WEDNESDAY

Dawn came, filling the loft, as it often did in Cascade, with the diffuse grey light of an overcast sky. Nevertheless, it was sufficiently bright to wake Blair. He checked the time. The alarm would be going off soon anyway, so he reached over and turned off the alarm. He lay back, and Jim settled more comfortably against his chest.

Blair was not a morning person, but he enjoyed the occasional early morning snuggle. Sometimes, Jim would wake him with a kiss, and, with lazy caresses and leisurely kisses, they would make love, slowly and tenderly. Sometimes, he would tease him awake then pounce on him, quickly bringing him to the brink of climax, then take him hard and fast, leaving him breathless and boneless with satisfaction. And sometimes they just held each other, seeking comfort, giving strength, each to the other.

This morning, Blair felt rather like the dawn, pale and grey. Lying in bed, wrapped up with Jim, was just what he needed. He looked at Jim. who was once again lying with his head on Blair's chest, right over his heart. To Blair's practiced eye, he was still pale, and much too tense. He stroked Jim's broad back, encouraging him to relax, and watched in satisfaction as the lines of tension on his face faded.

They lay there for another ten minutes, wrapped together, absorbing each other's presence. Finally, Jim shifted away from him, and gave a mighty, joint-popping stretch.

"Ready, Chief?"

"As I'm gonna get, man."

Jim leaned over and kissed him. "Let's get going, then."

Traffic was light this morning, so they made very good time to the station. The station, however, was hopping. Days off had been canceled, vacations cut short, and all personnel called in. By increasing the visible police presence in the city, the Chief hoped to head off any trouble before it started. So far, it was working.

Major Crime was as busy as the rest of the station. Rhonda greeted them as they stepped through the door. "Morning. Captain Banks wants you in conference room two. There's coffee and bagels, and I got the tomato-basil spread you like, Blair."

They looked at each other. Coffee and bagels meant usually meant a big assignment coming down. They put their things away at their desks, and went to the conference room. There was fresh coffee and bagels as promised, and Megan Connor.

Blair greeted her with a hug. "Thanks for all of your help."

Jim chimed in with, "Thanks, Connor."

Megan looked a bit embarrassed. "It's what mates do. And I know you'd do the same for me."

Blair hugged her again. "Yeah, we would." Knowing how uncomfortable sharing emotions could be for both Jim and Megan, he decided a change of mood was in order. "But I'm not too sure I would take Jim's keys and drive his truck!" Both Jim and Megan laughed.

"See, you are smarter than you look." Jim mock-cuffed him on the head.

"Hey! Not the hair, man!"

Taggert arrived then, followed by Rafe and Brown. They all got themselves settled with their coffee and bagels just as Simon came striding into the room. He did not look happy.

He settled into his chair. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that he had a headache already. "As you all know, the city has invested a lot of money in the Harbour Pointe development. It is supposed to be the crown jewel in the redevelopment program. The collapse of the Phase Three construction has been drawing national media attention, and the Mayor is having a fit. He wants to know what went wrong, why, and he wants to know yesterday. Apparently, he gave the Chief a royal ass-chewing over it, and the Chief has kindly passed it along to me." He paused to glare at his detectives. "I will have no problem passing that ass-chewing along to any of you, people, so let's keep this by the book!"

"But, Captain --" Rafe burst out. He shrank back into his seat at the force of the glare Simon turned on him, and continued much more quietly, "Um, it sounds like the Mayor is looking for a scapegoat, sir."

"He is. The Mayor is looking for spin. What I want, however, is an airtight case against the bastard or bastards who built substandard shelter for the very people who need it most. We aren't going to settle for an easy target, people. We are going to work this case until the end."

He rose to his feet, and passed out folders to the detectives. "This is what we have to work with." He waited as they checked the contents of the folders. "We have four casualties on site-- "

"Four?" Blair asked, startled. He looked at Jim, who seemed just as surprised as he was.

Simon glared pointedly at him until he subsided. "As I was saying, there were four casualties, LeeAnn Vardell, age twenty-one, and her two children, Shania, four, and Lamar, twenty-eight months, all located in apartment 3. The fourth victim, Desiree Jackson, age thirty-two, was in apartment 12. There were two survivors pulled from that unit. Both of them are in the hospital. The boy is doing well, but the teenage girl is still in critical condition. The other two survivors had only minor injuries and are doing well.

"Ridley Martin Inc. are the project developers. Ellison, I want you and Sandburg to find out everything you can on Ridley Martin, and the Harbour Pointe project. And I mean everything -- enemies, who owes whom favors, the politics, everything. Unfortunately, the CEO of Ridley Martin, Peter Martin, had a heart attack yesterday morning and is in the ICU at Mercy General."

Blair dropped his head into his hands. He snorted mentally. Nothing like a little challenge to start the day.

"Taggert, I want you down at the site. You probably know more about construction than the rest of us put together. Find out why those buildings collapsed, and the others on site didn't. Take Connor with you."

"Brown, don't you have a brother-in-law in construction?"

He nodded in assent.

"Talk with him. Find out what the word on the street is about Harbour Pointe. Are there problems with any of the trade unions, strange rumors, anything.

"It's nine o'clock now. I want all of you back here at three-thirty, and you will tell me what you've found." Simon glared at them all again. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

They quickly gathered folders, notes, and coffee cups, and scrambled out of the conference room.

Blair settled at his desk with a fresh cup of coffee. Years ago, when he first started observing at the PD, his impression of policework had been formed by television and movies -- all car chases and shootouts. He snorted to himself. Thanks to Jim, he had been involved in a disproportionate share of car chases and shootouts, but most of the time, policework had a lot in common with academia -- research and report writing. Fortunately, he had perfected those skills long ago, and it was time to put them to use. Blair logged on to the computer, and went to work.

Blair researched the history of Ridley Martin. He made several phone calls requesting information. He scoured web sites, newspaper archives and city council meeting minutes. Occasionally he would pause, mutter to himself, and make copious notes on the yellow legal pad he kept handy. He reached a point where his research was stalled until some of his requests came back. He stood and stretched, and thought about going and getting a refill on his coffee, but he realized it was almost lunch time.

"Hey, Jim," he said, softly.

His partner looked up at him, from where he had been doodling on his notepad. The phone was pressed to his ear, and from the frown on his face, it was obvious he had been on hold for a while. The frown changed to a look of inquiry.

"I'm gonna go get us some lunch. Manny's okay?" Manny's was a sandwich shop that had opened just a few months ago. While the sandwiches were not on a par with those from Shipman's Deli, they were pretty good, and it had the advantage of being only a block away.

Jim opened his mouth to respond, then his attention shifted to the phone. He waved one hand vaguely in Blair's direction, which Blair took as assent, so he left Jim to his call and went on a sandwich run.

Lunch was eaten at their desks, comparing notes on what they had learned so far. In terms of useful information, it wasn't much.

"These guys are unbelievable -- up to Harbour Pointe, anyway. If all corporations ran the way this one seems to, Naomi would run out of things to protest."

Jim snorted. "Sounds more interesting than my morning. Although if I ever want to go into the construction business, I'll have the part about zoning variances and redevelopment funding proposals down cold. Hopefully, either Stevie or my Dad will have something useful this afternoon."

