"Naomi?" Detective Jim Ellison couldn't have been more stunned had Bozo the Clown leapt from the cab of his truck than he was to see Naomi Sandburg, the subject of their frantic hour-long search.

"Mom!" Blair darted around the front of the Mustang, gently pushing his astounded partner's gun hand down as he went by. "Jim, man, that's my mom! Put the gun down. Put your guns down, guys, it's my mother!" he yelled at the numerous officers who had reacted to Detective Ellison's shout.

Jim automatically lowered the gun and flicked the safety on as he watched his partner run by and wrap his mother in a relieved hug. Coming to his senses, he turned to the confused collection of Cascade's finest and waved his hand in dismissal. "False alarm, guys. Sorry. Thanks for the backup, though." Obviously interested in witnessing the proceedings, but having been dismissed by a senior officer, the uniforms holstered their weapons and wandered away, shaking their heads in bemusement.

Returning his own weapon to the belt holster at the small of his back, Jim approached the reunited Sandburgs. Blair was trying to ascertain whether Naomi was hurt, which she adamantly denied while stroking his hair comfortingly. "Blair, Sweetie, I'm fine," she reassured him repeatedly, "Not a mark on me."

"Naomi," Jim began, only to have Naomi happily interrupt him.

"Jim! Look what I found! I found your truck! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Naomi, what happened? Are you alright?" Jim demanded when Naomi took a breath.

"Oh Jim, you're as bad as Blair! I'm fine! And I got your truck back!" Naomi was practically dancing with happiness, which presented an odd picture with her skirt still stuck tightly into her waistband.

"Mom, what happened? Why didn't you call us back?" Blair scolded, his relief at finding his mother safe overridden by the risks she had taken.

"Sweetie, the battery in my cell phone went dead. I would have thought it would have lasted longer, but anyway, it went dead and I simply couldn't quit following the thief to call you! Oh, boys, you would have been so proud of the way I followed him, staying close but not too close and not losing him in traffic, although he seemed determined to lose me..."

"Lose you?" Blair squeaked. "He knew you were following him?"

"Oh, I don't think so, honey. I think he was just being cautious. Anyway, I followed him... Jim are you okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine, Naomi," Jim assured his friend's mother weakly, "I'm just a little overwhelmed by it all, that's all. Can you hang onto that story for a minute, please?" He pulled his chirping cell phone from his pocket. "Ellison. Hey, Captain. Word gets around fast, huh? Yeah, it's true. Sandburg's mother just recovered my truck and brought it to the station. In fact, you can probably see us if you look out your office window." A moment later, the blinds at a seventh floor window went up and a large shape filled the space. Recognizing her son's captain, Naomi waved gaily and pointed at Jim's truck. Ellison listened for a moment then replied, "Yes, sir, we'll be right up. I've still got to call Forensics and have them go over the truck." He made the quick call to Forensics and arranged to have the truck towed to the garage for testing.

"Simon wants us in his office, pronto," he informed his partner and his mother as he pocketed his cell phone. Pulling on a latex glove to minimize evidence contamination any more than Naomi's good intentions already had, Jim opened the driver's side door and leaned into the cab. Naomi's sandalwood fragrance permeated the passenger compartment, strong but not unpleasant. However, a discordant odor hovered beneath the spicy perfume -- Ecstasy and cigarette smoke. He growled softly in irritation. Someone had smoked and done drugs in his truck! His quick perusal of the cab complete, he backed out of the truck and asked Naomi for his keys.

"Oh, I don't have them," she replied with a wide smile. "Shouldn't we go see your captain now?" She was half way to the Cascade PD visitor entrance doors before either man reacted and caught up with her.

"Um, Naomi, if you don't have the keys, how did you start my truck?"

Naomi Sandburg dished out a quick kiss on the cheek for each of her 'boys' and tossed her reply over her retreating shoulder. "I hotwired it, of course!"

Jim Ellison didn't know whether to hug Sandburg's mother or throttle her.

Neither man had recovered from the shock by the time the trio arrived in Simon Banks' office. Upon hearing that Naomi had hotwired Jim's truck, the Major Crimes captain joined the ranks of the dumbfounded.

"You boys simply have to stop staring at me like I've grown another head!" the source of their disbelief stated firmly, arranging her rumpled skirt and smoothing her mussed hair.

"You hotwired Jim's truck!"

"Yes, dear, I've already told you that."

"Ms. Sandburg, I've just got to ask. Where did you learn to hotwire a vehicle?"

Naomi blushed slightly and smiled softly. "Let's just call him Adam, the object of a misspent summer a couple of years before you were born, Blair, and leave it at that, shall we? I guess it's like riding a bicycle. You never forget!"

Blair shook his head in wonder as Simon brought the conversation back to the pertinent topic. "Ms. Sandburg, you need to tell us everything that happened after you called Blair from the car dealership, please."

"Of course. Well, as I told Blair, I was going to surprise him by showing up for my visit in a new car. He's so cute when he's surprised, you know."

My mother hotwired Jim's truck!

"Can't say I've noticed," Banks muttered, chomping harder on his unlit cigar.

Unfazed, Naomi continued her tale. "So I stopped at the PDQ Car dealership in Morton Hills to see what was available." Jim nodded, pleased at the confirmation that their sleuthing had at least pointed them in the right starting direction. He patted his partner's shoulder in commiseration as Blair quietly muttered in disbelief, "My mother hotwired my partner's truck!"

