking through the window. The two women exchanged looks, then started back down the hall. The principal, smiling slightly, said, "I give him two days."

Jim advanced into the room, figuring that he'd better put a stop to that right away. The last thing he needed was some parent bringing a sexual harassment suit against one of his pupils--the headlines would pretty much screw the undercover operation.

He didn't get the chance. Two little boys were dragging a Red Flyer wagon across the room, much to the squealing delight of the two girls in it. They were managing admirable speed, but their steering left something to be desired. The wheels ran right across Jim's feet. Luckily the wagon went another foot or two before tipping over, and before Jim tripped and fell on his face.

Jim lost it.

The man who prided himself on his coolness under fire, the man who'd been so nonchalant and confident less than an hour ago, stood up and screamed, "Shut uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!" As the drawn out howl echoed through the room, the children turned as one to stare at him in astonishment. Just when Jim thought that order was about to be restored, the sniffing started. "Oh, no." One by one the children started crying. It was a snowball effect. It started with one whimper, and soon every child in the class was crying pitifully.

Big, hurt eyes. Tears on plump cheeks. Little lips trembling.

Jim couldn't take it. He ran out of the room. In fact, he ran out of the school. On the front sidewalk he stopped, threw his arms wide, and voiced one more yell of frustration, near panic, and 'why me, God?'. Then something struck him, and he ran toward his car.

Once Mister Ellison was out of the room, the tears died away quickly. There wasn't much point in crying if there wasn't an adult there to impress. The children had just started to discuss whether or not Mister Ellison was going to come back when the door opened, and he entered. They all eyed him warily, ready to start crying again if he yelled at them.

"Kids," said Jim. "I want you to meet someone." He held up his hands.

He was holding one of the oddest creatures that the children had ever seen. It was small, black, wrinkled, naked, and had large yellow eyes. Its whiskers were like crumpled straws swept back from its nose. A long, naked tail dangled, twitching idly. The children stared at it. It stared back. Then it yawned, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Finally one little boy said, "That's the biggest rat I ever saw."

"That's not a rat," another informed him. "That's ET."

"What did you shave it for?" asked another.

"And why did you paint it?" asked a little girl.

"He's not a rat, he's not an alien, and I didn't shave him," said Jim. "He's a Sphinx cat. He was born like this--all of them are. And he looks like he's painted because his skin is black. He'd have had black hair, if he had hair."

The children considered this, and one of them said quietly, "Cooool."

"Come closer and get acquainted," Jim invited. The children approached--cautious, but obviously intrigued. "His name is Incacha's Obsidian Dream."

"That's a funny name," said one little girl. Jim would later learn that her name was Tanjaniqua.

"That's his formal name. I usually just call him Sid." He lowered the cat so the children could reach him. "You can pet him. Just be gentle. He likes to be petted."

They started patting the cat, and one girl said, "He feels like my mama's suede gloves."

The cat started to purr loudly, drawing giggles from the class, and Jim thanked God that the Sphinx breed was good with children.

Somehow he managed to get through the rest of the day without another riot, but by the time the final bell rang, and the children began to leave, he was exhausted. He sat at his desk and put his head down, lacing his fingers behind his neck, wondering what had ever made him think this was going to be easy.

"You're not very good at this." Jim tilted his head up. One of his students, a boy with thick, chestnut colored hair and brown eyes, was standing in front of his desk, watching him. "Mrs. Hagley is a lot better than you?"

"Is she?" said Jim dully.

The boy nodded. "And my Dad is better at teaching than you, too. A lot better."

"I'm glad to hear that." Jim got up and began to set right some of the chairs that had been knocked over. He knew that the custodian would be in to clean the room, but he didn't want to leave too much evidence of his initial lack of control.

The boy began helping him move chairs back into place around the tables. "So is the lady who tutors me on Thursdays, and my babysitter, and my T-ball coach, and my swimming teacher."

Jim paused and looked down at him, his hands on his hips. "I appreciate your honesty. Do you know anyone who isn't better than me?"

The boy thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know that many people."

~*~

Jim was so tired, his nerves so ragged, that he worried about having an accident as he drove back to their motel. He managed to get parked without having run into or over anything, and stumbled into the bungalow. He was carrying Sid, and dropped him just inside the room. The cat looked up at him indignantly, but Jim was too far-gone to notice. He staggered directly into his room and fell face down across the bed. Luckily his face landed off the mattress, because he felt like he wouldn't have had the energy to move to avoid suffocation.

He heard Megan call blearily, "Ellison?" He grunted. There was some grunting and swearing that indicated that she was hauling herself out of bed, then she shuffled to his door. Gripping the frame for support, she said, "How'd it go?"

"Go away."

"That well, huh?"

Jim rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling. "They're animals. No, I take that back--Sid is more civilized than they are. How are you, Conner?"

She shrugged. "I haven't thrown up to day, but I sort of wish I had. Usually that makes the nausea go away."

"Will you be well enough by tomorrow to take over?" Jim propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a look very close to pleading. "You've got to get me out of this."

"I might be able to--and blow our whole cover. Nope. You started it, you're going to have to finish it."

Jim groaned and flopped back down. "They're terrible."

Megan nodded, turning her head so he wouldn't be able to see her faint smile. "Tell me about it."

Eight

The next morning, Jim parked in the staff lot. He just sat there for a moment, hands gripping the wheel, staring at the building. From here he could see a steady stream of children entering at the front. There were a few parents gathered on the sidewalk, gossiping after dropping off their children. There was a squeak, and Sid, who'd been curled up comfortably beside him, looked up with a questioning mew. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Sid." He flexed his fingers. "Just the leather steering wheel cover, no mouse." He sighed. "I haven't dreaded going to school this much since my last physics exam. Oh, well. Can't put it off." He exited the car, settling Sid in his favorite position across the back of his neck.

The mothers of three of the kindergarten class were chatting on the sidewalk in front of the school entrance. "I'm not sure about this new teacher," said one woman. "What's wrong with Hagley? I can't get anything out of them. All the office will say is 'personal problem'. That could be anything from anxiety attacks to being under house arrest."

