Disclaimer: The Sentinel is a Pet Fly Production and all related characters and situations belong to those who hold legal copyright. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Spoilers: Sentinel Too, Part 1 and Sentinel Too, Part 2

Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at writing and posting fanfiction. Dedicated to my parents for letting me watch way too much television and read anything within reach, and to the NewsGroup Gang, for beta-reading, muse-wrangling and general encouragement.

Sandburg's Sister
#1 in The Sparrowhawk Sandburg Series
by
Besterette
Besterette@aol.com

 

Blair floated downward through clear water, sinking, hair haloing his head, drifting in tendrils like medusa's serpents, blue eyes wide and staring, the stream of bubbles slowing to a stop as his body came to rest on a bed of tarnished pennies and she was running down the worn overgrown steps of the temple following the howl of the wounded wolf, he was dying, he was dying and she must reach him at the clearing where the wolf lay on his side, still, the arrow protruding from his heart and the black jaguar roared in denial and turned to the spotted jaguar with the Cheshire cat grin, and with a beat of rust-colored wings, talons outstretched, the kestrel flew at her face...

Beau Sandburg sat up in bed, heart pounding. The dream. That dream again. The details already fading. Kestrels. The small, brightly colored bird of prey. The sparrowhawk she'd been named after. That was all she could ever remember about the dream, the kestrel flying at her face and something that scared the hell out of her. She took several deep calming breaths. She hadn't seen The Birds again lately, so that wasn't it. Beau glanced at the clock. Three AM. And she'd never gotten back to sleep after one of the dreams. She'd been having them on and off for a couple of months. No use for it, she might as well get up, so she did, running a hand through her rumpled short brown hair, tugging at the ruffled neck of her flannel nightgown.

She grabbed a can from the fridge and sipped at the cold soda, walking out to the living room and glancing absently around. She'd left her photo album out on the table after putting in the new shots of Stonehenge. She took it over to the couch and sat down, idly flipping through the pages. Old times, old friends. She paused and smiled at a picture of herself and her half brother Blair on a pony. They were eight and nine, could have passed for twins if not for her darker eyes. This had been taken at the Farm, a commune dedicated to 'returning to nature'. Which on reflection seemed to have involved a lot of embarrassing noble savage pseudo-American Indian fakery. And the kestrel again. Naomi had told everybody how a kestrel had landed on the ledge of the windowsill while she'd been giving birth to her daughter, who she had named Sparrowhawk Rainbow in honor of the bird and its bright plumage.

Naomi's boyfriend at the time, what'shisname, had made up a ceremony out of a half dozen books, naming the kestrel as her spirit animal, had let Blair choose a wolf for his, claiming that it didn't matter whether you chose the animal or the animal chose you, it was the act of choosing, of believing, that was important. Rituals...

Blair was at Rainier University in Cascade Washington, working on his Anthropology doctorate. It had been such a long time since she'd seen him...

"... Too many cultural similarities so the tribes have to be related..."

James Ellison listened to his partner ramble on about the article in the anthropology journal, although he didn't really see the importance of the decoration on a few pieces of pottery. One set of squiggles and dots looked pretty much like another to him. Which, according to Sandburg, was the point. One of the kid's pet theories, and finding out someone else not only agreed with him but had supporting evidence had him pretty hyped up. Ellison knew all about Blair Sandburg's pet theories, being one himself, and was selfishly hoping this new discovery would keep the focus of enthusiasm off him for awhile. Spending three hours trying to feel a sound was not his idea of a fun afternoon. Though he had to admit that being able to piggyback two of his senses together had come in handy now and then.

Brown was leaving the bullpen with a file folder as they were coming in. "Hey Hairboy, you got a visitor. Using the observer creds to impress co-eds?"

"Nah, man, I got plenty of ways to impress co-eds." Sandburg bounced up on his toes to see into the bullpen.

Being a bit taller and a sentinel to boot, Jim could see the young woman waiting at his desk. Dressed casually in a long sleeved brick red T-shirt and blue jeans, she had short brown hair and brown eyes, gold-flecked brown eyes with a dark ring around the iris, Tiger's Eye eyes... he felt himself slipping into a zone that ended abruptly when Sandburg shouldered past him and bounded over to sweep the strange woman into his arms.

"Spare! Man, its been... four years! What are you doing here, sis?" He planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

Brown's partner Rafe, who'd been watching the reunion under the same misapprehension as Ellison, caught his eye and mouthed 'sis?' questioningly. Jim merely raised his eyebrows. He'd had no idea Sandburg had a sister either.

"Ran into Naomi, she told me about this gig of yours and I finally had to come see for myself. My kid brother the cop." She shook her head in bemusement.

"Your kid brother the observer/consultant," he corrected her quickly, and glanced back at his 6'2 shadow. "Hey, Jim, this is my half sister, Spare, this is Jim Ellison."

She gave him a quick, approving once-over and offered her hand. Jim took it, aware of some private joke. "Spare?" he questioned, and was rewarded with a wince.