"Anyway, like I told Jim, I saw a truck that looked just like his on the lot and wanted to take a look at it. I was so surprised when I found a stain from one of my lipsticks that accidentally melted last summer. It had to be Jim's truck. So, when Blair told me the truck had been stolen and a man who told me he'd just bought it drove it off the lot, I simply had to follow him. My cell phone battery went dead, so I couldn't tell them where I was. I had to make a choice between following the truck or finding a phone to call Jim. So I decided I'd find out where the guy was going and then I'd call Jim." Naomi shrugged. "One thing seemed to lead to another. I followed Mr. Rude -- that's what I called him because he was so rude to me at the car lot -- to some vile warehouses by the waterfront. He hid the truck in one of the warehouses. I don't know what came over me, really. One minute I'm telling myself that I should just find a phone and the next I'm climbing up a maintenance ladder to the roof."

"Runs in the family," Ellison muttered, so low only his partner heard him. His comment was rewarded with an elbow to the ribs. Well, at least he's moved past Naomi hotwiring my truck.

"I found an unlocked door on the roof and snuck into the warehouse. There were some cars stored there, in addition to Jim's truck. The hoods were up on a few of the cars and three men were messing around under the hood of Jim's truck. I couldn't see what they were doing. I was afraid they might be stripping it, but they just closed the hood and then they all left. I snuck down the stairs, made sure they were gone, hotwired Jim's truck, unlocked and opened the door and drove out. Then I went back and closed and locked the door and left the way I'd originally gotten in, through the door in the roof. I thought if it wasn't immediately obvious that someone had been there, they might not notice the missing truck for a while and I could get farther away."

Blair was both horrified at the risks his mother had taken and tremendously proud of her ingenuity. "But what about your car, mom?"

"Well, I couldn't drive two vehicles at a time, silly." Naomi smiled tolerantly at her son. "So I had to leave it there."

Jim and Blair exchanged a concerned look. If the thieves returned to the warehouse, discovered the missing truck and searched the area, they were sure to find Naomi's car. A quick check of the registration would lead them directly to Naomi Sandburg.

"We've got to get back to that warehouse," Jim declared, pushing himself to his feet. "Naomi, can you remember where the warehouse was?"

"Of course I can Jim. I found my way here, didn't I?"

After a brief discussion regarding the merits of Naomi returning to the scene of the crime -- which she lost -- Jim and Blair were racing to the warehouse district, the blue strobe light on the Mustang's dash flashing and the siren wailing. A call to dispatch had uniformed units responding, but no one believed there would be anything to find. More than likely the thieves had returned to their base of operations, discovered the missing truck and deduced that they had been found out. If they had made note of Ellison's license plate number and did any research, they would quickly find out the truck belonged to a police officer. That, combined with the loss of the vehicle, would surely trigger panic and they would begin clearing out immediately. But Ellison and Sandburg's prime objective at the moment was locating and removing Naomi's car before the thieves had a chance to look around and find it.

Bracing himself against the dash with one hand as Blair careened around a corner, Ellison snagged his ringing cell phone with the other. "Ellison." He listened for a moment and then swore, "Son of bitch! Yeah, thanks, Serena." Ending the call, he turned to his curious partner. "They found 25 packets of Ecstasy stuffed into my windshield washer reservoir and another 25 in the gas tank. I knew I smelled Ecstasy after Naomi brought the truck back, but I just assumed her Mr. Rude had been enjoying himself while he drove."

"So we've got stolen vehicles and drugs, all wrapped up into the same case now?" Blair shook his head. "Strange bedfellows."

"Yeah, and how does PDQ Cars fit into all this?"

"We're almost there," Blair announced, reaching up to kill the strobe and siren. He slowed to a normal speed and the pair cruised through the warehouse district. A few streets away from where Naomi said she left her car, Jim reached out to touch Blair's shoulder. "We'd better take it from here on foot, partner. This is hardly a low-profile vehicle, you know. We're likely to attract more than a little attention in these wheels."

"Yeah," Blair agreed reluctantly. "But it better be here when I get back!"

"Well, as much as I'd like to look around that warehouse, this is going to have to be a quick in and out. We have to get to Naomi's car before they find it."

Making sure the top and doors of the Mustang were securely locked, the pair quickly made their way through the warehouse maze until they located Naomi's small car. A pair of uniformed officers had arrived first and one stood guard over the vehicle while the other observed the warehouse. They quietly greeted the two detectives.

"Any sign of activity?" Ellison asked as he peered through the same pallets Naomi had used earlier that day. He extended his hearing in an effort to locate signs of life. Everything seemed quiet.

"Not as far as we can tell," Officer Brockhurst confirmed.

A fragment of an idea began to take shape in Jim's mind. It was a long shot, and not entirely legal, he was sure, but it might just work. "You got a crowbar in your unit?" he asked Brockhurst.

"Yeah," Brockhurst replied, a puzzled look on his face. "But the car doors are unlocked and the keys are in the ignition."

"I'm not planning on using it on the car," Jim said, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "I'm going to use it to break into that warehouse."

Brockhurst and Sandburg's jaws dropped simultaneously. "What?"

"We're going to make them think that someone broke in and stole my truck. Well, technically someone did steal my truck, but we need to make them believe it was a random hit. Maybe they won't bail on the warehouse and we can catch the bunch of them."

"Couldn't you just wait till these guys came back and nab them?" Brockhurst asked practically. He'd heard that Ellison's tactics could often be unconventional, but he'd never experienced the man firsthand.

"We could," Ellison admitted, "but that won't lead us to the ring leaders. I want to know what they're doing with those cars after they stuff them full of drugs. And I want to know how PDQ Cars fits into all this. I don't think just nabbing these guys is going to answer all our questions."

"I dunno, Jim." Blair chewed his lip nervously. "With no warrant it might not stand up in court. And Simon won't be happy."

"Yeah, I know it's marginal, Sandburg. But all I'm really doing is setting up a sting of sorts. I want every last one of them, Chief, and I think this will do it."

Sandburg sighed in defeat. Stealing Jim's truck had made it personal. Not to mention my mom, the private eye wannabe. "Okay."

