"So what now?" Ellison muttered.

  "We go about our lives. Business as usual, just like we've done with Grant," Blair answered. A caustic laugh escaped the anthropologist. "And believe me, compared to Marcus Grant, Douglas Merrick is a lightweight. And if I wouldn't let Grant ruin my life, I sure as hell don't intend to let Douglas Merrick ruin it either."

  Part Three

  A loud, obnoxious sound invaded the edges of his sleep, irritating him even in his slumber. He tried to ignore it...but it persisted, rapidly chasing away his sleep and bringing him to wakefulness. Groaning in annoyance, Jim Ellison shoved himself up on one elbow and focused in on the sound. Someone was pounding-quite insistently-on the loft's front door. He sat up, scrubbed his hands across his face and then glanced at the clock on his nightstand. "Five o'clock," he muttered in exasperation. Pushing back the covers, he stood and grabbed his robe. "This had better be good...."

  Making his way down the stairs, he headed toward the door. He stopped, though, as Blair appeared at the door of his room, looking completely disheveled and rubbing at tired eyes. "What's going on?" he demanded petulantly.

  "It's Simon," Jim answered, having picked up on the ever-present aroma of cigars that permeated the captain's clothing.

  "It's five o'clock, Jim," Blair protested as he came to stand next to his partner. "What is he, nocturnal?"

  Jim chuckled as he stepped toward the door. "Apparently so."

  "Yeah, well this had better be good," Sandburg groused, innocently echoing the very words Jim had spoken only moments before.

  "Good morning, sir," Jim said as he pulled the door open and stared at his captain. Simon was immaculately dressed-even at this hour-but a deep frown marred his features. Jim ushered Banks into the loft, closing the door behind him. "Coffee?" he offered amicably. "Of course I'll have to make some since we don't normally get up for another hour..." he added cheekily.

  "Very funny, Jim," the captain said. "But you might want to make that coffee anyway. And make it strong. I've got bad news...."

  - - - -

  Jim pushed the mug of steaming black coffee in front of Simon and sat down across from the captain. He took a moment to sip from his own steaming cup, then eyed Banks. "Okay, Captain, what's this bad news you have for us?"

  The captain fingered his coffee mug, his gaze averted. When he finally looked up at Jim, there was deep regret in his dark eyes. He glanced at Blair, who was seated at the end of the table, then back at the detective. "Jim," he began, his voice weary, hesitant. "Douglas Merrick was murdered earlier this morning."

  Jim gaped over at him. "Murdered? How?"

  "Shot. One bullet, point blank to the heart."

  "Point blank," Jim mused. "Merrick must have known his killer to let him get that close...."

  "That was our first assumption as well." Simon reached up to scratch absently at his temple, then sighed deeply. "I guess there's no easy way to say this," he said after several moments. His gaze bore into Jim, sorrow mingling with responsibility. "Jim...Merrick was killed with your backup .38."

  "What!"

  The captain closed his eyes for a brief moment before continuing. "Your prints were all over it."

  "Well, if it's my gun, then of course my prints would be all over it. But Simon, that's just not possible. My gun is locked in my desk drawer at work."

  "It was found at the crime scene, Jim," Simon informed him. "Forensics ran the serial number in conjunction with checking the fingerprints."

  "Simon," Blair spoke up the first time since the men had seated themselves at the table, "if you're trying to say that Jim killed Merrick...well, that's just ridiculous. With all the people who come and go at the station, anyone could have come in and taken that gun from Jim's desk. This is a setup, and you know it."

  "Of course I know it's a setup," Simon bit out. "But right now we have some very cold, very hard facts that need to be faced." The captain turned to Jim again, his expression weary. "Jim, your gun was used to kill Merrick, a man you threatened in front of a guard and within earshot of other prisoners in lockup...not to mention your little videotaped display at the courthouse yesterday," he finished with a scowl. But the scowl was soon replaced by a look of discomfort. "You know the drill-you had the motive, the method and the opportunity."

  "What opportunity?" Blair challenged, his dark blue eyes sparking with indignation. "Jim was home all night last night!"

