Rating: NC-17

Author's Note: This is my story from the third Sentinel Slash Virtual Season. I've re-written bits to make it a stand-alone story, but the plot is still the same.

Blair knew that tone of voice and the look that accompanied it. It was the classic, 'I can't believe the things that come out of your mouth, but I'll humor you' look. He also knew that with some wheedling, some gentle persuading, he could get Jim to see things his way.

They were straightening the sheets on the bed after changing them. Blair smiled as he thought of how often they had to do this particular chore recently -- and why. Truth be told, it really didn't need both men to do the job, but Blair wanted Jim's undivided attention, so he was helping. He said he was helping -- Jim didn't appear convinced. Maybe he knew Blair well enough now to recognize a ploy when he saw one.

"Yes, Jim. A toga party," Blair said, trying not to sound as though he was explaining something to a five year old. "Malcolm is a thirties' nut. He is obsessed with just about anything and everything to do with that period in history. When he read about the parties they used to have on his little island in the Sound, he thought it would be a cool idea to hold a Roman themed party lasting a whole weekend. We get to dress as Romans, eat as them, the whole shebang.... We just have to hire a couple of costumes. And no," he glared at Jim, anticipating his lover's next words, "an old sheet wrapped around each of us won't do. Malc doesn't have a bathhouse as such but he does have a sauna and says the Sound could be our frigidarium. Come on, it'd be fun." He grinned. "You remember 'fun' don't you, Jim? They did have 'fun' when you were younger."

He moved quickly aside as Jim threw a pillow at him. Blair decided to risk a little more. "They must have had toga parties when you were in college. That was the formal dress in Ancient Rome, wasn't it?" This time he didn't move quickly enough as Jim launched himself at Blair with a growl, grabbed hold and wrestled him onto his back on the bed, submitting him to torture by tickling.

"Come on, Jim." Blair gasped out. He tried, honestly, to escape the man saddling his legs. Okay, so Jim had this feral look in his eyes that turned Blair on, and he did have these amazing hands, and yes, he did know all Blair's sweet spots.... "The Ancient Rome thing was just a joke, man. Jim?" The tickling rapidly changed to caressing, pinching and then Jim's mouth joined the action....

"Oh... my... god. When you do that...."

Much later the pair of them were lying, sated, on the still unmade and now thoroughly messed-up, bed. Jim was lazily drawing vague patterns on Blair's left shoulder with his fingertips as Blair's head lay on Jim's chest, both were sticky but too contented to move in order to do anything about it. Blair watched as his breath hardened Jim's nipples, tightening the skin, obviously sending messages to Jim's flaccid, but twitching, cock.

"A toga party." Jim's voice was soft and dreamy, as though he was musing over the idea.

"Huh?" Confused, Blair looked up at Jim's face.

"So, would I get the chance to ogle your hairy legs in public?"

Blair ducked his head down and tried to stop the smile that threatened to break out, knowing full well that Jim would feel it against his body. "You see my legs whenever I wear cut offs and Malc said we wouldn't have to wear togas all the while." He switched into teacher mode unconsciously as his hands began to stroke over Jim's chest. "Technically speaking, the Romans didn't adopt breeches until towards the end of their empire when they were found to be more practical whenever they fought the Germanic tribes..." He suddenly realized he ran the risk of talking the subject to death as Jim's creative fingers slowed down.

"To cut a long story short, yes, you would get to see my legs. And I'd get to ogle yours." He rose up a little so he could see Jim's face again. "But please, Jim, no white socks."

"I thought you like my white socks." Jim mock pouted.

"I didn't say that I didn't, but not with togas. They'd look so...." He searched for the right word. "Naff."

"Naff?"

"Naff. As in 'not cool'. As in 'nerdish', as in..."

"I get the picture, Sandburg." Jim paused. "We still need to clear the time off with Simon."

"I've... erm... I've already spoken to him." Blair sat up quickly to forestall any objections. "Jim, you need this, we need this. It'll be a break from police work, from studying, away from Cascade with all its psychos. It'll give us a chance to recharge. It's only a weekend..."

It had taken them a long while to get back to where they were before the nightmare over his dissertation. With the backing of William and Stephen Ellison -- and their financial clout, Blair had gotten Sid to settle out of court and his bank balance now looked very healthy, thank you very much! With their support, Rainier had also backed down over Blair's dismissal. He still was 'persona non grata' over at the university, but if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to go back there. The whole experience had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He just wasn't at all sure he could be a cop. He wanted to be Jim's partner more than anything, but as a cop....

At least Simon and Jim had worked out a believable story about his TV interview. They announced that Blair was under considerable pressure because of Klaus Zeller's killing frenzy and that Blair was trying to distract the press away from Jim, thereby allowing the detective to do his job. The story he produced was, just that, a story, meant for his own amusement, not meant as a true scientific document and certainly not his final dissertation. The family member who sent the document to Sid Graham got the wrong end of the stick and Sid ran with it, without Blair's permission. James Ellison had really good vision and hearing, but he was by no means that exceptional. Many people had one or two enhanced senses....

There were still plenty of holes in the story, but it was good enough to kill most of the speculation and the number of phone calls had dropped right down. It also meant that Blair could attend the Police Academy with no trouble -- well, almost no trouble. Some of the instructors weren't happy at the way Blair was fast-tracked, nor how he questioned some of their entrenched edicts. Some seemed to harbor doubts about his integrity. There was one who suggested Blair used his ass to work his way into Major Crime -- though what that said about Simon and the others.... Blair's fellow students envied how he managed to absorb information, but they were, on the whole, okay. Maybe he sported one or two more vivid bruises after the unarmed combat, but he'd long ago learned how to duck and dive better than most.

The one good thing that came out of the whole mess was that it allowed Blair and Jim to come clean about some other things, like how they felt about each other.

Their first time together had begun tentatively, hesitantly. They were both scared, scared that the other would change his mind, scared that he wouldn't, scared of being hurt... all of which led to a slow build up, but that soon changed as need and lust took over and it developed into a frenzied coupling, both of them rushing to the finishing post.

Since then they had worked at discovering each other's bodies, each other's responses. Blair had discovered that Jim couldn't stand too much attention paid to certain parts of his body for too long without the pleasure going into pain, but that he was an unselfish lover. In fact he got as much pleasure from driving Blair crazy with ecstasy as when Blair used every skill he'd ever learnt to return the favor.

Yes, the sex was incredible and Blair hoped that he never lived long enough for it to become tarnished. But what did surprise him was how wonderful it was just to relax and be with one another, holding one another, snuggling together on a wet afternoon. Sappy, yes, but he wouldn't change things for the world.

Still, a weekend away, unfamiliar surroundings, doing something completely different, no dead bodies, no tutors or students with their own agendas and no paperwork, could be just what the shaman ordered!