Shaking his head, Brockhurst left to retrieve the crowbar from a toolkit in the trunk of their squad car.

Waiting until the uniformed officer was out of earshot, Blair turned to his partner. "Are you sure there's no one in there, Jim?"

"I'm sure, Sandburg. No heartbeats, nothing. If anyone's in there, they're dead."

"Well, that's reassuring," Blair grimaced.

"Relax, Sandburg. We're finally catching a break here. Obviously our guys haven't come back from their excursion yet. If I can jimmie the door and make it look like someone randomly stole my truck, we might be able to break this thing wide open."

"Only if they don't know they stole a cop's truck." Sandburg voiced Ellison's earlier thoughts.

Brockhurst trotted back, crowbar in hand. "We just got a call," he panted. "I'll catch up with you at the station to get it back."

"Thanks," Ellison grunted, already moving towards the warehouse. "Keep an eye out, Sandburg," he instructed, then jogged across the driveway to stand in front of the heavy roll-up door.

"Thanks, man," Blair smiled. Brockhurst tossed a wave over his shoulder as he returned to his squad car.

Blair joined his partner at the warehouse door and turned his attention to watching Jim's back. Jim had wedged the crowbar between the jamb and the edge of the door and was tugging on it experimentally, gauging the force needed to pry the door open. He determined that although the warehouse was fairly dilapidated looking, it was actually quite well constructed. Obviously an effort to stave off exactly the situation he was attempting to simulate, Ellison mused. Throwing himself into the task, he exerted as much force as he could. The distressed metal creaked and groaned under the assault and Blair was sure everyone in the warehouse district would appear to investigate the unusual noises. After a couple of minutes, the door lost its battle to remain intact and swung open with one last loud shout of protest.

Short of his time spent with Lash, Blair decided it was the longest two minutes he could recall in quite some time.

Ellison smiled in triumph and pushed his way through the damaged door. "Stay here," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Yet another version of 'stay in the truck, Sandburg'?" Blair smirked.

"Yet another version of watch out for bad guys, Chief."

"Oh. Yeah."

A minute later the large door began to roll up, revealing the interior of the warehouse, and Ellison emerged. "The temptation to search this place is almost overwhelming," he admitted. "But I think that would be pushing our luck. Definitely warrant territory there." He paused to scan the area. "Let's take off, Chief. I hear somebody coming and we've got to get Naomi's car out of here." He swiftly crossed the driveway to the warehouse concealing Naomi's small car.

"And my car," Blair reminded him, only a step behind his partner. He coughed as his partner continued to walk past his mother's car. "Uh, Jim? Aren't you forgetting something here?"

"What?"

"Naomi's car?"

"Oh, I figured you'd want to take care of it for her, Chief, her being your mother and all."

"Well, I figured you'd want to take care of it, Jim, it being your truck and all. Besides, I've got the keys!" He darted around his partner and made a dash for his car, shouting, "See you at the station, Jim!"

Growling about impertinent guides and shifty partners, Ellison opened the door to the subcompact car and balefully examined the interior. Noting that the approaching vehicle was getting closer, he set about shoehorning himself into the driver's seat, bashing a knee on the steering wheel adjustment lever. Even with the seat pushed all the way back, he felt like a sardine in the tiny car. He cranked the engine and was slightly surprised when it purred to life. Shifting into gear, he extended his hearing in an effort to gauge the incoming vehicle's direction. He made sure he left the area by the opposite direction. He really wanted to hang around and watch the thieves' reactions, but knew they had to clear the area. Once evidence of Naomi's activities was removed, they'd stake out the warehouse to see what they were doing with the stolen cars. He did pause a block or so away, however, and eavesdrop on the conversations back at the warehouse. After a couple of minutes listening, he smiled in satisfaction. His plan was going to work, he could feel it.

Turning onto Harwood Street, Jim was pleased to see Peterson and his partner from Auto Theft enjoying burgers and fries at a patio table. Pulling up to the curb, Ellison rolled down the window, repeatedly jabbing himself in the ribs in the confines of the car. "Peterson!" he shouted, following it with a shrill whistle to get the officers' attention. It took a moment for the other cop to realize who was calling him, then he rose from the table with a grin and approached the car.

"Hey, Jimbo, where'd you get the car? Looks like one of those circus cars they stuff all those clowns into."

"It's not that small," Ellison growled. "It belongs to my partner's mother..." He quickly spelled out the situation and finished with, "How about you and your partner keeping an eye on that warehouse until I can get someone back here? Hate to take your case away from you, Bob, but those drugs just dumped it into my sandbox."

"No problem, Jimbo. We were getting kind of tired of looking at that one, anyway. Take it, it's yours. But we'll be glad to run over and see what we can see."

"Thanks, Bob."

Ellison drove away in his "clown car," hoping that everyone he owed favors wouldn't decide to collect at the same time.

After returning Naomi's car, it had taken quite a bit of persuasion to see her safely on her way to the loft with Blair's key in hand. Naomi, still riding the adrenaline rush from her afternoon's escapades had insisted that she could still help. "I can identify Mr. Rude!" Jim had explained that they would stake out the warehouse and, although she hadn't been able to find Rude's photo in the mug book, they still had her sketch artist's rendition, so therefore wouldn't need her personal identification until later. His expression openly pleaded with his partner for assistance. Blair, however, was content to let his partner handle the situation. The argument had persisted for several minutes until Captain Banks had stepped in and summarily ended it. Naomi had grudgingly acquiesced. Ellison didn't know whether to throttle Sandburg's mother or hug her.

Informing Banks of his arrangement with Peterson and his partner, Ellison asked to have Rafe and Henri assigned to relieve the Auto Theft detectives on the warehouse stakeout. They were to sing out if they saw any activity beyond the natural skittishness the thieves would certainly be feeling following the 'theft' of Jim's already stolen truck.

