"Sandburg, tell me you haven't gotten us lost again." "Jeez, Jim -- one time, four years ago now, and I'll never hear the end of it. No, we're not lost. I told you this place is really remote; that's the point. You know you need a recharge." "So you keep telling me." "All my research says Sentinels are supposed to do this once a year. And that information is based on tribal Sentinels, who don't have the constant assault on the senses that you do in an urban setting. I should probably be dragging you away at least every six months, and instead we haven't really done anything like this since St. Sebastian's." "Can't imagine why -- that was such a great vacation. So relaxing, except for the murder and armed assault part." "You were really getting into it before all that happened, admit it." "Well... the quiet was nice at first, although it didn't have the compensations this trip will have." Jim pulled his gaze away from the potholed road long enough to favor his passenger with a comic leer. Blair grinned in response. "It's a good thing, too. Fucking each other's brains out in a monastery would have been really tacky." "Yeah, those poor guys had all taken a vow of celibacy. It'd be like waving chocolate cake in front of a diabetic." Jim gave an exaggerated smack of his lips and reached over to squeeze his passenger's thigh. Blair laughed but swatted the roving hand. "Hey, cool your jets, big boy -- at least wait until we get checked in, and be grateful we're going someplace with plumbing and not backpacking in true wilderness, like we probably should be. Watch the road; we should be coming to the turnoff pretty soon. It's supposed to be less than a mile after a big fallen tree." "Oh, that's helpful." Jim looked around at the sea of green surrounding them. "There's nothing but trees around here, and a lot of them have fallen. How are we supposed to know which -- holy shit!" As they rounded a curve, Jim slowed the truck and pulled over to the side of the road. The trunk of a massive red cedar lay on either side of the rough pavement, like the wooden walls of a fortress gate. Chainsaw marks were visible, but softened and darkened by time and the plant and animal life that had colonized the still-majestic carcass. "You were saying?" Blair asked, in a voice that sounded more reverent than teasing to Jim's ears. "I guess this is unmistakably the tree. Look at the size of that thing." In unconscious agreement, the two left the truck and walked up to touch the fallen giant. Jim ran his fingers absently over the striations left by the saw. "It must have fallen during a storm and they left it where it fell -- just cut away enough to clear the road." Blair was peering at the rings. "Wow, this one must have been five hundred years old at least. What a shame it had to come down." Jim moved closer, slipping an arm around his partner. "At least it was a natural death... it didn't get chopped down so rich suburbanites could build bigger and better decks." He looked down at Blair, who was still staring enraptured at the record of centuries encoded in the wood. The damp forest air had curled his hair even more than usual, and tiny beads of moisture sat among the strands like miniscule pearls. He looked like some almost-mythic forest creature, an elf in flannel and hiking boots. Overcome by sudden desire -- no, need -- Jim turned the younger man toward him, bending toward the face that rose to meet his like a plant seeking the sun. Their lips met in a deep kiss; long, loving, not demanding. When Jim opened his eyes, Blair's were still blissfully closed. They opened slowly, revealing blue-green depths that reflected the forest around them. "What brought that on? Not that I'm complaining." Jim took his partner's hand and led him back to the truck. "Guess I must be getting into this Sentinel tune-up thing after all. Thought I'd get a head start on revitalizing taste and touch." "Tune-up, huh?" Blair settled himself back in the passenger seat and clicked on his seatbelt. "I guarantee by the time this vacation is over I'll have all your engines purring like a litter of kittens. Jaguar kittens, of course." Jim started the truck and eased back onto the deserted road. "Just make sure you don't forget the lube job." "Here's your keys, Blair, and a map of the grounds. Your cabin is number twelve, the farthest away, right at the edge of the woods. Should be as quiet as you want. Too cool and wet for a lot of customers this time of year, although we have a few other guests." Blair took the keys from the huge flannel-clad and bearded man behind the desk. "So, Ted, do you miss teaching biology? You were one of the high points of my undergrad days, man." "Not as much as I thought I would. Besides, I haven't