Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Acknowledgments: I wish to thank all my betas for this story: Bluewolf, Alex, Annie, and A.S. Nightbird. This story is far better for their help. I'd also like to thank my official cheerleader, Bluewolf, and my unofficial ones (you know who you are ). And last but not least, I'd like to thank the "Clucky Ducks" for their input, and the Chief Duck for use of her plot bunny.

Rating: PG / FRT

Warnings: Mild bad language

Summary: In the wake of the dissertation disaster, Blair has been offered a place in the PD by Jim's side. Before he attends the academy for the summer, Blair decides he needs some space. He goes to visit a friend in Oklahoma and gets caught up with storm chasing. Tornadoes are awesome forces of nature and Blair is excited by the adventure and danger inherent in the chase. But how will Jim feel about it when he finds out?

Artwork: Big Bang artwork by Virgina Sky. Thank you so much, Virginia; the art is stunning! Screen captures on this page are courtesy of the author.

Author's Notes: This story was written for the first Sentinel Big Bang event. It came about as an adopted plot bunny, which the "Clucky Ducks" were going to write as a collective. As it turned out, that idea fell apart, but from that, three similar but different stories are emerging. Some ideas from the collective brainstorming have been used in this story and, therefore, some of the elements in this story may be similar to elements in the stories written by the other two authors who also took on this challenge. No plagiarism; just great minds thinking alike.

If you would like to read one of the other stories generated by this plot bunny, may I direct you to "Chasing the Storm" by Alex McLeod.

Comments welcome and appreciated! Simply click on the author's name to send feedback.

Blair set his duffel bag down and looked up as he heard Jim's key turn in the lock. "Hey, Jim! How'd it go in court today?"

"As well as could be expected." Leaning heavily on the cane he still used, Jim limped into the middle of the loft's great room. "Bingham's lawyer is angling to get him off on a technicality."

Blair frowned, then quickly brightened. "I wouldn't worry if I were you. You've got enough hard evidence to put him away. Fortunately, we found his stash of meth so even though you sniffed it out with your senses, they can't refute the fact that Bingham is guilty as hell."

"True." Heading to the kitchen for a beer, Jim spotted the duffel bag sitting in the hall next to Blair's bedroom door. "Got something you want to tell me?" Jim's voice turned suddenly gruff.

"Um, well, yeah, actually." Blair waved his hands in front of Jim's chest as if trying to ward off his friend's anger.

"Are you leaving again? Moving out?" Jim interrupted before Blair could explain. "I thought we were okay again now that you agreed to become my official partner. I thought we'd cleared the air between us. Now here you are ... packed up to move out?"

Blair winced at the pain he felt in Jim's accusing tone. Shaking his head, he tried to explain. "No, Jim. It's not like that at all. Honest. I was going to tell you about it tonight over dinner. I called a friend of mine this afternoon, Nick Keppler. He works at the University of Oklahoma. I told him how I'd like to come for a visit to use the University's library facilities, and he offered to wire me the plane ticket, since he knows I'm perpetually strapped for cash." Stopping to take a breath, Blair continued, his voice softer and more hesitant. "Since things have been a little ... strained ... between us since Naomi released my dissertation, I thought that maybe a little distance and a few weeks might be good for us; before I start at the academy...."

Jim took a long swig from the bottle he held as Blair's sudden bit of news caught up to him. "How long?"

"No more than four to six weeks." Blair walked over to where Jim was sitting and perched on the arm of the chair. "I thought I could use the time to see if I could salvage my Ph.D. by changing the subject of my thesis to my 'Thin Blue Line' idea—the study of the closed society of police departments."

"You do realize that Simon called in a number of favors to get you into the summer term of the police academy, right?" Jim reminded him, his fear of abandonment evaporating in the face of Blair's explanation. "He's putting his reputation on the line vouching for you after you declared yourself a fraud."

"Yeah, but Simon knows the truth, and you know it too. My dissertation was factual and accurate. My only 'mistake' was not removing your name before Naomi barged in, ruining everything by sending it off to Sid like it was the draft of some dime-store novel."

"Maybe so, but the world still sees you as a fraud," Jim pointed out. "It wasn't easy getting you assigned as my partner. You have to complete your academy training within six months, and the sooner the better."

"I'll be back in plenty of time," said Blair. "It's May. The academy doesn't start until mid-June. I'll go down to Oklahoma for a few weeks, live in the library while I work out the new diss and be home in time to start classes."

"Don't forget that you have to pass a fitness test before you can start at the academy," Jim reminded him. "It's pretty tough. I was planning on setting up a workout routine for you."

"The university has great gym facilities. I promise that I'll spend some time training every day." Blair pressed his right hand over his heart. "I'll need a good workout after sifting through research material in the stacks for hours. It'll be good, Jim. It'll all work out, you'll see." He tried smiling, but his partner wasn't entirely convinced.

"And just when were you planning on leaving?" Jim's eyes strayed back to the bulging duffel by Blair's door.

"Nick booked me a ticket on Southwest's 9:15 p.m. flight tonight," Blair admitted. "Are you going to be okay with that?" He searched Jim's face, worried by the shadow of emotions swirling in the depths of his intense blue eyes. "I could cancel...."

"No." Jim sighed, casting his eyes up to meet Blair's with grim determination. "You go. Have a good time. Just make sure to get your butt back here by June first."

Nick Keppler checked the incoming flights monitor for the tenth time in as many minutes. He stood impatiently at Gate 4D waiting for Blair's flight, Southwest 639, to disembark. It had been years since they had seen each other. The two had become acquainted as teens—Blair was thirteen, Nick nearly sixteen—when Naomi's gypsy lifestyle had brought her and Blair to the small town of Arnett, Oklahoma, in 1983. Despite the difference in their ages, the friendship had formed quickly, but when Naomi moved on, the two had lost touch. Unlike Blair, whose career had been side-tracked by the lack of someone on whom to base his studies, Nick had completed his Ph.D. in meteorology by the time he was twenty-three. He had quickly made a name for himself in his field. Five years ago, Nick had gone to Cascade to be a guest lecturer at Rainier University for a semester, and reconnected with his old friend.

When Blair's dissertation fraud broke on the news just days ago, Nick's heart had gone out to his long-time friend. To his surprise, he had received a call from Blair that very afternoon, asking if it would be okay to come for a visit. Since Nick routinely took a spring sabbatical to hunt storms in the infamous "Tornado Alley" of the Midwest, he quickly agreed.

Now, at long last, Blair came around the corner of the concourse. The spring in his step made his long hair bounce around his shoulders. When he spied Nick in the crowd, his pace quickened. Slipping his duffel from his shoulder and dropping it on the floor, Blair embraced his friend. After a few moments of mutual back thumping, the two men parted.

Nick held Blair at arm's length. "You haven't changed a bit in five years! Just look at you! You don't look a day over twenty-two!"

"I'm nearly thirty." Blair chuckled. "Damn, it's good to see you, Nick. Why haven't you been out to visit?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"Well, you know," Blair began, "it's just one thing after another. Three years ago, I found a genuine sentinel to study—"

"The hell you did!" Nick's face lit up. "That's great news!"

"Yes and no," Blair admitted. "I was this close to my doctorate when Naomi leaked my dissertation to the media."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Sorry." Nick wrapped a consoling arm around Blair's shoulders. "I have to admit, I didn't believe that story you concocted about lying and being a fraud. It's just not in you to be that deceitful." He paused and then said thoughtfully, "So, this Jim of yours is a real sentinel?"

"Genuine article," Blair confirmed. "About the press conference ... I had to do it. If I hadn't, Jim's cover would have been blown, and his use as a sentinel and a cop would have been over. It was my fault, and I had to fix it."

"It wasn't your fault, Blair. It was your mom's doing."

"Same difference." Blair sighed and smiled. "But it's over. Jim's forgiven me, for the most part, and the PD has offered me a detective's badge as soon as I complete my courses at the police academy this summer."

"So why are you here, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Things have been a little tense at home," Blair admitted. "I want to be Jim's official partner. I do ... but being a cop ... carrying a gun...."

"It's not the way Naomi brought you up."

Blair shook his head. "No, and it's causing just a bit of friction between Jim and me. I mean, it's nothing major, but I thought a little bit of space for few weeks might do us both good."

"So, do we need to go down to the baggage claim?"

Blair chuckled. "I was raised a nomad. All my worldly belongings are right here." He hoisted his duffel bag and the two men made their way to the parking garage.

The thirty minute drive back to Norman was quieter than Nick had expected. Blair had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had gotten on the highway. It was going to be dawn soon, and his friend had had a very long day. He pulled into his assigned parking spot in the garage at his condominium and nudged an elbow against Blair's arm.

"Time to wake up, Goldilocks."

Nick's pet nickname for him seemed to penetrate the fog of sleep, and he stirred. "Are we there yet?"

"Get your ass in gear, Kid," Nick teased. "I'm not carrying you."