The two men finished their lunch just as three of the file clerks entered the bullpen. Two had stacks of files for Jim, and one had a box for Blair.

"What have you got?" Blair asked.

"Everything we have on file referencing Ridley Martin; trespassing, vandalism, protests, hell, even parking tickets. You?"

"Financial records."

They sighed in unison, and went to work.

Blair had several years worth of records to plow through. He did so diligently, but not without the occasional mumbled curse. At one point he threw himself back in his chair in disgust. "Arrgh!" He thrust his hands through his hair. "If I wanted to stare at numbers all day, I'd have gotten a degree in Accounting!"

Jim sneezed in response. He'd gotten to the older, dusty records.

They continued their research quietly, the silence punctuated from time to time by a sneeze from Jim. Their phones rang almost simultaneously. Neither man expected much from the calls. Both were pleasantly surprised.

At three-thirty, they reassembled in the conference room. Taggert and Connor were a bit dusty from roaming around the construction site. Brown looked tired and rumpled, but somehow Rafe still managed to look GQ perfect. Jim looked more relaxed than he had in days, and Blair was practically vibrating with excitement. Simon smiled with satisfaction. His detectives were on to something. He shared a look with Jim. Best to let Blair talk before he popped. "Okay, Sandburg, what do you have on Ridley Martin, Inc.?"

Blair stood up. After sitting at a desk all day, he really needed to move around a bit. "Ridley Martin was started by Peter Ridley and John Martin in the 1920s here in Cascade. Originally they built houses. By the fifties, when Peter Martin, Sr. -- John Martin's eldest son -- took over the company, they were doing housing developments all over Washington, and they branched out into commercial construction, apartments, office buildings, that sort of thing. In 1975 in Seattle, they took on their first redevelopment project, a waterfront project incorporating an historic fish cannery, with shops, housing and office space. It was a resounding success, it won awards all over the place, and was held up as a model of redevelopment.

"They formally divided the company then, into R & M Homes, and Ridley Martin Construction, Inc. Ridley Martin went on to build a major redevelopment project in Portland, as well as smaller redevelopment projects in Seattle, Tacoma and Astoria.

"These projects are amazing! They have worked with environmentalists to minimize ecological damage. I mean, they were using recycled materials back in the Seventies! In the projects involved housing, they offered more units at below market rates than required, and have implemented job training programs on all of their projects, working within the communities to train workers not only in construction, but office jobs, too." Blair's enthusiasm for these business practices was obvious.

"Peter Martin, Jr. has degrees in Business and Architecture, but has worked in just about every job the company has. He took over as CEO in the late eighties and has continued their business practices, and was instrumental in the design of Harbour Pointe, as well as being closely involved in Phase One construction.

"Peter Ridley had no sons, only a daughter. However, her daughter, Rosemary Dawes, has a son, John Patrick, known as Jack Dawes. Like Martin, Dawes has a business degree, and has worked throughout Ridley Martin. Since none of Martin's children seem interested in the company, Dawes is being groomed to be Martin's successor.

"Dawes is the site manager for the Harbour Pointe project. And here is where it gets very interesting. One of my sources shared the rumor that Dawes likes to play the ponies, and just about anything else you can get odds on." Blair sat back down, eager to hear what the others had learned.

"Ellison." Simon directed Jim to give his report next.

Jim maintained his relaxed position in his chair. "The Harbour Pointe project goes back over ten years. Martin never made any secret of the fact that he wanted to develop the waterfront, but he's made a point of playing by the rules. Ridley Martin has a rock solid reputation as being an honest business, as well as, one that comes in on time and on budget.

"When the decision came to designate the waterfront as a redevelopment project, Ridley Martin was ready. They had architectural plans, Environmental Impact Reports, even Traffic Analysis ready. One of the big pluses was the Elizabeth M. Courtland Center. They offered to build the family shelter, and turn it over to the city for free. Naturally, Ridley Martin won the contract.

"There was a little quibbling about the number of housing units versus office and retail space, but they sorted it out. Phase One went up smoothly, and the Elizabeth M. Courtland Center went up as well. Ridley Martin turned it over to the city, and got a hefty tax break, the city got the Courtland Foundation in to run the shelter, so they got the kudos for the shelter at minimal cost. Everybody was happy.

"The Martin and Ridley families are considered 'old money' in Cascade. Peter Martin, Jr. sits on the boards of several charities. His wife, Evie, is chairwoman of the Arts Committee, and she has elevated charitable fundraising to an art form. They are both on the board of the Courtland Foundation, which was founded with a bequest from Elizabeth Martin Courtland, the youngest daughter of John Martin. She married very well, but died childless, and stipulated that her money be used to help needy children and their families. During her lifetime, she was a major advocate for several charities. Martin is just carrying on the family tradition.

"I checked for any complaints or investigations involving Ridley Martin in the PD files, going back thirty plus years. Up through Phase One, these guys are clean. A few complaints of vandalism, some trespassing, and couple of reports of stolen materials. Nothing out of the ordinary. Shortly after Phase One was done, the PD was called out for a dead body at the site. It was identified as Michael Henderson, the construction supervisor. Based on reports that he had been deeply troubled, it was ruled a suicide."

"If Harbour Pointe was Martin's pet project, " Blair asked, "why did he turn it over to Dawes for Phases Two and Three?"

"Apparently Evie Martin was critically ill for a while, and Martin wanted to spend as much time with her as possible while she recovered."

"Anything else, Jim?" Simon inquired. Jim shook his head so Simon proceeded to the next assignment. He turned to Taggert and Connor. "What did you find out at the site?"

Taggert looked haggard. The last two days had been stressful, and he was feeling his age. "Phase One construction has been reopened, and they'll be letting people back into their homes later today. Phase Two is still closed, and the Phase Three site is under guard, but they were letting a small crew continue recovery operations at the Courtland Center. They are expecting some state and federal inspectors in the next couple of days.

"I was able to get into the construction office, and get a look at the plans. I'm not a structural engineer, but from what I saw, those buildings should have come through unscathed. I was able to hunt down one of the construction foremen, and we went and did a couple of spot checks on each of the buildings in Two and Three.

"The office building had minor structural damage. It appeared to be built to spec, but..." He shrugged. "The garage was a different story. We found the support pillars were smaller than the plans called for. I was able to get a good look at one of the snapped pillars, and I'd lay money on the rebar reinforcement being smaller than the specifications called for, too.

"The Phase Three office tower was only in the skeleton stage, so all that was left was a pile of I-beams. I made a few measurements, and I'm pretty sure those beams are too small and too light.

"We went to the Courtland Center last." What he had seen at the center enraged him, even now the anger was visible on his face. "They never had a chance. Supports were only half the size they should have been. The concrete walls... my god, the rebar-" He paused to make eye contact, to make sure everyone understood him. "The rebar is what gives the concrete its structural strength. It allows it to flex with stress and not fracture -- there were three and four foot swathes of weight-bearing walls with no rebar at all." He shuddered, and took in a deep breath to regain his composure. "It wouldn't have taken an earthquake to collapse the building. It would have collapsed under its own weight anyway. There is no way that building should have passed inspection. None!"

