Five years ago, a young anthropologist asked to observe my department to complete his PhD on police subculture. My first impression of Blair Sandburg was that he was some neo-hippie flower child with time on his hands now that the Dead had broken up and that I should have him screened for drugs. Never let it be said that Simon Banks won't admit when he was dead wrong.

I was impressed with Sandburg's understanding of investigative techniques and criminal profiling. It wasn't long before his observations were helping my officers solve cases. I did everything in my power to get him into the academy's fast track program after he finished his dissertation. I didn't want Major Crimes to lose one of the best detectives I'd ever seen. In just over four years on the force, Blair Sandburg was a candidate for cop of the year.

When the focus of law enforcement in this country changed abruptly one fall morning and the Federal government began working intimately with local police departments, Major Crimes was chosen to host Cascade's Federal Liaison. I knew which detective I wanted working with the Feds. I had Sandburg briefed on the new program and the officer we were expecting. Then I sent him to pick up the agent at the airport.
 

I approached him directly. I was certain he had spotted me and I didn't want our relationship to begin without trust.

"I was told you needed a guide." I used the strange code phrase I'd been given.

His icy blue eyes raked over me, assessing my worth.

I was nowhere near his equal physically, but I was in good shape. I was shorter than his 6'2" by six inches. My hair was long, and curls with a mind of its own, not cut militarily short like his. I'd been told by the men I occasionally bed that I was too pretty for dangerous life I led. Beauty could be weapon. This man had a deadly attraction.

He didn't speak. He merely picked up the travel bag next to his barstool and inclined his head toward the exit. I led the way outside. He folded that long body into my classic Volvo without a word. We drove downtown in silence.

I intended to leave him with my superiors and head home. My boss caught me before I had a chance to escape the precinct and called me into his office. "Sandburg, our new Federal liaison, Special Agent Jim Ellison, has requested to be partnered with you during his assignment in Cascade."

"That iceman wants me for a partner, Simon?"

"What do you know about Sentinels, Blair?"

I tried to cover my shock at the question. I'd ended my research on the ancient watchmen made famous by the explorer Richard Burton's writings rather abruptly when the government had visited me at Rainier.

"More than most people. I studied them extensively before my research turned toward more modern tribal protectors and I ended up becoming a cop. Oh, no, you can't mean that he's a Sentinel. Sentinels don't exist in the modern world," I protested.

"Apparently, we do."

I turned to the door. Not only was he beautiful, he had a killer voice.

"Why do you want me for a partner?"

"If you know anything about Sentinels, you know that they need someone to keep them from over focusing on one sense."

"The zone out factor," I nodded, remembering my studies. "Surely, you have learned to control your senses?"

"I have control, but working with a trustworthy partner is easier than working alone."

"You trust me? We've only just met," I scoffed.

"I'm an excellent judge of character."

"And you have a complete dossier on me, I'm sure." I was nothing if not cynical.

"True. But then again, I have dossiers on everyone here."

"And you think that a long-haired detective is the perfect partner for a Sentinel turned Federal agent?"

Ellison was getting frustrated. Simon was amused. He'd seen me decimate Federal agents before. "I need you," Ellison ground out.

I thanked my lucky stars that I no longer blushed. I'd been having fantasies about stripping this man and having my way with him since I'd picked him up at the airport. I smiled dangerously. "The government co-opted my research because of you."

"Your Masters Thesis and other research were invaluable toward my development as a Sentinel," he admitted.

"So you are really my Sentinel." A note of possessiveness crept into my voice.

A strange light glowed in those blue eyes hinting at fire beneath the ice.

"We have a lot to talk about." Somehow I knew that talking wasn't all we would be doing.

"Does this mean you two will be partners?" Simon's question reminded us that we were still in his office.

"Yes, sir," I agreed.

"Then get out of my office and get this man's paperwork straightened out. I want the two of you on the streets as soon as possible. You can talk about your personal lives later."

Trust Simon to put things into perspective.
 

I was a loyal government agent but I was beginning to regret the day that I was rescued from Peru. I left Simon Banks' office feeling as if I were wearing a collar and leash. Sandburg was definitely a dominant personality. We lost little time getting my credentials and getting me a desk. Then I found myself folded back in that ancient vehicle Sandburg calls a car.

