Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Pet Fly Productions and UPN. No money has been, or will be made from this endeavor. My reward was much better than money!

My heartfelt thanks to two people without whom this story would not have seen the light of day. To Paula, whose support and encouragement extended far beyond beta reading. I'm sure you had no idea what you were getting into when you volunteered! :) I got so much more than a beta reader...I made a friend. Thanks for the shoulder -- hope it dries out soon! And just remember that, when things look bleak and you're sure they can't get any worse, there's always...Pender House! eeek! Thanks, as well, to Tonya, who promised to nudge me when I needed it and did. Thanks for giving my story a home, for being an incredibly patient Nudge (we won't talk about how long it took!), and for correcting all those nasty punctuation errors. What do you mean "too many commas"? *g* The two of you truly are my reward!

Warnings: probable psychological gross inaccuracies *g*. I'll just go ahead and apologize now, since I'll be the first to admit that I don't know a thing about post traumatic stress syndrome. It's just that this story kept knocking around in my brain and I had to write it down to get it to leave me alone!

December 1998

Feedback is welcome at whiskers_25@hotmail.com!

WHERE ONLY I CAN GO

Robin

Darkness had long since blanketed the campus of Rainier University. The coolness of Spring washed away the cares of the day and bathed the earth with peace and serenity. The songs of the crickets combined to produce a symphony worthy of Mozart and celebrated the promise of the glorious new day to come. Harmony abounded. Surely the cares of men paled in significance next to nature's magnificence...

"Narrow-minded?" Andy Jennings sputtered, shaking his head in disbelief and staring at his companion. "Blair, it's clearly nothing more than a genetic response to a major ecological threat!"

Blair Sandburg, walking beside his friend and fellow anthropologist as they made their way across the deserted campus to the Student Union for a late-night snack, turned stricken eyes his way. "Aw jeez, I'm sorry, Andy. I hope I didn't hurt your feelings, man, 'cause that so didn't come out right. You know I didn't mean narrow-minded as in 'narrow-minded'. I just meant that you're not seeing the whole picture." He ran his hands absently through his long hair, an action that typically had less to do with removing his hair from his face than as an unconscious prelude to voicing a controversial opinion. Andy recognized the action and cringed inwardly. Obviously, Blair was shifting into full 'dog-with-a-bone' mode, which meant the conversation was likely to go on for a while. "And I don't dispute what you're saying, man, really I don't. In fact, I totally agree with you that it's a factor. I just think there's more to it than that. Don't you see?" Blair began to wave his hands expressively as he warmed to his topic. "I agree that pollution is a dire ecological threat, I just think there has to be more to the decline in the male birthrate than just pollution. Now, I know I'm not a geneticist..."

Despite their theoretical disagreement, Andy smiled fondly at his colleague and raised an eyebrow teasingly. "No, really? Coulda fooled me..."

Blair pulled a face and turned toward his friend, walking backwards. The intensity of the conversation shone in his expressive, deep blue eyes. "Okay, so if this were a purely genetic response, why a reduction only in the male birthrate? Why not the female birthrate, too? I just don't see it..."

He's so trusting. Andy thought in amazement as Blair continued his backward trek, expounding on his theory. He's so certain that no one will walk into him and that I'll keep him from tripping. Poor Ellison must go nuts keeping him out of trouble. "And your hypothesis is...?" he prompted as Blair paused.

"An extension of yours, really." Blair stopped and shifted his ever-present backpack to the other shoulder. The bag was as much a part of Sandburg as his long hair and sixties grunge style of dress. Wherever Blair went, the backpack went. With his pack more comfortably situated, Blair continued, "I think genetics certainly figures into the equation, Andy, but on a larger scale than simply a reaction to a pollution threat. I believe this is nature's response to overpopulation-- a form of natural selection, if you will. Think about it, man, less reproducing males in the population equals an overall population decrease."

Andy shook his head again. "No wonder Ellison calls you Darwin. Do you spring these little theories on him often?"

"On Jim? No way, man. Well, not anymore, that is. I used to bounce stuff like this off him, but I quit when I realized the only response I got was 'Yeah, whatever, Chief.'"

Andy laughed. "Now there's a dash of cold water in the face!"

"Tell me about it," Blair grinned. "Didn't take me long to figure out he wasn't even listening to me." He didn't add that, for a time, Jim's seeming indifference had hurt his feelings. That is, until the day Jim had finally admitted to Blair that he was intimidated by the depth and breadth of Blair's knowledge, that he was sometimes even overwhelmed by it. And when, in the next breath, he also admitted that sometimes he was so proud of his friend's "smarts," as he put it, that he could burst, Blair had come to understand the true depth of Jim's affection.

Granted, Jim hadn't exactly volunteered the information in a deep discussion over a beer, or anything like that. Jim was much too stoic and decidedly uncomfortable sharing emotions for that to happen. No, it had been one of the few times that Blair had lost his temper at the older (and larger) man. It had been a bad day at the university. Blair's Anthro 101 students had all obviously signed up for the course as an easy elective rather than out of a burning passion for the subject, and the Volvo obstinately refused to start, again. But Blair had fought his way through the threatening depression, caught a bus home rather than call Jim -- again, and had gamely tried to maintain the status quo in the loft by regaling Jim with one of his pet theories.

Unfortunately, Jim had had his own less-than-ideal day, and the stage had been set for a blow up. Jim had rankled at having to listen to yet another dissertation and Blair had given vent to his own frustrations of the day. As usual, Blair couldn't fight as unemotionally as Jim and wound up storming off to his room (like a child, he could admit to himself, now) where he had intended to pout for something like the rest of his life.

And that's when Jim had done it -- barged right into the middle of his little snit and made the gut-wrenching admission that sealed Blair's fate. If he ever could have considered leaving his Sentinel and striking out on his own once again, those few moments had changed everything. It was amazing what emotional doors had opened for Blair that day. It both warmed his heart and scared him to death to think that someone could hold him in such esteem. So, whether or not Jim ever sat still for another of Blair's lectures, the Sentinel and the Guide were forever bonded....

Blair realized his mind had wandered and blinked quickly to bring himself back to Andy and the present.

During the exchange, neither man was aware of the two pairs of eyes watching from the dark depths of the dense shrubbery lining the desolate trail.

"That's right, come to me, boy," one of the watchers murmured.

The other watcher seemed surprised. "But, he's not alone."

"No matter. The other one is small. He'll present no problem. Now remember, only one of them knows me and it's dark enough he's not likely to recognize me, so nonchalance is the key. Just act like you belong here and they'll never suspect a thing." He drew a deep breath, released it slowly, and whispered, "Now!"

They quickly stepped onto the path and, seemingly deep in their own conversation, casually made their way toward the two distracted anthropologists, who failed to notice them.

Blair could tell that Andy wasn't buying a minute's worth of his theory, but that was half the fun. Despite their bond, Jim still rarely indulged him in his anthropological musings and, while he treasured the time he spent with Jim at home and at the station, he also relished these theoretical discussions with his colleagues and engaged in them often. As sensitive as Blair was emotionally, in the anthropological world he quickly learned to develop a thick skin regarding his theories. Everyone had their own pet theories and everyone else's were, obviously, merely conjecture. And no one hesitated to make that point perfectly clear. "So, what part of this don't you get?" he teased his friend.

Andy opened his mouth to argue that he wasn't buying any of Blair's theory when he noticed the two men approaching them. Something about one of them seemed familiar, but he couldn't immediately call it to mind. It tickled at his memory.  He was sure he knew him, but he couldn't force the thought to the surface. If only he could see the man's face more clearly...

Blair noticed Andy's sudden distraction and reached out to touch his arm in concern, an action he had unconsciously picked up from Jim. "Hey, Andy, is there..ompf," he began, but broke off as someone forcefully bumped into him. Blair stumbled and dropped his backpack.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," a soft male voice apologized as Blair bent to retrieve his precious leather bag. "Let me help you."

"It's okay, no problem," Blair replied, "at least my laptop wasn't....mmpff!" Blair choked on the rest of his sentence as his nose and mouth were suddenly smothered by a wet cloth held firmly in place by a large hand. Another arm quickly snaked around his chest, effectively pinning his arms to his sides. Panicked, Blair used what little arm mobility remained to try to claw the cloth from his face, to no avail. He was dimly aware of the sounds of a struggle nearby, but was forced to concentrate on his own battle. As Blair futilely struggled to free himself, his captor dragged him from the path into the relative safety of the concealing shrubbery. Fuzzily identifying the cloying odor on the cloth as chloroform, Blair tried to hold his breath. He could almost feel the insidious vapors weaving their way through his nasal passages and into his brain. Darkness licked at the corners of his vision as he fought to deny his body's demands to breathe. But his struggles only robbed him of the precious oxygen he fought to preserve and he finally sucked in a mouthful of air laced with chloroform. As the blackness claimed him, Blair's last desperate thought was Jim!

Jim Ellison's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp. "Blair!". He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to slow his pounding heart. Oh great, Ellison, now you're having nightmares, too? Man, the neighbors are going to lynch you and Sandburg both if you join the Wake Me Up Screaming club. He rolled his head from side to side, trying to relieve the sudden stiffness in his neck. Funny though, I can't even remember the dream itself; just hearing Blair call out for me -- in fear. And it's really rattled me, he admitted to himself. He laid back down, trying to reclaim his calm and go back to sleep. As he'd done so many times before when sleep eluded him, Jim sought the tranquilizing effect of his roommate's heartbeat -- and found only silence.

Frowning slightly, Jim rolled over and looked at the clock. Two a.m. He knew Blair had planned to work late.  He'd called earlier in the evening to tell him not to wait dinner. But this late? Even for his night-owl roommate it was unusual. Maybe he's really here and my senses are just out of whack, he mused hopefully, rolling out of bed to pad softly down the stairs. On the way down, he stretched his senses beyond the loft, seeking confirmation that they had indeed deserted him. He was immediately rewarded with the sounds of light city traffic, the flutter of a bat's wings as it searched the night sky for food, and the soothing tones of a mother's voice comforting her colicky baby. Damn, Jim frowned, for once I was actually hoping they were on the fritz.

Jim quietly slipped into Blair's room, just in case he really was there. Wouldn't do to scare the wits out of the kid if there truly wasn't anything wrong. His heart sank as his eyes confirmed what his ears already knew, Blair's bed hadn't been slept in. I'll bet he fell asleep in his office again, Jim smiled. What was I worrying about? He's done it before. You have got to stop this mother hen business, Ellison. It's going to drive you and the kid both crazy. Even as he finished the thought, Jim was dialing Blair's office number. After a dozen rings, he slowly placed the receiver in the wall phone cradle. He lifted it again and dialed Blair's cell phone number, pacing nervously. He frowned and disconnected the call when he heard the beginning of the standard recording, "I'm sorry, the cellular customer you are trying to reach..."

"Okay, Ellison, don't panic," he said aloud. "There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this." But for the life of him he just couldn't convince himself nothing was wrong. And then there was that damn dream... "He's a big boy," he chided himself, "he doesn't have to call to tell you he won't be home." But he always does, he silently added as he hurried upstairs to dress. Well, okay, not always.  But usually.  Or at least sometimes.  But I did tell him I was going to go to bed early tonight, so maybe he just didn't want to disturb me.  Yeah, I'll bet that's it.  But I've just gotta know.  As he pulled on pants and a T-shirt, Jim allowed himself a brief smile. Sandburg's gonna kill me if it turns out he's with some girl and I came looking for him. Oh well, let him pout. He'll get over it eventually and at least I'll know he's okay. Besides, as much as I tease him about jumping table legs, he takes his work very seriously. If he said he was working tonight, then he was working.

On the way to the University, Jim tried Blair's cell and office phones again with no success. Damn it, Chief, where are you? he fretted.

Jim jumped as his cell phone rang shrilly in the stillness of the dark truck. "Blair?" he barked, his voice cracking slightly with hope.

"Jim?" The sound of Simon's voice made Jim's heart sink. Oh, God.

"Simon, what's wrong?"

"I tried the loft and you didn't answer, so I thought maybe I'd get you on your cell phone..." Simon started.

Jim broke in, "Simon, what's going on? Is it Blair?"

"Is what Blair? Jim, what are you talking about?" Simon paused. "Oh, don't tell me, the kid isn't home?"

"No, and he hasn't been home. He called earlier to say he was working late, but that was hours ago and I haven't heard anything from him since."

"Now, Jim, you know how Blair gets sometimes. He probably just got involved in what he was doing and lost track of time."

"Simon, I've tried his office and cell phone both. He doesn't answer in his office and his cell phone is either off or the battery's dead. Frankly, I'm worried. Now, why are you calling me at this ungodly hour of the morning if it's not about Blair?"

Simon drew a deep breath before answering. "Well, Jim, I am at the University. I got a call at home from the uniforms telling me there'd been a kidnapping at the Rainier campus."

Jim tried to control his breathing as he one-handedly palmed the steering wheel to turn a corner. The tires squealed as they fought to maintain traction. His heart was racing and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. "Who was kidnapped?"

"We don't know yet. There was a witness, but she didn't recognize the men who were kidnapped..."

"Men? More than one?" Jim asked in surprise. Why did he not feel any better? Because Blair had told him he was going to be working with another anthropologist, that's why. Nothing he was hearing was alleviating his fear at all.

"The witness saw two men carrying two other men to a van in one of the back parking lots. Uniforms are trying to get descriptions now. I called you because I wanted to see if your, uh, abilities could help us get a lead. It never crossed my mind one of them could be Sandburg. Jim, how do you know he's not just with some girl?"

Roaring into the parking lot near Hargrove Hall, Jim jammed the gearshift lever into 'Park', struggled to open the door with one hand and leapt from the truck. "I don't know, Simon, it's just a feeling I have." He didn't tell Simon about the dream. Simon had enough trouble accepting Jim's Sentinel abilities as reality.  Jim didn't think he would be willing to accept some sort of psychic link between the Sentinel and his Guide. He wasn't completely sure he accepted it himself. "I'm almost to Blair's office, now, Simon. I'll make sure he isn't there and then join you. Where exactly are you?"

"About a quarter mile behind Hargrove Hall. On a path the students tell me is a back way to the Student Union."

"I know the path you're talking about, Simon. I'll be there shortly." Jim ended the call and shoved the phone into his jacket pocket with one hand while fishing his police credentials out of another pocket with the other.

With news of the kidnapping quickly spreading across campus, security officers were everywhere. Jim flagged one down, flashed his badge, and demanded entry into Hargrove Hall. Once inside, he paused, took a deep, calming breath and stretched his hearing along the empty corridors. Nothing.

He roughly shook his head to clear the encroaching zone-out and ran down the stairs to his partner's basement office. As he feared, the door was locked and only silence greeted his insistent knock. "Blair?" he shouted futilely. "Blair, are you in there?" He knew he wasn't; there was no reassuring heartbeat, no soft breathing. But he simply couldn't resist the urge to call out. Using his key, Jim opened the office door and scanned the cluttered room. As he expected, hoped, no sign of Blair. Thank God he hadn't opened the door to find his Guide -- dead. Risking a zone-out, Jim opened all his senses wide and scanned the room, seeking some evidence of recent occupation. He caught the faint fragrances of Blair's herbal shampoo and the herbal tea he currently favored. Judging by the strength of the scents, it had been some time since Blair had been in his office. But perhaps Blair hadn't been working in his office. He'd mentioned unpacking crates of artifacts with another anthropologist.  Who was it Blair had said he'd be working with? Jim wracked his brain for the name. Andy! That's it, he said he'd be working with Andy! Jim had heard Blair talk about Andy many times, but couldn't recall hearing him mention Andy's last name.  He wondered if there was a building directory somewhere nearby.   Surely he'd be able to find Andy's name among the building's tenants.  Maybe be Blair was in Andy's office!  That would explain why he didn't answer his office phone and Jim was always having to scold his partner for failing to recharge his cell phone battery. Jim felt his hopes rise a bit.  Maybe Sandburg was okay.

"Are you looking for Mr. Sandburg?"

Startled, Jim spun to face one of the campus security officers. He'd been so caught up in trying to find something useful with his blasted senses that he'd been totally unaware of the man's approach. "Yeah, you seen him lately?"

"Saw him 'bout forty-five minutes or an hour ago, maybe. He and Mr. Jennings were headed out the back way."

"Show me," Jim commanded, his jaw clenching. The situation was getting worse by the second. His former hopes dashed, he was once again convinced that Blair and Andy were the kidnap victims the witness had seen.

"Uh, sure." The security guard took one look at the clenched teeth and set jaw and decided he'd do whatever the big cop asked. He didn't look like anyone you wanted to mess with. His eyes widened. "Say, you don't think Mr. Sandburg and Mr. Jennings were the guys that got kidnapped, do you?" Jim's set jaw was his only outward response. Inside, he felt as if his stomach had filled with acid and his chest was so tight he could barely breathe. Blair!

He realized the guard was pointing to a set of double glass doors that led to an extremely dark pathway closely lined with dense shrubs. An ambush in the making, Chief, Jim shook his head sadly as the guard let him out the locked doors. "Last I saw, they were headed for the Student U, about a mile over that way." Sighting along the guard's finger, Jim narrowed his focus through some distracting tree limbs and located the Student Union building.

"Thanks," he managed absently before slowly making his way along the path. He again opened his senses wide. He knew he risked a major zone-out and that there was no one who could help him, but that was precisely why he had to take the chance. He had to find some shred of a clue as to who had taken his Guide and where.

He detected Sandburg's scent floating in the air, and someone else's that Jim couldn't identify; probably Andy's. With his sight tightly focused on the trail, his enhanced hearing picked up the voices before he actually saw Simon and the forensics team. Simon was still gently questioning an obviously upset co-ed. Jim assumed she was the witness Simon had mentioned before.

Simon saw Ellison coming and quickly excused himself from the witness. "Anything, Jim?" he asked hopefully as the detective came to stand beside him. It was a foolish question, he knew. If Jim had found Sandburg, the kid'd be standing next to his partner, nervously shifting from foot to foot while uncomfortably apologizing for scaring everybody silly. His absence spoke volumes.

"He wasn't in his office, Simon, although he was earlier this evening." Out of habit, Jim glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot before he continued. "I picked up the scent of his shampoo and that weird tea he's been drinking lately. And I've picked up the same scents several times along this path. There's no doubt in my mind that Blair's been kidnapped, Simon."

"But there were two victims, Jim..."

"Security guard at Hargrove says Sandburg came this way about an hour ago with a colleague, Andy Jennings, another anthropologist. It all fits, Simon. Damn it! I've told Blair not to take this path after dark, it's just too isolated." Jim reached up to massage the knotted muscles in his neck. "Hang close to me, here, Simon. I've got to see if I can find anything to give us a clue where they've taken them and I've narrowly avoided two zone-outs already. I'm tired and I'm worried and I'm not sure I can fight off another one."

"Jim, I'm not Sandburg. What if I can't keep you from zoning?" Simon's eyes were concerned as they rested on his best detective/friend.

"Frankly, Simon, you probably can't. But you can keep me from running into a tree or walking in front of a car, although I guess the chances of that at this hour of the morning are pretty slim." He tiredly rubbed his forehead, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Hell, Simon, if I do zone, go ahead and punch me in the face to get me back if you have to. Just don't leave me standing here staring into space like some kind of zombie." Jim cringed, vividly recalling a harrowing adventure in New Orleans during which he'd almost lost his best friend to a voodoo poison designed to turn him into one of the living dead. Now the threat was just as real, but the means was as yet unknown.

"Jim? Man, you're not zoning on me already, are you?"

Jim shook himself. "No, Simon. Just remembering New Orleans." He knew Simon would know what he meant. He did and grimaced.

