Still Falls the Rain

Author’s Note: There’s no specific time frame for this story per se, but I envisioned it as taking place early in season 3. As always, I claim no ownership to Jim, Blair or the other characters owned by PetFly. No money was made from this tale, but comments are always welcome payment!

Monday, November 6

It was a little after nine in the morning when Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were called to the parking garage that attached to the Barrow Building, a complex of various offices downtown. And naturally, because it was raining heavily, the crime scene was located on the uncovered top level of the garage. From the safety of the pickup the two partners glanced out of their respective windows, staring glumly at the sheets of water streaming down the glass. With a mutual sigh, they turned to share a quick look of resignation before exiting the truck and immediately becoming drenched in the downpour.

"What've we got?" Ellison asked the uniform cop as he futilely tried to tug his Jags cap farther down over his head, desperate for what little protection the hat had to offer. Sandburg didn't even have the luxury of head cover, so he scrunched down into the confines of his jacket and did his best to ignore the water dripping from his sodden curls down the back of his neck as he tried to pay attention to the crime scene.

"White male, found slumped in the front seat of his car with a bullet to the temple," the officer reported from the depths of his uniform slicker and thus a little less miserable than the detective and his partner. Jim nodded and moved over to the silver Lexus that was blocked off with police tape, sticking his head inside to examine the body. Blair tried to follow, but the spray of blood that covered the rich leather interior predictably turned his stomach and he had to back away. Taking in a few deep breaths of the damp, clear air, he idly wondered if he'd ever get used to the sight of a homicide crime scene. Shaking his head slightly, sending drops of water dancing over his shoulders, he realized he never wanted to get used to seeing that level of violence, no matter how many lectures he’d endured from his partner about checking his emotions at the door.

The sentinel’s attention first landed on the ghastly head wound, and dialing up his sight he realized that it had been inflicted at very close range. But his enhanced vision could find nothing that indicated any struggle, nor any foreign objects that could lead him to the identity of the killer. The only thing out of the ordinary, once he filtered out the overpowering stench of blood and the lesser odors of leather and cigarettes and gunpowder, was the faint whiff of Old Spice cologne, a scent he was very familiar with as his roommate in college had practically showered in the stuff. It wasn’t coming from the victim, whose cologne was more musky and probably a good deal more expensive. Then, only after he’d finished the initial sensory scan, did Ellison take a good look at the deceased’s blood spattered face. And after a moment, recognition set in.

“Kevin Kuchler,” he blurted out in surprise.

“You know him?” Blair asked, his interest piquing even from a distance.

“I know of him,” Jim answered, a bit absently. “He’s a defense attorney. Pretty new to the game but getting the reputation as a hotshot.”

“Nice wheels,” the uniform cop speculated. “Think it was a robbery attempt or carjacking gone bad?”

"It wasn't a robbery," Ellison commented, stowing his sentinel instincts and summoning forth his police training as his experienced detective’s eye swept over the body and the interior of the car, taking in the man's expensive watch and gold cufflinks. He slipped on a latex glove, struggling to pull the clinging material over his wet skin. When it was on as well as he was going to get it, he reached through the window and patted a bulge in the victim's overcoat, retrieving a wallet full of cash and credit cards. “Even if it was a robbery gone bad, anyone with larcenous intent wouldn’t have left this behind.”

“So what? A disgruntled client?”

“Maybe,” Jim replied, noncommital.

"Security guy found him," the officer continued, nodding toward a man waiting a few feet away from the scene. "Melvin Rabinski. Says he didn't see anything."

Jim checked the driver’s license in the wallet to confirm his ID before putting it back where he'd found it. Straightening up, he glanced over at the man the cop had indicated.

"Once the M.E. is through, have Forensics take a look at the car," he instructed, clapping the officer's shoulder in thanks. He inclined his head slightly toward Sandburg, indicating that he should follow, and then went over to talk to the security guard.

"I'm Detective Ellison," he introduced himself. "This is Blair Sandburg, consultant to the department. I understand you found the body?"

"Yes, sir," the man replied. "I was doing a round through the garage when I spotted the car. I didn't see Mr. Kuchler at first. Just the open window. I went over to see about closing it for him, and saw him slumped over the wheel with blood everywhere."

"He was back against the seat when we got here," Jim pointed out. "Did you move him?"

"I did," the guard admitted, a bit guiltily. "I know I shouldn't have, but I didn't think about that at the time. I just eased him back and checked for a pulse, which he didn't have. Then I called the police."

“How do you know the victim?”

“It’s my job,” Rabinski answered, a bit surprised. “If I don’t know who works in those offices, I don’t know if anything suspicious is going on, do I?”

“I guess not,” the sentinel replied. His gaze fixed on the man before him, or what he could see from behind layers of rain gear. A big man, looking to be around forty. Beefy, clean shaven and dark hair in a crew cut. Brown eyes set too close together and a flat nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. But he didn’t sense anything amiss, and he was almost disappointed to smell the Old Spice on the guy, for there went his only lead in the crime. "And you didn't hear anything or see anyone suspicious this morning?" the sentinel questioned.

"No," the man replied, shaking his head slightly. "But I only came on duty at 6. The night guard leaves at midnight and there’s no one on duty in between.”

“Midnight to six, that’s pretty late, or early,” Sandburg piped up, his natural curiosity getting the better of him. “Was it common for Kuchler to work those hours?”

“I’m off at three so I don’t know when he typically leaves,” the guard said. “Ralph, the night guard, could tell you that. But Mr. Kuchler isn’t usually here when I get here in the morning.”

“All right, we’ll check back with the night guard. Thank you for your help, Mr. Rabinski.”

“Call me Mel,” the guard urged. “Everyone does.”

“Mel,” the detective conceded. “Just give your contact information to the uniform over there. And if you think of anything else, you can reach me here.” He handed his card over to the security guard before turning and heading back across the garage.

"Did you get any hit off the car?" Blair asked quietly, following his friend back to the truck.

"Nothing noteworthy," Jim replied. "Doesn’t look like the perp got in the car with him. But from the setup, I’m inclined to say it was someone he knew.”

“You think it could be a disgruntled client?” Sandburg queried, hopping into the truck and wincing at the squelching noise his wet clothes made against the seat.

“It’s an avenue to look at,” Ellison agreed as he fired up the ignition, sighing but not commenting as his partner turned the heat on full blast. “But we need some more info on the guy. No telling what he was into. And once the M.E. determines time of death we’ll get a better clue as to what he was doing and who he might have been meeting. Do you mind?!”

“What?” Blair asked innocently, pausing in wringing the rain out of his long curls.

“We have to ride back home in this vehicle tonight, you know,” the sentinel said in irritation, glancing at the puddle of water his guide was creating.

“What’s it matter?” Sandburg grumbled. “We probably won’t be dry by then anyway.” He leaned back in his seat, trying not to think about being cold and wet but realizing it was likely going to be a very long day.

Fortunately for the detective, he had a change of clothes in his locker at the station. He offered the dry clothing to his partner first, not out of any sort of generosity but rather for the selfish motive of sparing himself listening to his friend complain. But Blair declined, making a mental note that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to stash a change of clothes for himself in his partner’s locker. He did eagerly accept a Cascade P.D. sweatshirt that Jim managed to scrounge up, so although he remained wet from the waist down he would be at least mostly warm. It didn’t stop him from ranting about the weather though as he toweled off his hair and secured the damp curls back with a band he’d dug out of his pocket.

“I’ll never understand why you chose to stay in Cascade, of all places,” the sentinel remarked, only half listening as he’d heard the same tirade before. He knew his guide didn’t really mean it; sometimes he just talked for the sake of hearing himself talk. But considering Blair’s extensive travel history with his nomadic mother, it was a legitimate question. Out of everywhere in the world, how did someone so sensitive to “cold and wet” end up in a place where rain was often the rule, rather than the exception.

“I guess it was fate,” Sandburg answered, not really thinking about it. “I was destined to find you, and you’re here, so on some level I knew this was where I needed to be.”

“Uh huh,” Ellison murmured practically, not buying his friend’s theory on the mystical. “That scholarship Rainier offered you didn’t have anything to do with it, then?”

“Maybe a little,” Blair grinned. He couldn’t remember telling Jim about that, but he must have at some point. And that made him realize that, although outwardly it appeared that the sentinel wasn’t listening to him as he rambled on, he was not only listening but retaining the information. Which made Sandburg come to the conclusion he was going to have to be more careful about remembering what he revealed, just so none of his “obfuscations” came back to bite him in the ass. “Now would you hurry up, man? I need some coffee and I need it now.”

“Go on,” Ellison granted, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his discarded pants, fishing out a $20 bill and handing it to his partner. They had gotten the call for the crime scene before either one had the chance to make breakfast and he was starving, as he knew his roommate had to be. “See if you can track down the donut cart, too.”

Blair trotted off as Jim finished buttoning up his shirt. He tucked the tail into his pants, realizing he hadn’t needed to give his order to his friend for Sandburg would know what he wanted. Sometimes it was annoying, even a little scarey, to think about anyone knowing him on the deep, personal level that Blair did. But other times, like now, it was reassuring for Ellison and he took a measure of comfort in that familiarity and predictability. And it was only slightly less comforting to realize that, predictably, he wasn’t likely to get any change from his twenty dollar bill.

Coffee and pastries were waiting for him when he arrived at his desk, and the detective partook of his late breakfast while he wrote up the preliminaries of the case. When he had the basics together, he gathered up the case folder and headed for the captain’s office with his unofficial partner in tow. Simon waved them in after he knocked. Blair hopped up to sit on the conference table, ignoring the glare Banks shot in his direction. Jim remained standing, for pacing always seemed to help him think better.

“What have you got?” the captain asked.

“Kevin Kuchler,” Ellison began. “Single bullet wound to the head, dead in his car in the parking garage of the Barrow Building where he has an office. Possessions intact. Found by the security guard stationed out of the building. No witnesses.”

“Random or personal?” Banks asked.

“Right now I’d say personal, sir,” Jim answered. “We’re waiting on the M.E. to confirm, but it looks like the murder happened sometime during the night. The car window was down, as if Kuchler was speaking with someone. Given the hour, I doubt he’d put himself in that position for someone he didn’t know.”

“Fair enough,” Simon conceded. “I’ve been hearing a lot about this Kuchler lately. Real thorn in the prosecution’s side, from what I understand. Have you been up against him yet, Jim?”

“No,” the detective replied. “But I’ve been hearing the same things from other detectives. Guy’s a real shark. Can twist anybody’s words around and manages to find loopholes in the loopholes.”

“His stats are through the roof,” Blair added. “He’s gotten a lot of people off even when the case against them has been rock solid. Even one guy who...”

“His successes aren’t important, Sandburg,” the captain interrupted brusquely. “Someone he got acquitted isn’t likely to want him dead. What about his losses?”

“Waiting on the court records to be faxed over,” Jim told him. “I’d also like a search warrant for his office.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Simon promised. “Now go on, get out of here.” The pair started to leave the office but Ellison paused as the captain called him back. “Be careful with this one, Jim.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shark or not, the guy was a lawyer and all his colleagues are going to be demanding justice. It could make for difficult working relations for you if you can’t deliver or misstep in anyway. It’s by the book on this one, all right?”

The detective read between the lines of his boss’ words. No sentinel tricks that he couldn’t back up with hard evidence. If the case were to be thrown out because he claimed to have heard or saw or smelled something no ordinary man could have, it would make him a pariah among the array of attorneys he worked with, and with many he’d already had a tenuous relationship at best.

“I understand, sir,” the sentinel agreed. “By the books.”

Tuesday, November 7

Jim climbed into the truck, slamming the door behind him and letting out a small sigh of frustration. He’d spent the previous afternoon reviewing all of Kevin Kuchler’s recent cases and had only come up with one that he felt was worth pursuing. A noted drug dealer that not even Kuchler’s razzle dazzle could get off. When he was found guilty of murder and sentenced, the defendant became irate, lunging at his attorney and loudly swearing vengeance as the court officers were dragging him away. Ellison had spent the morning at the penitentiary, but his interview with the felon turned out to be a dead end. Sure, they all claimed innocence, but there was nothing about the man to give the sentinel any indication that he was lying. A further check into the convict’s limited visitation and phone records had also failed to turn up anything incriminating. Which put the detective right where he had no desire to be. Back at square one.

Checking his watch, he saw it was after noon. Sandburg had gone to the university, but he’d only had morning classes and had told his partner he’d be available in the afternoon if needed. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Jim dialed his friend’s number, filling him in on his disappointing investigation and asking if he wanted to come along for the search of Kuchler’s office. Blair did and they agreed to meet up for lunch at a restaurant a block from the Barrow Building.

Ellison arrived first and after a cursory glance at the menu he ordered for the both of them. The familiarity swings both ways, he thought to himself, hiding a grin as he sipped at his water. Sandburg breezed in a few minutes later and the food arrived shortly after that. They didn’t rush, but they didn’t linger either, making small talk as they ate. Jim paid the bill and they left the restaurant, stepping out into the light drizzle and deciding to leave their vehicles where they were parked and just walk down the street to the building.

Inside the lobby they found a small office that served as the security guard station. Looking through the window they spied the guard they had met the day before. He spied them at the same time and quickly came to greet them, inviting them in. The detective handed him the search warrant and Mel Rabinski skimmed over it briefly before going to the case hanging on the wall, unlocking it with a key from his belt and extracting another key from the rows displayed.

“Here,” he said, tossing the key to Ellison. “That will get you in.”

“How’d you know which one it was?” Sandburg asked, intrigued by the way the man had gone for the right key with unerring precision, for the keys weren’t labeled and weren’t arranged in order as far as he could tell. Kuchler’s office was on the fifth floor, but the key had come from the middle of the third row.

“There is a chart,” Rabinski confessed. “But I have the order memorized.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Blair told him.

“Eh, it was a way to kill time,” the guard shrugged. “I’m not much for reading like Ralph is, so this gave me something to do between rounds. That was back before we got the tv in here, not that I use it much. Not a lot on worth watching during the day. Besides, I like to stay focused on the job, you know.”

“That’s admirable of you,” Ellison said impatiently. “We’ll be sure to drop this back off to you when we leave. Come on, Chief.”

They left the room and took the elevator to the fifth floor, letting themselves into Kuchler’s office. There was a reception area with a desk, and realizing that the lawyer must have had a secretary, the detective paused and began rifling.

“Is that covered under the warrant?” Sandburg asked, only half joking.

“I’m just looking for a name, Chief,” Jim explained, deliberately not answering the question. “Anyone working for Kuchler might know something. We have to find her and talk to her.”

“How do you know it’s a ‘her’? Blair teased. “There are a lot of male secretaries these days.”

“I doubt anyone with Kuchler’s ego and flair would hire a male secretary,” Ellison mumbled. “Besides, there’s this.” He picked up a neon pink glitter pen that was topped with a furry pompom and waved it in the air.

“That still doesn’t mean anything,” Sandburg protested, though his argument lacked bite. “Don’t you always tell me that being biased and making assumptions cripples an investigation?”

“Go investigate this, smart ass,” the sentinel proclaimed, opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a box of tampons, throwing it at his guide.

“Ok,” Blair laughed, catching the box and dropping it down on the desk. “You win, all right? She’s a she.” He leaned over the desk, craning his neck to see what else his partner had found. It was a leatherbound journal, and the anthropologist frowned as the detective undid the clasp. “What are you doing now, Jim? Reading her diary?”