Connor took over the report then, giving Taggert some time to regain his composure. "While Joel here was out crawling about the buildings, I had a lovely chat with Alice Spears, the secretary on site. She's one of the few people who have been on the project since it started. She mentioned that as being a bit odd, since Mr. Martin liked to keep a good crew together when he could.

"She said she didn't think much about it at first, but when Dawes took over the project he made a few personnel changes. After Henderson died, the new construction supervisor came from the crew that worked on Phase One. About halfway through Phase Two, he left. Dawes said it was a family emergency, and brought in a new supervisor from outside.

"In between Two and Three, two of the construction foremen were promoted and assigned to new projects out of the area. The men brought in to replace them were from outside the company." Connor patted the file in front of her. "I've got names and addresses to follow up with, and she offered to give us a statement if we need it."

"Did she give you employment records?" Simon asked.

"Not exactly. She's trying to track down someone who can authorize their release. She wants to cooperate, but she doesn't want to get into any trouble."

"It shouldn't be too difficult to get a warrant. I'll see what I can do." He jotted a note down on his pad as a reminder. "Joel, do you have anything else?"

"Not really." Taggert was once again his calm self. "I photographed everything I noticed. I've already given the film to Forensics. There will be a slew of engineers and inspectors swarming around the site in the next few days. They'll do a full failure analysis. We just need a copy of the results."

Simon jotted another note. He turned to Brown and Rafe. "Gentlemen?"

Brown answered first. "I talked with Roger, my brother-in-law. He's an electrician, so he doesn't deal with the actual heavy construction, but on a site, guys talk. Most of what he had to say confirms what you've already heard. Mr. Martin is a straight-up guy, good to work for. Dawes has a rep for being a bit squirrely. He said Dawes likes the high life -- fast cars and faster women.

"There used to be a Mrs. Dawes, but she dumped him. They lived in Seattle. She got the house, the Mercedes and the society friends, so he came back to Cascade.

"He knew about Henderson -- he'd just divorced, but he didn't seem despondent. The suicide ruling surprised a lot of people."

Rafe burst in. "The next part is really interesting. The guy that up and left... McGilray. He went head to head with Dawes a lot--"

Brown seized control of the report again. "MacGinley. His name was Frank MacGinley. He had several very loud 'discussions' with Dawes, but nobody is saying what they were about. And the 'family emergency'? Nobody is talking about that either. Whatever it was, he came home on a Friday, and by the following Monday, the family was gone, the house was on the market, and he didn't leave a forwarding address.

"The only other thing he had to say was about the contractor for construction supplies. Firenze and Sons are fairly new in Cascade, but their business is growing fast, they're contracted to almost every construction project in the city. He said it wasn't even enough to be a rumor, just a whisper, really, but Firenze might be making kickbacks, or worse. Just mention the name, and people shut up -- fast."

Rafe described the next phase of their investigation. "We thought we'd go and talk to Dawes next. He probably wouldn't talk to us, but you never know," he said with a cocky grin. "I tried calling, but all I got was a busy signal, so we went to his place. He has a condo at Crystal Towers," naming one of Cascade's tonier locations. "He wasn't there, but his girlfriend, one Heidi Spencer, was. She said she hadn't seen him or heard from him since they had dinner the night before last. Miss Spencer was busy packing. It seems she didn't want to be involved if Dawes was in trouble," he added drily. "We got her name and address, and when we got back here, we put out an APB on Dawes."

"Good work." Simon leaned back in his chair. "All right, people, what do you think?"

"Jim," Taggert asked, "do you know who was the supply contractor for Phase One?"

Jim shuffled through his notes. "Umm, Sullivan Brothers."

"That was one of the things Dawes changed!" Connor quickly rifled through her notes. "Here it is. They used Firenze and Sons on Phase Two!"

"Joel, you said that the buildings shouldn't have passed inspection. Who signed off on the project? Was it the same person for all three phases?" Blair asked of the group.

"I have that." Jim quickly flipped to the appropriate file. "For Phase One, anyway. There were eight separate inspections over the duration of the construction, all signed off and approved by one Benjamin Phillpot."

"I've heard Roger bitch about the inspectors," Brown offered. "The big projects get one guy assigned to them to keep everything moving. But the little guys get whoever is available, and he's been in situations where one guy tells them to do one thing, and the next inspection, another guy tells them to do something completely different."

"So, do we know who signed off on Two?" Rafe asked, looking slightly confused.

"I talked to Rita in Records at City Hall earlier today," Blair replied. "One of their servers is down, and the annex where they keep the actual files hasn't been declared safe yet. The information is there, we just can't get our hands on it."

Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose. The headache he'd been enduring for the last couple of days was getting worse. "So what I am hearing is we have a project manager with a gambling problem, a supply contractor with a reputation for kickbacks, and a building inspector who signed off on clearly substandard construction. It sounds like motive and opportunity."

Connor looked puzzled. "But, Captain, how could they make enough money out of a deal to risk it? They still had to put up those buildings and pay the workers."

Jim answered her instead. "There's a pretty big difference in the prices of premium materials and the low quality stuff. When you think about the amount of material you need to build an office building or a parking garage, it adds up. You've heard about the case my brother was involved in?" She nodded her head. "The woman behind it was skimming off the construction budget, billing for high quality materials, but supplying low quality stuff. She skimmed off a healthy chunk of change, and that was just on a renovation project. The materials budget for a project like this is millions of dollars."

"Well, people, it's time to find the money trail." Simon began to hand out assignments. "Brown, you and Rafe keep working Dawes' end of this operation, see what you can find out about his finances. Sandburg, since you are familiar with Rita at City Hall, I want you and Jim to get the name of the building inspector for Phase Two and Three. Connor, I'm going to send you back to Harbour Pointe to get the rest of the records from Ms. Spears. Taggert, please find out everything you can on Firenze and Sons. I know we'll need warrants on the records, but with the pressure the Chief is getting from the Mayor, we should have them in no time." He stood up. "Let's move, people. We're burning daylight."

Everyone collected their files and headed to their desks. Simon stopped at Connor's desk to collect some information he needed for the warrant as Rafe answered the insistently ringing phone at his desk. The sudden shift in his body language from annoyance to great interest attracted the attention of the other detectives. He scrabbled for a pen and paper, and quickly wrote down some notes.

"Yeah... uh-huh... yeah... got it, thanks." He looked up from his notes to find everyone staring at him. He stared back for a moment, then explained. "Dispatch got a call on a body in a motel on Grant Avenue in north Cascade, single gunshot to the head. The ID says it's Jack Dawes. We had an APB on this guy, so Homicide is handing the case to us."

The disappointment in the room was almost palpable. If it was Dawes, there would be questions on the case that would never be answered.

Rafe looked at Brown. Though the two men were very different, they had been partners long enough to develop some 'unspoken communication' skills. They both turned and looked speculatively at Jim, then at Simon. As Captain to a crew of detectives, Simon had the 'unspoken communication' trick down pat. He quickly rearranged assignments.

"Brown, Ellison, Sandburg, you take the Dawes investigation. Taggert, I need you to take City Hall and the Records Department, we'll tackle Firenze later. Connor, you're still on Spears at Ridley Martin. Rafe, find out everything you can on Dawes' finances. I'll get on the warrants. If we're quick enough, we can catch people before they leave for the day."