Having nothing comforting to say, Simon simply reached out and squeezed Jim's shoulder reassuringly. Taking his cue, Jim closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then fully extended all his senses. The combination briefly threatened to overwhelm him, but he suddenly clearly heard his Guide's voice telling him to "filter out the extra stuff, Jim, all the stuff you don't want. Focus on the stuff that's different, or wrong." So he identified, then thrust aside, the normal sounds of nature that surrounded him -- the chirping crickets, the foraging mice, the barking dog, the rustling leaves in the trees overhead. He strained to locate any unusual sounds, although he was certain the effort was futile. An hour, the guard had said. Right about the time he'd had the dream. It couldn't be a coincidence, but how was that possible? He and Blair had never shown any signs of a psychic link before. Well, truth be told, they had shown a spooky tendency to know what the other one was thinking, but didn't most partners develop that sixth sense? This seemingly went well beyond that. He shook off the thoughts and dialed back his hearing, concentrating instead on scent, which had proven the most useful up to this point. Again he filtered out the normal, the everyday, and searched for the out-of-place. Closing his eyes, he furrowed his brow in concentration.

"Jim," Simon said softly, recognizing the cock of the head and the deep frown. "Have you got something? Talk to me, Jim, please don't be zoning!"

"I'm okay, Simon," Jim assured him with a small smile. "Can't identify it yet, but there's something hanging in the air. It's heavy, sweet, sickening."

Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What would Sandburg say now?" he muttered to himself. "Damn it, Jim, I don't know how to be a Guide!"

Jim smiled slightly, touched by Simon's concern. "You're doing fine, Simon. And he'd tell me to piggy-back my sight onto my sense of smell and see if I can tell where the odor's coming from."

"Oh, well, then maybe we should try that."

Jim took a relaxing breath and directed his sight along the path his nose had established for the nauseating odor. "Over there, in the bushes." Jim crossed the path with long strides, Simon at his side. Jim knelt, gently parted the branches of one of the dense shrubs that lined the path and reached one hand back toward Simon. "Got a glove, Simon? I didn't know I was headed to a crime scene when I left the loft."

Simon dug in a pocket and pulled out a latex glove and a plastic bag. "What've you got?"

"A cloth that reeks of whatever that odor is." Suddenly Jim identified the odor and quickly dialed his sense of smell down to zero. "Chloroform." He reached in with his gloved hand and pulled the cloth free of the entangling branches. He placed the cloth in the plastic bag, sealed it, and handed it to Simon as he straightened. "And there are signs of a struggle in the grass behind the shrubs. Looks like they put up quite a fight." Jim worked hard to lock down his emotions. He had to maintain his objectivity if he was going to find Blair. What would Blair call it? Checking his emotions at the door? The longer his association with the effervescent anthropologist, the harder checking his emotions at the door became. Particularly when the emotions he was supposed to check directly involved his partner. Although Blair still took every crime scene right in the heart, Jim managed to maintain total detachment. Even the grisliest murders seemingly failed to phase him, although Blair insisted that Jim's grinding jaw betrayed his emotions every time. But let his Guide/partner/friend be placed in harm's way and Jim's objectivity flew right out the window. Well, he didn't have time for that. Blair's life could well depend on how effectively Jim could do his job - as both Detective and Sentinel.

"I need to talk to that witness."

The moan escaped Blair's lips before he even realized he was awake. Had he been asleep? If he was waking up, that meant he'd been asleep, right? But he didn't remember going to sleep, or even going to bed for that matter. And God, he felt awful! Another moan sighed its way between his lips. Sick!

"Uh uh, too soon to be waking up." The voice barely penetrated Blair's haze before that nauseating odor once again filled his nose and throat. Blair weakly pawed at the cloth, but he just couldn't summon the strength to pull it away. He slipped back into the blackness of a drugged sleep.

"Ms. Harcourt, this is Detective Ellison. He'd like to ask you a few questions," Simon said gently, briefly resting his hand on the young woman's shoulder as she sat on one of the benches that lined the trail.

She turned weary eyes on the newcomer and sighed. "I've already told you my story, Captain. Do I really have to tell it again? I'm suddenly so tired."

Jim squatted down next to the bench and laid his hand over one of hers where it rested on her knee. "I understand, Ms. Harcourt, but it's very important that I hear your story first-hand." He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "One of the men who was kidnapped was my partner --my friend -- Blair Sandburg."

"Mr. Sandburg? Oh my God, I was in his class a couple of semesters ago. He was so nice! Why would anyone want to do this to him?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out, Ms. Harcourt..."

"Janie, please. And I'm sorry I was so whiney. Of course I'll help in any way I can."

"Thank you, Janie. Now, why don't you tell me what you saw."

"Well, I live in Exeter Hall, over there." Janie turned on the bench and pointed to a distant building behind her. "I'm kind of a night owl, so I was up late studying. I had a huge snack attack and didn't have anything in my room to eat, so I decided to raid the Student Union vending machine. I couldn't get anyone to go with me, so I decided to go by myself. I know it wasn't very smart…" She paused. "I'm sorry, you really don't care about all that, do you?"

Jim forced a smile. "Sure I do, Janie. I want to hear it all. You never know what detail I might pick up on. Please go on."

"Alright. Well, I was about halfway there when I heard voices ahead of me. I stopped and hid behind that tree over there." Again Janie pointed behind her. "I wasn't exactly scared, but I knew I needed to be careful. After all, it was two a.m., and I was by myself. Anyway, I saw a couple of guys walking along the path. I couldn't see who they were. This section of the path isn't very well lit..."

Believe me, I noticed, Jim thought. That's why I told Blair never to take this path at night.

Janie dropped her eyes to her hands, as they lay clenched and twisted in her lap. "I decided to stay hidden 'til they passed, just to be safe. Then, a minute or so later I heard a commotion. I gotta tell you, I almost turned tail and ran at that point." Janie raised her eyes to meet Jim's.

"What stopped you?"

"I don't really know. I guess I just thought maybe I could help, but I couldn't. I'm sorry." Her voice trailed off.

"It's alright, Janie. What happened next?"

Janie untangled her fingers, took a deep breath, and continued. "I peeked around the tree and saw two men carrying two other men off the path. I'm sure now that one of them was Mr. Sandburg -- I don't know why I didn't recognize him before. Anyway, it was obvious something was wrong because both of the men being carried were totally limp, but I knew there wasn't anything I could do to help. If I tried to run for help, the men would be gone before I could get back with anyone. I thought about screaming, but I was afraid no one but them would hear me and I'd end up getting hurt." Janie closed her eyes. "That was pretty lame, I know. I should have done something!"

Jim squeezed her hand. "There was nothing you could have done, Janie. As bad as it feels, you were right not to get involved. Captain Banks mentioned something about a van?"

"Yes. See, even though I knew I couldn't do anything to help, it did occur to me that I could at least try to be a good witness..."

Jim had to give the young woman credit for keeping her head through the whole episode.

"So I followed them. I stayed pretty far back. I was still afraid they'd see me and I'd be in danger, too. They took them to a van that was parked over by Adams Hall, over there." Janie pointed to a building to the left of the Student Union. They put them in the back of the van, got in, and drove away. That's when I took off and called the police." Janie let her remaining breath out in a whoosh. "I wish there was more I could have done to help Mr. Sandburg, Detective Ellison."

"You did just fine, Janie, really. You said they put them in a van...can you describe it for me?"

"It was a light color, but I don't know what color it was. There're no lights in that parking lot, so I could only see by the light of the moon."

"Did you notice anything unusual about the van? Any dents, designs, anything?"

"I don't think so. I'm sorry, I just don't remember. I couldn't see..."

"It's okay, Janie, really. Don't be upset." An idea came to Jim. "Janie, would you be willing to try something with me? It's a technique Blair, Mr. Sandburg, uses to help me remember things sometimes."

Janie regarded Jim seriously for a moment. "I guess so, if you think it'll help."

"I don't know, but I do think it's worth a try."

"Okay, then, let's do it."

"Good girl! Now, I want you to sit back and make yourself comfortable. Good. Now, close your eyes." He smiled as Janie obeyed his commands. Gotta remember to tell Blair about this...if I ever see him again. Jim mentally shook himself. When I see him again, he corrected himself. "Okay, take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Good. Now, let's go back in time a little bit -- earlier tonight. You're walking across campus on your way to the Student Union. Visualize that in your mind. Got it? Good. Now, you hear voices..."

Janie nodded. "They're laughing and arguing playfully. One of the them says something about 'Jim'." Her eyes flew open in surprise. "I didn't remember that before!"

Jim's heart clenched. He'd been the subject of Blair's conversation right before the kidnapping! What were you saying about me, Chief? "That's great, Janie. Let's keep going."

Janie nodded enthusiastically and closed her eyes again. "They're laughing..." he prompted.

"Yeah. But suddenly they're not laughing anymore. I hear scuffling, grunting, muffled cries..."

Janie's heart rate increased and Jim squeezed her hand comfortingly. "It's okay, it's just a memory. It can't hurt you."

Not opening her eyes, Janie nodded. "I peek around the tree and see two more men. They're carrying two other men, one of them slung over a shoulder like a sack of flour, the other carried up in the man's arms like a sleeping child."

"Can you describe either of the kidnappers?"

Her brow furrowed in concentration, Janie cocked her head slightly as she turned her focus further inward. "One of the men was tall," she began slowly, "very tall. Taller than you or your captain, even. He's white, Caucasian I mean. I can't see his hair color, he's too far away. But I think it's light. The other is shorter, maybe my height, but he's very stocky. I'm sorry, I can't see anything else...no, wait! The tall one, the one carrying Professor Sandburg, he walked with a limp!"

"You're doing fine, Janie. Can you see the van?"

"Yes. It's backed into a space close to the trees. It's a van like repairmen use, with double doors that open in the back and no windows along the side. The short guy opens the back doors and dumps his man on the floor." She flushed and opened her eyes into Jim's intense blue stare. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very nice, but that's exactly what he did."

"Then that's what I need to know, Janie. What about Professor Sandburg?"

"The tall guy wasn't as rough with him. He laid him almost gently in the van and climbed in the back with him. He said something to the other guy; I couldn't really hear what it was, but he sounded English."

"Okay, tell me more about the van, Janie."

Janie leaned her head far back on her shoulders, stared for a moment into the leaves of the tree above her and closed her eyes again. "It's white, I think."

"Can you see the license plate?"

"No."

"Are there any markings anywhere on it?"

"I don't think so. But there is a long antenna attached to the bumper. I remember seeing it waving around when they pulled out of the parking lot. I think they went north on Campus Drive." Janie opened her eyes again. "Did any of that help?"

"Absolutely, Janie. You've been a huge help. Thank you for being willing to try this with me." Jim motioned to a nearby patrolman. "Would you please see that she gets home safely? You'll need to come down to the station tomorrow, uh later today, Janie, and make a formal statement. Can you do that?"

"I guess so, sure. Detective Ellison?" she called softly as he turned to go.

"Yes?"

"I hope you find Professor Sandburg. He seems like one of the good guys."

"He is, Janie, he is." One of the best. Jim walked over to Simon.

"Anything, Jim?"

"Some, not enough, but it's more than we had half an hour ago. I used one of Blair's relaxation techniques to walk her back through the scene. She remembered some things she didn't even realize she'd seen. She was able to give me a sketchy description of the two men and the van. She's also pretty sure Sandburg was one of the men who was taken." Jim reached up and futilely tried to massage the worsening kink out of the back of his neck. He suspected he would be nursing that same pain along until he found his partner. "I want to take a look at that parking lot, then I've got some computer work to do at the station."

Blair's head throbbed. It seemed as if he couldn't remember a time when it didn't throb. And he was cold. How long had he been a prisoner, tied to a chair, unable to move anything but his head? He lifted his chin from his chest and tried to assess his surroundings. Dimly lit by a lantern on the floor in a corner, a room with stone walls covered with moss and mildew greeted his unfocused gaze. Where was he? And why was he there? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying vainly to remember, but his throbbing head and churning stomach demanded and received his full attention. He groaned aloud as he struggled to calm the heaves that threatened to eject the meager contents of his stomach.

"One of the side effects of chloroform is, unfortunately, severe nausea."

Blair's head snapped up and his eyes flew open, his nausea temporarily forgotten. "Who...?" he mumbled, trying to focus his thoughts, his vision, anything.   He hadn't heard the man enter the room.

"I imagine you've got a hell of a headache, too, don't you? I really must apologize, but chloroform was the easiest sedative to obtain. It's not like you can just walk into a pharmacy and ask for a vial of Seconal, you know..."

Blair simply stared, unable to make any sense of the conversation. He focused, instead, on taking stock of his captor. He was very tall, taller than Jim or Simon, and very muscular. His hair was almost white and was worn in a militaristic cut even shorter than Jim's. The smile he wore as he casually conversed with Blair failed to reach his light green eyes. They were cold and hard and seemed to bore straight through to Blair's soul. He spoke with a slight English accent. "Who are you?" Blair managed, distressed at how weak he sounded.

"That doesn't really matter, now, does it, Blair? May I call you Blair?" As he talked, the man expertly checked Blair's bonds, then stood back to once again pin him with his gaze.

"I don't know you..."

"No, but you will. Patrick, on the other hand, knows me quite well, don't you, Patrick?" He raised a hand and Andy stumbled into Blair's line of vision, followed closely by a short, burly man. Andy's hands were tied behind his back and he was shirtless. Long, red welts criss-crossed his chest and large bruises covered his abdomen and face. One eye was almost swollen shut. "Ah, I see you've already become acquainted with Vincent. Such a fitting, strong-arm kind of name, isn't it? And he's really quite good at what he does."

"Andy!" Blair gasped in horror.

"Blair, I'm sorry..." Andy began, only to be silenced by a cuff from Vincent that sent him staggering into the wall.

"What have I told you about talking out of turn, Patrick? You always were one to go your own way and do your own thing, weren't you? Did you honestly think I wouldn't find you?"

"I hoped," Andy whispered.

"I don't suffer betrayal, Patrick, and you betrayed me. You left me in rather a bad position, you know."

"Marcus, I never..." Andy broke off as the tall man backhanded him. He dropped to his knees and struggled to regain his breath. Blood dripped from a fresh wound at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't make it worse by lying to me, Patrick! I hand picked you; I trained you personally. I groomed you to take my place, trusted you with my deepest secrets. And what did I receive in return? Betrayal!" Marcus literally shook with emotion as he spat out the word.

Blair was confused and the pain in his head refused to let him concentrate. What was the man talking about? Why did he keep calling Andy 'Patrick'? Andy, like Blair, was nothing more than an anthropologist, right? A perpetually broke, habitually curious, slightly geeky, insomniac doctoral candidate academic.

"I couldn't do it anymore, Marcus," Andy pleaded, throwing Blair's fuzzily conceived nothing-more-than-an-anthropologist theory right out the window. "I couldn't do it anymore," he repeated softly.

"And you'll pay the price for that betrayal," Marcus continued, as if Andy hadn't said a word. "You taught me a valuable lesson about trust, Patrick, one I won't soon forget. I learned the wisdom of separating business from pleasure, brains from brawn. That's why I selected Vincent as your replacement. He's nowhere near as bright and creative as you were, but he's as loyal as an old dog and totally devoted to me. And he most certainly isn't bogged down by any false sense of morality."

"But is he good in bed?" Andy spat out. Vincent roared with rage and slammed his doubled fists into the side of Andy's face. Andy was unconscious before he hit the floor.

"Not nearly as good as you, Patrick, but then few are," Marcus said softly as he turned to leave the room. As an afterthought, he turned back to Blair. "I'll be back to check on you later, Blair."

Nodding to Vincent, Marcus left the room. Vincent followed, taking the lantern and closing and locking the door. Silence and darkness blanketed the room, broken only by the pounding of Blair's heart. He was shaking, whether from the cold or the horrific events of the past few minutes, he couldn't tell. Oh God, what had he gotten mixed up in? Who, and what, had Andy been in his former life? What was it Andy 'couldn't do anymore'? What was going to happen to them? Did Jim even know he was missing yet and, if so, would he be able to find them...in time?

"Andy," he called softly, "are you okay, man?"

Andy didn't answer.

Blair dropped his chin to his chest again and closed his eyes. He had never felt so alone.

"See anything, Jim?" Simon asked hopefully as Jim scanned the parking lot. More than once Jim's Sentinel vision had picked up evidence missed by even the best forensics teams, and Simon was hoping it would happen again. They had precious little to go on so far.

Jim didn't answer for a moment and Simon wondered again if he was going to have to attempt bringing Jim out of a zone-out. Jim shuddered and shook his head sharply, sparing Simon the decision between using Sandburg's hand-on-the-back approach or Jim's left-hook-to-the-jaw solution. Simon was grateful for the reprieve. He was fairly sure the hand-on-the-back approach wouldn't work with anyone but Sandburg and he was absolutely certain that Jim wouldn't be nearly as open-minded about the left hook as he had let on.

"There're a couple of things, but I don't know how useful they're going to be."

"It's got to be more than we've got right now, Jim."

Jim knelt and ran his fingers across the asphalt. "See this, Simon?"

Simon bent at the waist and squinted at the path Jim's finger was tracing. "I can't see anything, Jim." He bent closer, but still could see nothing. "What is it?"

"Tire tracks in the tar. Right there, Simon. Can't you see them?"

Simon sighed and shook his head. "Now I know why Sandburg gets so frustrated with you. No, I can't see them, Jim. I have to wear glasses just to see like normal people do in the daytime. How the hell am I supposed to see what you can see when it's almost pitch black? The moon may look like a searchlight to you, Jim, but it's barely a nightlight to me! Okay, you see tire tracks. Anything distinctive about them? This is a parking lot, after all, with lots of vehicles coming and going."

"There're a couple of cuts in the left rear tire. They leave a very distinctive track."

"Can you follow it?"

Simon watched as Jim's face took on the slightly distant look that indicated he was using his enhanced senses. He tensed, waiting for the zone-out. Damn, how does Sandburg deal with this all the time? Because he knows what in the hell he's doing, that's how. Or at least he talks a good game. Simon shook himself mentally, realizing that he was falling into his own little zone-out. Gotta give that kid a lot more credit than I do.

Jim had moved across the parking lot, following a trail only he could see. Simon followed, lengthening his strides to catch up. When Jim reached the lot's intersection with the main thoroughfare, he stopped and frowned. Dropping once more into a crouch, he scanned the street in both directions. "Damn it!" he swore, slapping the ground once with his hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Even at this hour, enough traffic's passed to obscure the tracks. I can't follow it. Damn!" Jim swung back toward Hargrove Hall. "I'm going to the station. I need to see what I can dig up on Andy Jennings."

"Why Jennings?"

"Unless someone is out to get me through Blair, Jennings has to be the key, Simon. Otherwise, why take him with Blair?"

"How about just because they were together?"

"I don't buy it, Simon. There're too many other good opportunities to catch Blair alone. All they had to do was wait till he went to his car to go home."

"Pardon me for playing devil's advocate here, Jim, but I could make the same argument for Jennings. If he was the target, why take Blair too? Why not wait until Jennings was alone?"

"I don't know, Simon. I just have this gut feeling that, this time, Sandburg wasn't the target. He just got caught in the middle of something."

"How does he do it, Jim?"

"Do what?"

"Manage to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"I don't know, Simon, but he's got one hell of a track record, doesn't he?"

Blair raised his head and groaned softly as his neck muscles protested. Must have fallen asleep at my desk again, he reasoned fuzzily. He started to reach up to rub his eyes and panicked for a moment when he found he couldn't move his arms. Then it all came flooding back - the kidnapping, Marcus, Vincent, and ... Andy!

"Andy?" he called softly, hoping his fellow anthropologist had regained consciousness. "Andy, wake up, man." What if Vincent had killed him? Blair's heart pounded as he called again, "Andy!" He breathed a sigh of relief when Andy groaned. "C'mon, Andy, talk to me, man!"

"Blair?" Andy moaned as awareness returned.

"Yeah, it's me. Jeez, Andy, you were beginning to scare me, man. I thought maybe you were dead!"

Andy struggled to a sitting position. "I am dead, Blair. Or at least I will be when Marcus gets done with me."

"What's going on here, Andy? What was he talking about?"

"It's a long story, Blair, a real long story."

"Well, it looks like I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, Andy. What say you give it a try?"