He drove us to my hotel. I checked in and learned that my luggage had been delivered. Sandburg mumbled something about waiting in the bar while I settled my things in my room, but I knew we wouldn't be able to talk in the bar or the restaurant. I asked him to come upstairs with me.

The room was actually very nice. It had a small sitting area. Blair sprawled on the sofa. I took an overstuffed chair. We kept the glass coffee table between us. "Is this where I start fearing for my virtue?" I asked after the bellman left with a generous tip.

He laughed. He had been a bit obvious in his lust. I was a Sentinel after all. I could smell his arousal.

"All I want right now is a cold beer and some answers. Call room service. Order dinner while you're at it."

We waited for the beer before we started talking about the serious stuff. I decided to hold off on ordering dinner.

Burton's Sentinels were considered to be extinct; a victim of civilization, much like the dodo. The only remnants of the species were those individuals who had one or two heightened senses like "noses" who worked for perfume companies or tasters for wineries or coffee companies. Sandburg had hypothesized about what an individual with all five heightened senses would be like from what he read in Burton's journals and monographs. Hollywood had used Sentinels almost as much as they had other "mythical" supermen.

"Where did the Government find a Sentinel?"

"I was born in Tacoma, Washington, but I grew up here in Cascade. There is some evidence that I had heightened senses as a child, but I repressed them for a time. They manifested again when I was lost in Peru for eighteen months."

He frowned. I could see the recognition in his face.

"The Chopec Pass. You're the Ranger who survived Colonel Oliver's attempt to take over drug trafficking in South America. When they brought you out of Peru, the entire network was exposed!"

"I came fully on-line in Peru while I was living with the Chopec. They found me in the wreckage of the chopper Oliver shot down over their territory. The tribe's shaman taught me to use my senses. I fought the drug cartels and Oliver's forces alongside the Chopec until the Army rescued me."

"I expect returning to civilization must have been difficult."

"It would have been without Incacha's guidance."

"Incacha came with you?"

"Oh, no. Incacha would not leave the Chopec. He taught me what I was. Otherwise, I could have been diagnosed with any number of trauma induced psychoses after eighteen months in the jungle."

"Just how did my research get involved?"

"Research on heightened senses wasn't widespread, Sandburg. Much less, any specifically on Sentinels. Your Masters thesis was brilliant. The information you had compiled for your doctorate was even more so."

"Then why stop me?"

"The government had just discovered that they had an enhanced human soldier. You seemed to have all the keys to using that soldier and you weren't willing to do government research." I shrugged.

I was stunned at the fury on Sandburg's face. "Not willing to do government research? I wasn't asked! The agents presented federal warrants demanding that the university and I turn over all research materials on Sentinels and cease all further work in that area. I didn't fit their profile for government service," he spat.

I believed Blair. They wouldn't have looked past his appearance and his mother's politics. The men who pulled me out of Peru wore Airborne Ranger uniforms, but they worked for the CIA, just as I did. The realization that I had enhanced senses had set off all sorts of warning bells in the Agency. I think their doctors must have a watch list. I would have been safe had I been a civilian. The CIA doesn't monitor the average citizen's medical history. That's against their charter. Can't work on the domestic front, you know. Right. Some other "black" agency would have picked up on the clues.

A member of the military, on the other hand, was fair game. The doctors reported everything from hangnails to STDs. If something interesting popped up, someone was there to take a sample to study even if the grunt never knew about it.

Lucky me. I became a sample. How was I to know that the doctors wouldn't just think I had posttraumatic stress disorder and discharge me? Who would have thought they would have imagined that I was a throwback to a pre-civilized form of man, or that they would steal a man's research to develop the perfect organic surveillance equipment?

Not so perfect after all. After Peru I needed a partner. Apparently that partner couldn't be just anyone. Guides were just as specialized as Sentinels. The Agency didn't have one. You would think that an agency that dabbled in remote viewing would have considered needing an individual with a guide's abilities. Even when the Agency took notice of and began studying individuals with enhanced senses, the Agency had ignored Guides the same way Hollywood had, considering them little more than sexual partners or servants. The CIA didn't understand that I had a partnership with Incacha. They couldn't conceive that he was the source of the control I had of my senses while in Peru.