"I guess we ought to give him a chance," said another parent, "but it does seem a little odd for a man to be teaching kindergarten. High school I can see, but kindergarten? What sort of man is he?" She smiled slyly, and waved her hand, limp-wristed.

The other two giggled, but the third said, "My Samantha calls him 'the giant'. She says..."

Samantha ran up, tugging on her mother's hand. "Mommy, Mommy! There he is, there's Mister Ellison." She pointed.

The three women looked. Strolling toward them was something that looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of a romance novel. He looked like he should have his shirt half open, and be bending over a busty, breathless heroine. All three of the women, having their hormones in order, briefly pictured herself as the heroine. "Holy cow! That's the kindergarten teacher?" gasped the first mother.

The second woman, the one who'd made the fey joke, turned around quickly, saying, "Oh, God, I can't let him see me like this!"

"Why not?" asked Samantha's mother.

"I'm not wearing any make up."

"So? None of us are."

"Yeah, but I'm not married!" She hurried away.

~*~

The first part of the day went with relative quiet. Jim had warned the children that if they were unruly, he'd have to send Sid home, so they behaved themselves. They still took a lot out of him. Naptime came after lunch, and the kids spread out their pads, but protested that they weren't sleepy. To encourage them, he sat at his desk and put his head down, 'joining' them. He intended to do it for a couple of minutes, then spend the time studying them while they slept, hoping to spot some physical clue.

He didn't realize that he'd actually dozed off till someone touched his shoulder. He brushed at the touch. "Leave me alone, Sid."

"The name's Julian, not Sid."

Jim sat up abruptly. There was a man standing beside the desk, looking slightly amused. He had bright blond hair, and he was wearing mirrored sunglasses. For an instant Jim felt a stab of exaltation, but then the man took off the shades, and he realized that the resemblance to Alexander's photograph could be more imagination than fact. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. Don't look so suspicious--I'm not that out of place." He pointed to one of the little boy's sleeping nearby. "That one's mine--Sylvester."

Jim looked. Sylvester was the budding voyeur from yesterday. "Yes, Mister...?"

"Carlin, but call me Julian. Got a minute for me, Mister Ellison?"

"Sure, they'll nap for another ten minutes." He indicated a kitchen timer that was quietly ticking away on the corner of his desk. "Have a seat."

Julian looked at the Lilliputian chairs, then hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the desk. "I have a problem with Sylvester, and I was hoping you could help me. I'm raising Sylvester without a mother, and I don't have anyone to discuss parenting with. I've considered talking to some of the other parents, but the fathers are suspicious, since I'm single, and the single mothers think I'm on the make."

He was keeping significant eye contact with Jim. I'd imagine that the fathers are also suspicious that he's on the make. "I'd be happy to help, if I can. What's the trouble?"

"Well, lately Sylvester has been spending a lot of time playing with dolls. I wouldn't think anything of it if it was GI Joes, or Star Wars action figures, but it's not. I give him an allowance, and you know what he bought with it last week? A Malibu Barbie. I think he might be developing... tendencies. Not that I have any problem with that, you know," he gave Jim a bland smile. "But I'd hate for him to make a major life decision so early in his life, and deny himself a full range of possibilities."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about, Mister Carlin. Well, not in that direction, anyway. He's using the doll to distract little girls so he can look up their skirts."

Julian Carlin smiled. "Yeah? I knew he was a smart little nipper--now I know he's going to put it to practical use."

He's a distinct possibility, Jim thought. Let's see if I can get a hint of his background. "Curiosity about women is natural in a boy, if there's no woman in his family environment. Does your ex-wife have much contact with Sylvester?"

Julian stood up. "Not since she ran off with my sister."

Jim was saved having to come up with an answer for that when the timer went off. The children immediately began to get up, folding their mats and stacking them neatly. The classroom door opened, and one of the children appeared, holding his mother's hand. "Randy!" Jim was relieved to have something other to concentrate on. "I was wondering where you were this morning."

"I went to the dentist," said the little boy. "See? I got a badge for being brave." He pointed to a gold plastic badge pinned to his shirt.

"I hate making him miss class," said the mother, "but I have to get him set up with a regular dentist, and this was the only time he had available. Go give Mister Ellison your excuse note, hon. Be good, don't forget what I told you, and I'll pick you up this afternoon."

Randy trotted briskly up to the desk as his mother left. Handing the note to Jim, Randy said, "Mister Ellison, are you married?"

Startled, Jim said, "No."

"Do you got a girlfriend?"

"Uh... no."

Julian raised an eyebrow at Jim as Randy turned and ran to the door. Throwing it open, he leaned out and yelled, "Mom! He's not married, but he's flirting with Sylvester's dad."

Jim dropped the note. Julian smirked at him. "Welcome to Astoria, the single parent capital of America."

~*~

Jim, who prided himself on coolness under fire, was too flustered to do any more probing that afternoon.

The next day things went fairly smoothly, except for the lunch incident. He had followed a trail of opened and ravaged lunches to a plump boy named Locksley Pewter. Jim had a feeling that if his name was Locksley, he might have drowned his troubles in something, too, and when you're in kindergarten, you head toward snack foods instead of alcohol.

Locksley had most of both a Twinkie and a Yodel stuffed in his mouth when Jim caught him. Jim picked the startled boy up, glared into his face, and said, "Are you eating other people's lunches?" Locksley nodded. "Well, stop it! Right now."

Locksley obliged, literally. He spat his current mouthful out. Jim decided that snack cakes were never meant to be viewed after consumption had begun.

That was a low point, but he wasn't going to get side tracked, like he had the day before. After naptime, he gathered the children on the Listening Carpet. Sid, replete with the treats the children had fed him from what was left of their lunches, was dozing on his back in a boy's lap, all four feet in the air.

"Okay, children," said Jim. "We've made a good start in the last couple of days, but I want to get to know more about you. We're going to play a new game today. It's called 'Who's My Daddy, and What Does He Do?' You..." A hand was up. "Yes, Rachel?"

