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Juanita and the Cowboy      
by Kikkimax
 

Blair leaned back in Jim's chair and put his feet on the desk. Unhappily, he looked around the nearly empty bullpen and glanced forlornly towards the door and freedom.

"Don't even think about it, Chief," Jim said as he came out of Captain Bank's office. "And get your feet off my desk."

"Think about what?" Blair asked grumpily as he thumped one foot and then the other back to the floor.

"Making a break for it," Jim answered, hiding a grin.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Blair assured dryly as he leaned forward and dropped his head onto his forearms, right in the middle of an open file. "How long are you gonna hold me prisoner here anyway?" he asked.

"You're not a prisoner, Sandburg," Simon growled as he followed Jim over to the desk.

"What do you call it?" Blair asked without raising his head.

"I call it protective custody," Banks snapped.

"Don't let it get to you, Sandy," Megan soothed. "It's for your own good."

"Whatever," Blair sighed. "Oh, hey, Megan, a messenger brought a package for you while you were in with Simon and Jim. Here," Blair said with more enthusiasm as he picked up the thick envelope and handed it over. "It's an airline ticket."

"Going somewhere Connor?" Jim asked reaching for the ticket, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Houston," Blair supplied before Megan could respond.

"Sandy!"

"Houston?" Brown said joining the group. "Let's see. Who does Megan know in Houston?"

"So that's why you brought a suitcase to work," Jim said, ever the detective.

"I can't believe you're going to see Jay and didn't tell me," Blair chastised, keeping Megan's attention while Brown snuck her bag towards his own desk.

"Sorry, mates. It's business," Megan said calmly.

"Yeah, monkey business," Henri laughed as he jimmied the lock and popped open the suitcase.

"Henri!" Megan screeched and bound over to his desk to slam the lid shut. A brief tussle ensued and Brown ended up on his ass in the floor. Megan hmphed a little as she tucked a suspicious looking piece of silky black material back into the suitcase and shut it again. "Speaking of business, I'd like you all to mind your own," she said haughtily.

"Uh, Connor," Simon said with a touch of apology in his voice. "I hope your ticket is refundable."

"But Sir!" she protested. "I've been planning this holiday for weeks!"

"Yeah, business..." Henri muttered as he rubbed his butt.

Megan spared him a glare before turning pleading eyes back to her boss.

"I'm sorry, Megan. But with the way this thing went down this morning, I've got two injured detectives, and no one to watch our witness as it is."

"I don't need a baby-sitter," Blair protested.

Simon ignored him. "Thank God Rafe and Carson weren't injured too bad, but I can't spare you until I can get one of them back. Not while there's a cop killer still on the loose." He patted her on the shoulder before he went back to his office.

"Come on, Connor," Jim consoled. "It comes with the territory."

"Can you change the date on the ticket?" Blair asked helpfully.

"I suppose I could, but what date? There's no telling how long it will be before we catch this wanker," Megan bemoaned.

"Jay's gonna be disappointed," Blair said.

"I don't suppose you could transfer the ticket to someone else," Jim grinned, looking from Megan to Blair.

Jay sat in the airport lobby killing time. Megan's flight was delayed, but he didn't mind too much, even though he was anxious to see her. People watching was a hobby of his, and the airport was prime people watching territory. He held a single red rose between his hands and lowered his head to sniff it from time to time, enjoying the smell. A little old lady approached and adjusted her glasses to read the arrival time on the monitor over the gate. Jay glanced around and noticed there were no more seats so he rose to his feet and offered his with a tip of his Stetson.

"Thank you, dear," the woman smiled as she settled into the still warm plastic chair.

"My pleasure, ma'am," Jay drawled softly just as the PA system announced the arrival of the flight.

"My granddaughter's on this plane," she said craning her neck to look up at the big man.

Jay eased down to one denim-clad knee, which brought him face to face with her. "Well if she takes after her grandma, then she must really be a looker," he teased with a serious expression on his face.

The old woman's eyes twinkled and she took a large hand in her own. "Oh, she's purdy, all right. And she's single."

"Is that right?" Jay grinned.

"Yes, but I see you're waiting for somebody special," she sighed, looking at the flower.

"Yes ma'am, I am."

"Too bad. I'm ready for some great-grandchildren."

Jay laughed and helped her to her feet as the door opened and passengers began spilling into the lobby, some looking expectantly for familiar faces, others moving quickly away. Jay inched closer to the doors, as the rush became a trickle. His brow furrowed as a curly brown head came bouncing into view.

"Blair?"

"Jay! Hey, man, good to see you. For me?" he asked, taking the rose and smelling it deeply. "You shouldn't have."

Brady glanced back up the ramp and noticed that no one else seemed to be coming down it. He looked at Blair expectantly for a minute before shaking his head and taking him into a big hug with a laugh. "I guess the joke's on me," he said good-naturedly.

"Surprise," Blair said softly, but with a big smile and toss of his head as they broke the hug.

Jay caught him by the chin and turned his face to the light. "What's all this?" he asked with a grunt as he examined the fresh bruise along Blair's cheek.

"Long story, man. I'll tell ya on the way." As they turned to go, a little old woman stepped into their path.

"Uh," Jay stammered for a second. "Well, ma'am, he ain't purdy, but he's mine," he said at last, as he grinned and threw an arm around Sandburg's shoulder.

Blair flushed and put the rose behind his back.

"I won't say he ain't purdy," the woman mused with a wicked smile as she patted Blair's undamaged cheek. "He just ain't what I expected."

Brady chuckled deeply as the woman turned away and ushered a beautiful but confused granddaughter away.

"Luggage?" Jay asked, still grinning.

"No." Blair indicated his backpack and followed as Jay lead the way out of the concourse. "You get taller?" he asked, measuring up his friend as they walked.

"New boots," Jay said. "Maybe we should get you some."

They got almost out the door before Blair muttered an indignant, "Hey, are you saying I'm short?"

"He should be there by now," Megan said leaning over Jim's shoulder to pull away the file that he was pretending to read.

"Yeah," Jim answered distractedly. "He'll call."

"Maybe you should call Brady," Brown put in from farther down the table. "You know, give him care and feeding instructions for Sandburg."

Jim snorted while Megan shot Henri a dirty look. "I think we should have let Jay know that there was a change in plans," she said guiltily.

"Nah, he'll figure it out," Jim teased. Brown laughed and Megan eventually found a small smile. "But I'd have loved to have seen Brady's face when Sandburg got off the plane."

"He'll take good care of him," Simon said from the doorway. "In the meantime, let's catch this creep before anyone else gets hurt. Jim, run down what happened this morning one more time for me."

Jim sighed and leaned forward in his chair to rest his forearms on the table. "When we got to the warehouse, I had reason to believe that Marcot was meeting there with Jerry Dobson and several other unknown perps." He gave Simon a meaningful glance as he discreetly tapped one ear with a finger.

"Me and Rafe and Brown entered through the back. I left Sandburg out front to call for backup and Carson there to watch the front door. The perps began to fire on us and we returned fire. Rafe got winged and Brown went to help him. Marcot used the confusion to slip out the front door and I followed him. When I got outside Marcot had Carson on the ground; Carson was already unconscious. Dobson jumped me from behind. I heard gunfire, but couldn't see because I was tied up with Dobson right then.

"Of course Blair had a front row seat to the whole thing. He pushed a crate off a stack and it hit Marcot just as he fired. Thank God it threw his aim off and he hit Carson in the leg instead of the head. By the time I had Dobson subdued, Marcot was gone."

"So Sandburg can definitely identify Marcot as the shooter?" Simon asked.

"Oh yeah. And Marcot can definitely identify Sandburg as a witness. They came face to face long enough for Marcot to hit Sandburg with the gun before he jumped off the pier into the water. We're lucky he didn't just shoot him. That's more Marcot's style."

"So we've got a lock on an attempt to murder a cop, even if we can't make anything else stick. All we've got to do is catch him."

"And keep Sandburg alive long enough to testify," Brown added. "I'm just saying," he groused as everyone at the table turned a glare towards him.

"Marcot is a psycho," Jim allowed. "But he's smart. He's managed to elude us this far."

"Well, now that Sandburg is out of the way, we can concentrate our efforts on catching this guy instead of guarding our witness," Simon replied. "He's safe in Texas," he added when he noticed Jim's pained expression.

"Next to you, Jim, there's no one better to watch out for him than Jay," Megan said softly. "And it was your idea."

Jim took the folder back from Megan and opened it again. "I know," he admitted, sounding only slightly dejected.

"So Ellison figured it would be better to get you out of town? That doesn't sound like Jim," Jay said thoughtfully as he stowed Blair's pack in the guestroom.

"Oh, he didn't really want me to go, but he knew I'd be a pain in the ass if he had to keep me locked up. At least this way I'm not a prisoner in my own home. Plus, Megan couldn't use her ticket anyway," Blair mumbled apologetically as he had already noted the abundance of candles and flowers in the apartment. Not to mention the bubble bath he had seen next to the tub. "I really am sorry to ruin your plans, man. I can stay somewhere else."

"What? Don't even think about it, Sandburg," Jay scolded.

Blair laughed. "You sound just like Jim."

Jay made a face and pretended to shudder. "I'll have to work on that," he muttered. "You up for Mexican for supper? There's a great place right down the street."

"Sounds good, man. Let's go."

"Hey, I've got an idea," Jay said as he ushered the shorter man out the door. "Megan was gonna help me with a couple of jobs. You wanna catch some bad guys?"

"You mean she really was coming down here for business?" Blair asked, stopping to look up at the big cowboy.

"Of course," Jay said innocently. "Nothing like a good take down to juice up a relationship."

"How romantic," Blair said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't get any ideas. You are sleeping in the guest room."

"It's no good, sir," Jim grumbled wearily as he hung up the phone and slumped at his desk. "It's like he's fallen off the face of the earth. Even that little prick Jerry Dobson refuses to tell us anything. I think he's more afraid of Marcot than us."

"He'll turn up, even if Dobson doesn't help us. Eventually anyway," Simon assured. "Maybe we should have kept Sandburg here to do a little fishing."

"You mean to lure Marcot out of hiding?" Jim asked, suddenly sitting up straight.