totally stopped. Business is slow enough in the winter that I can get a lot of writing done. I've published some freelance articles in nature magazines, and I'm working on a textbook in conservation biology." "Hey, that's great! Your lectures were always terrific. Too bad you were an elective. I'd have preferred taking more from you and less from Mitchell. It takes some effort to make primatology boring, but he sure gave it his best shot." Ted's booming laugh fit his size. "Yeah the man had a gift, that's for sure." He handed Jim and Blair more paper -- menus, local attractions, etc. "There's a small kitchen in the cabin if you don't feel like coming to the Lodge for meals, but I've got a great cook, so it's your loss if you don't. Trust me, the food's worth a walk, even in the rain. You need help with your bags or anything?" Jim shook his head. "No thanks, we're fine." He extended his hand. "Nice meeting you, Ted. It's a beautiful place, although I expect you get a lot of surprised tourists expecting jungle decor." "With a name like 'Rainforest Lodge' that's to be expected." Ted stroked his beard. "If they act confused they get a lecture on tropical versus temperate rainforests. Keeps me in practice. Enjoy your vacation, guys." Leaving the truck in the parking area behind the Lodge, the two men strolled along the meandering path through the widely spaced trees, noting the numbers on the doors of the sturdy wood-and-stone cabins tucked among them. Those nearest the main building were fairly close together, but as they got closer to the edge of the forest the more widely spaced they became. "That's number eleven." Blair nodded to a cabin on their left. "Shouldn't be too far." "Seems like we have neighbors." Jim stopped on the path, teasing the air for the scents of habitation. "Looks like all the others to me," Blair remarked. "And there's nothing on the porch." "More residual heat," Jim explained. "The others haven't had a fire going in days, even weeks. This one's had a fire burning much more recently, maybe this morning. I can smell food, toiletries, perfume -- a lot stronger and fresher than in the others." "Well, I hope they don't come over to borrow a cup of sugar. You need solitude." "So do they, probably, or they'd be staying in the Lodge where they can go to dinner without the risk of being rained on. Besides, looks we're not exactly cheek by jowl. That must be us." He pointed to a cabin right up against the edge of the wild forest. "Perfect! Ted said it would be quiet and secluded. There's supposed to be a trailhead just a couple of hundred feet to the right of it. Long walks in those woods should do the trick for your senses." Blair hopped eagerly up the steps of cabin twelve and opened the door. "Or not." Following Blair into the dim interior, Jim took in the large stone fireplace, the heavy curtains, thick rugs scattered around the wooden floor, the comfortable and sturdy Mission-style furniture. Especially the vast and inviting expanse of the king size bed. His partner was already turning back the heavy comforter, sighing in ecstasy. "Flannel sheets. Maybe we won't take quite as many walks as I'd originally planned. Maybe we'll never leave this cabin." "This sure beats St. Sebastian's," Jim commented as he examined the small kitchen alcove, a bathroom with a shower big enough for two in a pinch, and a generously sized closet with plenty of extra blankets. No TV or radio, and way out of cell phone range, but this time he didn't feel the need for any electronic entertainment -- and he sure as hell wouldn't be needing to make any dates this time. All the entertainment he'd ever need was unpacking their extra clothes and underwear, stowing them in the drawers of the dresser. Jim took shaving gear and other items into the bathroom, trying to decide if it would be better to build a fire first, explore his surroundings, or explore his Guide. He glanced at his partner, who was still wearing all his layers while bustling around the cabin. No, too cold here to get him naked, extra blankets notwithstanding. Blair's eyes rose to meet his. "Ready for your recon now?" "You taken up mind-reading, oh Shaman of the Great City?" "Nah, just Ellison-reading. You know you can't relax in a new place until you've cased the joint. I don't know if it's a Sentinel thing, a cop thing, a Ranger thing, or all three. But you'll be twitchy all night if you don't, you know you will." Jim lifted his hand in front of his face and stared at it. "What?" "Just wondered how I could have gotten so transparent and not noticed." Blair smacked Jim on the butt as he expertly hustled his Sentinel out the door. "Observing you is my job, buster. Actually, I wouldn't mind a look around myself. I've always