Chapter Two
Jim stretched, wincing a little. It has been a long time since Blair had left him quite so deliciously sore. Last night, after they'd gotten home, had been fabulous.
He'd refused to let Jim speak at all. He just dragged him upstairs. Next thing Jim knew, he was kneeling on his bed, clutching the headboard for dear life while Blair took him fast and hard, all the while murmuring about how sexy he'd been that night, how much he'd wanted to touch him just like this.
Jim shivered at the memory. Blair had even called out his name at the end, something he hadn't done in a long time. That by itself made him feel...odd. He couldn't put his finger on it...the sex had been to die for and they'd ended up cuddling as usual, Blair wrapped up around him like a human blanket. How had he *ever* managed to get to sleep without him all those years?
Now Blair was puttering in the kitchen. Jim had just decided it was time to get up when he was summoned. "James! Breakfast!"
"Coming!" He got up and pulled on his peach silk kimono, the one Blair had found in a consignment store just in time for his birthday. He loved the way it flowed over his body, and the way Blair grinned when he wore it.
He saw it again when he came downstairs. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I have a pan of cholesterol on the stove just waiting for you." Blair dished him up a plate of western omelet.
"You're up early, sweetcheeks." Jim sat down gingerly, to Blair's obvious and sadistic amusement, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
"You don't have a class today, do you?"
Blair shook his head and joined Jim at the table. "I just happened to get up. You were so gone that an *earthquake* wouldn't have woken you up. No, strike that. If there ever were an earthquake, we'd know in advance when you started *howling*. But nothing short of an earthquake. I mean, I kissed you and I took a *shower* and dropped stuff and you were just *out*."
"*Breathe*, darling, *breathe*. Can I *help* it if *somebody* completely wore me out last night?"
He grinned. "Yeah, well...this is my second omelet." He indicated his full plate. "We are now totally out of ham and are rapidly running out of eggs, so if you want seconds, you get scrambled."
"And I scramble them myself?"
"You got it."
"Last night was strange. I cannot *believe* how well you and my dad got along."
"Me, neither. I was expecting this total *ogre*, and he was acting all...father-in-law-ish."
"Well, look at how your mother treats me."
Blair laughed. "Naomi loves you, man. When she calls me, she asks about her favorite daughter-in-law. And that day you two went shopping...I swear, you *bonded* over cashmere shawls."
"And how would you know that? If I recall, Poindexter, *you* were hiding out in some bookstore. And I'd found the most darling sweater for you, too."
"Which is why I was hiding, man. Anyway, that's part of why I'm up early. Don't want to be late to work...not how to build a good rep. And if you don't get a move on, James, Simon is going to have both our asses. And *not* in a good way."
"He never will have them in a good way. Such a pity, too." He scraped up the last of his eggs, gulped his coffee and, while Blair stacked the dishes and soaked the pots, took his own shower.
Twenty minutes later, he was dressed to his satisfaction, and *so* happy to be out of last night's masquerade.
Blair didn't give him the leer he wanted, but after last night,the poor man probably didn't have much left.
They got to the station right on time. Simon gave them a pleased smile as they settled in to take care of some paperwork before the next case fell on them.
Which meant they both jumped when Blair's desk phone rang. Blair stared at him with those adorable eyes but Jim just grinned. "Your desk, your call."
He made a face, but picked up the receiver. "Major Crimes, Sandburg speaking." His face lit up. "Dave! How are you, man?"
Ah, yes. Dave Richardson, the Cascade PD's gang liason. He was a good man. Gang crimes, while still a major problem, had decreased during his tenure, and they'd all become good friends. Jim tuned out the conversation so he could concentrate on the pending report, but he caught words like paper and publish and work, so he figured something academic was going on.
"Mitch?" Jim looked up at that. "No, I haven't heard from Mitch lately."Dave's voice was noncommittal. "I was just wondering. I know he's not going to talk to me, but...I do feel sort of responsible for him."