Blair grabbed his duffel bag and got out of the car, the clarity of consciousness growing as he began to move. "Nice place you've got here." They walked down the hall and then entered the foyer to Nick's condo.

"It's close to work," said Nick. "I like to ride my bike when the weather cooperates. Here, let me take your coat." He waited while Blair dropped his duffel and shed the jacket he'd been wearing. As he hung the coat in the hall closet, he gestured around the room with a nod of his head. "I've only got one bedroom, so it's the couch or my comfy king-size bed."

Blair smiled. He remembered with fondness the communal bed of the house in Arnett when the two of them were still boys. That house had been a little larger, with two bedrooms: one for the adults and one for the children. There had been six of them, crowded together on mattresses laid out on the floor. It had given the nomadic Blair a sense of belonging that he had cherished ever since. With a touch of reluctance, he replied, "I'll take the couch, thanks."

"I'll go get some sheets out of the hall closet. Feel free to use the bathroom, take a shower, whatever. I'll have your bed ready for you in no time." Nick walked to his linen closet and pulled out a set of sheets and a pillow. "It's warm enough, you're not going to need the blanket."

"Thanks, man." Blair grabbed his shaving kit and headed for the bathroom. He scrubbed his face and brushed his teeth, vowing to take a shower first thing in the morning. When he got back out to the living room, his bed was ready and Nick had retired to his bedroom. With a sigh, Blair stripped to his underwear and climbed in. As his head hit the pillow, he fell into an instant, dreamless sleep.

~0~0~0~

The early afternoon sun was somewhat muted by the clouds that skirted over it as it streamed in through the window. Blair floated up to consciousness, aware of a hand on his shoulder and a gentle shaking.

"Good morning, Goldilocks." Nick smiled down on him. "Sleep well?"

"Unnnh...." was Blair's first, groggy syllable. "What time is it?"

"Late. Get up and get your shower. I want to take you down to the campus."

Blair threw back the sheet that covered him and put his feet on the floor. With elbows braced on his knees, he knuckled the sleep from his eyes. "All right. Just give me a few, okay, man?" He got up slowly, grabbed some clean clothes from his duffel and headed to the bathroom.

The water from the shower revived him, and by the time he'd bathed and shaved, he was feeling far more like his old self.

~0~0~0~

The university campus was a brisk twenty minute walk from Nick's condo. The weather was clear and sunny, and the two men were making good time.

"So, you're on sabbatical?" Blair turned his head to look up at his friend as they walked.

"Yup. I take time off every spring to go storm chasing," Nick explained. "My partner and I track down tornadoes to gather scientific data that will someday help us make better predictions so we can get warnings out sooner. Would you like to come along? I'm headed over to visit Brett at the Storm Prediction Center right now. If conditions look good, we may go out as early as tomorrow morning."

"Oh wow! Really? I'd love to come along!" Blair bounced several times, and then reality set in. "But I promised Jim I'd be careful; that I'd be holed up in academia all the time that I'm here. I'm trying to rewrite my diss, so that I can finally get my Ph.D."

"Consider this: how often do you have the opportunity to go to a university library to do research?"

"Pretty much whenever I like."

"And how often do you get asked to ride along on a tornado chase?"

Blair chuckled at the simple logic of the question. "This will be my first."

"And possibly your only. So, what do you say? Dissertation or the excitement of chasing down some of the most severe weather in the world?"

Blair wrapped an arm around Nick's shoulders, a huge grin lighting his face, and quickened their pace. "Just tell me what it is you want me to do."

~0~0~0~

They entered the east wing of 1313 Halley Circle, home of the National Severe Storms Laboratory. "This is part of the National Weather Center," Nick said, motioning Blair through the door of the facility on the University of Oklahoma campus.

They stopped at the security station to get a visitor's badge, and then Nick led the way past a bank of three windows looking in on the Storm Prediction Center, the heart of the Lab. Just past them on the left was the door. They entered and passed down a short hallway that opened into a larger room.

Desks lined the walls of the facility with monitors on two levels surrounding all the stations. They passed the desks of the Lead and Outlook Forecasters before coming to face a desk where a tall African-American man sat. "Brett is our Mesoscale Forecaster. That means he focuses on the immediate weather out to about six hours. He's got the most up-to-the-minute information. We couldn't chase without him." He turned to slap Brett's shoulder. "How's it shakin'?"

Brett swiveled his chair around and flashed a bright, wide smile up at his friend. "Weather's lookin' good for a hunt tomorrow. Atmospheric conditions just southeast of Denver look like they may be ripe for the formation of a supercell. There's also some serious weather brewing up in Nebraska."

"That's terrific!" Nick replied. "We should have an excellent shot at finding ourselves a twister in the next few days."

"Hopefully at least one," Brett confirmed. "If I were a betting man, I'd say the Colorado storm looks more promising at the moment."

"We'll double check them in the morning before we leave, see how they're developing, and then determine which one looks best," Nick decided. He gestured toward the man standing at his side. "Brett, this is Blair Sandburg, an old friend of mine. He's a Master of Anthropology from Rainier University in Cascade, Washington. He's here for some 'peace and quiet' to gather research data for his Ph.D. I talked him into going with us instead. Blair, meet Brett Ackerson, one of the best damned tornado chasers in the state of Oklahoma."

Brett stood. Blair looked up, and then up again. This man was even taller than Simon Banks!

"Only in Oklahoma?" Brett glared down at Nick, then smiled once more and turned his attention to their visitor. "Nice to meet you, Blair. Have you ever chased before?"

"No," Blair admitted, "but I'm looking forward to coming along and helping in any way that I can."

"Can you handle a video camera?" Brett asked.

"Oh hell, yeah!" Blair grinned. "I've done a lot of videography for the Cascade PD. I can ride shotgun."

"Good. One less thing for yours truly. But just to be clear, I ride shotgun. You'll be in the back." Brett slapped Blair's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. "This one here," he jerked a thumb in Nick's direction, "thinks all he has to do is drive and bark orders, and I get to do everything else."

"Don't believe him." Nick looked affronted by the playful accusation.

"Hey-hey," Brett chuckled. "Who are you going to believe, eh? Him or me?"

Blair held up both hands, warding off the feuding pair. "Don't try dragging me into the middle of your quarrel. I'm not buying it."

Brett laughed; it was an almost jolly sound coming from such a giant man.

"Hey, how about lunch?" Nick asked, turning to Blair.

"Lunch? It's 2:30 in the afternoon," Brett declared. "What's up with the two of you?"

"Blair came in on the red-eye last night," Nick explained. "We slept late and didn't get breakfast. There's a little café back in the main Weather Center building," he said, returning his attention to his guest.

"I could go for a little something," Blair admitted.

~0~0~0~

Over sandwiches and coffee at the Flying Cow Café, Nick explained a bit more about the National Weather Center. "The NWC partners with NOAA and the National Weather Service to help us increase our understanding and prediction of severe weather conditions. We look at the big picture here, focusing on larger time scales and aerial coverage of severe thunderstorms. Then we provide guidelines to the local field offices who in turn issue the actual severe thunderstorm and tornado warnings to the public. The death toll from tornadoes has decreased nearly fifty percent from what it was ten years ago. Back in the early '80s only half of the major tornadoes were preceded by a watch or warning. Now we're close to ninety percent."

"That's pretty impressive," Blair said. "I suspect that the more information you can give to the public at large, the more time they'll have to react and take the necessary safety precautions."

"That's it exactly!" Nick dropped his sandwich and slapped a palm on the table, his eyes lighting with passion. "Our research and predictions are saving lives. Personally, I teach climatology to the meteorology students during the fall and winter terms, and hunt tornadoes in the spring. I'm pretty lucky that I'm getting paid to do the very things I love."

"You should see the dreamy look that comes over him whenever we encounter an EF3 or higher tornado," Brett joked. "I've had to shake him out of his stupor so that we both wouldn't die—on more than one occasion!"

"Am I going to have to duct tape your mouth shut again?" Nick's tone was resigned, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"Is it always like this with you two?" Blair asked, wondering what he'd signed on for.

"Nah, not all the time," Brett said. "Just when the pipsqueak needs to be put in his place. He gets a swelled head during tornado season. Must be the change in barometric pressure."

Nick laughed. "All right, Brett, you win; I surrender. I don't want to scare Blair off before we even get started." He turned to Blair. "We need to get to bed early tonight so that we can get up before the chickens tomorrow."

"Fine by me," Blair agreed, standing and following the two friends out of the café. Brett said his farewells and headed left, back to his station at the Prediction Center, while Nick turned Blair toward the exit.

They walked past the fountain at the center of the plaza in front of the National Weather Center and turned right, heading back toward Nick's condo. "We'll need to get up around three in the morning," Nick said, "if we want to be at the Colorado storm in time to catch any activity. We'll drop by the Prediction Center before we head out, to make the final decision on where we want to go. Brett will have a laptop that he can use to access the Center's radar, but beyond that we're pretty much on our own."