wondered what this place was like. I knew Ted's family owned it but I never managed to get up here before. I was pretty surprised when a great teacher like him gave up a tenured professorship to take over a lodge in the boondocks when his parents died, but I'm beginning to understand." They walked back toward the Lodge, taking the long way round past the cabins they hadn't seen before. To a casual observer they would have looked like any other tourists, but Jim's relaxed stroll was at odds with his alert gaze, taking in everything around him, making a mental map of the grounds. "So this place belonged to his parents?" "And his grandparents before that. Maybe even his great-grandparents. It's rare to find a patch of old-growth forest like this that isn't public land or owned by a logging company. It would be worth a fortune if he wanted to sell, but he never will." "Does he have kids who'll take it over some day?" "Maybe. I mean yes, he's got kids, and maybe they'll want to take it over when the time comes. His son is a Forest Ranger on Yellowstone and his daughter's in med school at UCSF. Ted's only in his early fifties, so it'll be a long time before it comes up." "Is there a Mrs. Ted?" "You remember the restaurant we went to when we celebrated our two-month anniversary, the one near Rainier?" "Same one we went to all the time when the Volvo had the vapors and I used to pick you up a lot? The Green Dragon -- the one that everyone thinks is a Chinese restaurant?" "Well, everyone who hasn't read Tolkien, anyway. What did you think of the food?" Jim wondered idly when Blair was planning to come to the point, but played along. "It was pretty good, but not as good as it used to be. I remember the first time you took me there my stomach thought I'd died and gone to heaven." "It's not as good now because Annie -- the original chef -- moved to a Lodge on the Olympic Peninsula with her husband." "No shit! She's the cook here?" Jim turned a dazzling smile toward his grinning Guide. "When you set out to revitalize a guy's senses you don't fool around." They wandered around, idly exploring the public rooms of the Lodge. Everything exuded casual comfort. The natural fabrics in all the rugs and upholstery were kind to Jim's senses, and the rustic wood and stone construction, mellowed by time, gave the whole place the air of something that had grown up there naturally among the trees, like a sturdy mushroom that came complete with indoor plumbing and electricity. Soon their meandering, and Jim's nose, led them to the dining room. They stood in the doorway, too late for lunch -- which they'd eaten on the road -- and too early for dinner. A tall young man about Blair's age, wearing a Lodge nametag that bore the legend "Topher," spotted them as they lingered. "Can I help you with something? Dinner won't be for another couple of hours, but if you're hungry the cook can fix you something. Are you in the Lodge or one of the cabins?" "Cabin twelve," Blair answered. "We had lunch, but I'll bet it wasn't as good as what you had here." The young man smiled. "Probably not, but there's enough left over to make up a CARE package for both of you. Were you planning to go somewhere before dinner?" "Just explore the trail near our cabin for a bit," Jim replied. "Right, Blair?" "Yeah, I can hardly wait to see that forest close up. Don't go to any trouble for us though, we can --" "It's no trouble, we do this for guests all the time. That way, if you don't feel like coming all the way back here for dinner, you'll have something you can eat in your cabin. Or you can save it for lunch tomorrow. Let me tell the cook, it'll just take a minute." Jim and Blair looked at each other. It was an excellent possibility that they'd have other things to do after their hike, which would no doubt include foreplay in the forest. It wouldn't be the first dinner they'd missed in the last several months because other appetites were being satisfied. "Thanks," Jim replied for both of them. "Guess we'll take you up on it." Less than ten minutes later, a bouncy young blonde who seemed barely old enough for a work permit brought their food. This one's nametag identified her as Sue. She was obviously too young to be the cook, but the mouth-watering odors that clung to her clothes identified her as a cook's helper. She held out a large paper bag. "Here you are, gentlemen, enjoy. Topher had to go bring in more firewood, so he asked me to bring you this. You can bring back the containers any time. We recycle." After dropping off the food in their cabin, they found the trailhead with no trouble and decided a short hike on the four-mile loop trail would be just long enough to whet their appetites for dinner -- or whatever. They'd be