Grant Avenue had once been a main route into Cascade. When the freeway bypassed it, Grant Avenue fell on hard times. There were few businesses and fewer jobs. It wasn't the 'mean streets of Cascade', but it wasn't that far from it. The Co-Z-Nite Inn was a tired-looking motel, far from its sixties-era glory days.

Jim steered the truck into the parking lot behind Brown's car. There were only a few other vehicles in the lot, as well as, two patrol units. Neither the Forensics van nor the Coroner's van had arrived yet.

Brown met them and they walked together to the end room where an older officer and a young patrolman with a distinct green tinge to his face were waiting outside the door. As many times as he had done this, Blair still felt a tad 'green' himself, knowing what he would face on the other side of the door. Given his druthers, he'd wait outside, but Jim needed him, so he went.

As they went through the doorway, Blair tucked himself behind Jim a bit, and almost absently laid one hand on his back and rubbed soothing circles. The smell hit him first, a combination of old blood and human waste, that his mind associated with the scent of death, and he was momentarily very glad he did not have sentinel senses. He returned his attention to the task at hand in time to catch the tail end of the conversation.

"...see if we can find anything, if you want to go and question the manager and any witnesses."

"Sure, Jim, sounds like a plan." Brown slipped past them and out the door. He paused on the threshold. "I want you to know I really appreciate this. We all do." He headed off to the manager's office.

Jim turned back to the crime scene. Blair steeled himself, and cautiously stepped out from behind Jim, but kept his hand on his back. As Jim carefully studied the room, Blair did a survey of his own. He carefully avoided looking at the body.

The room was just as shabby as the outside of the motel. It was furnished with a bed, a dresser, a night stand, and a particularly scarred table and chair by the window, all in a dark, faux-Mediterranean style. The curtains and bedspread were faded, now just a vaguely patterned indeterminate shade of greyish-beige.

Jim stepped closer to the body on the bed, and Blair followed, studying the body but carefully avoiding looking at the head. The man, Dawes, he supposed, had been leaning on a couple of pillows against the headboard. After the shot, he had slumped sideways. His arm had fallen away from the body, and a revolver -- it looked like a .38 lay about a foot from the hand, as if it had fallen out of his hand when it hit the bed.

He saw no sign of any suicide note, and, in fact, no sign of any possessions at all, other than a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the night stand, and a plastic cup that had fallen onto the floor. Jim checked the dingy bathroom, Blair at his heels, and again, there was no sign of any personal belongings or toiletries.

The wastebasket was empty. There were no signs of forced entry, and the only thing under the bed were rabbit-sized dust bunnies, which made Jim sneeze. Gratefully, they stepped out of the room, and into the fresh air.

Forensics had just arrived, with Serena Chang in charge of the team, so after a brief discussion with her about their findings, or lack thereof, they went to the manager's office to find Brown.

He was just finishing up his interview with the rather distraught housekeeper. Since the manager's office reeked of cigarette smoke, they headed back to the vehicles to compare notes.

"The manager ID-ed the photo I gave him of Dawes as the man who checked in yesterday morning as John Dawes. He paid cash for three nights. The room next to his and the rooms above them haven't been used in about a week. Nobody heard anything or noticed anything unusual.

"The housekeeper found the body this afternoon. She knocked on the door and, when she didn't get an answer, she went in. She saw the body, backed out, dropped the towels she was carrying and ran for the manager. She says she didn't touch anything. She didn't see anybody other than the dead man."

Jim described his findings. "There was no sign of anyone else there. There was no note, but it looked self-inflicted. The shot was point blank, and there's gunpowder residue on his hand. The bullet in the wall behind him will match the gun. Serena's going to do a tox screen, and dust for prints, but that's just a formality." He sounded disgusted.

Blair felt pretty disgusted, too. "He was a waste of oxygen. I hope there is a special place in hell reserved for men like him," he said bluntly.

Brown looked at him in astonishment for a moment, then patted him on the shoulder. "Let's get back to the station, and see what else we can come up with."

Before Jim started the truck, he looked Blair over carefully. "You okay?"

Blair smiled at him. "I'm fine. Besides, shouldn't I be asking you that? You don't have a headache, do you?" The combination of stress, frustration and intense sensory work could trigger nasty headaches for Jim.

"I'm fine, too. Let's get going before Simon sends out a search party." He started the truck, and drove out to Grant Avenue. A moment later, Blair reached over, took hold of Jim's hand, and twined their fingers together. Silently comforting each other, they drove back to work.

Simon had apparently worked miracles while they were at the motel, because by the time they were finished with their reports, Taggert, Connor and Rafe returned, laden with boxes of files and records from their respective warrants and investigations.

Simon herded everyone back into the conference room for progress reports. Jim and Henri's report that Dawes was dead, and it was self-inflicted drew mixed emotions. Megan summed it up best. "I don't know if I'm more glad the miserable bastard is dead, and can start rotting in hell that much quicker, or pissed that I can't make him suffer first."

It had been a long and frustrating day for everyone, and perhaps they were getting a bit punchy, because judging by the snickering that followed, the detectives seemed to think that was funny. Simon sighed and shook his head. "Detectives!" They all looked at him, even Blair, though he wasn't officially a detective.

"I know it's been a long day, but I would like to get a little more work done before we call it a day. I'm going to call out for Chinese, and after we eat, we are going to see if we can make something out of these files."

A few minutes later he returned, and they resumed the progress reports. Taggert's report was fairly brief. "Phase Two and Phase Three were both inspected and signed off by Joseph E. Dolan. As of two weeks ago, Dolan is no longer employed by the City of Cascade. He relocated to Olympia, and now works for the State of Washington Department of Construction. It just so happens that the newly appointed head of the Department of Construction is Michelangelo Firenze."

"Well, well, well. This just gets more interesting by the hour." Simon leaned back in his chair, and smiled a trifle smugly. "It's a good thing I assigned a team to watch Firenze and Sons tonight." He noticed his detectives looking at him a bit oddly "What? You think I made Captain because of my good looks and charming personality?"

"You know, Simon," Blair shot back, " I can honestly say that particular reason never crossed my mind."

Simon had to acknowledge he left himself wide open for that, and laughed along with the others. Once they regained their composure, he indicated for Connor to report.

"I've got all the supply orders for Phases One, Two and Three, as well as, the delivery manifests. I've also got all the correspondence between Ridley Martin and the supply contractors, a list of all the employees at the site for all three phases, a list of subcontractors, and anything else Ms. Spears thought would be useful. The woman's a bloody marvel! She was so organized, it's frightening."

Rafe weighed in with his results. "I got the last six months' worth of bank records for Dawes. It appears to be his primary account -- his mortgage and bills are paid from this account. I'd like to examine his personal records to see what other accounts he might have, but that will have to wait. I did manage to get the last few months' phone bills, though."

"You dog!" Brown teased. "I thought you broke up with her."

"Just because we aren't dating anymore doesn't mean we can't be friends," Rafe responded a bit huffily. "I just asked my friend who works at the phone company to expedite the request, is all."

