by Beth Manz
Simon watched anxiously but the expression on Jim's face did not change from tension to relief. Instead, it seemed to harden even more, his jaw locking tight. "I've got it, Joel," he ground out. His hand tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white from the strain. "For now, stay there," he told the detective on the other end of the line. "I'll call you when I know something more." He slapped the phone shut and tossed it on the seat beside him.
"Bad news?" Simon asked when Jim offered no information.
"Blair's not at the loft," he answered, his voice low, resigned. "The phone was pulled out of the wall and Joel said it's dotted with blood. There's also blood on the floor by the counter."
"Damn," Simon muttered, his gaze returning to the rain-washed windshield. "What now?"
Jim jerked hard at the steering wheel, sending the truck into a spin. Simon gripped the dash, holding on as he was slammed against his door. "What are you doing?"
"There's no point in going back to he loft. Blair's not there." Jim straightened the truck and pushed down on the accelerator, barreling down the road in the opposite direction. "If Grant is finishing the game, then I know exactly where he's taking Blair."
/
/
The soft swishing of the windshield wipers was the only sound inside the large sedan. Blair shifted in his seat. His arms, still pinned behind his back, were just beginning to ache. The seat belt across his chest was pulled tight, limiting his movements. He glanced at the man behind the wheel of the car. Grant stared ahead, his expression passive. Blair returned his gaze to his window, staring at the patterns the rain made on the glass.
They'd been driving for nearly half an hour, Grant refusing to listen to any more talk about Eddie. He has to believe he killed him in order for his theory to play out. The man had lost all perspective, cared only about proving his theory, making a name for himself in his field.
"Did you ever care about Eddie at all?" he asked, the question coming out before he realized he was even going to speak. "As a person, I mean?"
"I'm a scientist, Mr. Sandburg. I can't afford to care about my subjects." He pulled the car to a stop and announced, "We're here."
Blair stiffened as he looked through his window at the empty lot beyond the glass. Trees lined the far edge, wind from the early evening storm slapping their branches together. Puddles dotted the dirt-covered ground as the rain continued to fall.
"Where are we?" he asked, but deep down, Blair already knew the answer. This is where Eddie would have brought me. To bury me.
Grant turned a cold gaze on him. "We're at the end of the game, Mr. Sandburg. You know that."
Blair swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Grant, listen to me. Eddie is not dead. He's with Jim. You're doing this for nothing."
"I'm not stupid, Mr. Sandburg. I know you'd say just about anything if you thought it would stop me."
"Do you think Jim would have left me alone for a second if he thought Eddie was still a threat? Come on, doctor, think about it."
Grant opened his mouth but said nothing. His gaze cut away from Blair. "Ellison was awfully protective of you," he muttered. "It would stand to reason that he would only leave if he thought you were safe."
"And he thought I was safe because they found Eddie. Man, I am telling you the truth. You've got to see that."
Panic danced behind Grant's eyes. "Dammit," he spat out. "All I had to do was go back and dispose of the body. That's all."
"Doctor," Blair began, pitching his low voice, "Your plan has failed. Stop now before you make this any worse."
Grant shifted his attention back to Blair. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You think you're clever, don't you?" He pushed open his door and, stepping out into the rainy night, crossed to Blair's side of the car.
He's just going to leave me here. That's all. Just leave me here and take off.
Blair still had that hope in his mind as Grant leaned into the car and pulled him out. He blinked hard as rain pelted his face, wet his clothes and hair. "Listen, man, you leave me here and you can just take off," he said, speaking over the rain. "Jim won't find me for hours. Maybe not even until tomorrow. You could be long gone by then."
"You think I'd run?" The doctor laughed lightly. "I have no intention of giving up my reputation for the likes of you." His hand tightened on Blair's arm as he dragged him across the lot.
Blair twisted and pulled, struggling against the grip on his arm. "Grant, there's a big difference between murder and kidnapping. You haven't crossed that line yet!"
"You're making this more difficult than it has to be," Grant said, his arm coming around Blair's waist, dragging him more easily.
Ahead, Blair could see a hole, about eighteen inches deep--just large enough to hold a body. Panic flared in his chest. No! He can't. He can't! His struggles increased. His breath came in short gasps. He looked around wildly, searching for... "Help! Somebody help--"
His voice was cut off as a rag was placed across his nose and mouth. He twisted his head, trying to dislodge the cloth, recognizing the sickly smell of chloroform as it filled his lungs.
"Just relax, Mr. Sandburg," Grant rasped out. "You won't feel a thing."
Blair sagged in his captor's arms, darkness pulling at the edges of his mind. His last thought as he slipped into blackness was of Jim. Don't feel guilty about this, man. It isn't your fault.
/
/
Headlights flashed ahead, slicing through the still falling rain. Jim gripped the truck's steering wheel and drove straight toward the large sedan that was just pulling away from the side of the field.
"Jim, look out!" Simon yelled as Jim clipped the front of the car and forced it off the road.
Slamming the truck into park, Jim climbed out and sprinted toward the slightly crumpled vehicle.
Grant shoved open his door as Jim approached but made no move to step out into the pouring rain. His gaze tracked Jim's movements, his eyes dark with anger. "What the hell do you think-"
But he never finished the sentence. Jim reached in, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him bodily from the car.
"Where's Sandburg!" he demanded, his hands shaking with barely controlled rage.