"Isn't it dangerous to chase into strong storms like that?" Blair was definitely intrigued by his friend's spring hobby, but he also knew what Jim would say if the sentinel had any idea what he was planning.

Nick nodded. "Hell yes! This isn't for amateurs, and I'd most assuredly tell folks 'don't try this at home'. But Brett and I are professionals, we've been doing this for years. I won't kid you and say that you're going to be perfectly safe, but we'll keep you as safe as possible in a situation like that. We'll most likely encounter lightning and hail, and if we're lucky, a tornado."

"I'm looking forward to it."

~0~0~0~

The alarm clock went off with an annoying buzz at precisely 3 a.m. the next morning. Nick rolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Blair, sleeping in the other room, had barely stirred despite the cacophony.

Nick crawled out of bed and staggered into the great room where Blair slept on the couch. He reached down to shake the younger man's shoulder. "Hey, Goldilocks, it's time to get up and chase some weather."

A groan issued from Blair and he pulled the blankets up over his head. Nick yanked them back down. "I warned you we'd be getting up early."

"Go away," Blair moaned, fishing around for the blankets.

"You volunteered for this," Nick reminded him. "If you want to stay here and work on your dissertation instead, just say the word, and I'll let you go back to sleep."

"You're worse than Jim," Blair grumped, finally sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair.

"Tell you what, you can have the shower first, and I'll fix us some breakfast. Maybe that will wake you up."

"Coffee?" Blair asked wistfully.

"Strong and black, with a Thermos to take with us," Nick promised. "Now get up and get into the shower. The storm's brewing, and we don't have any time to waste."

By 4:30 a.m. they were back at the National Weather Center, having met with Brett on the way in. "We'll check the radar here and then gear-up and get on the road," Nick explained. He pointed to the bank of radar monitors showing the bright colors of weather masses over different parts of the country. "That's the one we're interested in." He pointed to an angry patch of yellow, orange and red blanketing the town of Lamar, Colorado.

"Looks promising," Brett commented. "See the beginnings of a hook echo on the southern edge of the storm?"

"Hook echo?" Blair studied the monitor, noting a small, comma-shaped curve. "Is that significant?"

"Sure the hell is," Nick said. "That shows rotation and means there's a good chance that we might find ourselves a tornado. Let's get packing!"

They headed outside and around the back of the building where several vehicles were parked, all sprouting the same bit of gear from their roofs. Nick led the way over to a green SUV. "This one's ours."

"What's the gizmo on the top?" Blair asked, eyeing the equipment.

"It's an anemometer—measures the wind speed and direction for us. Besides Brett's laptop, I'm afraid it's our only piece of technical gear," Nick explained. As they climbed into the SUV, Nick driving, Brett riding shotgun, and Blair in the back seat, Nick continued. "Dr. Josh Wurman has the DOW—Doppler on Wheels—a mobile Doppler radar lab, but he's off working on his Vortex project this spring. I've traveled with Josh before and having the radar right there with you is amazing. Maybe someday we'll have our own portable radar, but meanwhile, Brett's laptop and a link to the Weather Center will have to do.

"Have you got the map back there?" Nick asked.

Blair looked around and found it half buried under some safety equipment that was stored on the seat next to him. "Got it. Where are we going, exactly?"

"We're headed toward Lamar, Colorado. Should be about a seven hour drive," Nick said. "If we push it, we might get there a little faster."

"You want I-35 North," Blair said, consulting the map.

"I-35?" Nick confirmed. "You're sure?"

Blair's eyes flashed with mock indignation. "I know how to read a map!"

"Just ribbing you," Nick said as both men chuckled. "And we're off!" Nick pulled out of the parking lot and turned east on David L. Boren Boulevard. Two-and-a-half miles later, they had merged onto the interstate headed north and west to Colorado.

~0~0~0~

It was nearing 11 a.m. when they spotted the storm, having crossed into Colorado, traveling on US 287 toward Lamar. The cell was massive. Despite all the moving Blair had done growing up, including living for a time in 'Tornado Alley', he'd never seen anything on this scale. Despite being late morning, the sky was nearly dark as night. Pulling out his camera, he took several shots of the storm before turning to the two meteorologists sitting in the front seats of the SUV. "Is there any way to predict when a tornado might form?"

"To an extent," Brett answered for Nick, who was concentrating on the supercell, trying to get them in position to record data. "We know that tornadoes usually form given certain, very specific, atmospheric conditions; however, it's still impossible to say with any certainty where they will develop, how strong they'll be, or precisely what path they'll follow. There's still so much we don't know about these storms. That's why we come out here each spring."

"But the radar.... Surely you can tell something with that. You were pointing out that comma-like hook to me back in Norman." An anthropologist by trade, Blair was trying hard to wrap his mind around the complex meteorological conditions that created these destructive storms.

"Not all hook echoes indicate a tornado has actually formed. The Doppler radar can detect rotation in the atmosphere, but it still takes human beings actually seeing the tornado touch down. Not all of the storms occur in situations where the radar can 'see' them," Brett explained.

"So how does this storm look? I mean, it's an amazing sight," Blair said, still in awe of the massive cloud formation, slowly swirling in a counterclockwise direction. "Do you think we have a chance of catching a tornado today?"

"We certainly hope so," Nick replied. "As meteorologists, we do our best to forecast which storms we think will produce a tornado for us, but a lot of it is still based on luck. There are many pieces that have to come together perfectly for a twister to form ..."

"... and there are conditions that can stop tornado formation as well," Brett finished. "But we wouldn't be here if we didn't think we had a good chance."

Hail began to pelt their vehicle as the men approached the core of the storm. Soon, it was beating against the SUV with the force of small cannonballs. A stone the size of a baseball impacted the windshield on the passenger side, causing spidery cracks and a small hole to appear in the glass.

"Shit!" Brett cursed, brushing glistening bits of tempered glass from his lap. "This is going to be a bad one!"

"But isn't that what you wanted?" Blair had to raise his voice to be heard over the hammering. "A 'bad' one?"

"Hell yeah!" Brett shouted toward the younger man sitting in the back. "This is going to be a monster storm. I'm just not fond of glass falling near my junk, ya know?"

Blair nodded and grinned in complete understanding. The assault continued as he stared out his window in complete awe. "I've never seen anything quite like this! These hailstones are massive. I'd love to get out and collect a few."

"No way, not now," Nick told him. "You could be seriously hurt. We're going to keep moving and see if we can't get to the other side of this storm quickly. If there's a tornado on the ground right now, we wouldn't be able to see it because of the heavy precipitation. We need to get out of here to somewhere where we can see."

Blair could feel the tension radiating from the two meteorologists. He sat back in his seat, shutting his mouth and contemplating their current predicament. In his excitement to come along and experience something new, he hadn't considered the full ramifications of his choice: Storm chasing was dangerous and should be left to professionals. Amateurs and "looky-loos" had no business being out here.

Another fifteen minutes of driving through hail and rain brought them to the western edge of the storm. Nick continued to drive until they were far enough from the rain-wrapped interior to see the cloud formations again. Pulling to the side of the road, he got out of the car and walked up to a fence just off the road's shoulder. Brett and Blair followed.

"Look at that beautiful wall cloud forming." Nick pointed to a section lowering from the main supercell. "Fantastic rotation. Blair, get that video camera ready. You may be about to witness your first tornado."

They watched and waited for a half an hour, but nothing happened. "How long do you typically wait when conditions are like this?" Blair asked, his arms feeling leaden from keeping the camera aloft at the ready.

"There's just no judging it for sure," Brett answered. "While we've been standing here, watching, I've been noticing a strong outflow forming."

"What does that mean?"

Nick sighed. "It means we probably won't be seeing a tornado after all. Outflow like this undercuts a storm and reduces the chance that a tornado will form." He pointed to a clear area underneath that appeared to be slicing into the clouds from west to east.

"We came all this way for nothing?" Blair was visibly deflated by the news.

"Not every storm puts down a tornado," Nick explained. "We get a lot of disappointments during a chase season, but it only takes one good twister to get you excited all over again."

"We'll have to recalculate and move on," said Brett. "This time of year, there are always thunderstorms. Give me a minute to check the radar on the laptop." He climbed back into the SUV and was soon scanning the national radar map, looking for a strong storm system.

Nick came to stand next to the open car door, also studying the bright splotches of color on the screen. He pointed to a particular red spot. "This one's looking good. It appears to be building into a supercell with strong rotation."

"Let's get moving!" Brett elbowed Nick out of the way so that he could shut the door. Nick and Blair piled in after him.

"Where're we going?" Blair fastened his seat belt and leaned forward to try to get a look at the radar map on Brett's laptop.

"Southeastern Nebraska. Looks like the cell is headed straight for Tecumseh. If we get going, maybe we can get there a little ahead of the storm."

Nick drove back into Lamar where they stopped to gas up and buy drinks and sandwiches at the convenience store. They had an eight hour drive ahead of them, with as few stops as possible, if they wanted to intercept the developing supercell.