  "You know that for a fact, Sandburg?" Simon countered, his voice still raised in frustration. "Were you up all night guarding the front door?"

  Blair stared at Simon for a long, uncomfortable moment, then dropped his gaze to the table. Idly, he turned his coffee mug around and around and around.... "No," he admitted at last. "I wasn't."

  "So," Jim spoke up, "does this mean I'm under arrest?"

  Blair's head shot up at the question, his eyes wide with disbelief. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but Jim reached over and placed a hand on his arm, stilling him.

  The detective turned back to his captain. "Sir?" he questioned again. "Am I under arrest?"

  Simon nodded his head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid so, Jim," he breathed out. "I'll give you time to shower and change, grab some breakfast. But then...then I have to read you your rights and take you in for questioning."

  "No way!" Blair pushed back his chair and stood. "There is no way this is going to happen!"

  "Chief," Jim soothed, standing as well and moving to his partner's side, "just calm down." He placed a hand on Blair's good shoulder, squeezed warmly, then looked down at Simon. "Who's heading the investigation?"

  "Hernandez. He's waiting at the station. I told him we'd be there by six-thirty."

  Jim nodded.

  "If it's any consolation, Hernandez doesn't believe for one second that you're guilty. None of the people on his team believe it."

  "Well, that's generous of them, Simon," Jim acknowledged. "But Hernandez and his men aren't going to be the ones serving on my jury."

  Part Four

  Blair pushed through the door of the interrogation room carrying two cups of coffee. Simon had arranged it so that he would have five minutes alone with Jim before the detective was taken downstairs for processing and then shipped to jail for the night. It was nearing two o'clock in the afternoon, the questioning having dragged on hour after hour.

  Blair had not been allowed in the room during the interrogation. Instead, he'd watched from the other side of the one-way mirror, amazed at how cool Jim had remained during the entire process. Ray Hernandez had done a thorough job, grilling Jim on his whereabouts last night, asking him about the gun found at the scene, showing him statements made by not only the guard at the prison but several reporters who had witnessed Jim's contempt for Merrick at the courthouse.

  The evidence was strong--circumstantial, but strong. The fact that Hernandez didn't think Jim was guilty didn't show during questioning. It was clear the man knew his job and regardless of his personal feelings, he went about it to the best of his ability. He was going to make a strong case against Jim.

  Seating himself across from the sentinel, Blair placed one of the cups of coffee in front of his partner. "So what's your gut telling you?" he asked, fingering the lip of his own mug.

  Jim sipped the coffee, shrugging one shoulder. "The case is circumstantial at best."

  "We've seen people get prosecuted on circumstantial evidence." Blair rubbed at his brow, frowning. "I just wish I knew who would do this."

  "Well, that would be a long list, Chief. And the sad part is that it might not even be my list."

  Blair shook his head. "I'm not following you, man."

  "Douglas Merrick didn't strike me as a man who had a lot of friends," Jim said simply.

  "You're saying whoever did this might not have wanted to frame you as much as just kill Merrick?" Blair rolled his eyes, leaning back heavily in his chair. "Jim, don't you think that's a bit of a stretch?"

  "Not really," Jim answered. "Actually it makes a lot of sense." He leaned forward, resting his arms against the top of the steel table. "Think about it, Chief. It wasn't exactly a secret that I despised the man. Anyone who was witness to the confrontation at the courthouse would know that. So...if there was someone out there looking to off Merrick, I gave them the perfect opening."

  "Great! How do we figure out who the real target was? You or Merrick?"

  "Motive, Chief. We need to figure out the motive behind this. We discover that and we've got our guy."

  Blair nodded. "That makes sense." He thought about what Jim had said for several seconds, then leaned toward him. "Tell you what. As soon as I'm done here, that'll be my first priority. I'm going to--"

  "Chief," Jim cut in, "I'll be arraigned first thing tomorrow morning...and I'm going to make bail. Until I do, I don't want you doing anything but waiting for me. I don't want you going out on your own and trying to figure this out. You hear me?"

  "Jim, I'm just going to ask a few questions--"

  "Not without me, you aren't."