"Gentlemen!" Simon called them to order. "As fascinating as Rafe's love life is, now is not the time. Besides, dinner is here."

It didn't take seven hungry adults long to demolish the food provided. They cleaned up, and divided into teams to sort through the records.

Jim took the Phase One records, matched supply orders to delivery manifests, and carefully noted who accepted the deliveries. Simon did the same with Phase Two, and Joel took Phase Three, with its EMC Center sub file. Megan was right, the files were meticulously organized, and chronological, so it was not as difficult as it could be.

Blair put his research skills to work to find out everything he could on Joseph Dolan. It was well after business hours, so any investigation that required a human interface would have to wait until tomorrow. But law enforcement agencies had access to a number of resources the general public did not, and Blair intended to mine them thoroughly.

Rafe and Brown divided the bank records and began searching for anything unusual -- unexplained deposits, strange payments, things that just didn't seem right.

Megan ended up with the phone records. She looked for frequently called numbers, and correlated those to businesses and individuals, both in Cascade and out of the area. Right off the bat, she noticed calls to three different bookies. This could turn out to be very interesting.

They toiled away. Jim, Simon and Joel had finished matching orders to deliveries, and had moved on to comparing orders and deliveries between the phases, and correlating those to the recorded inspections. Between the three of them, they had commandeered most of the conference table and had scribbled pages of notes.

Rafe and Brown had been squeezed down to the far end of the table, where they were discussing apparent patterns in Dawes' expenditures versus income. They, too, had generated several pages of notes.

Both Blair and Megan had retreated from the conference room to their desks. Megan had identified all the calls Dawes had made in the last few months, and made notes about all the ones that could be useful to the case.

Blair now knew more about Joseph Dolan than he ever wanted to, and he wasn't impressed. Like the others, he had notes, but his were lists of locations to get more information in the morning, and all the information Simon would need to get warrants to pull Dolan's financial records.

The printer whirred to a stop and spit out the final page of the file Blair was printing out. He stood up, gave a bone-cracking stretch, and wandered over to collect his file. He glanced at the clock and noticed with amazement that it was past eleven. No wonder he was tired.

He had only just sat down at his desk again when Jim, Simon and the others walked out of the conference room. Simon locked the door, since they had left the files in the room. They all looked tired and bleary-eyed. Even Rafe looked rumpled and weary.

"It's late, people, and tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I want you to go home and get some rest. Be back here at nine." Simon smiled ferally. "The work we did tonight will build the foundation for one hell of a case. Tomorrow, we are going to get the warrants we need to make it airtight. Thank you. Now go home."

Blair followed Jim into the loft. He felt drained, both emotionally and physically, but for the first time since the failed rescue, he felt something besides rage and despair. Dawes was beyond their reach, he would have to face a different kind of justice, but Dolan and Firenze -- well, today he, Jim, and the others had laid the groundwork to bring them to justice. It may have been Jim who gave voice to the vow for justice, but each one of them held it just as sacred.

Jim stretched, accompanied by a chorus of popping joints . "Why is it more tiring to spend a day doing paperwork than running down perps?"

Blair stepped up behind Jim, and lightly massaged the tense muscles of his back. "Deferred gratification. The rewards for paperwork are obscure, and happen so far chronologically from the original expenditure of effort that the frame of reference is lost. Chase and capture of a suspect provides an immediate reward and clear cause and effect."

"Is that your professional opinion, Doctor Freud?"

"Nah," Blair answered cheerfully. "Pure obfuscation. I really think it's 'cause chasing down perps feeds straight into your primitive hunting instincts."

Jim turned and captured Blair in a tight hold. "You calling me a throwback?"

"If the shoe fits..."

Jim kissed him into silence. Eventually, they broke apart. "Join me in a shower?"

Blair smiled and walked to the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

It was late, and both were tired. Sometimes showering together was an exercise in rampant sensuality, sometimes it was simply a means of getting clean. Tonight was mostly about cleaning up, but that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy the soothing effects of the hot water or the sensuous glide of soap over skin. They washed each other, washing away the tensions of the day along with the day's accumulated grime. Finally the hot water began to run out, so they ended the shower and dried each other off. They quickly finished their nightly routine. Jim made one last circuit of the loft, securing his territory, before climbing into bed beside his partner.

Blair turned to him, going easily into his embrace. He kissed Jim with quiet intensity, his desire for his partner tempered by his need for rest. Jim returned the kiss, the banked embers of his desire springing quickly to life.

He rolled them over so Blair was on his back. Jim surveyed his partner, the dark no impediment to his sight. Blair shivered slightly, so Jim covered his body with his own, and returned to kissing him. Eventually, he moved from Blair's lips to his jaw. He kissed his way to Blair's ear, where he nibbled and sucked and blew softly into his ear, delighting in the whole body shiver that resulted.

He worked his way back to the corner of Blair's jaw, enjoying the contrasting textures of raspy whiskers over soft skin, and the beat of the pulse as the blood flowed beneath the skin. Blair tilted his head back, offering his neck to Jim, and Jim felt a thrill of joy at the trust displayed in the gesture.

Jim kissed his way down Blair's neck, paying special attention to the juncture of neck and shoulder. When he had marked Blair to his satisfaction, he moved lower, and began to lavish attention on Blair's nipple. Blair hadn't been letting Jim have all the fun. He had been stroking and caressing Jim, gently kneading his pectorals, running his hands up and down the magnificent musculature of his back. Now, he guided Jim to his other nipple and simply reveled in the attention.

When Jim was satisfied that he had paid sufficient attention to Blair's chest, and Blair was making soft breathy moans, Jim turned his attention further down Blair's body. His kissed his way down to Blair's cock, jutting proudly from the nest of tight curls at its base. He teased Blair relentlessly, mouthing his balls, licking the sides and base of his cock but not the sensitive head, until at last, Blair cried "Please, Jim!" and he took him in from crown to root.

Blair gave a wordless cry and arched his body up for more. Jim pushed Blair's hips back to the bed, and set up a gentle, steady rhythm of sucking. He fumbled momentarily for the lube, but retrieved it, and, with the ease of long practice, soon had one slick finger teasing at Blair's opening. He slid his finger inside and began moving it in rhythm with his mouth on Blair's cock.

""Oh god... oh god... oh god!" Blair was almost chanting. Jim stroked his finger across Blair's prostate once, twice, and then, with a triumphant "Jim!" Blair was spurting, hot and hard, into Jim's mouth. The bitter, salty flavor of essential Blair exploded across Jim's tongue, and he swallowed quickly to capture all of Blair's generous gift.

With a final lick to Blair's now softening cock, Jim sat up. Blair was lying bonelessly, with a sated look on his face, trying to catch his breath. Jim quickly rolled him over and arranged Blair to his satisfaction, tucking a pillow under his hips. He lubed his hard, aching cock and guided it to Blair's opening. Leaning forward and capturing Blair's mouth, he kissed him intently as he gently and firmly pressed his way into Blair's body. At last he was fully sheathed in his lover and he began to move, sliding in and out.

Blair had recovered enough to participate, and began moving with him. Jim was incredibly aroused, and the sensations were unbelievable. He tried to keep a slow pace, but he lost control, and started pumping hard and fast into his lover. Each thrust drove across Blair's prostate, driving him higher and higher.