"I was just kidding, Jim. I wouldn't really use the kid as bait. Not for a stone cold killer like Marcot. And it's so much more peaceful around here with Sandburg in Texas."

"Yeah, but Marcot doesn't know that. He probably thinks we've got him in a safe house right here in town," Jim repeated his thoughts out loud. "Now if we had a little creative leak of information, say giving away Blair's alleged location...."

"Now you're talking, detective. Let's get the team together for a strategy session."

"What about these?" Jay asked, showing off a nice pair of gray boots. "They're ostrich, see the little bumps, that's where the quills were. Or how about these? Monitor lizard."

"Hmm. Nice. Can I see something in cow?" Blair deadpanned as he tried on a pair of knee high moccasins. "I've always wanted a pair of these. And they're comfortable, too." He rolled his jeans tight around his lower legs and tucked them in. As he walked in front of the low mirror, he admired the way the fringe at the tops moved with his steps.

"Those are ok," Brady agreed with a grin. "But these add two and a half inches to your height," he said as he produced a pair of shiny black boots.

"Two and a half?" Blair asked, looking up from examining his feet and trying hard not to look too interested.

"And they're cow," Jay added earnestly.

Marcot studied his printouts. Blair Sandburg was an interesting fellow. He had thought so the minute he laid eyes on him. Obviously, he was not a cop. That's probably the only reason that he was still alive. If he had had the slightest inkling that the boy was in law enforcement, Marcot would not have hesitated to blow his brains out. But the kid did work with the cops, and as distasteful as it was, Marcot felt that he had no choice but to put the little guy down. A quick trip through the life of the stubborn detective who had dogged him so persistently these last weeks had also given him all the information he needed on the young man who had risked his own life to save the other detective.

The computer sang under his fingers, offering up anything he asked of it. Searching blindly for any more local references on Blair Sandburg, he got a surprise hit. An airline ticket, changed at the last minute. Houston, Texas. Marcot smiled at that. He hadn't been to Texas in a long time he mused as he started to type once again.

"Ok people, this is Officer Guzman," Simon said as the short police officer with curly brown hair entered the office. "This is Detective Ellison. That's Detective Brown, and you've already met Inspector Connor."

"Um, Captain," Jim said after a seconds hesitation.

"Yes, Jim?" Simon answered guilelessly.

"I couldn't help but notice. Officer Guzman is a woman."

"Is that a problem?" Guzman asked with a touch of defiance.

"No, not per se. But Sandburg is, um, not."

"Not?"

"Not a woman," Jim clarified.

"Did you bring the coat?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, sure." Jim reached over to the next chair and produced the bulky peacoat that Sandburg had been wearing on the day he and Marcot had come face to face.

"Guzman?" Simon prodded as she took the coat and slid into it with a shrug.

Connor took a scarf and wrapped it around the officer's face and gently pulled the shoulder length hair free.

"Ok. In the dark with her head down?" Megan queried.

"It could work," Brown agreed. "Jeans, hiking boots..."

"I don't know," Jim said with a crease in his brow.

"It'll work," Simon insisted. "We put her in a vest, of course. All we've got to do is leak out that we're moving Sandburg. Marcot will never get close enough to know it's a decoy. What do you say, Guzman? You up for a little undercover work?"

"Okay, this is Evan Dade," Jay said as he handed over a photo. Blair stopped pacing up and down in his new boots long enough to take it. "He was supposed to go on trial a couple of months ago for robbing a bank in Odessa, but he jumped bail. His partner initially escaped with the money from the heist and it was never recovered, but that's another story. Anyway, Dade's mother lived here in Houston, but she died last week."

"That's too bad," Blair said sincerely.

"Yeah, well, it was the lead the FBI needed. Dade was spotted at the funeral. He managed to get away, but they tracked him as far as the Mexican border. They're fairly sure that he'll head for Rio Hondo. That's where his partner got caught. Everyone seems to think that that's where the money is hidden."

"Let me guess, since he's in Mexico, he's fair game to any bounty hunter that picks him up?"

"And since there's a fifty thousand dollar price on his head...." Jay added.

"No shit?"

"How about it, partner? Fifty-fifty? Minus expenses, of course."

"Let's ride, amigo!"

"I've got a friend who charters small planes. Let me call him and we can be out of here first thing in the morning," Jay said as he doodled on the scratch pad by the phone.

"Tex Air?" Blair asked reading over his shoulder.

"Go ahead and laugh, but I think Tex is from New Jersey."

Jim had to admit, in the dark, sans sentinel vision, Guzman did look like Sandburg. But she moved wrong. She moved like a girl. And while Blair did have a certain grace in his movements, he tended to have more bounce in his step. With a deep sigh, he hoped that Marcot wasn't as perceptive as he thought, but he had a bad feeling that in fact he was.

There was a click of the radio. "Okay, people, it's a go," Simon ordered.

Jim watched the shadows carefully, but he didn't hear anyone nearby. With a sinking feeling he realized that there was no one around to watch the effort. The group of officers moved 'Sandburg' down the long, dark sidewalk and into a van on the street. Jim started the truck and followed at a discreet distance. The small caravan arrived at its destination without incident and the procession into the new safe house began.

"Forget it, sir," Jim said into the mic. "Marcot's a no show."

"He may just be giving us time to get complacent. We'll wait him out," Simon declared and signed off.

Jim settled into the seat and within several minutes, Megan joined him in the truck, setting a thermos between them. "We're wasting our time," he told her, but remained alert just in case he was wrong. Either way, it was going to be a long night.

"Yeah, well, I was kinda surprised," Jay said softly into the phone. "But I'm not complaining. Blair's pretty handy to have around. I trust him to watch my back. We just won't have nearly as much fun celebrating after we catch the bad guy, that's all. Don't worry about it. We'll be fine, babe."

"Is that Megan?" Blair asked as he entered the living room and plopped his backpack onto the couch.

"No, it's Jim," Jay said sweetly.

"Let me talk to her," Blair said, ignoring the sarcasm.

"Blair wants to talk to you. Okay, me too. Bye bye," Jay said before handing over the phone and going back to packing his bag.

"Hey Megan, any luck finding Marcot?" Blair asked. "Really? That sucks. Uh huh. Okay, I will. How's Jim? How are his..." Blair paused and turned his back when Jay looked up at him questioningly. "So everything is okay? I know. I just worry. Okay. Yeah, talk to you later. Bye."

"How are his what?" Jay asked suspiciously.

"Allergies," Blair said offhandedly. "They aren't any closer to catching Marcot than they were when I left," he added glumly.

"Aw, don't worry about it," Jay offered. "By the time we get back from Mexico, they'll have him locked up. Did you pack your sneakers?" he asked as he zipped up his own duffle.

"No, why?"

"'Cause you need to break those boots in before you start wearing them all the time."

"No way. They feel great," Blair argued.

"Listen to me, tenderfoot. You'll thank me later," Jay warned. "If we have to walk a lot your feet are gonna swell. You'll get blisters."

"Jay, I'm tougher than you think," Blair assured as he led the way out the door, his backpack slung over a shoulder.

"I am gonna say 'I told you so'. Just so you know," Jay informed Blair soberly as he picked up a Texas Rangers baseball cap and put it on his head.

Blair smirked at his new mother hen, confident in the comfort of his new boots. "Whatever," he said and headed down the stairs.

Jim took a minute to contemplate his next move. It stung a little that the safe house ruse hadn't worked. It had been a good plan, executed flawlessly. Unfortunately Marcot was either on to it, or had simply blown out of town. Jim had a niggling little feeling that something wasn't right, and the fact that Sandburg hadn't called yet didn't help any. He pushed open the door to the interrogation room and smiled grimly at Dobson who looked incredibly like a lamb being led to slaughter. He fought the urge to lick his chops in anticipation. The mood he was in, Dobson would either crack or he'd crack his head. At the moment, Jim didn't really care which.

"Good morning, Jerry," Ellison said placidly, but with a strong undercurrent of contempt. "I think it's high time we had another talk."

Marcot checked the number before knocking on the door. He might have lost the trail at the airport if he hadn't done his homework. Megan Connor, who worked with Detective Ellison, was the one who had originally bought the airline ticket and she had listed a Jay Brady as an emergency contact. And Brady had a Houston address.

No one answered the door, so he let himself in. The tidy yet masculine apartment spoke volumes about its occupant and Marcot surmised quickly that Brady was a cop. At least he used to be, he corrected as he paged through a scrapbook that was left on the kitchen table along with two empty mugs. A pair of men's Nikes sat in the spare bedroom and Marcot found a couple of long brown hairs on the pillowcase. It only took a few minutes more to find the scratch pad by the phone. He picked up the receiver and dialed 411.

"Hello. Yes, I'd like the number for Tex Air, please," he said politely.

The dusty streets were all but empty, almost everyone having gone for a siesta. They had, in fact, done a lot of walking since arriving at the small airstrip outside of the one horse town, stopping only long enough to take a room at the only hotel and stash their bags. Blair was impressed with Jay's tracking abilities as well as his grasp of the language. It had taken over six hours and a handful of American money, but they had finally hit pay dirt and come up with the address of the boarding house where Dade was staying. They entered the small bar on the ground floor of the place, glad to be out of the relentless sun.

Blair shifted from one foot to the other while Brady checked out the lobby, already regretting leaving his tennis shoes back in Houston.

"What's the matter?" Brady asked smugly as he glanced at his afflicted friend.

"Nothing," Blair lied. "Why?"

"Well," Jay drawled knowingly, "either you have to pee really bad, or your feet hurt."

"All right, I admit it. I think that maybe I'm getting a blister. Or two," he added under his breath. "Go ahead and say it."

"Say what?" Jay asked coyly.

"Right." Blair smirked as he sat on a barstool and bent to pull his boot off.

"Whoa there, partner," Jay advised. "If you take your boots off now, you'll never get 'em back on, and the last thing you want is be wandering around these dirty streets barefooted. Especially with wounds on your feet."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Blair all but whimpered.

"Suck it up for now. I brought some moleskin. I'll fix you up as soon as we get back to the hotel. Okay?"

"Two and a half inches," Blair grumbled under his breath. "I knew I should have stuck with the moccasins."