"I think my Mommy and Daddy play that game. Sometimes when they go in their bedroom, I hear Daddy yelling 'Who's your Daddy?'"

Jim blinked. "Well, maybe, but I think that's a different game. This is how we will play it. One at a time, each of you will stand up here in front of the class and tell what your daddy does, and maybe a little about him. Won't that be fun?" There was a doubtful murmur of agreement. Jim sighed, and rubbed his head.

"What's wrong?" one of the pupils asked.

"Oh, nothing. I have a headache."

Benjamin piped up, "It might be a tumor."

"It's not."

"Sometimes people get tumors in their brain, and they die."

"Benjamin, it's not a tumor, it's just a headache, and I'm not going to die. Okay, who wants to be first?"

Kindergarteners had yet to learn the old 'never volunteer' philosophy, so it wasn't hard to get things going. The first up was a little girl. "My name is Marilyn Clark. My daddy is a mick-canick. He fixes lots of cars that have been broken by women pinheads."

Careful what you say at home, people. Your kids repeat it in public. Good luck on developing your sense of self in that house, kiddo, Jim thought, a little sadly.

A little boy said, "My name is Shawn Williams Worthington. My dad doesn't do much of anything since he was sized down. He watches wrestling on television and drinks beer."

"My name is Nicollette Brittany Burrows. My daddy is a loan officer," declared a little girl. "He helps make this country great by helping people get their dream of owning a home at low, low interest rates."

Benjamin went next. His voice was so quiet that Jim was glad for his sharp hearing. Benjamin stared at the floor and almost whispered, "My dad lives in New York now, and he drives a taxi. My mom hopes that he'll die soon. A lot."

"My daddy has his own 'puter company," said a little girl named Glenna. "And he has brown hair, and glasses, and, um, a beard. And he's really, really smart, and all the bozos who made fun of him in school eat his dust now. That's all."

Matthew said, "My Daddy is a gyno-co-loligist. He looks at ladies' bah-ginas all day long."

Brittany Nicole said, "My daddy is a doctor, and he helps peoples who are hurt." She thought a minute, then said, "He helps them when they hurt here," she touched her head, "and here." She touched her hear. "He's a loligist, too. He's a psycho-loligist."

The twin girls, Brittany and Nicole, who went next spoke in stereo. "Our mother says our father is a real sex machine." Jim had a coughing fit after that one.

Finally the little boy who had offered the critique of Jim's teaching skills on his first day took his turn. "My name is Joshua Sandburg. My dad is in France." He blinked, then said quickly, "I mean he went to France, when he was in school. He's a teacher. He teaches third grade across the hall."

So, Jim thought as Joshua sat down. That Sandburg. Interesting. He noticed that one of the boys had left the group. He was sitting at a table, back half-turned toward the rest of the class, rolling a toy truck back and forth. Jim consulted his mental class roster. All he could come up with was Sullivan, and the first name started with a M. "Mark?" Another boy started to stand up. "No, I'm sorry. I meant the boy in the back. Uh..."

"Max," volunteered one of the children.

"Max. Max, why don't you join us?"

"He won't," said a girl. "Max doesn't like anybody."

"Yeah," said another. "He doesn't like anybody to even talk to him."

"Max is a poo-poo head!"

There were giggles. Others chimed in. "He's a doody head." "He's a poopy-poody head."

"That's enough," said Jim sharply, and the children stopped immediately, staring at him with wide eyes. "That isn't nice, children. Think about how you'd feel if someone said the same thing about you."

"But I'm not a poo-poo head," someone insisted.

"That would make it even worse, wouldn't it?" Jim got up and went back. The boy didn't glance up at him, but Jim knew he was aware of his presence. The boy's body tensed, and his heart rate sped up. "Hello, Max. You know, it's all right to want to be alone sometimes, but this is together time."

Max grabbed a toy car with his free hand, and smashed them together. Well, I hardly need to be a child psychologist to know that's a stress indicator. This kid has something big bothering him. "You like car crashes, Max? Is that a game your father taught you? Is it one you play together?"

The boy looked up at him, and whispered, "Leave me alone, please."

Jim wasn't sure exactly how he was going to reply to that, but he didn't have to. A bell started clanging out in the hall. Several of the children clapped and squealed, "Fire drill!"

Jim's nerves were a little stretched to start with, and the sudden clangor of the bells hit him like a sledgehammer. For a couple of seconds it was all he could do to keep from passing out. By the time he'd gotten a grip again, all he heard was what sounded like the student's screaming, and 'Fire!'.

He reacted immediately and instinctively, jumping to his feet. "Fire!" Well, having a man Jim's size yelling fire was a little more than the children could handle. They'd been trained in how to react to a fire drill, but that went right out the window. Actually, Sid went right out the window, too. The cat was no fool, and he figured he stood less of a chance of being trampled outside.

In front of the school, the rest of the classes were filing out in a calm and orderly manner, gathering in their assigned spots. The principal watched them with satisfaction, glancing occasionally at a stopwatch.

Near her, Blair Sandburg stood in front of his class, chatting with Wanda Curry, who taught fourth grade. As Blair looked back at the school again, Wanda said, "What's wrong, Blair?"

"Wanda, did anyone tell the new kindergarten teacher where he's supposed to bring the children for fire drills? They should be out here by now."

The sound of childish screams was rising over the still ringing bell. "I think they're coming now."

A group of shrieking, excited kindergarteners burst out of the school and began to run hither and thither. Blair watched in astonishment as Jim Ellison exited the school. He was carrying two tiny students (one of them upside down, but he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the ride), and he was shouting, "Fire! Fire!"