  "Jim--"

  "Blair, you are not a cop," Jim bit out. "I don't want you out on the streets alone investigating this, do you understand me? I'll talk to Simon, get him to have Brown and Rafe start asking around. But you're out of it for now."

  Blair stared at the table top, tracing a pattern in the scarred surface. He didn't want to lie to Jim but he wasn't going to back down on this. It was too important.

  "Chief," Jim said, his voice softening. "I can't afford to lose you. You go out alone and try and solve this and that could happen." Reaching out, he placed a hand over Blair's, stopping his nervous movements. "Are you listening to me?" He squeezed the hand he held. "Do you get what I'm saying here?"

  "Yes," Blair admitted, his voice soft.

  "So you'll wait for me?" Jim pressed.

  Blair hesitated then slowly looked up at Jim. He could see the worry behind the sentinel's eyes. Worry he was causing. He doesn't need this on top of everything else.

  "I'll wait for you," he said after a time.

  Jim's smile held genuine relief. "Good." He released Blair's hand but his eyes narrowed as he continued to watch his partner. "Don't look so worried, Sandburg. I'm going to be fine. It's not like I've never been arrested before."

  "Arrested, yes, but this time...." Blair shook his head, running a hand nervously through his hair. "This time, the evidence is strong, man. Unless we can come up with something, I think this time you're going to actually go to trial."

  "So I go to trial." Jim shrugged one shoulder. "I can handle that."

  Blair leaned forward, his hands now grasped tightly together where they rested on the table. "How can you be so cavalier about this? Jim, we are talking about murder! Do you realize how long you could be sent away for if this doesn't go your way?"

  "I'm not going anywhere, Chief," Jim said calmly. "I trust the system. You should, too."

  "Oh please! You expect me to trust a system that let Hannah Merrick walk after she tried to kill me? No, thanks."

  "I'm innocent," Jim persisted. "We'll make the jury see that."

  "Jim, Hannah made the jury believe she was innocent. It was her trial but you and I ended up being the ones who looked guilty as hell."

  "Hannah's trial went the way it did because she was a master at manipulation. She abused the system. We don't plan to do that."

  Blair shook his head, rubbing at tired eyes. "This whole thing...it scares the hell out of me."

  Jim opened his mouth, but before he could speak a knock sounded on the door. A moment later, a uniformed officer popped her head inside the room.

  "Times up, I'm afraid," she said, her gaze shifting between the two men.

  Jim nodded at her. "Just give us another minute."

  "Sure thing, Detective." Smiling, she closed the door.

  Jim turned his attention back to Blair, his intense gaze boring into him. "Chief, I want you to do me a favor."

  "Anything, man. You name it."

  "I don't want you staying alone at the loft tonight."

  "Jim, Merrick is dead. The danger to me is over."

  "You're forgetting about Marcus Grant."

  "Grant?" Blair blurted out. "We haven't seen hide nor hair of Grant in over a month. Why are you suddenly so worried about him?"

  "Because this is just the kind of opportunity that he could use. Think about it, Chief. I'm stuck in here overnight, you're home alone, and even you have to admit that you're not quite up to snuff. This would be a perfect time for him to show up."

  "Jim, man, you should be worrying about yourself, not me."

  "Humor me," he said softly. "It's one night, Chief. I'll be out tomorrow and you can go back home, but until then...."

  "I'll stay at Dr. Stoddard's," Blair gave in. "I'll just go home, pack a few things and go to the Professor's house. Good enough?"

  "Perfect!" Jim grinned widely. "And stop worrying. This will all work out."

  "I'll believe that when your name is cleared."

  /

  /

  /

  Blair let himself into the loft and tossed his keys into the basket by the door. Wearily, he flipped the deadbolt lock into place and threaded the safety chain into its slide. He wasn't planning on staying long but there was no point in taking chances.

  Turning, he leaned against the heavy wooden door, an oppressive blanket of hopelessness weighing him down, permeating his every thought, slowing his every movement. He was tired, he was frustrated, and he was scared. Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply as despair washed over him.

  In that moment, Jim's words came back to him: Just trust the system.