"Dos cervezas, por favor," Jay said to the bartender who reached under the counter and pulled out two slightly dented cans and sat them on the counter. "Close enough," Jay said with a sigh as he handed one of them to Blair. "Drink up. It'll dull the pain."

"Mmm, mmm. Warm Mexican beer. My favorite," Blair complained, but he didn't waste any time drinking half the can.

Jay laughed readily. "Easy there, Sandburg. I don't intend to carry you back to the hotel."

"What? No piggy back ride?" Blair teased.

Jay ruffled his hair in mock annoyance and glanced out the window. "There's our boy," he said, suddenly businesslike. "You okay with the plan?"

"Yeah, I got him," Blair assured as Jay picked up his beer and headed unseen out the side door to the veranda.

Dade wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm as he entered the dimly lit bar from the street door. He cast a glance over the room in general as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. Finally he rested his gaze on Blair who gave him a cursory glance and continued to drink his beer.

"Hey, man. Can I get another beer?" Blair asked the Mexican man behind the counter, who graced him with a scowl.

"No comprendo."

"Cerveza," Dade replied as he seated himself one stool away and thumped the counter in front of Blair. "Tequila," he added and tapped a finger in front of himself.

"Thanks," Blair said as the bartender sat another beer down in front of him, but kept a hand on top of the can. Blair dug in his pocket and pulled out a wadded up handful of American money and let the bartender take what he wanted.

Dade laughed as his own shot of tequila was poured. "He just ripped you off big time," he advised neutrally.

"Yeah, well. It would be worth it if this was cold," Blair answered glumly as he moved to open the can.

Dade reached over and pulled the can away. He spoke a few terse words to the barkeeper and handed him the beer. The man disappeared into a room behind the bar and returned a few minutes later with an ice cold Coors.

"Oh, man! Thanks!" Blair enthused as he twisted the top off and took a deep pull from the bottle. "That hits the spot."

"This ain't exactly a tourist spot, ya know," Dade said as he eyed Blair speculatively. "A kid like you could get into trouble down here."

"I'm not a tourist, and I can take care of myself," Blair said defensively.

"You running from somebody?"

Blair shrugged and turned his attention back to his beer.

"Who's your big friend?" Dade asked with a nod to the window where Jay was surreptitiously keeping a watchful eye on them.

Blair glanced up nervously and then back at his beer. "Is he still out there?"

"Who is he?"

"I'm not sure. He just keeps showing up everywhere I go. I think my father may have sent him after me."

"Yeah? You must have a rich old man," Dade mused.

"You could say that," Blair snorted. "Is there a back way out of here? If I go out the front he'll see me."

"There's a back door through there, but it seems to me that he'll just follow you."

"Damn. You're right. Look, I'll give you a hundred dollars if you'll stall him for me," Blair offered.

"Let's see the money," Dade insisted.

Blair took out his wallet and made sure that Dade saw the wad of bills in it. "Here," he said peeling off a hundred. "Just tell him I went to the bathroom or something."

"You really are in trouble, aren't you? You know, if you've got the money, I can get you out of town."

"Yeah?" Blair looked up hopefully.

"Yeah. No sweat. Wait for me in the alley and we'll make plans after I get rid of the cowboy."

"Okay," Blair agreed and quickly finished his beer before ducking behind the counter and through the back room. Dade nodded to him as he went, obviously already counting the money coming his way.

The sun nearly blinded Blair as he stumbled into the alley. He found a crate in the shade to sit on while he waited. Both his feet were throbbing now and he wished he had listened when Jay warned him about new boots. The beer and the heat combined to make him drowsy, but he kept his ears open as he leaned against the building and closed his eyes.

"How on earth did you get Dobson to give up Marcot?" Megan asked as they perused Marcot's room at the dingy little motel, careful to stay out of the way of the forensics team.

"I'm persuasive," Jim said with a shrug.

"You're scary is more like it," Megan mumbled.

"I heard that."

"I'm sure you did," Megan sing-songed back to him. She watched as Jim stalked around the room, staying close in case he was to zone out, or whatever Blair called it. "Are you getting anything?" she asked.

"What?"

"You know. 'Getting' anything."

Jim snorted and almost smiled. "I wasn't doing anything," he whispered. "But no. I didn't 'get' anything when we got here. I think he's been gone for awhile," he said a little worriedly.

"Sandy is fine," Megan assured. "I talked to him this morning when I called Jay."

"Oh. That's good."

"He asked about you."

"He did?" Jim asked noncommittally, he hoped.

"Yes," Megan said with an irritating, at least to Jim, grin. "I think he's as worried about you as you are about him. Why don't you give him a call?"

"I did call, right after lunch. Nobody answered."

"Cell phone?"

"He didn't answer that either."

"Oh, well. They were probably still on the plane," Megan blurted out before she realized her mistake.

Jay reviewed the plan in his head. They had to get Dade to come with them voluntarily, which Jay was sure he would never do. Not unless they tricked him somehow. Dade's partner in the heist had made it all the way to Mexico with the money before he had been captured by another bounty hunter, but the bank robber had already stashed the money. The common opinion was that it was hidden somewhere in this little paradise. Obviously, Dade didn't know where it was, or he'd already be living the high life instead of hanging out in the run down boarding house and searching aimlessly all over town every day. Dade was broke. The only carrot they needed to dangle was money.

Blair had gotten the guy's attention easily enough. Americans just seemed to seek one another out when far from home and Blair certainly looked benign enough, at least to someone on the run. He exuded an air of innocence and naivety when he wanted to and damned if it wasn't believable, unless you knew him.

Jay glanced through the window again and noticed that Dade was alone at the bar. He entered cautiously and blinked his eyes a couple of times until his vision adjusted. "Hey, amigo," he said casually as he approached the bar. "Where'd the kid go?"

"What's it worth to you?" Dade asked carefully.

"It could be worth a lot."

"Yeah? You planning on grabbing the kid? You'll never get him back across the border. The Federalies won't let you cross with him yelling and fighting all the way."

"That's a good point," Jay said with a soft smile, thinking that that was exactly why he wasn't grabbing Dade and making a run for it. "I'll just have to think of some way to get him to cross over on his own. Or follow him around until he does."

Dade grinned evilly as he did the math in his head. Take the kid's money, and then turn him over to the cowboy. "I think I can help you," he said. "For a price."

"Don't you even want to know what I want with him?" Jay asked.

"Don't make a damn to me," Dade said as he reached over the counter for the bottle of tequila. "As long as you got the green."

"Buonas diaz," an unfamiliar voice with an American accent said from across the alley.

Blair jumped as he opened his eyes. His mouth fell open and he prayed that Jay was a lot closer than he thought he was. "Marcot," he breathed.

"Hello my young friend. You've led me on a merry chase."

"Uh, sorry," Blair stammered, stalling for time. "I didn't mean to."

"Of course not. You couldn't have known that I was on to you. Your detective was very clever, sending you away," Marcot said with a smile as he pulled out an old looking, small caliber revolver. "Unfortunately, you are a loose end that I just can't leave hanging. It's nothing personal."

"Not to you, maybe," Blair swore. "To me, it's very personal."

"Give me your wallet and passport," Marcot instructed.

Blair handed over the documents, casting furtive glances towards the back door of the bar. Either Jay or Dade would be coming out of it any second, he was sure. At least he sure hoped so.

"Thank you," Marcot said as he slipped the objects into his pocket. "Now turn around. I don't want you to have to see this."

"No," Blair argued. "You don't have to do this."

"I'll shoot you in the head if I have to," Marcot warned. "And don't even think of calling out. If Mr. Brady comes out that door I'll kill him. You don't want your friend to die too, do you?"

Blair swallowed and mutely shook his head. He turned to face the wall and thought of how Jim would take the news of his death. He'd blame Jay at first, but then he'd blame himself. Neither could have known, but he had no way to let them know that. It would get ugly, he was sure.

"That's better," Marcot said gently and Blair flinched as he heard the gun being cocked.

"Hey! What's going on?" Dade's voice sounded from the door, obviously angry that someone else was trying to pluck his pigeon.

Blair whirled around in the same instant that Marcot did and watched in horror as Marcot pumped two shots into Dade's chest before the old revolver jammed. Marcot flipped the gun to Blair and bolted back down the alley. Blair clutched the gun for a second before dropping the hot metal to the ground. The bartender appeared in the door and after noting the weapon on the ground rolled Dade onto his back and began to apply pressure to the oozing wounds.

Jay came flying around the corner, followed closely by a small crowd of locals. "You okay?" he shouted.

"Marcot was here," Blair explained numbly.

Brady grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. "Blair, are you injured?" he asked again fearfully.

"No, no, I'm... Oh God. Is he dead?" Blair asked as he peeked around Jay's solid mass at the bloody man on the ground.

Jay turned as well and noted the rise and fall of the injured man's chest. "He's still alive. But the nearest hospital is thirty or forty miles away."

The small group of onlookers steadily grew until the place was crowded with people milling around and talking excitedly in Spanish. A doctor arrived and supervised Dade's transfer into a car for the long ride to the hospital. Dade was awake and talking as they left. Within a few minutes a policeman arrived. The bartender spoke rapidly and pointed first to Blair and then to Jay.

"Oh, this is bad," Jay said softly as he pulled Blair a little closer. "The bartender just told the officers that you shot Dade and that I'm your accomplice."

The cop spoke quickly to Blair, but Blair shook his head.

"He wants to see your papers," Jay explained.

"Yeah. I got that," Blair sighed. "I don't have any. Marcot took them."

"Shit. This is really, really bad."

"So you knew that Brady was going to drag Blair down to Mexico on a manhunt?" Jim asked as he paced Simon's office. "I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to tell me about it."

Megan gritted her teeth and leaned back in her chair. "I told you I was going to Houston on business. It's not my fault if you didn't believe me. And Blair is perfectly capable of making up his own mind."

"We haven't been able to reach either one of them all day," Jim continued irritably.

"They're probably just out of range or something," Simon soothed. The phone rang and he picked it up. "Banks. Okay, good. We're on our way. Serena's got something," he said as he hung up.

"Jay?"

"Yeah, Blair?"

"We're going to prison, aren't we?" Blair asked softly. "Mexican prison."