They headed north until they came to US 40, where they turned to head east into Kansas. Driving until they reached the city of Oakley, they turned north in the direction of Nebraska. Once on US 136-E, they opened up and raced the storm east.

"This storm is turning into a monster!" Brett examined the radar map, pointing at the screen. "Just look at that couplet! That's classic! We should be seeing activity any minute now."

"There!" Nick pointed through the windshield to a rotating cloud mass just to the north and east. "Damn.... Anticyclonic rotation! You don't see that every day. Look, Blair! It's rotating clockwise. Less than one percent of storms in the northern hemisphere rotate clockwise."

"I see it!" Blair's heart raced. "Is that ... is that ... a tornado?"

"Where?" Brett asked, glancing back toward their newest member to see where he was pointing. "Damn, yes! Look at it drop—debris on the ground! There's debris on the ground!"

Blair watched in amazement as a rotating air mass, littered with everything from tree branches and tumbleweeds to shingles off buildings, crossed the road not more than a quarter-mile ahead of them. Nick pulled off onto the shoulder, and they rode out the near miss. As the tornado passed by and began to recede, Blair finally had the presence of mind to pull out the camera and tape the perfectly shaped storm.

The tornado continued across an open field, retreating from the chasers at approximately thirty miles per hour. Within minutes it thinned and began to evaporate, disappearing as though it had never existed.

"It's roping out," Nick said, his own heart still thumping wildly in his chest. "That was a close one!"

"This storm isn't done with us yet!" Brett looked at the laptop again, studying the weather map. "Just go the way we're headed. The storm is intensifying again just east of here."

Nick tore back out onto the road, exceeding the speed limit, trying to get ahead of the fast moving storm.

As they drove, the adrenaline in Blair's system began to dissipate, and he came to a decision. To hell with trying to rewrite his dissertation. It was a lost cause anyway, given his status as a fraud and liar at Rainier. The university would never consider granting him a Ph.D. now, and his reputation would follow him wherever he tried to go. His future was with Jim, as a cop, but for the next couple of weeks, he was going to continue to participate in the adventure of a lifetime. He had never considered himself an adrenaline junky—quite the opposite, in fact—but his first near-miss tornado had sparked within him an irresistible need for more.

It was 7 p.m. and still light enough to see the wall cloud forming at the base of the mesocyclone just outside the town of Tecumseh, fifty-five miles southeast of Nebraska's capital of Lincoln. Nick pulled into a gas station to fill up and buy a map of the region. The best way to intercept a tornado was generally on the back roads, often dirt roads. He thanked the powers-that-be he had four-wheel drive. There was nothing more frightening—or dangerous—than to be spun-out in a ditch in the direct path of an oncoming tornado.

They stopped to study the map, discuss routes and their strategy over a quick meal at the local diner. Heading out of town into the fields, they felt a certainty in their bones they were about to witness another "finger of God." Lightning crackled and thunder boomed, forcing Blair to cover his ears.

Just as the light was beginning to fade, Brett pointed out the passenger side window. "Look!"

A classic stovepipe tornado lowered majestically from the clouds in the distance. Blair cranked down his window and began filming as Nick threw the SUV into reverse, spun around, and flew back to a small access road he'd passed seconds earlier.

Blair scrambled to the opposite window, lowering it to resume filming, as they barreled down the dirt road. Rain began to spatter the ground and camera lens. Finally forced to close both windows, he filmed through the glass. Rain turned to hail, and the already battered vehicle took another pounding.

"It's going to get sketchy," Brett warned, noting how quickly the dirt road was turning to mud. "You'd better slow down."

"Can't now," Nick said, concentrating on his driving and the tornado that was headed their way. "If I stop now, we'll be stuck here for sure."

As night dropped its curtain of darkness over the fields, the three men could see the approaching tornado only by the frequent flashes of lightning.

"Damn!" Nick exclaimed suddenly, throwing the SUV in reverse. "It's right on top of us!" He drove fast as he could back up the road they'd just come down. The wheels spun in the slippery mud. Finally, he stopped and set the emergency brake. "Hang on!"

In the back seat, Blair was thrown around, bumping painfully into the closely packed equipment. Debris pelted the vehicle. A fence post shattered the back windshield, narrowly missing the observer. He threw his hands over his head and flung himself to the floor.

As suddenly as it had hit, it was over. Dead calm enveloped the trio. Nick switched on an overhead light, turning to check on his fellow storm chasers. "Anybody hurt?"

Blair slowly unfurled and climbed back on the seat. "I'm fine. A little shaken up, but nothing more than a few bruises and scrapes."

Nick eyed the fence post resting next to his friend. "That was a close one!"

"Tell me about it!" Blair's voice shook as he struggled to maintain calm. He concentrated on the deep breathing exercises Naomi had taught him. Soon he was feeling more in control. "Can we go back now?"

Nick chuckled. "Yeah, it's time to head home for a breather. We're going to need to trade this wreck in for a new vehicle, for one thing."

"I think we got some fantastic data," Brett commented. "It's rare that chasers get to ride out a storm like that and live to tell about it."

"Just don't tell Jim," Blair said, chuckling weakly.

"Ellison! My office!" Simon bellowed from behind his desk.

Still using his cane after the shooting incident with Zeller, Jim limped into the Captain's office, pulled up a chair, and sat down heavily.

"What do you think you're doing back here? You're still supposed to be on medical leave!"

"I could ask the same of you." Jim's voice carried the weight of exhaustion and pain, both physical and mental. "You were injured more severely than I was."

Simon grumbled and got up to pour coffee. Handing Jim a mug, he eased back down into his seat. "This office would fall apart if I weren't here to hold it together. So, what's your excuse?"

"Honestly?" Jim took a sip of the hot, bitter liquid and pondered the black depths of the mug. "I'm worried about Sandburg."

"Blair?" Simon looked up in surprise. "How so? Are you worried he won't go to the academy when he gets back from his holiday?"

"I'm afraid he might not come back," Jim mumbled into his mug, taking another swallow.

"And what makes you think that?"

"We weren't on the best of terms when he left, Sir."

"I thought everything was square. That you two were good again."

"I screwed up, Simon. I screwed up big time. I didn't trust Blair, and I should have. He's never been anything but honest and up front with me. I should have never accused him of wanting fame and money over our friendship. And now ... well, I'm afraid that maybe I've damaged that friendship beyond all repair. I've got to do something. Something that will prove to him how much he means to me."

"Have you got something in mind?

"Actually, yeah," Jim answered. "I've been thinking about his press conference—what a load of crap that was! He trashed his reputation and any hope he ever had of having a career in anthropology or academia. He walked out on the life he loved—on the life he'd been living for the past thirteen years!"

"And you can do what about that?" Simon's tone was sympathetic, but he was certain that Jim was out of his element.

"First things, first. I want to dig up all the shit that I can on Chancellor Edwards. Remember the Ventriss case?" Simon nodded. "Blair told me that Edwards wouldn't even listen to his side of the argument. Norman Ventriss lavished all kinds of money on the university. They were even planning on naming their new gymnasium after him. That kind of money talks over ethics way too much in today's society. Edwards would rather risk her good name than Ventriss' money. Her excuse for firing Blair was completely bogus."

"He was reinstated after the case broke on the news," Simon noted. "And he did spend more time here than at the university this past year."

"But we had an agreement with the university, specifically with the Anthropology Department, that when the PD needed Blair, he'd be allowed the time off from his teaching duties. The Chancellor had no right to hold that against him. The threat of Ventriss' lawyer, that they could lose the endowment, made her cave and discharge Blair unjustly. Who knows how many others she's crossed just to keep the money flowing into the university coffers."

"You'll have to find a paper trail to prove your allegations," Simon cautioned. "But I agree, the kid was treated unjustly. His back was against the wall, and in the end, he did the only thing he could. You think you could get his sentinel paper reinstated? Get him his Ph.D.?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Simon. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I'm not even sure if Blair wants that anymore. I know he's not fond of the idea of carrying a gun or attending the academy, but I'm not sure he wants anything to do with Rainier anymore either."

"Take it one step at a time. You're free to use the department's resources, but remember, you're still officially on medical leave."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Jim stood up and handed back the empty mug. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Any time." Simon watched as Jim walked over to the door, opening it slowly. As he began to limp back out to the bullpen, Simon's words stopped him. "Remember ... I'm here if you need to talk."

Jim nodded, a faint smile creasing the corners of his mouth. He walked out of the office, closing the door softly behind him.

~0~0~0~

"Dr. Sidney Oldham, please. I have an appointment." Jim held out his badge and ID for the secretary to see.

"Just one moment, please." The secretary buzzed Dr. Oldham's office, said a few brisk words and got a few in return. She looked up and smiled. "Go right in, you're expected."

Jim entered the office, a more lavish and neater version than Blair's had been. Artifacts and thick academic volumes jostled for space on the crowded shelves. Papers and folders were neatly stacked on one corner of the desk, opposite the "In" and "Out" boxes. A plain brown blotter with embossed leather corners graced the center of the desk with an old-fashioned inkwell and pen sitting on its upper right corner.