They packed their bags the Friday night so early the following Saturday morning, fortified with coffee and pastries, they'd reached the quay with time to spare. It was a beautiful morning, sunny and crisp. The boats and launches bobbed up and down like so many white ducks on the water. Here and there, there was movement, someone mopping the deck of his boat, a couple enjoying coffee on theirs. It was a tranquil scene and Blair was filled with a sense of holiday anticipation.

They and their luggage were picked up by a hired launch on time and taken out to the island. With nothing to do for a while, Jim's mind started to wander. "So, tell me more about this Malcolm Haynes."

Blair turned from where he'd been admiring the view over the water and sat down beside his partner on the sun-bleached wooden bench. "He was studying military history, in particular the Roman Punic wars, at Rainier while I was there. I don't know why, but we hit it off. Anyway, Malcolm's advisor felt that he should narrow his field of study even more, then the funding was lost in the college cutbacks, and he was forced to apply for a transfer to another university. For a while, we kept in touch, then it trickled off."

"Around the same time as the press conference?" Jim hated that Blair had lost so many of his 'friends' at that time, even if he felt that they couldn't be called true friends.

Blair looked down at his clasped hands. "Yeah, about then. Anyhow, he's just gotten in touch again saying that he was sorry he'd had to drop out of sight while he was nursing his sick grandmother and would I like to visit and catch up. She left him the money to rebuild the house on the island. He's not a bad guy, just very focused."

Jim's first impression of Malcolm Haynes was of a tall and lanky individual who was a step out of time. He had an unruly mop of blond hair that was short at the back but fell over his thick-rimmed spectacled-clad eyes. He wore a brown sports jacket over the most brightly colored vest Jim had ever seen -- away from a certain neo-hippy-witchdoctor's body -- and a pair of sober narrow-legged black trousers. On his feet, he wore a pair of spats. He came up to meet them as their boat docked.

"Blair! Hi, man, how you doing?" He shook Blair's hand warmly.

"Fine, Malc. Thanks for inviting me." Blair turned towards Jim. "This is my partner, Jim Ellison. I told you about him."

"Right. So you're Jim." Malcolm looked over the top of his glasses at Jim. "When Blair asked if he could bring a guest, I wasn't too sure -- these Roman parties usually had just nine participants, but then I thought, hey, what the hell's one more! Right? I mean, we don't really have the climate for Roman costume, and it's not like togas were worn all the time anyway, so what the heck, we're just dressing for dinner! And we aren't as superstitious as the Romans, right?" He picked up their bags and started to walk up the jetty without waiting for a reply, his two guests following behind.

Jim leaned over to whisper into Blair's ear, "Nine participants?"

"Shhh. I told you, Malcolm always was a history fanatic."

"So, Blair, how's things? Did you ever hear any more from Maya?" Malcolm's voice floated back over his shoulder as he walked ahead.

Blair stiffened. "No, Malc, not since she was deported."

"You knew Maya Carasco?" Jim asked, well aware of how tense Blair still got over that particular episode of his life and feeling defensive on his lover's behalf.

"We went out for a while, nothing serious, until the 'Blair-meister' moved in on her."

"It wasn't like that, Malc," Blair replied, uncomfortably.

Malcolm nodded distractedly. "No. Anyway, it was a long time ago."

"Yeah," said Blair quietly, "A lifetime ago."

They stepped out of the screen of trees that blocked the view of the house and onto the small level hilltop.

"Wow!" exclaimed Blair.

Malcolm turned and smiled proudly. "It is quite something, isn't it?"

"I'll say!"

The house looked as if it'd been transported straight from the cover of a 1930's 'Ideal Homes' magazine. It was all curves, gleaming glass and chrome, with a flat roof and pale concrete walls. One wing was encased in large planes of glass through which Blair could just see a fine balustraded staircase that served the three floors, and a large ornate candelabra that hung over the stairs.

"My maternal grandmother left me enough money to be able to totally restore the house to its former glory. There's still some work to be finished on the rooftop and chimney stack. That's why there's scaffolding up there, but I gave the workers the weekend off. Come on, the interior is just as impressive."

As their host had said, the inside of the building was impressive but, as Jim stood looking across the well manicured lawn at the back of the house, he felt uneasy. Their bedroom was warm and cozy looking, the windows let in plenty of light, so why did he feel cold and why did there appear to be so many shadows? He shook himself mentally. You're getting old, Jim, seeing shadows and such when there's nothing there! "What's Malcolm's connection with Maya Carasco?" he asked, turning away from the window.

Blair was emptying their suitcases onto the large bed and laying out their costumes for later. "Malcolm went out with Maya a couple of times."

"So she dumped him when I asked you to..."

Blair stopped what he was doing and sat down, giving Jim his full attention. "Not exactly. It gave her a reason not to go out with him. She told me that she'd only gone out with him because he'd offered to teach her to swim. She told Malc that she liked him, but only as a friend."

Jim grimaced. "Ouch! I had a few girls tell me that in my youth."

Blair smiled. "Yeah, it's the kiss of death."

"He never married?"

"No. I guess, unlike me, he wasn't lucky enough to find the right person." Blair stood and crossed the room, stalking his lover. One hand went around Jim's waist; the other to the back of Jim's neck, pulling his head down so Blair could kiss his lips.

Jim wasn't sure what to make of this Malcolm. He didn't like him on principle -- for Blair's sake, but also for Blair's sake, he'd try and get along with the man. It was only for this one weekend after all. He gave up all thought as Blair's lips started to work their magic on his body.

They met the rest of the guests just before lunch. Given Malcolm's academic background, Jim had the idea that the guests would be from academia, and he was surprised at the eclectic mix.

Only one man came from that world, Roger Milliton, apparently a respected and dapper middle-aged college professor -- and letch, according to another guest, Ms. Caldercot, who immediately latched onto Jim. She explained quietly to him that the professor had been involved in some sort of a scandal involving a student of his. She wasn't sure of the details, but would "just love to discover the dirt behind the tale. Just don't let him anywhere near your cute boyfriend," she warned Jim.

Marie Caldercot herself was a well-known author and socialite. She'd married Mr. Haynes senior, now departed, despite the large age difference and was a wealthy widow. In her forties, she had spiky red hair, tinted glasses, and a richly embroidered caftan that covered her stocky figure. Jim quickly discovered she had a loud and overbearing personality that made her seem much more imposing than she looked. She insisted on taking Jim's arm and introducing him to the rest of the guests, playing hostess to the party.

In contrast, her assistant was tall, slim, didn't wear any jewelry, and had her mousy brown hair simply bobbed. Jocelyn Vogul was demure and, Jim felt, under the thumb of Ms. Caldercot. She slipped away to "give Malc a hand with the food."

The other guests were two very different couples; George and Joan Dongall, a pair of gray-haired septuagenarians -- "Seventy going on seventeen," Joan said, her cheeks dimpling prettily as she smiled at her husband, obviously still in love -- and Harold and Martha Paiste, a couple of power-dressers, who seemed to express their regard for one another by barely saying a word to each other -- or to the other guests.