back in plenty of time to warm up the cabin before dark. Jim, at Blair's insistence, didn't make any effort to extend his senses as they left the grounds of the Lodge behind. He let them seek their own level, which was less than he was capable of when he concentrated, but still several orders of magnitude above the average person's. It felt good to let them drift this way, not having to dial them down to survive the urban cacophony, then suddenly jack them up on purpose. He hadn't realized until now what a strain it was doing that day after day. Blair was right; they should do this sort of thing more often. Blair was usually right about anything Sentinel-related, not that the Sentinel in question admitted it out loud very often. Amazing, really, when you realized the guy was pretty much making it up as he went along... writing the twenty-first century Sentinel maintenance manual all by himself. Jim watched his partner as he gazed up into the soaring trees, his face suffused with pleasure and wonder. After all he'd been through -- or been dragged through at the side of his Sentinel -- all the shit he'd put up with, all the horrors he'd seen, that look was still there. It had gone away more than once, most recently after Blair had been forced to shoot Richard Ervin. But so far it had always come back. Sometimes, in those dark-night-of-the-soul moments, Jim brooded about what it would take to erase that look for good. He prayed he'd never have to find out. Jim cocked his head. "Did you hear that?" Blair gave him the patented Long-Suffering Guide Look. "Hey, it's hard for me to tell sometimes how close something is. Sounded like someone else is walking around." "Well, we are on a hiking trail. Those other guests have to be somewhere." "Smart-ass." Blair turned around to look at his own rear. "Smart, cute as hell, and a total Sentinel-magnet." Jim made like iron filings and glommed onto his partner. "I suggest we pick up the pace of this hike so we get back to the cabin faster... unless you want to spend the evening picking spruce splinters and pine needles out of the ass in question." "No thanks, caveman. I'll take flannel sheets over tree needles any day." After some kissing and groping and a lot of laughing, they set out on the return half of the loop at a much faster walk. The edges of the trail were sometimes hard to determine after the ravages of winter storms, but the ground was flat and clear enough that it didn't really matter. Jim felt comfortable letting Blair take the lead, which had the added bonus of giving him a constant view of the Sentinel-magnet in motion. He'd left his gun locked in the cabin, at Blair's insistence, so the only scents and sounds that reached him were natural, organic -- sap rising through the tree trunks, leaves and needles slowly turning to humus on the forest floor, scent-marks of deer and raccoons and other animals willing to live this close to people. The sound of water was everywhere. It dripped from leaves... brooks swollen with spring rains bubbled in the distance -- a sound subtly different from the rush of underground springs that he could both hear and feel beneath his feet. They were less than a mile from their cabin when a discordant note entered the mix. It brought no sense of danger with it, at first. It just didn't fit. It was like an itch you couldn't scratch, a persistent irritation that wouldn't go away. There was something here that shouldn't be, that stood out from the soothing natural background... something that belonged to the world of "civilization," of made things, not natural phenomena. It was odd enough that Jim began to consciously extend his senses, despite his Guide's plan. He ratcheted up smell to see if he could identify the elusive wrongness, and sight to look for its source. When realization hit, several things happened at once. Sentinel brain identified the scent first as metal, then steel. Almost at the same time, Sentinel eyes caught a hard glint among the soft debris of the forest floor. Hidden from anyone else's eyes by fallen leaves, the object was directly in Blair's path. It wasn't enhanced Sentinel senses, but that "sixth sense" that had more than once saved the life of Ranger or cop that caused Jim to cry out. "Blair! Stop!" Blair stumbled a bit as he skidded to a dead stop from a brisk walk, but stop he did, inches from whatever was hidden under the leaves. "Jim -- what's wrong?" "Just don't move." Jim left the trail to search under the trees for a thick branch. Approaching the object slowly, he focused on smell. The scents of metal and oil were strong, but there was nothing else -- no chemical odor, no explosives. Gently, one layer at a time, he brushed the leaves away. "Son of a bitch!" Blair