Brady groaned as he rolled over. "Maybe. It helps that the Federalies are taking over the case. The locals didn't seem too impressed that I'm a bounty hunter. Don't let it worry ya too much."

"Aren't you a little, I don't know, apprehensive?"

"Not really."

"Oh right, you're a big guy. You don't have anything to worry about. I'm a little guy. I'll end up being some macho chicano's bitch. And at least you still have a name. They'll just call me Juan Doe..." Blair babbled.

"Juanita," Jay interrupted sleepily.

"What?"

"If you're somebody's bitch, you'll be Juanita Doe," Jay explained.

"Oh yeah, right. That's very funny. Thanks a lot, man." The tiny cell was silent for several long minutes.

"Blair?"

"Yeah, Jay?"

"You can always be my bitch."

Sandburg snorted and then laughed. "Hey, thanks, man."

"Anytime," Jay chuckled as he fell off to sleep.

"What have you got Serena?" Simon asked as the trio filed into the lab.

"Sir. Jim. Hello Megan," Serena greeted the group. "It looks like someone tried to do a hatchet job on this laptop, possibly to prevent anyone from getting information out of it. It's been smashed with a baseball bat would be my guess."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to password protect it?" Megan asked.

"Easier yes. But not as fast or as secure as destroying it."

"So you couldn't get anything off it?" Jim asked, his disappointment evident.

"Well, if the hard drive had been damaged I wouldn't have been able to, but lucky for us, it's still intact."

"What have you got?" Simon questioned.

"It's printing now. Apparently Marcot was able to hack into the personnel records here at the department."

"That can't be good," Simon swore.

"He also did a blanket search on Blair," Serena said apologetically. "Then he bought an airline ticket."

"To where?" Jim and Megan asked in the same breath.

"Um, let me see," Serena said as she reached behind her and pulled a sheet of paper off the printer. "Houston."

"It's okay, Jim," Megan soothed. "Blair's in Mexico now."

"If he tracked him to Houston, he won't have any trouble following to Mexico," Jim argued hotly. "Sir...."

"I know Jim. I'll have Rhonda make the arrangements," Simon said as he grabbed the phone.

"I'm going with you," Megan asserted. "God knows you're going to need a referee."

"No," Jay said forcefully and moved away from the bars to sit on his bunk. "No."

"What did he say?" Blair asked as he listened intently to the man in the cheap suit on the other side.

"The bartender told them that I was still inside when the shots were fired so they don't really have anything on me except that I was talking to you prior to the shooting."

"They want to let you go? That's great, man! Get the hell out of here."

"It's out of the question. I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Jay, I've got a much better chance of getting out of this with you on the outside. If they want to let you go, you've got to take them up on it!" Blair shouted in exasperation. He would have loved to pace, but his feet were killing him so he settled for using hand gestures to show his frustration.

"I said no," Jay argued and flung himself back on the bunk, throwing an arm over his eyes. "End of discussion."

"Why?" Blair asked suspiciously. "It's the Juanita factor, isn't it?"

"The Juanita factor?" Jay asked incredulously as he lifted his head and raised his arm to look at his stubborn cellmate.

"Yeah, you think that as soon as you leave that they're gonna throw some Neanderthal in here to have his way with me."

"You've got some imagination there, Sandburg," Jay scoffed unconvincingly.

Blair smiled and shook his head. "That's exactly what you think. Look, Jay. I can take care of myself. I promise. But we're a lot better off with one of us free."

"I know," Jay moaned. "I really do know, it's just...."

"I know," Blair interrupted. "I'll be fine. Go to the American Embassy in Mexico City and get some help. Then you get your ass back here as fast as you can. Deal?"

"Damn it to hell," Jay swore as he rose to his feet and indicated to the Federalie to release him. He stopped just outside the door and turned to look back forlornly. "Take care, Juanita. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Blair managed a smile. "I'm holding you to that, man. Be careful."

Jay kept checking his cell phone for service as he drove the rented jeep along the rutted dirt road towards the highway. He'd make good time once he got to the pavement, but for now the going was slow. Finally he got a weak signal so he pulled over long enough to call Cascade. Blair was safe enough in the brink, Jay thought, but with Marcot still on the loose, he decided it would be nice to have some backup. While he and Ellison didn't always see eye to eye, he knew that Jim would do whatever it took to make sure that Sandburg was safe. Finally the call went through.

"Hello, this is urgent. I need to speak to Captain Banks or Detective Ellison. Yeah, I'll hold."

Jim and Megan bypassed Houston and flew directly to Mexico City with the intention of renting a car and driving the eighty odd miles to Rio Hondo. Jim was certain that Marcot would arrive soon if he wasn't already there. As soon as the 737 hit the ground, Jim switched on his cell phone and checked his voice mail. He looked at Megan with a scowl and she waited patiently for him to close the phone before pouncing on him.

"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously as he folded the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

"That was Simon. Brady's going to meet us here. He's been to the embassy to try to get some ID for Sandburg."

"What on earth for?"

Jim sighed. "Apparently Marcot framed him for an attempted murder and took his papers."

"That doesn't sound at all like Marcot."

"I know. We'll have to wait until we see Brady to get the whole story. Can we get off this thing already?" he asked impatiently as the other passengers began to crowd into the aisle several seconds before the seat belt sign actually went out.

After the slowest debarkation of any aircraft anywhere, Jim was certain, they finally hit the ramp and made their way off the plane. Jay was waiting at the gate. Megan went to him and they hugged silently.

"Let's go," Jay said and pulled Megan by the hand along the concourse.

"Wait a damn minute," Jim demanded. "Tell us what's going on."

"On the way. We'll drop Megan off at the American embassy to wait for Blair's paperwork and we'll head back to Rio Hondo."

"Why do I have to stay at the embassy?" Megan protested.

Jay stopped walking and turned to face her. "Because I am going back. If you can talk Jim into staying at the embassy, more power to you."

Megan glanced at Jim and snorted softly. "Bugger," she mumbled under her breath. "I'm not even American."

The day went quickly enough. Blair was interviewed by the Mexican feds via an interpreter and was finally given the opportunity to give his side of the story. He understood enough Spanish to know that he was being represented accurately and that went a long way towards making him feel better. There was still the little matter of no identification, but all in all, he was treated well, fed, and kept safely locked away from Marcot. But as nighttime fell and the shadows grew longer Blair became uneasy. He sat on his bunk wrapped in a blanket and imagined the worst with every creak of the floor or movement in the outer office that he couldn't quite see from the cell.

He had put on a show of bravery for Jay or the big lug never would have left. But the truth was, he was scared to death. Alone in the dark he had plenty of time to think about all the things that could happen to a short, young academic so far from home. Even if he did get out of jail, there was still the crazed cop killer on the prowl and he was sure he would remain in the mad man's cross hairs until Marcot either killed him or got caught.

The bare bulb in the cell block hallway flickered on and Blair moved towards the bars expectantly, grimacing at the wave of pain in his feet. It was too soon for Jay to be back and at the moment, there were no other prisoners in the tiny jail. So either a new guest was checking in or he was getting a visitor.

"Please let it be Jim," Blair muttered under his breath, knowing that it wouldn't be. Especially considering that he hadn't bothered to tell Jim that he was going to Mexico in the first place.

A short but stocky guard unlocked the main door and stepped into the hall. He looked Blair up and down as he unlocked the cell door and pulled it open, breaking into a rapid string of Spanish.

"Whoa, slow down," Blair said, holding up his hands. "No hablo."

"Salga de aqui," the guard said simply and gestured that Blair should leave.

Blair backed farther into the cell. "Why are you letting me go?" he asked suspiciously. "Um, que?"

The guard laughed and shook his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of American money and showed it to Blair. "Amigo...." he said as he gestured with his hand indicating someone tall had given it to him.

"Jay paid you off?" Blair asked and moved towards the cell door to see if the big cowboy was up front.

The guard put a hand on his chest and stopped him from actually leaving the cell. "I don't have any money," Blair said and reached into his pockets to pull them inside out. "No dinero."

The guard dropped his eyes down to Blair's feet and grinned. Blair nodded wearily, too tired to fight about it and went to sit on the bunk. He pulled off one boot with a grunt and a gasp as the leather sliding off burst the large blister on his heel. He repeated the procedure much more carefully with the other boot and waited for the guard to make his move.

Jim sat silently watching the lights of the city pass by as Brady finished telling them just how Blair had ended up in jail, with no papers and in a whole lot of trouble. At last Jay pulled the jeep over in front of the gates of the American Embassy and put on the parking brake, leaving the engine running.

"They're expecting you," he told Megan as he got out and lifted her down over the side. Jim grunted and tossed her her carry on bag, which she barely caught. Jay shot him a murderous glare.

Megan kissed Jay quickly and brushed a hand over his stubbled cheek. "Everything is going to work out," she soothed. Jay nodded and climbed back into the jeep. "Play nice!" Megan shouted to Jim as they sped away.

"Go ahead and say what's on your mind," Jay said as they pulled out into traffic.

"Let's rescue Sandburg and put Marcot away first," Jim replied dryly. "Then we can settle our personal business."

"Whatever you say."

"I can't believe you dragged Blair into this mess," Jim couldn't help but adding.

"Hold it right there, hot shot," Jay said angrily. "Let's do a little recap here. Megan was supposed to help with this gig, not Sandburg. You're the one who pulled the switch on me..."

"To protect him, jackass, not to drag him off on a goddamned man hunt," Jim interrupted, raising his voice.

"We were doing just fine until you let Marcot get away," Jay argued matching Jim's tone.

"Let him get away! Let him get away! I did no such thing," Jim sputtered. Jay shot him a 'yeah right' glance but didn't say anything else. Jim settled back and brooded for several long minutes. "I never had him to start with," he grumbled softly.

Brady huffed and readjusted his baseball cap. He huffed again and broke out into a grin.

"What?" Jim asked warily knowing that that smile meant trouble.

Jay shook his head and sighed, but never lost the shit-eating grin. "Just what is it about our boy that makes him so appealing to every psycho under the sun anyway?" he asked.

Jim tried really hard not to grin himself. "I don't know," he admitted. "But more than likely, it's the same quality that makes us want to pull his ass out of the fire time and time again."

Brady laughed at that. "You're probably right."

"I usually am."