George had been a neurosurgeon up until recently when his eyesight began to fail, Marie explained. He'd treated Malcolm's grandma, but the "poor old dear passed away on the operating table. George tried his best, bless him, but these things happen, especially to the elderly and frail. Harold," she continued, "is Malcolm's solicitor and Martha, his PA as well as his wife. No one gets anywhere near Harold without Martha's say-so, especially if they're young, pretty and female. She may have the temper of a shrew around him, but woe betide anyone else thinking they might have a chance with her husband!" Marie had leaned in close as she spoke, but her words carried around the room.

Jim was only half listening. He was focused on the professor. Milliton was standing, nursing a drink, beside Harold Paiste. Harold, for his part, was talking about some case he had to tackle involving an accusation of plagiarism, but Jim could tell that Milliton wasn't listening. He was turned slightly away from the lawyer, his face towards where Blair was chatting away to Joan Dongall, making her laugh at something he said. Blair must have felt both sets of eyes on him because he turned to look over his shoulder. He frowned when he noticed Milliton's eyes on him, and then blessed Jim with a full-on smile that had Jim grinning in return, his heart missing a beat out of pure joy. You've got it sooo bad, Ellison, he thought.

Jocelyn, pushing in a rattling trolley stacked with silver dishes, interrupted his thoughts.

Malcolm followed, smiling. "Food! Please, everyone, help yourselves and take a seat. Later we can get the chaise longues out and lounge the traditional Roman way for dinner."

Placed on the table beside each setting, were menu sheets. As they sat to eat, Malcolm began to describe Saturday's main evening meal and entertainment. "Normally, in Ancient Rome, the bill of fare could consist of lettuce and tender shoots cut from leek plants, and then a pickled young tuna, garnished with eggs and rue leaves. There would be more eggs, cooked over a low flame, and cheese and olives. That's just the appetizers. Fish, oysters, sow's udder, stuffed wild fowl and barnyard hens were part of the main meal. We could have had the stuffed baked dormice with minced pork or whole minced dormice that would have been pounded with pepper, pine-kernels, asafetida and liquamen."

As he no doubt expected, his guests' faces took on a mixtures of expressions, from Marie's look of disgust to Blair's grin and exclamation of "Yum!"

"What's 'liquamen'?" asked Joan.

Malcolm unfolded his napkin and placed it over his lap. "Ah yes, I've had to be creative there. It's a type of sauce or oil, but I've been unable to get the ingredients right."

"So you've prepared it all yourself?" Jim had checked the soup before tucking into it. It looked, and smelled, incongruous enough.

"Don't worry, detective. It's just carrot soup. It was the nearest thing I could come up with to the Roman 'sphondyli', which apparently was a type of wild carrot. I prepared some of it myself, but Marie offered Jocelyn's services for the rest. She has been a godsend. I couldn't have achieved half of the meal were it not for her."

Jocelyn blushed and smiled.

"Why, thank you, darling." Marie smiled; patently choosing to believe the compliment was for her, not her assistant.

"For tonight's main course," Malcolm continued, ignoring the interruption, "I thought we would have the stuffed fowl, goose in this case, rather than the whole menu, and for desserts, some fruit; nuts, figs, dates, plums, apples and purple grapes with wine for those who wish to partake. All would have been on a Roman's menu. For this evening's entertainment, I've laid on some games we can play, and some films, different views Hollywood has of the Roman Empire and of the gladiatorial games. There's also the sauna and the heated outdoor swimming pool for the more athletic amongst us." He looked straight at Jim and Blair bit back a smile at Jim's answering scowl. "I've arranged a scavenger hunt for tomorrow."

Just as Blair was about to say something to take his lover's mind away from Malcolm's remark, Marie began to gasp and choke.

Jim, sitting on Marie's right, was up first and, believing a piece of food was stuck down her throat, he reached for her, prepared to administer the Heimlich maneuver, until he realized she was waving him away. "EpiPen," she gasped out.

Jocelyn was already on her knees and going through the canvas bag Marie had beside her feet. "She has a bad food allergy," she explained as she searched through its depths. "It's not here, Marie." The panic in her voice was evident enough for the watching guests to hear.

"Search her room," commanded Malcolm, and Jocelyn rushed out of the door.

It would be too late, Jim thought as he bent to try and make Marie more comfortable. He could hear the way she was having trouble getting any air in her lungs; her heart was racing, trying to pump blood around a body fast going into shock. Her skin was moist and very pale. Without a shot of epinephrine very soon, she wouldn't make it. Time seemed to slow down.

Marie looked up at Jim with wide, frightened eyes that glassed over, her body went into spasm once, and then went limp.

There was a long moment of silence broken by Blair. "Jim...?"

Jim checked the pulse in her neck and listened for her heart. It beat once, sluggishly, and then just stopped. He shook his head just as Jocelyn came rushing through the door. She gasped as she took in the stillness in the room.

Malcolm stood from where he'd been kneeling beside Marie and went over to the door, wrapping Jocelyn in his arms. The other guests had all stood up from their chairs when Marie began to choke. Joan turned in her husband's arms and began to cry softly against his shoulder. Roger poured two large brandies from the decanter on the sideboard and handed them to Harold and Martha before getting one himself, which he downed in one gulp.

"What was she allergic to?" asked Blair, quietly. He was studying the plate Marie had been eating from. She'd skipped the soup and gone for the fish; the remains lay cold and forgotten. Jim gently closed Marie's eyes.

"Peanuts," sobbed Jocelyn, "she had to avoid anything to do with... Oh God, Malcolm, the oil!" She broke away from his embrace and ran out of the room, the other guests following her.

Jocelyn was standing at one of the kitchen cabinets, holding up a bottle of cooking oil to the light. "May contain nuts," she read out loud, looking horrified. "I killed her! Oh God, Malcolm, I killed Marie!"

"No. No, Jocelyn. I ordered the ingredients, you just put them together. It was an accident. I should have checked myself."

"Whoever was responsible, we need to report this," said Jim. "Where's your 'phone?"

"It's in the hall." Malcolm had again enfolded Jocelyn in his arms where she sobbed onto his chest.

Jim strode into the hall and picked up the receiver of the retro black telephone. "It's dead," his voice was flat.

"What?" George came out of the dining room with his arm still around his wife. They both looked shell-shocked. "I'll, erm, I'll go and get my cell."

"Won't work." Malc came out from the kitchen holding Jocelyn's hand. "The island is in a dead spot."

Blair was on his knees, investigating the phone lead. "Jim." He held up the ends of the cord. They had the appearance of being cut right through. "Malc, these wires have been cut."

"What? No, it must have been the storm the other night. Shorted out a number of electrical items in the house."

