Creative Imperative

TITLE: Cry Wolf (Part Four)
SERIES: Cry Wolf can be considered a sequel to my SPN fic Family Values but it's not necessary to read that first.
RATING: Adults Only
FANDOM: The Sentinel/Supernatural Crossover
CATEGORY: Crossover, Horror...see story notes.
PAIRINGS: Jim/Blair, Dean/Sam, Dean/OFC

Previous Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

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Cry Wolf

Part Four

Sam woke with Dean's body sprawled on top of him. It wasn't very comfortable. Dean appeared to be completely unconscious. Sam began to ease himself out from under Dean and it hit him suddenly that this was a first. Waking up in bed with Dean... They had sex years before, but they'd never spent a whole night naked together. God, no. It had been quick, furtive encounters: always careful, always with the spice of danger and a justified fear of what might happen if their dad ever caught them together.

Dean half-woke as Sam moved. He rolled over, freeing Sam, and went straight back to sleep. That was Dean for you. The man could sleep anywhere, any time...and he'd be awake instantly at the first hint of danger.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and found his body stiff and slow to respond. His muscles ached and he was sore in places that hadn't been touched for a long time. He smiled to himself, not at all upset about it. They'd had a busy night.

Sam's watch lay on the floor beside the bed. He picked it up, and saw it was past nine. Time to get up.

While taking a shower Sam was unsurprised to find bruises on his hips and thighs. He looked at his nude body in the mirror, turning around to examine the wound on his back. It was healing well, no infection or pain. But there was a bite mark on his arm that he didn't clearly remember Dean giving to him. Well, it would be easy enough to cover up.

It wasn't until Sam started to shave that he noticed a much more prominent bruise on his neck. He rubbed the foam off his face, leaning closer to the mirror to examine it. He remembered Dean's mouth at his neck and grinned at his reflection. He was having trouble remembering why he'd refused Dean in Oklahoma...but damn, that hickey was going to be tougher to hide. He'd have to wear a turtleneck.

When Sam passed their room, Dean was still sleeping. Sam remembered Blair's promise of coffee at any hour so he headed into the main house, leaving Dean to sleep. The kitchen was empty but as promised there was a pot of coffee waiting. Sam helped himself.

When Dean was up, they needed to start work on this gig. The full moon was two nights away, and they needed to find out at much as they could before they went hunting. These attacks had a long history. At the very least they needed to know if they were dealing with one werewolf or a whole pack of them. A pack was a bit much to take on...though Sam thought that if it turned out that way, Dean would want to try.

Carrying his coffee with him, Sam headed for Blair's study, thinking this was as good a time as any to ask him about the attacks. The door was slightly ajar and Sam could hear sounds from inside so he knocked softly.

"I'm here," Blair called. "Come on in."

The study, or perhaps office was a better description, was a large room with white-painted walls and a low, beamed ceiling. There were two desks, each with its own computer and a year planner pinned to the wall between them. There was a set of bookshelves stuffed with books and a large green leather couch against one wall. The windows were big, giving a view of the woods and letting in plenty of light. A brightly coloured woven rug took up most of the floor. The pattern was reminiscent of Native American style; Sam liked it.

Blair was taking paper out of the printer. He looked up as Sam entered. "Hi, Sam. Just give me a minute." He stacked the papers and slipped them into a folder. "Looking for breakfast?" he asked.

"Yes, but Dean's not up yet. I don't want to make you cook twice."

"If the smell of bacon doesn't wake him, I'll be cooking again when Jim gets up anyway. I don't know about you, man, but I'm hungry."

"Yeah," Sam agreed eagerly. "Are you...um...are you working on a new novel?"

"Yes. It's almost ready to send to my editor." He put the folder away in a drawer and turned toward the door where Sam waited.

"What's this one about?" Sam asked. He was making conversation, but his interest was genuine. Little Sammy all star struck, Dean had said; it was embarrassingly accurate. Sam didn't read a lot of fiction, but the friend who introduced him to Blair's novels did him a real favour. They were crime stories, probably similar to fifty other authors, but Blair wrote about heroes with secrets: a dark past, a hidden pain. It was something Sam identified with.