“It’s a date book, genius.” Ellison was rewarded with the name “Tracy Lacoste” written on the inside cover. He jotted the name down on a memo pad with the pink pen before quickly thumbing through the book. It appeared to be for Tracy’s personal life as opposed to anything involving Kuchler, so he closed it back up and replaced it in the drawer, along with the feminine products. He ripped the top sheet off the memo pad and stuffed it in his pocket, then the two of them continued on into Kuchler’s office proper.

Blair tried to walk Jim through a sensory scan of the richly decorated room, a little confused as to why he was hesitating, but the sentinel finally gave in and concentrated, trusting his guide to lead him and keep him grounded. Sandburg was visibly disappointed when they came up empty but Ellison wasn’t surprised. The office wasn’t the crime scene. So it was time to do things the old fashioned way, which meant rolling up their sleeves and sifting through the piles of papers and stacks of files. But four hours later they were no closer to finding any leads as to who wanted Kevin Kuchler dead and why.

Forced to admit defeat, they left the office, locking the door behind them. Stopping by the guard office in the lobby they realized there had been a shift change, for which the detective was glad because the night duty guard was on his interview list. However, Ralph was older, grumpy, and appeared to be much less diligent and dedicated to his post than Mel was. He barely looked up from his newspaper, taking the returned office key and tossing it carelessly down on the table. His responses to Ellison’s questions consisted of mostly of negative grunts, but as the pair were leaving he tore himself away from the headlines long enough to wave at a small stack of videotapes on the counter.

“Mel said you’d be wanting them surveillance tapes.”

“Surveillance tapes?” Jim echoed. “This building’s equipped with cameras?”

“A few. Mel said he looked ‘em over and didn’t see nothing, but he said to give ‘em to you anyway.”

“Tell Mel ‘thanks’,” the sentinel said with a touch of sarcasm, adding under his breath, “if you can manage to drop your paper for five seconds.” Shaking his head, he scooped up the tapes and left the office with his guide in tow.

Outside, it was still drizzling. A little harder than before but not too bad. Just enough to coat them with a fine layer of dampness in the walk back to their cars. Feeling the pressure to clear this case, Ellison debated returning to the station to review the tapes and try to track down Tracy Lacoste. But Sandburg was all for calling it a day and starting fresh in the morning, and after a moment’s deliberation, Jim relented. After all, if Rabinski hadn’t seen anything on the tapes then they were probably just another dead end, and chances were that tracking down Tracy wasn’t going to involve anything more than opening the phone book. So he agreed they could head back to the loft.

Blair felt the dampness soaking into him as they hurried down the street, but he didn’t mind so much. At least it was the end of the day as opposed to the start. He’d get a little wet, but it was nothing a hot shower and a nice warm dinner and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix.

Wednesday, November 8

"I'd say the rainy season has officially begun," Jim commented as he stared out of the balcony doors at the wet, gray sky.

"Compared to what?" Sandburg snapped from the kitchen where he was making tea.

"Point taken," the sentinel grinned. Blair had awoken with a cold, and Ellison attributed that to his roommate's unaccustomed grumpiness and did not take offense. He turned away from the moisture beading down the glass and joined his friend in the kitchen, adding a little more coffee to the mug in his hands. He took a sip and set the cup down on the counter while he poured himself a bowl of cereal. As he was adding the milk, the phone rang. Blair was closer but he ignored it, figuring it would be snatched out of hands anyway, so why bother? He didn’t pay attention to the call after initially assessing it wasn’t for him, but when his partner’s tone changed drastically it renewed his interest.

“What’s up?” Sandburg asked as the sentinel hung up the phone.

“We’ve got another body over at the Barrow.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, so finish up here, Chief,” Ellison commanded as he began inhaling his cereal. “We’re rolling in five.”

Blair sighed, his gaze going to the dreary horizon outside the balcony doors.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that the body’s in the covered part of the garage this time?”

As they arrived on the scene, they discovered their second victim wasn’t in the garage at all, but in a small parking lot behind the building. Blair came prepared with an umbrella, but the wind had picked up and the rain blew underneath, mostly soaking him from the shoulders down anyway. But he resolutely followed his partner to the cordoned off area behind a large metal dumpster in the corner of the lot.

“Gunshot wound to the back,” Ellison remarked, crouching down beside the body as Blair hovered close to him. The rain had contaminated the crime scene, but enough spatter remained to tell him that the body had not been moved and had most likely been there for several hours. “What the hell was he doing back here?” The faintest whiff of Old Spice wafted through his nose, and the detective stood up and scanned the small crowd that the uniform cops were keeping back, easily picking out the security guard among them. He waved Rabinski forward, and the man ducked under the tape and came to meet him.

“Found another one, huh, Mel?”

“Technically, no.” The guard turned back to the crowd, pointing at a distraught looking young woman with a black lab on a leash. “She did. Actually the dog did. I was just getting in and I heard someone screaming for help. Came out here and found her hysterical, pointing behind the dumpster. And there was poor Dr. Lacoste. I checked him for a pulse, but he was dead. Had been for awhile, it seemed like.”

“He’s face down in a pile of garbage,” Sandburg pointed out. “How do you know who he is?”

“I recognize the jacket,” Mel explained, nodding towards the black leather coat that was elaborately embroidered in an intricate design, “even with a bullet hole through it.”

“Wait,” Ellison interrupted. “What did you say his name was?”

“Dr. John Lacoste. He’s a dentist. Was. Office on the third floor.”

The sentinel exchanged a long look with his guide.

“He wouldn’t happen to be related to a Tracy Lacoste, would he?” Blair ventured.

“Yeah, that’s his daughter. Sweet girl. She’s been working here since the summer, temping for...” Rabinski trailed off as he belatedly saw the connection. “Mr. Kuchler,” he finished weakly.

“What do you think?” Sandburg asked his partner.

“I think we need to have a long talk with Tracy,” Jim replied grimly.

“You don’t think she’s involved, do you?” the guard pressed worriedly. “She’s just a kid. No, I can’t believe she had anything to do with this.”

“Maybe not directly, but she’s the link between two dead bodies,” the detective pointed out. “No one’s accusing her of anything yet, but we definitely need to talk to her.”

Rabinski nodded reluctantly.

“You want the surveillance tapes from last night?” he offered. “This is a blind spot for the camera, but you’re welcome to the tapes if you want.”

“Yeah, round those up for me and I’ll have them picked up later,” Ellison agreed, more to give the guard something useful to do than out of the hope he’d find something caught on film. “Come on, Chief.”

They went back to the truck and Blair folded up his umbrella and tossed it to the floor, glaring at it for all the good it had done him.

“You know...”

“Yeah, I do know, Sandburg,” the detective interrupted him. “You hate being cold and wet. So spare me the complaints, all right, because I’ve heard them in spades.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about being cold and wet,” Blair protested.

“What then?”

“I was just going to point out that I could be in Borneo right now,” the anthropologist grinned cheekily, “warm and dry. You know, tropical sun, sandy beaches. Girls in bikinis? But no, I gave up an island paradise to stay here with you. See the sacrifices I make to work with you, man?”

“You still got the better end of the deal, Chief,” Ellison told him as he pulled the truck out into traffic.

“What do you mean?”

“Giving up an island paradise is nothing compared to the sacrifices I have to make for you to work with me,” Jim answered, keeping a straight face.

“Yeah. Hey, wait! That was an insult, wasn’t it?”

The sentinel didn’t crack a smile as he glanced at his indignant guide, but his blue eyes were twinkling.

“My next sacrifice is going to be the money for a latte and a bagel, if you’re willing to run in and grab it.”

Blair looked at the droplets of water being buffeted by the wind against his window and shrugged.

“Sure, why not?” After all, it wasn’t like he could get any wetter. And fortunately he’d had the foresight to bring a change of dry clothes with him that morning. That thought coupled with the idea of gourmet coffee as opposed to generic stuff that had been left on the burner too long at the station was comforting enough to make it all worth a little soaking.

“Jim, I’m not liking what I’m hearing,” Banks told his detective sternly.

“I’m doing everything I can, Simon,” Ellison said wearily as he began to pace in front of the captain’s desk. “You told me to go by the book, I did, and we stalled out at a dead end. There’s nothing on any of the security tapes. The lot behind the building is free parking and the garage is electronically metered so there’s no human witnesses there. No gunshots have been heard in the vicinity so the killer’s probably using a silencer. Kuchler’s finances all came back clean. All of his clients from the last two years have been checked out and cleared. No drug use, gambling problems or bribery scams. Hell, I can’t even find so much as a pissed off ex-girlfriend. The guy was a shark, but whatever underhanded tricks he pulled in the court, they were all legal.”

“There has to be something you’re missing,” Simon persisted.

“Well if you can figure it out, be my guest,” Jim argued, his voice rising slightly as he came to a stop. “I’m running out of angles here. What do you want me to do, start manufacturing evidence?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” the captain relented. “I’ve already had both the mayor and the chief on my ass about this today. But I know you’re doing your best. Where are you on the dentist and his daughter?”

“Rafe and Brown went over to break the news to her and her mother this morning,” the detective conveyed. “H said they were both pretty upset. The girl’s coming in later this afternoon to talk to me about Kuchler.”

“I guess we just have to hope she knows something,” Banks sighed.

“Or that Rafe and Brown find something,” Ellison added, for the two detectives had detoured by the Barrow on their way back to search Lacoste’s office.

“Well, keep me posted.”

The sentinel left his superior’s office and returned to his desk, opening the folder resting on top and spreading the sheets of paper out, frowning as he studied them. After a moment, his guide joined him, plunking down into the chair beside him.

“Simon’s right,” Jim murmured, rubbing a hand over his brow. “We’re missing something here.”

“Well, I just got off the phone with the Barrow building supervisor,” Blair told him. “She only had good things to say about Mel. That he’s very diligent and dedicated to the job. Takes it really seriously. He used to have the night shift and insisted on walking all the women out to their cars after dark. She said that nothing would get by him on his watch.”

“I’m guessing she didn’t say the same about Ralph,” Ellison commented dryly.

“No,” Sandburg grinned. “Just the opposite.”

“Someone could be murdered in the lobby and he wouldn’t look up from his newspaper?”

“That’s about the gist of it.”

Jim chuckled, leaning back in his chair and stretching slightly before checking his watch.

“Listen, Chief, it’s probably going to be more of the same around here for the rest of the day, so I can cut you loose if you want.”

“I don’t mind hanging around.”

The sentinel eyed his guide who was starting to sound raspy, maybe from the coughs he’d been stifling all day.

“You sure? I don’t know how long I’m going to be tonight.”

“It’s ok.”

Ellison glanced at his watch again.

“Well, Tracy Lacoste is coming in around 4:30. Which gives us enough time to grab a quick bite. Might be the only chance we get tonight. You want to hit the coffee shop?”

“Sure.” Blair got up and grabbed their still damp jackets from the rack. He held his partner’s out to him just as the phone on his desk began to ring. The detective answered, spoke briefly and then gave out directions to the coffee shop on the corner before hanging up. “Who was that?”

“Mel Rabinski,” Jim answered as he slipped into his jacket. “He just got off duty and said he wanted to talk to us about something so I figured he could meet us down there.”

But the pair only made it out to the hallway, running into Brown as he was getting off the elevator.

“Glad I caught you,” H said, pausing as he took in the sight of them in their coats and breaking into a teasing grin. “You guys going to dinner already? Ellison, you’re going to put the ‘senior’ in ‘senior detective.’”

“Hey, some of us haven’t had lunch yet,” Jim shot back. “Unlike the unlimited buffet at the Golden Panda that you had.”

“How did you know that?” Brown demanded suspiciously.

Blair rolled his eyes, biting back a sigh. He didn’t know how Jim knew. It could have been the smell of the place on the detective’s clothes or fortune cookie crumbs on his shirt or chopstick indentation marks on his fingers, for that matter. But whatever the giveaway, it was the result of a sentinel trick, of that the anthropologist was sure. And for a guy who was so damned paranoid about anyone finding out about his senses, James Ellison sure was quick to flaunt them time and time again in front of a bunch of detectives trained to notice things. And like always, it was up to the guide to bail him out.

“Ah, don’t let him fool you,” Sandburg piped up, slapping his partner on the back. It was harder than a playful slap would have been, as he was sending a deliberate ‘watch your mouth’ message to his friend. “Rafe mentioned it when he called with an update earlier.” He held his breath for a tense moment, hoping this particular obfuscation wasn’t about to be exposed as a big, fat lie. But fortunately Brown relaxed, seemingly buying the explanation.

“Oh. Well, we didn’t turn up anything glaring at the dentist’s office.”

“But you did turn up something?” the sentinel asked.

“Looks like there might be some discrepancies in some of his books. Nothing glaring, like I said, but things didn’t look quite right. We brought the logs back and Rafe’s dropping them off in Forensics now to have someone versed in accounting check them out.”

“How long?”

“Rafe’s going to get them to put a rush on it. Oh, and then there’s this.” Brown reached into his pocket and pulled out a photocopied piece of paper. “We’ve got a black and white bringing boxes of records in, but I thought you might want to see this right away.”

“What am I looking at?” Ellison questioned, squinting over the sheet that was filled with names and medical terms.

“It’s a list of prescriptions Dr. Lacoste wrote over the past month.”

“So?”

“Notice anything strange about it?”

Jim read over the list again, the light dawning as he saw what had flagged his colleague’s attention.

“Seems like an awful lot of narcotics scripts for a dentist to be issuing.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Want me to run it by Cooper in Narco and get his take?”

“Yeah, thanks H,” Ellison told him, handing the paper back and clapping him on the shoulder. “Good work.”

Brown left, heading down the hallway towards the Narcotics offices.

“I must be going to the wrong guy because all my dentist ever tells me is to take Tylenol,” Blair said thoughtfully. “You ever get anything good from yours?”

“Not even when he yanked a wisdom tooth,” Jim confirmed, stroking his chin as he thought things over. “This definitely gives us a new area to look at. Come on, we have to go meet Rabinski and then we can revisit possible links between Lacoste and Kuchler.”

Because of the informal briefing with Brown, they arrived at the coffee shop to find the security guard already waiting for them in a booth, pouring over the menu. Due to its convenient location, the small diner was regularly frequented by all the officers in the station and Jim and Blair were more than familiar with the menu, placing their orders immediately when the waitress came with water.

“Has there been any progress in the case yet?” Rabinski asked when the waitress left.

“Not really,” the detective told him. “We might have some new leads to follow up, but I’m not comfortable saying more about it now. Tell me, what’s your opinion of Dr. Lacoste?”

“What do you mean?”

“What did you think about him? Ever hear anyone say anything bad about him?”

“No,” Mel answered, shaking his head for emphasis. “He was a nice guy. Great with the kids, from what I understand. Most of his patients were the little tykes. People liked him.” He picked up his water glass and took a long swallow. “Only...”

“Only what?”

“It’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” the guard confessed. “I remembered something.”

“Go on,” Ellison prodded.

“It was a couple of months ago. I was making a round and I walked up on Dr. Lacoste and Mr. Kuchler in the back lot. They were arguing.”

“About what?” Sandburg wanted to know.

“I don’t know. I was going to let them have their privacy, but it started to get pretty heated. I was afraid one of them was going to start swinging so I started heading toward them to try and calm things down, but they stopped when they saw me coming.”

“Then what happened?”

“Dr. Lacoste got in his car and took off. I asked Mr. Kuchler if everything was all right. He said it would be, and then he started walking off to the garage, I guess to his own car.”