"So how do we get help?" asked Martha. "Do you have any flares?"

Malc brightened up. "Yes! In the boathouse. I'll take you down there. Jocelyn, will you be okay here with Martha and Joan?"

As she nodded, George said, "I'll stay with them. I'm useless with flares and such. With my eyesight, I'd likely set them off into the water." It was a vain attempt at humor and only his wife gave a weak smile.

"Fine, Dongall, you stay here with the women. Come on, you guys." Harold pushed past Jim on his way out of the front door, Malc and Roger following. Blair put his hand on Jocelyn's arm. "Don't worry, okay?" and then he followed after Jim.

He stopped his partner just outside the door. "I don't like this, Jim."

"Nor me, Chief. Something's very wrong here, and I don't just mean Marie's death. Come on."

Malc had taken the lead and guided them through the trees and around to a small inlet behind and hidden from the house.

The boathouse was a gray-green building with a slanted roof. Its color camouflaged its presence nicely in amongst the trees. But as they stepped through the door, there was a collective groan from the men. The launch had been holed and was lying deep in the water.

"Please tell me the flares weren't in the boat," Blair asked Malc.

Malc glumly nodded.

"Is there any hope," asked Roger, "that they could still be dry in an air pocket somewhere on board?"

Jim slipped off his shoes and coat and slid into the cold water. He half swam, half walked towards the cabin of the boat.

"Careful, Jim," Blair called.

Jim took a breath and ducked down under the water. As quick as he was under, he returned, wiping the water from his face. "No, they are lying on the floor in the cabin, wet through." He ran his fingers over his wet hair. Harold and Blair offered their hands to help him back up onto the dock.

"Come on, let's get you back to the house before you freeze to death." Blair took off his top shirt and draped it over Jim's shoulders. Jim put his coat on top and then sat to put his shoes and socks back on.

They started back up the path towards the house, Blair walking alongside his lover as Jim wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to shiver. He could tell that Malc was getting agitated. Just as they reached the top of the hill, Malc hung back. "This is all my fault! It's my responsibility." He began to strip off his top clothes with an amazing speed.

"Malc, what are you doing?" Blair began.

"I'm going to swim for help." Malc pulled off his shoes and ran to the edge of the hill. The men tried to grab him but he dodged out of their grasp and dived into the water below before anyone could stop him.

"Haynes! Come back. It's getting too dark and cold. You won't find your way!" Jim shouted.

They watched in the fading light, horrified, as the man started to swim for the lights of the mainland. Suddenly he seemed to hesitate and began to struggle. Blair gripped Jim's arm. "Tell me he's not drowning, man," he whispered. But Malcolm Haynes had disappeared under the waves of the Sound.

"Blair... I'm sorry." Jim's hand went to his partner's shoulder.

Blair shook his head. "So stupid."

"Come on," said Roger. "We can't do any more this evening, and you're still soaking, Ellison. Let's get back to the house."

It was a sorry sight that Joan met at the door. "Oh, you poor man! You're all wet. You must be frozen. What happened?" She went to usher them in and then noticed there was one person missing. "Has Malcolm gone out in the boat alone?"

"We'll explain in a minute, Joan," Harold led her towards the dining room. "Where are the others?"

"Oh, George has gone up on the roof to see if he can get some reception over his cell phone. Martha went to get me a sweater and Jocelyn's making some tea. Shall I get her?"

Jim heard the slide of the tiles first and he raced outside in time to see tiles cascading down and then George, his legs and arms flailing, fall and hit the ground with a sickening thud. Joan tried to push past Jim but he put his arm out to stop her. It was too late; she'd seen her husband lying on the gravel, his limbs bent at an unnatural angle, and blood pooling around his head. She cried out once and just collapsed in Jim's arms.

He quickly carried her back inside. "She's stopped breathing." The others began to offer 'helpful' suggestions.

"Undo her clothes."

"Lay her down here."

"Does anyone know CPR?"

Jim blanked everyone out. He sealed his lips over Joan's, which were rapidly turning blue, and put all his efforts into trying to force air into her lungs. Blair took care of the compressions. For long minutes they worked. Finally, Blair sat back. He wiped his hand over his head. "I don't fucking believe this!" he said, breathlessly.

Jim sighed and sat back himself. Joan was gone. With no chance of getting emergency help, there wasn't a thing anyone could do. He'd lost another innocent soul.

"That's Marie, Malc, George, and now Joan. Who's next?" mumbled Harold.

Jocelyn was kneeling beside them on the floor. "Malc?" she said, in a small voice, "What happened to Malc? Hasn't he gone for help or something?"

Roger put his arm around her and drew her up to her feet. "Come, my dear, and sit by the fire. Harold will get you a brandy and we'll tell you and Martha what happened."

"Jim, you'd better go and get some warm, dry clothes on, man. I don't want you collapsing too." Blair squeezed Jim's shoulder.

Jim nodded. He stood and looked around the room. Marie had been laid out on one of the couches, a sheet covering her. He couldn't fault them for moving the body. It would be Monday, at least, before anyone would regard them as missing and send help. It might be best if the body was placed in a freezer or something until then. And then there were George and Joan...

"Jim? Go on, upstairs." His lover gave him a gentle push and he started walking.

A quick shower and some dry clothes later, Jim felt a bit better. He found his partner in the library, the lights lowered, sitting meditating. After giving the room a quick glance, Jim quietly lowered himself down beside Blair.

"Hi." Blair opened his eyes to smile, weakly, at Jim.

"I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't." Blair rolled his shoulders, trying to get the kinks out. "I was trying to get some distance from all this and kinda see the wood for the trees. It wasn't working." He stretched his legs out straight.

Jim nodded. "Where is everyone?"

"They went up to bed. I don't say anyone will get any sleep, but.... We moved George into the dining room. I thought tomorrow we could put them down in the cellar, where it's cool, but tonight's everyone's just too tired."

Jim put his hand on the back of Blair's neck and gently squeezed, then released, moving his fingers to massage over the area. "Looks like you could do with some rest yourself there, partner."

Blair's head fell forward and he sighed. "Keep doing that, and I shall be asleep."

Jim smiled. "Then we'd better get you upstairs."

"No." Blair shook his head, being careful not to dislodge the hand on his neck. "We need to talk about what's been going on here, Jim." He opened his eyes. "I've never been anywhere that has this type of bad vibes going on. I mean, four deaths in just a few hours... it's... unreal!" He sighed. "Maybe I've been working with you too long, but right from the start I've thought that Marie's death was suspicious. If I had an allergy as severe, I'd be more astute about carrying that EpiPen around with me, not leave it in my room. Could you tell how much nut oil was in her meal?"

Jim shook his head. "Not without tasting the remains of her food and there wasn't an opportunity for that."