Sidney Oldham stood and extended his hand. "Welcome, Detective Ellison. What can I do for you today?"

Jim eased himself down into the leather armchair in front of the desk. "This isn't an official visit," he began. "I need some information, if you have it to give."

Oldham smiled. "What is it you wish to know?"

"You remember Blair Sandburg? He was a doctoral student here in the Anthropology Department."

"Oh yes," Oldham answered quickly. "I remember him quite well. He's the young man who just recently declared himself and his paper a fraud, to the embarrassment of this university."

"Well, Sir, that's what I'd like to talk to you about," said Jim.

"I'm listening." Oldham sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Blair Sandburg is a liar." Jim watched Oldham's eyebrows rise to his hairline.

"That fact is not in dispute," he said coldly.

Jim shifted in his chair, trying to relieve the ache in his leg. "You misunderstand," he clarified. "Blair Sandburg is a liar. He lied about being a fraud. Everything he wrote in his paper was true."

The professor sat forward, resting his arms on the desk's blotter. "Then why would he say, in a public press conference, that his paper was a fantasy?"

"To protect me." Jim stood and began pacing the room, debating whether he should rescind his last statement and leave. He stopped in front of the desk, leaning on it. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room unless I say so. Is that understood?"

Oldham nodded.

"For the past three years, Blair has been working by my side, studying me, helping me ... with my senses." He paced a bit and then continued, "I was on a stake-out, in a remote area outside Cascade. I'd been alone for several days, casing an old farm building. Something happened. I was boiling some water, and I lost myself. When the person I was watching suddenly burst from an underground room on a motorcycle, I almost missed my chance. I did miss my chance. I saw my reflection in the motorcyclist's helmet when I tried to grab him, and my sight went off the charts.

"I went to my captain and asked for a leave of absence. The best I could get was time off to see a doctor. That's when I met Sandburg. He'd gotten wind of my problem from a nurse he was ... tutoring ... at the time and disguised himself as the doctor. He told me there wasn't anything wrong with me and handed me his business card. Of course, I didn't know it was actually his and not a doctor's at the time....

"Anyway, I showed up at his office here at the university, and he explained to me what was happening with my senses. All five are enhanced: sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. Since that day three years ago, he's been helping me learn to control my senses, helping me learn to use them in my police work. Because of my abilities, I have the highest arrest and conviction rate of any detective in the department. I've had to keep this all secret, of course. If anyone found out about my abilities, my celebrity would keep me from being able to perform my job properly. Not to mention the criminal element would quickly learn how to use my senses against me.

"Blair wrote his paper, but he hadn't had time to remove my name from it, to polish it up for submission, when his mother found it and emailed a copy to a publisher friend of hers. Once word got out, the only thing Blair could do to protect me and reverse the damage done was to declare himself and his paper a fraud." Jim stopped pacing and wearily sat down once more.

"That's quite a story," Oldham said softly, sympathy showing in his tone for the first time. "But how can I be sure that it's not you fabricating the truth to save your friend?"

"You can't. You're going to have to take my word for it."

"I'm afraid that's not enough," Oldham said sadly.

Jim sat staring at the department head for several heartbeats as he made his decision. "Who besides yourself sits on the committee that reviews the doctoral thesis papers?"

"Blair's doctoral advisor, Anya Merinov; his mentor, Eli Stoddard; myself; and, of course, the Chancellor."

"Edwards?" The mention of the woman who had so viciously maligned Blair brought Jim back to his feet. "No way! That woman is as corrupt as they come. I don't want her coming anywhere near me or Sandburg!"

"Excuse me? Do you have any proof of what you're saying?"

"You bet I damn well do! I've been spending the past week sifting through her phone records and paperwork. I have proof that she's been taking bribes from rich students' families to keep their failing whelps in school. Blair can attest to the fact that she was willing to discharge him rather than reprimand a rich student for fraud. Brad Ventriss bought a term paper, since he wasn't in class enough to be able to write his own. That's an automatic failing grade according to the regulations of this institution, and yet he was allowed to pass, and Blair was fired."

Oldham sighed. "I remember that case. I have to admit, I'm culpable as well. I told Blair to just give Brad a "C" and forget about the paper. His father, Norman Ventriss, had just donated enough money to build the new gymnasium. We couldn't afford to have him back out."

"So money won out over academic honesty?"

"Not one of our finer hours, I'm afraid," Oldham said sadly. "I regret the part I played, but Blair was reinstated when we discovered what Brad had done."

"I have others, as well—some that you may not be aware of." He took a 3.5-inch floppy disk from his pocket. "It's all here. Take a look when you have some time. Give a copy to the people you think will do the most good."

"I will do that. I promise." Oldham hesitated. "But there's still your claim of enhanced senses to verify. If this pans out, and Blair truly lied to protect you, there's every chance that we can reinstate him to the doctoral program and push his paper through the system."

"I'll call to set up a time to prove what I've said is true," Jim promised, reaching out to shake the doctor's hand. "But no Chancellor Edwards."

"Agreed. I look forward to seeing what you have to offer. Good day, Detective."

"Good day, Professor."

~0~0~0~

Determined to make the best of his decision, Jim spent the next several days devising tests that might convince the Rainier faculty. He also got sworn depositions from people who had unknowingly witnessed his senses in action, including his ex-wife, Carolyn Plummer. She'd been puzzled over Jim's ability to identify duck waste in a water sample procured from a crime scene in the David Lash case.

Simon Banks accompanied Jim on the day chosen to show off his sentinel abilities to the two men and one woman who would decide Blair's fate. Eli Stoddard, Sidney Oldham, and Anya Merinov met them at Oldham's office. From there, they ventured out to the streets of Cascade. Jim proceeded to read license plates on cars parked three blocks away, recite whispered conversations from five hundred feet, list ingredients in the soup they had for lunch (verified by the café's chef), and on and on. Anything that one of the Rainier faculty asked him to do, Jim performed to perfection. After two hours of planned and impromptu tests, the three faculty members were convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that the sentinel's abilities were real.

"Let us review Blair's paper," Oldham suggested. "If his research is supported by what we've seen you demonstrate here today, we'll most definitely consider his reinstatement."

"I've read Blair's thesis," Stoddard chimed in. "If he is to ultimately submit that paper for his doctorate, he'll have to find a way to remove your name without compromising his data, Detective Ellison."

"I realize that," Jim said. "Blair has already told me it would be nearly impossible and not have it affect the data. I don't know how he'd feel about trying."

"He could always submit a new topic for consideration," Dr. Merinov suggested. "That is what I would advise him to do."

"You do know," Oldham added, "that reinstatement is not our decision to make. We can only submit our findings to the board and leave it in their hands. But I think there is a very good chance that Blair will be asked to return."

"What about Chancellor Edwards?" Simon asked, knowing how Jim felt about the woman. None of this would be settled until she was out of the way.

Sidney Oldham sighed. "I reviewed all the evidence that Detective Ellison gave me. It's very convincing. However, the committee that makes these decisions has decided to reprimand only. Chancellor Edwards will be under close scrutiny, and if Mr. Sandburg returns to the program, she will have no contact with him nor any input into the decision as to whether or not to grant the doctoral degree."

"That's not good enough!" Jim stormed. "I want her gone!"

"I'm sorry, but that's just not possible at this time," Oldham answered quietly. "Unfortunately, money still talks. The university gets over fifty percent of its operating funds from alumni donations and corporate grants. Rainier can't afford to jeopardize such substantial revenue."

"So Edwards skates," Jim groused. "That's just great. Thanks for nothing!"

Stoddard pulled Jim aside, resting a hand on the disgruntled detective's shoulder. "She will have no contact with Blair, should he choose to return, nor will she be able to affect him indirectly. I will see to it personally. What she did was wrong, but as Sidney pointed out, we are not the decision makers, and the university can't afford the loss of income. It'll work out, you'll see. The important thing is that your demonstration paved the way for Blair's reinstatement. That's huge. I hope he knows how much you care."

"I hope he comes back, so I get the chance to tell him." Jim sighed heavily.

"So, what do you think so far?" Nick sipped his coffee as they sat in the Flying Cow Café. "Having fun yet?"

Blair chuckled. "I don't know that I'd call it 'fun'. Who knew that I could be an adrenaline junkie?"

"Gets under your skin, doesn't it?" Brett grinned at the newest member of their chase team.

"Boy, does it ever! I can see why you guys keep going out every season. You know," Blair continued thoughtfully, "I'll bet I could make a little money publishing a paper on the subculture surrounding meteorologists as storm chasers."

"Gonna write a paper about your nutty friends, eh?" Brett teased.

"No ... really," Blair continued, becoming more animated. "I owe Jim some back rent. You know ... the business with the press conference really messed with my income."

"If you need any help financially, Blair, you know you only have to ask," said Nick.

Blair shook his head. "It's not that dire, but I do like to pay my own way. I don't like to be in debt to anybody."