“And you have no idea what they were arguing about?” Jim pressed. “You’re sure you didn’t hear anything? Not even a word or two?”

“Sorry,” Rabinski murmured, eyes downcast. “I guess that’s not much help to you, is it?”

“It does help,” the sentinel reassured him. “It establishes history between the two victims. Animosity, at that. We just have to figure out what they had going on.”

“Listen, detective,” Mel said earnestly, leaning forward across the table. “I know I’m just a security guard and not a cop, but I want to find who did this as much as you. Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?”

“Yeah,” Jim told him. “You can keep your eyes and ears open, because I know if anything goes on in that building you’ll hear it first.” The detective’s cell phone began to ring and he fished it out of his coat pocket, adding, “and if you see or hear anything, big or small, you let me know. Ellison. All right, have her sit tight and I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Blair asked when he hung up.

“Our interview is early and I don’t really want to make her hang around there any longer than she has to.”

“Go ahead,” Sandburg urged, understanding. “I’ll get our stuff to go and I’ll follow you up there.”

The sentinel nodded and left them, stepping out into the drizzle and trotting back to the station. Blair managed to flag down the waitress, changing their two orders to take out and paying for the meals, and then turned back to Rabinski who was looking a bit agitated.

“Don’t worry, Mel,” he assured the man. “Jim’s the best there is. If anyone can track down this killer, it’s him.”

“I just hate that this is happening right under my nose, mocking me!” The guard slammed his fist down heavily on the table, becoming contrite as he saw the anthropologist wince at his vehemence. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Blair told him easily. “I can understand how stressful it is to lose innocent people under your protection.”

“Yeah.” The man’s gaze drifted to the window and he stared out into the rainy street as he continued softly, “Although maybe they weren’t as innocent as you think.”

“What do you mean?” the anthropologist demanded.

“Like Detective Ellison said,” Mel explained, “I see and hear everything that goes on in my building. And maybe those two men got what they deserved.”

“Wait, I thought you said they were both decent guys?” Blair pointed out, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

“Even nice guys can make bad decisions,” Rabinski shrugged, “and innocent people don’t usually end up dead. Not like this, anyway. I think they were being punished for something.”

“For what?”

“Who knows? Everybody’s guilty of something.”

“Whatever sins these two have committed,” Sandburg argued, “do you really think they deserved to die for them?”

“Don’t you believe in karma?”

“Yes, I do,” Blair told him firmly. “I believe in karma. Not murder.”

“What’s the difference?” Mel asked.

“One is the universe reflecting a person’s negative energy back at them. The other is an individual acting as judge, jury, and executioner.”

“Well, the universe isn’t always fair,” the man pointed out. “And Lady Justice isn’t always blind. Sometimes, if justice is to be had, the individual has to take matters into his or her own hands to see it done.”

“You sound like you know a lot more about this than you’ve been telling us,” Blair said cautiously.

“About this? No. About life being unfair. Yeah, I know volumes about that.” Mel looked at his companion, his brown eyes radiating sincerity as they met the blue gaze. “It’s my job to protect my building and the people in it. I wish I had been able to do something to save Dr. Lacoste and Mr. Kuchler. I would have done everything in my power to help them, if I could have. All I’m saying is, if they weren’t so innocent, and if they were playing with fire, then I can’t feel too badly for them getting burned.”

The waitress arrived, setting down a steaming plate in front of the security guard and handing a stack of foam containers to the police observer.

“That depends,” Sandburg said as he rose to leave, “on who’s holding the match. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work and help my partner make sure justice is served on behalf of those two men. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Yeah,” Rabinski replied as he unwrapped his silverware. “You, too. And Blair? Good luck.”

Tracy Lacoste was understandably upset, losing first the boss she respected and then her father all in the space of two days. But she was also angry and willing to cooperate in any way to help the police catch the killer or killers responsible, so it didn’t take too much prodding from Jim for her to reveal a link between the two victims. Marion Whitney was John Lacoste’s financial planner. Her consulting office was located in the Barrow, and several months ago she presented her friend and client with a sure bet high-yield investment opportunity. He then convinced Kuchler to match him, in order to further increase the return, and the lawyer apparently trusted him and gave him the money without ever checking into it himself. Tracy was not entirely sure of the details as she was never part of the discussions, just going by things she’d overhead. But the investment had either fallen through, or had been a scam from the start, depending on who you listened to. Both men had written off their loss as a charitable donation to at least get a tax break, but Kuchler had been furious. Tracy was sure he never meant it seriously, but she had witnessed the lawyer threatening both Lacoste and Whitney, telling them that “you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

The young woman’s insight gave Detective Ellison a new direction, and also required him going back over Kuchler’s finances and taking a close look at Lacoste’s. He also began sifting through boxes of records that were brought over from the dentist’s office. It was going to take more time and patience to piece everything together, but things definitely were not adding up with his books. Then the sentinel began running the preliminaries on Marion Whitney. Simon had gone home for the day, so Jim decided to wait until morning to get his captain working on getting him a search warrant for Whitney’s office. And he made sure to clear his morning schedule, wanting it wide open to allow for a long conversation with the financial consultant. He probably would have kept working, but a glance over at his partner made him decide to pack it in for the day. Sandburg hadn’t complained, but he’d stopped trying to cover up his yawns and he’d been reading the same file for half an hour, his eyes closing for long moments every few minutes.

“What do you say we call it a night and pick this up in the morning?”

“I have classes in the morning,” Blair reminded him, eagerly tossing the folder in his hands down to the pile on the detective’s desk. “But I can swing by and pick it back up with you after that.”

Ellison didn’t answer, but he reached out and turned his computer monitor off and stood up, grabbing his jacket and tossing Sandburg his. They left Major Crime and took the elevator down to the garage, rather quiet as they were both tired and absorbed in their own thoughts. Both thinking about the case, but different aspects of it.

It was almost eleven p.m. when they arrived home. Jim hung up his coat, snagged a beer from the fridge, and relaxed on the sofa, clicking on the tv. Blair went to his room with the intent of changing and hitting the sack, but something was bothering him so he came back out to the living room, perching himself on the arm of the sofa.

“Hey, Jim. That argument that Mel saw Lacoste and Kuchler having. You think that was about the money?”

“I don’t know,” the sentinel replied, only half paying attention. “It’s a likely scenario.”

“What do you think of Mel?” the anthropologist asked.

“I don’t know, Chief,” Ellison muttered. “Seems like a stand up guy.”

“You checked him out, right?” Sandburg pressed. “Gave him the full sentinel scan? And you don’t think he was holding anything back? Or lying?”

“Not that I noticed.” Jim paused, then muted the tv with the remote and turned to fix a suspicious gaze on his roommate. “Why?”

“After you left the diner he got a little... weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I can’t really explain it,” Blair told him. “I was just getting the feeling that he knows something about the victims that he’s not telling us.”

“He probably does,” the detective reasoned. “Years on the job have taught me that people like that, security guards, janitors, maintenance workers, they are all the proverbial fly on the wall. People are used to seeing them, think they’re doing their job and not paying attention to what’s going on around them, until they don’t see them anymore and go about their business like there’s nobody there. But Rabinski, being as dedicated to the job as he is, probably has a cardinal rule about keeping his mouth shut about the dirt he sees and not telling tales out of school. I’m sure if whatever he knows was relevant to the case, he’d have told us.”

“That makes sense,” Sanburg said thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right. But maybe we should go back to the Barrow and start interviewing the janitors, huh?” He chuckled and bid his friend goodnight as he hopped off the arm of the sofa and headed for his room.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” the sentinel murmured to himself, taking a swig of beer before un-muting the tv and setting the volume to a level that only his ears could hear.

Thursday, November 9

Ellison spent the morning buried in the files and records that kept piling up on his desk. Simon had denied his request for a search warrant on Marion Whitney, arguing that they didn’t have grounds, especially without even talking to her first. So the detective had to settle for leaving voice messages at her home and office, forced to tackle the unglamourous legwork of the investigation while he waited for her to contact him. A little past noon Sandburg breezed into the office, dropping his backpack and umbrella behind his partner’s desk and shrugging out of his dripping coat. Simultaneously, the sentinel was surprised, and not, to see his guide. Blair was worse when he’d woken up that morning, his cold shaping up to be a real nasty one, and Jim had told him not to bother coming into the station when he was done at Rainier if he didn’t feel like it. That’s what he got for making it optional.

“I wasn’t expecting you today, Chief,” he greeted his friend.

“I was feeling better so I thought I’d drop by,” Sandburg offered.

“Yeah, sure,” Ellison said wryly, “I believe that one.” If anything, the younger man sounded more congested than he’d been that morning.

“Ok, I’m not,” Blair chuckled. He knew that he could never get one by a sentinel, but it never stopped him from trying. “But I finally had time to pick up some more Niktabi root, so I will be soon. Where are you at here?”

Before he could answer, the captain’s bellow rang out over the busy room. Dutifully, Jim rose and went to answer the summons, entering Banks’ office and closing the door behind him, leaving his partner sitting at his desk and thumbing through random files.

“I just got the call,” Simon told his detective with no preliminary. “There’s been another body found at the Barrow Building.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Ellison sighed, knowing from the somber look on his captain’s face that he was not. “All right, I’m on it.”

“Jim!” The sentinel paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back at his boss. “Forget all that about by the books,” Banks ordered, a hard edge to his voice. “Just do whatever you have to do to find this bastard.”

“Yes, sir.”

Blair looked up as his partner approached the desk, registering the decidedly unhappy look on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“Another victim at the Barrow,” Jim answered tightly.

“You’re kidding!” Sandburg exclaimed. “Who is it? Is it the same killer?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out, Chief,” the detective told him as he slipped into his jacket. He started out of the office but stopped abruptly in the hallway, staggering slightly as the observer ran into him. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, turning to face his shadow.

"With you," Blair replied perplexedly as he pulled on his jacket.

"Not this time," Ellison announced firmly.

"Why?"

"Because you're sick, Chief, and you don't need to be out there slogging through this rain again."

"Come on, Jim," the anthropologist argued, growing annoyed. "It's just a cold. I'm fine." An argument that would have sounded more convincing if it had not been punctuated by a sneeze.

"Look, Sandburg," the sentinel growled impatiently, “I don’t have time to stand around and debate this with you. I don't need you out there. I can handle this one on my own, all right? So just go home, stay dry, and take care of yourself because I'm not about to nurse you through a bout of pneumonia."

"Damn it, Jim, you don't have to talk to me like I'm a child," Blair told him defensively.

"Yeah, I do, if you refuse to behave like an adult."

"Well, regardless of how I behave," Sandburg seethed. "I am an adult. And you can't tell me what to do."

"Maybe not," Ellison replied in a tone that clearly indicated the discussion was over. "But I'm in charge of this investigation. And if I say you're out, then you're out."

"Fine, if that's how you want it," Blair retorted in a tone that clearly indicated the discussion was far from over. But his partner had already turned his back on him and was striding down the hallway to the elevator. Sandburg watched him go with a scowl of frustration, finally slipping his backpack over his shoulder and heading down the hallway toward the stairs.

“Well, Marion,” the detective whispered, “I guess this is why you never called me back.”

The woman was dead in her office, sprawled backwards in her leather chair, shot once in the heart. She had been there for some time, at least a good twelve hours by his estimation. And Forensics would have to confirm it, but the sentinel was convinced that she had been murdered by the same person who had killed John Lacoste and Kevin Kuchler. Two singed investors and the consultant that had burned them. It didn’t make sense and left Ellison wondering if there had been a fourth party that Tracy hadn’t known about.

He rose from where he knelt on the floor and went to the door, looking out into the hallway at the uniform cops and the traumatized cleaning lady who had found the body, noting that he was going to be interrogating the janitorial staff after all. But one familiar face was noticeably absent.

“Where’s Mel Rabinski?” Jim asked. “I’m going to need to talk to him.”

The woman began speaking rapidly, gasping out that she had gone to find the security guard when she first found Ms. Whitney but that he had apparently not shown up for work that morning. A revelation that left the sentinel scratching his head in puzzlement. For among the usual office smells, the heavy stench of blood and the faint scent of gunpowder, he could clearly isolated the barest hint of Old Spice aftershave.

When Ellison got home that evening he didn’t see his roommate’s car parked in front of the building, and his suspicions were confirmed as he went upstairs to find the loft dark and silent. He sighed, shaking his head as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up, assuming that Sandburg had defiantly refused to return home on the principal that he’d been ordered to.

As he threw together a simple dinner, Jim thought about his earlier conversation and grudgingly admitted to himself that just maybe he’d been a tad rough on his partner. It was meant with every good intention, though, as he’d wanted to spare his friend another afternoon of getting drenched in the cold rain when he already wasn’t feeling well. But the detective had been tired and frustrated and instead of showing his concern and consideration, he’d ended up abruptly barking like a drill sergeant. Well, he’d make it up to the kid somehow. Maybe let him have the remote for the evening or something.

But an hour passed, and Ellison started growing annoyed. Ok, even if he’d been maybe just slightly out of line, that was no excuse for Sandburg to be sulking like this. Jim pictured him in his office at Rainier, stubbornly trying to prove that he could go on and on indefinitely.

“Well, knock yourself out, Chief,” the sentinel muttered to the empty room as he clicked off the tv and tossed the remote down on the coffee table. “Literally and figuratively. I’m going to bed.”

Friday, November 10

Ellison knocked on Banks’ door, entering when prompted and shutting the door behind him.

“You get the Forensics report on the bullet recovered from your third vic yet?” the captain asked as he stood and retrieved the coffeepot from behind his desk.

“Not yet, Sir,” the detective answered, holding out his cup and accepting a refill of the good stuff. “I’m sure it will come back the same as the other two. But listen, Simon, I think we need to start looking into Mel Rabinski.”

“The security guard?” Banks clarified after he took a moment to place the name.

“Yeah,” Jim confirmed, setting his mug down on the conference table and opening the folder in his hands. “I ran a check on him. He applied to the police academy on three separate occasions and was rejected each time. Failed the psych exam.”

“That doesn’t make him a murderer.”

“No, but it does make sense. I mean, he’d know where the security cameras are and even when caught on the ones he couldn’t avoid he’s not going to be a suspicious figure. He would also know these people, and know their habits. He’s got access to the whole building and he’s someone that these people would trust.”

“I thought the Barrow manager gave him a glowing character reference?” the captain reminded him.

“She did, but she’s not located on site,” the detective told him. “Besides, I have my own reasons for wanting to look at him.”

The two men exchanged a look of understanding. Simon knew the reasons were sentinel based, and they both knew that those reasons would never hold up in court. So they reverted to the old “don’t ask, don’t tell” system that worked well for them. Banks wouldn’t ask about his reasons, and Jim wouldn’t volunteer that he’d been smelling Rabinski at the crime scenes, even at the one where he hadn’t been present. The captain would just trust in his detective, as said detective trusted in his boss to back him up while he sought out evidence that would be admissible.

“All right,” Banks relented, “talk to Rabinski. But since we’re officially still running on speculation here, just talk to him Jim. We’ve got no grounds for anything more.”

“I understand, sir,” Ellison agreed amiably. “Rabinski didn’t show up for work again today, so I’ve got Brown tracking down a home address for me. And if it makes you feel any better, Blair said that Rabinski got weird on him the other night. Like he knew more about all this than he was saying.”