Blair sighed again, this time in wonder. "Malcolm's death, that was just plain stupid. Even a strong swimmer should know better than to try and swim the Sound in the dark." He looked into his partner's face and Jim nodded for him to continue. "George, though -- you'll have to take a look on the roof tomorrow. See if there's anything there. No one just 'falls off' of a flat roof."

"I agree with you," Jim said, dropping his hand. "My gut instinct is that Marie's death was not accidental, though how we can prove that...." His eyes took on a distant look. "We both know the kind of juicy scandal Ms. Caldercot liked to write in her newspaper column. She seemed to be the kind of woman who wouldn't let a small thing like the truth get in the way of her story." His eyes returned to focus on Blair. "But who would want her dead amongst Malcolm's guests? Jocelyn?"

"Somehow I find her too obvious to be the murderer. Anyway, why would she kill George?"

"Hmmm. So what do we know about the others? Professor Milliton for example. He seemed interested in you earlier. Did you meet him at Rainier?"

"I didn't know him, per se, we didn't move in the same circles, but I knew of him. He was Malc's advisor, the one who lost the grant money for his course. I was surprised to see him here. I got the impression that Malc blamed him for that, big time. But, he must have decided to let bygones be bygones. Jocelyn -- I didn't recognize her at first, but I think she was one of Milliton's students too."

"Well, that's one more connection. Doesn't tie in with George though." He shook his head. "This is getting us nowhere, Chief. Let's go up to bed. It'll all be fresh in the morning." He stood and held out his hand to Blair. Suddenly there was a cry and a series of loud bumping and banging noises from outside the room. Both men stumbled out into the hall to find Harold lying on the floor at the foot of the stairs, his neck twisted.

Martha and Jocelyn came running from one side of the upper floor. Martha took one look and started screaming hysterically. Roger came from the other side of the stairs, fastening the belt on his red and black silk smoking jacket. He took in the sight of Harold, swore and then reached out to gather Martha into his arms.

Jim stood from where he'd knelt to check Harold's body and looked up.

Blair whispered, "Did he fall, Jim? Or was he pushed?"

"Anyone see him fall?" Jim called up the stairs.

Martha had her hand in her mouth, as though scared if she didn't gag herself, she'd still be screaming. Roger was holding her tightly, perhaps to stop her from throwing herself after her husband.

Jocelyn slowly shook her head. "I couldn't sleep and Martha was giving me one of her sleeping pills. Harold went downstairs to get me some fresh water -- the stuff out of the bathroom faucets tastes tainted, somehow; and then we heard a bump..."

"So you were together the whole time?"

"Yes. Martha was in my room." Jocelyn looked across at Roger.

"Oh. I was getting ready for bed when I heard the noise." He still had his arms around the trembling Martha.

Jim looked down at the body. "Well, there's nothing we can do tonight. Blair and I will move the body into one of the other rooms down here." He looked back up the stairs. "If Martha has any of those pills left, I suggest she takes one. It'll help calm her down."

Roger released his hold on the whimpering Martha and allowed Jocelyn to lead her back into the bedroom. "I'll come and help you," he said to Jim as he started down the stairs.

Together they carefully moved Harold and the other bodies down into the cellar. Jim made sure he checked Harold's ankles before they covered him up with a sheet.

"Anything?" Blair asked, softly.

Jim shook his head. "No cuts or abrasions. If he caught his feet, it wasn't on wire."

Roger was standing over the body of his friend. "I feel that we should, maybe, say a few words, or something."

Blair moved over and put his hand gently on the professor's shoulder. "We will, when all this is over and we can bury them decently."

Roger nodded.

Jim lay spooned up against Blair's back in bed. Jim's arm was wrapped tightly around Blair's waist but neither man was asleep.

"If Jocelyn was with Martha," Blair began, "she couldn't have pushed Harold down the stairs."

"No," agreed Jim. "And your professor seems to have liked Harold. I don't see him having a motive for killing the man."

"No. It would have been dark up there; I doubt that he would have seen anyone push him. And Roger's not my professor."

"I'm just glad it wasn't you lying at the bottom of the stairs."

"Likewise, Jim. I don't know what I'd have done if it had been you...." There was a moment of silence. "It's almost like that Agatha Christie story, 'And then there were none'."

"Except, isn't it the judge in that who's the killer? We don't have a judge here."

"True. The only one in the legal profession was Harold and he was definitely dead when he reached the bottom of the stairs."

"Hmmm. In the story, the doctor was helping the judge and here, in real life, George died, so if he was in some sort of unholy alliance with Harold, he died before he could murder anyone."

"The story ended with the last female survivor hanging herself out of guilt over the death of her nephew. Then the judge shot himself. Is your gun safely hidden?"

"You know I never leave home without it." Jim smiled and kissed Blair's shoulder. "It's in the holster under my pillow with the safety on, but no bullets or clip in. I checked it earlier. You think we should ask Martha or Jocelyn if they had a nephew who drowned like the one in the book?"

Blair groaned. "Oh, that would be a big giveaway, wouldn't it!" He paused. "Do you really think I could be next on someone's list?"

Jim found that his words died in his throat. He tightened his hold on his partner. Finally, he answered. "Not if I can help it! You know I'll keep you as safe as I can, right?"

Blair surprised him with a chuckle.

"What?"

"I was just remembering an old song from 'Frankie goes to Hollywood.' 'I'll protect you from the Hooded Claw, keep the vampires from your door'..."

"Well, I would keep the vampires from your door," whispered Jim into Blair's neck.

"Jim, you are sooo not a Buffy." He squirmed as Jim's nuzzling went straight to his cock. "Gods! There are times when I think you have vampire tendencies when you chew at my neck like that!"

"It's because you have such a tasty neck," Jim said in between licks and nibbles. "In fact, there are a number of places where you are very tasty...."

"I never noticed that you got horny around crime scenes before."

Jim sat up slightly. "I do not get horny around crime scenes," he said, defensively. He returned to spooning behind Blair. "I get horny around you. I'm just trying to reconnect with my favorite shaman, that's all."

"Oh. Well, far be it from me to stop my sentinel from reaching for his spiritual side."

"I'd rather reach for your physical side..." Jim whispered into Blair's ear just before he nipped at Blair's earlobe and his hand began to seek out Blair's cock under the covers.

Blair groaned. "Jim... if I wasn't so tired...." He tried very hard to stay still and just savor the sensations that coursed through his body -- and not automatically hump into Jim's grip.

Jim sighed and drew back a little, releasing his hold on Blair's cock. "It has been a very long day," he agreed. "I guess we do need our beauty sleep."

Blair cursed silently as Jim withdrew his hand and mouth. "Well, I need mine." He turned in his lover's arms and paused, studying Jim's face. "You, apparently, can keep going all night and still look fucking amazing."

"I like the fucking part, Chief, but I thought you were too tired?"

Blair traced Jim's face with his finger. "Well, you could raise the undead. All it takes to turn me into a gibbering idiot is a touch of your lips."