"More... more!" he cried, trying to pull Jim deeper into himself, and Jim responded by thrusting harder and faster, until at last he could take no more.

"Blair!" With a final, frenzied thrust, he shot into his lover as wave after wave of pleasure crested over him. He was vaguely aware of the hot splash of semen on his belly as Blair, too, climaxed. With his remaining strength, he was just able to avoid crushing Blair and flop slightly to the side as he collapsed. Entwined together, the two of them lay panting. "Love you," Jim managed to croak out.

"Love you, too," Blair mumbled in response.

Eventually, Jim softened and slipped out of Blair. He gathered his strength and cleaned the two of them up. Blair mumbled something that could have been "thank you" as Jim settled himself beside him again. "Blair... didja set the 'larm?" he asked, fighting the pull of slumber.

"Mmmhmm.'

"'Kay. Night."

"Night."

And the only sound in the loft was the deep, steady breathing of the two men. If they dreamed, tonight, at least, it did not disturb their sleep.

THURSDAY

Jim discovered they were out of coffee in the morning, so they stopped by Blair's favorite espresso shop on the way to the station. It was Blair's studied opinion that they made the best hazelnut latte in Cascade, achieving perfect balance between the coffee, the milk and the flavoring. Jim wasn't so sure about that, but they did make a halfway decent cup of coffee, so he didn't mind.

His coffee was finally at the perfect temperature for drinking, so he sipped at the robust brew as they rode the elevator up to Major Crime, idly listening as Blair explained the significance of coffee to the social structures of the ancient Mayans. He felt a tingle of anticipation as they approached their floor. Years of experience with policework taught him that that tingle meant they were on to something. Whatever it was, it involved Firenze and Sons and Joseph Dolan. Today, they were going to rattle a few cages. It would be interesting to see what fell out.

Blair was really enjoying his perfect latte. It was a beautiful morning, and he felt remarkably refreshed. He shared his good mood with Jim, enlightening him with a bit of arcane information on the Mayans and coffee, but a part of his mind was busily assessing the information the investigation unearthed, running through possible scenarios and noting other potential avenues for investigation. As they stepped into the bullpen, he was not surprised to see Brown, Rafe, Taggert and Connor already there. He was reminded of a project he'd worked on years ago as an undergrad. They had been cleaning and reassembling a shattered frieze from a temple. It started as a collection of unrelated bits of stone but, gradually they were able to fit the pieces together, and, eventually, the images formed and told a story. He could see the pieces of the investigation coming together. They would have the whole story soon, he could feel it. From the looks of the others, he could tell they could feel it, too.

All that was missing was Simon. The door to his office was closed, but the blinds were partially open, and they could see he was on the phone. While they waited, they drank their coffee and chatted. Megan parked herself on the edge of Blair's desk and joked about his 'frou-frou' coffee. Jim, Joel and Henri teased Brian for picking the Grizzlies when they were clearly outclassed by the Lakers.

Suddenly, they could hear Simon's raised voice coming from his office. They all looked -- Simon was on his feet shouting at someone on the phone, but none of them could make out the words, except Jim. They quickly looked at Jim, who looked surprised at what he was hearing, and to their alarm, he paled and looked sick. Before anyone got a chance to ask what was wrong, the door to Major Crime opened, and four men in dark suits walked in. They were Feds.

The group was led by Agent Frank Mulroney, a particularly obnoxious specimen assigned to the Cascade FBI office. Mulroney was the type who thought being a Fed made him inherently superior to the 'locals', and it galled him bitterly in the past when CPD personnel solved Federal cases. He seemed to delight in taking over jurisdiction on CPD cases, especially if they came from Major Crime. His smug face was the last thing anyone wanted to see this morning.

"Detectives." He offered the greeting as if it were an insult. "I need all of the files, notes and information you have on Jack Dawes, Firenze and Sons, and Joseph Dolan. As of now, it is a Federal matter."

His announcement was greeted with a moment of stunned silence, then all the detectives began protesting at once. "What!? Why?" "No way!" "Like hell!" "Is this some kind of joke?" "Bloody Hell!", until Simon's voice cut through the dissent. "Quiet!" Once he had everyone's attention, he bit out an explanation. "Agent Mulroney and these gentlemen are here to collect all of our files and notes on the Harbour Pointe investigation. It seems our two remaining suspects have offered to turn State's evidence against the Perrotti family in exchange for immunity." His anger at this turn of events was a palpable thing, the air around him practically crackled with fury. He took a couple of deep breaths to regain control, then met the eyes of his people, one by one. "I'm sorry. I tried to stop them, but it is out of my hands."

The bullpen was filled with a tense, unnatural silence. Fortunately, the three men with Mulroney were smarter than he was. While he 'supervised', they collected the necessary files, printouts and notes from the group, offering quiet apologies and sincere thanks for the work done. Finally, everything was collected, boxed, and secured by the three agents.

Mulroney couldn't resist one last dig at Jim, who he particularly disliked. "Sorry, Ellison," he smirked at him, "I'm afraid this case won't help your solve rate at all."

Jim moved so fast he was a blur. In a split second, he had Mulroney disarmed and pinned up against the wall with his forearm pressing against his windpipe. Nobody else moved.

"I don't give a fuck about my solve rate, you worthless piece of shit," Jim growled. "What I care about is that Monday night, a mother and her two little children were trapped in a collapsed building your two 'witnesses' helped build. They died there, in the dark, choking on smoke, because we couldn't fucking get to them before the fire did." Jim pressed harder against Mulroney's neck. "We've been busting our asses to bring their murderers to justice." Mulroney was turning purple now, and making little gasping noises. "And you people are letting them go."

"Jim," Blair said softly. "He's not worth it."

Jim eased up on Mulroney's neck just enough to let him take in a breath. "You can have full credit for that, Mulroney. I don't want it. But think about the innocent lives it cost -- then you tell me it's worth it."

Mulroney wisely said nothing.

Simon walked over and retrieved Mulroney's weapon from Jim. Jim let Mulroney slide down to his feet and then stepped back. Simon stood at Jim's shoulder, clearly supporting his detective. He handed Mulroney his gun. "Get out."

Mulroney squeezed past Jim and Simon and scurried to the door. The other agents were looking everywhere but at Mulroney. He'd been made to look like a fool, and he knew it. As the others left Major Crime, Mulroney turned once more to look at them. "I'll have your badge for this, Ellison," he squeaked. Being nearly strangled had an adverse effect on his vocal chords.

Seven perfectly blank faces stared back at him. "For what, Agent Mulroney?" Simon asked coolly. "You have your files. Nothing else happened here."

The day that had started with such promise turned bleak and dismal. Each of them fought to contain the grief and rage triggered by the knowledge that justice had been within their grasp, then cruelly ripped away.

New cases were assigned, old cases reassigned, paperwork slogged through. Simon wisely kept his people at their desks. In their current mood, mixing with the public would not be beneficial. The atmosphere in Major Crime remained tense and angry. Conversations were carried on quietly and as quickly as possible. Word spread throughout the PD of the morning's events, and everyone who could avoided the bullpen like the plague. Today, Major Crime was like a ticking bomb, and no one wanted to inadvertently trigger an explosion.