Everyone--teachers, principal, students, and even Sid (who had wisely taken refuge on Jim's car)--gaped. The first to react was Principal Schlauskill, who calmly tapped her stopwatch, then lifted a bullhorn to her mouth. "Well, it's nice that the kindergarten class could join us, at..." she checked the watch, "four minutes. Oh, really, children, that's shameful." The kindergarteners had stopped panicking, and now they shuffled sheepishly. "You're going to have to do better. I know you can. Remember, some day it might be a real fire, instead of just a drill." Jim had deposited his load, and was now leaning against his car, clutching his head miserably. Ernestine was caught between triumph that he was being shown how unprepared he was for this job, and pity. The man looked like he was in real pain. "Back to class, everyone."

Blair was watching Jim Ellison in concern. He clapped his hands. "Listen up, class. We're about to institute a mentoring program. I want each of you to pair up with one of the kindergarten students. If there are too many, join up with two--if there aren't enough, then some of you will have to share. Once you do that, I want you to lead the kids back into the school, and take them to their classroom. You know where it is. When you get there, I want you to play with them quietly until I come and get you. Everyone gets five extra credit points for social studies."

The older children had been looking a little reluctant, but this last bit of news cheered them up. They bustled over and began to herd the littler children back inside. Blair walked over to where Ellison was just now beginning to look a bit less green. "Hey, man, you okay?"

"Yeah. At least I will be once I fit my head back together."

"Migraine?"

"Not exactly. It's just... I have a problem sometimes with sudden things--noises, bursts of light--and that bell..." Jim shook his head. "Where are the kids? I have to take care of the kids."

"Relax--they're fine. They have a one-to-one ratio of babysitters right now, and believe me, with credit points hanging on it, my kids are going to be diligent. C'mon, let's go find a water fountain. I have something that might help that headache."

As they walked inside, Sid trotted along beside them. Blair paused and reached down to stroke him. "Hey, Sid."

The cat chirped at him, and Jim said curiously, "You two have been introduced?"

"Not formally, but I feel like I know him. Joshua has told me all about him." In front of the water fountain, Blair reached into his pocket. "If I had the facilities, I'd make you some peppermint tea--that's good for headaches."

"Couldn't handle it right now. If one of the senses spike, I have to watch out for the others."

Blair had pulled a capsule out of a small tin, and handed it to Jim. "So it isn't just the hearing and vision that's giving you trouble? What other senses are involved?"

Jim stared at the pill. "This isn't aspirin."

"No. I avoid that stuff as much as possible--too many possible side effects."

"What is it?" He gave Blair a skeptical look.

Blair smiled. "It's the hair, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The hair. You're wondering if it's anything, um, controlled. For some reason, people look at the hair and think I'm a good source of information about where to find the best pot. I can direct them to a good wine bar, but that's it." Blair tapped the pill sitting in Jim's palm. "That's all natural. It's feverfew, good for headaches." Jim studied it, then shrugged, popped it in his mouth, and took a sip of water. "That'll take a few minutes to take effect. I suggest you do something quiet--pass out paper and crayons, and have them draw the fire drill."

They went to the kindergarten classroom. Blair's class was doing an admirable job. The smaller children were once again calm and quiet. Blair clapped his hands for attention, then said, "I'm proud of you--all of you--kindergarten, too. Okay, my class--back to our room. You guys lucked out--you get an extra day to study for your math exam." The kindergarteners were regarding Jim with worried expressions. "Don't worry, kids. Mister Ellison just had a headache."

Benjamin said, "Mister Ellison has a lot of headaches. Maybe..."

"He's not going to die, Benjamin," said Blair firmly. Joshua was at the front of the class, and Blair said, "Josh, don't dawdle today. Remember, we promised Mrs. Larkspur we'd pick up Teeny at the vet's." He patted Jim on the shoulder, and followed his class out.

Jim and his class stared at each other for a moment. Finally Jim said, "I'm sorry, kids. I wasn't prepared. That won't happen again. I'm going to take good care of you." There were a few tentative smiles. "Okay, art time. Everyone get paper and crayons, and no hogging of the good colors."

The rest of the day went quietly, but Jim thought that it would have been less taxing to spend the day unloading heavy freight. When the final bell rang, he stood in the hallway, children streaming around him, and cocked his head from one side to the other, trying to loosen muscles that seemed to have been clenched since the first time he stepped into this school.

He spotted Blair and Joshua at the end of the hall. Joshua was talking animatedly, and Blair was listening with a smile. He looked up, and caught Jim's eyes. His gaze was questioning, and Jim gave him a silent nod, indicating that the headache was gone. Blair smiled, then looked down, laughing at something Joshua had said.

Jim went out to the front of the school, but the two were gone by the time he arrived. Samantha was passing, and she stopped, tugging at his pants. "What's wrong, Samantha? You don't need to go to the girl's room again, do you?"

She shook her head, then suddenly gave him a hug around the knees. "I'm sorry your head hurts, Mister Ellison."

"Thank you."

Samantha started toward her mother, a pretty blonde woman. There was a strong family resemblance. Just as she reached her mother she turned and called back, "Tell your wife 'not tonight'. That's what Mommy always tells Daddy when she has a headache." Samantha's mother turned scarlet, and herded her daughter away quickly.

Jim noticed Max Sullivan making his way down the sidewalk. The boy's demeanor outside the class wasn't much different than it had been. He shuffled along, head down, ignoring everyone and everything around him. Jim followed at a discreet distance. The boy went to an expensive looking, well-kept car. An expensive looking, well-kept soccer mom type was waiting for him.

There's something wrong here, Jim thought. They're not touching, they're scarcely looking at each other. And her body language... I've seen SWAT cops waiting to take down a drug house look more relaxed.

The two got into the car and drove away. Jim scribbled the license plate number on his palm, then looked down to where Sid was leaning against his leg. "He's a possibility, Sid." Jim sighed. "It's been quite a day."

The cat gazed up at him. Oowr.

"You said it."

Nine

1985

They'd had an argument when Naomi wanted to go home. Jacob stared at the still very pale woman as she sat propped against pillows in her hospital bed. "Mom, I don't feel comfortable with this. You ought to stay at least another couple of days."

"I've already been here four days," said Naomi. "For thousands of years women have been having babies, then going right back to work in the fields, or in the home."