Andy leaned against the wall, grimacing as he tried to find the least painful position. "I'm really sorry you got mixed up in this, Blair. I thought I'd put it all behind me." Realizing that he wasn't making any sense to Blair, Andy started over. "How long have we known each other, Blair, four, five years?"

Blair nodded, then realized that, unlike Jim, Andy couldn't see him in the darkness. "Yeah, about."

"Well, I had a whole other life before I came to Rainier. One I can hardly believe myself sometimes..."

Blair sat quietly, allowing Andy time to collect his thoughts and continue. "I'll try to give you the abridged version... I was a great big Whoops to a couple of high school kids who were sure it could never happen to them. But to their credit, with the optimism of youth, they decided to do the right thing. Their families were furious and threatened to disown them if my mother didn't get an abortion. They refused and ran away. I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that real life stepped in and dealt them some nasty blows. After a couple of years trying to hold a job and raise a family without a high school diploma, my father threw in the towel and took off for parts unknown. I've never met him, don't even know who he is. My mother was alone, broke, and desperate. We lived off welfare. Then she met this guy who was going to change her life. Well, that's what he did, alright. He beat her up regularly, got her hooked on drugs, then left. Who knows, maybe he hooked up with my father somewhere. Anyway, it's tough to support a $200 a day habit on a welfare check, so my mother took the only road she thought was open to her. I don't have to spell it out for you do I, Blair?"

"No," Blair said softly. He closed his eyes; Andy's story could so easily have been his own. But Naomi had been a bit older and wiser when she'd had Blair, and while their life had certainly been interesting, Naomi had thankfully managed to avoid the pitfalls of drug addiction and prostitution.

Andy continued, "Hooking paid the bills and kept us going, just barely. But the one thing we weren't short on was love. That woman loved me -- I never doubted it for a minute. She made sure I went to school every day; said I was going to be somebody. But the drugs and the johns were taking their toll. She died when I was 10. I ended up in a series of foster homes ...not many people want to adopt a half-grown kid, you know. I kept up my schooling, maybe as sort of a tribute to my mother or something, I don't know. Or, who knows, maybe I just didn't want to turn out like my father. Anyway, one day, when I was 15, my caseworker and this guy came to my foster home . He was the biggest guy I'd ever seen, scared the shit out of me. They said he'd adopted me. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I'd never even seen the dude before and suddenly I belonged to him?"

"How could that happen, Andy? I mean, aren't there all kinds of tests potential parents have to take, like background checks, personality matches, physicals and stuff? And, if you'd never met him, how did they know you'd even like him? That's crazy, Andy!"

Andy laughed sharply. "That's one of the reasons I like you, Blair. You're a brilliant anthropologist, you've studied some of the most brutal and complex cultures in the world and yet you're still so naive about your own society. Money talks, Blair. And money is one thing Marcus has in abundance."

"Marcus adopted you?"

"No, he bought me. I found out later that there was no adoption paperwork. In fact, there was no paperwork at all. As far as Child Protective Services was concerned, they never had a case file on me."

"Bought you?" Blair was horrified. "Why?"

"He thought I had 'potential'. See, on the surface Marcus was a successful businessman. He ran an import/export business and traveled around the world in search of new and exotic treasures. But what he was really doing was buying and selling government secrets, with a little smuggling on the side. He was looking for a protégé and he found me. I never did understand why he chose such a young kid, though. It's not like he couldn't find an adult with no scruples, willing to do just about anything for big money..." Andy trailed off for a moment. "He was good to me, though. I never wanted for anything. Like I said, Marcus has lots of money. I attended private schools in Europe, spent my summers and holidays in an Italian villa, and got anything I wanted. It was a pretty cool life for a kid that started out with nothing. But there was a price to pay, as I learned later. When I was old enough to understand, Marcus began initiating me into the legitimate side of his world. I traveled with him on his buying junkets and learned everything there was to know about the import/export business. When I was 18, he introduced me to the shadier side of life. I became his 'runner', transporting stolen top secret information to the Soviet and Chinese governments." Andy smiled wryly. "Marcus is an equal opportunity traitor."

"You were a spy?" Blair's face clearly reflected his disbelief. "But you're an anthropologist!"

"Well, it's not like the two are mutually exclusive, Blair. Just think about it; customs and the government watch the import/export business like a hawk. But, as an anthropologist, I was given only a perfunctory glance. It was the best of both worlds for me. I loved anthropology. I graduated with honors from Cambridge and made a name for myself as a physical anthropologist."

"I know," Blair murmured, clearly disturbed by Andy's story. "I've read your bio. You're awesome."

"Be careful when choosing heroes, Blair, they're bound to let you down. Anyway, I traveled the world on my archeological digs, toting along a few government secrets, usually in the form of a microdot. Somewhere along the way I'd meet up with my counterpart, pass him the dot and be on my way. What could be simpler? Many times I brought back information hidden in precious artifacts that got only a cursory glance."

"But didn't they know about your association with Marcus? If they watch importers, wouldn't they question the connection?"

"They did at first, but Marcus is very careful, Blair. When I first started traveling as an anthropologist, I was clean. I was the epitome of the dedicated scientist. I was routinely stopped and questioned and my artifacts were searched, but they never found anything. I was always patient, cooperative and slightly embarrassed. Worked wonders. After a while they left me alone. That's when I started earning my keep. Marcus was in heaven. I was carrying on the family name, as it were. Our association...and our relationship...flourished."

Blair shook his head. "A spy. Andy, I can't believe it, man. So, the whole time you've been at Rainier you've been spying?" Blair's eyes grew round. "Oh God, I've shipped artifacts for you! Shit, man! Have you been using me to avoid the authorities?" Blair's concern was replaced by anger at the possibility that he'd been duped into doing something illegal.

"No! No, Blair, I swear I never did that. Let me finish, please."

Blair only stared, his jaw set in an unconscious imitation of Jim. Andy plunged on with his story. "Marcus is not only rich and careful, Blair, he's ruthless. You don't get in his way and survive. About six years ago Marcus's first real competition appeared in the form of an Italian named Guiseppe Montrelli. Like Marcus, he was an importer. Also, like Marcus, he'd sell his soul and his government's secrets to the highest bidder. He and Marcus began competing for the world's espionage business...like there wasn't enough to go around. Needless to say, Marcus didn't take too kindly to the competition and dead bodies started turning up in the Venice canals. Gruesome bodies, too, usually dismembered, generally missing their heads."

Blair blanched. "Did you ever..." He couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence.

"Kill anyone?" Andy supplied for him. He turned away and closed his eyes. "Like I said, Blair, it's a brutal world we live in. I can only tell you that I never killed anyone in cold blood." At Blair's stunned gasp he snapped. "Hasn't your precious hero Jim ever killed anyone?"

"Only in self defense, man!"

"Well, mine were in self defense, too." Suddenly Andy's shoulders slumped and his eyes became haunted and aged. "I killed two men, Blair, both from Montrelli's organization. They'd been following me, planning to steal the microdot I was delivering to a Chinese national. I got lucky, that's all I can say. They jumped me in a dark alley in Shanghai. I don't even remember how it all happened, really. It was really cramped quarters, so they couldn't both get to me at once...a fatal mistake on their part. I was rolling around on the ground with one of them while the other tried to get a clear shot. But it was dark and the alley was small, so I guess he just never could get at me. I managed to get the gun away from the guy on the ground and I just turned around and shot his partner. I didn't even aim. I just pointed and fired. Then I jumped up and shot the guy on the ground. Like I said, I don't know how I did it. I just knew I was fighting for my life." Andy turned sad eyes to his friend, "Believe me, Blair, I didn't want to kill them. I had to kill them." When Blair didn't answer, Andy continued, "That sort of turned the tide for me. Espionage is one thing, murder is another."

Blair couldn't really separate the two, so he kept silent.

"I confronted Marcus, demanded to know if the bodies in the canals were his doing. He laughed, Blair. He actually laughed and asked me if I liked his handiwork. It made me sick to think of it, the man I'd grown up with..." Andy's voice cracked, "...loved, being so brutal. When I told him about the men I killed, he slapped me on the back and congratulated me! I realized I never really knew the man. I also knew I had to get out. I may be a lot of things, Blair, but murderer isn't one of them. My last run was to Moscow -- détente hasn't put a dent in the spy business. I never got there. I booked the flight, then booked another flight to Switzerland under another name. I booked a series of flights around the world, trying to cover my trail. I changed my name, bought falsified documents and paid a fortune to recreate my entire life under that new name. I applied to several universities and landed a position at Rainier. I left without a word. Until today, I've never spoken to Marcus."

"And you kept the microdot I'd entrusted to your care."

The captives' heads snapped to the door. Neither had heard Marcus approach. He leaned against the doorway, the seething anger in his eyes belying the casual pose. "As I said before, Patrick, you betrayed me. What did you do with it?"

"I destroyed it."

"You're lying again, Patrick. Where is the microdot?"

"I'm not lying, Marcus. I destroyed it two years ago, when I was sure I was free."

"Free? From me, Patrick? You should have known you'd never be free of me. You belong to me, remember? Now, save us both a lot of pain and trouble and tell me what you've done with the microdot."

"I belong to no one. And I destroyed the microdot. What do you care now, anyway? It's been six years. The information on that dot is of no value to you now."

"That's where you're wrong, Patrick. That dot contained the names of all U.S. double agents for the last ten years. It may not be current, but it's still valuable. Besides, my reputation is at stake here. You embarrassed me, made me look like a fool. I don't like that."

Blair shivered at the predatory tone of Marcus's voice. The man was evil, he had no doubt. Marcus noticed the reaction and stepped to Blair's side. He reached out, softly stroked a curl near Blair's face and smiled cruelly. "Frightened, Blair? For Patrick or yourself? You don't need to be frightened of me, boy, I like you. And to those I like, I can be quite...kind." He suddenly grasped Blair's chin and wrenched it up, forcing Blair's eyes to meet his. "I would, however, worry about Patrick."

Jim leaned back and tiredly rubbed his eyes. From his office, Simon caught the gesture and came to his door. "Anything, Jim?" God, how many times in the past few hours have I asked that same question?

"I dunno, Simon. I've been checking up on Andy Jennings..."

"Find anything interesting?"

"No, and that's what's bothering me."

"What do you mean?"

"The guy's clean as the driven snow, Simon, not even a parking ticket."

"Not everyone has to have a criminal record, Jim. So the guy's careful and law abiding."

"He's almost too clean, Simon. I can't put my finger on it, but something just doesn't feel right about him."

"What are you trying to say, Jim?"

"I think Andy's manufactured, Simon. He's a front."

"A front?" Simon's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "For what? C'mon, Jim, I'm concerned about Sandburg, too, but don't you think you're reaching here?"

"Simon, I spent years in Covert Ops. I saw lots of guys come and go. It wasn't uncommon for the ones that "got away" to disappear completely, never to be heard from again."

"Well, what did you expect, Jim, that they'd start up a Covert Ops fan club and invite you to be a charter member? Just like you, they wanted to get away. They went out and established new lives, ones as far away from their previous life as they could get. Just because you chose to stay in law enforcement doesn't mean that everyone else took the same path."

"That's what I'm saying, sir, I think Jennings is covering up a past. At this point I don't know what it is he's covering up, but since we haven't received a ransom note on either Blair or him, I'd guess it's not good."

"I still can't help but think you're reaching on this, Jim."

"I have to reach, Simon, Blair's life may depend on it." Jim dragged a hand across his short-cropped hair and stretched tired shoulder muscles. Misaligned vertebrae snapped back into place with sharp protestations.

"Jim, why don't you go home and get some rest? It's been a long night."

"I can't, Simon. I've got to keep digging."

"Jim, no one wants to find Sandburg more than I do, but you've got to get some rest." Simon's voice dropped to Sentinel-level and he shifted his gaze around the bullpen to ensure no one was watching their exchange. "You've got to keep your senses sharp in case something breaks. I've said it before, I am not a Guide and I'd just as soon not have to try to bring you out of a zone-out in the middle of a firefight or something!"

"Simon," Jim began to protest, but Simon cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Home, Ellison, and that's an order. I don't want to see you back here before 8:00 tomorrow...hell, this morning! If something breaks, you'll be the first to know." His demeanor softened and he turned sympathetic eyes on the distraught Sentinel. "I promise."

Jim stared belligerently at his computer screen for a long moment, then sighed in defeat. "Okay, Simon, but I want to know the second anything changes." Jim stood slowly, loathe to acknowledge his weariness.

Simon reached out and gripped Jim's shoulder in a show of support. "You know you will, Jim. Try to get some rest. Sandburg's gonna need you fresh on this case."

It was a low blow and Simon knew it, but he also knew it was one of the few incentives that would motivate Jim to actually try to get some rest. He watched Ellison's back as he slowly moved to the elevator, clearly reading the unspoken signals of the depth of Jim's concern: the slouched shoulders, the short, almost shuffling steps, the slight droop of the head. Simon turned to give some last minute instructions to the detectives who would continue to follow their few leads throughout the night before he, too, left for the evening. Maybe he'd stop by Joan's to check on Daryl.

Jim barely remembered the drive back to the loft and was almost startled to find himself standing in front of the door to the apartment he and Sandburg shared. With fatigue-clumsy fingers, he fumbled the key into the lock and pushed open the door. The loft's silence was almost palpable. When had he become so dependent on Sandburg's "noise" -- the scratching of his pen, the seemingly endless clicking of his computer keyboard, the soft mutterings borne of his ever-active mind, the steady thump of his heart? Jim shook off the morose thoughts and tried to make preparations for returning to bed. Shedding his coat and hanging it neatly on the coat rack, then placing his keys carefully in the basket by the door, he attempted to take a measure of comfort from his long-established rituals. Starting toward the stairs, Jim stopped at the couch. Somehow it seemed wrong, almost callous, to go upstairs and go to bed as if Sandburg were only out for a late night. Jim abruptly changed direction, fell heavily onto the couch, taking only enough time to remove his shoes before dragging the ever-present afghan across his body. He was certain he wouldn't be able to sleep, but Blair's scent permeated the woven cover, soothing Jim's jangled nerves and lulling him into a restless sleep.

Four hours later, the ringing phone jarred Jim from a dream in which he was searching through a dense forest for Blair, calling his name repeatedly to no avail. Dragging a hand across his face, he pushed himself toward full wakefulness as he thumbed the 'Talk' button on the cordless phone.

"Ellison!" he barked.

"Jim, we've caught a break."

Fully awake, now, Jim's heart began to pound. "What kind of break, Simon? Have they found them?"

"Slow down, Jim! No, we haven't found them, but we've got a witness who's reported seeing a van that matches the description at a small country store in the mountains." Knowing that Jim's hopes had been dashed, Simon continued quickly. "I thought you might want to check it out with me. It's the best lead we've had so far."

"You thought right, Simon. I'll be there in 20 minutes."

"No, Jim, I've already arranged for a chopper to give us a ride up to the Lodgepole Park, where there'll be a car waiting for us. The loft is on the way to the airport, so I'll pick you up, it's faster. Fifteen minutes, I'm already halfway there." After a heavy pause, Simon offered, "We'll find him, Jim."

"Damn right, Simon," Jim agreed as he disconnected the call. He had fifteen minutes to prepare and there was a lot to do. First, a shower. Jim stripped, then grimaced as he stepped into the too-cold water, letting the spray wash the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. Second, food. Jim quickly gathered items necessary for an overnight stay in the woods. Never hurts to be prepared, he mused, shoving the supplies into a large duffel bag. Lastly, protection. Jim assembled a variety of weaponry, including a hunting knife and extra ammo; a supply of plasti-cuffs; a length of rope; blankets and sleeping bags. As he finished pushing all of the supplies, except the sleeping bags, into the duffel, he smelled Simon's cigar and moved to open the loft door. Simon stood, startled, his hand poised to knock. "Damn it, Jim, I'm never going to get used to you doing that!"

"Stop smoking those cigars and maybe you won't have to, Simon," Jim managed to joke back. Turning serious once again, he reached back into the loft, tossed his captain his keys, and hefted the hastily packed duffel to one shoulder, the sleeping bags to the other. "I'm ready."

Simon eyed Jim's load warily, "What's all that?"

"Supplies," Jim responded succinctly. "Just call me a Boy Scout, sir. You never know what might happen out there." He shrugged his laden shoulders. "I just want to be ready."

"Biggest damn Boy Scout I ever saw," Simon grumbled, using Jim's keys to secure the loft. But he was secretly berating himself for not having thought to bring supplies as well. Guess that's what comes from all those years in Covert Ops, huh, Jim? And surviving in the Peruvian jungle for 18 months. Now that there was some action to be taken, Simon noted Jim's regained posture -- the square set of his shoulders, the determined stride -- and felt his own confidence that they would find Sandburg, safe, rise

"Man, Jim, any time now, buddy, any time now would be good," Blair muttered to himself. He had no idea how long they'd been prisoners, but he did know he was hungry and thirsty. How long ago had he and Andy been headed for the Student U for a snack? It seemed like years. And somehow he didn't believe Marcus would be forthcoming with dinner. And frankly, Marcus' promise to return later gave Blair the willies anyway. He'd gladly forfeit food and drink to avoid looking into those cruel eyes again.

"You say something, Blair?" Andy queried, roused from his own reverie of pain and introspection.

"Just muttering, Andy." Blair tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but his bonds allowed for minimal mobility. Vincent had done his job well. "Andy?"

"Yeah."

"Were you telling the truth earlier? Did you really destroy the microdot?"

"Yes, I did, Blair. I honestly didn't know what was on it. I was sure it was no longer of any value. I'm sorry."

"Doesn't really matter whether you have it or not, man, I'm pretty sure Marcus is gonna kill us anyway."

There didn't seem to be an appropriate response, so Andy offered none.

Jim leapt from the helicopter before it completely settled on the landing pad, Simon close on his heels. Their packs bouncing against their backs, the two policemen jogged quickly to the ranger station.

Jim dropped back to let his captain take the lead as a ranger stepped through the station door. "Captain Banks?"

"I'm Banks." Simon stepped forward and offered his hand, which the ranger shook warmly. "This is Detective Ellison, Sandburg's partner." Jim reluctantly stuck out his hand, impatient with the exchange of niceties.

"Detective," the ranger acknowledged, grasping Ellison's hand warmly. "Wilson Abernathy, head ranger. I'm sorry about your partner."

"Thanks." Getting immediately down to business, he asked, "Where was the van spotted?"

Taking no offense at Jim's abrupt manner, the ranger crooked a finger, leading them into the ranger station. "I've got a map ready for you." Crossing to a table in the kitchenette, Abernathy spread a government-issue map of the park across the flat surface and held it in place with a variety of shakers and condiment bottles. "We're here." He pointed to a highlighted area on the map. "The van was spotted here, at a small roadside store." His finger moved farther up the highlighted road. "About an hour's drive from here."

"What's up there?" Simon demanded, trying to assess the perils of the pursuit.

"Not much, frankly. Based on this sighting, I've been trying to think where they might be hiding out, but there just isn't much up there. We don't have any cabins or RV parks that high up. There are a few private residences up there, built before the park was commissioned, but we've already checked them out. Nothing."

Jim studied the map. "Anybody living there?"

"Sure, most of these folks live in the park year round."

"You're sure about everybody?"

"Yeah, I've known them all for years. Well, three or four of the homes are rented out for the season, even folks who live in the mountains need a vacation, you know. But I've checked with the renters and they haven't seen anything unusual and we haven't noticed anything unusual with them, either."

"We gotta get moving, Simon. We're wasting time Sandburg and Jennings may not have."

Simon flashed an understanding look at Jim and an apologetic one at Abernathy.

"We've got a vehicle ready for you, Captain. The store owner knows you're coming. We also took the liberty of including a set of walkie-talkies so you can keep in touch with us in case you'll be out overnight. Cell phones are pretty useless in these mountains."

"Thanks, that was good thinking." Simon wondered why he was the only one who hadn't planned for an overnight stay in the mountains.

