by Cindy Combs
Choosing a promising hardcover from the shelves, he turned only to run into someone. Dropping the book, he swiftly reached out his hands to close around stiff wool. Blair found himself looking into wide, hazel eyes. They were beautiful eyes. With a blink and a slight shake of the head, Blair pulled out an embarrassed smile. "Whoa, sorry. I didn't know you were there."
The dainty mouth stretched into a sweet smile. "It's probably my fault. I was concentrating so hard on the titles, I forgot to notice things around me."
"Me, too," Blair admitted ruefully, his eyes taking in the rest of the slender woman. "But I usually don't run into too many people in the South American aisle."
The woman chuckled, brushing back her deep brown hair. "I have a friend traveling through Peru, and she's gotten me interested in the culture."
"Did she send you this cloak?" Blair focused on the red and brown wool he was still touching. "Wow, this is a wonderful example of Peruvian textile."
"Are you familiar with Peru?" she asked, her face glowing with interest.
Blair couldn't help but puff up a little. "Yeah, I've been there. Kinda a quick trip, but it was, ah, interesting." Noticing the glares they were getting from another patron, Blair asked, "Hey, how about we get some coffee or something and I'll tell you about it. There's a Starbucks across the street."
Her smile brightened. "I'd like that. Just let me buy these books."
"Yeah, I need to replace this one, and I'll meet you up front." Blair leaned over to pick up the book.
She turned towards the front. For a brief moment, her smile became smug as her eyes glowed triumphant and calculating. Then she schooled her features back to an innocent smile.
* * *
That evening, Ellison's loft
Jim studied his tie in the mirror's reflection. It still didn't look right. With light, precise tugs, he worked it into place. He hated ties, but this dinner was important. He had no idea how Amanda would react, so he planned to look as good and as hard to reject as possible.
The front door opened below. His partner's whistling sounded cheerful. After another tug, Jim turned from the mirror to walk down the stairs.
Blair was pouring a glass of tea from the refrigerator when he spotted his friend. "Nice. Let me guess; you're taking Amanda out."
"Yeah." All of Jim's nervousness poured into that one word.
Face turning serious, Blair asked, "Tonight's the night?"
"Yeah." Uncertain what to do with his hands, Jim patted his tie again. Then he shrugged. "I think. Maybe it's not the right time."
Blair rolled his eyes. "It's time. Hell, it's past time. You should have spoken up before she moved here."
Jim briefly closed his eyes. "I just don't want to rock the boat."
Pushing back his own concern, Blair forced a confident face for his partner. "It'll be fine."
"What if she doesn't want to be with a freak?"
"You are not a freak. You're gifted. Besides, she's so into you, you could tell her you were once a woman and she'd probably still love you."
Jim stared at him. "I was once a what?"
Laughter burst out of the shorter detective. "See, there's worse things than telling her you're a sentinel."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot."
"Anytime."
Studying his friend, Jim noted, "You look happy."
"I am." A huge grin stretched across Blair's face. "I just met the most wonderful girl."
Jim lifted an eyebrow. "What's her name?"
Blair started waving his hands around. "She beautiful, intelligent, beautiful, funny, beautiful..."
"Does this beauty have a name?"
"Man, Jim, I could have talked with her for hours! She's an artist, interested in South American cultures. The stories she told me..."
Jim's gut clenched, remembering another 'artist' Blair had been interested in. "Where'd you meet?"
"Bookstore. Nearly ran over her. Then we went to Starbucks. Man, I could get lost in her eyes."
"Did you find a name in there?"
"Diana," Blair answered in an airy tone.
"Diana what?"
Blair paused a moment. "I don't know." Then he blinked. "Oh, no, you don't."
"Don't what?"
"You are not running a background check on her."
"You ran one on Amanda."
"That's different. You know your track record, and you didn't know anything about her."
"Your track record's worse than mine. And you don't even know this gal's last name!"
"You worry too much."
"And sometimes you don't worry enough."
"Jim!" Blair paused to take a deep breath and collect his thoughts. "I really like this girl. Just let me get to know her, okay? Besides, I met her in a bookstore. What could be wrong?"
"Don't get me started," Jim muttered under his breath. He was all too familiar with the type of woman Blair tended to attract. He glanced at the clock. "I've got to go. Just do me a favor and be careful?"
"Careful. Right."
"Sandburg."
"I will, Jim."
* * *
Manchini's, private table
Jim was toying with his napkin as he waited for Amanda to return from the ladies room. He had to tell her about his abilities, especially if their relationship was to go where he wanted it to go. Yet there was a lot of risk involved. If Amanda didn't like being with someone like Jim, she could storm out and never speak to him again. Even worse, she could tell people. He and Sandburg had barely survived the dissertation disaster. It would be harder to convince people there was nothing there if an angry ex-girlfriend confirmed Blair's original story. It could hurt both of them. Was it worth the risk?
Spotting Amanda returning to their table, Jim took a deep, steadying breath. It didn't work. Amanda frowned slightly as she studied him. "You look worried, Jim."
Jim wasn't quite ready. He latched onto another topic. "Sandburg's met a girl and has fallen hard."