The hours crept tortuously by, and at long last it was time to leave. Jim and Blair made their way home in silence. Jim had closed up tight, suppressing his grief and pain and frustration, until all he could express was a cold, burning rage. Blair was unusually quiet, too. He couldn't seem to get a grip on his emotions at all -- furiously angry one moment, achingly sad the next, all mixed in with a crushing sense of failure. He felt out of control and almost dizzy from the wild surge of emotions.

He followed Jim into the loft. Jim threw his keys into the basket, hung up his coat, and walked straight to the fridge. He grabbed a beer, opened it with a vicious twist, and stalked over to the balcony doors. His body language practically screamed that he wanted space. He settled himself on the balcony and gazed out over his city.

Blair read Jim's actions clearly, but he didn't object. He had his own agenda. He retrieved a bottle of water, and eased his thirst with a few swallows of the cold liquid. He then collected a few of his favorite unscented beeswax candles. He set them out on the coffee table and lit them. He made himself as comfortable as he could, and consciously relaxed his muscles one by one. He regulated his breathing, deep and slow, and sought his center.

Two hours later, he opened his eyes. He shifted position and stretched. He was a bit stiff from being in the same position for so long. He wouldn't describe how he felt now as centered, but at least he had gotten a handle on his wild emotions. He blew out his candles, then looked around for Jim.

Jim was still on the balcony. He was leaning against the railing, still holding a beer. Blair absently noticed an empty bottle sitting on the ground. At some point, Jim must have come in and gotten another.

Blair opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony. He shivered in the chilly breeze. Jim shifted slightly, making space for Blair. He slipped into that space, allowing Jim to wrap his arms around him to keep him warm. He helped himself to a sip of Jim's beer, then settled into his embrace. He felt Jim sigh and relax against him, comforted and comforting. He found it then, that sense of balance, of being centered, that he had been seeking.

"It really hurt, you know?" Blair broke the silence. He knew Jim, knew he needed to talk about his feelings, but Jim was never comfortable volunteering information about his emotions. "How could the Feds do that?"

"I suppose they think it's a worthwhile trade," Jim responded. "If they can bring down the Perrotti family, they can make a huge dent in criminal activity on a national scale. They have the potential to save a lot of lives. I guess they feel the lives of four nameless, faceless women and children were a reasonable price."

"And you, Jim, how do you feel" Blair asked softly.

"You're right, Chief. It hurts. It's like they're dying all over again." Jim didn't look at Blair as he talked, keeping his gaze out on the city. His voice was rough with emotion. "I failed them before, Blair, when I couldn't get to them in time. I've failed them again, now, because their killers will walk away scot free."

"Oh, Jim. You didn't fail them. None of us did. We fought to bring their killers to justice. We never would have allowed them to get away free. But it wasn't our call, not Simon's, not yours, not mine, nor the others. The failure belongs to the Feds, and whatever analyst that decided capturing some mobster is worth more than four innocent lives. It was his choice, Jim, let him bear the burden of it."

Jim held him tighter. They stood together on the balcony in silence, and watched the night for a time. Jim moved his hand to rest over Blair's heart, loving the feel of his heartbeat, of life.

"Blair," he said suddenly, "make love to me." Blair turned in his arms and looked at him questioningly. "I need you -- in me and around me. You make me feel -- alive."

Jim's words reverberated through Blair. The images they brought to mind, of himself taking Jim, deep and hard, sent desire coursing through his body like liquid fire. "Yes,' he replied, his voice rough with passion. "God, yes."

Blair pulled Jim through the doors into the loft, and straight up the stairs to the bedroom. He turned on a light so he could see, and he quickly stripped. Whether from need or the stress of the day, Jim seemed uncharacteristically clumsy, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with his buttons, so Blair lent his assistance, and soon Jim was standing before him gloriously naked. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, and Jim blushed lightly, his cheeks and ears pinking with pleasure at the frank appreciation in Blair's gaze.

Blair made himself comfortable on the bed, then patted the empty place next to him. "Join me?" he invited with a sexy smile. Jim did, lying down next to him. Blair leaned over Jim and kissed him, softly at first, with little teasing kisses, then longer, deeper, more passionately.

He caressed Jim's chest and tweaked his nipples, ran soft, slow strokes along his ribs, slowly and carefully increasing Jim's arousal. Jim returned the favor, gently carding his fingers through Blair's hair, stroking and caressing down his back, cupping and squeezing Blair's buttocks, bringing him closer.

"Ah, ah, ah," Blair admonished. "None of that, or we'll be finished before we start." Blair's voice was deeper, rough and husky with desire. "I can see that I am going to have to take care of this." Blair leaned across Jim and reached into the drawer of the night stand, not incidentally dragging his pelvis across Jim's, momentarily bringing their hard cocks into contact. He found what he wanted, and slid back alongside Jim, pulling a moan out of him in the process.

Jim opened his eyes. When he saw what Blair was holding, he gasped, and a shiver of anticipation ran from his head to his toes. Blair had retrieved one of their 'accessories', a long, black silk scarf.

Blair was looking at Jim with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He licked his lips, and gave Jim a hungry smile. "Put your hands on the railing," he commanded, and Jim obeyed instantly. Blair slowly trailed one end of the scarf up Jim's body, pausing to tease his lips with it, before moving it and bestowing a lingering kiss. Jim was panting from desire when Blair broke the kiss. He did not resist as Blair carefully wrapped one end of the scarf around his left wrist, then through the railing, and finally, draped it gently across his right wrist. The scarf was not intended as a restraint. It served as a focus, reminding him to keep his hands on the railing. He shifted his grip on the railings for greater comfort, then shivered. The sensation of smooth silk on the skin of his inner wrist was incredibly arousing. Jim settled back as Blair resumed his seduction.

Blair moved so he straddled Jim. He leaned over him and resumed his kissing and caressing, starting with his lips and working his way down. He licked and nibbled his way down Jim's neck. He gave Jim a series of nips at the base of his neck, not stopping until he drew a groan of passion from Jim. He moved lower, to Jim's chest. He tilted his head forward, trailing his hair across Jim's chest. He sucked and nibbled first at one nipple, then the other. He licked the pebbled nub, then blew softly across it, smiling when Jim shuddered in reaction. When he had kissed, sucked and nibbled his fill, he moved back off of Jim and settled between his legs. He took a long look at his lover.

Jim had a white-knuckled grip on the railing. His head was thrown back, and he was breathing hard. His torso glistened with sweat. He had been hard and wanting for a long time, resulting in a small puddle of pre-cum on his abdomen. Blair ran his finger through the puddle, then licked it. He laughed wickedly as Jim arched up, his body desperate for relief.

"I know what you want, lover. Right now, you want me to take you in my hand and squeeze you tight, don't you?" Blair tucked a pillow under Jim's hips. While his hands were busy preparing Jim, he used his voice, soft and intimate, to inflame Jim even more. "You think that would feel sooo good. Or I could taste you, long, slow licks, before I take you all the way into my throat. Wouldn't that be a nice way to make you come?"

Jim was making desperate sounds, half moan, half gasp. He opened his legs wider, wanting Blair closer, wanting, needing -- something. Blair continued stretching Jim, continued his sweet torture.