Blair hobbled out into the office area of the jail while the guard tried on his new boots. He hadn't realized just how badly his feet had been abused until he slipped them free of their leather confines. Now they really hurt and when he looked down he saw that he was leaving spots of blood on the floor with every step.

Much to Blair's surprise Jay was not waiting in the office, making him feel even more apprehensive. Something definitely wasn't right about the situation. Jay wouldn't just pay off the guard and then sneak him out in the middle of the night, would he? Not unless the situation was a lot worse than Blair thought it was. Maybe Dade hadn't made it. Maybe the feds had already decided that he was guilty and were planning to ship him off to prison in the morning. Maybe he needed to get his ass back to the States and keep it there.

"Jay?" he called out softly, grasping a nightstick that lay on the desk.

"Sorry to disappoint," Marcot replied as he stepped into the lamp light from the shadows along the wall.

Blair's stomach did a flip-flop. "Of course," he murmured. "Nothing's ever easy with you, is it Sandburg?"

"You're very funny," Marcot replied as he moved across the room with a bigger and scarier gun this time. "It's a shame...."

"Stop. Right there," Blair interrupted bitterly. "Spare me the 'sorry but I'm gonna have to kill you anyway' speech. Yadda, yadda, yadda." he tightened his grip on the club as he watched Marcot's face darken in anger.

"Shoot me already," Blair baited breathlessly.

Marcot raised the gun and as he did Blair struck out with the nightstick hitting him hard across the wrist in a downward motion. He brought it back up with both hands in his best tennis backswing with a glancing blow to Marcot's face, and the big man went down hard.

"A little help out here!" Blair called anxiously to the guard as he frantically searched for handcuffs.

Marcot recovered his senses far faster than Blair ever thought he would and scrambled for the gun firing a wild shot over Blair's head. Blair bolted for the door forgetting any notion of capturing the man as his survival instincts kicked in. He fled down the front steps and into the underbrush heedless of his injured feet. He stopped to look back just as two shots were fired inside the little police station, the sound corresponding with two flashes of light. Plowing on through the bushes Blair found a path and tore off down it. He knew he was in more trouble than ever, but he'd rather face Mexican prison than a pissed off Marcot at the moment so he ran, stumbling headlong into the darkness.

As Jay pulled up in front of the jail he shut off the engine and moved to climb out of the jeep.

"Wait," Jim said urgently and grabbed him by the wrist. He tilted his head as if listening for something and sniffed the air.

"What's wrong?"

"I smell blood. And gunpowder. But I don't hear anything."

Jay took a deep breath as he glanced uneasily at his defacto partner. "I don't smell anything."

"Just trust me," Jim admonished impatiently as he released his hold on the other man's wrist and slid to the ground.

With a roll of his eyes, Jay fished around under the seat and came out with a tire iron.

"Okay, good," Jim said approvingly and bent to pick up a nightstick that conveniently lay at the foot of the steps. He led the way to the door and Jay covered his back.

The door was open, but the only light inside came from a small lamp on the desk. It was knocked over and cast it's faint glow into an unused corner of the room. A sticky black substance covered the floor, criss-crossed by footprints. A wet smear led back towards the holding cells as if something had been dragged.

"You were right," Jay said disbelievingly as he flipped on the overhead lights. The tarry blackness transformed into a rich crimson red. "Oh God! Blair!" he shouted as he burst through the hall to the back.

"Jay! It's okay," Jim called after him. "Blair's not here." He followed Brady and found him kneeling beside a body in a tan uniform.

"He's dead," Jay announced as he pulled his hand from the man's neck.

"I know," Jim said. "And we have to get out of here."

"We can't leave the scene of a crime," Jay argued, the cop in him rising quickly to the surface.

"What if Marcot has Blair? We don't have time for this."

"Shit. You're right. Let's get out of here," Jay got to his feet but stopped to stare at the dead man's feet. "He's wearing Blair's boots," he said grimly, dropping back down to examine them.

"Someone's coming," Jim said urgently and grabbed the cowboy by the back of the shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Move," he ordered and pushed Jay out of the cell and towards the office.

A stunned looking policeman stood in the front doorway with a drunken man in handcuffs. When the two Americans appeared he shoved his prisoner back out onto the porch and pulled his gun as he shouted an excited warning.

"He wants us to freeze and put our hands up," Jay translated doing just that.

"Thanks, Brady. I think I could have figured that one out," Jim said sourly as he raised his own hands.

"Here we go again," Jay sighed.

Blair pushed on, barely able to make out the path in the thin sliver of moonlight; his socks caked with blood and dirt. He tuned out the pain in his feet and the ache as his lungs begged for oxygen, eventually finding a runners high. Certain that he had covered miles he slowed to get his bearings, but didn't dare to stop or sink to the ground as his body commanded him to do. In the distance he spotted a steeple. He needed a phone, thinking that he would turn himself over to the authorities. After all, he wasn't trying to escape justice, he just wanted to live through the night. He didn't know how badly he had injured Marcot, but he was sure to follow.

By the time he got close to the church the sun was teasing the pre-dawn sky. He climbed the steps on rubber legs and tried the handle. To his relief the door opened easily and he slipped inside. Feeling his way along the wall he stopped as he reached a door. When he opened it he found a small room, almost like a voting booth and eased himself down to the floor below the wooden bench. Drenched in sweat and rasping harshly for breath he curled himself into a protective ball. His leg muscles cramped from overuse but his exhaustion was complete. He was sleeping within minutes.

By the time the sun came up the body had been removed and the blood had been mopped up, despite the very vocal protests of the two American lawmen. No samples had been taken before the crime scene was destroyed, not even so much as a single snapshot. One fifth of Rio Hondo's police force was dead and the chief had his suspects already tucked safely away in jail. Fortunately, the Federalies were on the way. Although there wouldn't be any evidence around when they showed up.

"At least the murder weapon is nowhere to be found," Jay mused out loud as he paced the small cell. "They'll have to admit that there's no way we could have gotten rid of it."

"They'll just blame it on Blair," Jim said as he sank into one of the bunks.

"That's my bunk," Jay said stiffly.

"What's the difference?" Jim asked.

"I have squatters rights. Besides, I'm sure the sheets haven't been changed since I was here."

Jim got up wordlessly and crossed the cell in three strides to the other bunk. When he lay down he was greeted with the smell of his Guide. He liked this one better anyway, he told himself as he closed his eyes and used Blair's scent to center himself.

Jay continued to pace, occasionally sending a questioning glance Jim's way. Finally he couldn't control his curiosity any longer. "How did you know?" he asked at last.

"How did I know what?" Jim asked taking a peek with one eye.

"When I ran back here last night, you yelled to me that Blair wasn't here. You couldn't have known that."

Jim shrugged. "I just knew."

"And the blood. You smelled it way before I did. You smelled it from the parking lot. I know you're supposed to be super cop and all that, but nobody's that good."

"Just drop it, Brady," Jim said and closed his eye but listened as Brady moved away again.

"Blair got away," Jay said after another round of pacing. "Marcot had no reason to take him. He came down here to kill him. We would have found his body already if he was dead."

"I agree. I think that Blair somehow injured Marcot and made a run for it. But Blair was bleeding, too."

Jay stopped and stared. "Why do you say that?"

Jim sighed deeply and shrugged. "Never mind."

"No. If you know something, you need to tell me," Jay insisted. "I don't give a damn how you know."

Jim rubbed his eyes and sat up. "I got a good look at the crime scene while we were waiting for the rest of the cops to show up. There was blood from three different people." He held up a hand to ward off the questions. "Of course most of the blood was from the jailer. There was a secondary section of blood by the desk and then there was blood from a bare foot, well a socked foot anyway. I think that was Blair's blood. I know it was."

"Okay, assuming that you can tell the difference, and I'm not saying that you can, that makes sense. The jailer takes Blair's boots. Blair has blisters that bleed through his socks. And we know that Blair was out of here before the jailer got shot."

"Right. Because there were no barefoot prints in the jailer's blood."

"Yeah, I noticed that too. The only prints in the jailer's blood came from hiking boots that were way too big to be Blair's. Besides, we know that his boots were already on the jailer's feet."

"How do we prove it though? The floor is spick and span. Not a damn drop of blood in sight," Jim grumbled.

"If they don't pin this on us, they're gonna pin it on Sandburg," Jay sighed. "You can hear what they're saying, can't you?" he asked cautiously, nodding towards the front office.

"Yeah," Jim admitted. "But I don't understand what they're talking about."

"Okay, just pick out a word or two at a time and we'll try to figure it out."

"Teamwork? Sounds like a plan."

Blair woke up stiff and sore, every muscle in his body screaming in agony from his desperate flight and subsequent cramped sleeping arrangements. His feet felt like they were on fire. With a gasp of pain he unfolded himself and pulled his body up to sit on the bench. A little waffle of light sifted in through the small latticed window on his right. Suddenly the door on the other side opened and someone sat in the concomitant booth. Blair's eyes grew wide and he felt his heart beating wildly.

"Buonas diaz. Usted desea confesar sus pecados?"

"Uh, sorry. No comprendo," Blair croaked out through his dry throat.

"An American, eh?"

"Yes. Thank God, you speak English."

"Thank God for all things. Do you wish to confess your sins?"

"I don't really think that will help right now," Blair replied wearily.

"Couldn't hurt."

Blair sighed deeply and decided that he didn't have the strength to argue. "Okay. What do I do?"

"You don't know?"

"If I knew would I ask? Sorry, I'm just... sorry."

"You say 'forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been...' and then you say how long it has been since your last confession," the priest instructed patiently.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I have never confessed before. Well, I've studied it incidentally within certain cultures, I mean, but I've never actually done it."

"I see. You're not a spiritual man."

"No, I think I am. I just...."

"Weren't raised in the church."

"No, I was going to say that...."

"It's not too late."

"Let me finish! I'm Jewish! Jesus," Blair muttered in exasperation.

"Oh, I see," the priest said, sounding puzzled. "So what brings you to our little church in the wilderness then?"

"I just need to use the phone." Blair groaned as he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. The man in the next booth got up and left his seat. Within a second Blair covered his eyes, as his cubical was flooded with light.

"You need medical help," the priest said as he knelt down beside Blair. "Are you running from the law?"