"What you're not mentioning is that they died like flies, and you didn't just have a baby--you had major surgery."

"Really, Jacob. The doctor says I'll be fine."

"Wrong. He said you should be fine--there's a big difference. We should have world peace, but I'm not going to hold my breath."

Naomi said quietly, "Mason wants to take Joshua home, whether I go or not."

Jacob made an angry noise. "And I bet it wasn't Mason's idea." Garrett Kincaid had arrived at the hospital a couple of hours after the birth. When Garrett had talked to Jacob about why his son wasn't there, Jacob had told him the truth. Mason didn't show up till Garrett came back late the next day. He was sullen, and sported a black eye. Jacob had a feeling that it hadn't been given to him by any stranger. "I think that Big Daddy Kincaid was behind this. He wants his heir more closely under his control."

"It will be all right. I'll have you to help me. You are staying, aren't you?" There naked anxiety in her voice.

Jacob hugged her. "Of course. I'll take a light load at Rainier for the first year--just enough credits to keep me in the program."

So Naomi and baby Joshua had come home, with a long list of do's and don'ts for Naomi. She balked so badly at the support hose that Jacob had to threaten to strangle her with them to get her to put them on.

For the first few weeks, everything had gone fairly smoothly. At first Mason stayed home a lot more than he had, and Jacob concluded that his father had laid down the law, telling him that he was a family man now, and it was time he acted like one.

Naomi and Jacob were relieved when he started to go out again. Mason was obviously chaffing at having to spend so much time at home, and it made him irritable, and unpleasant. As Jacob might have predicted, he wouldn't raise a finger to care for the baby. He termed that 'women's work'. Sometimes when he was feeding or changing the baby, Jacob would catch Mason looking at him, smirking.

Jacob limited his classes to the earlier parts of the day, when it was likely that Mason wouldn't be awake enough to go out. At least that way there would be someone else in the apartment with his mother and brother. Not that Mason was a good choice for support, but Mason flatly refused to hire any extra help, and for once Garrett backed him up. The Kincaids thought that child rearing should be left to the mother--at least till the child was old enough for them to begin 'molding his character'.

That concept made Jacob very uneasy. If Mason was the result of the Kincaid method of child rearing, Jacob didn't want any child left to that, much less his little brother.

When Joshua was just over a month old, Jacob noticed Naomi limping. "What's wrong? Twist your ankle?"

She reached down and rubbed her calf. "I suppose I must have, though I couldn't say when. I'm throbbing from the knee down."

"Are you wearing your hose?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"You know that the doctor said..."

"I'm wearing them, Jacob. You're more of an old woman than I am." Her tone was irritated, but there was an undercurrent of affection.

"Go lay down, and I'll bring you a cold compress for your ankle."

"Joshua..."

"Joshua is fed, dry, and napping. Go."

Jacob located an ice bag and filled it with ice, then carried it into the bedroom Naomi shared with Mason. Mason was out again--Jacob wouldn't have entered his bedroom if he hadn't been. The leers were just too much to put up with.

Naomi was stretched out on the bed, with her shoes off. Jacob lifted the hem of her pants leg to apply the bag, then frowned, and pushed the material up higher, then higher still. "What's this?"

Naomi glanced down, then sat up, peering more closely. Her lower leg was puffy, the skin reddened. "I was wondering why my slipper felt so tight on that foot."

Jacob pushed the fabric even higher. "You're reddened up to your calf. How long has it been like this?"

"I don't know." When Jacob gave her a hard look, she said, "I don't know. You know how tired I've been lately."

"I don't like the look of this. We need to see the doctor. You call a cab, and I'll get Joshua."

"Jacob, don't be ridiculous. You know I can't just walk in on my doctor without an appointment."

"Then we'll go to an emergency room."

"Look, it's only been hurting for a couple of hours, and the cold pack is helping already. Let me call the doctor and make an appointment for tomorrow. It might even be gone by then."

"Well, I'm not happy about it, but I don't suppose I can carry you out of here over my shoulder, and I'd have to, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, you would." Naomi was dialing her bedside phone. "I'll make an appointment for nine--that's the earliest. They'll take me then." She sniffed. "The receptionist is afraid of Garrett."

"Fine. I haven't had any absences so far, so I can..."

"You're not missing class for this," she said firmly. "Mason can come along to watch Joshua--for once. He'll bitch and moan, but he'll do it."

Mason didn't get home till after Jacob went to bed, and he was, of course, asleep when Jacob left the apartment around six. He tried calling home on his cell phone a couple of times, but never got an answer. Well, there was no telling how long Naomi would have to wait on a last minute appointment.

Jacob came back from class just before one. He could hear Joshua crying in his little back bedroom, and assumed Naomi was with him. "Mom, I'm home. What did the doctor have to say?" There was no response. Joshua's cries were weak and hoarse. Feeling a twinge of anxiety, Jacob started back. "Is something the matter with...? Oh, Jesus!"

Naomi was crumpled on the floor beside the crib. Jacob, suddenly shaking, dropped to his knees beside his mother, grabbing her shoulders to turn her over. "Mom!" She came limply, with no voluntary motion. Jacob's gut clenched when he saw that her eyes were not entirely shut--and she didn't blink. "Naomi, snap out of it." He shook her, and her head flopped. "No!" He slapped her sharply. "No. Mom, you can't do this." He used his thumb to lift one eyelid more fully. Her pupil remained fixed, and her skin was cool.

Jacob put his ear against her chest. There was no sound. There was no movement. He had dropped his backpack at the bedroom door. Now he crawled over to it and dug out his cell phone, punching 911. "Send an ambulance, right now! My mother... I think she's dead. She was supposed to go to the doctor today, and... What?" He gave them the address. "I don't know, I came home and found her on the floor. She... she's cool. Huh? That's my little brother. She had a C section just about a month ago." Joshua had started hiccupping and crying at the same time. "I have to go. Joshua needs me."