Handing Simon the keys, Abernathy followed them out to the Jeep. Jim quickly stowed their gear in the back and climbed into the front passenger seat. "Good luck, guys," Abernathy offered sincerely, shaking their hands once again.

Jim was silent on the drive up to the small store. His eyes intently searched the road ahead and the woods on either side of the road. He was torn between his need to reach the store as quickly as possible and the fearful thought that his Guide might be lying by the side of the road, hurt, and they'd drive right past him. He resisted his impulse to demand that Simon drive faster.

Simon divided his attention between keeping the jeep on the road and making sure Jim didn't zone. He'd worked with the two long enough to know precisely what Jim was thinking and admitted to himself that he shared his friend's concern. The lead simply had to pan out. They were running out of time. Sandburg was running out of time.

"The store's just ahead," Jim announced.

Simon refrained from asking how he knew. He was a Sentinel. He knew.

As Simon brought the car to a stop outside the store, Jim pushed the passenger door open. "I'm going to take a look around while you talk to the owner. If it's the same van, I should be able to find that tread mark in this soft soil." Simon merely nodded before making his way to the small, well-kept store.

"Can I help you?" A rotund man with a ready smile came from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a butcher's apron tied around his waist. "I'm Tom Simmons. This is my store."

"Mr. Simmons," Simon acknowledged politely, briefly clasping the hand that was extended to him. "Captain Banks, Cascade PD. I understand you may have seen a vehicle we're looking for?"

"Sure did, Captain, sure did. I'm sure it's the one, although there must be thousands of white vans running around these mountains. It's the one, I just know it."

"Can you describe it for me, Mr. Simmons?" Simon had his notebook at the ready, pen poised.

"Sure. It was white, of course, with two doors that opened in the back. There wasn't a door on the side, like those leisure vans have. And it had a long antenna on the back bumper, with a green tennis ball stuck on it so it wouldn't clang against the van, you know?"

Simon nodded. "What about the driver, can you describe him?"

"He was a sturdy guy. Short, but built like a fireplug, you know? He had arms the size of a side of beef. Dark hair, medium length, brown eyes. Mean looking eyes. Scary fella, let me tell you." Simmons craned his neck to peer around Simon out the window of his store. "That fella with you?"

Simon turned to follow his gaze. Jim was kneeling in the dusty parking area, closely examining the ground, then occasionally peering off into the distance. "Detective Ellison," he stated simply.

"What's he doing?"

"Looking for clues." It sounded hokey, even to Simon's ears, but Simmons ate it up, as the police captain suspected he would.

"Wow. Just like on TV."

Simon shot Simmons a look. "We'd like to think we do it a bit better than on TV, Mr. Simmons."

Properly chagrined, Simmons stammered, "Well, sure, I mean, of course..." he trailed off, obviously not finding the appropriate words.

"We'll just have a look around for a while, Mr. Simmons, then we'll be on our way. Thanks for the information, you may be instrumental in saving two lives."

Simmons beamed. "Glad to help, Captain. Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

Simon nodded then went out into the parking area to join his best detective. "What've you got, Jim?"

Jim turned excited eyes to his captain. "It's the same tread mark, Simon. They were here! Thank God there hasn't been much traffic up this road or they might have obliterated the tracks. As dry as it's been, I can follow the dust tracks up the trail." Jim headed up the trail, calling to Simon over his shoulder, "Follow me in the car, Simon. I don't want to take a chance on missing a turn and ruining the van's tracks with our own."

So the two men worked their way up the trail, Jim moving as quickly as he dared, Simon slowly following in the car, both men hoping against hope that they weren't too late.

Blair's head snapped up as the sound of the opening door invaded his slumber. He hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but what else was there to do when you were tied to a chair in a room that was as black as pitch and you were trying to ignore your body's demand for water? He had given up trying to talk to Andy. As time had passed, Andy had grown increasingly morose and barely responded to Blair anymore.

The bright light that suddenly flooded the room forced both prisoners to squeeze their eyes shut and groan in pain. Marcus, holding a brightly glowing lantern, entered the room with Vincent close on his heels, holding a flashlight. Marcus carefully set the lantern on the floor and came to stand in front of Andy. "Alright, Patrick, I'm weary of your games. Where is the dot?"

Andy stared at the floor and didn't raise his head to answer. "I told you, Marcus. I destroyed it. I didn't realize it was of any value anymore."

Marcus closed his eyes in frustration and sighed. Then he moved to Blair's side and bent low to look Blair in the eyes -- eyes only able to squint painfully at him as they struggled to adjust to the sudden light. "What about you, Blair?"

"What about me?" Blair was sure he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Where is the dot, Blair?"

"How the hell should I know?" Blair retorted. "I didn't even know there was a dot until a while ago! You heard Andy telling me his life story, man. Why would he do that if I had the dot?"

"I'm sure he didn't tell you what it was, Blair. But he did give you something for safekeeping, didn't he? Did he tell you it was a matter of life and death?  Because it is, I assure you.  His."

"You're crazy, man!  Andy's never asked me to keep anything for him! You don't know what in the hell you're talking about!"

Marcus reached out and stroked Blair's cheek, causing the young man to flinch away. "You've got fire, I'll give you that, Blair." Marcus turned to Andy. "He reminds me a great deal of you, Patrick." With a suddenness that startled Blair, Marcus spun, grabbed a handful of Blair's hair, wrenched his head back, and leaned in close to Blair's ear. "You'll make a wonderful toy." The eyes that held Blair's seemed to bore into his soul, sending chills throughout his body. Marcus's warm breath on Blair's cheek threatened to nauseate him.

"Go to hell," he managed to spit between clenched teeth.

"Most likely, Blair, but not just yet. You'll come to love me, trust me."

Blair fought to drag his gaze from Marcus's cruel stare. He was terrified, but he couldn't let this maniac know that. He had to hang on until Jim got there. That Jim wouldn't get there in time never occurred to Blair. Jim always arrived in the nick of time. This time won't be any different. Will it?

However, salvation came from a different direction. "Damn it, Marcus, leave him alone!" Andy shouted, managing to struggle to his feet. He threw himself awkwardly across the room, crashing into Marcus, dragging both of them to the ground.

Vincent roared in rage. Grabbing Andy, he dragged him from atop Marcus and flung him viciously against the wall. Stunned, Andy slid to the floor. Vincent moved to continue his abuse, murder in his eyes, but Marcus stopped him with a wave of his hand. "No, Vincent." Like a well-trained dog, Vincent stopped in his tracks and simply stared at Andy with open hatred. "This time the pleasure is mine."

With a feigned sigh of distress, Marcus stepped into the hallway, only to return a moment later with an evil-looking machete in his hand. He stood in front of Andy. "I gave you every opportunity. I took you into my home, raised you as my son, made you my lover. I gave you everything you ever wanted, ever needed, and you betrayed me. For that, I cannot forgive you, Patrick." Taking a deep breath, Marcus raised the machete above his head. "You insist you do not have the dot.  That is a lie you will take with you to the grave."

At the same moment, Andy's eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening. His mouth moved, but his terror rendered him speechless. Blair could only watch in horrified silence as the machete sliced through the air toward Andy's head, the razor-like edge of the blade producing an almost whistling sound. With a sickening snap, then a wet, meaty sound, the huge blade cut through the muscles and tendons in Andy's neck. With the same horrified expression it held in life, the severed head toppled to strike the floor with a gruesome thud.

Jim raised his hand as a stop signal when his enhanced vision picked up a cabin a few hundred yards ahead. The trail led directly to the cabin. There was no sign of the van, but it could have been hidden behind the cabin, which was well sheltered by the heavy forest. Turning toward the car, Jim drew his hand across his throat in a cutting motion that Simon correctly interpreted as an instruction to shut off the car engine.

Sliding quietly from the car, Simon moved up the trail to crouch beside the Sentinel. During the tracking process, Simon had shifted from viewing Jim as his best detective to viewing him as The Sentinel of the Great City, as the Chopec tribe had called him. He'd seen Ellison's senses in use before, but this display, combined with the single-mindedness of his mission had him truly awed.

"Can you sense Sandburg?" he whispered, knowing that Jim would be seeking his partner's heartbeat inside the cabin. He'd been impressed, but not surprised, when the partners had shared Jim's ability to effortlessly pick Sandburg's heartbeat out of a crowd. He was swiftly taking the fantastic for granted and wondered what the rest of Major Crimes would think if, or when, they learned the truth about the partnership and Jim's astonishing arrest record.

For a moment Simon thought Jim hadn't heard him and considered repeating his question. But as he opened his mouth to do so, Jim shook his head sharply once, and Simon realized that Jim had had his hearing extended. "No. I can't pick him up, Simon, but he's got to be in there." The tire tracks have the same distinctive pattern that I saw at the University, and the store owner's description of the drivers match the description we got from Janie Harcourt. He's here."

Simon felt it prudent not to bring up the fact that Jim couldn't detect Blair's heartbeat, trying to convince himself it had nothing to do with the fact that Blair was probably dead. He shook off the thought. One crisis at a time, Banks, he admonished himself.

Lost in his own thoughts for a moment, Simon almost failed to notice Jim's silent departure. Shaking himself a bit, Simon moved to follow, surprisingly quiet for such a large man. As they neared the cabin, Jim turned to Simon and motioned him closer. "I can't hear anything," he whispered next to his captain's ear, "but the van is here. I can just catch a glimpse of it behind the cabin." Unable to see that far, Simon took Jim's word for it.

"How do you want to play it?" Simon asked, quickly realizing that Jim's abilities had to place him in charge of this potentially volatile situation.

Ellison flashed his captain a grateful glance, accepting the tacit role reversal."We'll move in closer and see if I can pick up anything. If not, we go in."

"That's not much of a plan, Jim."

"It's all I've got right now, sir. If you've got any better ideas, I'm all ears." Jim grimaced at his unintentional pun.

"I haven't got a clue, Jim. Your senses are going to have to direct this operation, I'm afraid."

Jim nodded his agreement and began to silently approach the cabin, reminding Simon of a wild cat on the prowl.

Within minutes, Jim and Simon were leaning against the wall of the cabin, Jim extending his senses to try to find some evidence that his missing partner was inside. Simon wisely held his tongue until Jim leaned in close. "I'm picking up muffled heartbeats and voices. I'm pretty sure one of the heartbeat's is Blair's, but it seems too distant to be inside the cabin."

"A nearby cave, maybe?" Simon offered, again impressed at Ellison's ability to identify Sandburg's heartbeat. A heartbeat was a heartbeat...wasn't it?

The well-muscled detective easily gained his feet. "I can't tell. I mean, it appears to be coming from inside the cabin, and yet it's too distant to be inside the cabin. It doesn't make any sense..." Ellison broke off as his enhanced hearing locked onto his Guide's rapidly thumping heartbeat. His jaw clenched, he turned to Banks, desperation in his eyes. "Something's up, Simon! We've got to get in there and figure out what's going on. Blair's terrified."

Simon silently slid his sidearm from its holster at the small of his back and chambered the first bullet in the magazine. "Ready."

Jim led the way around the cabin to the front door, carefully peeking through the windows they passed. There was too much on the line for him to depend solely on his enhanced senses. Sometimes the old fashioned way was still the best. At the front door, Jim reached out and lightly grasped the doorknob, keeping well out of the line of any fire that might erupt from inside the cabin. The latch slid free of the jamb and Jim pushed the door open with a gentle shove. Both men winced when rusty hinges protested loudly, but they still moved quietly into the small cabin. It took only a moment, Sentinel or not, to confirm that the cabin was empty. Jim stared at the walls in frustration. He could still hear his Guide's wildly thumping heartbeat, so he had to be somewhere nearby.

Jim's eyes fell upon a throw rug in front of the cabin's small fireplace. Zooming in his enhanced sight, he easily detected the scuff marks of recent foot traffic, the nails permanently affixing the rug to the floor, as well as the almost invisible seams in the floor that surrounded the rug. He bent for a closer look.

"Oh, c'mon, Jim," Simon scoffed. "That's the oldest trick in the book. It only happens in the movies."

"Then you'd better start practicing your lines, Simon, because this is definitely a trap door. And this is where the voices are coming from."

Jim grabbed a handful of rug in each fist and pulled up with a grunt, his powerful shoulder muscles straining with the effort. The heavy door rose enough for Simon to slip his hands in the resulting crack to help Jim raise it the rest of the way. A dark line of steps led down from the door opening into a black well that must have been a corridor. Immediately the voices became clearer and the heartbeats louder. Jim nodded at Simon to indicate they were on the right track, then began to move cautiously down the steps, wary of loose boards that might announce their arrival. Simon followed, gun at the ready.

Jim paused at the base of the steps. ~Damn it, Marcus, leave him alone!~ Jim's hearing homed in on the unfamiliar voice, so close to the reassuringly familiar heartbeat. He continued following the voice, Simon at his heels, feeling a profound sense of urgency. He would have been hard-pressed to explain it, but somehow Jim knew things were nearing a critical juncture. ~I gave you every opportunity. I took you into my home, raised you as my son, made you my lover. I gave you everything you ever wanted, ever needed, and you betrayed me. For that, I cannot forgive you, Patrick.~ Jim quickened the pace, then suddenly staggered and clutched at the wall.

Simon was immediately at his side. "What is it, Jim?" he whispered hoarsely. "What happened?" Jim's reaction frankly terrified Simon. Was it Blair? Had they found him just minutes too late?

"Blood," Jim managed to gasp. "So much blood!"

Simon didn't want to ask the next question, but couldn't stop himself. "Whose blood, Jim? Is it Blair's?"

Jim shook his head. "No."

Simon's relief was intense, but short-lived, as Jim took off down the corridor at a dead run, caution thrown to the wind. Simon had no choice but to follow, hoping he didn't trip in the dark.

The room fell silent. Vincent stared in fascination at Andy's headless body, sprawled across the floor. Marcus calmly cleaned his machete by dragging it slowly across Andy's lifeless legs. Blair, still bound securely to the chair, couldn't drag his eyes from the carnage before him. This once vibrant human being had, in a single stroke, a mere fraction of a second, been turned into nothing more than a lump of dead flesh. His head had struck the floor and rolled to lay just beyond Blair's feet, the sightless eyes impaling him.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Blair. Don't cross me. Ever. You interest me right now. Don't believe for a minute that will stop me from dealing you the same fate if you don't tell me what I want to know." Vincent's touch on his arm brought Marcus' attention back to him.

"Someone's coming," he said succinctly.

Marcus frowned as he, too, picked up the pounding footsteps. How could anyone have found them in this remote, rugged cabin where they'd discovered the elaborate bomb shelter with its labyrinth of tunnels? They'd killed the reclusive owner, had efficiently disposed of his body, and had been so careful to cover their tracks. Where had they slipped up? Marcus quickly considered their options. "We must leave, Vincent. We don't know how many of them there are, and I prefer to live to fight another day."

"What about him?" Vincent asked, pointing to the still-shocked Blair.

"Leave him...for now. We don't have time to take him with us." He quickly moved to Blair's side and cupped the young man's chin in his hand. "I'll be back for you, Blair. I want what's mine, including you." Blair's eyes never left the corpse. Marcus, following the line of Blair's sight, smiled slightly. "Sweet dreams tonight, Blair." Then, motioning for Vincent to follow, Marcus fled the room and dashed down the corridor in the opposite direction from which Jim and Simon soon appeared.

The two policemen were appalled by the sight that greeted them. Blood covered the floor and one wall of the small room that was lit only by a small lantern sitting in the corner. A decapitated corpse lay sprawled across the floor, covered in blood. The corpse's head lay on the floor a short distance from the body. The coppery smell of blood was horrific even to Simon's unenhanced senses; he could only imagine what Jim must be dealing with.

But Jim hardly noticed the condition of the room. His attention was captured solely by his partner, tied to a chair, staring wide-eyed at the severed head of his friend. Blair's heartbeat was off the scale, his breathing was fast and shallow, and he hadn't even acknowledged their arrival. Shock, Jim surmised, quickly moving to his friend's side. "Blair? Chief?" Blair continued to stare at the head, seemingly spellbound by the lifeless eyes. Jim moved to block Blair's view of the grisly sight and covered one of Blair's bound hands with his own. "Blair?" he tried again to gain his Guide's attention.

Tortured eyes raised to meet concerned ones. "Jim?" Blair whispered weakly.

"Yeah, Chief, I'm here." Jim reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Blair's knee, his eyes never leaving his Guide's. "It's going to be okay."

With one huge, wracking sob Blair passed out.

Unshed tears stung Jim's eyes as he reached out to gently stroke Blair's bowed head. "I promise it's going to be okay, Chief," he whispered fiercely. With shaking fingers, he worked to untie the ropes that bound his partner and best friend.

Simon knelt next to Jim and reached to free Blair's feet. "How is he, Jim?"

"Hard to tell, Simon. He doesn't appear to be hurt, but he's obviously in shock." Jim paused to throw a glance over his shoulder at the horrific scene behind him. "God, Simon, he saw that happen."

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, then pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes in an attempt to relieve the stress. "I know. The poor kid can barely tolerate seeing a dead body at all, much less having to witness something like this. I thought I'd seen it all, Jim, but I can't even imagine."

Having successfully freed Blair, Jim reached out and tenderly pulled his limp form to rest against his shoulder. "I've got to get him out of here before he wakes up and sees it again." He slid one arm under Blair's legs and the other around his back, lifting him gently into his arms. Blair's head lolled back, dropping from Jim's shoulder. His eyes reflecting the pain he shared with the gentle young man, Simon reached out to lift Blair's head back onto Jim's shoulder, relieving the strain on the anthropologist's neck. Jim smiled his gratitude and maneuvered through the doorway and into the corridor. Taking care not to jostle his precious burden, Jim made his way slowly up the steps back into the cabin.

Scouting out the only bed in the small cabin, Jim laid Blair gently on the narrow mattress. His Guide's face was still white with shock, but his breathing had eased and his heartbeat had settled back to normal. Jim drew a light blanket over Blair and tucked it closely around his body. He rested his hand on Blair's forehead and smoothed a few errant curls away from the pale face.

Simon, meanwhile, was using the walkie-talkie to contact the ranger station, making arrangements for a forensics and investigative team and cautioning them to approach carefully to avoid obliterating any tracks that might indicate which way the kidnappers had gone. He knew Jim would want to lead the investigation, but there was no way the police captain was going to let that happen. It was clear Blair would need Jim's support dealing with the harrowing experience, and Jim was too close to the problem to be considered objective. Simon figured it would be a battle keeping Ellison out of the investigation, but it was a battle he was prepared to fight. Simon turned his attention to his best detective, who hadn't moved from his partner's side. Then again, maybe it wouldn't be such a battle after all. So far the only thing that could take Jim away from any investigation was the thought that Blair needed him. Perhaps Jim already realized how hard Blair's recovery was likely to be. Turning his attention back to the ranger who waited at the other end of the connection, Simon added, "And send an ambulance. We have an injured victim."

"No," Jim said so softly that Simon wasn't sure he'd actually heard him.

"What?"

"No ambulance."

"Hold on a second," Simon spat into the walkie-talkie. "Jim, what do you mean 'no ambulance'?"

"Blair doesn't want to go to the hospital, Simon."

Thinking Blair had regained consciousness, Simon quickly crossed to the bed. But he could see no change in the young man's condition. Concerned now about Jim's state of mind, Simon asked softly, "Jim, Blair's still unconscious. How do you know he doesn't want to go to the hospital?"

Jim threw Simon a look that intimated he'd grown an extra head. "Does he ever want to go to the hospital, Simon?"

"Well, no..."

"This time is no different."

"But, Jim..."

"No, Simon. I've checked him over and he doesn't seem to be hurt at all. I think he's just in shock. After all he's been through emotionally, I don't want him waking up in a hospital. I'm taking him home."

"Jim, I don't think this is wise."

"Doesn't matter whether it's wise or not, Simon, it's what I'm doing. In this situation, I can do more for Blair than any hospital." Jim continued stroking his partner's hair. "I'm taking him home," he reiterated softly.