"But that's not what I'm going to do, Jim. I'm going to make you come so hard you see stars, but I'm not going to touch your cock at all." He laughed that wicked laugh again. "I'm going to ride you, lover. I'm going to take you hard and fast. I'm going to bury myself so deep in you, you won't know where you stop and I begin."

"Blair! Please!"

Blair suited his actions to his words, and pushed his hard, slick cock into Jim with one thrust. He paused for moment, reveling in the sensation of being surrounded by Jim's hot channel, and to give Jim a chance to relax and accommodate him. He thrust into Jim, gently and slowly at first, but soon changing to the hard, fast ride he promised.

Blair knew he would not last long at this pace, so he changed his angle slightly, making sure his thrusts were hitting Jim's prostate. Jim howled with pleasure, and continued to make wordless cries with each thrust. He thrust again and again, harder and faster, until Jim howled again, and he felt the liquid heat of Jim's climax against his belly and the ripple of his internal muscles as they clenched around him. "Jim!" His orgasm ripped through him and he shuddered and shook, and thrust uncontrollably into Jim a few more times before collapsing onto him, spent and breathless.

Jim wrapped his arms around him, and Blair absently noticed he had released the scarf. Then Jim pulled him upwards so he could reach his lips, and Jim kissed him gently, almost reverently.

With Blair draped across him, Jim could easily feel the beating of his heart, his breath as it moved in and out of his body. Blair felt wonderfully, gloriously alive. Jim felt his own heart, beating in concert with Blair's, his own breath mingling with Blair's with each exhalation, and he, too, felt wonderfully alive.

Jim knew he needed to shift Blair. They needed to clean up before they ended up glued together, but he felt so relaxed and contented, lying here basking in the afterglow with Blair. He just wanted to hold him for a few more minutes. He didn't notice as his and Blair's breathing slowed and evened out, and the two of them slipped gently into sleep.

MONDAY

Monday dawned cool and grey. The weather forecaster promised rain, but so far, it remained dry. Normally, ten o'clock on a Monday morning would have found the members of Major Crime either working in the bullpen or out chasing leads, but not today. Today found them at Holy Cross Memorial Park, wearing dress blues or dark suits, standing at a graveside.

They were not alone. Many of their brothers in blue were in attendance, and firefighters in their dress uniforms. Paramedics, Search and Rescue, just about everyone who had been involved in the rescue attempt a week ago was there.

None of them knew LeeAnn Vardell or her children personally. But they had all, in some form or another, made a commitment to LeeAnn and the children, given their time and themselves to the rescue effort. They had failed, but they had tried their best, so they came for closure, to play their respects to the family who had, as the result of the actions of the worst humanity had to offer, revealed the selflessness and caring that were the best humanity had to offer.

The ceremony itself was brief. Ms. Webb, the Director of the EMC Center, gave a short eulogy. The pastor led them all in a prayer, then a skinny young girl with a truly astonishing voice sang 'Amazing Grace'. The people from the center released a couple of dozen brightly colored balloons in honor of the children, and the ceremony was complete.

Before anyone could leave, Ms. Webb addressed the crowd. "On behalf of the Elizabeth Martin Courtland Center, I would like to thank you for your attendance today. I know many of you were involved in the rescue efforts, and there are not words enough to describe our gratitude at your actions.

"I would like to take this opportunity to tell you about the other families you rescued. Mrs. Mendez and her son are recovering nicely, and have relocated to a nice, safe apartment. She and her son send their thanks to the men and women who rescued them, and remember you in their prayers every night.

"Ms. Jackson did not survive the quake, but thanks to you and your efforts, her daughter and son did. While her daughter did receive major injuries, she is expected to recover. She and her brother will be relocating to family out of the area. The family of Ms. Jackson also wished to convey their gratitude to the rescuers.

"Lastly, many of you have made donations to the victims in the building collapse. Under the guidance of the Courtland Foundation, trust funds have been established for the survivors. All non-specific donations have been placed in the Vardell fund, a newly-established fund designed to help homeless families transition into housing. We at the Center thank you for your generosity.

"I was at the site of the building collapse last Monday night. I would like to add my personal thanks to all of you involved in the rescue efforts. The men and women I saw were focused, organized and determined, and despite grave personal danger, worked tirelessly to free the victims. I witnessed the finest men and women of Cascade in action that night. It gives me great comfort to know I share a community with such brave and noble citizens. Once again, thank you." She sat down, and was quickly surrounded by people from the Center.

The ranks of police and firefighters quickly broke up into small groups, save the men and women of Major Crime. They stood together, united in their grief. Since it was a workday, most people could not linger, but an odd thing happened. Before they left, each smaller group stopped to offer condolences to the people of Major Crime, as if they were the bereaved family.

Perhaps some recognized Jim and Blair from the rescue site, and remembered their relentless efforts. Perhaps some had heard of the resulting investigation and its unfortunate resolution.

For Jim and Blair, LeeAnn and her children had, in that one night, become part of their tribe, They had taken their loss very personally. For Simon and the others, since it had been a personal loss for two of their members, it became one of their own, and they had acted accordingly. With honor and dignity, they graciously accepted the offered condolences and thanked people for attending.

Finally, only the men and women of Major Crime were left. But it was a workday, and, at least in Cascade, crime never takes a holiday. They, too, returned to work.

All that remained was the cemetery worker. He moved the suspension frame around the casket, for they had only needed one for the remains. He fastened the drive belts to the handles, making sure the releases were properly engaged. The drive motor wheezed a bit as it lifted the casket slightly. He halted the motor, and drove the whole mechanism over so the casket was suspended over the open grave. He flipped the switch to reverse, and with another wheeze, the motor engaged. As the casket slowly lowered into the ground, it started to rain.

CODA: A FEW WEEKS LATER

Jim grabbed a beer for Blair and one for himself, and sat down next to him on the sofa. Blair finally found the remote, turned the TV on and flipped to the channel the game was scheduled to be on.

The game hadn't started yet, they caught the tail end of the evening news instead. The perky blond newswoman smiled into the camera. "...In other news tonight, the Elizabeth M. Courtland Center announced the beginning of construction on its new transitional housing unit, Jackson House. Jackson House is being built in the site of the previous unit, which tragically collapsed during the recent earthquake, killing four residents. The Center states that the Jackson House is being built to the highest standards, and will pose no danger to future residents.

"In related news, The Courtland Foundation announced their new project today. In conjunction with R & M Homes and Habitat for Humanity, the Foundation has announced the development of Vardell Square, a project of thirty-eight single family homes near the Harbour Pointe Development. Vardell Square is designed to provide the working poor with an opportunity for home ownership. The homes will be built using primarily volunteer labor, in an arrangement that is called 'sweat equity'. Such projects have been built in other parts of the country, but this is the first in Cascade. Now here's Brad Larsen with sports... Brad?"

Jim turned to Blair. "So, what do you think about doing a little volunteer construction?"

"I can do that. Did I ever tell you about the summer I spent hanging drywall with my cousin Gordon? We were in Missouri, and it had to have been the hottest summer in years..."

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Author's E-mail: griffin@squidge.org
Author's Webpage: www.squidge.org/~griffin