suddenly burst out. "What asshole left that here? This is private land, and that abomination sure as hell doesn't belong to Ted." "A leghold trap. These things are as illegal as hell now even if this land weren't posted. Stand back, I'm going to spring it." Jim thrust the branch between the jaws of the trap. They closed on it with an ugly clang, snapping the wood in two. "Goddamit," Blair swore. "That could have been my ankle. Leaving something like that around will fuck up your karma all by itself, but to put it on a trail -- somebody is either unbelievably stupid or criminally careless." Jim bent on one knee to examine the ground around the trap. "Neither, Chief. Look at this." As Blair sank down beside him, he moved more leaves aside with his hands, revealing a depression in the dirt below. "Somebody put this here deliberately, and took some pains to hide it. This hole was dug so it wouldn't stick up beyond the level of the path. The dirt at the edges of the hole is a different color. It hasn't oxidized, or dried -- not that it could do that very fast in this weather -- but it doesn't look like it was dug that long ago. Besides, the leaves around it weren't packed down that much." "And with it sitting right in the middle of the trail like that, it wouldn't be long before some poor schmuck sprang the thing. But who would do something like that, and why?" "I don't know, but we're going back right now to have a chat with your friend Ted." Jim pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the trap. "Anybody who handled this thing probably had the sense to wear gloves, but just in case... we'll see if the local Sheriff can pull up any prints." "Shit," Ted Morris swore softly as he stared at the ugly object Jim Ellison had just unwrapped on the desk of his small office. "You found this right in the middle of the trail?" Jim nodded. "Anything you'd like to share with us, Mr. Morris? Anything that would shed a little light on this?" The Lodge owner sat abruptly in his chair, his eyes never leaving the trap. He seemed about to speak, then slumped down in the chair, rubbing one beefy hand over the lower part of his face. Blair put both hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Ted, you know these things are so horrible that an animal will gnaw its own foot off to escape. It would be a disgusting thing to put out there even if it weren't left smack in the middle of a trail. If not for Jim, I'd be in a cast right now. Suppose it had been someone hiking alone, late in the day? They could be out there all night, exposed to hypothermia, predators --" Ted stood up abruptly and began pacing, as much as someone his size could in a small room with two other men. "Look, I've had some trouble in the past with vandalism, petty mischief..." "How do you define 'petty'? " Jim asked sharply. "When I first took over the place, there were some broken windows, graffiti, air let out of the guests' tires, that sort of thing. Letters that suggested that if I knew what was good for me I'd forget about reviving the place." "Reviving?" Blair asked. "What did they mean by that?" "Before my folks died, they let the Lodge slide a bit, and business was off. When I inherited, many people assumed I'd just sell it. I had some pretty impressive offers from resort chains, logging companies, even some weird religious cult that wanted to use this place as their headquarters. Some of those people had trouble taking 'no' for an answer." Jim and Blair looked at each other, then Jim voiced what he was sure was their mutual conclusion. "So you think somebody was trying to intimidate you into selling?" "Nothing else made sense. I was a teacher, for God's sake. What kind of enemies could a biology professor make?" Jim stepped closer to his partner and lightly touched the suddenly tense muscles in the younger man's back. "You'd be surprised." Catching the undertone of anger in Jim's voice, Ted stopped pacing and looked at the deceptively quiet man with the cop mask now firmly in place. The body language between his two guests didn't escape him, and understanding dawned. "Sorry, Blair -- I heard what you went through with Ventriss. But nothing like that ever happened to me. Besides, any student who wanted to get back at me could have done it in Cascade a lot more conveniently. Why come to the back of beyond? This stuff went on for months, but it stopped over three years ago." "Any idea why?" "I made it known in no uncertain terms that if I went bust, or if anything happened to me, I'd only sell the land to the Nature Conservancy, for whatever they could pay. I talked it over with Annie and the kids, and put it in my will." "Three years is a long time, Jim," Blair offered. "Besides, this seems a few steps