Blair grinned. "What's it about?" he repeated. "Same as all of them. Crime and cops." He shrugged. "I'm trying a new approach with this one, though. The protagonist is the victim, not the cop."

Sam nodded, following Blair to the kitchen. "That is different. When will it be available?"

"In six or seven months, if everything stays on schedule. What would you like for breakfast?"

Sam spread his hands. "Uh...I don't know."

"Well, you're paying for it, man, so you can have anything you like. I'm having pancakes with crispy bacon. Pancakes suit you?"

Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd had homemade pancakes. He grinned. "Sounds great. Would you like some help?"

"No, thanks, man, just sit down. Bacon? If you'd like something different I've got fruit, cream, eggs, honey, lemon or just sugar."

"No...bacon is great."

"Cool." Blair busied himself getting things ready. "You know, Sam, if you're that interested in the novel, you should stick around a week or so. Once the first draft is finished I'll be happy to let you read it."

"I'd love that! But...I don't know how long we'll be around." Sam finished his coffee, then broached the subject he needed to talk about. "Um...you offered to tell me about the girl who died..."

Blair had his back to Sam when Sam spoke, and Sam saw his shoulders tense. Blair froze for a moment, then went on pouring batter into the hot frying pan. "Yeah, I did," he agreed.

Sam took the hint and shut up while Blair cooked. The smells were delicious, sharpening Sam's hunger. Blair refilled Sam's coffee mug without Sam asking, set out plates and cutlery for four people, added glasses, squeezed oranges for juice and finally set out a plate of perfectly crisped bacon and stack of pancakes.

"Jean Marsden," Blair said as he loaded up his plate. "She was sixteen years old, Sam. A lovely kid with everything to live for. That night, she'd been at her boyfriend's place in town and walked home alone. Probably because it was snowing: fresh snow makes the track impassable by car. She was killed not long after she passed our gate, which is why Jim was the one who found her body. He goes running every morning when he's at home." He swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "What else do you want to know?"

"Were there any witnesses?"

"To Jean's death? No way, man. The fresh snow would have shown prints if anyone was near when she died. The only footprints on the scene were hers, Jim's and some animal tracks. That's why Sheriff Fridell is so sure it was a wolf."

"Was Jean...was there any reason to think her death was suspicious?"

Blair hesitated, and Sam noticed his hesitation. He answered slowly, "If you're asking whether it could have been murder, no, man, it wasn't. No person killed her. But...well, Jim wasn't happy with the way it was handled. I guess he still thinks like a big city cop: he likes to cover all the bases. By Jim's standards the investigation was sloppy."

"How so?"

"Well, Fridell decided it was a wolf, and then he dropped it. No need to look any deeper."

Sam frowned, remembering. "Fridell. Same name as the gas station guy?"

"It's a small town, man. They're brothers." Blair started to get up. "More pancakes?"

"No thanks, I'm full."

"I could eat a few." Dean's voice came from the doorway. He walked in and took a seat beside Sam. "Why didn't you wake me, dude? I almost missed breakfast!"

Sam grinned at him. "Dean, you were sleeping like a baby. You looked way too cute to disturb."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. If looks could kill...

*****

Jim watched Blair through half-closed eyes. Blair was busy with something in the bathroom. Blair dropped something - a shampoo bottle, judging by the thud - and Jim lifted his head from the pillow.

"Let a guy sleep, Chief."

Blair poked his head around the bathroom door. "Sorry, man." He didn't sound sorry.

Jim sat up, letting the comforter fall away from his body. "Guests gone?" he asked, though he already knew they were alone.

Blair appeared in the doorway, coming toward Jim. "Yeah, they're out for the day."

Jim smiled lazily. "Then come here," he suggested.

Blair lay down beside him and Jim pulled him close. Having Blair in his arms was the best feeling in the world. After all the years they'd been together, after everything they'd been through, Jim was still in love with Blair. He kissed his lover, long and deep, and the stresses of the past few weeks melted away.

When they broke apart, Blair was smiling. "Mm. You missed me, then."