The warehouse taken care of, he and Blair turned their attention to PDQ Cars. They were running checks on the franchise owner and his salesman and, while they hadn't exactly hit pay dirt, it quickly became clear that both men had shady pasts.

"Hey, Jim, check this out. The owner's name is Harold Walsh. His jacket shows an arrest in '95 for suspicion of receiving stolen goods. The case was dropped due to lack of evidence. There's also a report of alleged spousal abuse in 2000. Uniforms got called to Walsh's house by neighbors claiming there was a shouting match going on next door. Walsh's wife, Vickie, said her husband hit her during an argument. She was apparently sporting a pretty decent mouse on her cheek, so the blues decided to take them in. But after they got to the precinct, I guess the reality of the situation hit her and she got cold feet. She refused to file charges. Nothing on his record after that."

Ellison shook his head. "Salesman's name is Eric Hathaway. He bonded with the California penal system for a while on multiple counts of possession of marijuana. He's been out on parole for six months and moved to Cascade with all the required permissions. He checks in regularly with his parole officer here. There's not enough here to prove anything on either one of them, but it's grounds for suspicion. Let's go check out that car lot, Chief," he said, draining the last of his cold coffee and making a face.

Blair propped his chin on his hand and stared morosely out the passenger window of the car Ellison had finally requisitioned, having deemed the blue Mustang too visible for staking out a used car lot. "We've been here for hours, man, and there's no sign of anything. This could take days! Why don't we just shake down the warehouse guys and go for the sure thing?"

"Cause the sure thing won't get us to the root of the matter, Chief. And as much as I love your mother, I'm pretty sure the testimony of a woman who hotwired an already stolen vehicle will be deemed less than credible. We've got to get more. Besides, I'd like to spare her from having to testify at all." Ellison opened his door and stepped out of the car. "I'm going to go get a closer look -- maybe talk with the owner." At Blair's confused look, he grinned and said, "I'm carless, remember?"

Leaving his partner to keep watch in the car, Jim made his way across the busy thoroughfare and meandered onto the used car lot. Almost immediately he was approached by Eric Hathaway. "Can I help you, sir?"

Ellison flashed his brightest smile and said heartily, "Just seeing what you've got. I'm without wheels at the moment, compliments of a sixteen-year-old mobile make-up artist."

Hathaway chuckled in commiseration. "I hear ya. My ex used to put her makeup on while she was driving. Insisted it didn't affect her driving at all -- right up until she rear-ended a cop car." Jim laughed in easy companionship. "So, you looking for anything in particular, Mr..."

"Ellsworth," Jim supplied smoothly. "Nah, nothing in particular, just seeing what's around, you know?" As they talked, Jim moved from vehicle to vehicle, scanning the interiors and raising the hoods. "How often do you get new stock?"

"Almost daily. There's always someone who wants to trade for something different."

"You ever get any trucks? Always kind of wanted a truck."

"Not many trucks. Get the occasional station wagon."

"Not a station wagon kind of guy," Jim declined with a melodramatic shudder. "Well, I don't see anything that turns me on right now. I'm making the rounds of most of the lots around here, so I'll check back in a few days to see if you've gotten anything new -- so to speak." Jim 'Ellsworth' grinned at his own joke and stuck out his hand to shake hands with the suspect salesman.

He wandered off the lot and up the sidewalk until he was sure he was out of Hathaway's line of sight. Crossing the street and sliding once again behind the wheel of the nondescript departmental vehicle, he updated his partner on his activities. "I checked every car on the lot. No sign of drugs in any of them, other than the occasional whiff of marijuana left over from the previous owner's last toke."

"So that means they don't come back to the lot after they've picked up their extra cargo."

"Right," Ellison agreed. "So PDQ is definitely the starting point. Looks like Hathaway and Walsh are the procurers and Naomi's Mr. Rude supplies the drugs."

"But where do they go after that? And what's with the used car angle?"

"That's what we're going to find out, Chief. We're going to watch every car that comes into this place until Mr. Rude shows up for his next 'purchase.' Then we're going to follow him back to the warehouse and wait for him to stuff it full of drugs. After that, we're going to see where he goes with it. I've got a theory, though. Their warehouse is down by the waterfront. That's probably not a coincidence. I'm betting they're working with a less-than-scrupulous ship's captain who's loading the cars and drugs on a ship and taking them out of the country."

Blair frowned doubtfully, "I dunno, Jim. I mean, this country imports drugs. Why would these guys want to export them?"

"I dunno, Junior. Like I said, it's just a theory. Anyway, they're probably lifting used cars to keep a low profile on the streets. We're tuned to keeping an eye out for stolen Beemers and Audis, but we're less likely to notice the average Joe's car."

"Man, these guys are getting harder and harder to keep ahead of," Blair complained, shaking his head. "Sometimes it seems like we're fighting a losing battle."

"We just gotta keep plugging, Chief. Otherwise they win the war."

"Yeah, I know. I just like to complain about it."

Their conversation was cut short as Jim's cell phone chirped. "Ellison. Hey Henri, what's up?"

"Not much. Just took over from Peterson." Henri chuckled and Jim could envision the jovial black officer's wide grin. "He said the activity was pretty frantic for a while when the guys discovered your truck was missing. Lots of shouting and arm waving. Two of the dudes looked like they really wanted to clear out, but the third guy apparently decided it was a random hit."

Jim smiled in satisfaction. "So they didn't clear out?"

"Nope, looks like business as usual," Brown confirmed. "Everything's nice and calm. They've been working on fixing that door you jimmied."

"Good. Keep up the good work, H."

"What work? We're just sitting here watching a bunch of guys doin' nothin' at a warehouse, man."

"And a fine job you're doing, too, my man," Ellison quipped, ending the call. He turned to his partner and grinned proudly. "The guys bought my ruse. H says they were real upset for a while, then apparently decided it was a random hit and calmed down. Says they're fixing my door."