Simon closed his eyes in consternation. He weighed his options, trying to assess Blair's condition. He seemed to be breathing all right and Jim obviously was in a better position to determine his needs than Simon was, so Simon mentally threw his hands up in the air and spoke into the walkie-talkie again. "Cancel the, just send the Coroner's wagon. Yes, I'm sure." No, I'm not, he added silently.

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said softly. A crack of thunder startled them both and Simon's walkie-talkie crackled to life.

"Yes?" Simon responded to the call. Jim ignored the conversation going on behind him, needing to focus on his stricken Guide.

"Jim." Simon touched him softly on the shoulder. Jim tore his gaze away from Blair and met his captain's eyes. "It's almost dark, there's a storm moving in, and the rangers are concerned about getting vehicles up the trail after dark. They don't want to accidentally wipe out any tracks our perps might have made in their escape, although the rain will likely accomplish that for them. Despite the fact that this is a crime scene, they're asking if we'll be okay up here."

"We'll be fine," Jim nodded, turning back to Blair. He knew he should be using his senses to track the scum who'd murdered Blair's friend, but a deeper need took precedence. He'd get them, of that he had no doubt. But right now Blair needed him more.

Simon bit his lip, then made his decision. Speaking into the walkie-talkie, he assured Ranger Abernathy that they would be fine in the cabin; they could close the trapdoor and leave the crime scene undisturbed. Or at least as undisturbed as it could be following Blair's rescue. Abernathy promised to have a crew at the cabin by first light and Simon ended the conversation.

"They'll be here first thing in the morning," he unnecessarily informed Jim, who simply nodded.

Simon prowled the small cabin, assessing their surroundings. There wasn't much to assess. It was a one room, spartan cabin with no electricity and few provisions. Clearly the kidnappers hadn't been living in the cabin prior to the kidnapping. Simon shivered as he finally registered the dropping temperature. Briskly rubbing his arms, he drew Jim's attention. "It's cold in here. I'm going to destroy a crime scene enough to make a fire. If Blair's in shock, he needs to be kept warm."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim nodded, finally rising to his feet, obviously loath to leave Blair's side. Another crack of thunder rumbled through the cabin, followed immediately by another sort of rumble. Jim grinned wryly at Simon. "Guess I ought to scrounge us up something to eat."

Between the two of them, Simon and Jim managed to bring a measure of warmth to the cabin and prepared a meager, but filling, meal. As they ate the canned stew Jim had heated over the fire, the men quietly discussed the day's events as the storm raged around them outside. Both men frequently found their eyes drawn to the comatose figure on the bed.

In one of his frequent checks, Jim realized that Blair had awakened. How could you not know he was awake? What were you thinking about? Jim admonished himself as he moved swiftly to Blair's side. Blair lay on his left side, facing into the room, eyes staring into the fire. "Blair?" Jim called softly, crouching on the floor next to the small bed. Blair continued to stare into the fire. "Chief?" Jim called again, reaching out to touch Blair's arm. His heart leapt as Blair's eyes shifted from the fire to Jim's face, but fell as he detected no recognition in the familiar blue orbs. "Hey, Chief, you with me?" Jim's fingers brushed Blair's forehead.

Blair stared for a moment, then smiled. Jim's heart leapt again. "You had me worried there for a bit, fella," he smiled in return.

Blair continued to smile and stare at Jim, but no recognition lit his eyes. Jim turned helplessly to Simon, "What's wrong with him, Simon?"

I thought you were the one who could take care of him better than anyone else! Simon thought uncharitably, then shook himself in irritation. "He's in shock, Jim. It must be some sort of post traumatic shock syndrome."

Jim nodded his agreement and turned back to Blair, who continued to wordlessly watch him, a small smile lighting his face. "It's okay, Chief. We'll get through this, too." Jim stroked a hand down the side of Blair's face and smiled as Blair turned his head into his hand. There was still a thread of the bond there and Jim was determined to make things right. A few minutes later, Blair was once again asleep, this time a more natural one.

Jim straightened and returned to his chair by the fire, placing himself in a position to monitor his partner as he slept. "Why don't you get some sleep, Simon? I'll watch him."

"You need the sleep more than I do, Jim. How much sleep have you gotten over the last couple of days?"

"Enough," Ellison responded curtly, then regretting the tone, "Sorry, Simon. You're right, I haven't gotten much sleep and I'm tired. But I don't think I can sleep. You get some rest, then I'll try later. I want to be awake in case he wakes up again."

But Jim had dozed off sometime in the early morning. When he awoke, he saw Blair standing by the window, apparently mesmerized. Smiling at the sight of his friend up and around, Jim roused and gave a great stretch.

"Hey, Chief," he called softly, taking care not to awaken their still-slumbering captain.

Blair showed no signs of having heard his partner's call, and Jim's heart began to pound. "Blair?"

There was no reaction. Jim reached out and lightly gripped his partner's shoulder. Blair turned and Jim was once again disheartened to find no recognition in his best friend's eyes. "Blair, what's going on?"

Blair simply turned to look out the window again, seemingly engrossed in the trees and rocks. His normally active hands hung slack at his sides, one absently playing with the hem of his long shirt. In fact, 'absently' aptly described Blair's entire demeanor. It was as if he were there, but not really there.

Jim turned as he heard Simon stirring behind him. Sliding his glasses back on his face, Simon noticed Blair standing by the window. "Hey, Sandburg, welcome back," he tossed over his shoulder as he bent to put on his shoes. He stopped and raised his head when silence met his greeting. He cocked his head and looked questioningly at Jim.

Jim shrugged in frustration. "Same as last night, Simon. He doesn't respond to anything but touch. It's like he doesn't hear anything and he hasn't spoken a word. He's been staring out the window like that since before I woke up. I got his attention, but he doesn't recognize me." Jim ran his hands across his short hair. "I've got to figure out some way to get though to him."

"Well, first we've got to try to get some food into him. Heaven only knows when he ate last," Simon declared, pulling himself to his feet with a grunt. "What do you have in that magic pack of yours?"

Jim smiled at the teasing tone, grateful for Simon's presence and support. "Well, nothing you'd really call 'breakfast food', but I brought some granola bars and instant coffee."

"Sounds like a feast right about now," Simon said, rolling up the sleeping bag. "Did the weather break?"

"Yeah, it looks pretty good. I think we can make it down the mountain okay."

"The rangers and forensics team should be here shortly then. They said they'd be here at first light."

While Simon stowed their camping gear, Jim fished the granola bars and coffee from the supplies duffel bag. He kept watch on Blair from the corner of his eye, but the young man never stirred from his vigil at the window.

"What are you looking at, Chief?" he asked softly, standing next to Blair. Blair turned innocent eyes to Jim and smiled and Jim wondered whether he'd heard him talking or simply sensed his presence.

"The forest is always so clean and fresh after it rains, isn't it?" Jim continued conversationally, opening a granola bar and handing it to Blair. "Why don't you have a little breakfast while you look?" Blair took the granola bar, regarded it with interest for a moment, then began to slowly munch, turning back to the window. "Well, that's one hurdle crossed," Jim sighed, moving to poke the fire back into life to heat some water for coffee -- thank goodness the cabin's owner had installed indoor plumbing! "At least I'm not going to have to force feed you."

When the water was hot, Jim made each of them a cup of coffee, making sure to cool Blair's before touching him on the shoulder and placing the cup in his hands. Blair took the cup and sipped the warm drink cautiously, his eyes never leaving Jim's face. Jim schooled his face to show none of the concern he felt, managing a pleased look instead. Blair responded with a smile of his own, then began to wander aimlessly around the tiny cabin. Jim surreptitiously monitored his progress, grinning in relief when Blair carefully shut the bathroom door. Okay, there's the second hurdle crossed, Chief. You can take care of your own business. Now, if we could just figure out how to take care of the other problems.

Jim heard the toilet flush and then Blair emerged from the bathroom, returning to the window. On a hunch, Jim took Blair by the arm and gently pulled him outside. Blair trustingly allowed himself to be led by the larger man.

"Watch the mud, here, Chief," Jim cautioned, carefully leading Blair around the slippery mess. He was fairly certain Blair wasn't hearing a word that he said, but he felt like he had to say something. Blair's silence was disconcerting enough without him feeling like he had to be quiet as well. As they neared the edge of the woods surrounding the cabin, Jim scanned the ground for signs of the white van's escape direction, but could find nothing. He sighed in frustration; the rain had obviously washed the tracks away.

When they reached the edge of the trees surrounding the cabin, Jim released Blair's arm and stood aside to watch his response. A huge smile lit Blair's face and he happily moved forward to pat the trees, rubbing his hands delightedly up and down the rough bark. He examined every leaf and twig, marveling at the water that still dripped from their tips, catching and reflecting the filtered sunlight. Had the situation been different, Jim might have enjoyed the joyous scene, but he could only stand and wonder if -- no when -- his partner and best friend would return to him. "Please tell me you're still in there, Chief," he whispered, closing his eyes in sudden pain. He opened his eyes to realize that Blair had moved deeper into the trees, almost beyond his normal sight. "Blair!" he called out, hoping to startle the young man into stopping. But Blair continued to wander, following a rivulet of water the night's storm had left behind. Jim zoomed his sight ahead of Blair, scanning for potential danger, then quickly followed the explorer into the forest. Reaching him, Jim grasped his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. At Blair's inquiring glance, Jim explained, "I hear the rangers and forensics team coming up the pass. We should go meet them." Blair allowed Jim to tug him back toward the cabin, but almost immediately stooped to pick up an unusual rock. Jim patiently waited until Blair seemed ready to continue, then guided him back to the quickly growing crowd of police officers and park rangers. He kept a close check on the young man's vital signs, unsure whether the new faces would concern Blair. But Blair seemed oblivious to their presence, preferring to examine his rock. A chill had sharpened the air overnight, so Jim pulled the flannel shirt Blair habitually wore over his T-shirt closer about him and buttoned the buttons. Another sign that this just wasn't "his" Blair--he seemed oblivious to the cold. Normally Blair would be griping about how cold and wet 'was his world', but he seemed unaffected by the drop in temperature.

"What was that about?" Simon asked, coming to stand next to Jim and Blair.

"What was what about?"

"That little trek in the woods."

"I was just trying to see if anything would make a difference. He seemed fascinated by the forest, but he's still so withdrawn. It's almost like he's pulled into his own little world where nothing can reach him. "

"Or hurt him," Simon added, his eyes resting sadly on the normally vivacious and loquacious young anthropologist, now distressingly subdued and silent. "I really think he needs to be in a hospital, Jim. How are you going to take care of him? How will you know what he needs?"

"I don't know, Simon. I'm just afraid that if I put him in a hospital, it'll scare him half to death. I can't do that to him, Simon. He's been through too much already. Unless he shows me he's a danger to himself or others, he stays with me."

Simon knew it was a battle he couldn't hope to win, so he gave up. "I took the forensics team and the rangers down to the room and showed them the body."

"How'd they do?"

"Abernathy threw up, but he made it outside the door before he did. Samantha's crew is all a little green around the gills, but they're hanging in there." Simon tossed a look at Blair. "And to think the kid actually saw it happen. No wonder he's hiding in himself."

"Yeah." Jim impulsively reached out, wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders and pulled him close to him. Blair briefly turned curious eyes up to the older man, smiled a bit, and returned to his rock. "Do we need to hang around here, Simon? I can give my statement at the station and Blair's not going to be able to give us anything for a while. I want to get him out of here before they bring the body up."

"Too late," Simon breathed as the body bag was carried out the cabin door. Jim started to turn Blair away from the sight, but it was unnecessary. Blair raised his eyes briefly at the flurry of activity in front of them, then obviously dismissed it. The lack of reaction frightened Jim as much as Blair's not recognizing him. He'd unconsciously tuned into his partner's heart rate and found it disturbingly calm. Not that I want you to panic, Chief, Jim thought, but a little reaction would have been encouraging.

Simon shook his head. "That was fast. I guess I'd be wanting out of that place pretty damn quick, too, though. I think we may just have set a forensics team examination record." Shaking his head again, Simon headed for the Jeep. "Why don't you get Sandburg settled in the car, Jim, while I check in with the team. I'll be right there."

Nodding his assent, Jim took Blair's elbow and directed him toward the Jeep, helping him slide into the back seat. As an afterthought, Jim leaned back in and securely fastened Blair's seatbelt about his hips. Blair took great interest in the process and immediately began playing with the release mechanism, grinning as the buckle popped apart. He clicked it back into place, imitating Jim's actions, and immediately pressed the catch to release it again. Jim sighed, reached out and took Blair's hands to still them. Blair looked up questioningly. "Don't do that, Chief," he admonished softly, shaking his head.

Blair's face fell and Jim's heart clenched. He forced a smile to his face and reached out to cup Blair's cheek. "I wouldn't want to lose you again." As he had the night before, Blair leaned into Jim's hand, a sigh of contentment crossing his lips. Jim's heart lifted once again, and he was certain he was doing the right thing by not placing Blair in a hospital. Their bond was the healing balm Blair needed, not a bunch of shrinks trying to analyze his innermost thoughts. Satisfied that Blair wouldn't play with the seatbelt anymore, Jim patted him on the cheek and withdrew from the backseat. He did still keep an eye on him peripherally, though, and was glad to see that this Blair apparently obeyed better than the other one. But I'd take that one back in a heartbeat, Chief, hard head and all.

Having completed his business with the forensics team, Simon returned to the Jeep. "You driving?" he asked, knowing how Jim hated not being in the driver's seat.

"Why don't you drive, Simon? I want my hands free in case Blair needs me."

Hoping to someday understand the bond the two men shared, Simon nodded his assent and slid behind the steering wheel. Casting a glance at Blair in the rearview mirror, Simon was amused to see him attempting to surreptitiously determine the inner workings of the seat belt that held him firmly in place. Even after everything that's happened, your curiosity remains intact, he thought in wonder.

As they approached the store where their search for Blair had begun, Jim suddenly said, "Stop in here, Simon. I'd like to try to get some more information from this guy."

Simon pulled into the now-muddy parking lot and cruised to a stop in front of the store. "I'll stay in the car with Blair," he offered.

"Thanks, Simon." But when Jim stepped from the car, Blair gave his first reaction since passing out at the murder scene. He whimpered loudly and began fumbling with the seat belt buckle he'd delighted in playing with so recently. Jim turned in surprise, quickly moving back to the car to open the back door. "What's the matter, Buddy?" he asked softly, pulling Blair to him. Blair wrapped his arms around Jim and sighed.

"Well, he may be in his own world, Jim, but he's obviously included you in it to some degree."

Jim pondered for a moment, then reached in to finish unbuckling Blair's seatbelt. "Okay, buddy, why don't you come in with me?" He helped Blair slide from the car and kept a protective arm around his shoulders as they made their way into the store.

Feeling slightly guilty about treating Blair like a child, Jim gave him a gentle shove toward the meager stock of toys that lined one shelf. He wanted to ask Tom Simmons some more questions, but he didn't want to risk Blair overhearing, if indeed he even was hearing. But Jim wouldn't take the chance.

As he spoke with the owner, Jim caught Blair sending small glances his way, as if making sure Jim was still close by. That's progress, I think. He may not openly respond to me, but he sure knows when I'm there and when I'm not.

Simmons watched Blair curiously as he slowly wandered up and down the toy aisle, occasionally lifting items to examine them closer. He relaxed a bit when he realized that Blair's examination was almost reverent and he was obviously not going to damage the goods.

"So," Jim continued, recapturing the owner's wandering attention, "you didn't notice anything else unusual about the pair?"

"Nothing beyond what I've already told you and your captain."

Jim rubbed his eyes in frustration. Now that he had Blair back, safe and semi-sound, he was determined to track down the bastards who'd put his friend through so much. And to Andy, he reminded himself. Blair had liked Andy, had even looked up to him as an anthropologist and a friend, and he'd been forced to watch him brutally murdered. So Jim decided he owed the pair one for Andy, too.

Jim realized that Blair had become mesmerized again and wondered what had so completely captured his attention. "Excuse me for a moment," he said to Simmons, drifting to Blair's side. "What's that, Chief?" he asked, looking over the younger man's shoulder. He was startled to see that Blair was engrossed in a children's book depicting what appeared to be a South American tribe of some sort and a variety of jungle animals. Blair was running the fingers of his right hand almost lovingly across a picture of a black panther, an enigmatic smile lighting his features. The eyes he turned to Jim were filled with wonder and joy.

Squeezing Blair's shoulder and smiling, Jim returned to the counter. "How much for the book?"

"$6.95," Simmons said, never taking his eyes off the odd young man.

"I'll take it," Jim decided impulsively, pulling a ten out of his wallet and handing it to the shopkeeper.

Counting out Jim's change, Simmons leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, "A bit slow, is he?"

Ice blue eyes flashing angrily, Jim impaled the store owner with his gaze. "He's smarter than you and me put together."

Greater men had wilted under that glare. The store owner blanched noticeably and stammered, "Sorry, I didn't mean..." He trailed off, realizing it was exactly what he did mean. "Sorry," he muttered in embarrassment.

Jim pocketed his change and turned, ignoring the man while he regained control of his temper. He took Blair's arm and led him, still clutching the book, back to the door. "Thanks for your help," he threw over his shoulder, reminding himself that this man's information had led directly to Blair's return. He paused in the doorway and partially turned back into the store, still holding Blair's arm. "You saved this young man's life yesterday."

Simmons' jaw dropped and he flushed, whether with pride or embarrassment, Jim wasn't certain. "Glad I could help," he replied sincerely. "I hope he's okay."

"He'll be fine," Jim stated firmly, pushing Blair toward the Jeep.

Interpreting the look on Jim's face, Simon demanded an explanation the moment Jim opened the back door to help Blair into the backseat.

"Just a little misunderstanding, Simon. No big deal. Simmons decided Blair was mentally challenged." Jim smiled and nodded approvingly when Blair buckled his seat belt. "I set him straight."

"I'll bet you did," Simon muttered as Jim shut Blair's door and dropped into the passenger seat.

"I heard that. I'm a Sentinel, you know."

"Believe me, I know, Jim. I know. So, what's the kid got?"

"A book about South American tribes. He's absolutely mesmerized by it."

"Softie," Simon grinned.

"Yeah, well, I thought maybe it would help him somehow, remind him of something...I don't know," Jim sighed. "It's worth a shot."

"Of course it is, Jim. We've got to try everything we can."

The two men agreed that they would rather drive to Cascade than catch the helicopter back to town. When they stopped at the ranger station, they arranged to keep the Jeep and have an off-duty officer return it the next time one was headed their direction. Both were uncertain how Blair would react to being stuffed into a small helicopter, although he seemed docile enough as long as Jim remained in eyesight, and felt that the long ride to Cascade offered Blair more time to perhaps return to himself.

As the sun settled behind the Cascade mountain range, Jim once more checked on Blair, who rode silently in the backseat. Other than the heart-wrenching whimper when he had thought Jim was leaving him, Blair hadn't made a sound. Jim saw he was sleeping deeply, his head supported by the juncture of the seat back and window, his hand spread lovingly on the same page he'd been gazing at in the store -- the page with the picture of the black panther.

Pulling into a parking space outside the loft, Simon quietly opened his door and helped Jim unload the camping supplies. Had their mad dash to save Blair really been only yesterday? His weary body tried to convince him it had been longer than that. Sleeping on the cabin floor (sleeping bag or not), and spending the entire day in the car driving back to Cascade was just about all his poor old back could stand.

"Give me your keys, Jim, and I'll haul this stuff up to the loft." As Jim began to protest, Simon held up a hand. "If Sandburg wakes up and can't find you, he's likely to freak. I don't think either of us wants that to happen, do we?"

Peering at his partner through the back window, Jim had to agree that Simon's thinking was sound. So, he waited while Simon dragged his bone-tired body, laden with duffel bags full of camping gear and supplies, into the creaky old elevator and began the ascent to the loft.