"Too much," Jim said. For a moment, his romantic mood faded. "I could have used your help on this one, Chief. I can't use my senses as fully as I'd like without your backup."

"You should have called," Blair said. "I'd have come." He reached up, stroking Jim's unshaven cheek. "I didn't think you were gonna make it back in time."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, this one was close. Chief, what..."

Blair cut off his words with a kiss and suddenly Jim's arms were full of Blair, squirming above him, pushing the comforter out of the way so he could reach Jim's bare skin. Jim slid his hands down Blair's body and started to pull the shirt out of his pants. Blair was right. Talking could wait.

Jim wrestled Blair down onto the bed, getting them both tangled up in the comforter as he pinned Blair beneath his body. He kissed Blair's neck and Blair's hand at the back of his neck urged him to keep going. Blair arched his neck, making those little pleasure noises that Jim loved so much. He licked down the side of Blair's neck, loving the salty taste and Blair's musky scent. His free hand drifted down Blair's body, over the thick hair on his chest and the hard abdominal muscles. He rested his hand there, feeling the small tremors in Blair's body, then lower, sliding his hand into Blair's pants to cup his cock.

Blair arched into his touch. "Oh, god, Jim..."

Jim smiled, pleased he could still do this to Blair. He began to work his way down Blair's body with his mouth, kissing the hollow of Blair's throat. Blair's moan vibrated through Jim's lips. He raised his head, looking at Blair, feeling a sudden rush of love for his wonderful man.

And sometimes he thought Blair could read his mind, because Blair opened his eyes then, meeting Jim's gaze and he smiled. "I know," Blair said softly. "I love you, too."

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

"Trade secret." Blair sat up a little, awkwardly because Jim was still on top of him, and put his arms around Jim's neck. "I love you, Jim. Want to taste you."

Jim kissed him. "Works for me."

They ended up in a sixty-nine position; Jim on his knees above Blair, leaning over him, taking Blair's cock deep into his mouth while Blair's tongue teased the hard length of him. Jim never tired of this. He loved the feel of Blair's mouth on him, loved the taste of Blair. Blair was teasing him, taking it slow, but that suited Jim. He sucked Blair into his mouth, taking him as deep as he could and swallowing around the thick, hard flesh. Blair's hips jerked, but Jim was ready for that. He could take it. He felt Blair take him fully into his mouth at last, engulfing his cock in warm, wet heat while his hands teased Jim's balls. Jim nearly lost it when Blair pushed a finger inside him but he held on, sucking hard on his lover.

It became a kind of competition, each of them trying to make the other come first. But here Jim had the advantage as his heightened sensory awareness made him acutely aware of Blair's reactions. He cupped Blair's balls with his hand, gently, and with his fingertips he stroked the skin just behind them. He felt Blair shudder when he found the right spot. It was his favourite touch. Jim pressed just a little harder, deep-throating Blair as he did, and that tipped Blair over the edge. Just one thrust and Blair poured himself into Jim's mouth. Jim took it all, happily.

For a moment they were still and then Blair reached up and he began to suck on Jim again.

After, they showered together and made love again. It was then, while Blair was lying naked and wet on their bed, Jim began to talk about the case he'd been working on.

"Torrance claimed he hired me because I'm fast, and he did need quick answers. But that's not the real reason he wanted me. He wanted someone who could say the crazy stuff so he wouldn't have to."

"What do you mean, crazy?" Blair was lying widthways across the bed, his head on Jim's chest, his wet hair cool against Jim's skin. It wasn't uncomfortable. Having Blair close was never uncomfortable.

"They had it down as arson and murder. The eyewitness reports reminded me of one of our old cases in Cascade: Matson. Remember?"

"The arsonist who used rocket fuel with magnesium. But he's dead. Isn't he?"

"Very. My point is this fire was much too hot to be an accidental house fire. But the fire department found no trace of any known accelerant. After I read the reports I figured they must have done a sloppy job, so I went over the scene myself. I didn't find anything, either. Or rather, nothing that could have caused the fire."

"What did you find?"

