Jim groaned. His entire body ached from the awkward position he'd spent the night in. He shoved away the blankets covering him and stumbled to his feet. Damn, Blair was up and once again he hadn't heard him. He trudged from the room, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

  His partner sat on the couch, glasses on, reading from one of books he'd gotten from the library the day before. He looked up as Jim came into the room. "Hey, man, you okay?"

  "I was just going to ask you that."

  "I'm fine." Blair pulled off his glasses and set the book aside. "Jim, what happened last night? I mean, something must have if you spent the night sleeping in my room but I don't have any idea what."

  Jim moved to the chair across from his partner and dropped into it. "I found you out in the hall this time. You were heading toward the elevator."

  "The elevator," Blair repeated, visibly shuddering. "Do you think I would have actually left the building?"

  "I don't know, Chief. Do you remember any of it?"

  "No, nothing."

  "Did you have that same feeling again? Like someone was watching you?"

  He shook his head. "There's just nothing, Jim. When I woke up, I was relieved because I thought I'd gotten through the night fine. Then I saw you and ..." His voice trailed off. "Man, what is going on?"

  Jim leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped before him. "Blair, there's more." He didn't know if this was the best time to finally bring this up but he couldn't keep it to himself anymore. "I didn't hear you get up last night."

  Blair raised an eyebrow. "You were tired. You just didn't--"

  "No, that's not it," he said, his voice overriding Blair's. "It's not the first time it's happened." He pushed up from the chair, needing to move. "The last few days, you've gotten up and I didn't hear you. And when you arrived at the station yesterday, I didn't know it until you were right in front of me, talking to me." He turned and faced him. "I always know when you're there, Chief. And it's not just your heartbeat, it's your presence." He hesitated. This was something he hadn't told Blair. Something he hadn't told anyone. "The day I found you in that fountain, I was heading inside, going to your office and then I just knew where you were. I think that's why even after they... pronounced you that I knew they were wrong. Because I could still feel that connection between us. I didn't even realize how strongly I felt it until it was gone. But now...now there is something missing that was there before."

  Blair stared up at him, his eyes confused. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

  Jim hesitated, still not sure he wanted to reveal this but seeing no other choice. "I thought maybe your acceptance of the Shamanism might have put up some kind of block. Some kind of protective circle around you that I can't penetrate. I was worried if I told you, that you'd want to drop the whole thing because of how it was affecting me."

  "Jim, man, if anything, my acceptance of all this stuff should have strengthened the connection we have." He dropped his gaze, shaking his head. "I don't know. I think something's just wrong. That maybe I've done something wrong."

  Jim crossed to the couch and sat on the opposite end. "Blair, all you did was accept the idea of becoming a Shaman. Nothing more. There is no way that entitles you to guilt over what is happening." Blair nodded but his expression remained sullen. "That girl you met in the library yesterday. What was her name?"

  "Rebecca."

  "Rebecca," he repeated. "You're still going to see her father today, right?"

  "I'm leaving in a few minutes."

  "Good. I want you to tell this guy what's been happening and see if he can help. Who knows? Maybe this retired Shaman has all the answers we need."

  Blair pulled his car to a stop in front of a small, ranch-style home. Looking out his window, he frowned as he took in the weather-beaten house with its weed-choked lawn and closed blinds. It had a deserted, unlived-in feel. Was this the right place? He checked the address Rebecca had given him. They matched. Apprehension tugged at him. For an instant, he wanted to start the car and drive away. Put as much distance between this house and himself as he possibly could. He shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous thoughts. He was just stressed because of the events of the last few days. He'd been waiting for this meeting all morning. He wasn't about to leave now.

  Stepping from his car, he headed toward the house. The front door opened before Blair reached it. Rebecca stood in the doorway, grinning widely. "Hi, Blair. I'm so glad you could come. My father is really looking forward to meeting you."

  "Same here." He stepped over the threshold, his nose wrinkling at the stale smell that seemed to permeate the air. He had expected the house of a practicing Shaman to smell of herbs or incense, not this foul, something died under the house smell. Rebecca glanced at him and he forced a smile. Fleetingly, he wished that he had thought to give Jim a copy of the address to this place. All his partner knew was that he was meeting the father of a girl he'd met in the library yesterday. He hadn't even told Jim Rebecca's last name.

  Okay, Sandburg, just relax. You're getting all worked up because the guy's a rotten housekeeper.

  He forced his shoulders to relax and followed Rebecca deeper into the house. Books and papers covered most of the open surfaces. Mismatched furniture took up all other available space. I don't think I'll bitch as much when Jim tells me he likes the loft neat, he thought as he sidestepped a pile of molding newspapers. He would meet the guy, listen for a few minutes then find a polite way of getting out of here because this was just not where he wanted to be.

  "Please don't be put off by the house," Rebecca said as if reading his thoughts somehow. "Father's been ill for some time now. I try to help out when I can but he's a real handful." She gave him a sad smile.

  Guilt shot through Blair. She'd offered to help him and here he was judging her and her father by appearances. When did I become so narrow-minded?