“Nothing involving Sandburg ever makes me feel any better,” the captain sighed. He glanced around, as if just realizing his detective was without his perpetual shadow. “Where is he, anyway?”

“He never came home last night,” Jim shrugged. “I figure he suckered some unlucky coed into putting him up for the night. Or is that putting up with him for the night?”

“But he’s here now, isn’t he?” Simon pressed seriously. “I passed his car on the way in this morning.”

“I haven’t seen him,” the detective said slowly. “You saw his car where?”

“Down the block. On the street across from the dry cleaner.”

The sentinel abruptly turned and left his captain’s office, pausing out in the bullpen to inquire of Rafe and Brown if they’d seen Sandburg that morning. Neither of them had, and the bad feeling that had started in Simon’s office suddenly amplified. When his roommate failed to come home, Jim had been a little concerned. But then he realized that Blair wouldn’t have spent the night in his office, especially not while sick, and figured he’d probably flashed those baby blue eyes at some poor girl and played on her sympathies until he found himself taken care of for the night.

That still could be the scenario, he tried to tell himself as he stopped at his desk and grabbed his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. The anthropologist certainly could have called someone or grabbed a ride, valid reasons for leaving his car at the station. But his heart sank further down into the pit of his stomach as he trotted out into the hallway and began jogging down the stairs. Even if he had been abnormally pissed off, Blair just wouldn’t have blown him off. He would have called to say he’d be in late, or even not at all. Unless... Unless something had happened to him.

Down in the lobby, Ellison exited the building, dimly aware that Banks was following behind him in the light drizzle as he opened his phone and dialed his partner’s number. He walked with long strides down the block toward the Volvo that he could see parked on the street. On a hunch he linked his hearing with his sight and immediately snapped his phone shut in disgust, having heard the ring echoed from inside the car. He ran the last few feet and stopped to place a hand on the beloved “classic”. The engine was cold; the car hadn’t been driven in hours. Jim spied his friend’s backpack on the front seat, solidifying his bad feelings for he could come up with no logical reason that Blair ever would have left that behind. Especially in an unlocked vehicle. He walked around and opened the passenger side door, intent on retrieving the backpack, but he froze suddenly as a familiar scent greeted him. The sentinel inhaled deeply to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, but it was there. Faint. Hours old. But he clearly picked up the barest hint of Old Spice.

“What is it?” Simon asked, seeing the look come over his detective’s face. “What’s wrong, Jim?”

“He’s got him,” Ellison murmured in shock. Then he shook his head slightly, clearing his throat before turning to face Banks. “Rabinski’s got Sandburg.”

“He’s such a nice man,” the older woman fussed. “And so quiet. I just can’t believe he’d be in any trouble with the police.”

“That’s what they all say,” the detective muttered under his breath. He continued his search of the room as Rabinski’s landlady followed him around, singing Mel’s praises and wringing her hands. Tuning her out, the sentinel focused all his senses on the apartment. It was a risk, concentrating that hard without a guide to ground him, but he was willing to chance it, reasoning that he wouldn’t be focused long enough to zone. The place was a tiny efficiency and sparsely furnished, and Rabinski didn’t seem to have much of anything in way of possessions. When he’d first arrived, Ellison had quickly determined that Blair had never been there, and after half an hour of using his skills, both detective and sentinel alike, he was no closer to finding out where Rabinski HAD taken his partner.

“He’s always looked after me,” the woman was still going on. “Always saying, ‘Millie, the neighborhood’s just not safe. But someday those crooks will all get what’s coming to them. You’ll see.’”

“Did he talk like that a lot?” Jim asked her, working on a theory as to why a dedicated security guard would suddenly start murdering people.

“Oh, yes, he was always worried about me. Such a nice man,” she repeated, misunderstanding his question. “We talked a lot, you know. He was never too busy to listen to the stories of an old woman. Sometimes we’d stay up late down in my kitchen and share a pot of tea. I think he was lonely. I kept telling him he needed to find a nice girl to settle down with, but he would just tell me that I was the only girl he wanted in his life. Can you imagine!” The woman let loose with a peal of laughter, and Ellison bit back a sigh, reigning in his frustration and impatience as he took her wrinkled hands in his to help her focus.

“Mrs. Farber,” the detective began, as calmly as he could, “in all these talks you had with Mel, did he ever mention anyplace else he liked to go? Maybe any property he had somewhere, or a friend he house sat for? Anything like that?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she frowned. “He didn’t talk about himself too much. Mostly just listened to me prattling on. But I know he didn’t have any family left, and I don’t think he had too many friends. His job was his life. Especially these last few weeks. Poor thing, pulling all those double shifts...”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place for the detective, for he knew that there had been no “double shifts”. He summarized that Rabinski had been returning to the Barrow, either after the night guard had finished his shift or maybe even while he was still there. It wasn’t like Ralph would notice from behind his newspaper. He probably watched his victims for a few nights, learning their routines while he waited for the right opportunities. Opportunities that presented themselves one by one, and then he used the double shift excuse for his busybody landlady while he was coming and going at odd hours in his work uniform. What he still couldn’t figure out was where Sandburg fit into the whole mess.

“Mrs. Farber, it’s very important that I get in touch with Mel, do you understand?”

“How much trouble is he in?” the old woman asked quietly.

Jim hesitated, weighing his answer carefully.

“Maybe none,” he finally told her, looking her straight in the eyes. It wasn’t really a lie. Simon was right - all they had was speculation and circumstantial evidence. He had no proof that Rabinski had done anything wrong, and he was still just wanted for questioning, officially, at that point. Still, something in him balked. He didn’t like deceiving the old lady, but he had his doubts that she would willingly give up the “nice young man”. So he was willing to suck up his ethics and engage in an obfuscation or two. For Blair, he reassured himself. “Mel was aiding me in an investigation I was conducting at the Barrow,” he continued.

“Helping you? I thought you said you wanted to question him?”

“Right now I just want to find him,” Ellison said gently. “This is the second day he’s missed work, and he’s not here, either.”

“Oh, my heavens,” the lady gasped, putting a hand to her chest as she paled. “Do you think he’s in danger?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jim reassured her quickly. “But I have had a few new leads come up in the investigation and I really need to talk to him about it. So if you can think of anyplace he might have gone or anything else that might help me, even if it doesn’t seem like much, please call me.” He took a card from his pocket and hastily scrawled his cell number at the bottom. “You can reach me here, any time of the day or night. Ok?”

She took the card and the detective thanked her, leaving her to lock up the apartment as he headed down the stairs and left the small building. He climbed into his truck, slamming the door in anger. He’d found nothing at all at Rabinski’s place and worried a poor old lady half to death for what also would probably amount to nothing. Time being wasted, and he was no closer to tracking down his suspect. And no closer to finding his partner.

“Jim? You should go home.”

Ellison looked up at his captain, his eyes blurry and bloodshot from staring endlessly at his computer monitor.

“I can’t, Simon.”

“It’s late,” Banks pointed out. “And there’s nothing else you can do here tonight, except drive yourself crazy. Go home and get something to eat and try and get a little sleep. That’s an order, detective.”

“I’ve had enough of your orders!” the sentinel exploded without warning. He rose to his feet, the chair flying backwards behind him. “This whole thing is your fault, damn it! You ordered me not to use my senses on this case, and now look where we are. Maybe if I had from the start, none of this would have happened. Those people would still be alive and Sandburg...” As abruptly as it had began, the tirade ceased as Jim caught sight of his captain’s stunned look and immediately calmed. “I’m sorry, Simon. That was unfair and I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s all right,” Banks said softly. “I understand. You’re worried about your friend...”

“It’s more than that,” Ellison murmured wearily as he rested a hip on the edge of his desk. “Blair knew something was off about the guy, Simon. He tried to tell me and I brushed him off. I should have listened to him. Hell, I should have known it, too. But the guy was just smooth as silk, you know? I never picked up on anything that would indicate he was lying.”

“Well, psychos can be pretty convincing,” the captain tried to console him, but the detective was too far beyond that.

“And if I’d had half a brain to listen to my partner, maybe I could have figured out Rabinski was a psycho before Sandburg got grabbed. This guy’s already killed three people...”

“Allegedly,” Banks interrupted.

“Look, Simon...” The sentinel’s temper flared at the word, for it was one thing to go by the book in the eyes of the law, but it was quite another to be patronized when it was just the two of them.

“Even if he did kill those people,” the captain said quickly, holding up a hand to diffuse the detective’s anger, “he didn’t kill Sandburg. He took him.”

“But for what?” Ellison demanded, frustration almost overcoming him. “Damn it, this is like Lash all over again. But at least with him, we had his game figured out by then. We knew what he was going to do and what time frame we had. But I don’t know what the hell Rabinski’s doing, or what he wants with Blair and what he’s doing to him.”

“Leave it to Sandburg,” Banks said with a humorless chuckle.

“What do you mean?”

“Only he could manage to get himself abducted by two different killers in the space of two years.”

“Allegedly,” the detective muttered darkly.

Simon sighed, resting a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“We’ll find him, Jim.”

“Yeah,” the sentinel whispered as his boss left him alone in the office, “but will he be dead or alive?”

The rain started again. Jim hardly noticed, apart from an almost subconscious flick of the wrist that turned the windshield wipers on.

He had tried to go home, but he wasn’t hungry and sleep was naturally elusive. So he had paced the loft for an hour, worried about what was happening to his friend and angry at himself for failing to prevent his partner from being taken from him once again. Instead of relaxing he was just getting more keyed up, his normally calming home making him stir crazy. So he had grabbed his coat and keys and had gone back out into the night, driving aimlessly up and down the streets of Cascade. The sentinel knew it was futile, that his chances of stumbling upon his guide or at least some trace of him were virtually nil. But there was one place that Sandburg most definitely was not and that was the loft, so waiting around there was not going to help him find the missing anthropologist. Cruising the streets probably wouldn’t either, but at least he was doing something. He was trying.

The detective pulled off the road and parked alongside the gas pumps of an all night convenience store. He filled up the truck, then went inside to pay, getting a cup of coffee and a couple packaged pastries. The strong coffee had been sitting way too long, but the sentinel was glad. He needed to anchor his senses of smell and taste in order to avoid zoning while he swept the dark, quiet streets, looking and listening for Blair. Going back out to the truck, Jim hopped behind the wheel, running a hand over his face to wipe off the raindrops.

“Wherever you are, Chief,” he murmured, gazing out the windshield into the city, “I hope that you’re warm and dry.”

The sentinel resumed his search, but after an hour he was out of snacks and mostly out of patience. Nothing was stirring in Cascade, the city slumbering peacefully as if even the criminal elements were deterred by the continuously falling rain. The precipitation made his job that much tougher, washing away certain smells and bringing up others, muting sounds with its ceaseless pattering, and distorting his vision with its blurry, refractive tricks. Jim began debating giving up and going home. He hated to do it, loathe to return to safety and comfort while his friend was out there somewhere, suffering God knows what. But he was finally starting to feel the pull of fatigue and he had a headache the size of the Cascade gorge pounding inside his skull. Logically he knew that he wasn’t going to be of any help to his partner if he drove himself to collapse, and his brain was telling him to go home, pop a few aspirin, get a couple hour’s sleep and come at the investigation fresh first thing in the morning. But his heart... It was telling him that Blair was out there somewhere, needing him, and he just couldn’t give up until he found him.

One more hour, Ellison finally compromised with himself. He’d do another pass through the city, keep searching for one more hour. And if he still had nothing, he’d go home for a couple hours. Try to take care of himself so that he’d be ready to take care of Blair, in whatever condition he’d be in. Once he found him.

After about twenty more minutes of aimless driving the phone rang, startling him with it’s loud noise in the quiet night. He fumbled a bit but managed to answer, keeping one hand on the wheel of the truck.

“Ellison.”

“Detective Ellison? It’s Millie Farber. I’m sorry to call you so late, but I couldn’t sleep and I was thinking about Mel... Oh, I know I should have waited for a reasonable hour, but you did say to call immediately if I remembered something and you sounded so urgent...”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Farber,” Jim told her calmly. “I wasn’t asleep and I’m glad you called. What is it that you remembered?”

“Well, I’m not sure how much help this will be. I’m sure it’s nothing and I probably shouldn’t even be bothering you with it...”

“Mrs. Farber!” The sentinel took a deep breath, trying to reign in his impatience and resisting the urge to order the old woman to focus. “Mrs. Farber, I’m out of ideas and I appreciate anything you can give me, even if it seems like nothing. Please, just tell me what you remembered.”

“Well, one night Mel told me about an uncle he had. That he had a cabin out by the south branch of the lake. Mel used to visit him there in the summers when he was a child.”

“Bear Meadow?” Ellison asked eagerly. “Was that the place?”

“Yes,” the woman confirmed excitedly. “Yes, that’s it. Mel said his uncle used to take him to go and see the bears.”

Jim nodded to himself as he pulled off to the side of the road so he could concentrate fully on the conversation. He knew exactly to what she was referring. In the early seventies, the area had been quite popular as both a retreat and a refuge for those wanting to live and commune with nature. It had been dubbed “Bear Meadow” because of a stretch of property where an animal trainer had kept and reared grizzlies that he provided for movies and tv. But in the 80's the man had died, his business dying along with him. A general store by the lake closed and most of the cabins were abandoned and later torn down. The few that remained were either empty or used sporadically by “weekend warriors” who were hardy enough to withstand a few days fishing without any creature comforts.

“I know the area,” the detective told her. “Did he give you any other details?”

“Not really,” Millie replied. “He only said he hadn’t been back since his uncle died. But he seemed to remember it fondly, and I just thought maybe if he was in trouble he’d go there as a place of safety. It’s a stretch, I know...”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ellison said. “Mrs. Farber, thank you for all your help.”

“Don’t thank me,” she insisted. “Just help Mel, Detective. When you find him.”

“I’ll let him know you’re worried about him,” he promised, deliberately avoiding her entreaty. For it was not the security guard that he was concerned with helping. “And if you think of anything else, you have my number.”

Jim hung up his cell phone, tossing it down to the seat next to him, looking out at the dark night and tapping the steering wheel restlessly with his fingers as he thought. It was an incredible long shot, but he certainly wasn’t getting anywhere cruising the streets of Cascade.

“To hell with it,” he mumbled as he put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb. He knew he should call Simon and give him an update, but a glance at the clock on the dash made him hesitate. It was three thirty in the morning and he knew from experience his captain would not be happy to hear from him. Especially for something that would most likely turn out to be another dead end. So he decided to hold off, rationalizing that somebody should probably get some sleep. He’d just head out to Bear Meadow and take a look around. Chances were he’d come up empty handed, but if he did happen to find anything, then he could call in the calvary.

With that logic in mind, the sentinel turned the truck toward the highway that would lead him out of the city and out into the dark, rainy wilderness. And hopefully, toward his missing guide.

Saturday, November 11

The place was a maze of old access roads and logging roads that cut through the thick forest, and with nothing more to go on the sentinel was forced to repeat his pattern of the night, randomly driving around and hoping to stumble upon something. A few times he stopped and got out of the truck, casting out his hearing like a blanketing net over the area. But when he got nothing out of the ordinary, he reigned his senses back and kept his dials close to normal. He was tired and stressed, and without his guide to anchor him he knew the danger of zoning was too great to risk keeping his lines open.