beyond letting air out of tires." "Maybe. What about your employees and guests, Mr. Morris?" "I hire a lot of temporary help in the summer, but at this time of year everybody who works here is either a relative or somebody I've known for years. Except for you, everyone else who's staying here has been here before, several times. I can't imagine why they'd suddenly take it in their heads to do something like this. Besides, most people are staying in the Lodge proper, and have been here at least two days. I think the staff would have noticed by now if one of them had a leghold trap in their luggage." "How many are in the cabins?" "Besides you and Blair, just a college teacher on sabbatical in number five, and two women in number eleven. And forgive me, Detective, if strewing steel traps around sounds like more of a guy thing." "You obviously haven't met the women I have," Jim replied, deadpan. "Consider yourself lucky," Blair added. Resisting the urge to give his partner a smack on the butt, Jim pointed to the trap. "I'd still like to take that to the local Sheriff and have it checked for fingerprints." "Can we do it tomorrow? I have a secure storage area that only my wife and I have keys to. After thirty years together, I think I can trust my wife." "What if this guy decides to plant another one tomorrow? One of your guests could get hurt." "There's a storm heading for Oregon and Northern California tonight. We're only supposed to get the edge of it, but that's enough to bring a lot more rain. I don't imagine there'll be much hiking going on. As soon as breakfast is over tomorrow I'll take you to the Sheriff. If this turns out to be a single bizarre incident, I don't want the guests alarmed for nothing. That's most likely what it is, anyway. Unfortunately, Detective, Cascade hasn't cornered the market on crazies." Jim nodded slowly, reluctantly. He might have pressed the point, but he doubted there were fingerprints anyway. There were none his senses could detect, and whatever equipment a backwoods Sheriff would have could probably do no better. Besides, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Blair right now, reassuring himself that his Guide was well and whole, reconnecting with the body and soul that were so precious to him. He turned to look at Blair. "Ready to go back, Chief? We need to light that fire." Blair's lips twitched. The double meaning in the question clearly wasn't lost on him. "More than ready." Ted opened the office door and ushered the two out before him. "Dinner's going to be served in fifteen minutes -- don't you want to stay for that?" Blair turned back to his old teacher. "That's really tempting, given Annie's cooking, but it's been a long day for us. Long drive, hiking... I think we need to get that fire going and just crash in our cabin for tonight. We're too whacked to be very good company. See you at breakfast, though." "OK. Have a good night's rest -- you can't miss out here." When Jim woke he first thought it must be near dawn, and the clatter of early-rising Lodge workers had disturbed his rest. He was startled when the small travel clock told him it was just past midnight. Admittedly, he and Blair had gone to sleep earlier than usual, tired out by their day of travel, good food from their CARE package, and better sex. His partner was still deeply asleep in his arms, spooned up against his larger lover's chest, sated and relaxed. So whatever had awakened Jim was probably something that would only disturb Sentinel hearing. However, he didn't feel the tense alertness or the surge of adrenaline that signaled danger. After years in the Army and the PD he didn't even have to be one hundred per cent awake to sense a threat. Maybe it had been the cry of an animal, either a nocturnal predator or its victim. He jerked in surprise as his ears were assaulted by just such a cry. For a split-second he thought it really was some animal in the act of either killing or dying, but something below the level of consciousness told him it was a human sound. Seconds later he squirmed with the realization that it was not unlike the sounds that he and Blair had been making a couple of hours ago, but higher pitched. It was a woman's voice -- a very satisfied and happy woman who didn't care if the world knew it. Normally the world wouldn't have been able to hear it, even that small portion of the world in the next cabin. To a Sentinel, though, the neighbors might just as well be doing it on the porch of number twelve. "Jeez, Jim, is the country air making you especially horny or what?" Jim gave a guilty start. "Whaa -- what?" Blair turned around to face his suddenly inarticulate Sentinel. "Isn't that what all this squirming and twitching is about?" "No. The