  Rebecca stopped before a half open door and turned to Blair. "Just give me a second." She slid around the door into the darkened room and, as Blair stood alone in the hallway, listening to the whispered voices coming from inside the room, he once again wanted to run. He shook off the feeling and stood his ground. Seconds later, Rebecca was back. She took his hand in hers and led him inside.

  Heavy curtains hung over the only window in the room, shrouding it in darkness. Shadows hugged the walls and crawled across the floor. Blair could hear a deep wheezing sound coming from the lump on the bed before him.

  "Blair Sandburg, I'd like you to meet my father, Jarred Lowry."

  Blair licked his lips as he approached, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He stopped beside the bed. "Thank you for seeing me, sir."

  There was no movement from the bed.

  "Father?" Rebecca leaned close and Blair had to resist the urge to pull her back, get her away from this dark lump and its heavy breathing. "Father, the young man I told you about is here to visit with you."

  The lump moved, shifted, groaned. A pale face appeared from beneath the blankets, the wrinkled skin hanging slack around the jaw. Eyes blinked open and focused on Blair. There was something in that gaze. Something... He shuddered and took an involuntary step backward. Rebecca slipped behind him, blocked his way.

  "It's okay, Blair," she said close to his ear, her hot breath sending shivers down his back. "He can't see you if you're so far away." She pushed him closer to the bed.

  It's just an old man.

  "Hello, Mr. Lowry." His voice sounded strained to his ears. "I'm really interested--"

  A hand snaked out and caught Blair's wrist. A current of energy seemed to leap from the old man into Blair. He gasped, yanking his hand away. The man laughed, the sound harsh and cold. "Afraid of an old man," he wheezed and laughed again until he was coughing.

  Blair rubbed his wrist, his gaze shifting from Rebecca to her father and back again. They were both laughing now and the sound unnerved him. Something about all this just wasn't right. He began backing toward the door.

  "Blair?" Rebecca came toward him, her face scrunched up in anger. "Where are you going?"

  He kept moving. "I have to go. I have classes to teach today and--"

  "You told me that you had the morning free." She rushed around him and stood before the door, blocking his exit. "My father wants to talk to you."

  "Another time." He shifted to his left to go around her. She shifted with him, still blocking his way.

  "When?" she demanded.

  "Soon." He moved to his right. So did Rebecca. "I have to leave," he insisted.

  From behind him, Blair could hear the creak and groan of the mattress as the old man rose from the bed. His breathing increased as he heard the slow, dragging steps approaching him from behind. He turned sharply as a gnarled hand fell on his shoulder. Blair backed away, his hands held up in front of him. No matter what, he did not want this man touching him again. Because he knew that touch, recognized it the instant it was on him. "Listen, I really have to go."

  "No," the man rasped. His eyes had a predatory glare to them. A demanding that made Blair take another step back.

  "I'll come back when I have more time," he babbled. "Maybe next week."

  "But Blair." Rebecca came toward him, her mouth turned down in a sad pout. "I thought we were getting along so well." She leaned in close to him, pressing against him. "I thought we could have lunch." She said the words with a suggestion in her eyes.

  "Another time," Blair said, no longer interested in having lunch or anything else with this woman. All he wanted to do was get out of here. Escape. He turned and headed for the door. This time, Rebecca did not block him. He wove through the mess of the house and slammed out the front door. He didn't stop until he reached his car parked at the curb. Only then did he turn and look back at the house. Out here in the sunlight, he almost laughed at his reaction to the old man and his daughter. "Overreaction is more like it," he muttered. But as he slipped into his car and pulled away, he was relieved to be going.

  Frank Croft watched as the young man sped away from the house. Blair Sandburg, that was the name he'd gotten from the librarian. He was a graduate student at Rainier University, well-liked by both the staff and students from what the woman behind the reference desk had told him.

  When Frank first saw Sandburg pull up to the house, he'd debated going to him, trying to convince him to leave before going inside. But then the young anthropologist had seemed to come to that conclusion himself. Frank was sure he was going to drive off when he suddenly got out of the small car and headed up the walk. Then Rebecca was there and it was too late.

  He'd sat outside tensely watching the house. Praying the young man would exit soon and unharmed. Just as he was about to get out of his car and force his way inside, Sandburg had come out. It was apparent from his pale features that something had happened. Frank just wished he knew what.

  Did Jarred touch him?

  He needed to know. Because if Jarred Lowry had managed to physically touch him ...

  Frank had to talk to Sandburg, warn him before things went any further. While there was still time to save his life.

  Blair stared down at the tests before him. The class had finished early, each student handing in their paper before exiting the lecture hall. Now he was alone. And Jim still wasn't due for another twenty minutes. He'd told his partner to meet him here, thinking he'd be stuck with the few students that always lingered over their answers, using every second he would give them. No one had lingered today.

  "Maybe the test was too simple," he muttered. But as he checked yet another incorrect answer, he knew that couldn't be true.