Amanda tried not to smirk. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"He doesn't even know her last name."
"Is that so horrible?" Amanda's eyes began to twinkle.
"It's Sandburg. With his luck, if he was stranded on a desert isle with a girl, she'd be a cannibal."
Amanda snickered. "She could be nice."
"I just have a bad feeling," Jim muttered to his glass.
Reaching over to curl her fingers into Jim's hand, Amanda suggested, "Then we'll have them over to my place. Surely between the two of us, we can find out if she's a cannibal."
Jim looked up and smirked back. "Thanks." Toying with his napkin again, he pushed his partner out of his mind and returned to the main reason for his nerves. "I do need to talk about something else with you."
Amanda tilted her head to the side. "It sounds serious."
"Yeah." Jim took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how to say this."
Now worry creased her brow. "Jim, like you Americans say, just do it."
Jim softly spoke to his glass. "I'm a sentinel."
"A what?"
Speaking slightly louder, Jim repeated, "A sentinel. It's a term Blair used in his studies to describe someone with all his senses enhanced."
"Enhanced how?"
"I can see farther, hear things from great distances, feel the slightest imperfections, things like that."
"Really?" Amanda quietly thought as Jim's heart sank. "Does that include smell?"
"Yes," Jim replied simply, waiting for her horror at his abnormality and determine to face it with all his courage. He steeled himself for her reaction.
"What a coincidence! My family is well known in our field for our sense of smell."
Jim blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You've probably heard of wine or beer tasters?"
"Yes."
"Well, with malt liquor, or any hard liquor, the alcohol content is too high for someone to perform quality control by taste. So it's done by one's nose, so to speak. My family for genera
tions have had great noses for malt liquor. We can not only tell if a batch is off, but whether it can be salvaged and what needs to be done."
Relief stretched across Jim's face as he realized what it meant. "Sandburg would say that you're carriers; people who carry the sentinel gene, but don't have all five senses."
"How fascinating! And you have all five? I can only imagine how incredible the world must be to you!"
"You sound like Sandburg," Jim chuckled. "It's actually pretty overwhelming without his help."
Amanda leaned forward. "Then whatever did you do before you met Blair?"
Amazed that she was interested instead of freaked out, Jim started his story.
* * *
Three hours later, Ellison's loft
It was wonderful. Blair couldn't remember the last time he had enjoying necking with a girl so much. It felt good to have her curled up against him. Her soft skin, rich fragrance, the things she was doing with her...
Then Diana pulled back. "Oh no! Is that the time?"
"What time?" Blair was bewildered by the sudden change. He almost fell off the couch as she jumped to her feet.
"I've got to get going," she explained as she straightened her shirt. She quickly pushed her feet into a pair of leather sandals.
Not wanting her to leave, Blair softly asked, "Stay."
She gave him a warm smile. "That's so sweet." Then she picked up her purse. "But I've got an early appointment with a local gallery about showing my work. I really have to look my best."
"You already look good."
"And you really are sweet. But I do need to go." She leaned over to kiss him deeply.
"Tomorrow?" Blair asked breathlessly as he stood up.
"Tomorrow," Diana agreed.
"Let me walk you to your car," Blair insisted as he picked up her shawl.
Reentering the loft a few minutes later, Blair whistled to himself as he picked up their tea cups. He was placing them in the sink when the door opened again. There was lightness in Jim's step until he suddenly stopped, wrinkling his nose. "What's that?"
"What's what?" Blair asked as he turned around.
"The smell."
"What smell?"
Jim sniffed again. "Perfume."
"Oh, that must be Diana's."
"She here?"
"She just left."
Jim continued to frown, only for a different reason. He needed to meet Blair's mystery woman. Feeling faintly uneasy, he hung up his jacket.
"How'd it go with Amanda?" Blair asked as he walked back into the living area.
"Great. Much better than I expected, in fact. She's asking me a lot of questions instead of being freaked out." As Jim stepped towards his roommate, he finally pinpointed the problem. He could hear an unfamiliar buzzing noise.
"If you like, I could talk with her," Blair suggested.
The electronic buzz grew louder as Jim closed in on his partner. Puzzled, Jim glanced around. They had no new electronic equipment. A dark suspicion popped into Jim's mind.
"Jim?" Blair prodded when he realized his friend was no longer paying attention to the conversation.
Mind working fast, Jim replied, "That might be a good idea, considering you know so much more about computers than I do. You can probably answer the questions I couldn't."
Blair blinked at him, confused. Jim held up a hand and then pointed at his ear. "I told her that the only thing I'm sure about is hooking them up, and even then I can't guarantee it's right."
Quickly catching on, Blair replied, "Perhaps I can stop by this weekend and see if I can find the problem. There may be some difference between British and American..."
Tuning out his partner's cover babble, Jim slowly stepped around him. Closing his eyes, he turned his head in different directions, trying to locate the sound. He leaned toward the end of the couch. Still talking, Blair lightly touched his arm to ground the sentinel. Jim trailed his fingers up the floor lamp, then looked underneath the shade. Narrowing his sight and piggy-backing it on his hearing, Jim spotted the tiny receiver next to the light bulb.