"Yes," Blair answered honestly. "And from a mad man who wants to kill me."

"We will give you sanctuary, all you have to do is ask."

"It's not safe for you if I stay here. Just let me use the phone. I'll turn myself in."

The priest laughed softly. "We have no phone. I'll send someone to town to get a policeman."

"It's not safe for you if I stay," Blair repeated. "I don't know how close the man is who is chasing me. He's very dangerous."

"We place our trust in God. Come."

Blair struggled to his feet and the priest half carried him to another door that led into a hallway.

"Maria!" he shouted and suddenly Blair was surrounded by a small herd of nuns. "We don't have a doctor," the priest explained. "But we have the next best thing. Sister Maria."

"La Virgen!" the small, elderly nun exclaimed and crossed herself as she examined Blair's bloodied, muddied socks. "Cuidado! Atencion!" she directed the other two younger nuns who had all but wrestled Blair from the priest.

"Father?" Blair asked, grabbing the doorframe, effectively stopping the procession.

"Paulo," the priest said with a bow. "They'll get you cleaned up and tend your wounds. I need to find a ranchero to go into town for you."

"Thank you," Blair sighed and let the women maneuver him into a small bedroom.

"Cuales son usted llamo?" one of the younger nuns asked Blair as they seated him on the edge of the bed.

"What am I called? Oh, my name is Blair."

She nodded and turned to take a cup of water from the elder nun. "Agua, Blair."

"Thanks," Blair said as he took a long drink. When the cup was empty the women began pulling at his clothing. "I've had dreams like this," Blair muttered as his shirt was unbuttoned and removed. "Well, not exactly like this."

The younger nuns moved to his feet and gently began to work his socks off of his injured feet. The wounds started to bleed again as the sandy fabric was pulled away.

"Hey, wait a minute," he protested as the older nun began to unfasten his pants.

"Usted debe desnudar," she told him firmly. "Saquele jadearon."

"I'll just leave my pants on, if that's okay," Blair quibbled. His hands were pushed away and the old woman deftly unzipped him. She pushed him back on the bed and the three women quickly relieved him of his jeans.

"There's something seriously wrong with this picture," Blair said as he studied the ceiling, knowing that his cheeks must be glowing with his embarrassment. At least they left his boxers in place.

After he was covered with a blanket, Blair let himself relax a little and before long he began to doze. Some time later he grimaced as his feet were lowered into a basin of warm water. He moaned slightly as Sister Maria went to work cleaning his feet. The blanket was snatched away and the younger nuns gave him the bed bath of his life.

Jim stared back at the Mexican agent who had questioned him intensely, secretly glad that he hadn't had to work through an interpreter.

"Relax, Detective," the man said as he lit a cigarette. "You are telling the same story as Mr. Brady."

"Not surprising since we were held in the same cell over night waiting to be interviewed," Jim said sarcastically.

"I know, the local police are not well trained here. They have no need. There is practically no crime in this hamlet. Not until you Americans started coming around."

"You'd think they'd know not to clean up the crime scene until someone with a little experience arrived."

"Si, but I can't blame them. It was after all, the blood of their compadre," the agent said softly.

"It was more than that," Jim insisted. "The blood trails proved that there was a third man here."

"Mmm. Your mystery man that no one else has seen. Tell me about him once more."

When Blair woke the sun was directly overhead. Feeling addled and more than a little sore, he limped to the window on his bandaged feet and stared off into the distance. His mouth was dry again and he felt like he hadn't eaten in a month. There had been plenty of time for someone to get to town and back, he was certain. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, wishing the nuns hadn't run off with his clothes. In spite of the heat, he felt cold and exposed.

There was a tap at the door and the tiny nun who had fixed up his feet entered carrying a tray with a bowl, a cup, and some tortillas on it. Blair eagerly sat in the chair next to the window and she brought it over to him, balancing the tray on the deep window ledge.

"Maria, right?" Blair asked with a shy smile, realizing that while she had seen him all but naked, they hadn't really been introduced.

"Si," she said kindly and brushed his hair away from his eyes. She handed him a cup of water and he finished it quickly. "Usted debe tener hambre?"

"Hungry? Yes," Blair nodded and accepted the bowl of soup. Maria folded a tortilla and handed it to him as well. Ravenously, he began to eat.

Father Paulo paused at the door. "Bueno, Maria," he said and the nun smiled and kissed Blair on the head before leaving the two of them to talk. "She's a good woman," Paulo mused. "She was a nurse for many years. It is an honor for her to help you as she has done with the many troubled souls that pass our way."

"So you get a lot of wayward Americans?" Blair asked as he tilted the bowl to finish the soup.

"A few," Paulo said with a sad smile. "I trust you feel better? You're much cleaner, no?"

"Yeah, well, I'm lucky to have any skin left after that bath," Blair said through a mouthful of tortilla. "I hope the hair grows back," he added, absently rubbing at his chest with his free hand.

The priest smiled and shook his head. "I have news. There was a murder at the jail last night. They have no one to send to pick up a petty thief."

Blair stopped eating and looked up as he swallowed. "I never said that I was a thief," he said solemnly.

"Yes, I know. But that is what I told the boy to tell the policemen. I didn't want to tip off the man that you say is hunting for you."

"I didn't kill anyone either," Blair swore.

"So you say. God is your judge, not I. There are two Gringos being held for the murder of the jailer."

"Two?"

"Yes. A tall cowboy and another large American."

"They got Marcot?"

"I don't know the details."

"The cowboy is my friend. He wasn't there when.... He's innocent. I have to go see him," Blair said as he struggled to his feet.

"You're in no condition to travel," Paulo argued. "Maria fears that you will be overcome with a fever due to your wounds."

"I have to find out what's going on. Jay might need me. I really, really need to make a phone call."

"Why don't you send a note to your friend? I'm sure I can get someone to take it to him. There's no need to guess when you can know for sure."

Jay sat up expectantly as Jim was led back to the cell. "Anything on Blair?" he asked.

"They're still looking. They did find blood in the bushes and down a little path that runs back into the canyon. There's a small settlement back that way."

"Wow," Jay said, looking rather impressed. "How do you know all that?"

Jim laughed unexpectedly. "Easy. I asked. My Federalie speaks English."

"Oh." Jay sounded disappointed and lay back on his bunk.

"Someone's coming," Jim said and turned back towards the door. "I think it's dinner."

A young woman followed the policeman and waited patiently as he unlocked the cell door. Jim and Jay moved back to the outside wall so as not to intimidate her as she carried the tray inside. Jim moved forward to accept the tray when she made eye contact.

"Jay?" she asked quietly.

Jim looked to the guard who was outside the cell and not paying any attention. He shook his head, inclining it slightly towards his cellmate.

"Senorita?" Jay asked as the woman handed the tray to him and showed him the note under one of the plates. "Gracias," he said and smiled.

The woman bowed slightly and left the cell. The guard glared back at the cutthroat Americans, unaware that they could have easily escaped due to his incompetence.

"What's it say?" Jim asked as Jay sat the tray down and opened the note.

"You tell me," Brady said and held it up facing away from Jim.

Jim growled. "It doesn't work that way," he spat out. "Now read it."

"It says; Dear Cowboy, Who's your new bitch? Love, Juanita," Jay read with a chuckle as Jim glimpsed over his shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean? Is that some kind of joke?"

"It's from Blair."

"Yeah, I figured that out. What does it mean?" Jim asked impatiently.

"First you tell me how you know it's from Blair."

"It's in his handwriting. Now stop testing me, damn it!" Jim roared.

"Okay, for now I will. But when we get out of here, I want full disclosure," Jay compromised.

"If we get out of here, okay," Jim agreed reluctantly. "Now, what's up with Juanita?"

"It's sort of a code. He wants to know who I'm sharing a cell with. I guess he wants to know if they got Marcot."

"We've got to let him know that Marcot's still out there," Jim said and moved to the tray.

"Yeah. I'll just borrow a pen from the feds," Jay answered sarcastically.

"It's okay. Just turn the note over. We've got salsa."

Jay shrugged. "Whatever works." He took the paper and dipped his finger into the thick red salsa, using it to print several letters on it in a grid.

Jim read the soggy note as Jay held it up to dry. "That's stupid," he grumbled.

"Maybe, but nobody's gonna know what it means except Blair."

The young woman hurried across the dark street, stopping to place the note in her pocket before entering the back door of the cafe. Once she dropped off the tray she quickly said her goodnights and made her way to the parking lot. Father Paulo had asked a favor of her and she was glad to comply. The small mission was the only home she had ever known and if not for the padre and the nuns, there was no telling what she would have become when her parents had died. Now, after saving the money she earned as a waitress and accepting a gift from the church, she was preparing to head off for the university.

She climbed into a rusty pickup and cranked it up, letting it run for a minute before asking it to make the journey through the badlands back to the church. A hand reached through the open window and grabbed her by the throat cutting off the scream as it left her. She crossed herself and prayed as the man pulled her from the cab.

"Where is he?" Marcot asked menacingly.

"No hablo English," the girl cried.

Marcot backhanded her and left her in the dirt as he pulled the note from her pocket. He flicked on a flashlight and opened it, pinning the girl's shoulder against the running board with one foot.

Dear Cowboy,
Who's your new bitch?
Love, Juanita

"That doesn't make any sense," Marcot grumbled as he read the neatly penciled note. He turned it over and found a sloppy, barely readable response.

J.B.
+
J.E.

He wadded the note and angrily tossed it away. The young woman trembled with fear as he yanked her roughly to her feet.

Jim woke up to the sound of pebbles being tossed against glass. "Brady," he whispered as he moved to the high, narrow window and rose up on his tiptoes to look out.

Jay grabbed the only chair in the room and dragged it over to where Jim stood and nudged him out of the way. "Is it Blair?"

"No it's the girl we gave the note to. The one who feeds us. She's crying."

Jay climbed on the chair and looked out. "Shit, it's dark. I can't see anything."

"She's right there," Jim pointed out as he joined Jay in the rickety chair. "Aw, damn. It looks like somebody worked her over pretty good."

"What's she saying?"

"Um, el hombre tiene la nota? What does that mean?"