When he returned to the car, Simon waited patiently while Jim gently woke Blair and helped him climb sleepily from the vehicle. Simon then slid back into the driver's seat, started the engine, and prepared to leave. "Oh, and Jim," he called, rolling down the window and sticking his head out, "don't worry about coming in tomorrow to make your statement. I'll come over sometime during the day and take it myself. I don't think Blair's ready to come to the station and you sure don't want to leave him alone."

With a wave, Jim acknowledged the order, "Thanks, Simon. See you tomorrow."

Steering his groggy partner into the elevator, Jim was careful to keep a hand on Blair's shoulder at all times. Whether it was for Blair's benefit or his own, he couldn't tell, and it didn't really matter. Maybe it made both of them feel better.

Unlocking the door to the loft, Jim held his breath. Would coming home jog Blair's memory? Would he suddenly return to normal at the sight of his home and belongings? Would he feel safe and no longer need to retreat into himself?

But Blair simply wandered through the apartment, checking into everything with great interest. Jim finally had to wearily direct him to a couch and coax him to sit down. Sitting on the coffee table and taking Blair's hands in his own, Jim tried to explain the night's plan. "I gotta get some sleep now, Blair, and I need to know you're okay. So, how about you just stretch out here on the couch and try to go back to sleep? I'll be right here on the other couch where you can see me. I'm not going anywhere. How's that sound?"

Blair just stared, giving no indication that he understood a word Jim said. Taking another approach, Jim gently pressed Blair down to lie on the couch, removed the young man's shoes, and pulled the afghan across the slight figure. Blair acquiesced, pulling his book close to his chest. "Yeah, you can keep the book with you," Jim smiled. Blair settled more comfortably and opened the book to the same page he'd been on all night.

Jim snickered softly. "You're gonna wear that page out, Chief." He tousled his friend's hair, then impulsively leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. "And if you tell Simon I did that I'll deny it," he said with a grin. Reacting to Jim's smile, Blair grinned back.

Slipping his own shoes off, Jim stretched out on the couch closest to the balcony where Blair could see him, and watched as his friend continued to stare at the dog-eared page in the book. Finally Blair's eyes drifted closed and Jim heard the deep, regular breathing pattern that indicated the younger man was asleep. Satisfied that Blair was fine for the night, Jim allowed himself to drift to sleep as well.

The next morning Jim woke stiff and cramped from sleeping on the short sofa. If he'd had any doubts about the events of the previous day, his body reminded him otherwise. His eyes immediately flickered to the other couch and his heart skipped a beat when he realized it was unoccupied. Jim quickly sat up and swung his feet to the floor, calling, "Blair?"

Silence greeted his call. Jim opened his hearing to locate his partner. The balcony! For the second time in less than a minute, the Sentinel's heart stopped. Jim flung himself off the couch toward the balcony doors, which he now realized were open. He paused to collect himself, not wanting to frighten Blair, then stepped onto the balcony. Blair sat on the cold concrete, facing the loft where, Jim realized, he would still be able to see at least the top of Jim's head. Blair was deeply engrossed in studying the rock he'd picked up the day before, his book nestled carefully in his lap, still open to the panther page.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said softly, crouching in front of his partner and Guide. Blair didn't appear to notice him, so Jim reached out and touched his knee.

As he expected, Blair looked up curiously and smiled broadly at the sight of his Sentinel. Although certain that Blair couldn't or wouldn't hear him, Jim spoke, feeling the need for conversation. "How are you feeling today? Aren't you getting cold out here?" Blair simply continued to smile at Jim, then returned to his contemplation of the rock.

"I don't know about you, Chief, but I'm hungry. What say we rustle up some breakfast?" He gently took Blair's hand and gave a small tug. "C'mon inside with me, Blair. I'm not comfortable leaving you out here on your own."

Blair wordlessly complied, making sure he had a firm grip on his rock with his free hand and his book pressed snugly against his chest with the same fist. Obeying a gentle nudge from Jim, Blair sat at the table and began flipping through his book, the pages already worn from his numerous previous perusals.

In the kitchen, Jim began scrambling eggs, his thoughts wandering as he watched his partner. Are you in there, Chief? What's going on in that head of yours?

As if hearing Jim's thoughts, Blair looked up at him and smiled. "Sentinel!" he proudly announced.

In shock, Jim dropped his spoon in the eggs. "What did you say?" He quickly moved the eggs off the heat and hurried over to Blair's side. "What did you say, Blair?" he asked again, trying to keep his voice calm.

Blair pointed at the panther on the page and said again, "Sentinel." Then he reached out to touch Jim's chest. "Sentinel."

Overcome with hope, Jim gathered Blair into his arms. "Yes! Yes, Blair, I'm a Sentinel!" He released Blair and looked him deep in the eyes. "And you're my Guide. Do you understand, Blair?" Blair simply smiled and returned to his book. After a moment, Jim sighed and returned to the stove. "It's okay, Chief. It's a step in the right direction. You're going to be fine." Using a dishtowel to wipe at a suspicious moisture in the corner of his eyes, Jim wrinkled his nose in distaste as his senses detected a familiar odor. He crossed to the loft door and opened it to admit Simon, who tried not to look startled as he entered the loft.

"Jim," he greeted. "Do I smell eggs?"

"I don't see how you could with all that cigar smoke hanging around you," Jim muttered, reaching for extra slices of bread to put in the toaster.

"I didn't have to be a Sentinel to hear that, Jim," Simon admonished with a smile. He stood next to Blair and reached out to grip his shoulder. "How's the kid this morning?" Blair flashed Simon one of his beatific smiles, then got up to wander aimlessly around the loft, re-examining many of the items he had investigated the night before.

"He spoke this morning, Simon," Jim said excitedly. "He said 'Sentinel'. He pointed at the panther in the book and said it as clear as day. Then he pointed at me and said it again. He's in there, Simon. I know he is. It's just going to take some time for him to realize it's safe to come back."

Simon's smile was large and genuine. "That's great news, Jim! It does sound good, doesn't it?" Then his smile faded a bit. "I hope it really is safe for him to come back."

"What? What are you saying, Simon?"

"Forensics is moving fast on this one, Jim." Simon's gaze fell on the restless anthropologist. "Seems they're taking it personally and pushing hard for answers. They worked all night to match the prints they pulled from the cabin."

"Who was it, Simon?" Jim literally ground his teeth in an effort to keep his anger in check. There was no need for Blair to witness the kind of scene he could unleash, given half a chance. "Who murdered Blair's friend and left him like that?" Jim gestured vaguely in Blair's direction.

"An Englishman name of Marcus Lebredo."

"Never head of him."

"Well, Interpol certainly has. Seems they've been keeping an eye on him for quite some time trying to nail him for smuggling, treason, and murder. Runs a highly successful -- and suspect -- import/export business, based in Venice, Italy." Simon took the plate of eggs Jim handed him and carried it to the table. "Lebredo doesn't take kindly to competition, it appears. No one's been able to pin anything on him, but it's apparently common knowledge among the unsavory set in Venice that Lebredo took a competitor's henchmen out of the picture..." Simon hesitated. "...by hacking them to pieces and throwing them into the canal."

"Damn," Jim breathed, placing plates of bacon and toast on the table. "Blair," he called. "Breakfast." Then, shaking his head at his lapse, Jim walked over to place a hand on Blair's shoulder and direct him to the table. He fixed a plate of food and set it in front of his partner, who immediately dug in with relish.

"Well, it's good to see that some things haven't changed," Simon chuckled.

"Thank goodness. So, what else have you got on Lebredo?" Jim asked, waving Simon to a chair and placing an empty plate in front of him. As he said the name, he watched for a reaction from Blair, not sure whether he wanted one or not. Blair seemed oblivious to the conversation. It's strange what catches your attention and what doesn't, Jim mused. You're 'here' enough to know when to eat and go to the bathroom. You recognize Simon and me, but you don't seem to hear anything. Nothing really reaches you, other than me, that rock and that book. The book makes sense, I guess, maybe kind of a link to your interest in anthropology. Not to mention the panther. Me, well I'm your Sentinel and I guess our connection is so deeply ingrained in our beings that nothing can break it. Thank God. And the rock? Well, you've got me there, Chief. I guess the rock is a rock...

Ellison was startled by the gentle touch of a hand on his arm. "Jim?" Simon queried softly, his concern reflected in his eyes. "You okay?"

Jim shook his head. "Yeah, Simon, I'm fine, thanks. I was just thinking how odd it is what parts of Blair have shut down and what he chooses to let through. But I'm convinced I can get through to him, Simon. He's already made some progress today by talking. I'm doing the right thing."

"You don't need to convince me, Jim. Hell, I'd have had him in a hospital last night, but this connection thing you've got going on between you is way beyond my meager powers of understanding, so I trust you to know what's best. But what if he doesn't come back, Jim? What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, 'what am I going to do'?"

"Jim, the kid won't let you out of his sight...I'm assuming that didn't change between last night and this morning?"

Jim thought back to Blair's balcony excursion and shook his head. "No."

"So, speaking as your captain for a moment, what are you going to do about going back to work?" He held up his hand to stall his detective's protest. "I'm not saying you have to go back to work tomorrow, Jim, but it's got to happen sometime. I'm just asking you to think about how you'll care for Blair when that time comes. For now, you've got some unused vacation time you need to take, so take it. Have you called the university yet?"

Jim cringed. He'd completely forgotten about the university! "No, not yet, Simon. I really hate to make that call. Blair's missed so much time lately I'm afraid they're going to pull his grants."

"Well, I'll do some pulling of my own to see that that doesn't happen, Jim," Simon assured him. "Now, I'm hungry, and it's bad manners to eat before your host, so eat!"

Jim smiled his appreciation at his captain and friend and dished up his own plate as Simon outlined the limited additional information they had on Lebredo. Having finished his own breakfast, Blair rose from the table and moved to once again sit on the floor near the still-open balcony doors, making sure Jim was always in his line of sight.

Like a caged animal, Marcus paced the small hotel room he and Vincent had taken just outside of Cascade.

"Uh, Marcus, this doesn't seem like such a good idea to me, us being this close to Cascade," Vincent ventured, nervously watching his boss traverse the limited expanse of floor. Marcus was good to him, very good, but Vincent had seen enough of Marcus's rages to know that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of one.

Marcus paused and pinned Vincent with his glare. "I don't recall asking you to assess the worthiness of my ideas, Vincent," he said with deceptive calm. "Never forget that you're the hired help here, no matter how close we might be in other areas of our relationship."

Vincent felt lucky to have gotten off with only the harsh look and reprimand. "Sorry, Marcus, I-I guess I was just, well, jealous of your interest in that kid."

"As well you should be. I admit I am quite fascinated with him, so like Patrick in many ways." He resumed his pacing. "Besides, Blair has seen us both, Vincent, and he knows my name."

"But not your last name."

"True, and if that were all of it, I'd be more willing to let it go. However, I want what's mine."

"What's that?"

"The dot, you dolt! I want that microdot!"

"But Jennings said he destroyed it," Vincent protested.

"I know what he said, Vincent, but I don't believe him. Patrick was impetuous, yes, but I trained him too well to believe he would destroy something as valuable as that microdot."

"But I've searched his place from top to bottom, Marcus. It's not there."

"He has it," Marcus spoke quietly.

"Who has it?"

"Blair. Patrick gave Blair the microdot. I'm sure of it. I want that dot and I want Blair." A smile touched his lips. "And I always get what I want."

"And I got a report early this morning that Jennings' apartment was ransacked last night," Simon said, pouring another cup of coffee. "It's too much of a coincidence in my books, Jim. I think Lebredo's in Cascade and he's looking for something he thinks Jennings had." He held the pot up in a silent question to Ellison.

"And if he didn't find it, then he might think Blair has it..." Jim completed Simon's thought. He shook his head at the coffee offer. "So, you got anything more on this Vincent Manoa that Lebredo's got working for him?"

"Petty thug with a record as long as your arm. Not long on brains, but big on brawn, most of his offenses were assault-related. Spent some time in jail a couple years ago on a manslaughter charge, but he got out on a technicality. Best we can figure, he hooked up with Lebredo somewhere around that time."

Rubbing at the building pain between his eyes, Jim cast a glance at his partner contentedly sitting on the floor gazing out the balcony doors. "Damn it, Simon, hasn't Blair been through enough already?"

"I know, Jim. But until we find Lebredo, we'll do everything we can to keep the kid safe. I've got a black and white posted outside to keep an eye on the loft. Someone will be there 24 hours a day. I've assigned Brown and Rafe to the case while you stay with Blair. You know them, they won't leave any stone unturned or any lead unfollowed. We'll find him, Jim. Just hang in there and help the kid get back."

"Thanks, Simon, for everything. Blair'd be touched at your concern."

"Hell," Simon said gruffly, pulling on his jacket and opening the loft door, "with everything he's done to my computer, he's the only one who can keep it running now. I'm just covering my bases, here. Later, Jim."

Jim smiled at the retreating form of his captain as he closed the door behind him. "Yeah, right."

Two days and nothing new. No sign of Marcus Lebredo, and no sign of the old Blair. He hadn't spoken at all, not even to repeat his Sentinel pronouncement, and Jim was beginning to despair of ever getting his Guide back intact. He also despaired of ever sleeping alone in his own bed again. Their second night in the loft, they had sat companionably watching a Jag's game on television. Or rather, Jim had watched the game and Blair had watched Jim, grinning widely at the older man's antics as he responded to events in the game. If you were you, Jim had mused, I'd say you were studying me as part of your dissertation. 'Sentinel reactions to structured warfare', or something. The peace had ended, however, at bedtime. Having settled Blair into his own bed, Jim had backed slowly out of the room to seek the comfort of his bed. But Blair's eyes had opened in terror and he had sprung out of bed to stand, trembling, in the middle of his room, his eyes locked on Jim's frozen form, his breath coming in short gasps. "Okay, so that was a bad idea," Jim had said softly, quickly crossing the room to place an arm around his partner's shoulders. That night Blair and Jim had slept upstairs in Jim's bed, and Jim sported the bruises to show just how restless a sleeper Blair could be. But it was either suffer the occasional kick or spend every night on the sofa, neither of which appealed overwhelmingly to the Sentinel.

Jim began to seriously ponder what he was going to do if Blair never regained his full faculties.

It was their third day stuck in the loft, and even the placid Blair was getting restless, having investigated every nook and cranny as well as every item the loft had to offer. While his book and his rock still held the same fascination for him, he seemed to be feeling claustrophobic. Jim was unable to interest him in television or the movies he had asked Simon to rent, and Blair spent more and more time aimlessly wandering the loft. It was driving Jim crazy.

Finally, he could stand it no longer and, truth be told, he was feeling more than a little claustrophobic himself. Grabbing Blair's coat from the rack, Jim caught his partner's arm as he crossed by the door on one of his many passes. "C'mon, Chief, we're out of here," he muttered, motioning for Blair to put the coat on and sliding his arms through the sleeves of his own jacket. Then he grabbed the phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Banks!" Simon barked, irritated at once again being interrupted during yet another round of budget slashing

"Simon, Jim."

Oh no. "Jim, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Simon, it's just that Blair and I both have an almost terminal case of cabin fever. I'm going to take him to Cascade Park for a while to see if we can't work off some of this nervous energy."

"Do you think that's wise, Jim?"

"Maybe not, Simon, but we can't stay cooped up in here for the rest of our lives. Cascade Park should be public enough to be safe."

Simon still wasn't convinced. "I don't know, Jim."

"I realize it's a risk, sir, but we need some air, some space."

"Okay, Jim, but be sure to take one of the officers with you. Not that I don't think you can take care of yourself, but I know that Blair can sometimes be a bit of a...distraction...in his current condition," he added hastily, anticipating his detective's reaction.

Recognizing the truth in Banks' words, Jim capitulated. "Okay, Simon, I'll take one of the watchdogs. Check ya later."

He took a moment to extend his senses beyond the loft door, then clapped his partner on the shoulder and directed him out into the hallway. "Let's go play in the park, Chief." He was momentarily disconcerted when Blair pivoted beneath his hand and darted back into the loft. "Wha..?" Then he chuckled softly when Blair returned clutching his book and rock. "Nope, can't forget those now, can we, Chief?"

Yes, the park had been a good idea, Jim decided, turning his face to catch the mid-day sun and stretching his long legs in front of him. The weather was almost perfect, brisk enough to warrant jackets, but crisp and sunny enough to clear the cobwebs from his brain; a perfect Cascade Spring day. And it apparently agrees with Blair, too, he thought fondly as he studied his friend over the top of his newspaper. Blair sat on the grass near the lake, his book open in his lap, his inquisitive gaze wandering over the numerous park visitors. As Jim had expected, their first hour in the park had been spent investigating its myriad mysteries. Then, following a hot dog lunch, the two friends had parked themselves at a bench near the lake, Jim to read his newspaper, Blair to ruminate on the mysteries of the world he now inhabited. Using techniques Blair had taught him (in another life, Jim had thought a touch morosely), Jim divided his attention between monitoring his Guide's vital signs to make sure he was safe and close; doing the occasional sensory sweep of the park to ensure that nothing threatened their safety; and reading his newspaper.

"Hi!" Jim shifted his gaze to a small, blonde-haired boy who stood in front of Blair, looking down at him expectantly. Unsure what to do, Jim waited, gauging his Guide's reaction. The boy dropped to the grass in front of Blair, capturing his attention. "What cha doing?"

Blair smiled, his usual response, and returned to his book. "I got a book like that at home, but I can't read it cuz I'm only five. But Momma reads it to me sometimes, so I know what it says. It's got monkeys and bears in it. My name's Billy. What's your name?"

Feeling a little sorry for the child, Jim called out, "His name is Blair. He doesn't talk much."

Serious blue eyes regarded the long-haired young man for a moment, then Billy held out his hand. "See what I got?" He clutched a GI Joe doll that had obviously seen a great deal of 'action'. "His name's Joe and he's a soldier. I'm gonna be a soldier someday. What are you gonna be?" Seemingly undaunted by Blair's lack of response beyond smiling, Billy pushed on with his one-sided conversation. Jim relaxed when he determined that Blair did not feel threatened by the child or bothered by his conversation, so he returned to his paper and sensory sweeps.

Billy, meanwhile, was doggedly trying to engage Blair in conversation. "Wanna play with my GI Joe?" he offered. "He's real fun," he added as incentive, moving closer to his potential playmate when Blair smiled invitingly. "Wanna see something funny?" As Blair watched intently, Billy wrapped his small hand around the doll's head and promptly separated it from the doll's body, giggling happily. He lost his grip on the small piece of toy and it dropped to the ground less than a foot away from the stunned anthropologist.

Jim's first indication of trouble was the spike in Blair's heart rate. He immediately dropped the paper and was horrified to see his Guide, in obvious terror, scuttling away from the giggling child who was holding...Oh, God!...a headless doll. Blair's breath came in sharp gasps as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving the tiny doll head laying in the grass. Then he looked around wildly and bolted.

"Blair!" Jim shouted, leaping from the bench to follow his partner's dash across the park. "Blair, wait!"

Blair's pounding heart threatened to burst from his chest as he ran through the park and his mind chanted a silent, panicked mantra. Oh God, oh God, oh God... Memories flooded his mind and threatened to overwhelm him again. Andy. Marcus. Vincent. Andy...oh God! He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but nothing registered but the horrifying realization that he'd watched his friend's beheading. Oh God.

Blair stumbled when his foot slid into an unseen low spot and he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and clutching his sides in an effort to hold himself together. He rocked himself gently, trying to catch his breath, and hung his head in misery. He was dimly aware of someone kneeling beside him and raised his head fractionally. "J-Jim?" he gasped.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Jim reached out to clutch his Guide's shoulder, his own emotions swirling. He was so selfishly grateful that Blair had regained his grasp on reality, but his heart broke as he witnessed the anguish it caused his friend.

"Oh God, Jim."

"I know, Blair. I know. I'm sorry." The attempt at consolation was lame, Jim knew that, but how could he offer platitudes and assurances that everything would be all right? The only tangible comfort he had to offer was his friendship.