"This is the crazy part. This was a family home. The father and kids got out. The oldest girl was six; she carried her baby brother out of the nursery to safety. Brave kid. The mother's body was found in what was left of the nursery. But when I went over the scene...Chief, I found a clear outline of her body where she burned. But the outline wasn't purely ash. It was sulphur."

"Sulphur? But that's not..."

"And that's not all. The outline I found...it was on the nursery ceiling."

"Huh?"

"Huh. Exactly. Something - god knows how - pinned that woman's body to the ceiling before the fire started." Jim stared at the ceiling above him. "That's why Torrance called me in. He needed someone to play Mulder so he didn't have to."

"Did ya?" Blair asked.

Jim grinned. "I told it as I saw it, yeah. Talked some bullshit about weird stuff that happens when a fire is that hot. But it was bullshit. What really happened to that woman...I don't know."

"You said there were other cases."

"Yeah. Four that I found. Maybe others."

"Were the others the same? A woman burned on the ceiling?"

"No one will admit to it, Chief. The four cases I identified were arson with an unidentified accelerant in which a woman died. I talked to the local cops in each case. Everyone I spoke to was spooked about something. So, yeah. I think so. Do you know anything that could do that, Chief?"

Blair sat up, turning to face Jim. "Well...maybe the fire, like you said. Some freak thing. If you're asking me to be Mulder, man...no. I can't think of anything that fits."

*****

"This is good, Chief," Jim announced. He was lying on the couch in the study, reading through Blair's manuscript.

Blair grinned without turning around. "It's okay," he demurred. "It'll be better when Angie's ripped it to shreds." He was at Jim's computer, going through his email: something Blair did every day as Jim's business manager. He'd tried leaving it to Jim, but they'd discovered that it was easier for both of them if Blair categorised everything first. He dumped the spam and filed the rest into folders: work related mail went into past, current or future, offers of work he printed out so Jim would read them at once, personal mail he left in the inbox so Jim would see that first.

He was just about to close the mailbox when a new email came through, flagged urgent and confidential. Blair looked at the sender. "Are you expecting something from Bob Kittle?" he asked.

Jim jumped up. "Yeah. It's here?" He didn't wait for Blair to answer but came over to the PC.

He didn't tell Blair to move, so Blair stayed where he was, watching the screen as Jim opened the email. It was an encrypted mail with several attachments: certainly confidential material.

The first file was a scanned copy of a police report. The rest seemed to be supporting documents and photographs. Jim scanned through it all quickly - too quickly for Blair to read over his shoulder - as if he were already familiar with the content. He stopped at an image file. It was a driving license image, poor quality but the subject was instantly recognisable.

"Well, Chief?" Jim prompted.

"What is this, Jim?" Now he understood why Bob went to so much trouble to encrypt the email. Giving this file, whatever it was, to Jim was seriously illegal.

"Is that him?" Jim pressed.

Blair nodded.

"When you said the name Winchester it rang a bell, but last night I was too tired to place it. This morning I remembered, Chief. So I asked Bob for a copy of the report."

"This is from the case you were just working on, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, Jim...I don't want to jump to conclusions, man. Coincidences do happen."

"Yeah? Well this is a hell of a coincidence," Jim scoffed. "From what you've told me this pair fit the profile, and this is a weird time of year to come for a vacation."

Blair looked at the photograph again, thinking about Jim's words. Jim had told him a little about the case: enough for Blair to know Jim was right. Jim's profile on the serial murders described a pair of men, under 30, drifters, probably travelling all across the USA as the murders happened in so many different states. That much seemed to fit the Winchester brothers. As for the rest...how could they know? You don't just casually ask a new acquaintance if he was abused as a kid, or any of the other markers a murderer profile would list.

Blair shook his head, looking at Jim. "You're right, but it's totally circumstantial, man."

Jim closed the incriminating email. "Do you know where they are, Chief?"

Blair didn't, and he was kind of glad he didn't. He shook his head.

"Did they leave by car?" Jim asked, then answered his own question. "No, they walked. A car would have woken me." He stood abruptly and strode toward the door.