"How do you always come out of theses things smelling like a rose, Ellison?" Blair griped good-naturedly.

"It's a gift, Sandburg. A gift."

PDQ Cars was closed for the night and so was Sandburg. He snored softly, his head lolled against the seats headrest while his partner kept watch over the used car dealership. Ellison had volunteered to continue the stakeout while his partner napped. If nothing happened before midnight, Blair would take the watch until they were relieved by Conner and Taggart.

Keeping his eyes trained on the car lot, Ellison amused himself by mentally timing the duration of and lapses between Sandburg's snores. Quickly tiring of that activity, he switched to attempting to identify oncoming vehicles by the shape of their headlight/parking light configurations.

As he was congratulating himself on correctly spotting a rare '57 Chevy sedan, Ellison noted activity at the darkened dealership. He zoomed in on the baby blue 1980 Mustang that had just pulled onto the lot and spied Hathaway behind the wheel. "Bingo." He slapped his partner on the leg. "Wake up, Sandburg, the show's starting."

Sandburg sat up, sleep's fog quickly dissipating. "What's happening?"

"Hathaway just drove up in a late model Mustang." Jim called out the license plate number, which Blair hastily jotted down. "I'll bet you a dozen donuts there's a stolen out on it."

Blair shook his head. "Sucker bet." He declined to play, unsuccessfully stifling a huge yawn before reaching for the dash mic. Two minutes later Ellison's suspicions were confirmed as the dispatcher verified Blair's request for wants and warrants on the Mustang's tag number. During the wait, the two men had watched as Hathaway parked the car on the row closest to the street, crouched at either end of the vehicle and removed the license plates. He then locked the car and then disappeared into the office. "Now what?" Blair queried as he replaced the radio's hand mic.

Ellison scanned the office in the hopes that Hathaway would make an incriminating phone call or something, even though it would be inadmissible in court, but was met with only silence. "More waiting."

"More sleeping." Blair decided, shifting to a more comfortable position and closing his eyes. "I'm betting they won't do anything more until morning," he commented without opening his eyes. "I mean, they moved your truck in the middle of the day."

"Another sucker bet, Sandburg." Ellison checked his watch. "Don't get too comfortable, Chief, your shift is coming up in thirteen minutes."

Opening his eyes and sitting upright once again, Blair griped, "I don't see why we can't just put a uniform on this and come back in the morning. Nothing's going to happen tonight." He rummaged through his "stakeout" bag and extracted the binoculars he customarily carried to compensate for not being a sentinel.

"I want to see if any more stolens show up, partner. I want to witness Hathaway driving them onto the lot so he can't weasel out of a car theft rap. He's not going to be able to say they didn't know the cars were stolen when they were brought in because we're going to watch him bring them in himself. We need all the evidence we can get." The senior detective shifted in his seat, head propped against the window and settled in for a nap of his own. "Wake me up if anything happens."

"Count on it."

An hour later, Ellison awoke to his partner running a license plate through the DMV. "Hathaway's leaving," Sandburg quickly explained when he realized his partner had awakened. "That Camaro just picked him up at the curb." Ellison quickly started the truck, prepared to follow the sports car when it pulled away. Focusing his senses on the vehicle, he barely registered the dispatcher's response when she advised them that there were no wants or warrants on the 1999 Camaro which was registered to one Walter Thurman of 5861 Elm Street, Cascade. Blair acknowledged the response and turned to Ellison. "Maybe he's off to steal another car."

"Let's hope so, Chief." Ellison eased the requisitioned Crown Victoria into the light, late-night flow of traffic, never losing sight of his green Camaro target.

Half an hour later, both men admitted defeat in trailing Hathaway. The Camaro's driver had deposited the used car salesman in front of his own apartment building and driven sedately away. As the detectives watched, Hathaway stretched mightily, then turned and disappeared into the red brick, six-story building, which had seen far better days. A light appeared in a window on the fourth floor a couple of minutes later.

Once again attempting to glean some hint of Hathaway's intent, Ellison cast his sensory net around the building, cataloging its occupants' activities and mentally casting them aside. Blair recognized his partner's pose and watched in expectant silence.

"Hey, you slinky little pussy cat, how was your day? Did you behave yourself or were you a naughty girl? You got a kiss for daddy?"

"Getting anything?" Blair whispered, mindful of his partner's hyper-extended hearing.

"Well, either Hathaway has a cat or I'm getting in on some kinky action with a girlfriend."

Blair snorted in amusement and shifted positions, his butt having gone numb from their several hours on stakeout.

As Ellison continued listening to the one-sided conversation (aside from the occasional meow), he heard Hathaway dial a telephone number. Although he and Blair frequently worked on distinguishing the tones produced by touchtone phones, the number was dialed so quickly that he couldn't pick them up. Maybe Blair'll walk me through that relaxation recall thing to bring the tones back to the forefront of my mind. He concentrated harder when he heard the shady car salesman speak again -- this time obviously not to his cat.

"Yeah, it's me. Picked up a good one tonight. '80 Mustang. A little newer than what we've been grabbing, but it's so common nobody's gonna notice it on the streets. Yeah, tomorrow, one o'clock. Yeah."

Jim heard a tone he deduced was Hathaway pressing the Off button to end the call, followed by the man cooing to his cat once again. "Come on, pussy cat, time for bed." The apartment lights were extinguished and Jim drew back once he identified the sounds of Hathaway undressing for bed.

"What'd you get, Jim?" Blair turned to face his partner after realizing his hearing had returned to normal.

"He sleeps with his cat and he's moving the car at one o'clock tomorrow. Nothing we can use officially, but we're going to be there when the deal goes down. Guess we can go home and get some sleep after all."

"I am so down with that!"