Blair grabbed Jim's forearms in a crushing grip that almost made the Sentinel wince. "Andy!" Blair choked out the words. "His head...his head, man...he..he..." Unable to finish, Blair hung his head again.

Aware that they were quickly becoming the center of attention in the small park, and wanting to spare his partner the humiliation of becoming a spectacle, Jim reached out and pulled Blair's chin up, his sympathetic eyes seeking his Guide's tortured ones. "I'm so sorry about Andy, Blair. I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner, in time to save him." But Jim saw no recrimination in Blair's eyes, only pain. "C'mon, let's go home." He rose, gently pulling his Guide to his feet, and draped an arm protectively across the smaller man's shoulders. He turned toward the street where he'd parked the truck and carefully directed his stricken friend across the lawn.

"Detective Ellison!"

Jim paused and turned his head, careful not to lose contact with his partner. His 'watchdog' officer, a young man named Burns, jogged up to him and self-consciously held out Blair's book and rock, dropped and forgotten in his panic. "I...well, I thought you might not want to forget these, sir."

Jim smiled his thanks and nodded his head to the young officer, slipping the rock into his pocket and tucking the book under his free arm. Then he and Blair resumed their silent trek to the truck. Blair's heart continued to pound and his breath occasionally caught in his throat, disturbingly heartening signs to Jim that his partner hadn't slipped back into the world into which he'd previously retreated. He helped Blair into the truck, then slid into the driver's side and turned the truck in the direction of home.

From the trees at the edge of the park, two pairs of eyes observed the proceedings with great interest. "Well, well," Marcus mused, "I'd say our Blair's having a hard time dealing with Patrick's death, wouldn't you? And he's obviously close to his roommate. Very close. I'm sure we can use both pieces of information to our advantage."

"How'd I get home?" Blair asked quietly as they made their way along Cascade's crowded streets. "And why don't I remember it?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably on the pickup's long seat. "Why don't we wait until we get home to talk about this, Chief?"

"I need to talk about it now, Jim. Please. What happened?" Blair turned his gaze out the passenger window, his body tense, heart pounding.

"We got lucky, Chief, that's all I can call it." Blair flinched at the word 'lucky' and Jim mentally kicked himself. Andy hadn't been so lucky. But having done the damage, Jim pressed on. "There was a witness to the kidnapping, she saw you and Andy carried to a white van. We put out an APB and got a tip from a guy who owned a small store in the Cascades that two men in his store had been driving a van matching that description. Simon and I were able to follow the trail through a distinctive tire tread pattern that led to a cabin pretty far off the beaten path. I, uh, I heard your heartbeat…" Blair's posture shifted a bit at that, "and I heard voices coming from inside the cabin. We found a trap door inside that led into some sort of bomb shelter or something. We were running down the corridor when it…happened. I'm so sorry, Blair, if I'd been there a few seconds earlier I could have saved Andy. I'm sorry," he repeated, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"And if you'd been a few seconds later, I might be dead too, Jim," Blair said softly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He blinked them away in irritation and Jim winced at the blunt comment. "Don't blame yourself, Jim, please. There was nothing you could have done." To emphasize the sincerity of his words, Blair reached across the seat to lay a light hand on Jim's shoulder. "What happened after that? Did you get Marcus and Vincent?"

Jim clenched his jaw at the hopeful tone in Blair's voice. He hated having to tell his partner of his second failure. "No."

Blair stiffened. "No? Why not?" His voice took on a slightly hysterical quality and Jim glanced quickly at his friend's face. Blair raised a hand in apology. "Sorry, Jim, sorry. It's just, well…"

"I know, Blair, believe me. But when I realized what was happening, I had to throw caution to the wind and just get to you as fast as I could. They must have heard us coming and took off. There was no one in the shelter when we found you. The forensics team found a back way out. They must have used that. We found…Andy, then got you out of that damn prison."

Blair was quiet as Jim pulled the truck into his usual parking space at the loft. Someone had brought his car home, Blair noted distantly. He'd have to remember to find out who it was and thank them. He waved his hand at Jim as he made to help Blair out of the truck. "I'm okay, Jim."

Inside the loft, Blair made a beeline to the couch and dropped into it as if his legs had carried him as far as they were able. "So what about the rest of it?"

"The rest of what?" Jim asked, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. He'd hoped Blair would drop the rest of the conversation, but since it was obvious he wouldn't, Jim felt they'd need the fortification.

"The rest of the story, Jim," Blair snapped. "Like why don't I remember being rescued? How did I get home? How come I suddenly found myself playing with some kid I've never seen before in a park I don't remember going to and how come I can still taste a hot dog I have absolutely no memory of eating? That story, Jim!" Blair ran his hands through his hair in agitation, then accepted the beer Jim held out to him, his expression a combination of anger and confusion.

Jim settled on the other couch and faced Blair, desperately wishing he didn't have to tell the 'rest of the story.' "When we found you, you were in shock, Blair. You'd just seen a horrendous thing. You, um, were staring at Andy's…head and wouldn't respond to us at all. When I blocked your view of Andy's body, you passed out…" Jim paused as Blair closed his eyes, remembering the horrific scene. "Later, after we'd gotten you out of that shelter and you came to, you were…well…" Jim struggled to describe Blair's condition.

"I was what, Jim?" Blair pressed, gripping his beer bottle more tightly and intently focusing on its label.

Jim drew a deep breath. "You were withdrawn, Blair. You wouldn't talk, you didn't appear to hear anything or recognize anyone or remember anything. It was like you had pulled back into yourself."

"I freaked," Blair stated flatly, self-loathing obvious in this tone. "I fell apart."

"Damn it, Chief!" Jim quickly moved to his friend's side and squeezed his knee. "You didn't fall apart. You did what you had to do to deal with the situation. Let me tell you, the seasoned veterans in forensics didn't handle that crime scene much better than you did!"

"Did any of them head off into their own little lah-lah land, Jim? Did any of them just shut down?" he asked bitterly.

"No, but…"

"Then I'd say they dealt with it quite a bit better than I did, wouldn't you, Jim?" Unable to contain himself any longer, Blair leapt to his feet and began pacing the length of the living room. "And the stuff that officer brought to you after I freaked again in the park?"

"Just some stuff that seemed important to you for a while. Blair, please, lighten up on yourself. So maybe you had a bigger problem dealing with what happened to Andy than the forensics team did, big deal. You saw it happen. My God, Blair, you saw it happen!" he repeated, taking the younger man by the shoulders and gently shaking him. "I don't think anyone in Forensics would have dealt with it any better than you did. You did what you had to do, Blair, to keep from going completely out of your mind!"

"So I just went a little out of it, right?" At least Blair attempted a smile to support the lame joke.

Jim reached out to swat his best friend's cheek. "Yeah, you just went a little out of it. But you're back now, that's what important. And we're gonna get these guys, Blair, I promise you."

Blair looked Jim in the eye and his hardened gaze startled the older man. "Yeah, we are."

"Then tell me everything that happened and start from the beginning -- at Rainier."

Blair sat down again, took a long swig of beer and a deep breath, and began relating his nightmare.

As his story progressed, Blair's heartbeat increased and Jim's anger burned hotter and hotter. I'll kill that son of a bitch, he vowed, his eyes resting on Blair's bowed head. I'll kill him.

Blair tried to lighten the mood by rising from the couch and moving toward the kitchen to dispose of his beer bottle. He paused by the kitchen table, where Jim had hastily dropped the book and rock. "So, are these my talismans?"

"Talismans?"

"Yeah, many tribal cultures employ talismans to keep evil spirits at bay. They believe certain carvings, which have been blessed by holy men, protect the bearer from the evil forces in the world."

"Well, then I guess you could call those talismans, Chief, because they were certainly very important to you. In fact, the book prompted the only words you'd said since…that day."

"Really?" Blair dropped into clinical mode in an effort to distract himself from the embarrassment he still felt about his reaction to Andy's death. "What did I say?" he asked as he idly flipped through the worn pages of the book. Fascinating, it's a book about South American tribes.

Jim came to stand next to Blair and, when Blair reached the page with the black panther, stopped him. "This was your favorite page. You looked at it until I was sure you had every nuance memorized. Then, one day you pointed to the panther and said 'Sentinel'. Then you touched me and said it again."

"I did? Really? Cool!" At Jim's flinch, Blair quickly continued, "Don't you see, Jim? This shows there's a subconscious connection between us. I mean, here I am in my own private world and yet, on an almost primitive level, I still recognized your spirit guide and knew you were a Sentinel! That is so cool!"

Jim smiled. After all, it was the most animated he'd seen his Guide since before he'd been kidnapped. But he wasn't going to tell Blair just yet how he had known Blair was in trouble before Simon had even called. Fessing up to that was only going to prompt more tests and he'd had enough of those for a while, thank you very much. For now it was just enough to have "his" Blair back. "What's really cool is getting to sleep in my own bed by myself," he wisecracked.

Blair's eyes widened in shock. "I slept with you?!" he groaned. He leaned on the kitchen counter top and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, man! So what else did I do that you're going to be able to hold over my head for the rest of my life?"

Jim just grinned and began rummaging in the refrigerator for something else to eat. Yes, it was definitely good to have his Guide back.

Blair insisted on cooking dinner that night, well aware that Jim would not have eaten a decent meal while he was missing. As they relaxed at the table, keeping conversation within "safe" bounds (Jim had had quite enough of Blair's accelerated heartbeat for one day), Blair asked about his university duties.

"Nothing to worry about there, Chief. You're off the hook for at least the next several days. Simon took care of it."

"Simon took care of it? Simon?" Blair chuckled and Jim's heart lightened at the sound. It seemed like forever since he'd last heard it.

"Yeah Simon, Chief. He was really worried about you." Jim wagged his fork at Blair. "And if you tell him I told you that, I'll deny it. He's unnaturally attached to that gruff reputation of his, you know."

Still smiling, Blair held up a placating hand. "Mum's the word, Jim." Then he said softly, "But it's nice to know I do more than irritate him."

Jim mentally shook his head. How a mind that brilliant could be so fraught with insecurities was beyond him.

The next morning Blair got another affirmation of how well liked he was when he and Jim entered the bullpen at the station. There was an immediate crowd surrounding the young anthropologist, clapping him on the back, shaking his hand, all expressing with words and smiles how glad they were to see him back safe and sound. Extremely moved, Blair could only smile self-consciously. Then Joel Taggart pushed his way through the crowd and enveloped the smaller man in a great bear hug. "Sandburg, it's great to see you! We were so worried."

"Thanks, Joel," Blair smiled, gently extracting himself from the smothering hug. "Believe me, it's great to be here."

Jim simply stood to the side, content to let his partner be the center of attention. Was it only a few short days ago he'd been so afraid he'd never see Blair again? He caught a glimpse of Simon from the corner of his eye, standing in his doorway grinning at the sight in front of him. So who's the softie now, Simon? Jim thought happily. Then, Simon rearranged his face and startled everyone in the bullpen by thundering, "Sandburg!"

Blair jumped and turned to face the captain. "Yessir?" he squeaked, and Banks had to stifle a grin at the involuntary tone of respect.

"Welcome back," Simon said brusquely. Then, turning back to his office, he barked, "Ellison, Sandburg, my office."

Blair rolled his eyes at Jim as they followed Simon into his office.

"Yes, sir?" Jim asked, waving off Simon's offer of coffee and sliding into his usual chair. Blair perched on the conference table.

"How are you feeling, Blair?" Sandburg had to fight a wince at Simon's use of his first name. He really was worried! His face reddened as he remembered that the captain had witnessed virtually everything Jim had told him he'd done.

"Uh…I'm fine, sir, thanks," he managed after a moment's hesitation. For a second Blair looked as if he would say more, then he waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought and repeated simply, "Thanks."

The amenities having been taken care of, Simon leaned back in his chair and demanded point-blank, "What are you two doing here? I thought I told you to stay in the loft until we got a line on Lebredo." Banks' eyes darted to Sandburg's face, silently judging his reaction to the name. Blair returned his gaze stoically. Jim, naturally, didn't miss the exchange and was relieved to note Sandburg's reaction. Looked like the kid really was going to be okay.

"We can't stay cooped up in the loft forever, Captain," he asserted, changing his mind about the coffee and rising to his feet to pour himself a cup. He waved the pot at Blair who shook his head in denial. "Besides, Blair's ready to make his statement."

"I told you I'd take his statement at the loft," Simon growled.

"Simon, I'm okay," Blair said quietly.

Simon's tone softened as he turned to look the anthropologist in the eye. "I know you are, Blair. I can see it in your eyes."

"So, let me get back to work. Please. We've got to find this guy. For Andy."

"Are you sure you aren't too close to it, Blair?"

"Hell, yes, I'm too close to it!" Sandburg slid off the table and paced the office in obvious agitation. "He…he murdered Andy…my friend, right before my eyes, damn it, and there was nothing I could do!" He turned to meet Banks' eye. "Well, there's something I can do now. I have to help find him, Simon. I need to." Although his face was cast in stone, Sandburg's eyes pleaded with the police captain.

After only a moment's hesitation, Banks relented. "Okay, Sandburg. But if I see any signs that you're losing your objectivity on this case, I'll yank you off so fast it'll make your head swim!"

"Then pull me now, Simon," but please don't "because I haven't got an objective bone in my body right now. But if you pull me officially, I'll just keep working on it unofficially." Sensing his Sentinel was about to protest, Blair held up a staying hand. "Don't even start with me, Jim. This isn't open for discussion." Jim swallowed whatever he was going to say with a swig of coffee.

Blair failed to squirm under Banks' diamond-hard glare and the captain knew he'd lost the battle. "Okay." He dismissed the team with a scowl and a wave of his hand. "Get out of here and do some police work. Jim," he called softly as Blair left the office. Ellison turned slightly. "Watch out for him."

"Always," the detective assured his captain and meant it.

Staring at the computer screen that sat on his desk-- his desk!-- Blair rubbed his temples in exhaustion. He'd finished giving his statement a while ago and Jim hadn't reacted any better the second time than the first. Truth be told, though, he really hadn't handled it any better himself. He'd felt his heart rate skyrocket early in the statement and had only just started to settle down. The story didn't lose any of its horror in the retelling, and now he was sporting a killer headache, one bad enough that Jim had trotted off to get Blair some aspirin and a glass of water when he refused to let Jim drive him home.

His phone rang and he stared at it for a moment in amusement. It was still hard to imagine that he actually had his own phone at his own desk in the bullpen! But Simon had finally decided that Blair's contributions to the department had earned him his own desk, so he no longer had to share Jim's.  He smiled as he lifted the receiver from the cradle, "Blair Sandburg."

"Hello, Blair. How are you feeling?" asked a terrifyingly familiar voice. Blair's heart resumed its jackhammer pace and, for once, he hoped Jim would pick up on it. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out of his fear-constricted throat. "Sorry I had to dash out on you like that, but you know how it is…" Marcus continued conversationally. "Places to go and all that."

"Why?" Blair managed to whisper.

"Why what, Blair? Really, you must learn to be more specific with your questions."

"Why did you have to kill Andy?" Resurfacing memories made Blair's voice hoarse.

"He defied me, Blair. No one defies me and lives."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want the dot, Blair."

"I told you, I don't have it!"

"Ah, but I think you do. I think Andy entrusted that dot to you for safekeeping, and I want it."

"Marcus, you've got to believe me! I don't have the dot. I didn't even know about it!" Blair looked frantically around the bullpen. Where the hell was Jim? For that matter, where the hell was anybody? The bullpen was empty, except for Blair. There was no one he could motion to to initiate a wiretap. Even Simon was gone, off to yet another meeting with the mayor.

"Don't lie to me, Blair."

Blair started as he recognized the phrase Marcus had used with Andy. "I'm not lying," he insisted.

"So, how's Detective Ellison?" Marcus asked abruptly, as if Blair hadn't spoken.

"What?" Blair had been frightened before; he became terrified at the mention of his partner's name.

Marcus sighed in feigned frustration. "I said, how's Detective Ellison? You know, the man I saw you with in the park? The man you live with and who knows what else with?"

The park! Marcus had been at the park the day he'd freaked. He'd been that close to him, to Jim, and they hadn't known! Blair felt his breathing quicken and his chest seemed too small to contain his pounding heart. He caught a movement to his left and frantically waved at Henri Brown to catch his attention. Brown turned, a question in his eyes, as a nearly distraught Blair pointed to the receiver in his hand and then to another phone. After a second, Brown realized Blair wanted the call traced and he jumped to comply.

"Leave Ellison out of this," Blair responded, fighting down his panic and attempting to keep Marcus on the phone long enough for Brown to complete the trace. "He doesn't know anything about your damn dot, either."

"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't, Blair, but I think you do and I think you'd hate to see anything happen to your friend, now wouldn't you? I mean, it's so easy for one to lose one's head over you, isn't it?"

Blair's heart kicked into overdrive and he heard the blood rushing in his ears. "Don't you go near him, you son of a bitch!" he rasped.

"Then meet me tonight at Cascade Park -- midnight. How about at the same bench you and Ellison played at the other day in such a sweet, touching scene?" Marcus' voice hardened. "Bring the dot. And come alone, Blair. If I see any sign of the police or your partner, I promise you Ellison will suffer the same fate as Patrick, only much, much slower and more painful. Midnight, Blair. And don't worry about packing a bag. I'll provide everything you'll need." The phone line went dead.

"Marcus! Wait!" Blair exclaimed, although he knew that Marcus had hung up. He slowly replaced the receiver and turned pleading eyes to Brown, who shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Sandburg, it wasn't long enough."

Blair buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God, this is never going to end," he groaned.

"Blair?" Blair raised his head to find Jim crossing the room, concern etched in his face. "What's wrong, Blair?" Wow, 'Blair' twice in one breath. How scared are you, Jim? Well, trust me, you got nothing on me in the fear department! Blair almost laughed, but he was certain it would come out sounding more than just a little hysterical. And Jim had been pretty much handling him with kid gloves lately anyway, afraid he'd retreat back into his little world. Doesn't sound like such a bad idea right now. Jim crouched next to Blair's chair and placed a hand on Blair's knee, whether to steady himself or Blair, the anthropologist wasn't sure. "Chief?"

Blair took a deep breath and, although his heart still pounded uncomfortably in his chest and his throat felt tight, he managed to keep his voice calm as he explained, "Marcus just called."

"Here?!" Jim exploded, causing Blair to flinch. "You get a trace?" he snapped at Brown.

Brown shook his head. "Not enough time, Jim, sorry." Then he sighed, "I've got to get to court. You gonna be okay, Hairboy?"

Blair mustered a wan smile for the concerned detective. "Yeah, H, I'll be fine. Thanks."

After Brown had left, Ellison turned back to his roommate, "What did he say, Blair?"

"He wants his fuckin' microdot, Jim! A dot I don't have and don't have a clue where to find! I'm supposed to give it to him in Cascade Park tonight at midnight!" Blair leapt to his feet and began pacing the small bullpen, his hands alternating between nervously pushing the hair away from his face and waving expressively in the air. "Oh, and just as a side note, he wants me to go away with him! He likes me!" He stopped, faced his partner, and said softly, "He was in the park the other day, Jim, watching us. Watching me." Blair squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the edge of a desk. "He…he threatened you, man, said if I didn't come alone he'd make sure you ended up like Andy, only slower and more painful. Oh, man." Blair's knees gave out and he dropped into a chair, slumping forward to hide his face in his hands once again. "What am I gonna do?" he moaned.

"You're gonna meet him in the park, that's what you're gonna do," Jim said flatly.

"What?! Jim, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying this ends tonight, Chief, if you can handle it."

Blair stared at Jim in astonishment. "How? How does it end tonight, Jim? Have you been listening to a single word I've said? I don't have the damn dot to give him and he said he'll kill anyone who even looks like a cop!"

"Well, he may be looking for cops, and he may be looking for me, but he's not going to be looking for a Sentinel, Sandburg. He won't even see me. It's risky, Chief, I won't lie to you. And if I thought there was any other way, I wouldn't even suggest this. For him not to see me, I've got to be farther away from you than I'd like. But I'll be there, watching for him, and monitoring you. I'll get him before he can get near you, Blair."

