The dancing was what drew Jim's attention to the quad. He'd gone over to the university to check on Sandburg's Volvo, still parked in the faculty parking area. Jim had decided to leave it there, Rainier security was tight enough to keep the car from being stolen, and it gave him one less problem to deal with. But, Jim being Jim, he had to make sure it was still there personally. He couldn't check on Blair, but he had a measure of control over Blair's car.

The detective was driving away from the parking lots when unusual movement in the quad near the school caught his eye. Rainier had more than its share of free spirits, and apparently they had decided, en masse, to celebrate the continued good weather with an impromptu dance party. Jim pulled over and walked toward the place, drawn to it by the vague notion that Blair would have gone. "He would have had some long-tailed theories about why they picked today to dance," Jim thought, with grim amusement, "and probably pulled the name of some remote tribe that used to do the same thing out of his hat."

Students in jeans, in shorts, in skirts, older folks out enjoying a walk in the sun, somehow they'd all converged on this spot surrounding a group of street musicians. Onlookers were laughing and clapping in time with a guitar, a flute and some other kind of wind instrument. The scene had a festival feel, and the musicians seemed to be playing at least as much for the fun of it, as for the money being dropped in an open guitar case.

Jim edged closer to the trio, being guided by instincts he wasn't quite aware of. They were a motley group, with a young man in a stained red t-shirt, fatigue pants and Army boots playing guitar, his fair hair hanging in odd dreadlocks around his face. An older woman was playing the flute, long silver-threaded brown hair spilled down her back from a leather thong at her nape. The long Indian print skirt and white peasant blouse she wore suited her, gave her the appearance of a gently aging flower child.

The third player had most of his attention. She was closest to him, her coppery, boy-short curly hair glinting in the sunlight. She had the figure of a half grown boy too, adolescent in her baggy green t-shirt and patched cargo pants, but she worked her slender wooden recorder with an adult's authority. The work hardened hands were covered with fingerless gray gloves while slim fingers flitted over the holes of the simple instrument. When she noticed him watching, she flashed a quick grin up at him, then concentrated on the harmony she was coaxing out of her pipe.

Something nagged at him, and Ellison cautiously extended his senses, one at a time, all too aware how easy it would be to get caught up in the intricate music, the noisy crowd. How easy it would be to zone out, without his Guide to bring him back. Scent..his head turned, sampling the light breeze, catching hints of perfume, food, the warm wood of the guitar, candlewax, woodsmoke..Sandburg.

Jim reacted before his forebrain had kicked in, stepping forward and taking the redhead by her arm, disrupting the music. "Jenn." It wasn't a question.

"Jenn." He repeated, and saw the colour drain out of her sharp little face, heard her heartbeat accelerate.

Then, her shoulders squared and her chin came up. "Nope. You've got the wrong chick, mister." Jazz's voice was rock steady, and her eyes were clear and full of apparent innocence as they met his.

"I'm Jim Ellison. Detective Ellison."

Cool gray eyes looked him over, and then she shrugged. "So? There's no law against playing here, Detective, and everyone was having a good time." Adroitly, she left the "until you came along" hanging unspoken in the air.

The crowd had begun to gather, but the sight of the gold badge on the big man's belt kept them from interfering. A cop, a street person, not anyone else's business. Excepting, of course, the other players. BeBop was frozen in place, watching his friend try to bluff the detective. This was serious trouble.

Jim ignored BeBop and Hush, he was completely focused on Jazz, and on Sandburg's scent. "I want to see him, now."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Detective, but I'd suggest that you let go of me." Her face was stone, her words were ice, and Jim was losing his temper.

He grasped both of her upper arms, gave one good "I mean business" shake, and leaned down to emphasize his next words. "I am NOT playing games with you, lady. Kidnapping is a federal crime, and kidnapping my partner..." That sentence didn't need finishing. "So, you can take me to where he is, now, or I can take you to jail, charge you, and watch the Feds throw away the key."

She struggled against the punishing grip of his hands. "Sure, lock me up. That will help a lot..NOT. Look, this is not my decision, okay? If it were just my hidey hole, I'd take you there and find me a new one. But I am NOT going to betray my family, especially not to a cop." Jazz spat the word like a curse at the square jawed face so close to her own. "A bully of a cop at that! You're a big tough guy, Jim Ellison, you're hell on wheels against women a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than you. Does Blair know you like to manhandle chicks like this?"

Stung, Jim loosened his grip a bit. He wasn't trying to hurt the girl, after all. But her words had covered the sound of someone coming toward him, a body stumbled and fell heavily against his back, and the detective staggered. It was BeBop, who had given his guitar to Hush and made her leave while Jim had all his attention on Jazz.

The younger woman had seen the whole thing, and when Jim faltered, she tore herself free and ran. The pair took off in opposite directions, and Jim swore. He could track her for a while, but she'd lost herself among the late afternoon pedestrians. He didn't dare open his sense of smell wide enough to sort her out from among them. Not without his Guide.

"You should have seen her!" BeBop enthused, telling Blair and the others about their adventure. "She looked that cop right in the eye and stared him down." he glanced over at Blair, and ducked his head, "I don't mean anything against your friend, bro, but the guy is HUGE and little ol' Jazz is just standing there, cool as a cuke, giving him static."

"Don't think I could do that with any giant goombah who wanted to pulverize me, BeBop. I wouldn't have been able to do it at all without Blair's help." Jazz said and their guest looked puzzled. "You've been telling us all along that he's a good guy, right? Well, a nice guy, who's built like that, he worries about hurting other people. Probably has been told to pick on people his own size too. I used that against him."

Blair nodded enthusiastically, unable to resist a good discussion of human behavior."Jim normally wouldn't lay a rough hand on a woman, unless she was resisting arrest or something. The fact that he grabbed you shows that he's under a lot of stress, Jazz."

"Don't I know it? The look in his eyes..." She shivered, "I wasn't looking forward to making him belt me one."

"What?" The anthropologist yipped, sitting upright with a grimace. "You're totally off base there. There's no way he would have hit you."

"I know you think so, Blair, but you weren't there. You didn't see the look on his face. And I was deliberately pushing his buttons. Had to, I figured that hitting a woman would freak him out enough to make him let go." Jazz laid her bowl aside and stood up, pacing the room thoughtfully. "What I can't figure out is how he knew it was me. I wasn't singing or anything, so he couldn't have recognized my voice.. and there's no way the cops got a good description of me from that traced phone call." She looked suspiciously at Blair, who shrugged innocently. With a sigh, she let it go.

When Sonata shooed them out for the night, Blair kept Jazz back a minute. "I'm glad you got loose from Jim, Jazz. I know the secret is important to your family."

"It's more important than anything..except maybe saving some silly grad student knight in shining armor's life." She smiled down at him in the dim lamplight and Blair laughed with her, then got serious.

"What I wanted to say was, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he scared you, and I'm sorry that I'm the cause of all this trouble for you guys."

"You just keep getting better. I'm sorry, too. I don't mean to keep putting your friend down. "

"You should hear my mother. Naomi is rabidly anti-establishment, and when she found out I was working with 'the pigs'..." He rolled his eyes and was pleased when she giggled.

She ran a hand over her hair and shook her head. "You guys, you and Jim, you're really close, huh?"

Blair nodded, and waited for the inevitable question, but she surprised him.

"That's good. The family you find for yourself...is he more mellow when he's not frantic over a missing roommate?"

Blair held up his hand, index finger and thumb about an inch apart. "A little. I'm working on him." and they laughed again.

"Well, keep it up. He looks like he can use all the mellow he can get. Goodnight, Blair."

"Sweet dreams, Jazz."

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