"The man has the note. Fuck. Marcot took the note and beat the crap out of the poor kid for her trouble. He must be watching the jail."

"That's my guess," Jim said with a hint of anger in his voice. He schooled his expression to hide his rage in case she could see him and waved to the girl. She waved back and disappeared around the corner of the building and out of sight. Jim listened to her footfalls as long as he could, feeling a sense of responsibility for her injuries.

"I'm gonna kill that mother fucker," Jay whispered roughly.

"If I don't get to him first," Jim swore as he scanned the void behind the jail for traces of Marcot. "We've got to get out of here. You know Blair. He'll come here eventually, and Marcot's just waiting out there for him."

"We could jump the guard at breakfast," Jay suggested as he climbed down.

"That may be too late," Jim said as he continued to stare into the darkness. "Besides the feds will be back in the morning and we'll lose our advantage. We need to figure out a way to get the guard back here now."

"Why don't we stage a fight?"

"That might work. But it'll have to be loud or he'll never..." Jim was cut off as Jay kicked the chair out from under him. He crashed to the floor and the chair splintered noisily. Jim looked up in disbelief and rubbed the side of his face that had bounced off the floor.

"Like that?" Jay asked innocently.

"I'm gonna enjoy this," Jim growled as he sprang at his prey, plowing both of them into the bars. He pinned Brady with some effort and punched him soundly in the face.

The door opened and the guard turned on the light as he entered the hallway. Brady used the distraction to hit Jim with an undercut to the ribcage, momentarily knocking the breath out of him. The guard only stood and grinned. Jim tightened his grip around Brady's neck and reared back for another blow.

"James Ellison! You release him right this instant!"

"Megan?" Jay asked as Jim dropped him to the floor. He wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve and twisted around to face her.

Jim fought to recover his breath and backed away. "He started it," he mumbled guiltily.

"I knew better than to leave the two of you alone," Megan berated herself, reaching through the bars to examine Jay's face. "Where's Sandy?"

"Long story. What did you come up with?" Jay asked.

"I've got copies of Blair's driver's license and birth certificate. The embassy staff is still working on something from the passport office. Apparently that's much more difficult to replace."

"Connor, you've got to find Sandburg. He escaped last night and Marcot killed the jailer. That's why they're holding us. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"There's a girl who brings us our food," Jay jumped in. "She knows how to get messages to Blair. But, Megan, you have to be careful. We think Marcot's watching the jail."

"Rapidamente, mi nino, usted tiene que ocultar," Maria ordered rapidly as she swept into the room and shook Blair awake from his fevered sleep.

"What?" Blair startled, rubbing his glassy eyes. He glanced out the window to confirm that it was still night. "Slow down, I don't understand." He pulled the blanket up over his bare chest.

One of the younger nuns rushed through the door and joined Maria to push at the bed that still held their groggy guest. Sensing the urgency, Blair scrambled off of the mattress and helped them roll the bed towards the window. Together the nuns grabbed the edges of the heavy rug and pulled it aside to reveal a trap door. Blair slipped his fingers into the notch at one end and hefted it up with some effort. A ladder led down into a dark pit.

"Rapido," Maria urged.

The younger nun pushed Blair not so gently from behind to the edge of the hole. Blair swatted at her insistent hands. "I'm going!" he hissed sotto voce and stepped onto the ladder with a grimace at the rough wooden rungs struck his feet. When he reached the bottom he looked up only to be hit in the face with his clothes as the trap door slammed shut leaving him in an inky blackness. Dust rained down into his eyes and he coughed as he careful moved back from the onslaught until he bumped into a wall.

There was an eerie echo of his own harsh respirations and above him he could hear the bed being slid back into place. Leaning against the damp wall he quickly put on his long missing clothes. They smelled clean but felt a little rough, probably dried in the open air. He was thankful to have them to ward off the chill of the earthen cellar.

Blair lowered himself to his knees to take the weight off of his feet. The bandages were already soaking up the dampness of the floor. He wasn't sure if he was shivering because of the slight fever or because of the uncertainty of what was happening above him. He thought he would die if any harm came to the gentle people who were protecting him. Not for the first time in the last couple of days, he wished his Sentinel were near.

Faintly he heard loud voices followed by several deafening crashes. He held his breath and waited. There was a scream and sobbing. He jumped up and wildly waved his arms in front of himself until he found the ladder and scrambled to the top. Pushing with all his weight he couldn't budge the stubborn door. He shouted and thumped against the door, recklessly rocking the ladder, demanding to be let out.

Suddenly he felt a snap beneath him and grabbed frantically around for something to hold onto as the old wood gave way. In the second that he fell his hand found a nylon strap wedged tightly under a ceiling beam and he used all his strength to grasp it. He hung in mid air for an instant before the beam broke and collapsed down around him.

Jim paced the small cell in the dark. The Federalies would be back as soon as the sun was up and he hoped to clear things up and get on with the business of finding his Guide. He looked up and glanced at the door when he heard someone entering the office.

"What is it?" Brady asked, taking note and sitting up on his bunk. He trusted Jim's reactions even if he didn't understand the how's or why's of them.

"Megan's back."

Jim grunted and cupped his sore ribs as Brady pushed past him to get closer to the bars. Within a minute the door open and a guard ushered Megan through it.

"Are you okay?"

"What did you find out?"

"I'm fine, and sorry, I didn't find anything. The waitress has simply vanished. No one has seen her since last night. Her pickup truck is gone as well, so she may have run."

"No. She was on foot last night. Someone must be hiding her from Marcot," Jim argued with certainty. "I would have heard a vehicle."

Megan cast a quick glance at Jay. Jim shrugged. "He's pretty observant," Jim offered quietly.

"I'm headed over to the hospital in the next town over to see your bank robber," Megan said, changing the subject. "Anything else I should be doing?"

"I don't know. Maybe check in with Simon," Jim said.

"Watch your pretty little backside," Jay cautioned and gripped her fingers through the bars.

Megan smiled and winked as she turned away.

"She would have pounded on me if I'd said that," Jim complained.

Blair woke slowly, coughing as he wiped dirt from his face. Taking a brief assessment of his condition, he found that although his head hurt a little, he wasn't really in any pain, except for the now usual throbbing of his feet. The broken beam had been mostly rotted and was not as heavy as it could have been, Blair realized. And the weight he felt across his chest was not debris from the ceiling. He was hugging some type of canvas bag, his hand still grasping the handle. Remembering the amount of noise from the fall, he clutched it tighter and waited anxiously for the trap door to open. After what seemed like an eternity passed and nothing happened he released a shaky breath.

It took him less than a minute to dig himself out of the small pile of rubble, dragging the bag with him. He found a zipper in the dark and undid it enough to slide a hand inside. "Money," he said softly to himself, wondering if Evan Dade's partner had been one of the few wayward American's that had sought refuge in Father Paulo's little church.

With no way to judge the passing of time, Blair assumed that he had been in the hidey-hole for at least a couple of hours. Provided of course that he hadn't been unconscious for more than a few minutes. The chills were becoming more pronounced, but his feet felt like red-hot pokers. He found it difficult to find a comfortable position on the floor.

He kept himself busy by counting the money. Each pack of bills contained fifty. Fifty of what denomination, he wasn't sure, but they had the cottony-paper feel of American currency. He ruled out ones and fives automatically, since bank robbers usually wanted bigger bills. As an after thought, he decided there probably weren't any tens either. Twenties and fifties he thought was most likely.

There were three hundred and twenty-two packs of bills. He did the math in his head and let out a low whistle. Sitting in the dark holding somewhere between three hundred and eight hundred thousand dollars in his lap, he thought how he'd gladly trade it for ten minutes alone with Marcot. And Jim, of course.

"Who is it now?" Jay asked, forgetting for about the tenth time his promise not to try to test Jim's real or imagined abilities.

"It's your girlfriend," Jim grunted, not bothering to get off of his bunk.

"Hey," Megan said breathlessly as the guard let her in. "I've got good news."

"What's up?"

"Evan Dade has cleared Blair in his shooting. He gave his statement while I was there. Now there is corroborating evidence for the Mexican officials that Marcot really exists. It's only a matter of time before they release you."

"Finally," Jim sighed. "I really didn't want to have to break out of here."

"Unfortunately, Dade is being made ready for extradition back to the states."

"There goes the reward," Jay grumbled.

"Sorry, mate."

Jay made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Oh, well, easy come, easy go."

"Forget the reward," Jim said. "There goes our only other witness that Marcot is a threat."

"We still have the waitress," Jay pointed out.

"Yeah, but we haven't found her yet," Jim said with a meaningful look at Megan.

"Right. I'm on it. You two try to get some rest. You both look horrid."

Blair glanced up quickly when he heard the sound of the bed being moved again. He zipped the bag and carefully hid it under the downed beam. Light appeared around the edges of the trap door as it was laboriously lifted.

"Blair? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Father, I'm fine. Watch out. The ladder is broken."

The priest's head appeared in a circle of lantern light. "I'll get a rope," Paulo said. "Don't go anywhere."

Blair groaned. "Everybody wants to be a comedian."

Jim listened as Brady tossed and turned for more than an hour. Finally he sat up and sighed. "Hey, you want to talk?"

"About what?" came the immediate, but unenthusiastic response.

"I don't know. Anything. I can't sleep either."

Jay leaned up against the wall and frowned as he studied Ellison's vague shape in the dark.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked.

"You can see me, can't you?"

"Yeah. You look liked you're sucking on a lemon."

Jay let out a startled laugh. "Okay, so you can see in the dark. And you hear things that nobody else hears and you smell things nobody else smells. Is that about it?"

"You left out taste and touch," Jim replied drolly.

"Well ain't that some shit. And this all comes naturally?"

"Yes."

Jay appeared deep in thought for several minutes. "So how does Blair figure into all this?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Who says he does?"

"Oh, he does, I'm just not sure how. Obviously he knows about this, whatever it is."

"Obviously?"

"Come on, he's lived with you for what? Three years? He's a bright boy. I've only been your roommate for two days and I figured it out. And I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed."

"Definitely not the sharpest."

Brady laughed again. "You don't pull any punches, do you Ellison?"

"Look who's talking," Jim teased rubbing his sore rib.

"I'm sorry I got Blair into this," Jay said softly after a while.