Dawn greeted him, dim gray light filtering through the thick clouds, but at least he wasn’t totally in the dark anymore. But even with the daylight, gloomy as it was, he still couldn’t find any sign that anyone was in the area, let alone Sandburg. And after another few hours his frustration level was at its max. Jim sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face and giving in to the futility of his search. He was out of cell phone range, so he was going to have to go back to Cascade and talk to Simon. Get some more manpower to help search. Try to convince him it was a strong enough lead to call in a police copter. And hope like hell if Rabinski was up here, all the activity wouldn’t spook him into hurting Blair. Presuming his partner was even still alive...

One more try, he told himself. The rain had slowed to a drizzle so he climbed out of the truck and stood beside it, taking in a deep breath of the cool air, letting the scent of soaked earth fill his lungs. He let out the breath slowly and closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the scent as he began extending his hearing. Filtering out the raindrops falling from the trees. The sound of a crow overhead. Tree frogs chorusing merrily. And then he heard it. The rough hum of an engine.

The sentinel’s eyes snapped open and he struggled to link his sight with hearing, but there were too many trees in the way. But it didn’t matter, for he had enough of a lock on the sound to pinpoint it’s location. He turned and leapt for the truck, slipping a little in the muddy road but launching himself into the driver’s seat and throwing the vehicle in reverse.

He went as fast as he dared until he reached the road the other vehicle had taken, confirming that he had not been up that way yet but someone else had, judging by the displaced water pooling back into the muddy ruts. Jim slowed down and moved forward cautiously, his eyes glued to the road ahead. He came to a small wooden bridge that looked like it had been built at the turn of the century. It spanned a wide creek which was currently swollen to the point where the water was lapping at the planks. Since he had no other choice, Ellison proceeded across, nervously glancing out the window at the water rushing right below him and saying a quick prayer that his heavy vehicle wouldn’t be too much for the old wood to take. But the bridge was stronger than it looked and held just fine while he safely reached the other side.

The detective kept going and came upon a shabby cabin, but a quick listen let him know nobody was there. He went another few miles, starting to wonder if he’d been wrong about the road, when he heard a door slam. Quickly he parked and killed the engine, climbing out and pulling his gun out of his holster. Holding it loosely, he moved off the road and took advantage of the cover the underbrush provided as he silently ran through it, up a small hill. At the top he paused, hiding behind a tree as his gaze swooped over the scene below him. Another ramshackle cabin, but this one had a car parked beside it. Zooming in on the plate, the sentinel identified it as Rabinski’s. But he could only hear one heartbeat coming from inside the cabin, and it wasn’t that of his guide.

Mel Rabinski cursed as the rain started again, pouring out from the dark clouds and soaking him as he pulled some bags from his car and rushed them into the cabin. He dropped them on the floor and stepped back out into the deluge, letting the door slam behind him as he ran back to the car, opening the trunk and sticking his head in to retrieve the rest of his supplies.

“Don’t move,” Ellison ordered, shoving his gun hard against the man’s back. Rabinski slowly raised his hands and the detective grabbed him roughly by the scruff of the neck, dragging him around to the front of the car and throwing him against the hood, kicking his legs apart while he patted him down. Satisfied that the guard had no weapons on him, he spun the man around to face him. “Where’s Sandburg?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Jim snarled, clicking the safety off his gun and pressing it against the man’s throat.

“He’s all right,” Rabinski blurted out quickly. “He’s fine.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Detective Ellison, I promise you he’s ok...”

“You’ve got three seconds to tell me where he is...” The threat was left unfinished, but nothing more needed to be said. Rabinski looked into the icy blue eyes boring into him and the clenched jaw that twitched with barely contained fury and knew exactly what would happen if he didn’t give the man what he wanted.

“All right, I’ll take you to him,” he conceded. “But it’s a bit of a hike. Mind if I change shoes first?”

The man was clad in his guard uniform, down to the shiny black shoes that were meant more for show than for utility. So Jim allowed him to quickly swap footwear to a more practical pair of hiking boots, but he kept a close eye on him, tensed and ready for any tricks. But none came and after donning a warm parka, Rabinski began to lead the way. The detective knew that what he was doing was stupid, following the man out into the woods with no backup, but he didn’t care. He was not about to let this rat slip through his fingers. Not when he was so close to Sandburg.

“I never wanted to hurt Blair,” Mel volunteered as they veered off the road, picking their way up a path that was little more than a deer trail. “He was just confused and not thinking straight, so I just needed to get him out of the way for awhile.”

“Out of the way of what?” Jim demanded.

“The path of justice,” Rabinski answered. “You’re either for it or against it.”

“Sandburg’s always been for justice,” Ellison argued.

“No, he’s one of those damn bleeding hearts,” the man countered, growing agitated. “He’s got an idealized verison of law and order and doesn’t know how the world really is. Not like we do. You know, things don’t always work out fair. The way they should. That’s when you have to take matters into your own hands, right? Make your own justice.”

“Not at the expense of the law,” the sentinel insisted.

“Oh, come on, Detective,” Mel scoffed. “Don’t tell me you never bend the rules.”

“I may bend them from time to time but generally I try to avoid breaking them,” Jim told him. “Those three people at the Barrow. Just what did they do that was so terrible to warrant you taking the law into your own hands?”

“You think you’re so smart,” Rabinski sneered. “You don’t know half of what I know. I have access to everyone’s office, all their files. And I hear them talk. Oh yeah, talking away right in front of me like I’m not even there. Ms. Whitney yapping away on her cell phone about the latest scheme she had going, right next to me on the elevator. The woman was a greedy pig and she cheated a lot of honest people out of their money, putting it into her fake investments and pocketing the cash.”

“What about Lacoste?”

“Ah, the good doctor. He made a comfortable living, but it wasn’t enough. He was running about ten different insurance frauds and wrote out narcotic prescriptions to any junkie with fifty bucks. And Kuchler? Well, he was just on principle. Defending the scum of the earth and keeping them from the justice they deserved. I did every crime victim in this city a favor.”

“All right, so these people weren’t saints,” Ellison conceded. “But don’t you think you overreacted?”

“No!” The terrain changed as they started up a steep hill and Mel began to pant with exertion, but he also grew more animated. “I’m tired of selfish people taking advantage of other people. Good people who tow the line and follow the rules, and they end up getting screwed by those with no morals or ethics or the faintest regard for their fellow man. Those three I killed? They were bad people who hurt others for a profit. Living the high life and thinking nothing about those people they hurt, and getting away with it. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, and justice was nowhere to be found. So I stepped in. I removed them from society and made sure they weren’t going to hurt anyone again. You should be thanking me for what I did!”

“Not only am I not going to thank you,” Jim informed him coldly, “but once I find Sandburg I’m going to arrest you. Then you’ll be the one removed from society where you can’t hurt anyone ever again. And I promise you, I’ll make damn sure justice doesn’t fail to triumph in your case.”

The man stopped and turned back to face the detective, the light finally dawning on him.

“I thought you were on my side,” he murmured. “But you’re not. You’re just like him...”

“Get moving,” Ellison ordered, giving him a rough shove to the shoulder.

Rabinski slipped a bit in the wet leaves but he did what he was told, falling silent as he continued on, leading the sentinel along the winding path through the trees. They went about a mile, in the sentinel’s estimation, and Mel was quiet the whole way. Jim thought he was sulking, but he realized too late that the man had merely been biding his time. He stumbled and slid over some loose stones in the path, falling to his hands and knees. The detective automatically reached a hand down to help him up, but with speed that belied his large frame, the security guard yanked on his arm and swept a leg around, catching Ellison behind the knees and knocking him to the ground. He recovered quickly but Rabinski was already up and off the path, fleeing wildly into the underbrush. The detective gave pursuit, pushing through the understory as he commanded his suspect to halt. They came up on a ridge and Mel veered right before coming to an unexpected stop next to a large, hollowed out tree stump. Ellison was coming up fast and ordered him down on the ground. For a second it seemed like the man was complying, but he instead dipped into the stump and came up with a plastic box.

“Give it up, Mel,” Jim shouted, slowing his advance as he aimed his gun. “It’s over. Drop it and get down on the ground. Don’t make me do this!”

The security guard ripped the lid off the box, tossing both halves away as he pulled out the pistol it contained. He aimed the gun at the sentinel and a shot rang out, muted by the nosie of the rain but loud enough to echo through the trees.

Rabinski spun around from the force of the bullet ripping into his shoulder, losing his footing on the wet ground and dropping the gun. He struggled for balance but fell, disappearing over the edge of the ravine. Ellison approached cautiously, peering over the edge and seeing the man’s broken body lying across a log a good thirty feet below him. The sentinel listened in, but failed to hear a heartbeat and speculated that he must have snapped his neck in the fall. He hadn’t meant to kill the guy, but Jim couldn’t really say he was sorry that he was dead.

Except that Rabinski had been the only one who’d known where Sandburg was. Well, that might have been a problem for anyone without sentinel abilities, but Ellison wasn’t worried. Provided Mel hadn’t been lying to him and really had been taking him to Blair. If he was telling the truth, then the detective knew he could find his partner, now that he was pointed in the right direction.

He returned to the path, pausing to shout out Sandburg’s name. There was no answer, so he started walking in the direction they’d been heading. A small coil of fear began to snake in his gut as he considered the possibility that Rabinski was lying. He was just trying to get to the gun he’d stashed, and wasn’t leading him to Blair at all. Maybe he’d been lying all along about Sandburg even being alive...

“Don’t think like that,” he commanded himself through clenched teeth. Halting, the sentinel took a couple deep breaths to calm and center himself, fighting back the urge to open all his senses full throttle. The rain was pouring down so rhythmically, he was sure to zone on either the sight of it or the sound. And then he’d be no use to anyone. So he just sent out a quick feeler and then immediately turned the dials down. He’d keep walking. There was nothing else he could do.

Periodically he’d stop and call out to Sandburg, then extend his hearing for a quick sweep of the immediate vicinity. And each time he was disappointed. But he kept going, until finally the dense trees gave way to a massive clearing. The sight, even though it was pouring so hard he could barely see, cheered him somewhat. It would be easier to use his hearing, without the added noise of the rain filtering through the leaves and the disorienting way sound could bounce off of the trees. So he shouted out Sandburg’s name again and then cast his net out through the field, steeling himself for another disappointment.

Only this time, he heard something. Fleeting and distorted from the interference of the rain, but it wasn’t his imagination, he was sure of it. He tried to open up his sight, his gaze sweeping over the clearing, but he lacked the concentration to see beyond the torrent streaming from the sky. In frustration, the sentinel glared up at the dark clouds overhead.

“Can you please just cut me a break here?” he entreated in angry desperation.

And then, either by coincidence or by answered prayer, the rain suddenly slowed. It didn’t stop entirely, but the world got quieter and the horizon became clearer and the sentinel could plainly see the outline of what appeared to be metal bars across the vast field. There was something contained within, a shrouded figure lying motionless. And an achingly familiar heartbeat.

“Sandburg!” Ellison began to run, calling out to his friend over and over as he sprinted across the clearing. When he was about halfway, the heartbeat picked up and the still figure began to move.

Blair lifted his head, wondering if he was dreaming. He had to be imagining things. There was no way that... But then the shout came again and he pulled himself up to look around, almost breaking down when he saw the sentinel coming toward him, flying through the waist high weeds. Sandburg immediately scrambled up, cursing at he fought to free himself from the confines of the sleeping bag he’d been cocooned in, then pressed himself against the bars of his small prison, reaching out with his right arm as his salvation arrived.

“God, Jim, is that really you?” he exclaimed, trying to keep the hysteria he was feeling out of his voice.

"It's me, Chief," Ellison assured him a bit breathlessly as he stooped down beside the cage, clasping the hand reaching for him and squeezing it warmly. Sandburg visibly sagged in relief, reassured by the strong hand gripping his. He wasn’t dreaming - his sentinel had come for him and his ordeal was over.

“How did you find me?”

“Long story,” Jim told him, looking him over in concern. “How are you doing? Are you all right?”

"I've been better," Blair admitted. “Where’s Rabinski?”

The sentinel was quiet for a moment, studying his guide, assessing him. Then he gave the hand in his another squeeze before releasing his friend.

“Dead,” he answered as he got to his feet and turned his attention to his friend’s prison.

“Man, that guy is completely unhinged,” Sandburg told him. “He ambushes me at my car, says he’s got information for you, then next thing I know he’s got a gun in my side. Drags me all the way out here... What the hell is this place anyway?”

“Bear Meadow,” the detective replied tightly, but the anger in his voice was not directed at his partner, but rather the conditions he’d been forced to endure over the past two days. Locked up in one of the trainer’s old bear cages, just barely tall enough for him to stand up in, and exposed to the elements with only one wet sleeping bag for protection. It wiped out any shred of remorse he may have had for Rabinski.

“He kept telling me that I needed to be ‘trained’,” Blair continued. “And ‘educated’ to the right way of thinking. But then he left me here and I haven’t seen him since... Wait, did you say that Mel was dead?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it, but first let’s just get you out of there, huh?”

“I’ll second that,” the anthropologist agreed eagerly as he watched the detective tug experimentally on the padlock that was barring his freedom. “I don’t suppose you have your lock pick kit on you, do you?”

“Nope. You got your glasses with you?”

“No. Why?”

“Never mind. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“What are you doing?” Blair demanded as his friend started slowly walking away.

“Looking for a needle in a haystack,” the sentinel muttered. “Just give me a minute, ok?”

He opened his sense of smell and linked it with his sight, his eyes sweeping over the ground as he moved forward. Sandburg caught on to what he was doing and offered verbal encouragement and support, his quiet, soothing voice like a balm on the sentinel’s frazzled nerves. Latching on to the anchoring voice, he did what his guide advised, no longer afraid to make full use of his senses for he knew Blair would not let him zone. After twenty minutes, he had the start of a decent headache, but was also clutching the reward of a bent, rusty nail he’d found embedded in the ground. Ellison returned to the cage and it was a simple matter, to one with his skills, to pick the lock and slide the heavy barred door open.

Blair literally jumped free of the cage and stood before his friend, his body visibly quivering as he reached out and caught the detective’s arm.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked him with no small concern.

“Yeah,” Sandburg replied, striving and failing for casualness. “It’s just... you know... I was starting to think he wasn’t coming back. That he left me here to die. I kept hoping that maybe you were looking for me but I didn’t think there was much chance of finding me all the way out here...”

He trailed off and let go of Ellison’s arm, wrapping his own arms tightly around his chest as if he were trying to hold everything in and keep himself from falling apart. Thinking he needed a little help, Jim reached out and enveloped him in a warm embrace.

“It’s all over now, Chief,” he murmured reassuringly. “You’re safe.” He pulled back a little so that he could look into his friend’s eyes. “And for the record, I never would have stopped looking until I found you.”

Blair smiled at that, the fear slowly ebbing from him as he backed out of the comforting hug.

“You going to tell me how you did it?”

“Yeah, but let’s get moving. It’s a long hike back to the truck.” The sentinel assessed his guide once more, a frown creasing his forehead. Sandburg was soaked to the bone, too cold, hadn’t eaten since his incarceration, and had an ominous sounding wheeze coming from his congested lungs. “Think you’re up for it?” he asked.

“Yeah, no problem.” Apparently, Ellison didn’t believe him, and Blair ducked away from the hand reaching out to feel his forehead. “Jim, I’m ok,” he insisted. “Well, I’m not, but I’m wet and I’m freezing and I just want to get out of here and go home. Come on, let’s just go.”