  Right.

  Not only was Jim in jail, awaiting arraignment tomorrow morning, but Blair knew that even if Jim was released on bail, it was only the calm before the storm. With no clue as to who could have set Jim up and with the evidence pointing directly to the detective, Blair didn't know how Jim could possibly be cleared. And a trial? Bitter memories of the last trial they were involved in flooded his mind.

  "Why so sad, my friend?"

  Blair jerked toward the sound of the voice, all thoughts of Jim's trial skittering away. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he surveyed the loft, searching the shadowy corners for the person who had spoken.

  "I'm offended," the voice came again, a teasing quality underscoring the words. "I thought by now you'd recognize my voice."

  No, Blair thought to himself. No, no, no, no, no! Because he did recognize the voice. And just as he was about to call out, Marcus Grant stepped from the shadows beneath the staircase at the other side of the living area. As Grant passed the balcony windows, late afternoon sun washed over the man who had become Blair's worst nightmare, and he found himself pressing hard against the door at his back, his mind toying with trying to get the locks disengaged and make an escape before Grant could reach him.

  "Please don't think about trying to get away," Grant warned as though reading Blair's desperate thoughts. The man tossed a rectangular object onto the coffee table. "Not until you've had a chance to take a look at this."

  "How'd you get in here?" Blair breathed out, ignoring the box-like object.

  "Always worrying with the minor details, aren't you, Blair?" Casually, Grant moved to the couch and took a seat. "Believe me, once you see what I've brought you, you'll be thanking me for...well, for breaking in."

  Blair remained where he was, never taking his eyes off the man who had tried so many times to kill him. "What do you want?" he bit out.

  "Just a few moments of your time. And the opportunity to present you with a proposition."

  "A proposition? You really think I'd be interested in anything you could propose?"

  "Such hostility," Grant replied, unperturbed. "And here I thought we'd become such good friends during your stay at the hospital." He patted the cushion beside him. "Come on, Blair. Sit. Let's talk."

  Blair stayed where he was, staring at Grant, trying to figure out what the man was up to, and wondering if he could get away after all....

  Grant sighed deeply and shook his head. "Well, I can see that I'm going to have to prove to you that my coming here was a gesture of good will, not bad." The man stood, retrieved the black box he'd tossed on the coffee table, and held it up for Blair's inspection. "I really do believe you'll be interested in this."

  Blair watched as Grant opened the box he held in his hands and withdrew a videocassette. As casually as if he were in his own home, he inserted the cassette into the VCR, backed to the couch and sat down again. Grabbing up the remote, he glanced back at Blair. "I really think you'll want to see this clearly. It has to do with your partner and his unfortunate incarceration."

  Blair's eyes widened at the mention of Jim. "What are you talking about? You know something about who killed Douglas Merrick?"

  Grant smiled easily. "If you'd just come in here and watch this tape, everything will become clear."

  Cautiously, Blair eased over to the small couch that faced the balcony windows and took a seat at the far end, as far away from Marcus Grant as he could manage.

  "Much better," Grant enthused. "Now, I want you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the little gift I've brought you." With that, the doctor thumbed the play button.

  Moments later, a picture came into focus on the small screen. Blair's heart began beating hard and fast as he took in the face of Douglas Merrick. The man sat alone at a table, a gun-a .38-sitting on the hard surface before him.

  Blair's gaze jerked to Grant. "What is this?"

  "Just watch."

  Blair turned back to the screen as Grant pushed the volume button, jacking up the sound. Seconds later, Merrick's voice blasted from the TV.

  "So you managed to get Ellison's gun. How does that prove I can trust you?" he accused, and as Blair watched he could see a second man enter the frame. As the man took a seat across from Merrick, he recognized him instantly. It was Grant.

  "Because I want Ellison to pay for his sins as much as you do," Grant was saying.

  "His sins? What is he to you?"

  "Just as this man has hurt your daughter, he is responsible for hurting a dear friend of mine as well."

  A shudder passed through Blair because he knew Grant was referring to him. And suddenly he knew.... "You killed Merrick, didn't you? You killed him and framed Jim."