Blair ran after him. He didn't bother to ask where Jim was going: he knew exactly what his partner was thinking.

*****

Sam slipped on the icy path, lost his balance for a moment and managed to right himself without grabbing on to Dean or landing on his ass in the snow.

Even so, Dean was trying not to laugh. "Need some help there, dude?"

"I'm good." Sam refused to rise to the bait. He stamped his feet to get the caked snow off his boots. "Uh...Dean, I hate to be the one to say it, but...about last night..."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Good time."

It was a typical Dean line: a pre-emptive strike to stop Sam from saying something meaningful. Dean had misread him, though. "Dude," Sam said, "you gave me a hickey."

Relief flashed across Dean's face before he covered it with his trademark grin. "Did not!" he protested.

Sam pulled down the neck of his turtleneck sweater to show off the dark bruise Dean left on his neck. "Did too!" he returned, deliberately choosing the childish phrase.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, well, at least it's on your neck. You wanna see where you bruised me?" His hands went to his belt as if he'd drop his pants right there.

Sam remembered biting down on Dean's inner thigh, teasing him by sucking on the firm muscle when he knew Dean wanted his mouth somewhere else. "I can guess," he grinned back, then, because he really had raised the subject to make a point, he added, "It's been a while since we've done that."

"Yeah."

"Why now?"

Dean shrugged. "Seemed like you started it, Sammy. You're not gonna make a big deal of this, are you?"

"No way. But..." Sam let his voice trail off, unsure how to articulate his unease.

Dean looked back at him, his expression unreadable.

Whatever he said, Dean was going to think he was "making a big deal of it". Sam wasn't feeling guilty. His unease had nothing to do with them being brothers. God, no. Oh, sure, other people wouldn't understand the incest thing but it never bothered Sam. He'd been more confused about the sexuality aspect, because he was sure he wasn't gay, but he'd worked though those issues in college.

No, it was the unthinking ease with which they'd suddenly fallen into each other's arms that was troubling Sam. Maybe that was normal for Dean with his casual, just-for-fun attitude to sex, but it wasn't like Sam.

When they were in Oklahoma Dean made it clear he wanted Sam, if Sam was ready, but he resisted the temptation, then. He was being loyal to Jess, he supposed. Did he feel guilty now? Had he betrayed her memory by spending a night fucking Dean? Sam called up the image of Jess in his mind. It was easy, Not Jess the last time he saw her, burning on his ceiling, but Jess in their bedroom, on their bed. Jess wearing nothing but her lingerie, giggling helplessly as Sam tickled her. Jess, later the same night, cuddled against his side, talking seriously about something as Sam stroked her long hair and thought about how much he loved her. Sam still loved her. But he'd loved Dean first and had loved Dean much longer. He couldn't see being with Dean as a betrayal.

And yet, he was uneasy about it.

Last night, there was no hesitation in him, no thought and that simply wasn't Sam's way. He planned things. He thought stuff through and would rather wait a while longer than dive in when he wasn't sure what he wanted. Even in the heat of passion. He should have thought these thoughts last night, not now. But he hadn't.

Something about it didn't feel right. Sam had no regrets, but... Or was he just fooling himself?

He couldn't talk to Dean when he couldn't figure out what he needed to say. "Never mind," Sam muttered, and they left the marked path to walk down to the creek.

*****

The river valley that gave Panther Creek its name was a picturesque spot. Dean and Sam had followed the hikers' route from Stonehaven Lodge which took them above the town and into the valley from the west. The frozen river with its snow-crisped banks looked like something that should grace a Christmas card.

"Lovely place to live," Sam commented.

"Sure," Dean replied sarcastically, "if you wanna live in Bedford Falls."

"Nothing wrong with Bedford Falls," Sam said, a little defensively. "I suppose Twin Peaks is more to your taste."

Dean grinned. "Hell, no. Eerie, Indiana." He was looking up at the tree line. The lowest point of the valley was the river and the trees began partway up the hill. There were some younger trees closer to the river, some bushes and scrub, but it was mostly clear of large vegetation. Sam guessed the valley flooded every decade or so.

