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.

Part Two