"Sparrowhawk Rainbow Sandburg." She said it with a certain amount of resignation. Jim winced back. Her lip twitched and he had a feeling that he'd just passed some kind of test. She's a Sandburg. Of course there'll be tests. "Nice to meet you Jim, but call me Beau or I'll have to break your kneecaps."

"Beau." He realized he'd held her hand for a moment too long, and released it. Blair had noticed too, his eyes narrowed and he shot Jim a glare before deliberately throwing an arm around her shoulders and insinuating himself between sister and sentinel.

"So how long you in town?"

She flashed a grin and Jim could definitely see the family resemblance. "You know my schedule's open, bro. If this isn't a good time, there are a couple of flights out tonight that look interesting. Or I could stay a week."

"No, this is definitely a good time, I haven't seen you in so long..." Blair hesitated. "You have a place to stay?"

"I didn't bother with a hotel room until I knew whether I'd be sticking around. Any recommendations?"

Jim asked, "You don't burn sage, do you?"

She snorted. "You have met Naomi. No, I don't burn sage. Or read auras. Or wear crystals. I was a big disappointment to our mother."

Jim felt his grin widen. "She can stay with us."

Blair raised his eyebrows. "You sure, Jim?"

"She's your sister, Chief."

"Yeah. She's my sister," he repeated with careful emphasis, holding the older man's gaze with his own. Ellison kept his face expressionless. He'd had some fun unnerving Blair by flirting with Naomi a little, there was some generational skew there, Naomi Sandburg must have had her kids young. Beau looked to be about thirty. While he did find Beau attractive, with her quirky sense of humor and those eyes, sisters and daughters were like land mines. You walked quietly around them so as not to set off explosions. Blair continued, lightening his tone, "and I haven't seen her in four years, and if she's staying with us someone's got to show her how to get to the loft, so you're going to have to do your own paperwork for a change."

"Rafe can help me with the big words," Jim assured him, and Rafe, who'd been politely eavesdropping with his eyes glued to his computer screen, held up a paperback Webster's Dictionary without looking up. "Go on, I'll see you both tonight."

Blair led his sister out of the bullpen. He waited until they were in the elevator, then said conversationally, "Jim's, like, my best friend in Cascade."

Her eyes sparkling, she murmured, "He seems like a nice guy."

"We work together, we live together..." he paused, trying to find a more tactful phrasing, then gave up. "Do NOT sleep with him."

"Blair!" she gasped, and glared at him. "What kind of woman do you think I am? Naomi told me about you two, you're tight, brothers by bond if not blood. You think I don't respect that? Sure he's gorgeous, but do you really think I'd get between you two, knowing what that could do to your friendship?"

He stared at her in surprise, then smiled sheepishly. The table-leg thing was kind of a family trait—hey, Naomi didn't have any clear idea who her father was either—but maybe he'd misjudged her, maybe she was settling down, maybe she'd changed...

"So that Rafe. He single?"

"SPARROW!"

"Just kidding. I'm here to see you, bro, I'm not on the prowl." She rolled her eyes at him, then grew suddenly serious. "It's been too long. I'm sorry about that."

He glanced down at his feet, then back up at her. "So am I. S'not all your fault... so when and where'd you run into Naomi?"

"London. Six... no... eight months ago. In Harrod's, believe it or what. She stayed with me a week and we had a nice visit. Got me caught up on her life, asked about mine, told me about yours... this new thin blue line thesis of yours. She was, um, still kind of upset about it."

Blair said it before he could stop himself. "Sounded familiar?"

Beau sucked in a breath. "I'm not here to check up on you—if that's what—" She took another, deeper breath. "I'm sorry. I said I was sorry..."

He cut her off. "I know. I-I didn't mean it. What is this anyway, late-onset sibling rivalry?" I am relaxed. I let this go a long time ago. "I don't want to pick a fight. Let's start over. Naomi give you the old 'are you seeing anyone interesting and how come I'm not a grandmother yet' speech?"

"Oooh yeah. I think it's trickle down nagging from Nana. You know about Cousin Miriam getting engaged?"

"Mm hmmm. Not a wedding I'm looking forward to. I'm getting premonitions of being chased around a banquet hall by six of Mimsy's friends in peach taffeta dresses..." He closed his eyes and shuddered theatrically.

"Maybe you can borrow some riot gear." Beau hesitated. "What happened to your old thesis? Sentinel of Paraguay? Burton, I was always fond of the old Victorian reprobate."

Blair tensed slightly. "Not enough case studies in the literature to support my thesis. Maybe there would have been if Lady Burton hadn't burned so many of her husband's unpublished manuscripts after his death. So now I'm studying the Major Crimes Division as a microculture of the police department, a closed society in a closed society. Kind of a modern warrior culture if you think about it and the parallels are fascinating." The elevator reached the ground floor and he hustled her out to the sidewalk and changed the subject. "So did you take a cab from the airport and leave your stuff in a locker or did you rent a wreck?"

"That's me over there, the blue Ford Taurus..." Beau looked up from digging her keys out of her jeans pocket at her brother's choked laugh. "What?"

"Let me tell you about Ellison's Curse and why you must never, under any circumstance, allow Jim to drive this car..."