Acquiescing, the detective began leading the way through the clearing, back toward the path that would take them through the forest. He deliberately set the pace slow and steady, but they had barely reached the woods when Sandburg’s steps began to falter and he requested a break. Jim agreed, his blue eyes full of concern as he watched the younger man seek out what shelter he could under a tall tree, sliding down the trunk to the ground and wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. The sentinel crouched down in front of him, reaching out a hand to rest on his forehead and this time Blair allowed the gesture.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Fever,” Jim told him flatly. “But it’s not too bad. No cause for worry yet.”

“I’m more worried about this target I have on me,” Sandburg murmured, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t see it, but apparently every psycho in Cascade can. Big neon flashing sign on my back that says ‘kidnap me’.” Blair lifted his head, opening his blue eyes to fix an earnest gaze on his friend. “Seriously, man, what is it about me that makes these nutjobs want to grab me?”

“Maybe you’re just an easy mark. I’ve been telling you that you need to start hitting the gym with me.” The words were light and teasing, but the detective’s eyes shone with a sad fondness as he looked at the observer. Out of the entire world population, the individual chances of any one person being abducted by a serial killer were slight. The chances of one person being abducted twice by two different serial killers were astronomical. Simon was right: it was something that could only happen to one Blair Sandburg. A quick flash of guilt stabbed through Ellison, for he tenaciously went after the worst of the worst, knowing that made him a target as well as putting anyone he might associate with in danger. And that went double for the observer he continuously dragged into the line of fire along with him. Of course Sandburg would be on the radar of every badass in town.

But it was more than that, Jim realized. There was a purity to Blair. Not in the traditional sense for the young man was far from innocent, but he had an inherent sense of goodness and a loving soul, and the light of his warmth and kindness shone out of him like a beacon. Beckoning to those in need, as well as to the dark souls who were both attracted to, and compelled to destroy, what they lacked in themselves. Maybe the kid would have been safe if he’d never partnered up with the sentinel, and maybe he wouldn’t have. But it didn’t matter. Blair Sandburg might have been the only one on earth unlucky enough to have been targeted by two different killers, but he was also the only one lucky enough to have survived both. And he HAD survived, Jim reminded himself fiercely. Lash and Rabinski were both dead, but Blair had been found and he was safe, and he’d be just fine once they got out of the wilderness and got back home. Reaching out, the sentinel clasped his guide’s shoulder, squeezing it a bit too hard in his relief at getting him back alive and unhurt, but Sandburg didn’t seem to mind, understanding the sentiment behind the gesture and knowing Ellison was saying with action all that he could not put into words.

“Do you think you can keep going?”

“Yeah,” Blair replied, extending a hand. Jim grabbed it and pulled him to his feet.

“Just take it nice and easy,” the detective advised, slapping his partner gently on the back as they started down the trail. While they walked, the sentinel regaled his guide with the tale of finding Marion Whitney’s body, how he had come to suspect Rabinski, how he had tracked him down, and all that had transpired between them up until the point where’d had to use deadly force. Ellison was expecting questions and more of a commentary, but to his surprise his friend was uncharacteristically quiet. Verbally, anyway. Sandburg was panting rather heavily, so perhaps it was just too much effort to talk. Discreetly, Jim slowed their already plodding pace even further, but Blair refused to stop and rest even though he was starting to stumble badly. The light rain grew heavier, so Ellison suggested they stop and shelter for a few minutes under a row of evergreens to see if it would let up again. Sandburg agreed, collapsing down in a heap in the wet needles on the ground and trying to catch his breath.

“Maybe you should have gone to Borneo after all, Chief,” Jim said, only half joking.

“Nah,” Blair disagreed. “It’s the monsoon season there now.”

“And how is that any different from this?”

“Well, at least here we don’t have to beware of falling coconuts.”

The younger man’s levity quickly fell off as he curled in on himself, trying to get his shivering under control and willing the damnable rain to stop. But the moisture kept falling and after about fifteen minutes it was obvious it wasn’t slacking off any, so they decided to start walking again.

They’d barely set out when Blair slipped and fell to his knees, but he had a hard time getting back on his feet, even with Jim’s assistance, so he waved him off and just sat down in the middle of the trail. The sentinel scanned his guide again, and once more his anger flared at what Rabinski had done. Maybe the security guard hadn’t intentionally hurt him, but Sandburg was weak and fatigued from exposure and neglect, his cold was far worse, and Ellison started to suspect he was suffering from mild hypothermia. Slow and easy pacing and rest breaks weren’t going to cut it. The kid was never going to make it down the trail, not in his condition.

“All right, Chief. Hop on.”

“What?”

“Get on. I’ll give you a lift.”

The light of understanding dawned and Sandburg looked at his friend like he’d lost his mind.

"Jim, you can't carry me."

"Why not?" the detective asked. "Back in my army days, we used to have to tote 100 pound packs over ten miles hikes. Double timing it the whole way."

"I'll bet you used to have to walk to school through ten feet of snow, too," Blair teased him.

"Uphill, both ways," Ellison confirmed with a grin.

"Just give me a minute," Sandburg told him resolutely. "I can make it."

"We're still over a mile out in my estimation," the sentinel pointed out. "And I know how much you enjoy this seasonal weather, but I am damned sick of this rain. I'm definitely ready for warm and dry." He put a gentle hand on his partner's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, Chief. Let me help you."

The anthropologist closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath and wincing slightly at the pain that caused. He hated having to admit it, but he was having serious doubts that he still had a mile left in him. His head was swimming and he felt so weak he knew he was going to need some major help just to get to his feet. He was quaking with chills, and the burning in his chest grew more severe with every exertion. As humiliating as it was to confess his helplessness, he knew he couldn't hide it from his friend. Left with no other options, Blair opened his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly. Jim all but lifted him up to his feet, and the younger man climbed up on his partner's back.

"Sit back and enjoy the ride," the detective said, adjusting his passenger slightly to a position more comfortable to him. He set off steadily, but soon quickened his pace. He’d been worried about the onset of hypothermia and had hoped that his body heat would be enough to stave it off. But in such close contact, it was obvious that his friend was shivering badly, and he didn't need sentinel hearing to pick up the wheezing in his chest. The sooner he got Blair out of the ever present rain and under a doctor's care, the better.

It was a long, arduous trek back to the truck. Ellison had navigated it relatively easily enough once, but the extra weight he carried kept him off balance and made him decidedly less surefooted. He was forced to step carefully, struggling for traction in the mud and the wet, slippery leaves as he traversed the forested traill. But he plowed on doggedly, concern for his partner giving him strength.

It took over an hour, but they finally reached the isolated cabin and then it was just a quick trip over the hill to the waiting truck. With a stifled groan of relief, the detective stopped beside the vehicle and Blair slid down off of his back. The younger man's legs gave out under him, and with lightening reflexes Jim whirled around to catch him before he toppled to the ground.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, fine," Sandburg muttered, holding onto his friend's arm as he waited for the dizziness to pass. When his head cleared, he stood up straight and met his partner's worried gaze. "Let's just get out of here."

"Amen to that," Ellison agreed. He opened the door to the truck and closed it after his friend climbed in. Pausing for a second to stretch his aching muscles, he moved around the vehicle to the driver side and opened the door. Pulling out a folded bundle from behind the seat, he tossed it to the anthropologist as he climbed in.

"A tarp?" Blair asked questioningly.

"It's better than nothing," the detective shrugged, firing up the engine and cranking the heat full blast.

Too weary to argue, Sandburg unfolded the tarp and covered himself with it. He curled up against the seat as best he could within the confines of the seat belt and wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to get his shivering under control. Watching the windshield wipers streaking back and forth across the window started making him dizzy again, so he closed his eyes with a sigh. It was almost over...

Blair wasn't aware he had fallen asleep until he was awakened by a soft curse. Opening his eyes, he peered blearily up at his partner, sitting rigidly behind the wheel and staring out of the windshield. As he realized that they weren't moving, Sandburg pulled himself up to look out and discover what the problem was. And his heart sank to see that the swollen creek had become a raging river, rising to engulf the little wooden bridge that led back to civilization.

"Can you see anything?" he asked, desperately hoping that the bridge was just covered as opposed to being swept away.

"Too muddy," Ellison grumbled. He opened the door and got out of the truck, ripping a long branch from a nearby tree and approaching the rushing water. The sentinel had intended to feel around for the bridge and gage the depth of the flood, but the current ripped the stick right out of his hand, dispelling any notion he might have had about attempting a crossing. Biting back his angry frustration, he turned and climbed back into the truck, slamming the door behind him. And even though he knew they were out of range, he pulled out his cell phone, hoping that by some miracle he’d get a signal but not surprised when he found no connection.

“Jim, please tell me that Simon knows you’re here.”

“Sorry, Chief,” the detective murmured, running a hand tiredly over his face. Suddenly, Banks’ ire at being woken at 3:30 am with an update didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But that was the problem with hindsight. “It was a long shot, you know? I really didn’t think it would pan out, so...”

“No calvary,” Blair concluded. "So now what?"

"We have to go back to the cabin," Jim sighed, throwing the truck in reverse and skillfully navigating the tight turn. "It'll at least be dry, and maybe we'll catch a break and find some food there." He knew his ill friend was less than happy about the situation, but Blair merely nodded in resolution before turning to face his own window, watching the rain streaking down the glass.

They arrived back at the cabin quickly and Ellison left the truck running, instructing his partner to wait where it was warm while he went in and started a fire. Dashing inside, the detective found kindling and a lighter and a small stack of dry wood and he soon had a respectable blaze burning. While he waited for the flames to chase the chill out of the room, he investigated the small cabin and took stock of inventory. There was no plumbing or electricity, but he found a good supply of canned goods in the bags that Rabinski had been unloading when he’d come upon him. Basic cooking utensils were housed in the kitchen area and he discovered a thermal sleeping bag and blankets in the spartan bedroom. A mattress on the floor had apparently served as a bed, but it was colder in the back room so Jim decided it would be better to set Blair up in front of the fire. He took the bedding with him and dumped it on the beat up couch before shoving the whole thing forward, moving it out of the draft coming in through the door into the circumference of heat from the fireplace.

Satisified for the moment, he went back out to retrieve his partner. Sandburg climbed out of the truck, anticipating the dizziness this time and clinging to the door for a moment until it passed. Then he followed his friend inside where the detective handed him a parcel of clothing that he’d fished out of a box on the bedroom floor.

"Here. The size is way off, but at least they're dry."

Blair hesitated, looking at the bundle in his hands and feeling a strong distaste at the thought of donning a dead man's wardrobe.

"It's ok, man," he protested. "I'll dry off before too long."

"I know it's a little weird, Chief," Jim told him. "But you're soaking wet and our first priority is to get you dried off and warmed up."

"I know," Sandburg sighed, realizing the practicality of his partner's logic. With only a slight shudder, he stripped off his sodden clothes and put on the faded cammo pants and flannel shirt that had belonged to Rabinski. He found he was swimming in the big man's garments, but they were clean and dry and it was a relief to be rid of the wet, clinging material that had been chaffing him for two days. Blair figured he should pick up his wet clothes, but his vision was swimming in and out again so he decided to leave them in a soggy heap on the floor and sit down before he fell down. He made his way over to the couch and sank down onto it gratefully, pulling the sleeping bag around him.

Ellison made a few more trips outside, bringing in armfuls of wet wood from the pile out back and stacking them along the wall to dry out so he'd be able to keep the fire going. Then he went out once more to the rain barrel alongside the cabin and filled up the bucket he'd found by the door after carefully tasting the water and declaring it free from contamination. Back inside he poured a little into a small kettle, adding a can of condensed soup and hanging it on the metal bar over the fire to heat. Dashing back to the bedroom, he likewise stripped off his dripping clothes and raided the box for something dry. After he changed, he went back out to check the soup, and when it was heated he carefully poured it into two tin mugs, handing one to his friend.

Blair wasn't hungry but he took a few sips, finding that the warmth in his stomach began radiating out to the rest of his body and helped dull the chills that were wracking him with relentless persistence. He finished the whole cup but declined seconds, so Jim decided he could take a minute and sit down and drink his own soup. The only other seat was a squeaky rocking chair which he pulled over to the fire, next to the couch. He sank into it with a muted sigh, finally allowing himself to feel his own fatigue. As he sipped at the steaming liquid in his mug, Ellison watched with mild amusement as his friend fought a losing battle to stay awake.

"Chief."

Sandburg's head snapped up from where it was beginning to loll, and he looked over at his partner.

"We're going to be here awhile," the sentinel pointed out. "You might as well get comfortable."

Grinning a little sheepishly, Blair nodded slightly and lay down, curling over on his side as he pulled the sleeping bag up over his shoulder. The couch was lumpy and pillowless, but it was a vast improvement over the cold, wet ground lined with metal bars. He was at least warm and dry and fed, and casting another small glance toward his friend, he took great comfort in the fact that he was safe and that he wasn't alone. They may not have been out of the woods yet, so to speak, but things definitely looked a lot better than they had that morning. And reassured by that thought, the anthropologist closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The sentinel was on the edge of a zone out, his weariness lowering his defenses until he was almost hypnotized by the dancing flames of the fire. But a hitch in his partner’s breathing jerked his focus back to reality, and after shaking his head slightly to clear it he rose from the chair and stretched before moving to the couch to see what was wrong. Blair was still asleep, but his respirations had increased and he was moaning slightly. As Ellison knelt down beside him, he began thrashing and the concerned detective gently woke him.

Sandburg opened his eyes with a gasp, which brought on a coughing fit.

“Easy,” Jim soothed him, rubbing a hand over his shoulder. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Blair admitted, his voice a weak croak.

“I’m not surprised.” The sentinel cupped his cheek briefly and then rested the back of his hand against his forehead, dismayed to see his fever was climbing. “You want some water?” At his nod, Jim got up and went into the kitchen, dipping a cup into the bucket and bringing it back to his friend. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Sandburg gulped half of it down thirstily and then set the cup on the floor before he struggled to sit up. “Can you hand me my boots, Jim?”

“What for?”

“Well, unless there’s a bathroom that I missed in this palace, I’m going to need to hike over to the outhouse,” Blair informed him.

“Sandburg, we’re all alone in the wilderness,” Jim reminded him wryly. “Just piss out the door.”

It seemed a little taboo, but the anthropologist realized his friend was right. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see him. And the sound of the rain beating on the roof became the deciding factor, for he definitely was in no hurry to expose himself to the soaking weather again if he didn’t have to. So he allowed Ellison to help him up and he padded over to the cabin door, opening it and shivering slightly at the blast of chilly air as he leaned against the doorframe and answered nature’s call into the encroaching darkness. When he was finished he returned to the couch and huddled up back under the sleeping bag.

“Jim,” he said tentatively after several minutes. “Are you sure that Mel is dead? I know you said you shot him and he fell down a ravine, but are you sure he just wasn’t faking it somehow...?”

“I’m sure,” the sentinel told him with conviction. “But even if he’s not, you don’t need to worry, Chief. I’m right here with you, and you know that nobody can sneak up on me. Right?”

“Right,” Blair smiled, a bit embarrassed over his fears, but grateful to his friend for easing them.

“Go back to sleep, buddy,” Ellison urged him gently. “You’ll feel better after you get some rest.”

“Ok.” Sandburg stifled a yawn and let his exhausted body relax and within moments he was fast asleep.