"Well, that's fine with me. If you need me to sign off on anything, I'm more than willing. In the meantime, it looks like there's a wicked storm developing to our northwest, right here in Oklahoma." Nick turned to Brett. "Have you talked to Tim yet about joining up?"

"He's always more than happy to have two more meteorologists on his team," said Brett.

"We talked to a colleague of ours, Tim Wright, about joining forces," Nick explained. "He goes out with a team of chasers. They carry more equipment than we do, so it's always exciting to tag along with them. Tim tries to get up close and personal with the storms, since the closer you get, the better the data you can collect."

"Sounds dangerous."

"It's all dangerous. Remember the fence post?"

Blair rubbed the back of his head, the near miss as they'd rode out the EF2 tornado just two weeks ago fresh in his mind. "That's one close call I'd prefer to forget."

"It's best that you don't. What you forget or ignore can kill you. This isn't a game."

"I realize that." Blair nodded and then his face lit with a grin. "I'm ready to go again if you are."

"Time to hit the road!" Brett got up, dropping a fiver on the table for their waitress.

~0~0~0~

Each of the cars in the convoy was equipped with an anemometer on the roof, a laptop for the radar, and walkie-talkies to keep everyone in the group informed. Tim Wright's vehicle carried eight conical probes, loaded with scientific equipment designed to measure such things as wind speed and barometric pressure, as well as to take pictures from inside the vortex. The trick was to accurately predict the track of a twister and lay the probes in its path, then get out of the way as quickly as possible. While they had more misses than hits, the data gathered from the probes was invaluable to the scientists.

"Hey, Tim!" Nick waved at the storm chaser as they approached from across the parking lot. "Thanks for letting us come along with you this time."

"Always happy to have you aboard. You know my colleagues: Josh, Reid, and Sean."

Nick nodded. "Good to see you guys again!"

"So, is everyone ready to rock and roll?"

"You bet! Tim, this is a good friend of mine, Blair Sandburg. He's been riding with Brett and me for the past couple of weeks."

"Nice to meet you, Blair. So, have you seen any tornadoes yet?"

Blair swept the hair off his forehead and chuckled. "Oh yeah ... several."

"He nearly got K-O'd by a fence post driven through the back windshield of our SUV in the Tecumseh storm," Brett added.

"Well, I guess that means you've been officially baptized by the tornado gods," Tim joked. "Welcome aboard!"

"We were looking at that storm developing up in Ellis County," said Nick. "What do you think?"

"That's the one I had my eye on, too," Tim confirmed. "It looks like it's building into a supercell as we speak."

"Then we'd better hit the road," said Brett. "I wouldn't want to miss a good storm!"

"All right everybody," Tim shouted. "Saddle up!"

The caravan of SUVs headed out of Norman and back toward Oklahoma City, then turned northwest on US 270-W. The three-hour drive went by quickly as chatter flew back and forth via the walkie-talkies.

"The Doppler radar shows the storm developing rapidly and moving northeast toward Arnett," Tim's voice crackled over the comm. "I'm going to try and get ahead of it so that I can set down the probes."

"Roger, Tim," Nick acknowledged. Turning to Brett and Blair, he frowned. "Damn ... My hometown."

Blair leaned forward from the back seat to get a look at the radar image on Brett's laptop. "It won't necessarily hit Arnett, will it?"

"Nothing's for certain with these storms," Nick agreed, "but it's going to be close. Too close."

They continued to drive for another half hour, edging ever nearer to the approaching storm. "Look! Clouds are developing. They're really shooting up!" Brett pointed through the windshield. "Damn! The CAPE is off the charts!"

"The whole storm is rotating," Nick said, the awe still apparent in his voice even after hundreds of tornado intercepts.

"Storm's moving left to right," Tim's voice erupted from the walkie-talkie, "that's a really good sign. Let's get in closer!"

"We have rotation two to three miles to our northeast," Nick confirmed. "With the RFD wrapping, we could see a tornado develop in the next five to ten minutes!"

The caravan sped ahead, following Wright's lead. "I'm going west at the next road," he warned the group. "Gotta get in the path of that thing."

Three of the vehicles, by prior arrangement, continued on US 60-W toward Arnett, while Nick followed Tim's SUV down the side road toward the approaching storm. Five miles later, Tim pulled on to the shoulder and jumped out of his vehicle, running around to open the hatch and pull out a row of probes.

"It's really starting to spin up," Tim noted. "Look! We have a rapidly rotating wall cloud. It's about to put down a big one!"

Nick, Brett, and Blair approached Tim's SUV and the four men stood watching the storm. Blair had the presence of mind to lift the video camera to his shoulder and start taping just as the formation began to tighten and lower.

"I see debris on the ground!" Brett shouted, pointing ahead and to his right.

The tornado was closer than any of the men had anticipated. Nick and Brett helped deploy a probe at the road's edge, and then the four men jumped back into their vehicles with Brett shouting, "We need to haul ass! Haul ass—now!"

Nick slammed the SUV into reverse and began to back down the road at full speed. Yanking the steering wheel hard to the right, he threw the vehicle into drive and spun a one-eighty on the dirt road, heading back to the highway. Tim was hot on his heels.

As they sped toward Arnett, a massive wedge tornado raced alongside them. As quickly as they moved, the tornado moved faster, sweeping past them in a northeasterly direction.

"It's a beast!" Brett exclaimed. "A beautiful, beautiful beast!"

"Let's just hope that Arnett's not in its direct path," Nick's voice was a desperate prayer. "That thing's at least a half-mile wide!"

"I hear sirens going off," Blair said as they approached the town.

On the outskirts, Nick pulled the SUV over. "Shit!" Downed power lines blocked their path in every direction. Getting out of the vehicle, he scanned the devastation and hung his head. Brett and Blair came up behind him.

"Sorry, man." Blair laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. The town was leveled. Despite the intervening years, Blair had been certain he'd recognize the landmarks in Arnett, but they no longer existed.

Tim joined the group. "This is why we chase," he said softly. "We can't stop tornadoes, but if we can better predict them, we can save lives."

"Let's go see what we can do to help," Brett suggested.

The four men cautiously picked their way around the downed power lines and walked into town. A lone police car, lights flashing, was making its way slowly down Main Street. Nick and his comrades approached the cruiser. "Anything we can do to help?"

The policeman's jaw was slack. Fear scudded across his eyes, reflecting the storm clouds overhead. "I've never seen anything like that in my entire life. It filled the sky! Everything was black. The noise was like a jet engine at full throttle. And then ... it was gone. Everything was gone."

"We need to organize some search and rescue teams," Tim said, taking charge of the small group. "We could use your help," he told the patrolman.

Simon had joined Jim at the loft for pizza and a beer after work. The TV droned softly in the background.

Today, at 5:34 p.m. Central Time, an EF4 tornado ripped through the town of Arnett, Oklahoma. Arnett, the Ellis County seat, has a population of 521. Three are confirmed dead, eighteen injured as of the latest count. Damage is estimated at over a million dollars. Rescue workers are still busy digging through the rubble. In the direct path of the tornado, nothing was left standing....

Simon glanced at the TV and did a double take. "Jim? Is that Blair?"

"Huh? What...?" Jim had been in a light zone, lulled by the droning of the TV and his captain's prattle. He sat up at full attention as he focused on the newscast. Behind the reporter was a group of rescue workers, moving the wooden frames of buildings and digging through the detritus left by the storm. Among them was a figure dressed in a red plaid coat and jeans, hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Damn!" Jim recognized his soon-to-be-partner and friend sifting through the wreckage of a house. "He's supposed to be safe in the university's library doing research!"

"Maybe he decided to do a different kind of research," Simon suggested.

"Not the kind that could get him killed!" Jim ranted. "Damn kid! He needs to be watched every minute or he goes off and does something stupid!"

"He looks just fine to me," Simon reasoned. "He appears to be helping with the rescue work."

The tornado was on the ground for an astounding one hour and eight minutes, cutting a swath of destruction from Arnett through Woodward and Mooreland before finally dissipating....

Jim reached over and turned off the TV. "I'm going there." He got up and strode over to the coat rack. "Right now."

"Jim, be reasonable," Simon cautioned. "Blair's not hurt. There's no excuse for you to go. You'd be more of a hindrance with that leg of yours...."

"Are you going to drive me to the airport or not?" Jim growled.

Simon stood up, shrugging, knowing that when Blair's safety was in question, there was no stopping Jim from rushing to the rescue ... whether the kid needed it or not. "I know you well enough by now to know that you're going with or without me. Might as well be with. Someone's got to keep an eye on you."

At the airport, Simon booked a ticket to Oklahoma City over Jim's protests that he could do this himself. Their flight wasn't until the following morning, so both men camped out on the padded benches in the waiting area, determined to get some rest before their flight.

When they arrived at the Will Rogers World Airport, Jim was quick to rent a car and get directions to Arnett.

"You don't want to go there, Sir," the car rental agent informed him. "A big tornado hit there yesterday. The roads will be filled with emergency vehicles and rescue workers. They're asking tourists to please stay out of the area."