Jim parked his beloved, slightly battered '69 blue and white Ford Ranger pickup truck and gave the hood an affectionate pat as he crossed in front of it. They really knew how to build a sturdy vehicle back then, not like these days...

The smell of spaghetti sauce hit him as soon as he opened the door to the foyer. His stomach growled in response, and he automatically began separating the rich scent into layers. Ground beef, green peppers, onions, garlic... he followed the scent up to the loft. He sniffed again appreciatively as he hung up his jacket. The table was set for three, the TV was on, one of the music video channels, but the volume was low, and Beau Sandburg was in the kitchen, singing softly along with the video. She looked up and flashed him another Sandburg Smile.

"Hey, great timing. Dinner's ready, soon as Blair gets back with the bread and the parmesan cheese, we can eat."

"Smells good," he offered, coming over to peer interestedly into the bubbling pots before opening the fridge.

"And not too spicy. Blair explained to me, about your bad stomach." Bad stomach. He grinned, reaching down to close the vegetable crisper completely, as Beau continued. "He knows my tomato sauce usually turns out closer to Tabasco sauce."

"I'd definitely have a problem with that," he agreed. "Want something to drink?"

"Soda?"

He passed her a can and grabbed one for himself, heading over to the couch. He heard Beau puttering around in the kitchen a little, reached for the remote, and paused. "You mind if I change this? I usually watch the news."

"It's your house, your rules."

Think I ended up with the wrong Sandburg. He changed the channel and left the volume low, shifting on the couch so he could watch Beau. She worked efficiently in the unfamiliar kitchen, pushing up her sleeves and hauling the pasta pot over to the sink. He felt faintly guilty since she'd said dinner was ready. Be a nineties guy. "Need some help?"

"Just draining the noodles. Nice kitchen you have here, I don't get much of a chance to cook." She half-turned, grabbing a large bowl. "I pretty much live out of hotel rooms."

"You travel a lot?"

"For a living. That's why... part of why Blair and I haven't seen each other for so long, I'm always out of the country. I write travel articles for Global Village magazine. And romance novels under the name Drusilla Beauventure that actually pays the rent on my place in Boston."

"Romance novels?" He couldn't keep the grin out of his voice. She plucked her soda can off the counter and started to come over to the couch.

"It's a dirty job but somebody has to do it. Actually I'm writing the same novel over and over, I just change the century, the names, and the hair color."

Just as she leaned over to set her soda down on the coffee table, he heard a familiar, distant click, and moved. Throwing himself down to tackle her, he bore her heavily to the floor, covering her body with his own. An instant later, the bullet cracked a pane of glass on the balcony door, passed through the air where her head had been, and buried itself in the far wall.

Jim pushed himself up on his elbows. Her heart was beating like a drum solo, her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, but all she said was "Nice reflexes." He turned his head toward the balcony, focusing his sight.

Blair tucked the grocery bag a little more securely under his arm as he unlocked and opened the door to the loft, calling out, "Sorry guys, I got stuck in line behind somebody who didn't understand the concept of twelve items or less..." and froze. Jim was lying on the rug in front of the fireplace. Jim was lying on Beau on the rug in front of the fireplace. "I knew it, I leave you two alone for five minutes and..."

"GET DOWN!"

CRACK! BLAMM!

He threw himself flat on the floor. "Sorry, honest mistake," he muttered, reaching for his cell phone, punched in 911. "Yeah, this is Blair Sandburg, 852 Prospect Avenue, apartment 307, we've got a sniper firing into the building." He scooted backward, through the open door. He hated guns, he really hated getting shot at, he really really hated having Beau in the line of fire.

Jim looked down at the young woman, who was frightened, but not out of her wits. "Head for the door and keep low." He rolled off of her and moved. She stuck close. Out in the hall, he drew his gun and started for the back stairs, only mildly surprised that both Sandburgs were backing him up as they came cautiously around the corner of the building. He scanned the rooftop, but there was no sign of the ski-masked figure with the rifle that he'd seen earlier.

Three patrol cars came screaming up in front of the building, uniformed officers getting out under cover, weapons drawn and pointed at the roof across the street. Nothing happened. He listened for breathing, for the crunch of roofing gravel. Nothing.

Holstering his own weapon, he started across the street, ignoring the shout from one of the uniforms. Part of his mind was tracking cops and Sandburgs as Blair and Beau approached the patrol cars, his partner explaining what was going on. In the alley, he climbed the fire escape, careful not to touch the ironwork any more than he had to, just in case the perp was stupid enough to take his gloves off on the way down, he'd seen 'em do dumber things.

The roof gravel was a little scuffed in a trail from the fire escape to the ledge facing his place. There was no other physical evidence. He stood at the ledge and looked across the street. Even with his eyesight down to 20/20 he could see clearly into the loft. He glanced down at the street as two of the patrol cars pulled away. One uniform was on the radio while her partner took a statement from Sandburg, who put his arms around his sister as she finally began to shake.