sounds next door woke me up." "Next door? Oh, you mean the next cabin? I don't hear a thing... yeah, big surprise. What are they doing, having a party?" "A party of two." He winced. "God, there goes the other one. Just my luck they're both screamers. At least they'll shut up now." "Uh, Jim... two women, multi-orgasmic capacity, no refractory period to speak of. I wouldn't count on it." Jim groaned as his ears were assaulted again. "Oh, hell, I think you're right." "Dial it down, love. It's OK." "I don't want to do that. The whole point of coming out here was to avoid having to do that. Revitalizing my senses, right?" "Rest and revitalize. I don't want to take you back to Cascade a sleep-deprived zombie. There's only one thing to do." "What, sleep during the day? Can't do that, we need to see the Sheriff tomorrow, check -- whoa! Oh, God, do that again..." Blair's hands were doing beautifully obscene things under the covers, and his mouth was laying a hot, wet trail from the side of Jim's neck to his chest. "We can take naps (smack) tomorrow if it rains... (slurp) but right now... mmmm... right now you need to be distracted. If your senses are wide open, let them have something closer to home to focus on. Something (smack) to distract you... (slurp)... relax you." Jim found himself quickly rising to the occasion, as the sounds from the next cabin were drowned out by the moans and grunts coming out of his own mouth. Oh, yeah. Let the Guide guide. "Hey, guys, I was afraid you were going to miss breakfast too. Everything all right?" "Fine, Ted," Blair answered quickly. "Just didn't sleep as well as we expected to." "Not used to those jungle sounds," Jim added, intercepting a glare from his partner as they turned toward the dining room. "Behave yourself," Blair whispered. Most of the other people in the dining room were just finishing their meal, or lingering over coffee. The promised rain had begun before dawn, and no one seemed in any hurry to leave the Lodge and its comforts. Blair was happy to snag a table near the fireplace, and the ubiquitous Sue served them coffee as soon as they sat down. They were drooling over the menu, trying to make some hard choices, when a plump, matronly woman approached their table. "Annie Morris!" Blair jumped up to shake her hand, and Jim followed suit more sedately. "It's great to see you again. Have a seat. You remember Jim, don't you?" "The man who was so fond of my stuffed mushrooms? How could I forget?" Jim smiled. "If I'd known you were the cook, we would have been up here much sooner. You made the best stuffed mushrooms in Cascade." "Maybe I can manage to make some before you leave. We always have plenty of things that aren't on the menu, when I get inspired or find some particularly good ingredients." She turned to Blair. "I can even make you an algae shake if you want." "You're kidding! I was afraid I'd have to go without while we were on vacation. Jim absolutely refused to let me pack a blender. I can't believe there's much of a demand for those. I mean, a restaurant in a University district is one thing, but up here -- isn't health food against the law or something?" Annie chuckled. "Some of the macho mountain man types think so, but there are a lot of counterculture refugees up here too, and artists, and retired professors. Other than my dear husband, that is. Besides, Topher and Luis and Brooke like that sort of thing too." "We met Topher and Sue yesterday. Are the others staff here too?" Jim asked with deceptive casualness. "Yes. We've got quite an eclectic mix, and we're pretty informal. Everybody does whatever needs to be done." "Is it hard to attract enough staff to a place this remote? Where do you find your people?" Jim continued, ignoring the nudge of Blair's foot against his. "My husband has a tendency to take in strays," Annie said fondly. "People often come up here to escape something painful somewhere else, and Ted is really good at giving them a place to heal." "What do you mean?" Blair asked, intrigued. "Well, I won't name names. That's for them to share, not me. But we have someone who was a student of Ted's, started flunking out because -- as it turned out -- her boyfriend was abusing her. She dropped out of school and she came with us when we took the place over. A local boy who had gone away to college and a job in the city came back when the girl he was going to marry died. We've got a cancer survivor, and a woman whose husband and child were killed by a drunk driver. As well as the usual collection of people who are big-time nature lovers or just don't like 'civilization' all that much." "I can sympathize," Jim replied. "I'm not too thrilled with it myself sometimes." "With your job, I'm not surprised." Annie