He dropped the phone and picked up the squirming baby. "Sh, sh." He cradled the baby against his shoulder, patting and bouncing him. "Please, sweetheart. I know you want your Mommy." Jacob started crying also. "I do, too."

He heard the door open, and called, "Here! Back here." The footsteps that approached were leisurely. "Hurry!"

"Where's the fire? And can't you get that kid to shut up?" Mason appeared in the doorway. He blinked at the scene before him. "What the fuck?" There was a pounding at the front door. "Shit. I saw an ambulance pull up when I came in. Is that for...?"

Jacob shoved past him, carrying the baby, and ran to the living room. He let the paramedics in, saying, "Back there. Hurry! Maybe it isn't too late."

The emergency technicians trotted into the apartment, carrying their equipment bags. From what they'd heard on the way up, they didn't have much hope, but they'd give it their full effort till they were sure.

Mason squeezed out past them, and Jacob confronted him. "What did you do to her?"

Mason looked shocked, then outraged. "I never laid a hand on her. I did nothing."

"You left her alone," Jacob accused.

"So? She was a grown woman. I couldn't go with her and spend all day sitting in a waiting room--I had an appointment. I did nothing. All she had to do was use the phone if she felt worse. It's not my fault she was too stubborn to do it."

Jacob stared at him in disbelief. Naomi, the mother of his child, was lying in there, dead. Yes, he had to admit it to himself--dead. There was no spark left in that cold lump on the floor--nothing that was Naomi Alexander. Joshua had quieted to sniffles. The silence spun out between Jacob and Mason. Finally, more quietly, Jacob repeated, "You left her alone."

Mason lifted his chin. Just as quietly he said, "I'm not the only one." Jacob flinched, eyes darkening with fresh pain.

One of the paramedics came out. "Who's the next of kin?"

Mason glanced toward the man, but Jacob said quickly, "Me--Jacob Alexander. I'm her son." He gave Mason a challenging look, but the other man merely shrugged.

The paramedic went to him. "Mister Alexander, I'm sorry."

"There's no chance?"

"Sir, I'm afraid that she's been dead for some time--possibly several hours. You found her like that?"

He nodded miserably. "I was at school, and I came home for lunch. She was supposed to go see the doctor today. What was it?"

"I couldn't say, sir. There will have to be an autopsy, since she died alone. They'll be able to tell you more once that's done."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of her being cut up," said Mason.

"It's not like you have any say in it," growled Jacob. "Anyway," he sat down heavily, "that isn't Naomi in there." He cradled the baby gently, nuzzling his cheek. "What made her Naomi is gone."

~*~

The medical examiner looked at the three men crowding his office. Four, I suppose, if you count the baby. I wish they hadn't brought him. This is no place for an infant. "The cause of death was clear, Mister Alexander. Your mother had passed the optimum age for safe pregnancies, and the C-section left her vulnerable to many complications. I noticed pronounced swelling and redness in her left leg."

Jacob nodded. "That's why she was going to the doctor."

"Did there seem to be excessive heat in the limb?"

"Yeah. I brought her an ice pack for it, and I thought that it would just melt the ice away."

"That was thrombophlebitis. She had a blood clot in her leg. It worked its way loose, and was carried to her lungs. This isn't always fatal, but it was in this case. I understand that you're distressed because you weren't with her when this happened. You mustn't be. I'm afraid that in a case like this, it's unlikely that she'd have survived, even if it had happened in an emergency room. I'm listing this as death due to natural causes. You can have the body any time." The young man was looking stunned, and a little lost. "If you need any help with the arrangements..."

"We'll take care of that," said Garrett Kincaid.

Jacob was tempted to tell Kincaid to fuck off, but he remained silent. He'd opened a bank account, but he had less than two hundred dollars in it. He couldn't even afford a cardboard box to bury her in, much less a cemetery plot.

Jacob had always had a clear concept of what he was going to do in his life. Since he'd reached adulthood, there had never been a time when he didn't have a clear plan. But now... Now the future yawned before him. He realized that, though things had often been chaotic in his young life--Naomi had been a constant--his anchor. Now he felt cut adrift, and alone. Joshua cooed at him, one hand brushing against his shirt, tiny fingers playing with a button. Jacob's eyes were moist, but he smiled down at his brother. No, not entirely alone. He was in a daze when he signed the papers that were presented to him, but not dazed enough to free his hands by letting Garrett hold Joshua.

He went back to the apartment with Garrett and Mason because he had no idea where else to go. He took the baby straight back to the nursery and gave him his bottle. After he put Josh in the crib, he hovered over him, watching him as he settled into his nap. Finally, reluctantly, he started back into the main part of the apartment.

He paused in the hallway before stepping into the living room. Garrett and Mason were talking. More like arguing, he thought. Joshua was against eavesdropping on general principles, but he felt that there were certain instances where it was not only permissible, but advisable.

Garrett was saying, "I want him out of here as quickly as possible."

"Dad, he's Gary's brother. You saw how he was with Naomi--I hardly think it's likely he'll just walk away from his brother, even if he is just a half."

"We won't give him any choice." Garrett's voice was chilly. "You know that I can be very persuasive. And if he won't listen to reason, I can just have a few of my boys encourage him to be sensible."

"Yeah, right. Look, Dad, you're the one who needs to be sensible. This guy can raise a stink--you've seen what a mouth he has. And don't say you can make sure he stays quiet."

"He can't talk if he's..."

"You know that even if he gets struck by lightening, the cops will be crawling all over us. They're just looking for excuses. And he can't just disappear, either. He's been all over the place since he's been here. The people at school, Naomi's doctor, the building staff--they'd all ask questions if he suddenly wasn't around."

Garrett made an impatient sound. "Oh, let him make noise. The funds for the Patriots are at my discretion, and they'll buy a lot of lawyers."

"Dad, you could buy yourself Clarence Darrow and Johnny Cochran, and there's still a chance we'd lose Gary. Have you taken a look at his birth certificate?"

"No."

"Well, I have, and I'm not listed as the father."

"What?"