"We're not tourists," Jim said sharply. "We're here to help with the rescue effort."

The woman glanced at Jim's cane, having observed his limp as he had walked over to the counter. "Um, yes, Sir." She paused, her eyes flickering between the two men. "You head northwest on highway 270-W until you get to the town of Seiling. From there, you head directly west on US 60-W. It's hard to miss. Just look for the flashing red lights."

Her dry sarcasm was lost on Jim, whose only focus was getting to Blair as quickly as possible. He headed out to the lot, trailed by Simon who was slowed due to the bullet that had nearly taken his life just a few short weeks ago. The way Simon figured it, neither of them had any business heading into a disaster zone, but just like the tornadoes so frequent in this region, Jim was a force of nature not to be stopped.

But stopped they were, on the outskirts of Arnett. "I'm sorry, Sir," the patrolman informed them, "but we're not allowing any vehicles other than emergency and rescue personnel."

Jim pulled out his wallet and showed his ID and badge. "We're with the police."

"A little out of your jurisdiction, aren't you?"

"One of our detectives is in there, helping with the rescue effort. He was here when the tornado struck. We came to help."

"Oh, in that case...." The patrolman waved them through.

"Laid that on a little thick, didn't you?" Simon smiled.

"He's a detective in all but the formality of the academy," Jim protested weakly. "I had to get us in here."

"And now where?" Simon surveyed the devastation. "It looks like someone dropped a nuclear bomb."

Jim rolled down his window and extended his hearing. Voices drifted back on the breeze blowing through the destruction. "Straight ahead." Jim maneuvered the car around the downed power lines and debris. When a lamp post finally blocked their way, they got out of the car and continued on foot.

Jim approached a man wearing a hard hat and carrying a walkie-talkie. "Excuse me, we're looking for a young man, twenty-nine, about five-ten, long brown hair...."

"Sorry. We're still trying to account for all the residents of the town."

"Blair Sandburg. He's not a resident. He's here helping with the search and rescue. I saw him on the news report last night. Red plaid coat?"

"Sorry." The man shook his head. "Don't know him. There are a lot of crews scattered around town. Wish I could be of more help, but I've kinda got my hands full here."

"We can see that," Simon added briskly before Jim could comment again. "Is there any way around that lamp post back there?"

The man turned to look at the blue Ford parked just beyond the fallen streetlight. "Go back up the road about three hundred feet and turn right on the first street you come to. Next block over is free of debris. You should be able to get through."

"Thank you." Simon put a hand on Jim's shoulder, turning him around. They headed back to the car, got in, and made a U-turn, heading back the way they had come. "We'll find him, and he's going to be fine."

"Not once I get hold of him." Jim growled softly to himself.

Simon shook his head and sighed. It was a good thing he'd come along after all. Someone was going to have to protect Blair from the "Wrath of Ellison."

"Man, I'm beat!" Blair sat down on a concrete foundation, now stripped of the home it had once supported. "I sure wish Jim was here. He'd make short work out of finding people."

"We don't have to stay," Nick reminded him. "We're meteorologists. We tracked the storm and documented the damage. Our work here is done."

Blair shook his head. "Not when there are still so many unaccounted for. I couldn't leave now if I wanted to."

"Why don't you head over to the SUV. You can fold down the back seats and take a nap in the cargo area. You've been up over thirty-six hours now."

"All I need is some more coffee." Blair rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "I've done worse than this before."

"You've had enough caffeine to take down an elephant." Nick laid a hand on Blair's shoulder and turned him toward the car. "You need rest. Go. Sleep. I'll wake you in a couple hours."

"What about you? You've been up as long as I have."

"Not true. I actually took a nap while you were working with Tim and Reid. Now it's your turn."

"I suppose." Exhaustion was fast catching up to Blair now that the adrenaline rush of the day before had worn off along with today's caffeine. He made his way over to the SUV, folded down the seats and climbed into the cargo area, curling up inside a sleeping bag to keep warm. Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

The blue Ford maneuvered through the ruins of the town. Jim had the window rolled down and was listening intently for sounds of the search and rescue to guide them. Finally, they rounded a corner. Flashing lights temporarily dazzled Jim's sight, causing him to slam on the brakes and nearly send Simon through the windshield.

"Careful there, Hotshot," Simon cautioned. "Don't kill us before we complete our mission."

"If Blair were here, that wouldn't have happened." Jim opened his door and climbed out of the car, looking for the person who was in charge.

A man wearing a hard hat and safety vest turned to the newcomers. "Sorry, Gentlemen, but you shouldn't be here unless you're part of the official search and rescue."

"Name's Ellison," Jim introduced himself. "This is Simon Banks. We're here looking for one of your rescue workers, Blair Sandburg."

"Sandburg? Haven't heard of him. Sorry."

"Blair?" A tall, handsome, dark-haired man about Blair's age looked up from the rubble through which he was digging. "You're looking for Blair Sandburg?"

Jim quickly strode over. "Yes. Do you know where I can find him?"

"He's resting." A cock of his head indicated a black SUV about 200 yards away. "My name is Nick Keppler."

"Jim Ellison."

"Simon Banks."

After the introductions, Nick smiled. "Well, it's good to finally meet the great Jim Ellison."

"You're the one Blair called—"

"That's me, the very one." Nick's grin broadened. "I've known Blair since we were in our teens."

Jim nodded curtly, done with the introductions. He turned and made his way over to the SUV where Blair was sleeping.

"He's really not that tactless," Simon apologized. "Well, all right, maybe he is, but he's been under a lot of stress recently. Blair leaving to come here, just when he thought things were getting better between them is the straw that broke the camel's back."

"I understand," Nick replied. "Blair explained some of it to me. The stress of the press conference still has him down. I don't think he's quite recovered from the loss of his academic career."

"I'm really sorry that had to happen," Simon admitted. "Blair's a good kid, if annoying at times. I wouldn't have wished this on him ... on either of them, but they'll work it through. They always do."

~0~0~0~

Jim approached the SUV, noting the open hatch. Inside, Blair was dead to the world, curled up in a sleeping bag. The sentinel stopped, cocked his head, and for a few moments just listened to the quiet breathing and slow, steady beat of a familiar heart. Tentatively, he reached out a hand to brush away a stray lock of hair from Blair's cheek. His partner looked younger than ever, more vulnerable than Jim had seen him in a long time. Any residual anger over Blair having taken off for parts unknown evaporated as he used his senses to catalog every nuance of his guide's being, deeming him healthy and whole. He hesitated to disturb the exhausted young man, but his need to see those eyes and hear that voice was too powerful. He reached out, placing a hand gently on Blair's shoulder, giving him a shake. "Hey, Chief, wake up."

"Mmmph...huh?" Blair rolled over onto his back, opening heavy eyelids. He dug at them with his knuckles, trying to shed the last vestiges of sleep. When he looked up again, he focused on his best friend smiling down at him. "Jim!" Leaping out of the SUV, he flung his arms around the man's neck, thumping Jim's back enthusiastically. "It's good to see you!"

Jim pulled away after a few moments and eyed Blair head to toe.

Blair backed off and returned Jim's gaze, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm sure glad you're here."

"I'm glad I found you. What were you thinking, chasing after tornadoes when you told me that you'd be cloistered in a library during your time off?"

Blair shrugged. "It wasn't planned ... honest. Nick showed me around the Weather Center, and we talked about what he did. I was feeling a little reckless and rebellious, I suppose. There didn't seem to be any sense or reason to work on a dissertation when I've been banned from the program."

"About that...."

"No, Jim, please, just let me finish. It's all right. I don't mind. I've made my choice, and I'm coming back to attend the academy and be your official partner. I just figured that I might as well have a little excitement here first. I was with professionals, I wasn't in any real danger."

"I don't believe that for a minute, but I'm letting it go ... for now. Let's get you out of here. It's time for you to come home."

"We can't go yet. There are still people missing! Jim, we could use your senses. You could listen for heartbeats or other signs of life. If the rescue workers knew where to focus their efforts, people could be found and treated more quickly."

Jim grinned and ruffled Blair's hair. "You already know the first creed of the policeman's code by heart: protect and serve. Let's get busy serving."

"Right on, man! Thanks, Jim!"

During the next several hours, until daylight began to wane, Blair guided Jim and his senses, helping to locate a family trapped in their basement, eight school children who had huddled under desks in their classroom, an elderly man and his dog trapped in a bathtub and many more.

Hector Winston, the county sheriff, came to speak to the duo. "You've been a tremendous help. The majority of the townsfolk have been accounted for, and we have you to thank for much of that. Sure wish I knew how you did it, though." He took his hat off and scratched his head. "You ferreted out folks faster than a bloodhound."

"I've got good ears." Jim shrugged his shoulders, giving the man a lopsided grin.

The sheriff nodded. "Thanks again, Gentlemen."

"We were happy to be able to help. Now I think it's time I take this one," Jim wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders, "and head for home."