After ensuring that Conner and Taggart would still be going to cover the car lot to watch for further activity, Ellison and Sandburg headed back to the loft.

Quietly entering the apartment, both men smiled when they saw Naomi curled up on the couch, sound asleep. She had made Blair a cozy-looking bed on the couch, complete with pillows, sheets and a blanket, and had clearly been trying to wait up for them.

"She's hooked," Blair said, shaking his head. "She's caught up in the roller coaster ride, just like I am. She wasn't about to go to bed if there was a chance something was going to happen while we were on stakeout. She might miss it." He walked quietly over to his mother and gently shook her shoulder. "Wake up, Mom, we're home."

Naomi's eyelids fluttered and she gazed blearily up at her son for a moment. Then, achieving full wakefulness, she sat up and asked excitedly, "Did you get him?"

Chuckling, Blair kissed Naomi's forehead and assured her, "Not yet, but we will tomorrow. We've got a lead."

"Oh, that's good, honey! What can I do to help?"

"Go to bed."

Naomi frowned in confusion and Blair explained, "You can help by going to bed, Mom, so I can go to bed. I'm bushed! It's been a long day and Jim and I have to be at the station early tomorrow for a witness interview in another case we've been working on. Then we're going back to stake out PDQ Cars again."

"Okay, Sweetie." Naomi kissed Blair's cheek and rose smoothly to her feet. She gave Jim's cheek a quick peck on the way by and turned around before entering Blair's room. "Wake me when you get up so I can at least fix you a good breakfast."

Although he frequently didn't know whether to strangle or hug Naomi, Jim decided that hugging was holding the upper hand at the moment.

"Shit! Sandburg, up now!" Jim threw back the covers and leapt from the bed, casting yet another disbelieving glance at the alarm clock. Eight o'clock!! He never overslept! "Sandburg!" He rummaged in his dresser for a clean pair of underwear and socks and grabbed the first pair of slacks his hand touched in the closet. He pounded down the stairs, clothes in hand, and paused only long enough to yank the covers off his still-slumbering roommate. "Sandburg!"

"Wha..."

"We're supposed to be at the station in an hour! Get your ass up and get going or we're going to be late."

"How'd that happen? You never oversleep."

"Well, obviously I did today. Now, get moving!" Jim disappeared into the bathroom and almost immediately the shower came on.

Blair stretched luxuriously and fought the urge to roll over and go back to sleep. Instead, he pushed himself to a sitting position and scrubbed his hands across his face and through his hair. "Coffee," he decided and, having come up with a plan, moved into action. While the coffee was brewing and filling the loft with the tantalizing aroma of fresh roasted Columbian, Blair set about unmaking his bed. Naomi drifted out of Blair's room, still drowsy and yawning, awakened by the commotion Jim had made, and helped her son set the living room to rights.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and disgorged his clean-shaven partner in a cloud of steam. He veered into the kitchen to pour himself a mug of the freshly-brewed coffee, which he carried upstairs to drink while he finished dressing.

Snagging his own cup of coffee, Blair took his turn in the bathroom. Less than forty-five minutes later, both men were dressed and ready to face their day.

"But what about breakfast?" Naomi asked in distress as the men were donning their weapons and jackets.

"No time, Mom," Blair tossed over his shoulder as they opened the door to leave. But he promised, "We'll grab something from the pastry cart."

Naomi was hardly mollified but accepted her defeat with grace.

"Okay, this day officially sucks," Blair declared as he and his partner were once again positioned down the street from PDQ Cars. Although they had parked much closer than before to ensure a good view of the impending proceedings, Blair was using his binoculars to scan the nearby car lot while Jim used his enhanced sight. "We were only a few minutes late for the interview this morning, but to hear the D.A. tell it, we missed the whole thing!" He didn't bother to wait for his partner to agree or disagree, but plunged on with his tirade, his eyes never leaving the dealership's lot. "And Simon just sat there and glared in his Captain sort of way and didn't even try to help us out at all! And then that prick Palatino doesn't give us jack on Bernetti like he said he could!"

"Are you done?" Jim asked mildly.

"Yes! No! We missed breakfast and the pastry cart!" Blair eyed his partner suspiciously. "So why aren't you pissed?"

Jim shrugged. "You're doing a good enough job for both of us. Besides, all Lucy had left on the cart today was pineapple Danish."

"How do you know that?" Blair said, glancing away from the car lot.

The sentinel tapped his nose, "Smelled it."

Blair eyed his friend for a moment and then laughed. Ellison silently congratulated himself on diverting his friend's tirade.

"I'm still hungry," Blair complained, returning to his vigil.

"Well, with any luck you'll be able to enjoy a hearty lunch sometime after one o'clock, Chief."

Blair checked his watch. "It's after one now, Jim. Are you sure you heard Hathaway right?"

Ellison stared hard at his partner, who held up a placating hand. "Forget I asked that."

"Looks like our boy's a little nervous, too," Ellison commented, directing Sandburg's gaze toward the Mustang's location on the lot. Hathaway was standing on the sidewalk in front of the stolen car, scanning the street in obvious frustration.

"I guess Rude's a little late..." Jim broke off as a tap on the car's window startled him. Irritated at having been caught off guard, Jim reached for his weapon and spun to face the intruder. His jaw dropped as he came face-to-face with Naomi Sandburg, who smiled happily and raised a picnic basket in greeting. Regaining his composure, Jim rolled down the window and demanded, "Naomi, what are you doing here?"

"Bringing you lunch!" Naomi chortled, opening the passenger door and setting the picnic basket on the back seat. "I was worried that neither of you had had breakfast and I just knew that you were going to miss lunch too, so I decided to bring lunch to you!"

Throttle was quickly overtaking hug in Jim's book, although he had to admit that he was hungry. He settled for directing a frostbite-producing glare in his partner's direction. Blair, who was just as surprised as Jim to see his mother, only shrugged weakly as if to ask, "What do you think I can do about it?"