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep him out of Marcot's reach."

Blair tied the rope around his waist and gave it an experimental tug. "Okay! I'm ready," he called out. He was wrenched from the floor with a jerk and the ride towards freedom was anything but smooth. When his head and shoulders were level with the floor too many hands to count grabbed him and powered him out of the hole. Then they helped him to the bed, brushing the dirt and dust off him as they went.

"Gracias," Blair said and clasped as many of the brown hands as he could as they patted him affectionately and moved away. The farmers seemed pleased to be able to help and Father Paulo thanked them profusely as they left.

"Padre? What happened?"

"The man came for you. He broke a few things and then he left."

"I'm so sorry."

"Things can be replaced. You can not."

"Did he hurt anyone?"

"A few bruises. A few cuts. Nothing serious."

One of the nuns entered the room with a fresh basin of water. Blair inched himself across the bed and away from her. "Um, no more baths, okay?"

Paulo smiled serenely. "I think she just wants to clean your wounds. Maria must have sent her."

"Where is Maria?" Blair asked, but the priest looked away. "He hurt Maria," Blair guessed anxiously. "Where is she?"

"She's resting. There is no room for revenge here, my son," Paulo said as Blair slid to the floor and winced sharply.

"Maria!" he called out and headed for the door. He held onto the wall as he made his way along, checking each room as he passed it. "Maria!"

"Blair, wait," Paulo called as he followed the stubborn young man.

Two doors down he found the old woman lying on a couch with the third nun tending the gash on her face. Another young woman that he hadn't seen before sat next to the couch in a chair. Her face was bruised and she had been crying as well.

"That son of bitch," Blair breathed. He dropped down to his knees and took the elderly nun's hand in his. "I'm so sorry, Maria."

She smiled sweetly as she reached up and wiped away the tears that he hadn't known were falling.

"This stops now," he declared softly and kissed Maria's hand as he rose to his feet.

Marcot studied the priest intently as the man shuffled along slowly up the dirt road towards the police station. It was painful to watch; the man must have been a hundred years old to move like that. He wore an old monk-type robe complete with crucifix, a wide brimmed straw hat, and house slippers. His gait was stumbling as if each step was agonizing, but he plodded steadily on with his head down. Finally the old goat reached the stairs and took them one at a time, leaning heavily on the handrail until he got to the top.

"Go file your complaint," Marcot muttered, lowering his binoculars. "It won't do you any good."

He rested his eyes for a minute and took a drink from his canteen. The midday street was completely deserted now that the priest had gone inside. He idly wondering about the nice looking woman that had been in and out of the jail a couple of times already during the morning. A wife or a girlfriend he surmised and decided to follow her the next time she left. He was beginning to think that Sandburg had taken off and left his partner behind.

Jim rubbed his eyes and tried to shake off the escalating headache. The noise in the office was overwhelming as Megan and Jay argued their case with the feds who weren't quite ready to just turn them lose. Half of the conversation was in Spanish and half was in English; everyone spoke at the same time. Since no one else seemed to be listening either, Jim tuned all the noise out, wondering briefly if they would even notice if he left.

Suddenly he shifted his gaze to the door as it opened and a priest stepped inside. He couldn't help but grin as he jumped to his feet and crossed the room. Surprised blue eyes met his and then he was treated to an all out Sandburg smile.

"Miss me?" Blair asked as Jim pulled him in for a suffocating hug.

"Were you gone?" Jim asked and sighed with relief that his Guide was safe.

Marcot smirked as the Federalies left the building and crossed the street to enter the hotel were he was currently perched on the roof. "Have a nice siesta, boys."

Expecting the woman to come out next, he was a little disappointed when the old priest came out instead. He trained his binoculars on the man as he oh so gingerly made his way down the steps. When he got to the bottom, he looked up and glanced around. Marcot froze as the wind whipped a long brown lock of hair from under the hat.

"Sandburg," Marcot grinned fiercely. "I knew they were hiding you in that church." He climbed silently down the latticework that ran up the side of the hotel and checked his weapons when he hit the ground. The older gun he tucked into his waistband, choosing the larger caliber weapon that he had taken off of the jailer instead. He crept along the bushes next to the road, keeping pace with his target.

Blair stopped in the middle of the street and pulled the hat from his head, setting his hair loose in the hot wind. He turned in a slow circle to make sure that if Marcot were watching, he wouldn't miss him. His throat felt dry and he was sure his fever was spiking again. All he wanted to do was lie down and drink a nice cold beer. And get off his aching feet.

"Marcot," he called out. "I'm tired of this game." He held his arms out to show that he wasn't armed. "I want to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Marcot asked as he stepped through the bushes and into Blair's path only ten feet away.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for my life," Blair said earnestly. "Here's the down payment." He tossed a packet of fifty dollar bills into the middle of the road. "That's twenty-five hundred. I've got lots more where that came from. But you'll never see it if you kill me."

Marcot cautiously moved to pick up the money, glancing around as he did. When he had it in his hand, he thumbed through it with a hmph. "Where'd you come up with this much cash?"

"Jay and I came to Mexico after a bank robber. You shot him, in fact. That's part of the take. I have the rest hidden."

"And you're going to just hand it over to me?"

"Not all of it," Blair said. "There's enough for both of us. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

"What about your buddy in the jail?"

"Looks like he's going down for murdering the jailer. You and me, we're home free, man."

Marcot cocked his gun and pointed it at Blair's chest. Blair swallowed, but didn't flinch. "Don't be stupid," Blair said.

With a laugh, Marcot eased the hammer back and lowered the weapon. He tucked it into the waistband of his pants with the other gun. "Deal."

"Freeze, Marcot!" Jim ordered as he stepped out from behind the jail, pointing a rifle at the cop killer.

Brady pumped a shotgun as he came around the other side of the building.

"You're out of your jurisdiction, Ellison," Marcot scoffed.

"I'm not," Brady said. "As a bounty hunter, I can take you in. But I think the Federalies behind you want to have a little chat with you first."

Marcot held his hands up and away from his body as he turned almost casually to glance over first one shoulder and then the other. He smirked as he realized that not only was he surrounded, but that his captors were deep in each other's cross fires. If any of them fired at him in the center, more than likely, they would also take out the person standing across from them. With practiced speed he pulled the larger gun and leveled it at Sandburg's chest.

"Don't do it, Marcot," Blair breathed. "This is your last chance."

"I'm not going to jail," Marcot answered as he squeezed the trigger.

Everyone dropped and rolled away as Megan took Marcot out with a single shot from the roof of the police station.

Jim reached Blair first and pulled him into his lap. "Easy, Chief. I'm here," he soothed.

Blair moaned and then coughed. "I really hate that part," he complained. "I didn't think he would do it," he added, searching Jim's face.

"That was a little too real," Jay exclaimed as he dropped down beside them and opened Blair's robe. "Hurt much?" he asked as he carefully removed the fed's Kevlar vest.

"Pain is just weakness leaving the body," Jim teased.

"Yeah?" Blair asked with a grimace. "God, I must be strong by now."

Father Paulo appeared on the street followed by the young waitress. She identified Marcot to the Federalies as the priest administered last rites.

Jim eased Blair into a sitting position and they waited quietly until the padre was finished.

"Amen," Jay said as he returned his cap to his head.

"Father Paulo," Blair called out quietly as the priest rose. "It wasn't revenge. It was justice. He had the chance to turn himself in. He chose to die. He just wanted to take as many cops with him as he could."

Paulo nodded and walked away.

"Okay, so out of the fifty grand reward money for turning over the cash, the federal government has already taken almost sixteen thousand dollars for taxes. We donated half of the balance to Father Paulo's church. That leaves us with a little over seventeen thousand, minus expenses," Jay declared, scratching his head and pulling out the box of receipts.

"How much were the expenses?" Blair asked.

"A lot. Let's see, we've got the first airline ticket, the rental of the private plane, more airline tickets, hotel rooms, food, jeep and car rentals, legal fees, long distance and international phone calls, medical expenses, and what the hell, Blair's lost boots," Jay said as his fingers tapped away on the calculator. He frowned slightly as he came up with the grand total and then laughed with resignation. "Well, it's official. I don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of."

"How much is actually left?"

"One thousand, eighty-four dollars and some change. Divided by four."

"Four?" Jim asked.

"We agreed. This was a team effort."

"You can't run a business that way, Brady," Jim argued.

"I know. That won't even cover my monthly expenses."

"You can have my share," Blair offered immediately.

Megan nodded enthusiastically. "Mine too."

"Hey, I wasn't even expecting anything, so...."

"Nope, I don't want to hear it. Besides, I've been thinking about getting a real job. I understand that there are still some openings at the Cascade PD for experienced detectives."

Jim groaned. "That's great, Jay. But we're going to have to learn a different way to settle our differences," he said as he patted his ribcage. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

One month later

Blair padded up the stairs wearing the knee high moccasins that Jay had brought him from Texas, wondering why in the world he hadn't bought them himself instead of the boots from hell. He started to dig out his keys when he realized that the door was unlocked and slightly open. Cautiously he turned the handle as he prepared himself for trouble, listening to the low voices inside.

"I told him not to wear the boots...."

"Shhhhh, he's here," Jim slurred.

"Hellooo Father Juanita," Jay called out. "Come on in. We know you're out there!"

"What's going on?" Blair asked suspiciously as he threw the door open. Jay and Jim burst into laughter as they sprawled on the couch looking at something between them.

"Nothing," Jim said innocently. "You've got a visitor. We had a few beers while we were waiting for you."

"A few too many," Jay agreed and swept an arm towards the coffee table littered with dead soldiers.

"You guys getting along okay then, are you?"

"Oh yeah."

"Absolutely. I love this guy."

"That's good. I think," Blair muttered as he moved a little closer to see what Jim was now trying to hide. "What cha got there?"

"Nothing," Jim said again and grinned at Brady.

"Come here, little buddy," Jay drawled. "Help me up."

Blair held out a hand and quickly found himself sandwiched between the two big detectives. Jim whipped out the photo album and opened it up.

"Oh, man!" Blair whined and tried to get away. Jay threw a leg over him and Jim captured him in a headlock.

"And here he is with his superman cape. Naomi says...."