rose from her chair. "So, I'd better get moving and feed you breakfast. Blair, can I talk you into something besides an algae shake?" "How about those great whole grain apple pancakes of yours?" "Done. Jim?" "The spinach and sour cream omelet sounds great, with sausage." Another poke to his shin. "And whole grain toast," he added piously. Jim studiously avoided his partner's exasperated glare as his own eyes swept the room, observing the other guests. Two men and a woman in their forties were talking and gesticulating animatedly at a table, stepping on each other's sentences. They reminded him of Blair on a roll, and only a few seconds of listening to their conversation confirmed that they were indeed academics... botanists, apparently. Well, they had plenty of plant life to study around here. He was distracted again by a boot-clad foot. "Chief, if you're playing footsie, your technique needs work." "Very funny. Hysterical. May I remind you that we're supposed to be on vacation? Interrogations have no place on vacation. Nor does surveillance." "Hey, I was just being polite. Making conversation." "I hope Annie thinks so. And eavesdropping on your fellow diners' conversations is not generally considered all that polite in most circles." "Look, Chief, I'm not happy about that trap. A person who would do that is a potentially serious wacko. I'm trying to get an idea of just who we're sharing this place with. One of them could be responsible, or they could be potential victims." "OK, you've got a point. Just don't overdo it." Blair's gaze swept the room. "So who have we got?" "Bunch of scientist types at the next table... newlywed nature lovers over there in the corner... bet they won't mind staying in their room today." Blair grinned at his partner. "I know the feeling. What about that old woman sitting by herself?" Jim focused both hearing and sight in that direction as the woman signed her bill and chatted animatedly with Sue. "Artist of some kind... photographer, I think." Jim's surreptitious examination of his fellow guests was interrupted by the arrival of their food, which turned out to be every bit as good as anticipated. Conversation ceased except for culinary superlatives as both men gave the meal the concentration it deserved. They were at the stage of reminding each other that licking one's plate in public was simply Not Done, when Jim suddenly held up a hand for silence. Had he been a dog, his ears would have perked up and pointed toward the doorway. Blair twisted in his chair to look in the same direction. Two women were entering, just barely in time to get breakfast. They were so bundled up in rain gear, including hats, that their faces were obscured. Laughing and dripping on the carpet, they were apparently apologizing to Sue for their late arrival. Blair turned back to Jim, startled at the look of astonishment on his face. "What?" "I don't believe it. We haven't seen her for months in Cascade, and here we are practically in the wilderness..." The women were heading in their direction, weaving through the tables, talking animatedly with each other, opening their coats and pulling off their dripping hats. Jim half-rose from his seat. "Micki?" The women stopped dead, startled. The look of astonishment on Micki Kamerev's face was priceless. "Jim! And Blair... what a... what a nice surprise. I hope you are not here on a case?" "Surely this is much beyond the jurisdiction of the Cascade Police," the other woman commented. "Inspector Major Vaslova." Jim nodded at her. "You're a long way from Moscow." "My superiors were very impressed with my work on the Gordievsky case," she replied. "I have been sent back to your country many times since, but to my regret, I have not had the time to -- how do you say -- look you up." "I didn't realize you and Micki had become such friends. You didn't exactly start out that way." "Katrina was right," Micki added softly. "We both want the same thing. We have written and talked much to each other in the last three years. We have become very good friends." "So you're not on a case right now, Inspector?" "No, Detective Ellison, even those of us in the Moscow Metro Militia are allowed vacation once in a while. Micki is showing me something of your country." "Since we're all on vacation," Blair broke in, "could you two settle for 'Jim' and 'Katrina?' Otherwise conversation is going to take way too long. Looks like the rain's getting heavier. Are you two staying far from here?" "Oh we are staying at the Lodge," Micki said, "but not in the main buildings." "We like to be near the woods," Katrina added. "It reminds me of staying in a small dacha in the forests of Russia." "Yes," Micki agreed. "We are in what you call a 'cabin.' Cabin eleven."