Blair snuggled deeper into his sleeping bag, listening to springs squeak as Beau moved restlessly on his bed. It was kind of comforting, dredging up childhood memories of hitting a new town and crashing with someone until their mother found an apartment or they moved on.

Beau had been quiet since the shooting. Oh, she answered questions, from the uniforms, from Jim, from the forensic tech who dug the slugs out, kept up her end of the conversation as they decided it was safe enough, the guy wouldn't be back, but instead of sleeping on the couch as he'd planned, Blair would grab his sleeping bag from the storeroom and crash on the floor of his room while Beau took his bed. Jim taped cardboard over the broken pane on the balcony door, and they ate dinner. But Beau had been quiet. More to do with her aura than actual volume. Damn. Just when I was working up the nerve to tell her about that whole mess with Alex.

"Hey Beau, you okay?"

"Yeah, thanks to Jim. Remind me to get him a thank you card or something in the morning, will you?"

He grinned into the shadows. "Hallmark does not have a category for this, believe me, I've looked. Uh, I don't know what Naomi told you, exactly, but this kinda thing hardly ever happens."

"I was on the same block as a car bombing once, in Dublin. I was on a plane that had to make an emergency landing. I was in a bank half an hour before it was robbed. I have taken cabs in Chicago rush hour traffic, and I have been shopping with Aunt Adele and Cousin Mimsy. That's as close to dying as I've come."

"Like I said, sis. You okay?"

"I'm still processing... but yeah. Think so. Tell you one thing, bro. The phrase, 'Today is the first day of the rest of your life' actually means something to me now."

Reassured, Blair rolled over. Oh yeah. She's going to be okay.

Waking up in a strange place was nothing new for Beau Sandburg. She lay still for a long moment, going through her usual checklist. What country am I in? What city am I in? Why am I here? America. Cascade. Visiting Blair. And oh yeah, I nearly died last night.

She sat up, stood up, stepped over her snoring brother, and grabbed one of her suitcases from the pile by Blair's desk. A glance at the clock told her she had twenty minutes before the alarm went off. She needed to be dressed and out of the bathroom before her brother and his roommate had to get ready for work. She'd showered at night before going to bed, that always saved time in the morning.

She dressed quickly, in another pair of jeans and a tee-shirt, and her comfortable sneakers, ran a comb through her short brown hair and wondered how long Blair would put up with the maintenance involved in that mane of his before chopping it short again. The long hair suited him, and he wasn't as scrawny as she remembered, he'd been working out. Makeup and brushing her teeth could wait until after she'd had her coffee, she decided, and was out of the bathroom with ten minutes to spare. She tucked the suitcase back, her nightgown into her laundry bag, and went back into the kitchen to get that pot of coffee started. Long as she was up, she might as well make herself useful.

With the coffee brewing, she leaned back against the kitchen island and looked around the loft, noting the comfortable contemporary decor. And except for the cardboard on the balcony door, the place was neat as a pin, ready for inspection. In sharp contrast to her brother's room, which was in his 'how can I lose anything when everything's out where I can see it' style of controlled chaos. She shook her head. My brother and an ex-military man. Now why does this sound like a really bad remake of The Odd Couple?

A soft sound interrupted her musings and drew her attention to the upper bedroom. She froze, head tilted back and eyebrows climbing under her bangs. Ellison had just gotten out of bed. He stood at the railing, clad only in a pair of Black Watch plaid flannel boxer shorts, facing away from her as he stretched. Muscles rippled under taut skin, across his back and down his arms as he moved through poses the Greeks had captured in marble. Oh yeah, Handsome, flex something else... She wasn't aware of making a sound, but a startled pair of blue eyes suddenly met hers. She gave him an embarrassed little wave as he drew back out of her line of sight.

Grinning, she turned and tried to remember which cupboard she'd seen coffee cups in last night. You stop that right now, Sparrowhawk. He's not the most gorgeous man you've ever seen, and you are here for one week. Her brother's suspicions aside, she'd put the Hormone Girl mask back in the Prop Box with her other unused personas a long time ago, and that's all it ever really was, a persona. She'd learned early enough, pretend to be what people expect of you and they'll leave you alone. Often easier than the other great truth, act as if the rules don't apply to you and sometimes people will rewrite them so they don't, but she'd done that, too.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, hesitated, then walked toward the couch. A few steps further. The sky was a heavy blue-grey as the sun rose behind passing cloud cover. She took a sip of her coffee, a deep breath, and opened the balcony door, stepping outside. A damp chill to the air, muted morning traffic sounds. A sniper's bullet failed to splatter the contents of her cranium all over Ellison's barbecue grill. I am not afraid. I will not be afraid. Feeling she'd proven whatever might have needed to be proven to herself, she went inside.

Now properly wrapped in a black velour bathrobe, Jim was staring at her with an odd expression. She glanced down to see if she'd accidentally put her shirt on inside out or something. "What?"

He seemed about to say something, but the moment passed and he swung around and headed for the kitchen, zeroing in on the coffee. Grabbing a cup of his own, he finally asked, "You sleep okay?"