"But what about the gorilla that works for him, Jim? Vincent. He's bigger than you are, man! There's no way you can handle them both! Marcus'll kill you, Jim! We can't do this!"

"Do what?" a voice boomed from the doorway.

Both Sandburg and Ellison jumped, startled by the appearance of their captain. "I asked a question, gentlemen. What's going on?"

"Uh, your office, sir?" Jim ventured, noting that several other detectives had begun wandering back into the bullpen.

"My office," Banks acknowledged, striding past his best team. Blair rose to his feet and Jim placed a steadying hand on his back, directing him through the door to Simon's office, then closing it behind them.

"Now, what's going on here, Jim? Sandburg looks like he's seen a ghost and you're ready to eat nails."

"Lebredo called Sandburg at the station," Ellison explained, running a hand across his short hair. "He wants Sandburg to meet him at Cascade Park tonight to give him back the dot."

"But I thought Sandburg didn't have the dot."

Blair waved his arms in irritation as the conversation was conducted around him. "Hello? Over here, Simon. I came back from lah-lah land, remember? You can talk to me!"

Banks and Ellison stared at the young man in surprise. Taking a deep breath, Blair apologized. "Sorry, sorry. It just got to me there for a minute, guys. Sorry."

"It's okay, Sandburg. You're right, I should have been asking you." Simon leaned back in his chair and regarded the anthropologist. "So, do you have the dot?"

"No." Sandburg slumped dejectedly in his chair. "But if I don't give it to him, he says he'll kill Jim."

"So I assume I walked in on the tail end of a plan that Sandburg disagrees with?"

"Yeah, well, it's not one of my better ones, sir, but it's about all I can come up with right now," Jim admitted with a shrug. "I told Blair he should meet Marcus while I watched from a safe distance. Before Marcus can get close, we'll grab him. But Blair's worried about Manoa."

"You haven't seen this guy, Jim," Blair insisted. "He's huge, he's mean, and he'd just as soon kill you as look at you, man!"

"Yeah, well, I feel the same way about him," Jim growled.

"I'm not kidding here, Jim."

"Neither am I, Chief."

"Oh." Blair didn't know whether to be comforted or concerned.

"So, Jim," Simon interrupted. "Does this plan of yours have any details or are you planning to just wing it?"

Blair felt incredibly vulnerable sitting on the bench by the pond in Cascade Park. The bench, positioned close to the shoreline, sat out in the open, and the water, so cool and inviting by day, seemed dark and foreboding at night. The moon had achieved only a crescent and a thin blanket of clouds obscured the evening stars, making the blackness of night almost palpable. A street lamp intended to illuminate the pathway behind him served only to bathe the bench and its uneasy occupant in an eerie gray glow. He shivered and pulled his coat closer about him, though he knew the chill was attributable to more than just the dropping evening temperatures and the fog snaking in from the nearby bay. "I gotta tell you, Jim," he muttered softly, hunching into himself, "this plan really sucks."

From his vantage in the trees a quarter mile away, Jim shook his head and smiled grimly. "Yeah, it does," he agreed softly. He turned his touch dial down a notch to dispel the chill and his hearing up to cast a sensory net around his partner. Simon, who had refused to allow the plan to go forward without his participation, nudged his detective's elbow.

"What's going on?" he whispered in Ellison's ear.

Correctly interpreting his captain's question, Jim supplied, "Blair's making sure I know he thinks this plan sucks."

"It does suck, Jim. I just can't think of anything better." Seeing Jim's posture stiffen, he whispered hoarsely, "What is it?"

"Somebody's coming from the south end of the park. I'm picking up two new heartbeats."

Simon brought the walkie-talkie to his lips and spoke as loudly as he dared, "Heads up, people, we've got activity from the south. Hold your positions, but stay alert." He hoped he wouldn't have to explain to anyone how they had detected the intruders from their protected position. Receiving quiet acknowledgement, Simon turned back to Ellison. "Can you see them yet?"

Jim strained to pierce the thickening fog, then shook his head in frustration. "No, the fog's getting too thick. It's tough just keeping Blair in sight. I've got to extend my hearing out farther, sir, but I'm going to need your help."

Simon grimaced. He hated it when Jim dragged him into his Sentinel business. He felt so inadequate. "What do I do?" he asked, shaking off the feeling.

"Put your hand on my back. It gives me something else to focus on while I'm concentrating on one of my senses." He didn't add that Sandburg's touch grounded him in a thousand other ways as well, and that he doubted that Simon's touch would provide much of a distraction, but it was worth a try. Taking a deep breath and shifting a portion of his focus on the hand that lay tentatively on his back, Jim directed his hearing beyond his young partner's position on the park bench. Yes, there were the heartbeats, growing closer. He caught snatches of a terse, whispered conversation. "I still think this is too risky, Marcus," a deep, angry voice rasped, slightly winded at what was apparently a rapid pace through the park. Apparently this Vincent was more muscular than agile. Jim cataloged the information, thinking it might provide an advantage over the large man. "That dot still contains valuable information, Vincent. While much of the information is outdated, much of it can still be important. I want that dot." The voice paused, then continued, "And I want Blair." Jim's heart froze at the predatory tone of Lebredo's voice. No wonder the kid had been terrified. And now he sat, alone, out in the open, with help no closer than a quarter mile away, waiting to confront the man who haunted his dreams.

"We've got to get closer, Simon," he said urgently, turning slightly toward his captain. "The fog should…"

The foghorn's blare from the bay point of Cascade Park split the night and ripped through the Sentinel's head like a knife. His hearing still at maximum, Jim instinctively clapped his hands over his overloaded ears and gasped.

Simon was at a loss at how to help the agonized Sentinel. "Jim?" he called softly, not certain that the man even heard him. He shook Ellison's shoulder, wondering if Jim had suffered some sort of zone out. "Jim!"

Ellison was certain his head had exploded, the pain was so great. But, if his head had exploded, then it couldn't still hurt this badly, could it? He was dimly aware of someone shaking him, and he tried to focus his vision on the concerned face in front of him. He saw Simon's lips moving, but no sound permeated the pain in his head. Hearing Sandburg's soft voice in his mind, he attempted to turn down the dials on his hearing, reaching out to grasp Simon's arm for support. Once his hearing had returned to normal, he realized he was no longer monitoring his partner's well-being and had lost touch with his Guide. Ignoring Simon's protests, Ellison pulled his weapon and crashed through the brush to sprint across the deserted park.

Blair's right leg pumped nervously as he vainly tried to scan his surroundings through the fog. "This really sucks," he reiterated quietly, running a hand through his wayward curls.

"Such a colorful assessment."

Blair leapt to his feet in surprise, spinning to face the man he'd hoped he'd never see again. "M-Marcus!" he gasped, hoping to communicate to Jim the appearance of the murderer. As if that was necessary, he reminded himself. All he has to do is listen to your heart try to jump out of your chest and, besides, he's been following these two since they entered the park. I hope.

Marcus scanned the surrounding landscape as if he could see through the quickly gathering fog. "I see you took my advice and left your roommate at home."

"I didn't have much choice."

"Not if you wanted him to live." Blair shuddered at the callous comment. "So, how did you manage it, if I might ask?"

Blair shrugged -- expressively, he hoped. "I told him I had a date and I wouldn't be home till late."

"Ah, but you won't be home at all, Blair. Didn't I make that clear?" Marcus leaned in close to Blair's face and the anthropologist involuntarily flinched away. "You're coming with me."

"No." Blair surprised himself at the venom he injected into that one word.

"Defiance, Blair? Be careful, defiance cost Patrick his head, as I recall, and while I'll admit you interest me, I won't hesitate to kill you." He reached out to caress Blair's cheek and Blair forced himself to stare defiantly into his tormenter's eyes. Oh, God, please let this be over soon! He prayed silently willing his knees to support his body. "Did you bring the dot?" Blair almost missed the abrupt change of subject in his effort to appear calm.

"Yes."

"Ah, you see, Vincent, I knew he'd listen to reason. We simply had to find the right motivation. Now, Blair, it's not that I don't trust you or anything, but might I please see the dot that's caused me so much difficulty?"

Playing for time, Blair stepped back slightly. "How do I know you won't just sic your gorilla there on me and take the dot?" Vincent growled at the slight and Blair fought the urge to take the path to the better part of valor.

"Oh, Blair," Marcus sighed. "Do show some modicum of sense, would you please? If that had been my intent, we certainly wouldn't be standing here speaking so civilly, now would we?"

Well, so much for that diversion. "Yeah, right. Sorry, I'm kind of new to this espionage game, you know?" he stammered, wondering where in the hell Jim and Simon were. As good as his obfuscation skills might be, he was pretty much running on empty. "Look, you promised if I gave you the dot that you'd leave Jim alone…"

"Yes, I did."

"You were lying," Blair stated flatly, realizing the situation was quickly getting out of hand.

"Well, of course I was, dear boy." Marcus' smile was almost feral. "But after I saw the two of you together in the park, I knew there was nothing you wouldn't risk to ensure your friend's safety. So, here you are, and here we are, and now I think it's time you gave me the dot and we were on our way."

Blair's blood ran cold -- things were going all wrong! Marcus would soon discover that Blair didn't have the dot and kill him…if he was lucky. And then he would surely kill Jim as a final act of revenge. Still stalling for time, Blair tried another tact. "I'd rather give it to you after we leave Cascade. And only if you guarantee Jim's safety. I've hidden the dot and you won't find it without my help."

Marcus sighed theatrically and waved nonchalantly to his assistant. "Vincent," the single word, brimming with meaning, evoked a myriad of emotions in Blair -- anger at being kidnapped, at being forced to watch his friend's grisly murder, at being used as a pawn in a deadly game of cat and mouse, and terror at the thought of being a boy toy for the cruel man who regarded the loss of life so casually. The emotions swept through him almost instantly. Vincent lunged and Blair darted out of the larger man's grasp, swinging his fist in a roundhouse punch that caught the burly man on the cheek and completely by surprise. Vincent fell to his knees with a grunt, but quickly struggled to regain his footing. Blair knew he should run, should try to get away, but the same feelings that had caused him to lose touch with reality following Andy's murder spurred him to recklessness. He swung again at the behemoth, but Vincent was prepared this time and caught Blair's fist in one great paw, twisting it violently. With a gasp of pain, and thrown off balance by the awkward angle his arm now assumed, Blair dropped to one knee. Vincent slid a beefy arm around Blair's throat and began exerting a steady pressure that effectively restricted his breathing. Gray spots danced before Blair's eyes and darkness licked at the edges of his vision and he knew he was going to die.

"Cascade P.D.! Freeze!"

Had he had any breath left, Blair would have shouted his relief. As it was, Vincent's hold loosened fractionally, allowing Blair to suck in precious oxygen. His relief was short lived, however, as Vincent dragged Blair to his feet and turned to face Ellison. Vincent shifted his grip from Blair's throat to place one hand on his chin and the other on the back of his head. Blair struggled briefly, but quickly realized he was too weak to break free and that Vincent's hold could easily break his neck.

It was a Mexican standoff in Washington state, a scene frozen in time. Jim Ellison stood, stone-faced, his gun trained unwaveringly on Vincent Manoa, his eyes icy pools of anger. Simon Banks formed the rearguard pinning Lebredo with both his furious glare and his weapon.

"Let him go," Jim growled, his eyes never leaving Manoa's face.

"Ah, but Detective Ellison," Marcus replied patiently, "it appears we have the upper hand here, doesn't it? My associate has your associate in a very precarious position, and I assure you he will kill him if you so much as twitch."

As if to emphasize Marcus' words, Vincent twisted his hands slightly, eliciting a groan from Blair as pain radiated from his neck down his spine. Blair tried to turn with Vincent's motion, but the man's forearm on his chest prevented him from moving much.

"I said let him go." If possible, Jim's eyes hardened even more. That's a look I never want directed at me, Blair thought irrationally, then decided he'd probably never see another look of any kind directed at him. The thought saddened, then angered him. I refuse to be used as a pawn anymore! he vowed. As if attempting to relieve some of the pressure on his neck, Blair raised his right foot off the ground and turned his body slightly, praying that Vincent was too distracted to notice. Then, with all the force he could muster, he brought the heel of his hiking boot down on the tender, vulnerable tissue at the top of Manoa's sneaker-clad foot. Vincent howled in pain and released Blair, but not before delivering a sharp wrench to his neck. Blair fell to the ground, pain streaking up and down his spine, stars whirling before his eyes in a frenetic dance. He heard shouts, then gunshots. Concerned for his partner's safety, Blair forced his eyes open and rolled onto his side. Chaos greeted his unfocused sight. No one would ever be able to provide an accurate account of the proceedings but, if possible, things had seemingly gone from bad to worse. Simon was on the ground, clutching his left leg and writhing in pain. Jim had his arms full of Vincent Manoa, wrestling with him in a deadly dance punctuated with grunts and punches. Marcus had a gun in his hand and was attempting to find a clear shot at Jim. Blair had apparently been forgotten in the melee. With a huge grunt of exertion, Jim delivered a two-fisted blow to Vincent's jaw, dropping him like a rock. Then he bent at the waist, stunned, hands on his knees, trying gain control of his ragged breathing. Blair saw Marcus' finger tightening on the trigger and realized Jim's movements were too sluggish to be able to avoid Marcus' shots.

There was only one chance and Blair hoped he was in time.

Jim was convinced there wasn't enough oxygen in the entire world to satisfy his starved lungs. No matter how much air he sucked into them, his lungs demanded more. His head spun from the punishing blows Vincent had managed to deliver during their battle and he knew there was something he should be doing, should be taking care of. But, for the life of him, he just couldn't make his addled brain focus.

However, a quick glance to his right provided all the information he needed. Simon was on the ground, his hands wrapped around a bloody leg, yelling something at him - what was he saying? Wait, if Simon was down, where was Lebredo? He shifted his gaze to the left and nearly froze when he realized that Lebredo had a gun and had it trained unwaveringly on him.

"Good try, detective, but not good enough, I'm afraid," Marcus intoned as he squeezed the trigger on the automatic handgun. Jim flung himself to the ground, knowing he wasn't fast enough to avoid the bullet, and braced himself for the blinding pain he knew would follow. He heard the anguished shout of his Guide a fraction before he heard the gun's loud report and never felt the expected agony. He immediately rolled to his feet in a desperate attempt to overpower Lebredo and stumbled in surprise. Lebredo was on his knees, obviously dazed, his hands pressed against his right temple. Blood seeped between his fingers and the gun lay forgotten on the ground next to him. Gathering his wits, Jim scooped up the gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans with one hand while grabbing his handcuffs with the other. He quickly and efficiently handcuffed Lebredo around the leg of the park bench, which was bolted to a concrete slab, then used Simon's handcuffs to similarly bind Manoa. Once that was accomplished, Jim seemed uncertain whom to tend next. His Sentinel genes warred with his medic training, until Blair waved him toward Simon with a soft "I'm okay, Jim."

Jim retrieved Simon's fallen walkie-talkie, apprised the waiting backup of the situation, and requested an ambulance. He then used his shirt to apply pressure to the bleeding wound, all the while casting anxious and curious glances at his partner. Mindful of his still hurting neck, Blair slowly moved to kneel next to the two policemen. "Is he gonna be okay, Jim?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's gonna be fine, Chief," Jim smiled reassuringly. "It's a little more than 'just a flesh wound', but it's not serious."

Blair started to nod, then thought better of it as his neck protested. "Good."

"Now I know how you feel when we talk around you, Sandburg," Simon grumbled through his gritted teeth, trying to shift to a more comfortable position on the ground. "Remind me of that next time we do it."

"No problem," Blair grinned, then backed away as the paramedics and backup officers swarmed over the area.

Relinquishing his medic duties, Jim moved to stand next to his Guide. "You okay, Chief?" he asked, gently probing Blair's stiff neck.

Blair winced. "Yeah, just hurts when I move, man," he joked lamely.

"You were right, Sandburg. This plan really sucked."

Blair chuckled softly, "I knew you'd hear that. No, it wasn't one of our better ones…but it worked, and that's all that matters."

"No it isn't, Chief. I screwed up. I never even thought about the fog. I got blind-sided by a fog horn and lost track of you for a few minutes."

"I wondered," Blair admitted quietly. "I was running out of delaying tactics. But you got here and we're all fine…well, most of us, anyway," he added, watching the paramedics lift the police captain onto a waiting gurney. "And it's over." His gaze rested on Marcus and Vincent, now being tended to by Rafe and Brown.

"It's not completely over," Jim reminded him, slipping an arm around Blair's shoulders and gently leading him after the departing paramedics. "You'll still have to testify, you know."

Blair's eyes hardened as he turned to regard one of the most evil men he'd ever come across in his young life. "I can do that," he said firmly.

Simon impatiently flipped through the limited selection of television channels, then turned off the set and tossed the remote back onto the tray table that spanned the width of his hospital bed. As he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position for his leg, the door to his room opened and Sandburg bounced in, followed by his more sedate partner. "Hey, Simon!" Blair called out cheerily, dropping into the chair beside Banks' bed. "How you feeling?"

"I'll live," Banks admitted grudgingly. He peered at Blair. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, this?" Blair touched the cervical collar that surrounded his neck. "Yeah, just wrenched my neck is all. Doctor says I gotta wear this thing for a day or so."

"For three days," Jim supplied sternly. "And I intend to make sure it stays on all three days."

Blair waved off Jim's mother-hen mode with a casual, "Whatever, man," that warned the Sentinel that the collar would be an ongoing battle.

"I've always said you needed to put a collar on him, Jim," Simon laughed, glad to see his friends back to normal. "Doesn't seem to affect his ability to talk, though, does it?"

"No, I'm thinking a muzzle might be next," Jim grinned, reaching over to tousle his friend's long hair.

Blair slapped Jim's hand away. "Oh, ha, ha," he frowned playfully. "So, Simon, when are they gonna spring ya?"

"With good behavior, maybe tomorrow. Not soon enough to suit me."

"I hear that," Blair sympathized, sounding very much like his mother.

"So, Sandburg, how'd you manage to save Jim's tail last night? Things happened sort of fast after you stepped on Manoa's foot. I still can't figure out how Lebredo managed to pull a gun on me so fast! And Manoa was obviously quicker than either Jim or I gave him credit for."

"Yeah, Chief, I've been meaning to ask you what you did. Lebredo had a clear shot at me," Jim chimed in. "I was sure I'd bought it, but you saved my life."

Blair blushed. "Well, I just got pissed all of a sudden. That's why I stomped on Vincent's foot -- to make him let me go. Obviously it worked, but, man, I thought he'd ripped my head off in the process! Anyway, when I could see straight again, I saw Simon on the ground and Marcus getting ready to shoot you. I could tell you were woozy and I knew there was no way you could get out of the way fast enough. I just sort of went on autopilot at that point, I think. I reached in my pocket and found that rock -- my talisman -- and I just sort of let fly at Marcus with it."

"That was some shot you made, Chief," Jim smiled proudly. "Nailed him right on the side of the head."

Blair coughed self-consciously and ducked his head. "Well, uh, I wouldn't be so quick to congratulate me, Jim," he said with a slight smile.

"Why not?"

"I was aiming at his hand, not his head."

Jim blanched at the admission and the realization of how close a call it had been. "Oh."

"Well, hey," Blair laughed, "you're the one that came up with the plan that sucked. I had to improvise to get us out of it!"

Unable to dispute the truth of his Guide's words, Jim only shook his head and muttered, "Aiming for his hand. My God!"

"Hey," Blair continued, "John Wayne always shot the gun out of the bad guy's hand! I figured I could do the same with my rock!" Feeling that he'd fully justified his actions, Blair turned to Simon. "So, did you catch the score of the Jag's game last night? Man, they kicked some serious butt!"

Jim and Simon stared at each other for a moment, communicating a single thought. It was good to have Sandburg back.

THE END

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