"Is that a complaint?"

"Hell, no! No complaints here, Jim." His hand slipped around the back of Jim's head and he pulled his lover closer. "No complaints at all..." he whispered just before he closed his eyes and their lips touched.

As soon as it was light, the two men were up, showered and dressed. They had agreed to investigate the roof before anyone else was around and too many awkward questions asked. Blair hung back a little as Jim went near to the edge and studied the roof surface.

"Anything?" he asked as Jim knelt.

"There are faint marks... footprints, here and here, and there." Jim pointed out different areas. The sun, low on the horizon, showed up slightly lighter patches to Blair's eyes. "But there's been a lot of traffic. Probably the builders Malc mentioned. Here though..." Jim stroked the concrete rim around the roof.

Blair came and knelt behind Jim, his hand warm on the sentinel's back. Though whether it was for Jim's or his own reassurance, Blair wasn't sure.

"...there are marks that must have been made by George. They are too close to the edge. Anyone just here could easily over-balance or trip over the narrow lip."

"But why would he?" Blair looked back towards the hatchway that led to the stairs. "However... if George was concentrating on trying to get reception over his cell, and if he left the trapdoor open...." He stood and walked back before kneeling again by the hatch. "It didn't even squeak when you opened it. George may not have heard anyone follow him." He looked across to where Jim now stood. "If someone were to rush at him, a good push, and George would have gone over."

"That's an awful lot of 'ifs', Chief. Without evidence, it'll never stand up in court."

Blair shielded his eyes as Jim came to stand over him, lit by the pale sun and looking back across the roof and beyond. Then Jim turned and smiled down at him.

"What?" Blair asked, puzzled.

"Just thinking how lucky I am. Breakfast?"

"A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma," Blair said as he stood, shaking his head and dusting down his trousers.

"That's a quote, right? World War Two? Churchill about Russia? Are you saying I'm complicated?"

"No, not complicated. Annoying, frustrating, confusing and sometimes downright aggravating, but I worked you out a long time ago."

Jim's eyes narrowed and a glint appeared in them. "Oh, you did, huh? Well then, maybe I should 'work you out'! 'Annoying, frustrating, aggravating' indeed! Just you wait 'til I get my hands on you..." But Blair had already hightailed it down the hatchway and inside the house. As Jim followed and climbed down after him, he felt a pair of hands caress his ass.

Blair was waiting beside the foot of the ladder. "Did I forget to mention that you are also the sexiest man I know, and that I love you?" Blair whispered as he leaned in and Jim could feel the warmth of his lover's body as it pushed him against the rungs.

He felt Blair's hands run possessively over and around his ass. Jim moaned and hung his head against the ladder, hanging on a little tighter, and barely resisting the urge to push against those hands. "This is not the time or the place, Sandburg," he grunted out.

The caress stopped suddenly and he received a hard slap.

"Ouch!"

"Just warming you up for later, Ellison!"

"You little imp!"

"Now, now Jim." Blair backed away, his hands outstretched, as Jim stepped down and advanced towards him. "We were 'up' all night. We need to stock up with more energy. Food... breakfast, remember? Before you nail me to the mattress again, you have to feed me... Oomph!" He grunted as Jim grabbed him in a headlock -- "Not the hair, man! It takes me forever to get it sorted out!" -- and unmercilessly subjected his guide to a noogie.

Jim kissed the top of his partner's head. "I love you too, Chief. Come on, then," he said, releasing Blair, "let's have some breakfast."

Blair couldn't help but grin as he tried to smooth down his curls. "Yeah, and coffee. It's cold on that roof!"

Jocelyn and Roger were dressed and in the kitchen when Jim and Blair entered. Blair's good mood quickly evaporated as he felt the atmosphere in the room. He felt almost guilty at being in love and happy.

"Coffee?" offered Roger, holding up the pot.

Jocelyn was sitting at the table, her hands tightly wrapped around her mug.

Jim looked around. "Where's Martha?"

"She's still sleeping. I wish I'd taken one of those pills now; they really knocked her out. When I left the room, she was snoring," Jocelyn answered.

"That's why I won't go anywhere near them. You usually feel 'muzzy headed' the next morning," Blair said. "I stick to chamomile tea. Right now, though, I could mainline that coffee." He held out a mug to Roger.

"You think one of us is a murderer, don't you?" Jocelyn looked up at Jim, her voice flat yet somehow accusatory.

"I think that's a possibility, yes." Jim took the coffeepot and poured out his own.

"Well, Marie had a file on you both. I read enough to know that you and Blair have secrets you'd prefer to keep hidden. How do we know what lengths you would go to keep things that way?"

Blair carefully placed his mug on the table. "Jim is a first class law officer and a decorated Ranger, and as such he has received a lot of media coverage, and yes, there have been a lot of lies and half truths written about both of us. However, we can give each other alibis."

Jocelyn went immediately on the defensive. "So can Martha and I, at least for Harold's... death." She turned back to gaze at her mug.

Roger sought to break the silence. "Well, if we need alibis, then I'm the only person here without a corroborating one!" He chuckled, as if the idea that anyone could suspect him was ridiculous.

More silence followed his remark.

"My God! You do think I could have killed Harold."

Blair sought to reassure him. "You were with us when George died, Roger."

But Roger looked as white as a sheet. "But not when Harold fell.... There must be someone else, someone on the island that we don't know about."

Jim finished the coffee he'd been drinking. "We could do with exploring the island, see if there's something we've missed."

"Unless..." Blair began, "somehow Malcolm survived the swim, and..."

Jocelyn pushed her chair back and swiftly got to her feet. "You can't think that Malcolm..."

A loud scream, followed by a crash, interrupted their argument and they all rushed out of the kitchen.

In the hall, Martha's body lay broken and bloody under the shattered remains of the large and heavy candelabra that up until a few minutes previously, had hung over the stairs. The pieces shone and glittered all around, and in amongst the blood and the torn body.

Blair turned away as Jocelyn ran off. Jim heard her retching in the downstairs bathroom. Roger looked as though he might pass out at any moment. He steadied himself against the wall.

"You all right, Chief?" Jim's voice sounded strained. He could hear Blair's heart rate pick up, almost smell his distress.

"Yeah. It's just... another one, you know, Jim?"

"Yes, Chief." Jim sighed and knelt to see if he could pick up any clues from Martha's remains. "Yeah, I know."

"Come on, man! The murderer must still be in this house." Roger stood up straight. "We need to find this... lunatic, now!"

"Well, you can rule me out!" said Jocelyn as she returned. "I'm not going to put myself in the firing line by traipsing around this mausoleum looking for some crazed killer. Blair and I can explore the outside, see if there's another way out of this nightmare."