"Pretty well. Jet lag," she lied. Jim opened his mouth, closed it, and looked over at the door to Blair's room. Blair came out, staggering slightly, scratching his hip at the gap between the yellow sweatpants and the white undershirt he wore as pajamas, dragging a clawed hand through sleep-tangled hair, and yawning. "Good morning Sunshine."

"Ermfgh. Morning," Blair said, and came into the kitchen to start breakfast. Beau helped him, and Jim went to take his shower.

During breakfast, Beau stated her intention to get all her sightseeing done that day, curse of the born tourist, as soon as she set foot in a city she had to wander around it a little and get a feel for the place. Blair had classes, then he had to go into the station with Jim, but they made arrangements to meet at the loft later.

Blair walked past the fountain in front of Hargrove Hall a little too quickly, eyes averted. I've really got to figure out how to tell Beau about that. I was dead but I'm all better now? Jim pulled up and he got into the truck, and froze at the sight of the shoebox on the bench seat.

"Oh no. Not him," he groaned.

Jim gave him a look. "Spent this morning going over old cases and I couldn't come up with anything."

"Great," Blair grumbled, fastening his seatbelt.

"So. Uh. You never mentioned that you have a sister."

Blair shifted in his seat a little and looked at him. The man was not comfortable with asking personal questions unless it was an interrogation and he was allowed to intimidate the answers out of people.

Mildly, he replied, "And how long did I know you before Steven showed up?" He watched Jim's hands shift on the steering wheel.

"You and Beau seem pretty close, even if you haven't seen each other for four years. Steven and I weren't talking."

Blair suddenly didn't find this entertaining any more. "Yeah, well, just because we're talking doesn't mean we're not not talking."

That earned him an amused glance. "Want to run that one by me again, Chief?"

"Not really," he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "We had a fight. A big, humongous, incredibly stupid fight. And we made up... but you can't go back and unsay stuff that's been said, y'know? And it got pretty ugly. Since then we talk maybe once a year and we're not on the phone for five minutes." He let that hang in midair for a moment, then added, "I'm glad she came. I've missed her."

To change the subject, he glanced down at the shoebox between them again. "You hooked Sneaks up as your informant while you were in Vice, right? The guy has a foot fetish..."

Sneaks was waiting for them at a picnic table at Bayside Park. "Bout time you two got here—" he broke off complaining when he saw the box the detective was carrying. "Are those really..." He swallowed. "Word is local talent out to erase Sandburg."

Blair closed his eyes briefly. Whatever I did in my last incarnation I swear I'll never do it again. "So who wants to kill me and why?"

"Not you, the new Sandburg in town."

"Beau?" He managed to get her name out before his throat closed. Beau who'd been a split-second from dying last night. Beau who was wandering around unprotected and unaware of being targeted... Breathe. You are not going to have an anxiety attack, not now.

"Who?" Jim repeated. It should be impossible to growl a word with no guttural sounds but he did it anyway.

"S'all I know, rumor of a rumor. Honest."

Jim glared at him, then nodded, and handed over the box. Ignoring Sneaks' pleased sigh as he inspected the expensive new designer cross-trainers, he asked his partner, "You have any idea where your sister is now?"

"She could be anywhere in the city, she could be—" Blair took a deep breath. Picturing Beau armed with guidebook and map, leaving with them this morning, hitting the art museum and the Historic Waterfront District, doing a lot of walking, getting tired... Please. He grabbed his cell phone and punched in the loft's number. Please pick up please pick up please... The answering machine.

"Beau, if you're there, pick—"

"Yeah?"

The relief washing over him nearly knocked him off his feet. "Beau, stay inside, lock the doors and stay away from the windows. Jim and I are coming home."

"This is about last night?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be under your bed."

Jim sighed softly as Beau started on the last book of mug shots without any luck. It had been a longshot, that she might have noticed somebody following her and been able to match the face with local talent. He saw Captain Banks standing at the door to his office with an inquisitive look on his face, and went over. "Sandburg's sister," he said.

They both studied the pair for a moment, Beau sitting slumped in the chair, Blair perched on a corner of the desk. "Starting a collection?" Banks asked dryly.

"The shooting at my place last night. She may have been the target."

"Sandburg!" The captain bellowed. "In my office. Both of you."

The men moved to let them enter. Blair closed the door and introduced, "Captain Simon Banks, this is my sister..."

She cut him off on the grounds that if anyone had to say it, it might as well be her. "Sparrowhawk Rainbow Sandburg."

The tall captain of the Major Crimes division stared down at her. "You've got to be kidding."

"Call her Beau. Or else," Blair explained, dropping into one of the visitor's chairs.

Beau had turned her eyes ceilingward and seemed to be addressing a Higher Power. "I'm going to legally change my name to Jane. Or Mary. Sue. I could be Susan Sandburg..."

Her brother flapped a hand dismissively. "Nah. Never work. The essential Sparrowhawkishness of your soul would still shine through."

"Shut up," she suggested.

For the fourth time, Jim asked her, "Do you have any idea why somebody might want to kill you?"

She shook her head helplessly. "I travel. I write chatty little articles about places I've been. I write cheesy romance novels. I'm really a very inoffensive person."

