Time is now divided into two distinct parts, the time I'm lost in fever-induced dreams, and the time I'm vaguely aware of the real world. Those memories are of drinking nasty liquids, and alternately shivering and sweating. I can't remember the last time I have been so sick.

The dreams are unpleasant too, mostly of the jungle, of fire, and of danger realized too late. Unfortunately, I can't blame those on my illness. They are the standard fare of my nightmares.

Through it all, I can sense Blair close to me. Some whispered words, the touch of a hand, the cool comfort of a wet cloth on my skin all speak to me of his presence. His name is the first word on my tongue when I am finally lucid and able to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds.

"Blair's asleep," Esme answers me.

Turning my head to the side, I spy a curly-haired lump cocooned in a sleeping bag in front of the fire. Using my hearing I reassure myself that he is okay, then I focus my attention on our hostess. Esmeralda Cooper is a small woman in her mid-twenties, with short, dark hair and vibrant eyes she hides behind heavy glasses. According to the information we received from the bailbondsman, she was up on embezzlement charges, accused of having stolen twenty million from her employer. It occurs to me that if I had that much money, I would not be holed up in a relative's ratty cabin in Canada. I smile to myself. Over the years, I find I have begun to think like Sandburg, who I know, without having to ask him, believes she is innocent.

"Jim, you okay? You looked like you were a million miles away." Her hand is cool against my cheek. "Your fever's gone down." She holds a mug out to me, steadying it as I take a drink. For once it's water. "Blair said I should make sure you drink plenty of fluids if you woke up." She sets the cup down and faces me again. "Wish I had a friend like him. He was up for almost 24 hours straight taking care of you."

Twenty-four hours? "What day is it?"

She looks at a watch on her wrist. "It's January second, and 4 AM, in case you're wondering. He wanted to get you to a hospital as soon as you warmed up, but it started snowing really heavily and he didn't want to risk getting stuck with you in such bad shape." Her next question comes from left field. "Is Blair part Native American?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so," I stammer. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I woke up one time when you were really out of it. Blair was kneeling beside the bed, his hands out over you like this," she demonstrates by holding her hands palm down about two inches from my chest, "and chanting. In the light from the fire it was kind of spooky, that's all, and reminded me of those documentary things on medicine men."

My brow furrows and I chew my lip. What have you been up to, Chief? I know you've been researching the Shaman thing, but healing magic? I can see a long talk in our future. I change the subject, not wanting to get into that deep a discussion with her. "Did Blair tell you why we were here?"

Giving a little sigh, she nods. "He told me you were sent to bring me back to Cascade. I planned to come back for the trial, honest, it's just that I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I didn't steal that money."

I sigh. I knew this was coming. "Ms. Cooper . . ."

"I know, I know, Blair told me your only responsibility is to bring me back and turn me over to the court. But he also told me you were private investigators, that you help people in trouble."

I don't know why I bother to protest, but I make a token effort. "Yes, we do, but usually not embezzlers."

She sits up straighter in the chair, making an indignant noise. "I haven't been convicted; I'm an alleged embezzler. And Blair already promised." Her violet eyes fill up with tears. "He said you would help me."

Chief, you are so dead. I glare at his back, but I knew I was licked the moment we got the call about the case. There is something about females in trouble and Sandburg. They can spot him a mile away. Maybe it's some kind of pheromone--eau de gullible. I would love to research this further with Esme, but a yawn overtakes me. I drift off to sleep, murmuring something along the lines of "Whatever . . ."

The next time I awaken, I feel much better. Until I start coughing and can't stop. In the short recess between my last cough and my next one, a cup is pressed to my lips, and I can taste honey, lemon, and something else with a nasty edge to it going down. Whatever it is, it works. The tickle in my throat fades, and I breathe deeply, croaking out a "Thanks," as I meet my guide's eyes.

Once again, I get a hand on the forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with Sandburg's hand, but I enjoyed it more when it was Esme's. I glance around the room to find her now curled up where Blair had been before as he says something about my fever going down. "Hmm, yeah," I answer him. "I feel better."

He grins at me. "Good, because I'm hoping we can get out of here today. Not that this place doesn't have its charm, but it's not safe."

I frown. I'm missing something here. "Fill me in, Chief."

He lowers his voice a little. "We aren't the only people looking for Esme. She didn't steal that money, you know." Sighing, I nod, and he continues. "Her boyfriend, Frank, who was a partner in the business she worked for, stole it and set her up to take the blame. George, that's the other partner, thinks she was in on it, and threatened her if she didn't tell him where Frank went with the money. Of course she doesn't know, and George knows some not so nice people, so she ran. Only problem is, it didn't take much for us to find her, and I'm guessing George is smart enough to check with her relatives too, which will lead him straight to here."

There's a hole in this explanation somewhere. "Maybe this is all a setup. Maybe Frank left Esme behind to take the heat off of him, and she'll join him later."