"Oh, my god, Jim!!" Naomi's shriek effectively ended the silent battle between the partners. "That's him!" Naomi was pointing toward the PDQ Cars lot, where a dark-haired man in his early forties had approached Hathaway. "That's the man who stole your truck!"

The Cascade police detectives were not the only ones to have their conversation interrupted by Naomi's outburst. Hathaway and Rude turned to stare at the Crown Victoria in which Jim and Blair sat and beside which Naomi literally danced while she pointed directly at them. Although they had no reason to remember Naomi from their previous brief encounter when she was examining Jim's stolen truck, their slightly paranoid criminal minds engaged the fight or flight response. They chose flight. Hathaway tossed the keys to the Mustang to Rude, then jumped into the passenger seat. Rude slid quickly behind the wheel and fired up the Mustang's engine.

"Damn!" Jim swore as he brought their car to life, "Naomi, stay..."

Naomi fell into the back seat, shoving the picnic basket out of the way and slamming the passenger door closed.

"...in the back." Jim finished lamely. Muttering something about civilians involved in a police chase and Simon Banks killing him, Jim swung the car into traffic. Blair squeezed his eyes shut, praying to any god that would listen as a dump truck bore down on them, its air horn blasting menacingly. But the daredevil police driver coaxed some hidden speed out of the vehicle and avoided the accident with room to spare. Opening his eyes when he didn't hear a crash, Blair checked his mother in the back seat. She must be terrified. Naomi's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with excitement. So much for terror. I think my mom is turning into an adrenaline junkie! "Fasten your seatbelt, Mom!"

The Mustang had backed out of the parking space and pulled quickly off the lot, heading north on Bryant Street. Jim kept the powerful unmarked police car close on its bumper. While the Crown Victoria actually had the more powerful engine, the Mustang one-upped them on maneuverability. It executed sliding turns that frequently left the larger car lagging behind. But each time, Jim pressed the engine for more power and the car responded.

Naomi reached out to grab the headrests attached to the front seat and pulled herself forward, as if to get closer to the chase.

Sandburg grabbed the radio mic and called in their position and a description of the car they were chasing. The mic flew out of his hand as Jim executed a sudden, screeching turn that would have sent the occupants flying had they not been wearing their seat belts, and Blair began concentrating on hanging on for dear life.

"He's headed for the freeway," Jim guessed as the Mustang made a sharp turn onto a side street that ultimately dead ended at the freeway on-ramp.

"Well, unless he's got something under that hood that he hasn't shown us yet, that's not a good move. We can outrun him."

"That's right, Chief. We've just got to keep him from killing someone until we do!"

True to Jim's guess, Hathaway and Rude reached the end of the road and veered over to access the on-ramp. The Crown Victoria followed, its grill lights flashing and siren blaring.

"Don't lose him, Jim!" Naomi warned from the backseat, earning a raised eyebrow from Ellison, who didn't dare take his eyes off the road.

"Doing my best here, Naomi." Jim cranked the wheel to the left to avoid a slow-moving Volkswagen Cabrio and immediately back to the right, barely missing a big rig's bumper. Blair clenched his jaw to avoid shouting as he watched the bumper glide past his window. He spared a glance at his mother and was horrified to see that she appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the experience.

Ahead of them, the Mustang continued to weave in and out of traffic, using its superior maneuverability to its advantage. Traffic was fairly light, for which the two detectives were grateful. The less civilians involved in the chase (unfortunately excluding the one in the back seat), the better.

Rude suddenly whipped the Mustang across three lanes of freeway traffic, leaving a trail of spinning vehicles in his wake. Their efforts to avoid hitting the speeding Mustang had caused several drivers to lose control of their own transportation. However, everyone not only managed to avoid hitting the Mustang, they managed not to hit each other either. But the resulting melee forced Jim to reduce the Crown Victoria's speed to weave through the vehicular kaleidoscope. Shifting his focus between the labyrinth in front of him and following the jack rabbit Mustang was giving Jim a headache he was certain only a good, solid punch to Mr. Rude's jaw was likely to alleviate. He clenched his own jaw in anticipation.

Wrenching the steering wheel at the last moment to send the large car hurtling down the same off-ramp Rude had taken several seconds earlier, Jim ignored his partner's startled gasp. You'd think Sandburg would be used to this by now.

Once again the sedan's speed outweighed the sports car's maneuverability. It and Ellison's enhanced sight combined to quickly locate the fleeing vehicle. In a matter of seconds, Ellison again rode the Mustang's bumper. He wished he could extend his hearing to follow the conversation in the car in front of him. Overhearing their plans might give him an advantage. But the concentration necessary to drive and extend his vision simply wouldn't support piggybacking his hearing. He'd just have to wear them down the old fashioned way.

Blair grabbed the mic again to update the backup vehicles of their new location. The dispatcher responded that several units were going to form road blocks on the main road and feeder roads a short distance ahead of the car's current direction to try to end the chase.

"Good," Jim muttered. "I'm getting tired of this!"

Latching onto the seat belt crossing his shoulder, Blair silently tossed in a "Me, too!" Naomi simply once again exhorted Jim to not lose his quarry.

Unexpectedly, the Mustang veered sharply to the left, across traffic once again and into the driveway of a vehicle junkyard.

"Junkyard," Jim growled as he spun the wheel and sent the car into a sliding turn to follow the green car. "Why do they always head for the damn junkyards?"

Blair quickly updated dispatch on the turn of events.

The Mustang skidded to a stop and both car doors flew open to expel its occupants.