"You heard me. That dizzy hippie put 'unknown'. Neither of us has a legal claim on the kid."

Garrett sounded furious. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd been where you were supposed to be when he was born. You could have insisted..."

"I wasn't, and there's no use in crying over it. Look, we don't have to do anything right away. He's a big help with the baby. You're always going on about how a boy needs a masculine influence in his life. You know I'm not much on the paternity thing."

Garrett was quiet for a moment. Finally he said, "I hear that they're getting a lot more accurate in determining paternity through DNA."

"Christ, Dad. Will you just leave things alone for a little while? We don't need to do anything unless he tries to take Gary away, and he isn't likely to do that any time soon. He's not stupid--he knows damn good and well that he wouldn't be able to properly take care of an infant on his own."

There was a moment's silence, and Garrett said quietly, "You're very eager to have him stay, Mason."

Jacob went quickly and silently back to the nursery. He sat beside the crib and stared through the bars at the sleeping baby as he thought. He didn't want to stay here, but Mason had been right. Jacob would willingly kill himself to keep Joshua safe and comfortable. He was realistic enough to know that right now he wouldn't be able to do it on his own. He had no money for a decent place to stay, formula, diapers, pediatrician visits. Taking care of Joshua while attending school hadn't been difficult, but he hadn't been doing it alone. And a tiny baby just needed so much time and attention. If only Jacob were a couple of years older. It still wouldn't be easy, but the difficulties would have seemed less insurmountable.

He heard footsteps in the hall, and Mason appeared in the door. He didn't say anything at first, and Jacob could feel his skin prickle under the man's silent gaze. Finally Mason said, "You're gonna stay, right? I hardly know which end to feed, and which end to diaper, so I'll need some help."

Jacob glanced at Mason. The appraising look in the other man's eyes made him want to shudder. He looked away again. "Yeah, I'll stay." For a while.

Ten

1991

Jim thought that the feverfew capsule Blair had given him might actually have helped a little, but his nerves were still raw by the time he got back to the bungalow.

The second he opened the door, he knew that something was wrong. The shared front room was empty--but there was a strange overcoat lying on the sofa--a man's overcoat. Jim went immediately on alert. Ignoring the chance of another senses spike, he extended his hearing. Yes, there were two heartbeats in Megan's room. Both were elevated, indicating strong emotion. More important, though, were the moans and groans. Had one of Mason's men tracked them here? Was he even now trying to torture information from Megan?

For safety's sake, Jim had once again left his gun behind. But he had stored it in the desk by the front door, so that he'd be able to get to it quickly, if he walked into an incident like this. He slipped it out of the drawer, threw the safety, and crept silently toward Megan's room. He figured that his best chance was surprise, but he didn't want to risk his aim, so he didn't kick the door in.

Jim stealthily turned the handle, then threw the door open. Lunging in, gun at the ready, he barked, "Police! Freeze!"

There were two startled yells. The man on the bed with Megan didn't freeze--he tumbled off to the floor on the far side. Megan was sitting up in bed, obviously nude (except for the sheet that covered as much flesh as a fairly modest bathing suit), and she was holding a plate of... Jim sniffed. Spaghetti with cream sauce?

Megan was babbling. "Jim, no! Don't shoot him. It's my boyfriend."

Jim lowered the gun. "Your boyfriend?"

"Actually, he's my fiance. Rafe, it's all right. He's not going to shoot you." A dark, tousled head peeked up over the edge of the bed. The man eyed Jim warily. "Honey, this is my partner, Jim Ellison. I told you all about him, remember?"

The man nodded. "He's just as big as you said he was. And as... intense."

"Rafe, get up off the floor."

"Um... I'd better... Just a second." He grabbed a pillow, then stood up, holding the pillow where Adam is typically depicted as having a fig leaf. He was just as nude as Megan. He backed toward the bathroom behind him. "I'll just... One minute." He slipped inside.

"I heard all this moaning, and thought you might be sick again, but then I saw the coat out front, and knew you weren't alone," said Jim. "I didn't know what I was walking into."

"Birthday party." Megan ate another bite of pasta. "I felt a lot better after you left, and I gave Rafe a call. It's my birthday, so he brought me my favorite--Pasta a la Carbon era."

"Should you be eating that?"

"Yeah, I told you, I'm fine now."

Rafe came out of the bathroom. He was wearing a woman's pink chenille bathrobe--with pom-poms. He really needed a larger size, but he'd just managed to belt it decently. "Hi."

"Sorry I drew down on you, but like I was telling Megan..."

"Oh, it's okay. I think it's great. You didn't actually shoot me, and I'm glad that Megan's with someone who's going to watch her back." He'd sat on the edge of the bed as he spoke, and now he put his arm around her.

She was chewing, and Jim had seldom seen anyone look so smug and contented. Megan tapped the plate with the fork. "He's so sweet. He made this himself, then drove out here and arrived while it was still warm. He's a professional chef."

"You're engaged to a chef?" said Jim. "Imagine my surprise."

"He's going to have his own restaurant in a few years," declared Megan. "He's not just a chef, he's a great chef."

Rafe was blushing. "You really mean it, Meggy? A great chef, not just a good one?"

"Great, Rafe. Great! Emeril, look out."

"Who is this Emeril guy?" asked Jim. "Cindy was talking about him too, and..." Megan and Rafe were both staring at him. "What?"

~*~

Rafe had to leave shortly thereafter. It was pure luck that he'd been attending a food expo in Portland, and had been close enough to come over for Megan's birthday. Jim had thought that Megan would be full after the pasta, but apparently her appetite was back with a vengeance, and when he mentioned he was going out to eat, she was up and dressed in a flash.

There was a decent restaurant nearby, but there was a bit of a line when they came in. They paused near the entrance, waiting to see how quickly the traffic was moving. Jim said, "Are you sure about this? After the last couple of days, I'd think you wouldn't be up to more than tea and toast."

"I told you, I'm fine. As long as this place isn't on the health board's condemned list, I can eat whatever I want. How did things go today at school?" Jim grimaced. "That bad?"