"Not your fault he fell for you, or that you couldn't return it."
"Yeah, but I could have handled it better. Maybe he wouldn't have..."
"Stop beating yourself up, man. *He* chose to use those razors on his wrists. He has to take responsibility for his choices. We *all* do. If it makes you happy...last I heard, he was fine. Had a boyfriend and everything."
"But his hand..."
"His bad luck..."
Jim shook his head, remembering the bathroom full of blood. Mitch Green had cut his left wrist so badly that he'd never get full use back - which probably saved his life since he couldn't do a good job on his right. He'd never be a cop again. He also remembered the picture Mitch had sent of his boyfriend...a younger version of Dave.
"Okay. Whatever you say. If you hear from him again, let me know. And let me know when you can start helping me."
"Will do, man. Give our love to your family."
"Will do. Kiss Jim for me."
Blair hung up the phone, and began perusing a report.
"What was all *that* about?"
"Right, man." Blair chuckled. "Like you didn't hear both sides of the whole thing."
He held up three fingers. "Girl Scout's honor. Until you mentioned Mitch, I heard nothing."
"You know, I'm surprised the Boy Scouts haven't asked you for your Eagle back."
"They can *ask*." Jim grinned. "So? Are you going to tell me or not?"
"It's so cool. Dave's going back to school to get a degree in anthropology. And he asked *me* to help him. We're going to see if we can use our knowledge of tribal organizations and so on to help the gangs. Applied anthropology, man!"
"Social engineering?"
"Now, that just sounds ugly. We're not trying to end the gangs..."
"Then what's the point? Colorful basketball teams?"
"You *don't* understand..."
A well-dressed and vaguely familiar looking older man stared at them for a moment on his way to Simon's office, but they were having too much fun for Jim to pay much attention.
Eventually, the argument ran down and they went back to work. Jim heard, and ignored, the sighs of relief around the bullpen as they stopped the discussion.
"Ellison! Sandburg! Could you join us, please?" Simon's voice rang out from his office.
"Coming, Captain!" Blair winked at Jim and got up. Jim put down his pen and joined him at Simon's door.
The well-dressed man was sitting on the chair opposite Simon's desk. He was a distinguished looking man in his early sixties, with thick silver hair, wearing a well-tailored - custom tailored, unless Jim missed his guess, and Jim *never* missed his guess about that - but conservatively cut gray suit over a white on white shirt and a darker gray tie with faint red stripes.
He was also wearing an expensive, subtle scent that didn't quite hide a nervous stink. Jim was impressed. According to his heart, the man was truly worried about something, but he betrayed none of that on the surface.
What he did betray was extreme distaste as he took in *Jim's* carefully chosen outfit - a turquoise blue silk Italian suit over a dark pink shirt and matching tie, a turquoise ring in his ear.
He spared only a glance at Blair, who was wearing his normal layers of shirts and old jeans and had his hair pulled back, exposing his own silver rings.
Simon scowled at the interplay. "Dr. Adam Hunter, allow me to introduce my best team, Detective James Ellison and Dr. Blair Sandburg."
Jim exchanged looks with Blair. No wonder he'd seemed familiar. What was the conservative spokesman doing here? And why was Simon assigning *them* to work with a well-known homophobe?
"Captain Banks, I must protest. While I am...aware of Detective Ellison's record..."
"Cop of the year." Blair grinned.
Jim could feel himself...loosening up. "Darling, *please*."
Hunter looked pained. "As I was saying, Captain Banks...are you sure that a man with...Detective Ellison's...proclivities should be working on this case? Considering what it's about?"
"Dr. Hunter, trust me. I could not assign a better team for this case. As for you, Jim...behave."
"Yes...sir." He and Blair settled themselves on the conference table. Blair grinned at him and brushed his hand.
"You behave, too, Sandburg."
"Yes, Captain."
"Very well, Captain Banks. But I accept them under protest. Surely, Dr. Sandburg can work with someone else?"