Blair looked as though he really didn't like that idea, but he agreed with Jocelyn. "Perhaps she's right, Jim. We could cover more ground that way and the four of us tramping around this place would warn anyone off before we get to them. Besides," he whispered as he walked over to get his and Jocelyn's coats from the coat rack, "it will give me a chance to see if I can wheedle anything out of her."

Jim stood, and under the pretext of wrapping Blair's scarf smugly around Blair's neck for him, said quietly, "Just watch yourself, Chief."

Blair smiled, putting as much reassurance into it as possible. "You too, man."

As he and Jocelyn stepped out of the house, Jim again bent as though examining the body, but really, he was listening in to what they were saying.

"Which way?" asked Blair.

"What? Oh, down this way, I guess.... I can't believe you're with him."

"What'd you mean?"

"Jim, he's so... cold. All these people dead, and he's just so... I just don't get it."

"He's a very good man and very professional." Blair leapt at once to Jim's defense. "What about you and the professor?"

"The professor?"

"Come on, Jocelyn. You can't fool me. I know..."

"Have you found something, Detective?"

Roger's voice broke Jim's concentration and he stood up, cursing under his breath, having lost his focus on Blair. "Only the obvious, that someone must have been able to see Martha and loosened the bolt to drop that," he indicated the candelabra, "just at the right moment."

"And poor Martha, being woozy, wouldn't have been up to moving out of the way quick enough."

Jim nodded. "So we lock the front door and work our way up. See if we can catch him trying to escape."

"He could be anywhere in the house, if he is still in the house. Do you have a gun?"

"Yes." Jim glanced at the professor. "Do you?"

"No, but I'd feel safer if you'd carry yours."

"So you don't think I could be the murderer?"

"No... I still think it's someone from the outside."

Blair and Jocelyn had walked some distance from the house and into the trees on the far side from the garden. Jocelyn refused to answer any more of Blair's questions and he was trying to think of a way to get her to open up when she pointed to a white piece of masonry lying half buried in the soil.

"Malcolm put that there, half buried it, in fact. Said it would add to the 'olde worlde' feel of the house."

Blair knelt down to take a closer look and just saw the thick branch out of the corner of his eye, as it was about to descend on his skull.

Jim and Roger searched the house from bottom to top. Most of the rooms were empty, only those used this weekend had any furniture in them. They did find an open window on the second floor and Jim could make out the indentation of a man's shoes below in the soft soil. Someone had jumped out and escaped, probably soon after Martha was struck. The noise and confusion would have allowed him to slip away. Jim swore. "He's out there, and Blair's unarmed." The front door was unlocked and Jim out and running before Roger could grab his coat.

They were near the beach when they heard a scream. Jim barreled through the undergrowth onto the sand, almost skidding to a halt, to see Jocelyn standing over the dead body of Malcolm Haynes.

For a man who'd drowned the previous day, he seemed remarkably dry and clean, but his head was smashed in. This time there was no doubt that he was dead.

"What happened?" asked Roger.

"Where's Blair?" Jim demanded of Jocelyn.

"We were walking along..." Her voice was quiet. "I pointed out one of the bits of old marble Malcolm had hidden in the undergrowth, and then suddenly, Malcolm was there. I couldn't believe it." She stared at Jim and Roger with wide eyes. "He attacked us. Blair fought him off... told me to run and hide. And, God forgive me, I did. When it went quiet, I thought I could work my way around to the house, but when I reached the beach, here he was." She pointed a shaking finger at the body.

"Jim..." At that moment Blair stumbled onto the beach, holding his hand to his head. Straight away Jim picked up his escalated heart rate and the faint but sickly sweet scent of blood. He immediately started to cross to his partner, but Jocelyn somehow got in the way. For a moment she seemed to be on the verge of passing out and almost fell against Jim, then she straightened up and Jim realized she'd taken his gun.

"You..." She stepped back and waved the gun at Blair, "get over there with the others. I don't know which one of you did this, but you are not going to kill me."

"Give it up, Jocelyn. I saw you kill Malcolm with that lump of marble." Blair's voice was strong, but his hand shook as he indicated the red stained white rock almost hidden by Malcolm's body.

With her distracted by Blair, Roger made a move towards Jocelyn, but her reflexes were too quick and she turned to aim straight at him. However before she could pull the trigger, Jim threw a pebble at her, one he'd picked up when she was focused on his partner. She flinched and the shot went wide, just skimming Roger's shoulder. He cried out in pain and Jim turned at once to help him sit down on the sand.

Jocelyn raised the gun again and pointed it at Jim, squeezing the trigger. Blair cried out.... There was a click... but no bullet emerged from the gun. She tried again, and again, getting more and more frustrated.

Jim smiled grimly. "The professor insisted I loaded my gun," he explained to Blair, "but I insisted that I only put one bullet in."

Jocelyn looked at them in pure rage and threw the gun at them then she turned to run towards the sea. Blair was nearer and he tackled her to the ground. "Why is it always me who gets to wrestle the bad gals, Jim?" he asked as he struggled with the snarling female.

"Because you do it so well, Chief?"

Blair snorted. "Well, I could do with some help here."

Jim was already stepping forward to help tie Jocelyn's hands with Blair's scarf. "You did good there, partner. Not that I'm complaining, but what happened?" He took the opportunity to check Blair's head wound, wiping the blood away tenderly with his finger in order to reassure himself that it wasn't too bad.

"I saw the branch heading towards my skull just before it connected and I managed to roll out of the way. But I must have caught my head anyway on a stone or something." Blair pulled Jocelyn up to her feet with a grunt. "You must have thought that I was dead, hey, Jocelyn?" He pulled on the scarf to make sure it was tied tight. "You want to tell us just what this was all about? Why all the killing?"

"Why should I?" Jocelyn was still struggling and Jim took hold of her. Blair seemed only too happy to give her up. He was breathing hard and looked pale from the blow to his head. The faintest trickle of blood still marked his forehead and Jim couldn't help but check Blair over again with his senses.

Blair noticed. "I'm fine, man, it's nothing a packet of frozen peas won't fix."

Jim felt the heat rise in his skin as he was caught using his senses on Blair, but he smiled and turned his attention back to their prisoner. "Come on, Jocelyn. Malc had a large collection of 'who-dun-its' in his library. You know the killer has to tell the cops their plans at the end." He tried to coax a confession out of her.

"Fuck Malcolm and his fucking books!"

"Oh, language!" Jim mocked. He was half pushing, half pulling her up the hill back towards the house as Blair and Roger followed close behind.

Jocelyn sighed. "Malc had this grand plan, we would kill all the people who had fucked up our lives, cash in his grandmother's shares and then, with the money, we'd start a new life in Canada. I only wanted Marie out of my life."

"Oh!" said Roger.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "What, professor, you think I was so heart-broken by our torrid little affair at Rainier that I wanted your hide? You were not that impressive a lover!"

Jim tired not to snigger, and he heard Blair clear his throat.