Jim stood up and pointed at the lamp. Blair frowned, still not quite sure what the problem was. Then Jim casually interrupted him, "Hey, looks like we need a new bulb."
Staring at the brightly lit lamp, Blair blinked again. "Ah, I think there's some new bulbs in the closet." Blair trotted to their utility closet and grabbed a package. Returning, he found Jim had unplugged the lamp and was unscrewing the bulb. He barely noticed the tiny thing that dropped to the bare wood floor.
Jim took the light bulb from him, casually stepping on the speck. The buzzing sound ceased. Dropping to his knees, Jim picked it up. Blair tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at it. Jim smiled. "It's safe now."
"Is that a bug?" Blair asked, his voice hushed.
"Yeah."
"Ah, man. That's creepy. Any more?"
"I can't hear any others."
Blair frowned. "Why is it here?"
"I don't know." Jim held it on his fingertip, studying it.
"Well, I hope they got an earful of Diana and me making out. That's about the only thing's that happened since I arrived."
Jim smirked, "Right, I'm sure someone's just dying to hear that."
Blair folded his arms, thinking hard. "Is it someone wanting to know about a case? Your sentinel abilities?"
"Maybe. It looks pretty advanced." Jim glanced around. "Did you see any sign of a break-in when you got home?"
"No." Then Blair shrugged. "Though I was a bit pre-occupied."
Jim continued to study it. "There may not have been anything for you to have noticed, Chief. This looks like it's pro equipment. A pro wouldn't have left any signs for you to see. Hell, if the damn thing wasn't so noisy, I wouldn't have known it was there."
"Noisy for a sentinel, you mean. I couldn't hear it, so maybe we can remove someone suspecting a sentinel from the list. Can you smell anything foreign?"
"All I can smell is your girl's so-called perfume. Besides, we were gone all day. They could have been here this morning."
"Could Motts know we're onto him?" Blair asked, naming their current lead suspect on their gambling ring case.
"I doubt it, but maybe. We also have to consider a few former suspects."
"Brackett?"
"Yep."
"I'll give Kelso a call." Blair glanced around their home where only minutes ago he had been ignorant of anything but kissing Diana. The one place that was his sanctuary had been violated. "I don't like this."
Jim reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "Me, neither, Chief. Me neither."
Blair slowly shook his head. "I'm going to have to ask Mac about getting a decent alarm system for this place.
* * *
Diana's secret apartment
She slammed her fist into the desk next to her. She had managed to plant a bug in Blair's apartment, only to have the light go out and his clumsy roommate destroy her toy. That was truly rotten luck.
She paused a moment. Was it just luck, or had the roommate found it? Then she shook head. There was no way for the cop to find it that quickly. She was becoming too paranoid.
* * *
Hammond's vacation home
Standing on the step to the cabin, MacGyver could pick out Jack through the trees. This trip definitely rated as one of the strangest fishing trips he'd ever taken. Even after three days, Mac was having difficulty gauging Jack's mood. At times, his double seemed so sad, Mac was certain he was grieving. Then at others, he seemed more contemplative, like he was thinking hard on a major problem. Without any guidance from Jack as to what he needed, Mac was at a loss on how to help.
A soft ring barely reached his ears. He trotted into the cabin and pulled his satellite phone out of his backpack. Flipping it open, he answered, "Hello."
"Hey, Dad. How's it going?"
Sam's cheerful voice was welcome. Sitting on the bench in the kitchen, Mac replied, "Restful."
"Caught any fish?"
"
Not yet."
"How's the Colonel doing?"
"I think he's healing. Kinda hard to tell with Jack. How's it going there?"
"Not bad. Cory's out on a date with that gal from Supply. We're going to the Sloans' to play on the beach. However, I do have a little guy here who wants to know where Grandpa Mac is."
A grin stretched across Mac's face. "Put him on."
As Jack stepped inside, he heard his double chuckle. Looking over, he spotted Mac in the kitchen area. He walked over.
"...be a good boy for your Dad... no, you're not supposed to have that... Your Daddy did WHAT!"
Puzzled, Jack quietly pulled a beer out of the fridge.
"Sam, you didn't... Yeah, but McDonald's? Surely you could have... Don't blame me if he grows up eating junk like you... Yeah, you take care. Bye."
Head tilted, Jack studied Mac as he clicked off. "Who was that?"
There was still a smile on Mac's face. "Sam and Ian."
"Who's Ian?"
Mac's smile grew into a huge grin. "My grandson."
"Grandson?" Jack sat in a chair facing Mac. "When did you get a grandson?"
"Last Christmas. Kinda surprised us all, including Sam." Mac reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his wallet. With the ease of constant practice, he pulled out a photo. "That's Ian."
Jack took the photo and felt his heart slam into his chest. He shot up to his feet.
"Jack?"
Struggling to breathe, he paced a couple of steps, then kicked a chair. Spinning, he swung his arm across the counter. Pans and boxes flew in all directions.
MacGyver ducked out of the way. "Jack!"
Too much anger and pain still surged through his system. Jack's fist slammed into a cabinet door.