"He can. But he's not. Dr. Hunter, in my unit we judge officers by their solve and conviction rate, and that is *all*."
Hunter turned white. "I will protest this treatment, Banks. And the inappropriate men you have assigned. However, I need your help."
"Excuse me, Simon, but what *is* the case? We *could* be working on reports."
"Good point. Dr. Hunter is being blackmailed, gentlemen."
"How are you being blackmailed, Dr. Hunter?" Jim let the cop, who didn't care how bigoted the victim was, take over. Who didn't care *much*, in any case.
Hunter took a plastic zipbag off Simon's desk. "We got this this morning in my office." He handed it to Jim.
He read the note outloud. "We know your little secret, hatemonger. If you want to keep it a secret, you'll do what we ask. We'll be in touch, hatemonger. And no tattling to your friends, the police. Much love, PTU"
It was laser-printed on standard paper. There was no way to identify it that way. "Dr. Hunter, how was this delivered?"
"My secretary found it this morning, in an envelope pushed under the door. Captain Banks has the envelope, too."
"Anything written there?" Blair took the bag with the note.
"Not a thing, Dr. Sandburg. It was just a plain, business sized envelope." Blair nodded, frowning.
"And there's been no further contact?"
"Not yet. Angie, my secretary, would have called if there had been."
Blair nodded again, turning the note over in his hands.
"Blair?" Simon looked at him curiously. "What is going on in that brain of yours?"
Blair took a deep breath and smoothed some stray curls back over his head. "Why are you here, Dr. Hunter?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why are you here? The note clearly says not to come to the police."
"Because I will not allow criminals to tell me what to do."
Hunter, already dignified, pulled himself up and sat tall in his chair when he said those words. Jim found himself admiring the man, much against his will.
"Will you risk having this secret of yours exposed to the world?" Blair looked the man straight in the eyes.
"I hope that you will catch these people before that occurs, but, yes. I will take that risk. No matter what the cost to...my reputation."
"You feel that strongly, sir?" Jim felt his respect increase. He reminded himself that the note was right. He was a homophobe and a hatemonger.
"Yes."
"Dr. Hunter?"
"Yes, Captain Banks?"
"We discussed this before I called my men in, but I think we need to ask it again. It might be helpful to know at least something about this secret of yours."
"I am not comfortable with that, sir."
"Then how do you expect us to help you?" Blair banged the table with his fist. "We don't know who is doing this, and we don't know why they're doing it, or what they're doing it about. We don't even know what they want! We're *blind* here. We need all the information you can give us."
"My partner is right. We can't go in here totally blind. I can promise you this - we will keep your secret."
Hunter looked at Jim again, his eyes flickering over the pink and turquoise, and then at the hand covering Blair's. "I know you people hate me."
"We're only returning the compliment you give *us*, Dr. Hunter."
"The point remains. How can I trust you?"
Adam Hunter had green eyes, with flecks of blue and brown. They seemed to look through Jim's.
"Dr. Hunter. I don't like you. I don't like what you stand for or the things you say about 'us people.' I could pretend otherwise, but I gave up pretending a while ago." Blair looked at him sharply. "I'm being honest with you. Can you do the same for me?"
Hunter chuckled. "You have a point, detective. The main problem is, it's not my secret to tell. At least not entirely. I'll tell you what I can."
"Whatever you can will be a help." Jim put on a smile.
"Very well. If you look at my official biography, it mentions that I have two sons and a daughter, plus grandchildren and a great-grand child." Jim nodded. "It lies."
The bald, flat words echoed in Simon's office.
He repeated them. "My biography lies. My wife, may God rest her soul, gave birth to four children, three of them boys. I gave the oldest one my name, taught him as best I could to follow the ways of God, the same way my father taught me, the same way I taught the others. When he was twenty years old, he told me he rejected those teachings, me *and* his name. At his own request, he is no longer my son."