The CIA was no place for a deep cover agent who couldn't work alone. Rather than leave government service, I asked to be transferred to the new Homeland Security Unit and be assigned to Cascade as a Federal Liaison Officer.

Homeland Security didn't even know I was a Sentinel. Despite new regulations, there were some secrets the agencies weren't sharing. I revealed my secret to Captain Banks to gain his cooperation. I was in Cascade to work with Blair Sandburg. I had done my own research on the man who had given the CIA the information needed to try to use a Sentinel as an agent. His techniques were similar to how Incacha had taught me. I knew that Sandburg had become a police detective and I wanted to work with him.

Blair Sandburg was meant to be a Sentinel's partner. I had sensed it from the moment he walked into the airport bar. The power that emanated from him reminded me of Incacha. I was determined to claim him, if I didn't find myself flat on my own back first.

"Sounds like the CIA, " Ellison admitted.

"You didn't turn out like they expected, did you?" I realized.

"I need a guide."

I remembered the code phrase they had me use at the airport.

"This liaison position is just a cover to get us together."

"Bingo."

"Why me?"

He closed his eyes and inhaled. I could feel my groin tighten in response.

"Other than the obvious attraction?" Jim opened his eyes and the ice was completely gone. "You should have been working with me from the very beginning." There was something predatory about the man as he moved onto the sofa with me.

I wasn't about to let Ellison take control. I'd lost my stake in the Sentinel/Guide partnership once. Never again. I put my beer down. Ellison swallowed the last of his beer and tossed the empty bottle in the waste paper can.

"I don't think the Homeland Security envisioned the partnership of its liaison and local law enforcement being quite so -- intimate."

"Fuck Homeland Security."

I laughed. "I think that's what I'm about to do."

I pushed him down onto the couch and proceeded to do what I'd been fantasizing about since I'd seen Jim Ellison in Cascade's airport. So what if he protested about having his Armani suit jacket and crisp button down shirt tossed on the floor with my flannel? I wanted to see his skin.
 

I was lying beneath a man I outweighed by at least forty pounds.

"I have a perfectly good bed."

"So you do."

I was in trouble.

"Are you afraid that if you let me up, you will lose control of me?"

He bit into my shoulder. I arched against him.

He lifted his head and groaned my name. I found myself coming in my pants like a teenager.

He didn't need force. He would be able to control me with a whisper. I had found my guide. Blair moved off me and held out a hand. I put my future in his grasp.
 

He trusted me. I was ready to drag him into bed and assert my ownership of him and he trusted me.

I dropped his hand.

"I need a shower," Jim muttered, turning toward the bathroom. Damn. I'd hurt him already. I caught his shoulder and made him look at me.

"No, Jim. You don't understand."

"Then explain, " he snarled.

"Explain? All I've got are questions. Why do you trust me? Despite that dossier, you've only known me a few hours. Why do I want to take you to bed and nail you into next week? Why do I feel like I own you?" Every question was punctuated with a slight shove toward Jim's bed.

Jim smiled as he found himself at the edge of the king-sized mattress. I shoved him one last time. Jim took me with him as he fell to the bed.

He wasted no time in removing the rest of our clothes. I wanted to merge with this man. I pressed against him and found myself firmly enveloped in his arms.

"My Guide," he growled.

I decided that, for once, I didn't need to know why.
 

I may not have embraced the idea of working intimately with the Feds, but I have to say that having Jim Ellison in my department was a major coup. I was shameless in using a Sentinel on all those high profile cases that drew media attention. Of course, we didn't tell the press about our advantage. Nor did we tell Homeland Security or the CIA about Jim and Blair's unique relationship.

I had a feeling that there was more to their relationship than a Sentinel and Guide bond, but I wasn't about to ask questions that I didn't want the answers to.

"Ellison! Sandburg! My office," I yelled.

My best team wasn't fazed at being summoned so loudly. I handed Jim a case file. We had old "friends" in town.

"What's up, Captain?" Ellison was, at least, deferential. Sandburg had merely turned to my coffee maker to refill his cup before having a seat.

"Blair, why don't you tell Jim about Garrett Kincaid and the Sunrise Patriots?"
 

February, 2002