Blair gives me his "Jim, you are incredibly dense" look. "Jim, man, if Esme was your girlfriend, would you have left her in Cascade to take the heat, when she could be lying next to you on a beach somewhere in nothing but a bikini?"

"Chief, I'm not the person to ask about that. I can't even remember the last time I had a date." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I do remember. It was a double date, Blair and Dee and myself and Megan. It ended up that way quite a few Friday nights, not because Connor and I had any interest in each other, but because Blair and Dee felt sorry we were sitting at home alone while they went out and had fun. It was a guilt date. We had gone dancing, because that was what Blair and Dee had planned, and even though I would never admit it to Sandburg, I'd had a good time. The memory of Connor laughing in my arms is suddenly so sharp and intense that I can smell her scent--perfume, sweat, and the stuff she uses to clean her gun. I feel like I've just ripped a Band-Aid off a wound, taking the scab with it, watching in fascination as it begins to bleed.

"Jim, Jim, you okay?"

I look up at him, blinking away anything he might interpret as tears, and nod. "Yeah, I'm fine, just . . . remembering." I see the light go on in Blair's eyes, and a look of incredible sadness passes over his face. I'm trying to find something comforting to say to him, when a noise in the distance catches my ear. "Blair, does this George guy know how to use a snowmobile?"

Esme sits up abruptly in the sleeping bag. "Oh, my god, yes! He's nuts about the things, has two or three of them. Why, what are you thinking?"

I meet Blair's steady gaze. "I'm thinking we need to get out of here. Can we get the truck out?"

My partner nods. "Yes, but that won't do us much good. They have to be using the road to approach the cabin; the trees are too thick here for them to get off the track. If we try to drive out, we'll run right into them, and there's no way we can out run them."

Esme has caught the gist of our conversation, and is getting her boots on. "There's a ranger's station just over the ridge. If we can get there . . ."

I follow her line of thinking. "Then we'll be safe. Sandburg, you take Ms. Cooper and head for the station. I'll hold them off here."

Blair pauses in what he's doing, one boot on, the other held in his hand. "Man, you must still be delirious. Jim, we're in Canada. IE, your gun is safely locked up at home in Cascade. What are you going to use to hold them off with? We have no firearms, unless there's one here?" He directs his question to Esme.

She shakes her head. "No, but I do have a radio."

He points a finger at her. "Get on the horn to the rangers, let them know what's going on, tell them we're heading their way." He finishes getting dressed, while Esme works the radio.

To my dismay, Sandburg has to help me get dressed. Just sitting up makes me so dizzy I nearly pass out. "Just leave me here," I tell him.

"Nope, no can do." He finishes lacing my boots and helps me into his heavy coat, since mine is still at the bottom of the pond. I start to protest, but he will have none of it, and I realize he is probably wearing five layers of clothing already.

Throwing my arm over his shoulder, Blair heaves me off the bed, and we weave toward the door. Esme's already there, shrugging into what I recognize as Blair's backpack. He hands me off to her for a moment as he slips a strap over his head, then reaches back over his shoulder to adjust the leather scabbard that holds the two halves of his staff. He's dragged that damn thing around with him everywhere and never used it. I don't see what use it's going to be now, but I wisely keep my comments to myself, wishing fervently for a gun.

Blair takes over my support from Esme, and we head out of the cabin. The weather's actually fairly nice. Cold, but the sun is shining brightly, the glare on the snow blinding. Blair reminds me to turn it down, and I do as he says. We make slow progress toward the ridge. The snow is deep and I can barely keep myself upright, let alone walk in the stuff, even with both their help. The sound of the snowmobiles keeps getting closer, until it's loud enough for Blair and Esme to hear. The silence when the motors are cut off is startling.

"They're at the cabin," I tell them.

Blair chews his lip, his eyes searching the tree line for something. "Then it won't be long before they're on our trail." He looks me in the face. "How many are there?"

Closing my eyes, I concentrate with an effort. Damn illness is making it hard to stay focused. "Three, I think," I finally answer. I grab hold of his shoulders. "Blair, take Esme and go on ahead. I'm only going to slow you down."

Much to my surprise, Sandburg gives me a very cheeky grin. "I don't think we need to make you into a martyr just yet." Getting a firm grip on me, he heads into the trees. After about five minutes, we come to a small stand of evergreens. This is apparently what he was looking for as he leads us into the clearing. Leaning me against a tree trunk, Blair and Esme criss-cross the area, leaving multiple trails going into and out of the thicket.

When Blair is finally satisfied with what they've done, they return to me. Once again, he helps me walk, only this time it's not far, just to a huge fir whose low hanging branches drag on the ground. "Both of you, in there," he commands, pointing. I crawl underneath the limbs and lie on my stomach in the snow, quickly realizing it's an ideal hiding place. Esme follows in a moment, after Blair removes something from the pack she's carrying. He sticks whatever it is in his pocket, then stamps another false trail over the marks we made sliding under the tree.