"Not for the case. I've been observing the kids, and I've come up with three possibilities, and one of them seems really likely. I found some candid snapshots of the class that Mrs. Hagley took." He showed one to Megan. "Max Sullivan. He acts like a kid trying to keep a secret. Do you think he looks like Mason?"

Megan studied the picture. "I don't know. Maybe around the eyes. He doesn't look much like the picture we have of Gary, but kids change so much in the first few years."

Jim tucked the picture back in his pocket. The line had shortened, and they made their way up to the hostess podium. "He's evasive, but I'll keep working on him. He left school with a woman, but I'll try to get an introduction to his father. There's more of a chance of recognizing Alexander. He can't have changed all that much."

They stopped behind a man and boy. The child turned around, and his face lit up. "Hi, Mister Ellison!" Blair Sandburg turned around, and smiled, and Jim felt a twinge of warmth.

"Hello, Joshua--Blair," said Jim. Megan was watching the exchange, a question in her eyes, and Jim said, "This is Joshua Sandburg, one of my students. He's been very helpful to me."

Joshua pointed at Megan. "Who's she?"

"Uh..."

"My brother has no manners," said Megan smoothly. "I'm Ursula, his sister." She shook hands with first Joshua, then Jacob.

"You don't sound like his sister," observed Joshua.

"Well, that's because I lived a long time in Australia," Megan explained. "You see, Jim and I have different fathers."

An intent look came into Joshua's eyes. "But he's still your brother, right?"

Blair rested a hand on Joshua's shoulder, a comforting touch, and said, "Yes, Josh. I'm sure she couldn't love him any better."

The hostess came up. She looked at the waiting group and said, "Party of two, or four?"

"Four," said Blair firmly. He looked toward Jim. "You'll join us, won't you? I'm afraid that Josh gets a little tired of my conversation some times."

Joshua tugged on Megan's skirt, and when she leaned down, he whispered, "He just wants to talk to Mister Ellison."

"I don't blame him," Megan whispered back. "He's a pretty nice guy, once you get to know him." She raised her voice. "We'll be happy to join you."

Blair and Joshua followed the hostess as she led the way into the main room. Jim grabbed Megan's arm and hissed, "What do you think you're going?"

She patted his chest. "Relax, Butch. The love doctor is on the case. C'mon."

A stunned Jim followed her. I wasn't staring at his ass, was I?

Megan grabbed a menu before her bottom hit her chair. She flipped it open, studying it avidly. "I'll order first, if you don't mind. I'm starved, and I know just what I want. I'll start with a big porterhouse steak, medium rare, mashed potatoes, a large salad with bleu cheese dressing..." She noticed that Joshua was watching her with growing admiration. She winked at him. "Got to watch my waist. Um... Creamed spinach, an order of chicken wings... Oh, you have clam chowder. I'll have a bowl of that, and for dessert, pie a la mode." She folded the menu with finality. The others were staring at her. "I'll share the chicken wings, if the order isn't too small."

"I like the way you talk," said Joshua. He looked at Blair. "She sounds like that Mel Gibson guy you like so much." Blair had been taking a sip of water, and he coughed.

The rest of them ordered, and Blair had to convince Joshua that there was no way he'd be able to match Megan's capacity. The food came quickly, and the meal progressed comfortably. The conversation flowed more smoothly than Jim might have expected. Blair Sandburg was easy to talk to. He was interesting and amusing, but he was also good at drawing people out. Before Jim knew what was happening, Blair had led the talk around to Jim's career. "I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you're not the type that immediately leaps to mind when most people think of a kindergarten teacher. How long have you been doing it?"

"Two days now." Joshua giggled behind his hand, and Jim shrugged. "I guess it shows."

"So you didn't start out as an early childhood teacher?"

"Far from it. My first career was the military. I quit college after a couple of years and went into the Army. My father had a few things to say about that, let me tell you. I was a Ranger, and I made captain. But there was an incident..." Jim frowned, looking at Joshua. "I won't go into that, but it made me realize that I didn't want to stay in the Army for the next twenty years. I went back to college, but this time I took the education track instead of business. My father had even more to say about that, and he hasn't had much to say to me since then. Let's see... I've taught history in Arizona, and geography in Seattle. I coached girl's basketball at my last position. But I was teaching high school--all the kids were teenagers, and, well, I felt that there just wasn't much of a difference I could make by then. So I decided to try the younger ones." He watched as Joshua tried to spoon the last few drops of melted ice cream out of his bowel. "I want to work with them while they're growing into the people that they'll be. I'd like to think that I could help make them a little stronger. And I want to keep them safe, before they have to go out into the world."

"That's one of the best reasons to teach I've ever heard."

They finished the meal and went out to the lobby. Joshua needed to visit the restroom, and Blair went with him. "I don't like him going alone in a public place. You see too much on the news about what can happen to a kid alone."

When they were gone, Megan said, "I think you scored."

Jim could feel himself blushing. "What are you talking about?"

She gave him a look. "C'mon, Jim. You're not exactly Carson Daley, but I saw the way you were looking at him--and the way he was looking at you." She fanned herself.

Jim decided it was no use to try to deny it--that would only result in 'methinks he doth protest too much'. "So what? Nothing can come of it. I'm only here for the case, and anything that developed would be, well, using him."

"Geeze, if you were any stiffer, I could take you surfing. Look, I know you like him. Why not? He's a likable guy." Blair and Joshua came out. "And now it's my turn. Back in a few." She went into the ladies room.

"Really," said Blair. "How are things going in class?"

"Rough," Jim admitted. "They're pushing me around."

"You'll get the hang of it. You can't let them intimidate you just because they're little and cute. Kids that age need rules and order. You were an officer; you know how important discipline is to any group. Fall back on your officer training." He grinned. "Show no fear."

A father walked past, carrying a screaming, kicking preschool girl. The man looked like he was about two seconds away from joining his daughter in her tantrum.

"Right," said Jim. "No fear."

Part 2