Dean wasn't looking at the geography. "I'll bet this is a perfect hunting ground when the snow's gone. Lovers' lane. People out enjoying the scenery by moonlight. Anyone too drunk to drive home."

Sam nodded, looking again and seeing the terrain Dean's way. "Like an all-you-can-eat buffet," he agreed. "The forest provides cover, and an escape route." Their dad taught them that the best way to hunt a werewolf was to identify its hunting ground. They're territorial creatures and tend to hunt in the same places, moon after moon after moon. "I think this is the place," Sam said.

"It's not where the girl died," Dean answered, but he wasn't disagreeing.

"I know." There was no need for Sam to speak the question aloud: they were both thinking the same thing. Should they follow what would probably be their dad's method and stake out the creek, or was it better to stay near the site of the most recent attack? They couldn't do both. Dean had more experience than Sam in this, so Sam stayed quiet, letting Dean make the call.

"The creek," Dean decided. "It was snowing the night the werewolf killed Jean Marsden. She must have been the only person out in the night, so it hunted out of its territory."

Sam nodded. The frozen waterfall at the head of the valley would make a perfect vantage point after the spring thaw but it looked much too dangerous to climb while it was ice-covered. They needed high ground, a place from which they could see both the woods and the valley. Sam had no intention of ending up as bait in a werewolf trap.

There was a rail fence above the creek, marking off a ramblers' pathway. Further up, there was what looked like a rockslide, though it was hard to tell under the snow.

Sam nodded toward the rockslide. "How about up there?" he suggested. When Dean didn't answer, he prompted, "Dude, you with me?" He smacked Dean on his shoulder.

"Huh?" Dean jerked as if waking up and turned, looking where Sam was looking. "Oh. Yeah. Why don't you check it out, Sam? If we're going to climb up there after dark we need to know it's safe."

"Dude, what's with you?" Sam demanded, but then, as his gaze moved past Dean to the pathway behind them, he understood. The girl they met the day before, Erin, was up there, without the dog, this time. For an instant, Sam was pissed. After the night they had, Dean should at least...what? Not look at woman? Don't be a jerk, Sam. Dean's not gonna quit chasing girls. Why would he?

Sam smiled as he turned back to Dean. "She's cute."

"She's amazing," Dean said, a goofy grin on his face.

That got Sam's attention. Amazing was going a bit far for a girl Dean had barely even met. Was last night bothering Dean? Was this some sort of compensation? Surely not...but it was a certainty that Dean would never tell him, either way.

Sam watched Erin come down the snowy bank toward them, her red hair bouncing as she walked. "Enjoy," Sam said, and started walking toward the rockslide, leaving Dean to the girl.

*****

Jim did not make a habit of invading their guests' privacy. Nor did he generally bring work home with him. His concerns about the two men were more about the present. Jim was no longer a cop – the very public revelation of his Sentinel gift seven years earlier made that impossible, despite Blair's courageous attempt at damage control - but Jim never stopped being a sentinel.

Panther Creek was his to protect. There was enough danger here already, with the attacks on people becoming more frequent and the local cops in deep denial. If these two men posed some new danger, Jim intended to take care of it before someone else got hurt.

Jim examined the Impala from the outside. Through the window he saw nothing suspicious, but his sense of smell had a different opinion. The smell of gasoline was strong, unsurprisingly, but there was more. He stood there with his hand on the car roof, eyes closed, sorting through the different scents. He smelled gun oil, rust, remnants of old food, leather, smoke, male sweat... too much to identify everything. He also smelled blood – not fresh blood, but the scent was strong enough to worry him.

The nice thing about old cars is they're easy to break into. Jim retrieved his tools. Blair stopped him, holding out an arm to block Jim's way to the Impala.

"Do I have to say 'civil rights' to you, man? You're not a cop any more, you need more than probable cause."

Jim met Blair's eyes seriously. "Blair, I'm obligated to call Agent Bradford and report my suspicions about these two. Shall I do that? Or would you rather I check first?"

"What are you looking for?"