"Maybe it just runs in the family," Banks muttered. "You have any leads?"

"A few," the detective admitted. "I had her going through mug shots to see if anybody looked familiar."

"Then you should get back to it. Miss Sandburg, you're in good hands here."

"Mn. I know that," she agreed. The three of them headed back to the desk and the slow process of elimination.

An hour later, Beau shook her head. "I'm sorry. I was sightseeing and people-watching, not checking for a tail."

Jim put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. We still have a few other leads."

"Like what?"

"Like maybe someone I helped Jim put away got out and is looking to hurt me through you," Blair replied. "We can go through the case files again."

"Tomorrow," Jim said firmly. "I know, its my turn to cook, how about I spring for Chinese takeout? Jade Fan's?"

It wasn't until after dinner, when Jim was putting away the leftovers and Blair was doing the minimal dishwashing that takeout required, and his sister was throwing the empty cartons in the trash, that she asked, "What did Captain Banks mean, exactly, it runs in the family?"

"There have been a few incidents, since I started working with Jim. I've ended up in the hospital a few times." Blair dried his hands and turned to face her across the kitchen island. "About a month ago, I was knocked unconscious and left to drown," he said casually. "I was clinically dead before being revived."

"You were dead?"

"Sort of."

She took a deep breath. "And you didn't think this was important enough to mention?"

Placatingly, he shrugged. "It's kinda hard to work into the conversation."

She stalked the length of the dinner table and back. "Started a new thesis. Bought a new car. Came back from the dead. Is that so hard?" she snorted. "And here I thought maybe you were finally starting to grow up—" She stopped.

Blair's head rocked back as if she had slapped him. His face tightened. But all he said was, "I'm not the one under protective custody. I'm going for a walk." He grabbed his jacket from the hook and went out the door.

Beau said, "Damn," very quietly, then walked over to the couch and dropped onto it, her face in her hands.

Jim watched her for a long moment. Then he snagged two cold bottles of beer, opened them, and went over to sit at the other end of the couch, offering her one. She took it, put it on the coffee table, and stared at it. He took a swig of his beer.

Meditatively, she said, "I say some pretty stupid things sometimes. Like when I'm awake, for example."

"Your brother said something about a fight. I take it that was round two?"

She smiled grimly. "Yeah. Five years ago. Blair had a chance to go to Ecuaguay to do fieldwork. You remember what was happening in Ecuaguay five years ago, Jim?" She saw from the expression on his face that he did. "I was dating a network news guy at the time, I got to see raw, unedited footage of the last group of tourists the rebels..."

She surged to her feet, so tense that it was either move or explode. He watched her pace.

"He needed a loan. I kept telling him it was too dangerous. He was excited, not really listening to me. All he could see was the chance to study the whosheardof'em people of the godforsaken valley, and all I could see was..." She swallowed. "He was so... so young." She said it almost wistfully. "Innocent. He thought he was immortal. He kept trying to brush aside my fears, laugh it off. Accused me of trying to mother him."

She stopped, came back to the couch, and picked up the beer bottle, spinning it slowly between the palms of her hands. "I must have some Irish blood. I don't get mad often, but when I do, I go into these epic, operatic rages. So Blair accused me of trying to mother him and I said if Naomi had been a better mother to both of us, I wouldn't have to, that I had a flake for a mother and a flake for a brother, and as tired as I was of always having to be the responsible one, I wasn't about to let him go off and get himself killed. I said it because it was the most hurtful, hateful thing I could think of to say, not because it was true, even though I've always been my father's daughter, I guess, and Blair's definitely our mother's son. I love Naomi. She did her best, I can't imagine growing up any other way, if she'd left us with Uncle Nathan and Aunt Adele we'd both be a hellava lot more neurotic than we already are."

She was silent for so long, Jim prodded "So what happened?"

"Sticks and stones break flesh and bone but words... open wounds that can never be healed. We said some pretty nasty things to each other. He sold his car and went anyway. And nothing happened to him, Thank God. Talked to him when he got back... must have been a month before he met you." She glanced up with a rueful smile. "We both apologized... but now there's a distance between us that has nothing to do with living in different time zones and I can't... reconnect. I came here to try... I was afraid of losing him and that's exactly what happened."

"You haven't lost him. He's still your brother." With a start, Jim realized he had his hand on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and pulled it back, surprised both at his familiarity and that she hadn't seemed to notice.

She considered his words, then nodded. "Yeah. Sorry to dump all this on you, Jim. You're a good listener."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "I try."

Head down, shoulders hunched, Blair stomped down Prospect Avenue on autopilot. He couldn't believe it was starting up again. At least I didn't call her an uptight bitch this time. He slowed to a walk as the anger left him. Admit it. You were a flake, and proud of it. And she had every right to be worried. There were some scary things going on in the lowlands. And you pushed. You know her, easy going, goes with the flow, but sometimes she digs her heels in and draws a line in the sand and then, man, don't even try to budge her. Lot like Jim, come to think of it. Maybe I should be trying to get them together, the irresistible force and the unmoveable object... nah, never last, the first time she heard him whistling "The Ballad Of The Green Berets" while he mops the floor, she'd walk. Yeah, I should have told her about Alex and dying and everything... well... maybe not everything... but okay, she was upset.