Jim abruptly applied his own brakes and began chanting an improvised mantra: "Don't run-don'trun-don'trun.... don't-damn!" He threw the car into Park and he and Blair unholstered their weapons as they hurriedly exited the car, shouting over their shoulders, "Stay in the car, Naomi!" They spared a moment to share an amused glance and, with the unspoken communication born of long partnership, Blair took off after Hathaway while Jim pursued Rude.

Blair spied Hathaway racing toward stacks of separated car and truck parts and pushed harder to catch up. Hathaway wove between the piles of hoods and trunk lids in an attempt to lose the detective, but Blair's smaller frame provided extra agility in the tight confines that allowed him to close the gap between them. He darted between rows of engines and nimbly hurtled heaps of bumpers. He lost a bit of ground, though, when he hung the toe of his shoe in an upturned bumper and had to flail his arms wildly to keep from falling. But he quickly picked up the pace again, scrambling through the cannibalized chassis of the beyond-repair cars. His lungs were on fire with the pace the men were maintaining and his legs burned as they pumped to keep up.

Had he been able to suck in enough oxygen, he would have cheered at the break he caught when Hathaway suddenly stumbled and ended up sprawled on his stomach in a mud puddle left over from recent rains.

"Cascade Police! Don't move!" Blair commanded, certain it would have carried more weight had he not wheezed between syllables. Hathaway, realizing the game was up, laced his fingers behind his head and lay still.

Wary of potential escape, Blair cautiously moved in and efficiently cuffed Hathaway before pulling him to his feet. Holstering his weapon, the detective grasped his prisoner by the elbow and led him back toward the car, both men struggling to regain their breath.

Ellison's prey had opted to seek refuge between the enormous stacks of crushed cars that littered the junkyard. Although obviously frantic to elude capture, Rude was prowling quietly between the mountains of compacted metal and Jim was having trouble following him amid the cacophony of junkyard sounds. Forklifts, tow trucks, pneumatic tools and groaning metal all conspired to distract the Sentinel, and he was finding it difficult to distinguish and discard the myriad unwanted sounds in his search for meaningful ones.

He moved stealthily among the stacks, alternating his senses in an effort to find the most useful one for the situation. While working with hearing, he was pleased to come across his partner reading Hathaway his Miranda rights. Good, he didn't have to worry about Blair then. He swept past Blair's location and continued his search. He'd been right behind Rude, so he couldn't be that far away from him. Cursed junkyard!

Sight was essentially useless in his position between the tall stacks, so he resignedly cranked up his sense of smell. Thank God we're not in the city dump! Filtering out the rank odors of old engine oil, transmission and brake fluids, and stagnant water that had collected in the thousands of automotive receptacles, Ellison picked up an incongruous scent. Aftershave. Cheap aftershave at that. Stan had said the guy who stole his truck was wearing cheap cologne. Homing in on the offensive aroma, Ellison stalked his prey through the vehicular jungle. As the scent grew stronger, he piggybacked hearing on smell. Rude's heart was hammering, but his movements were still amazingly stealthy. But the sentinel had him. He was just ahead.

Just as Jim prepared to make his move, a horrendous screech of compacting metal assaulted his over-sensitive ears, slicing into his brain. Crying out in agony, he clapped his hands ineffectually over his ears and dropped to his knees, stunned -- felled by the car crusher.

His disorientation lasted only a few moments, however, and he stumbled to his feet, determined not to lose his quarry. But an attempt to extend his hearing produced only a high pitched ringing, combined with a pressurized hollowness that felt as if he were underwater. Automatically compensating with smell, Ellison realized that Rude was doubling back toward the cars -- he was going to make another run for it!

Ellison began to run, sprinting in the direction of the cars. "Blair!" he managed to shout, his voice sounding strangely hollow to his temporarily damaged ears. "He's headed for the cars!" He hoped that alerting his partner would allow them to prevent Rude from reaching his goal.

Breaking into the open land comprising the driveway, the Cascade detective skidded to a stop in shock. Blair, firmly grasping Hathaway's upper arm, stood staring in horror at the Crown Victoria as Rude tightened his choke hold on Naomi Sandburg.

"Keep away from me or she dies!" the cornered criminal shouted desperately, backing toward the open driver's door.

"Let her go!" Blair commanded, his hand moving toward the weapon at the small of his back.

"Don't move!" Rude cried, shaking Naomi roughly to make his point. "I swear I'll kill her!" Blair froze and Rude turned his attention to Ellison. "Get over there with your partner!"

Jim complied, helpless to do anything else.

"Tell him to let me go, Nick!" Hathaway called out, giving Rude a real name.

Nick ignored his cohort's request, his attention focused on the two police detectives. He shifted closer to the car door and Blair's heart pounded as he realized his mother was about to become a hostage. If she was forced into the car, her chances of survival would fall dramatically.

"Nick!" Hathaway cried out, struggling within Blair's grasp. "Don't leave me here, man!"

Nick pretended not to hear.

"If you don't take me with you, I'll roll over on you so fast you won't know what hit you!" Eric Hathaway promised angrily.

Jim and Blair were helpless. Neither was in a position to overpower the car thief and any efforts to move closer would surely result in injury to Naomi.

"Now me and the pretty lady here are gonna get in this car and drive away and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" As he shifted to push Naomi into the car, Nick suddenly doubled over and howled in pain. He released Naomi, who quickly spun and lashed out with a right cross that would have done any professional boxer proud.

"I will not be used as a hostage!" Naomi declared, "Especially against my son!"

Nick, aka Mr. Rude, dropped bonelessly and silently to the ground. Quickly gathering their wits, Ellison and Sandburg moved in to subdue the prisoner, although Naomi had quite effectively handled that herself.

A phalanx of police cars, lights flashing and sirens wailing, descended on the junkyard and officers poured out of the vehicles, ready to join the fray. They seemed a bit disappointed when Ellison assured them that everything was under control.

Jim still didn't know whether to throttle Sandburg's mother or hug her.