The detective quietly slipped out of the door, braving the rain to bring back another heavy bucket from the barrel. He went into the kitchen and started the kettle boiling to make some coffee for himself, and when it was ready he took his mug and headed back to his seat by the fire. Before he sat down, he pulled the sleeping bag up and tucked it securely around Blair’s shoulders. The younger man sighed in his sleep and rolled over onto his side, becoming uncovered again in the process. Ellison grinned, reaching down to pull the bag back up.

“Rest easy, Guide,” he thought to himself. “Your blessed protector is here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Sunday, November 12

Blair was working his way through a coughing fit, so Jim took advantage of the fact that he was in an upright position and began stuffing the rest of the clothes he’d scrounged from the bedroom in behind him, trying to create a comfortable incline for his friend to rest against that would keep his head elevated and hopefully ease his breathing. Sandburg shook with spasms, choking and finally gagging into the paper towel he held at his lips before dropping it in with the others into the plastic bag on the floor next to him. He collapsed back against his improvised pillow, panting and wincing as he pressed a hand over his chest.

“God, that hurts,” he muttered to himself, although he knew his friend would hear. “Jim...?”

“Right here.” Ellison read his mind and handed his partner the cup of water and Sandburg took a sip before handing it back. “You up for trying a little food yet?”

“Feel sick,” Blair replied, shaking his head slightly and closing his eyes, although he opened them when he felt his friend adjusting the sleeping bag over him. “Jim, am I...? I’m going to be ok, right?”

“Of course you are,” the sentinel answered him. “Why would you think you wouldn’t?”

“You’re the one who said I had pneumonia.”

“So?”

“Well, that can be... you know. Fatal.”

“For babies and old people, Sandburg,” Jim told him. “Not for healthy people in their twenties.”

“I know, but we’re stuck out here...”

“Yeah, we are, but it’s ok. The important thing is to keep you warm and dry and hydrated, and we’ve got the means to do that until we can get you out of here. I know you feel like hell but you’re doing all right, Chief. Besides, after everything I’ve seen you sail through since the day I met you, I hardly think a little thing like pneumonia is going to take you out. Do you?”

Blair considered the multitude of times his life had been in danger over the past two years. He’d survived Lash and Kincaid and Zeller, as well as a host of other big time underworld figures who had threatened his life. Had more guns pointed on him than he could count and had faced down more bombs than he would have thought possible in such a short span of time. Been kidnaped, beat up and knocked out repeatedly. Not to mention having a radio antenna dropped on his head, being fed lethal amounts of a deadly hallucinogen, being stuck on a falling elevator, having a horde of venomous funnel web spiders set upon him... Oh yeah, and there was that last time he was stranded in the wilderness, with a bullet in the leg. Put into that perspective, no, microscopic germs were nothing to be feared.

“I guess not,” Sandburg conceded. “When you put it that way.”

“You’re going to be fine, buddy,” the sentinel promised, giving his shoulder a pat through the sleeping bag.

“Hey, Jim, how do you think I will go out? You know, when the time comes?”

“How should I know? Although I’m sure it will be in typical Sandburg fashion.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t do anything in half measures, Chief,” Jim told him with a grin. “So when it is your time, you can bet it’ll be in some spectacular blaze of glory. Not in the middle of nowhere in a puddle of mucus.”

“Oh, great, thanks for that image,” Blair said with a chuckle, which turned into a moan. “Oh, man, don’t make me laugh!”

“How about if I clear out for a little bit and let you get some rest? Think you’ll be ok for an hour or so on your own?”

“Yeah, but where are you going?”

“I just want to go have a look around,” the sentinel answered restlessly. “Make sure there’s not a back road or some other way out of here.”

“Jim, be careful, all right?” Sandburg urged, the stern warning not to overtax his senses and zone in the woods strong in his hoarse voice.

“Yeah, I will. Your water’s right here on the floor, ok? Try to drink as much as you can. I’ll be back soon.”

“Happy hunting,” Blair called out after him as the sentinel pulled on his coat and slipped out the door.

Jim spent most of the day out in the woods, searching for a way out of the wilderness or failing that, a cabin that held an emergency radio. He found neither. But he kept trying, making large sweeping circles in all directions, and periodically doubling back to check on his friend, ensuring that his water cup remained filled and the fire kept burning. Late afternoon he finally called it quits, forced to admit that they were, for all intents and purposes, truly stranded.

Blair was asleep when he returned to the cabin, so Ellison tried to be as quiet as possible as he brought in more wood and refilled the water bucket, although he had a feeling his partner would have slept through an earthquake. He set the kettle to boil and ducked into the bedroom, stripping off his wet clothing and changing back into his own clothes, which were now dry. Jim retrieved his friend’s cup from the floor and dumped it, refilling it with a concoction from a pot that he had set up earlier that morning. Moving over to the couch, he managed to perch on the edge of it and reached out to give his partner’s shoulder a gentle shake.

"Come on, Chief," he called softly. "Wake up."

"Hmmm?" Sandburg murmured, his blue eyes blinking open. “What’s wrong?”

"Nothing's wrong," the sentinel assured him. "I just want you to drink this now."

"What is it?" Blair asked with a yawn, staring a bit fuzzily at the cup in the detective's hands and suspecting it wasn’t water.

"Something to help you feel better," Ellison explained, but it didn’t appear that his friend was convinced so he elaborated. “It’s a decoction of white willow bark, ok? I set it up this morning.”

"You made this?" the anthropologist inquired, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Don't sound so surprised there, Euell Gibbons," Jim admonished. "I’m not just a dumb city cop, you know. I am an army trained survivalist. You think I don't know the basics of wildnerness medicine?"

"I'm not surprised," Sandburg said with a faint grin. "I'm impressed. I didn’t even think you knew what a decoction was."

“Well be impressed while you chug this down,” the detective encouraged him. “Here.” He handed him the cup, but didn’t let go when he saw how badly his partner’s hand was shaking, keeping a light grip on the edge to hold it steady. “It’s going to be a little bitter.”

“A little?!” Blair gasped after the first experimental sip.

“Ok, a lot bitter,” Jim amended. “But quit crying and drink it.”

“Oh, man, that is revolting,” the younger man complained as he swallowed another mouthful. “You couldn’t have diluted it with some mint or maybe some honey?”

“Yeah, sure. I love you, Sandburg, but not enough to risk pissing off a hive full of bees just to coddle your taste buds. Come on, now. Don’t make me hold your nose and pour that stuff down your throat.”

The thought of that made Blair snort in amusement and that triggered another coughing fit. Jim set the cup aside and quickly ripped another paper towel off the roll, handing to his friend and then sitting there, helpless to do anything but watch as his partner convulsed with painful spasms as his lungs tried to forcefully clear themselves.

“You ok?” Ellison asked softly as Sandburg finally collapsed back, flushed and panting.

“No,” he answered indignantly, as if it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

“Try and finish this up,” Jim urged him, handing him the cup again. “I know it’s bad, but it should keep your fever down and help with the chest pain a little, ok? Here, take a sip.”

Blair made a face, but he obediently finished off the herbal medicine without further complaint. When he was done, the sentinel took the cup and went to the kitchen, returning momentarily with a steaming mug.

“It’s just a little weak coffee,” he reassured his guide. “Something to cleanse the pallet.”

Sandburg sipped at the hot liquid. It was weak, and heavily mixed with powdered milk. But it did help clear away the bitter taste so he held onto the mug and took another sip, realizing that something was different. It was quiet in the cabin. Too quiet.

“Did it stop raining?”

“A couple hours ago,” Ellison confirmed. “Looks like the clouds are starting to break up, too. So we just have to wait for the creek to go down and we’ll be home free.”

“That could take days,” Blair speculated.

“We’ll make it,” Jim reassured him with a confidence he didn’t necessarily feel, knowing as well as his friend did that mountain streams receded a lot slower than they flooded. It probably would take days... days that Sandburg might not have. Sure, he was doing ok for the moment. But the isolation was a major worry for Ellison, for if his partner took a turn for the worse or complications set in, there was no way to get him to help. And white willow with its aspirin compounds aside, Blair needed to be on antibiotics and he needed them soon. But he didn’t let his friend see his mounting concern, Jim’s blue eyes merely radiating a fond affection as he checked his forehead to monitor his fever, brushing a damp strand of curls back from his face as he did so. “I’m going to see what I can cook up for dinner. Why don’t you close your eyes for a minute and then maybe you’ll feel like eating something in a little bit when the willow kicks in?”

Blair nodded his agreement and Ellison rose and headed into the kitchen to begin sorting through the supplies. Sandburg rolled over on his side, hiking the sleeping bag over his shoulder and watching him through half closed lids.

“Hey, Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you, too, right?”

The sentinel met his gaze across the room and grinned as he hoisted up the pot with the willow bark decoction.

“Just remember that later tonight when I come at you with another dose of this.”

The sentinel frowned as he rested his hand against his friend’s forehead. Blair seemed even hotter than he’d been an hour ago, the heat radiating off him in waves. Ellison took the rest of the water left in the bucket and dumped it into the pot over the fire to take the chill off it while he went outside to refill the bucket from the rain barrel. When he got back, the water in the pot was slightly warm, so he transferred it into a small bowl. After digging up a small hand towel that seemed reasonably clean, he returned to his partner and perched on the edge of the couch. Blair woke up when he pulled the sleeping bag down to his waist, blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on his friend.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re burning up,” Jim told him softly as he undid the buttons on his flannel shirt, pulling it open to expose his chest. “We need to try and get your temperature down a little.”

Blair didn’t protest as the detective wrung the towel out in the bowl of water and gently wiped his face with it. For a moment, he felt strange having Jim care for him so intimately, but he quickly ceased to care. He couldn’t remember ever having been this sick before, and anything to lessen the pain was a comfort. Blair lay still as his friend wrung the towel out again and began bathing his chest, both of them listening to the rattle in his lungs which was more than audible in the quiet cabin.

“Jim, I’m starting to feel like I can’t catch my breath,” Sandburg confessed haltingly. “I guess I’m not doing too good here, am I?”

“You’re going to be ok,” Ellison said firmly, giving him a stern look. “We just have to get this fever under control.”

“How much longer do you think we’ll have to stay here?”

“Not much longer, Chief,” the sentinel reassured his guide, although in truth he had no idea when the creek would recede enough to allow them passage over the bridge. “And in the meantime, I’m keeping a close eye on you, and nothing gets by me, remember? I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re really doing ok. Trust me.”

“I do,” Blair murmured, closing his eyes as the towel was swiped over his face again. When Jim went back to bathing his chest, Sandburg opened his eyes and grinned slightly.

“What?”

“I was remembering back when you said you weren’t going to nurse me through a bout of pneumonia. What happened to that?”

“Well, this is hardly the first time you’ve suckered me into doing something I said I wasn’t going to do,” Ellison pointed out, fondness evident in his voice.

Blair considered that, realizing it was true. Which suddenly made him wonder why. Why did this strong, reserved, disciplined man tend to cave in around him? What was it about him that made Jim Ellison give in, to acquiesce often against his will or better judgement? How did he come to have such a persuasive influence over an ex-military control freak to the point where he was almost wrapped around his little finger? When no one else could reach him, why was he the one the sentinel would listen to?

Trust, he decided finally. Just as he trusted Jim with his life, Jim likewise trusted him. With his life, with his secret, with his home... and with his soul. When his senses were out of control, he trusted his guide to give him help and answers. And when the world was out of control around him, he trusted his partner to be the voice of reason and to be his anchor to sanity. When he was in trouble, he trusted his friend to be there for him. Just as he was always there for Blair. Because they cared about each other. Hell, they loved each other. And that realization flooded him with a warmth that had nothing to do with fever.

The sentinel wasn’t sure what had come over his guide, but as he sponged him down he felt the younger man physically relax under his touch. Glancing up, Jim saw that his friend’s eyes were closed, a look of contented peace on his face. He didn’t know what had caused the shift, just glad that Blair was resting comfortably, for sleep was the best thing for him. So with a shrug he went back to work, gently doing his best to cool the hot skin, feeling a peace of his own settle over him as he did what he could to bring comfort to his partner.

Monday, November 13

Ellison’s jaw clenched as he got out of the truck and stared at the muddy, rushing water. The bridge was still covered, the current still too swift. If it had just been him he might have chanced it, but with Sandburg so sick he couldn’t take the chance of the truck getting stuck, or even getting washed off the bridge entirely. They were just going to have to wait it out, at least another day. Feeling utterly discouraged and frustrated, Jim got back in the truck and turned around to go back to the cabin, steeling himself for another endless day of waiting.

But as he pulled up to the building, a sound reached the sentinel’s ears. For a second he thought he was imagining it, but it started growing louder. The unmistakable rhythm of a helicopter blade.

Diving behind the seat of the truck, the detective hauled out his emergency road kit and dug out two road flares, the only things with which he had to signal. He lit them both and tossed them on the ground, desperately willing the copter to come his direction. And after circling west, it did. The craft buzzed overhead but abruptly turned around, presumably after spotting the flares. When it came back it was flying lower and Jim could see the P.D. logo emblazoned on the side. The relief he felt quadrupled when it passed overhead again and he zeroed in with his sight, clearly making out one Simon Banks in the seat next to the pilot. Jim jumped and waved, not deterred when the copter ascended and headed north. The clearing where he’d found Blair was that way, the only suitable place for a bird of that size to land.

Ellison burst through the door of the cabin, almost knocking Sandburg down in the process.

“Sorry,” he apologized, reaching out to quickly grab his friend’s arms to steady him. “What are you doing up? Everything ok?”

“Yeah,” Blair told him. “I just thought I heard a helicopter outside and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t delirious.”

“No, you’re not delirious, Chief,” Jim grinned, moving a hand up to squeeze his shoulder. “The calvary is here.”

“Simon?” At his partner’s nod, Sandburg gave him a hint of a smile. “He’s almost as good as you are.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Ellison chuckled, though inwardly he frowned at how badly his friend was trembling under his hands. “I’m going to go out and meet him. You go back over there and take a load off, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.”

Blair collapsed back onto the couch and burrowed under the sleeping bag. Jim brought him some more water and stirred up the fire, then left him to go and give their captain a warm welcome.

Simon had found the trail leading back to the cabin and they met each other halfway.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” Ellison called out happily when they were in sight of each other.

“Likewise,” Banks agreed. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, just a little stranded,” Jim said ruefully. “Long story, but the short of it is that Rabinski’s dead and I’ve got Sandburg back there at his cabin. He’s sick as a dog, Simon, and he’s never going to make this trek to the chopper.”

They had reached each other by that point and the captain stood, panting slightly as he digested that information.

“I brought an EMT along just in case. Let’s go back and get her and she can take a look at Sandburg. Then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“Lead the way.” The detective fell in step behind his superior as Banks started climbing back up the trail toward the clearing. “How the hell did you know I was out here, anyway?”

“Just because you made Officer of the Year doesn’t mean you’re the only good cop on the force,” Simon grunted, insulted. “It wasn’t that hard to track you, you know. Once we realized you were AWOL I just checked your cell phone records. Sent Rafe over to talk to Millie Farber, and she clued us in to where you’d gone. We tried to drive in last night but the whole damn area is flooded.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ellison said with heavy exasperation.

“How about you tell me what happened out here instead?”

“It was a long shot, Simon,” Jim told him, though his argument lacked bite. “Just a place Rabinski mentioned once to his landlady. I didn’t think he’d really be out here but I was going nuts and this gave me something to do. Then when I found him, I was out of cell range but he admitted he had Sandburg so I couldn’t risk losing him. I had to act. It seemed like he was cooperating, agreeing to take me to Blair, but then he pulled a gun he had stashed out here. I had to fire and I winged him, but he fell back into a ravine and snapped his neck.”