"I'll know when I find it," Jim answered. Truthfully, he thought that if what he was looking for was here, he would have smelled it by now. "If I find it, I mean," he corrected himself. "Some sort of incendiary or accelerant."

"If you don't find it, will you drop this, Jim? At least until you've got real grounds for suspicion." Blair's blue eyes met his determinedly. He still stood between Jim and the car.

Jim had not met their guests as yet. By the time he woke, this morning, they were gone. Blair had met them, and he was a good judge of people. Jim ought to take warning from Blair's discomfort. And yet...Jim trusted his own instincts, too. He had nothing. A coincidence, that was all.

"What aren't you telling me?" Jim asked, more gently.

Blair looked up and Jim kissed him, just quickly on his lips. It made Blair smile, but his eyes remained worried. "I like them," he answered simply.

Oh. Jim understood. "As in, like, like?"

"I guess."

"Then help me. I promise, if we find nothing, I'll drop it. Deal?"

"Okay." Blair agreed.

It took only seconds to jimmy the car door and then Jim opened the trunk for Blair. Jim took the interior, trusting Blair to go through the trunk. He went for the glove compartment first and what he found there would be more than enough to make an arrest if Jim still had a badge. The gun wasn't actually illegal if it was registered, though Jim was betting it wouldn't be. He saw the FBI badge first and for a millisecond wondered if it were real and he had misjudged the situation. Then he saw the flaws in the logo and looked more closely. It was a very good fake. Reaching further into the compartment he found the rest. Federal Wildlife. State police IDs for several different states. Homeland security. And more. Some bore the face he recognised from the police report; others a different man, presumably the other brother.

Whatever these two were involved in, it wasn't legal.

But the issue here was a murder case, Jim reminded himself. If they were into something else, it wasn't Jim's business any more, though he was still a cop at heart and the thought of letting this go did hurt. But he'd promised Blair. Fake IDs didn't make them killers.

Jim searched the car quickly and professionally. He checked all the usual places by sight and touch: under the seats, inside the doors, the roof and so on. He found three blades concealed in various places. He found several cigarette lighters, which was strange as he detected no sign anyone ever smoked in this car. Not tobacco, not marijuana, nor anything else. But that was the most suspicious thing he found. He put everything he'd found back, carefully, exactly as he found it.

"How're you doing, Chief?" he called.

Blair's voice was very quiet. "Jim, I think you should see this."

Jim closed the car door and moved around to Blair's side quickly. He could already smell the gasoline and gunpowder, neither of which was proof of anything. He was beginning to think, not that they were innocent, but that he might be mistaken about their connection to the murders. So he wasn't prepared for what he saw in the Impala's trunk.

"Oh, man..." Jim breathed.

The trunk was a veritable arsenal: shotguns, handguns, blades ranging from switchblades and throwing knives to something long enough to be considered a sword. An axe. Police issue tazers. A couple of canisters of gasoline and one containing naphtha-based lighter fuel. And more, even stranger stuff.

Blair opened a white plastic tub to reveal what looked like normal cooking salt. He glanced at Jim.

Jim took a tiny amount onto his fingers and tasted. "Exactly what it looks like, Chief. Salt."

"I also found this," Blair said, opening a wooden box to show the contents to Jim.

Bullets. Silver bullets.

"Not UFO nuts, then," Jim said, trying for a light tone to cover the sudden cold in his heart.

Blair met his eyes, not fooled for a second. "I guess..." he began slowly, "at least this proves they're not part of your serial killings."

Jim shook his head. "I wouldn't be so sure, Chief. A lot of serial killers have some twisted justifications of what they do. I think a judge would admit this as evidence of premeditation." He closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with his sense of smell to make certain he had missed nothing. "Hell, with this much firepower I could get an arrest warrant for conspiracy right now...but I don't sense anything that directly connects them to the murders. I'll give you that much." He reached for Blair and pulled him close. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Blair's body was tense against his. "They're hunters, Jim. No wonder Sam was asking about Jean Marsden. Shit."

Blair drew back to look up at Jim and as their eyes met Jim knew they were both thinking the same thing: What now?

Part Five