He turned around and went home. Beau was sitting on the couch with Jim, she stood up as he came in and took a step toward him.

"Blair, I..."

He didn't say a word, just walked right up to her and hugged her hard. Her arms went around him, and they just held on, like they were in the heart of a hurricane. Then Beau sat down again, and Blair hung up his jacket and came over to sit beside her, and Jim turned on the TV.

"Maybe it was mistaken identity," Beau suggested. She'd spent the day in hiding at the loft, until Blair came to take her to the station. "Since there hasn't been a second attempt."

Blair shook his head, then flipped a stray lock of hair back out of his eyes. "Don't even say that." He kept his eyes open, wishing he'd been able to find a closer parking space. There weren't many people out on the sidewalk, and all of them looked harmless enough. He stuck close to his sister. "You're tempting Fate."

He saw her eyes check the rooftops. "I just can't think of any reason why anybody would want to kill me."

He smiled slightly. "No outraged wives or jealous girlfriends trailing in your wake?"

She snorted. "Not since we were kids and we used to 'sandbag' people."

He'd almost forgotten that. "New kids at school... we were always the new kids at school and everybody was already cliqued up and paired off..."

"So I'd go after the boyfriend so you could comfort the girl, or vice versa. Usually moved on before they figured it out."

"We were evil," Blair reflected.

"But popular." She gave him an amused sidelong glance, then touched his arm as a familiar cover caught her eye at the newsstand just ahead. "Oh, the new Global Village is out, should have the first of my British Isles series..."

There was a man looking at a sports magazine. Beau ducked past him with a murmured apology. Blair was distracted by the curvaceous cover girl on one of the fashion magazines.

Beau let out a startled yelp as the man beside her grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward a parked car. A silver flash of knife... she reacted without thinking. "Blair!" Shrugging her purse off her shoulder, she caught the thick strap in her hand and swung the heavy bag at his head. One hiking-booted foot came down hard on his instep as she twisted free of his grip. And then her brother was there, with a couple of quick jabs, dropping the man to the pavement, kicking his knife out of reach.

He pulled out his cell phone, looking down at their captive. "Just what do you have in your purse, anyway?"

She shrugged, adjusting the strap. "The usual."

Ellison folded his arms across his chest and glared down at Frankie Shepherd, small time thug and employee of Excalibur Security. "Trying to abduct my partner's sister half a block from the station, that's real smart, Frankie."

Captain Banks edged his chair closer to the table. "So that's attempted kidnapping along with the attempted murder charges."

Shepherd shifted uneasily in his seat. "Who said murder?"

In that same deceptively gentle voice, Ellison continued. "What were you going to do with the knife, Frankie, cut her hair? Somebody took a shot at the lady the other day. Where were you?"

"I was in Sweeney's all night Monday!"

Jim grinned unpleasantly. "Did I say Monday?"

Shepherd closed his eyes briefly. "Aw hell. I'm not going down for this, not alone. It was a hired hit. I give you a name, we can do a deal?"

"Let's hear the name first," Banks urged.

"It was her brother..."

Ellison slammed his hands down palm first on the table with a resounding crash. "Oh, Frankie, you're just digging yourself in deeper..."

"I'm not talking about your playmate, Ellison," Shepherd snorted. Banks flicked a restraining glance at his detective. "David Harrington."

There was a stunned silence. Finally Banks asked, "As in Harrington Mining?"

"Yeah. So old man Harrington tuned in, turned on and dropped out for awhile. Now, he's not doing too hot, hears from a friend of a friend that this flower child, Naomi Sandburg, he used to party with, has a daughter could be his kid. So he hires Excalibur to find her, and Davey Boy hires me... 'cause he does not share well with others."

In the observation room, watching the interrogation through the mirror, Beau breathed out in a noisy gasp of disbelief. Feeling suddenly cold, she hugged herself. Blair's arms closed around her and she leaned blindly into his comforting embrace. "Oliver Harrington might be my father?" Saying it out loud didn't make it seem any more real. "This was all about some stupid money?"

"A couple million bucks worth of stupid money. There's a reason why somebody would want to kill you."

Beau took a deep calming breath, pacing in small circles in the hospital corridor. I'm dealing with this. I'm dealing with this. Oh, man, I am not dealing with this...

Her orbit crossed her in front of Jim again, he reached out to stop her, lightly taking hold of her bicep. She looked up into concerned blue eyes.

"You don't have to do this."

"I don't want to do this," she corrected him. "But I have to." Her eyes flicked to her brother. Blair nodded once, understanding. Jim let his hand fall away, and she brushed off some imaginary lint, wiping her hand on her jeans.

"Do I look okay?" she asked, stalling for time.

"You look fine," Blair told her.

In the same instant his partner told her, "You look beautiful," and Blair reacted to that, to make her smile, so she did. And then walked to the closed door of the private room, Amazing what flashing a badge can do to bureaucracy. aware of the men behind her. Whatever happens my family is at my back, not ahead of me. Not even questioning her automatic inclusion of James Ellison in that thought.