  Normally, Blair liked the empty lecture hall. He could work here uninterrupted, his office usually an invitation to every student to stop in and ask him questions. But today... Today, it felt empty. Deserted. He knew it was just the residual effect of his meeting with Jarred Lowry. The old man had left him with a creeping uneasiness. He looked up for the third time, checking the room.

  You're alone, Sandburg. Concentrate on the work. Jim will be here any minute.

  He'd debated calling Jim right after leaving Lowry's house. Had even pulled out his cell phone. But just as his fingers touched the speed dial, he realized there was really nothing to tell. Nothing that couldn't wait until he saw him later that night. The old guy had been weird but nothing really happened.

  Except what you felt when he touched you.

  Blair pushed the thought away. It had been his imagination, nothing more. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and directed his attention back to the papers before him. But he had hardly read two words when the feeling returned. The feeling of being watched. He looked up again. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway at the top of the lecture hall.

  "Can I help you?"

  He was a big man, about the same size as Simon but older by at least ten years. As he moved down the steps, drawing nearer, Blair could see the hard lines around his eyes and mouth.

  "Are you looking for someone?" he asked, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat.

  The man stopped at the end of the chairs. His gaze never wavered from Blair. "You have to stop." His voice was deep, almost melodic in tone.

  Blair stood, wiping his now sweating palms down the front of his jeans, but did not move around the desk. He liked having the big solid object between them. "I have to stop what?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know the answer.

  The man stepped to the front of Blair's desk and resting the palms of his hands on the top, leaned toward him. "I know what you are," he said so softly Blair had to strain to hear him. The realization of his words and what they meant send a jolt through him. This man knew he was a Shaman. That's what he was telling him. But how? He'd never met this man. Hadn't told anyone but Jim about any of this.

  "You don't know what you're doing." The man pushed off the desk and came around the side, closing in on Blair. "You're opening yourself up to attack. Making yourself vulnerable." He stood directly in front of Blair now, glaring down at him. "You have to stop or you'll end up getting hurt…or worse."

  Blair didn't know if the man was warning him or threatening him. It didn't matter. The man was in his face and he would say just about anything to get him out of it. "Thanks for the advice. I'll do that."

  The stranger's eyes narrowed as his gaze traveled over Blair. "Did you let him touch you?" He reached toward Blair.

  He flinched away, taking a step back. "I don't want any trouble." Blair backed up again but hit his chair. Reaching behind him, he shoved it up against the desk, opening an escape route behind him. But before he could make his move, the man caught him by the left wrist and pulled him back around to face him. "Hey man." Blair cringed as a jolt of pain shot through his still healing shoulder.

  The man inhaled sharply at the touch. "You did," he breathed. "You let him touch you."

  Blair twisted his wrist, trying to free it from the man's tight grip. "Listen, you let go of me and we can and talk. But this--"

  "You're not listening to me!" He yanked hard on Blair's wrist, sending another jolt of pain up his arm and into his shoulder. "You have to stop!"

  "Okay, I'll stop," he blurted out, ready to say whatever this guy wanted to hear. "Just let go!" He pulled at the man's beefy hand, trying to loosen the crushing hold.

  "You don't understand what you've done!" The grip increased, grinding his bones together.

  "You're going to break my wrist!" Blair shouted.

  The man released him so suddenly that Blair staggered back and nearly fell. The man caught his arm, kept him upright. "I'm sorry."

  Blair pulled out of his grip and stepped away, rubbing at his sore wrist and shoulder. "What is your problem?"

  "I'm just trying to help you."

  "By breaking my wrist?"

  The man scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. But it's already gone so far."

  "What has? Who are you?"

  Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a card and handed it to Blair. The grad student stared down at the block lettering: Franklin Croft, Teacher of Shaman Studies.

  "You need to learn," Croft said, his voice low. "But not from Jarred Lowry."

  Blair looked up sharply at the words. "You've been following me." It was not a question but a statement of fact. "What do you want?"

  "I want to help you." His voice sounded sincere but Blair's throbbing wrist and shoulder told him otherwise.

  "You're a Shaman?" he asked with obvious doubt.

  "I practice Shamanism. Host retreats, teach classes." Croft took a step toward him. Blair backed up. The man held his hands up as if to show he meant no harm. "Please, just tell me you won't see Jarred Lowry again."

  "I don't plan to," Blair admitted.

  "Good." He seemed genuinely relieved. "Then I'll go. You keep my card. If you want to talk, please call me."

  "Why don't you want me to see Lowry?" Blair called after him. But Croft did not stop. He retreated up the stairs, passing Jim as he came into the lecture hall.

  "Who was that, Chief?" Jim asked as soon as he had reached his partner.

  "I have no idea." Blair tossed the card on his desk and dropped down into his chair. "He offered to teach me the ways of Shamanism," he said, rubbing absently at his sore wrist. "Said I'm opening myself up to attack. Making myself vulnerable."

  "What's wrong with your wrist?"

  Blair glanced down at the tender skin, the bruising already showing. "He really wanted me to listen to him."