"You live around here?"

"We're from Cascade, Washington."

"You're a long way from home."

"It's going to be good to get back. I think I've had enough tornadoes to last me a lifetime." Blair shook his head.

"So ... you're leaving?" Nick sauntered up to the trio. "You'll have to stop back at my condo to pick up Blair's things."

Jim got out his wallet, thumbed through the bills, pulled out a fifty and handed it to Nick. "You can just pack it all up and ship it home. Let me know if you need more to cover postage." The meteorologist raised an eyebrow but accepted the money.

"I guess this is good-bye, Nick." Blair turned to his old friend. "It was good seeing you again. Thanks for taking me along storm chasing. I had a blast."

"It was good having you." Nick pulled him into a bear hug. "I'm going to miss you, Buddy."

"We'll keep in touch," Blair promised. "And you're always welcome to come visit us in Cascade as well."

"I just might do that," Nick said with a twinkle in his eye. "I could bring your stuff with me and deliver it in person."

"After the summer," Blair hedged. "I'm heading off to the police academy after I get home."

"Good luck with that! I'd rather chase tornadoes than be in boot camp," Nick teased, slapping his shoulder, "but you'll do great. You always do."

"Thanks. Bye, Nick!"

"Good-bye, Goldilocks!"

"Goldilocks?" Jim queried.

Blair chuckled. "It's just a nickname."

"Yeah, sure." The sentinel wrapped a possessive arm around his guide's shoulder and led him back to the rental car.

~0~0~0~

They couldn't get a flight home until noon the next day, so the three men shared a room at the Four Points By Sheraton near the airport.

"I'll take the couch," Simon offered, knowing his two colleagues had worked far harder than his injury had allowed him. "You two can have the beds."

"No way, Simon ... uh, Captain," Blair corrected when Simon shot him one of his patented glares. "I'm used to sleeping on couches and in backs of cars, you two take the beds." When Jim looked like he was about to argue, the anthropologist shook his head. "I'm good with the couch. Let's get cleaned up so that we can get some shut-eye. I'm exhausted."

Blair got the shower first, since he'd been out digging in the rubble the longest. When he was finished, he made his bed on the couch, sighing with relief as his head hit the pillow. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired.

~0~0~0~

The next morning came all too quickly. Blair awoke to the sound of voices and the smell of coffee.

"'Morning." Blair rubbed the sleep from his eyes and focused on the Styrofoam cup in Simon's hand. "Coffee?"

"Good morning, Sandburg," the Captain greeted the younger man. "There's continental breakfast in the lobby."

Jim looked up from reading the morning paper. "I'll go grab you a Danish and some coffee while you get dressed," he offered. "It's after 10:00 and we need to get to the airport soon."

"Thanks, Jim! I'd appreciate it." Blair gathered his clothes and headed for the bathroom. By the time he'd finished dressing and shaving, Jim was back with his breakfast.

"Man, I don't know what I'd do without my morning coffee." Blair sighed contentedly as he sipped the hot brew. "It's going to be good to get home again. I never thought I'd say it, but I really miss Cascade. This Midwest weather is too warm for me!"

"Is that all you missed?" Jim poked at his Danish, not particularly interested in breakfast.

"No ... hey ... I missed you, too," Blair amended. "That goes without saying!"

"I'm really glad you're coming home," Jim admitted. "It wasn't the same without you there."

"You done eating yet?" Simon interrupted. "We need to get a move on!" He stood, cleaned the table of their breakfast detritus, and packed his bag. Jim and Blair soon followed suit, and the three men left for the airport.

~0~0~0~

The flight home was uneventful, as Jim hadn't yet decided how to broach the subject of Blair's reinstatement at Rainier.

They arrived back in Cascade and, once back at the loft, Blair decided to take a nap. The long days of storm chasing and rescue work had taken their toll on his usually abundant energy. When he awoke a couple hours later, he was greeted by the delicious scent of Jim's famous spaghetti sauce drifting into his room. Pulling on his clothes, he hurried out to the kitchen.

Blair set the table as Jim put the finishing touches on the pasta and pulled the toasted garlic bread from the oven. As they sat down to dinner, Blair asked, "So ... what were you up to while I was in Oklahoma?"

Jim hesitated. "I wasn't sure if you planned on coming back."

"What would make you think I wouldn't return?" Blair put down his fork and caught the eyes of his friend, gazing intently as if trying to read Jim's mind.

"This whole sentinel thing...." Jim began.

"You've got good control of your senses now," Blair commented in the silence that followed. "You really don't need me for guidance anymore."

"That's not what I meant," Jim clarified. "You ended your career trying to protect me, and I know that you're not happy with the idea of becoming a cop."

"What makes you think that? Jim, you know I'd do whatever it takes to continue working with you. We're friends. Besides, I've been able to use my knowledge of anthropology more than once to help solve cases. I'd be a good cop."

"I'm not questioning that. I know you'd be a good cop. I just wasn't certain that was what you really wanted." Jim paused, dropping his eyes to stare at his plate. "So I decided to go to Rainier...."

"Oh, God, Jim ... what did you do?" Blair dropped his fork, his appetite suddenly gone.

"I talked to Sidney Oldham about your press conference," Jim admitted.

"No ... Jim ... you didn't! You didn't tell him anything, did you? Tell me you didn't screw things up after all I went through for you."

"I told him the truth. I told him the only thing you lied about was being a fraud. I told him you were the most honest person I know, and that what you did, you did to cover for me."

Blair groaned, resting his forehead in the palms of his hands. "No, no, no, no, no," he whispered, shaking his head.

"I gave a private demonstration of my gifts to Dr. Oldham, Eli Stoddard, and your advisor, Dr. Merinov. This was my decision, my responsibility. I did it because I wanted to, because I wanted to clear your good name."

Blair looked up, his voice tinted with sarcasm. "And how did that go?"

"It took a while. Dr. Oldham had to go through channels, after all, but you've been reinstated to the doctoral program, if you want to return. I did my best to get rid of Chancellor Edwards, too, but that didn't pan out. She got a slap on the wrist and is under observation, but she kept her job."

"I'm not going back." Blair shook his head slowly.

"Edwards can't have anything to do with you anymore," Jim promised. "That was part of the deal. Dr. Stoddard said you'd have to rewrite your paper on sentinels to exclude my name, while still finding a way to keep your data intact. If you can do that, you'll get your Ph.D."

"I don't want it. Don't you understand, Jim? My priorities have changed. I had already decided that I wanted to attend the police academy and earn my badge before I left for Oklahoma. I want to be your official partner at the PD."

"You can be my official partner and still have a Ph.D.," Jim insisted. "I'd be the envy of the force."

"You already are," Blair quipped, feeling the tension leave his body as he smiled. "Look ... it's not that I don't appreciate what you did ... I do. I really do. Maybe someday I'll consider it. I have my master's degree. I'm still the department's 'go to' guy for anything that falls under the purview of anthropology or archeology. I have everything I've ever wanted. I got my brass ring, Jim." Reaching across the table, he covered the sentinel's hand with his own. "I don't need anything else."

"If you're sure.... If that's what you really want...."

"It is. It's exactly what I want."

~0~0~0~

"Welcome back, gentlemen," Simon greeted his favorite detective pair. "Are you ready to get back to some real work now?"

"Ready as we'll ever be." Blair rubbed his hands together. "What have you got for us?"

"Well, for Jim I have this." Simon reached behind him to a tall stack of manila folders. "Closed cases whose paperwork was put on hold." Jim groaned, taking the load. "And for you, Cadet...." Simon took a stack of books and papers, handing them to Blair. "These are your admittance forms for the academy, as well as your health history and permission to perform a background check. The rest are your textbooks. I figured you might as well get started. Classes begin in two weeks."

"A paycheck is going to be nice," Blair said, grinning, as he inspected the materials in his hand. "It's been a long time since I've had a steady income."

"Can we say 'back rent'?" Jim teased.

"Yeah, yeah," Blair groused. "But I'm still not cutting my hair!"

Simon frowned. "What happened to the 'Blairskin' rug I was promised?"

Jim reached over to ruffle the curly mop. "I guess you're out of luck. Maybe next time."

"Next time?" Blair's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you think there's going to be a next time?"

Laughter filled the office.

Glossary (in order of appearance in the story):

NOAA: National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

CAPE: Convective Available Potential Energy—A measure of energy or instability in the atmosphere. Instability occurs when warm, moist air rises and mixes with the cooler air above.

RFD: Rear Flank Downdraft—The strong downdraft at the back edge of a storm, suspected of being responsible for tornado formation.

The Sentinel episodes used in this story:

  Murder 101
  The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg

  Note: The Anthropology Department head, played by actor George Gordon, appeared in both episodes under different names: Dr. Sidney Oldham in Murder 101 and Professor Sidney Marks in The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg. Since he only appears in the press conference scene in TSbyBS and is not referred to by a last name in either the script, I am using the name assigned from the episode Murder 101. Character names are from the Internet Movie Database.