“What do you mean, taking you to Blair? He didn’t have the kid at his cabin?”

“No.”

“Then where was he?”

“Up there,” Ellison replied quietly as they emerged from the trees and stopped at the edge of the meadow. Banks squinted, following his gaze. He didn’t have the benefit of sentinel sight, but he could still make out the metal bars across the clearing, on the other side of the waiting copter. And a scowl of anger twisted his face as the true meaning of what Sandburg had endured hit home.

“Bastard deserved what he got,” Simon muttered as they started walking again. “What was his deal, anyway?”

“Some kind of extreme vigilante, apparently,” Jim answered. “He actually thought he was doing some good in the world.”

“He is now. What did you do with the body?”

“Left it. I can show you where. It’s going to take a team to get him out of here. And yesterday I found another gun and a knife he had stashed in the area, so we should probably get the K-9 unit out here to do a weapons sweep.”

“Yeah, we’ll take care of all of that,” Banks promised. “But my first priority is getting the two of you taken care of.” He waved at a woman who slid down from the back of the chopper when they approached. “Jim, this is Courtney Ledet. Courtney, this is our MIA number two, Jim Ellison. And we’re going to need you to look at MIA number one back at that cabin we flew over.”

Simon turned away to speak with the helicopter pilot, and Jim could hear him calling in a brief status report over the radio as he shook hands with the paramedic.

“So, what’s wrong with MIA number one?” the EMT asked as she climbed back into the copter to survey her equipment.

“I think he has pneumonia,” the detective explained. “Fever, lung congestion, cough. Hit him pretty hard. I got two doses of white willow into him yesterday, but he couldn’t keep it down this morning.”

The woman glanced over her shoulder at him a bit quizzically, but said nothing as she took a few things out of a large nylon bag and added a few others. Then she hopped out and struggled to pull the bag out after her.

“Here, let me,” Ellison offered, reaching to help.

“It’s heavy,” she warned as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

“It’s ok,” Jim reassured her with a grin, his words causing Simon’s eyebrows to arch in surprise, “it’s a lot lighter than Sandburg was.”

Blair was naturally happy to see the captain come through the door with his partner, but he became visibly nervous when introduced to the paramedic with them.

“Jim, I don’t want another air lift, man,” he whispered desperately, reaching up to latch an iron grip of fear on his friend’s sleeve. “I can’t do that again. Please, don’t let them take me...”

“Easy, Chief,” the sentinel soothed his guide, covering the hand clinging to him with his own and squeezing it once before gently extricating himself. “Nobody’s taking you anywhere right now, ok? Courtney’s just here to check you out, so settle down and let her look at you, all right?” He stepped aside, making room for the EMT as he waved her forward with the warning, “watch out for this one. He fancies himself quite the ladies’ man.”

Sandburg gazed at the woman with a hint of lingering wariness, but he allowed her to begin her examination and cooperated with her requests willingly enough. Ellison retreated to the other side of the cabin for a few hushed words with his captain, and after a few minutes the paramedic joined them.

“He’s pretty sick, but he’s stable,” she explained quietly. “No danger of complications yet, so at this point I think if we tried to air lift him out of here or tried to transport him back to the copter we’d be exposing him unnecessarily to cold and stress and would be doing more harm than good.”

“So what are you saying?” Simon demanded.

“Right now I’d say he’s best off staying here,” Courtney suggested. “A hospital isn’t going to benefit him if we make him worse getting him there.”

“I agree,” Jim chimed in.

“I don’t like it,” Banks declared vehemently.

“I don’t particularly like it either, Simon,” Ellison told him. “But she’s right. Blair’s better off where he is until we can get him out of here by road.”

“You want me to go back to Cascade and just leave the two of you here...”

“Well, it’s not luxury accommodations by any stretch of the imagination,” the detective granted his boss. “But it’s got a solid roof and it’s warm and dry and we’ve got food and water. What other option do we have?”

“And we could do an air drop,” Ledet interjected. “The chopper can come back and drop a supply kit. Medication and an emergency radio, so you’ll be able to stay in communication and get help if you need it. And in the meantime, I can give him some saline and I’ve got a small oxygen tank I can leave, just in case.”

“Hello!” came a weak, hoarse, and very indignant shout from across the room. “I might be sick but I’m perfectly cognizant, you know! If you guys are discussing me, I would like to be included...”

“Sorry, Chief,” Jim murmured, meaning it as he approached his friend and crouched down beside the couch. “We were trying to figure out what to do next, but we shouldn’t have excluded you.”

“And?” Blair asked, his anxiety surfacing once more. “What did you decide?”

“Simon and Courtney are going to take off without us. You and I are going to stay and ride it out until the bridge clears. You ok with that?”

“If it means no air lift, then, yeah, I’m ecstatic. Best plan ever.”

“Well, you’re not home safe yet. Courtney wants to give you some fluids. So behave yourself and don’t give her any trouble, all right?”

The sentinel backed off and watched, bemused, as his guide proceeded to flirt shamelessly with the paramedic as she started the IV in his arm and sat beside him, holding and monitoring the bag.

“It’s amazing,” Banks whispered to him. “The kid can barely breathe and yet he’s got air enough to chat up the only female within a twenty mile radius.”

“The strength of his libidio never ceases to astound me,” Ellison concurred, shaking his head.

But when the bag was empty, Courtney Ledet demurred over her patient’s dinner invitation back in the city, instead wishing him well as she removed the needle from his arm and packed up her equipment. She had a quiet word with Jim while Simon said goodbye to Sandburg, making sure the detective knew what to watch for and promising the emergency kit would be dropped to them before evening fell. Then she stepped outside and started for the trail back to the copter. Ellison accompanied his captain through the door to see him off.

“Is there anything else you need?” Banks asked him. “I can arrange to have it dropped, too.”

“No, not really. Hopefully it won’t be too much longer.” Jim extended a hand. “Thanks, Simon, for coming after us.”

“You’re welcome.” The captain took his hand and shook it, then squeezed it with excessive force. “And if you ever go rogue on me like that again, Ellison, I will personally suspend your ass for a month!” He released the detective and started for the trail, jogging slightly to catch up with the paramedic.

“I hear that,” Jim muttered, shaking his hand in the air vigorously for a moment before going back inside.

“Are they gone?”

“Yeah. They had to head out if the chopper’s going to have enough time to get back here with supplies before dark.” Glancing at his friend, Ellison saw he still looked marginally upset. “Just bringing supplies, Chief. No air lift. I promise.”

Blair let out a breath, coughing as he did so, but he also relaxed.

“Jim, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” the sentinel told him as he eased his body down into the rocking chair.

“Yeah, I do. It’s my fault you’re still stuck here. If I wasn’t such a wuss...”

“Sandburg, we’re not stuck here anymore. We’re still here because we decided it was the best thing to do for now. I know you, Chief, and I know how hard that air lift was for you. And I also know that you would do it again, if you had to when it comes down to the wire.”

“Do you think it will? Come down to the wire?”

“No,” Jim reassured him, shaking his head for emphasis. “Courtney confirmed that you’re stable and we’ve got meds and a means to help on the way. You’ll be fine here until we can drive out of here. And don’t worry about me. This place is hardly the Ritz, but I’ve roughed it much more than this on fishing trips.”

“I appreciate what you’re saying Jim, but I know this isn’t like a vacation for you. I just feel like...” Blair paused, scrubbing a hand weakly over his eyes before turning his head to look at his friend. “I’m just sorry to be so much trouble.”

“I’m used to that by now,” the sentinel chuckled, before meeting his guide’s eyes with his warm gaze. “And for the record, you’re worth it.”

The shadows were lengthening in the cabin as the afternoon inched into evening. Ellison stared at the window, noting that daylight was dwindling. And still, the chopper had not returned with their supplies. Trying to reign in his impatience and refrain from thinking the worst, he moved over to the couch and stared down at his partner, studying him thoughtfully. Sandburg was sleeping restlessly, even as his body shivered with chills. One hand hung off the couch, grazing the floor, and Jim took it in his own, looking at it carefully before tucking the limb back under the sleeping bag. No trace of blue in the nails, which meant that his oxygen saturation was still good. But he could tell his friend was having a hard time breathing and that he was in pain. His respirations had become a fast, shallow pant and his heart rate was up. Blair wasn’t in crisis yet, but it was only a matter of time without the medication that had been promised.

Another half hour went by before the sentinel’s ears picked up the sound of the helicopter approaching. And another five minutes before it passed over the cabin, hovering as low as it could get. Jim scanned the craft and recognized the same pilot as before, but Simon was not on board and an unfamiliar man dropped a wooded crate down to earth. He waved his thanks, not sure if they saw him before the bird rose into the air and headed back to Cascade.

The light was rapidly fading, but it was more than enough for him to see by. Upon impact the top of the crate had jarred loose, so it was an easy matter to unpack it. Ellison found the prescription antibiotics, as well as a bottle of Tylenol and a few other medical supplies. A battery operated emergency radio was there as well, along with a case of water and some more non-perishable food items. And one grease stained paper bag that bore the colorful Wonderburger logo.

“Oh, thank you, Simon,” Jim sighed in rapture as he opened the bag and inhaled the scent of the meal within. It was cold, but that did nothing to lessen his appreciation. Taking his dinner and the medications he headed back inside, thinking that the dreary cabin was suddenly looking a whole lot brighter.

Wednesday, November 15

Jim sighed as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and stared up at the gray clouds massing ominously overhead. The weather report he’d gotten from the radio had predicted rain and he’d been hoping it was wrong, but no such luck. He could tell, smelling it in the air. They were going to get another soaking and they were going to get it soon.

He started for the truck, intent on driving down to assess the state of the wooden bridge, but paused with his hand on the handle, realizing there was no point. Another round of heavy showers was just going to add to the problem, which left them with a small window of opportunity. They were just going to have to chance it, and it was now or never.

Ellison returned to the cabin and busied himself with packing up a few things and loading up the truck with what he wanted to take. He set some water to boil over the fire and when it was bubbling he used it to make a coffee for himself and a mug of tea for his partner. The sentinel woke his guide, explaining the time had come to make a break for it while giving him his medication along with the tea. Jim also brought him a bucket of warm water, a towel, and his clothes, leaving Sandburg to clean up a little and change while he hauled in water to douse the fire. When they were both ready, the detective radioed the nearest tower to let them know they were coming in, then helped his friend to his feet and guided him out to the truck. He’d already started the vehicle and left the heat on, so the cab was warm and ready. Blair climbed up into the passenger seat and buckled himself in, accepting the sleeping bag that Jim bundled around him. Then Ellison hopped in behind the wheel and put the truck in gear as they left the cabin behind without a backward glance.

They drove in silence until they reached the bridge, where Jim slowed the truck to a stop. The wooden structure was still submerged, but the current was much slower and the water had receded a good bit. Opening his sight, the sentinel struggled to see beneath the muddy creek. A warm hand found it’s way to his shoulder, and suddenly he made out the wooden planks a few inches under the water. They looked intact and sound, so he decided to go for it.

“Hang on,” he murmured to his friend as he inched the truck forward. The hitching rasps next to him stopped and he vaguely realized Sandburg was holding his breath. But he needed to focus, so the sentinel tuned everything out, concentrating solely on the path before him and the hand on his shoulder that was keeping him grounded. The wheels of the truck entered the water but found purchase on the bridge, and Ellison slowly and unerringly navigated the vehicle across to the opposite bank of the swollen creek. Back on dry land, he put the truck in park and relaxed back against the seat, taking a minute to work out the adrenaline rush and stabilize his senses. Blair likewise relaxed, letting out the breath he was holding and immediately bending in half as he was wracked with painful coughing spasms. Jim reached out, patting him gently on the back until the fit was done and he sat back up.

“Remind me never to make fun of your driving skills again,” the younger man croaked out when he could talk.

Ellison grinned as he put the truck in gear.

“Let’s go home, Chief.”

The tv was on, but the sound was muted. Jim wasn’t really watching it, rather he had the set on just because he could. Being back home in the loft, relaxing in his comfortable chair with a beer next to the fire was all the entertainment he needed after a long weekend of Spartan living. Their trip back to Cascade had been mostly uneventful. Once past the bridge they had encountered a few more soggy spots but had only gotten stuck once, and that was brief as Ellison somehow managed to gain enough traction to back out of the deep mud. Then once they made the highway, it was smooth sailing back home. By roundabout way of Cascade General.

Blair had adamantly protested the trip to the hospital, but since he wasn’t driving there wasn’t much he could do about it. They’d kept him there a few hours, taking blood and chest x-rays, and then another two hours beyond that for two IVs and a little supplemental oxygen which the doctor declared was not optional. Sandburg was finally allowed to leave with the stern warning that a close eye must be kept on him for the next day or two.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Ellison had promised the physician while sharing a conspiratorial wink with his partner, “I’ll watch him like a hawk.”

Once back at the loft, Blair had insisted upon a hot shower. He managed it on his own, but the simple chore had taxed the last of his reserves and he’d been passed out on the couch ever since, propped up on a pile of pillows and buried under a mountain of blankets. Jim doubted the loft crashing down around his head would be enough to wake him, but even so he rose and went to the door when he heard the elevator, meeting the delivery man quietly in the hallway before he could knock.

The detective spread the containers holding his Chinese feast out on the table, pausing only to snag another beer from the fridge before sitting down to dig in. He tensed momentarily when his partner started coughing, but Blair was so exhausted he didn’t wake up, moaning slightly in his sleep but relaxing when the fit was over. So Jim went back to his dinner, gorging himself with great enthusiasm. When he was done, he stored the leftovers and cleaned up the kitchen before pouring a glass of juice and going to wake his friend.

“Come on, Chief,” he cajoled as Sandburg tried to shrug him off. “I’m not going to go away so you might as well cooperate.” Ellison grinned, amazed at the vehemence behind a dirty look that was shot through one cracked eyelid. “Come on, you need some fluids. Or else it’s back to the hospital for another IV.” That threat seemingly worked and the anthropologist roused himself enough to take the glass and the pills he was handed. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Not hungry,” Blair muttered as he handed the mostly empty glass back and snuggled down under the blankets.

“Do you want to go to your room for awhile? I can help...” Jim trailed off as he realized his friend was already asleep again. He couldn’t help thinking that Sandburg would have been more comfortable in his own bed, but he decided to leave him where he was and let him rest. He seemed happy where he was, and studying his face Ellison had to admit he looked peaceful. Probably just enjoying being safe at home. Well, they both were.

The sentinel reached down, brushing a curl back from his guide’s forehead before resting his hand there to check his temperature. His fever was lower, the antibiotics apparently kicking in. Cheered by that, Jim finally allowed himself to feel his own exhaustion. He was long overdue for a hot shower of his own, and he felt confident that his friend was doing well enough that he could go upstairs and catch a few hours sleep.

Within half an hour Ellison was almost purring with the luxury of stretching out in his own bed. Blair was breathing noisily below him, but more easily which indicated his lungs were clearing. Jim reached over beside his bed to hit the switch for his white noise generator, but then he hesitated. Rolling over on his back instead, he listened to the soft patter of rain hitting the skylights. The sound that had tormented him for days seemed oddly soothing now that they were home in the cosy loft. So the sentinel closed his eyes and was quickly lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of the falling rain, secure in the knowledge that he and his guide were finally out of the woods.

Finis

The Sandburg Zone

Cascade Library