"Malc blamed you for losing him his grant at Rainier," Jocelyn continued. "He felt sure he could have gotten his degree before his grandma became so ill, had he been able to stay on. Unfortunately, we had to move our plans up because you're emigrating."

Roger's washed-out face had turned pink. "I've bought a little villa a boat ride away from Pompeii and Herculaneum. Thought I could at last explore the history that I'd read so much about in books," he explained. He was holding a blood soaked handkerchief to his shoulder and was obviously in pain, but stalwartly determined not to complain.

Jim knew that the best they could do for the moment was to get inside and get Roger warm before shock could take hold.

"So?" prompted Blair to Jocelyn. They'd climbed the hill and were now walking up the drive to the house with Jim making sure Jocelyn didn't stumble.

"Malc hated Marie. He blamed her for his mother's death. They belonged to the same tennis club, Marie and the first Mrs. Haynes. Marie was driving the car when it was involved in the crash. She survived, Malc's mother didn't. Marie... found out that I..." She stopped and took a deep breath. "I gave my married lover a false alibi. He was accused of killing his wife, but I said he was with me. Marie found out that he wasn't, I don't know how, and threatened to turn me in. He's got a good job now; I couldn't let that happen, so she had me over a barrel." Jocelyn straightened. "I'm a pretty good writer. Marie took my work and passed it off as her own. And I couldn't say a word, not without the risk of going to prison for perjury." She looked back at her feet as they covered the last few steps and Jim opened the door. "Marie was easy to kill. Malc and I did that together, just added the nut oil and hid her medicine. Malc had to put you off his trail for a while so he jumped into the sea."

"Leaving you to kill George," Jim suggested.

"Yes. Joan was just a bonus. Oh, we knew she had a bad heart and at some point, there was a good chance she'd drop down dead. She didn't actually do anything to us, just covered up her husband's errors. Malc truly believed it was George's bad eyesight that caused his grandma's death. Malc killed Harold and Martha himself," she added. "Malc felt that they were responsible for him losing a case. He'd written this thesis and someone else published their work just before Malc finished his. He thought they'd copied his work and wanted Harold to sue them, but Harold discovered that the other guy could prove his facts were from the same source as Malc's but not from Malc's own work. He refused to follow up the matter, so Malc decided he should die and Martha too because Harold never did anything without his wife's approval."

They were in the library now, Roger and Blair more or less slumped in the chairs by the fire. Jim pushed Jocelyn down onto a kissing seat, and knelt down to start a fire in the grate before he sat beside her.

"So what happened between you and Malc?" Blair asked. "What was the plan for the rest of us?"

Jocelyn looked defeated. Her hands still tied behind her, she seemed to sag on the chair. "Malc had arranged for a plane to pick us up. I forged Marie's signature on some checks and cashed them. We hid the money Malc had from his grandma -- and Marie's money -- in waterproof bags in the sunken launch. I had to wait for him to bring it up before I could kill him. I hid it on the beach before you arrived. My lover's new job means that he is trusted with his company's payroll. We planned to disappear with all the money. We would have had a tidy sum." She looked at Blair. "Your partner coming along threw a spanner in the works. I intended to knock you out and push your body off the cliff later." Jocelyn paused. "Sorry, Blair, I like you, but...." She turned back to look into the fire. "Roger would have been shot with Jim's gun, and then, after killing Jim, I would have made it look as if you," she looked at Jim, "had killed Roger and then yourself." She shrugged. "A bit convenient, I know, but I would have been home free."

"The police would have searched for you," Roger said, quietly.

"I made up a story in my diary, all the deceit, the lies I'd discovered, the deaths, the suspicions. The police would have found it after I'd gone and, I hoped, believed Jim had killed me after finding Blair and me in a romantic liaison or some such. I planned to leave a shoe at the top of the cliff to set the scene."

"No one would believe it," Blair scoffed.

"Enough would," she insisted.

"You were going to be picked up by a plane?" Jim titled his head in a way Blair knew very well.

"Yes."

"Not a helicopter?"

"Is that the cavalry arriving, Jim?" Blair asked, with a smile. They all heard the hum of the chopper's rotors and then the sound of a loud-hailer.

The helicopter landed on the lawn at the back of the house, and immediately the small SWAT team took control. What surprised the waiting detective and his partner was the appearance of their boss, Simon Banks.

"Simon, not that I'm not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"Well, gentlemen..." Simon pulled out a cigar and studied the end of it before continuing. "Uniform was called out to a domestic. This woman was having a knock down fight with her common-law husband, who, as it happens, is a pilot. It seems he'd been chartered to fly a couple out from this island and into a secluded part of Canada. However, tomorrow is their anniversary and his wife wasn't pleased at the idea of being left behind. Hence the fight. Luckily for you, one of the patrolmen got a bit suspicious and started to run a few checks. He discovered that the person who hired this pilot was one Malcolm Haynes, and when the patrolman ran a check on him, he discovered Mr. Haynes has closed out all his accounts. A few more checks led to the fact that Mr. Haynes had a connection with Rainier along with a Professor Milliton, and one Blair Sandburg, both of whom were attending a party on this island. Which led him to me."

Simon tucked his cigar in his mouth and started to light it. "Of course," he said when he thought he'd drawn out the suspense long enough, "knowing my two trouble magnets," he lifted his hand to stop any objections, "I did a bit of investigating myself and found out enough to head out here with the cavalry. Which is just as well, because here you are with dead bodies galore." He tapped the cigar to break off a little ash and looked, smugly, at both his men.

"Hey, Simon, we did catch the murderer!" Jim protested.

"So you did, Detective. And just think of all the forms and paperwork you now have to do." Simon rolled his cigar around in his mouth in a self-satisfied way.

Blair turned as they started to bring the bodies out. He went over and stroked Joan's hair back from her face. "A bonus," he said, quietly echoing Jocelyn's words as he shook his head in sad disbelief.

Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Come on, buddy. Let's see if we can thumb a lift back home with these fly boys."

"Yeah. Home'd be good right now. Jim?" He looked at his lover. "Next time I suggest a weekend away, just shoot me, okay?"

Jim slipped his arm down and around Blair's shoulder. "Shoot you? No," he leaned to whisper in his partner's ear, "but I may give you something else to think about."

"Hey!" Blair exclaimed, just remembering something. "I never got to see you in that toga."

"From now on, Chief, how about we stick to our birthday suits."

Blair watched as Jim walked over to the pilots, a very slight sashay in his stride, and Blair focused on the firm ass of his lover. Birthday suits? Oh yeah! Or maybe a tropical hide-away. Jim on a surf board in a skimpy speedo, lots of sun cream -- applied by my own hands of course, a small, private resort, maybe with a diving raft or some such anchored off the beach.... No deaths, no mystery to solve.... "Hey Jim!" he said, running to catch up with his partner. "You know anyone with a private holiday resort in the Caribbean?"