That task complete, Sandburg walks into the center of the clearing and draws his staff, twisting the two ends together until they lock into place with a snap. He drops the pole on the ground, the snow deep enough that it vanishes from sight. Walking over to one of the trees, he grabs a limb and hauls himself up until he's hidden among the branches. I watch as his hat flutters down to rest at the base of the tree. What in the hell are you up to, Blair, I wonder.

Now comes the hard part: waiting. I can hear the three men following our trail, but it will be a couple minutes before they reach us. Peering out between the branches, I can barely see my partner. He's crouched on a limb about ten feet up the tree, and his heart is pounding. I smile as I pick up his whispered words. "Don't look down, man, don't look down."

"Hey! Over here!" Three men dressed in snowmobile suits and carrying handguns enter the clearing. They come to a standstill at the sight of the maze of tracks.

"What in the hell is this?" one of them asks.

"A pitiful attempt to fool us," the one who appears to be the leader says. This must be George. "Esme! Come out and we won't hurt you!"

I glance at her to find she has her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut. Her heart is racing, but she makes no sound.

One of the men spies Blair's hat. Walking over to the tree, he bends to pick it up. A bone-chilling cry issuing from his lips, Sandburg drops from his hiding place, landing feet-first on the man's back, knocking him into the tree trunk. His head impacts the wood with a loud thunk, and he is down for the count. Two shots ring out as George and his friend fire in Blair's direction, but my partner is no longer there. He is diving forward in a somersault, rolling to his feet with his staff clasped in both hands. He sweeps George's feet out from under him, sending him sprawling, his gun flying from his grasp to land in a snow bank. The opposite end of Blair's staff strikes the third man's arm, forcing his weapon up. Sandburg follows through with a back roundhouse kick to the head, and in less than thirty seconds, he is the only one left standing.

I am . . . speechless.

George makes the mistake of trying to go for his gun. The end of Blair's staff slams into his chest. "Uh-uh. Don't even think about it. On your stomach, hands behind your back." The man complies, and I now realize what Blair had retrieved from his backpack. He wraps the zip-tie around the man's wrists and tightens it, then does the same for the other two men. Collecting their weapons from where they had fallen, he finally turns toward our hiding place. "You can come out now."

Esme scoots out from under the branches, dashes across the clearing, and throws her arms around Blair. "Oh my gosh, you saved me! I can't believe it! That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"

I crawl out into the open, thinking the same thing. I have seriously underestimated my partner. I knew he had spent a great deal of time training with Dee, but I . . . I don't know what I had thought he was learning. I'd watched them work once, and at the time, I suspected it was a show put on for my benefit. Now I know differently. I never doubted his abilities as my partner, or his willingness to protect me. I just never suspected he was so . . . proficient at it.

Disentangling himself from Esme, Sandburg comes over to give me a hand up from the snow. "Come on, Jim, let's get these guys back to the cabin, and hopefully the rangers should be along soon."

I nod at him. "I can hear a helicopter. Hopefully that's them." He gives me his staff, and leaning on that and Esme's shoulder, I make it back to the cabin. Blair brings up the rear with our three prisoners.

Several hours later the local authorities have come and gone, taking George and his friends with them. Despite my desire to get headed back to Cascade, Sandburg has decided that I'm not up to the long drive after my earlier exertions. I secretly agree with him, but I argue because he expects it. Now I'm back in bed, and he's in the chair beside me, holding out a cup of soup. Esme is curled up in blankets on the floor, finally able to sleep now that George is in custody.

Blair notes my interest in her sleeping form as I take the mug from him. "You know it's not over yet."

"Hmm?" I manage around a mouthful of broth.

"For Esme. It's not over yet. She still has to stand trial for embezzlement. Unless Frank suddenly shows up." He peers at me over his own cup.

"What? You think we should go looking for him?"

He grins at me. "There's that psychic link between us. You read my mind."

"Chief . . . " But it's only a token protest. I know that with a minimum of arm-twisting he will convince me to go along with him.

His talk of psychic bonds reminds me of the dream I had during my fever. I debate telling him about it, but decide against it. I mean, I don't know if it was really a spirit vision, or just a feverish hallucination. What's the sense in getting his hopes up only to break his heart again if it isn't true? I take another drink, my eyes on him. He is watching Esme sleep. It's obvious she's developed quite a crush on him after this afternoon's heroics, and it looks like it's returned. No, I decide, I'm gonna keep Dee's cryptic words to myself for now, do a little investigating on the sly. If--no, when--I find out something concrete, I'll let him know.

But right now I'm just content to enjoy the feeling that for once all is right in the world. Reaching over, I give his forearm a squeeze. He raises an eyebrow at me. "What's that for?" he asks.

I give him a smile. "Just my way of saying thanks for saving my ass again, Chief."

Blair grins right back at me, his eyes shining in the firelight. "I think I'm gonna like the Jim Ellison of the new millenium."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," I tell him. He lightly punches my arm, laughing. Closing my eyes, I fall asleep to that wonderful sound.

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