She knocked once, then opened the door. Even in that first instant, studying the old man on the bed and the younger one at his side, looking into their faces for some reflection of her own, finding it, perhaps, in the shape of the jaw, the dark eyes...

"Mister Harrington? I'm Sparrowhawk Sandburg. I understand you've been looking for me."

David Harrington rose to his feet, a look of horrified realization in his eyes. Oliver Harrington smiled broadly.

"That I have. I have been looking for you for quite awhile. My God. You look just like your mother..."

"This is my brother—my half brother—Blair, and Detective James Ellison..." She faltered. She was meant to be the accuser, for the shock value. Once again, Jim stepped forward and saved her.

"David Harrington, you're wanted for questioning in the attempted murder of Miss Sandburg."

"What?" Oliver Harrington breathed. "David, is this true?"

David turned on his father, angrily, too enraged to watch his tongue. "After all these years, you're going to leave half of everything to some little bastard... did you really think I was going to sit back and watch—"

With surprising force for such a frail old man, Oliver Harrington slapped his son, who fell silent. Ellison handcuffed him and read him his rights.

"I'm sorry," Beau offered, as they led David away.

Oliver looked back to her with a weary, bitter smile. "I've known what David was for some years now... that's why I was rather hoping..."

She came to sit down by the bed, not quite taking David's place.

Blair leaned back against the kitchen island and took a sip of his soda. "You'd think someone with that kind of money could push the bloodwork through the lab faster."

Beau tucked the phone under her chin. "He has some great stories about Mom in the old days..." The ringing stopped. "Hi, Aunt Adele? Its Beau... Sparrowhawk. Yeah. I was wondering if my mother's called you lately, with the wedding and everything. Oh no. Oh, that's terrible. No! I can't, I might not even be, I can't, I... I... I... oh all right!" She rolled her eyes. "If Mom checks in with you in the next couple of days, can you have her call me at Blair's number in Cascade? It is kinda important... oh, he's still at the university. I'll tell him. Bye."

She hung up, turned to her brother, and threatened oddly, "Peach. Taffeta."

Blair started to laugh.

Jim made a show of checking his pockets. "Must have left my Sandburg Secret Decoder Ring in my other pants."

She took pity on him. "I'm going to be a bridesmaid in our cousin's wedding."

Blair was still laughing. "Oh, I'm definitely going to Mimsy's wedding now."

"You'd better. Insanity runs in our family," she told Jim. "We all drive each other crazy." She came to join the men in the kitchen.

"So that explains it," Jim teased. She swatted at him and went back to tearing lettuce for the salad the three of them were assembling.

The phone rang. Blair picked it up and stiffened. "That was fast... Beau, it's the hospital."

Wiping her hands on the dishtowel, she came over and took the phone. Blair stayed close. "Yes, this is she." A long pause. "I see. Thank you." She hung up and turned to the men. "Close but no cigar. The blood doesn't match. Oliver Harrington is not my father."

"Aw Beau... I'm sorry..." Blair started.

She shook it off. "It's okay. It doesn't matter. It's Mister Harrington I feel sorry for, David was so awful, I can see why he was hoping to tie me to the family tree." She came back into the kitchen, picked up a carving knife, and started doing some serious damage to the carrots. "And David ruined his life for nothing."

Jim took a step toward her, thoughts of disarming her and letting her brother get her to talk in mind, but Blair caught his eye and slowly shook his head, warning him away.

Beau took the last of her luggage from Jim and put it in the trunk of her rented car. Closing the trunk. A familiar shrill cry and a flutter of rust colored wings swooping down the street captured her attention.

Jim followed her gaze, noticing the Jay-sized bird. "What's that?"

A smile curved her lips. "A kestrel, or sparrowhawk."

Blair hugged her. "Safe journey, sis."

"I'll see you at Mimsy's wedding?" she confirmed.

"Oh yeah, you know I'm always up for a surreal experience."

She turned to the other man, her smile widening. "Jim, it was nice to meet you and thanks for saving my life and everything." She bounced up on her toes to brush her lips against his cheek, dropped down, closed her eyes and gave her head the tiniest shake. "Ohhh, life's just too damn short..." She bounced back up, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Thoroughly.

His hands closed on her hips, supporting her, and he kissed back. They both ignored the little spluttering noises Blair was making.

They parted, she let her hands slide down from shoulders to biceps, gave them a little squeeze before letting go. Brown eyes and blue eyes shared a sparkle. "Be seeing you, Beau."

"You take care of yourself, Handsome. And him, too." She ducked her head at her brother, and then got into the car, pulling out into traffic. The two men stood on the sidewalk, watching her drive away.

"It was good seeing her."

"Yeah..."

"Kind of a shame that Harrington wasn't her father... for both of them."

"Yeah..."

Without looking, Blair reached up and cuffed the older man on the side of the head. "JIM! C'mon, man. She's my sister."

~ End ~

E-Mail Besterette at Besterette@aol.com
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Page last updated 8/15/03.