"Are you crazy?" Grant blurted out, his eyes wide, shocked. "You drove into me-"
"Where is he!" Jim shouted, slamming him against the side of the car. "What did you do to him?" A familiar scent tickled at his nose, coming from Grant. He stiffened as he finally put a name to the smell. "Chloroform," he breathed. "You chloroformed him and then what? Dumped him in a hole somewhere? Tell me. Tell me!"
Jim was vaguely aware of other vehicles arriving--a few black and whites, an ambulance, an unmarked police car. The rain began to fall harder, washing over them in cold sheets.
Grant locked his gaze with Jim. There was no fear behind his eyes, no compassion. Just a cold, blank stare. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You son of a-"
"Jim!" Simon shouted over the sound of the rain. "We're wasting time. He's not going to tell you anything."
Jim tightened his grip. "He'll tell me," he growled.
"Detective." Simon grabbed his arm, stopping him from any further action. "You won't help Blair this way." He held his gaze, conveying in that single look that he would not stand by and let Jim get physical with Grant. Not even for Blair. "Look for him," he urged. "You can find him."
Jim turned toward the field, his gaze moving slowly across the mud-covered ground, water running in small rivulets across the uneven earth. He turned back to Grant. "You better pray he's still alive." He shoved the doctor toward the uniformed officers beside him. "Cuff him and read him his rights. But don't put him in a car. I want him out in this rain until I find Sandburg."
Jim crossed to the field and began a visual scan of the area, looking for footprints, indentations in the mud, something that would lead him to Blair. The rain continued to pound down, obscuring any clues that might be visible. Simon matched Jim's movements, re
maining at his side, one hand on his arm. The sentinel knew Simon was afraid he'd zone.
Not this time. Not when so much is riding on me.
But as seconds ticked by he realized... "This isn't working." He turned toward Simon, unable to keep the desperation from his voice. "I can't make out anything in this mud." In his mind, he could almost hear Blair as he struggled beneath the ground for each breath, slowly suffocating from the heavy, wet earth all around him.
He's unconscious. That means his breathing is slower. He'll last longer.
But how long? Fear twisted through him, tightening the muscles of his back. Where are you, Chief?
The other officers at the scene spread across the field, all of them searching, looking for signs of the missing grad student.
"Don't look. Listen." Blair's words from so long ago came back to Jim, slamming into him, giving him the answer he needed. I'm doing this all wrong. Closing his eyes, he cocked his head to one side, sending out his hearing, searching for the heartbeat that was more familiar to him than his own.
But as he concentrated, he realized that all he could hear was the pounding rain, the other heartbeats all around him, the mutterings of the officers who searched with him. I can't do this. There's too much! He shook his head, his eyes snapping open. "Dammit!"
Relax, Jim. Blair's voice played through his mind again, calm, reassuring. Just filter out the other sounds one by one. First the rain, then the other heartbeats. You can do it, man. I know you can.
Jim took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He started with the rain, isolating the sound and then pushing it from his mind. Next came the sounds of the other officers around him. He listened to each heartbeat, making sure it was not Blair's, before discarding it. He worked carefully, one by one, until finally, he was left with only one sound--a faint, slow beat, muffled but recognizable.
Blair!
He jerked toward the sound, his eyes zeroing in on a patch of earth not fifty feet away. He could see the slight indentation in the dirt and beyond that, a splash of color where a piece of Blair's shirt poked through the mud.
"Over here!" Jim yelled, sprinting toward the shallow grave. Dropping to his knees, Jim clawed at the earth, pulling back handfuls of mud and water. He kept his hearing tuned in to Blair's heartbeat and breathing, the weak sounds tightening the sentinel's chest, making his hands shake.
Other hands joined his, clearing away the muck, revealing the unconscious form of his guide. The young man lay on his side, his hands bound behind his back, his body covered with wet mud. "Help me get him out."
Several hands reached in and carefully withdrew the anthropologist. Jim stripped the tape away from his wrists and gently lay him on the ground. The rain continued to pour down, washing the mud from his face and hair even as Jim tried to shield him from the weather.
"Get that oxygen in here!" Simon yelled to the waiting paramedics.
"He's going to be okay," Jim whispered, shaking fingers moving over Sandburg's face, wiping more of the mud away from his cheeks and eyes. "He's going to be just fine."
An oxygen mask was slipped over Blair's mouth and nose as the paramedics moved into place beside him. But before they could lift him onto the waiting gurney, Jim pulled Blair up off the ground and hugged him to his chest, rocking him slowly. "It's okay, Blair," he whispered close to his ear, his hand moving over his rain-dampened hair in a soothing gesture of comfort. "You're safe now. I found you, buddy. I found you."
/
/
Blair opened his eyes and looked up at the white acoustical ceiling. He tried to focus, but couldn't. His eyes slipped closed again. He concentrated instead on the noises around him--it was quiet, but he could hear muted, conversational tones coming from a distance. Rain pattered heavily against a window nearby and from time to time there was the rustle of paper, like pages being turned in a book.
He forced his eyes open again and glanced to his right. Storm-washed windows met his gaze, and he was momentarily mesmerized by the rivulets of water that rushed in crazy, haphazard patterns down the panes. Beyond the glass, it was night. His focus shifted and he saw a reflection in the dark window--it was his own image staring back at him from a bed, and behind him sat a man with his head bent over something he was reading.
Blair turned his face away from the window and looked to his left. Jim sat there next to the bed, staring down at a magazine. As Blair watched, Jim licked at his index finger then deftly turned a page, causing the paper to rustle in the quiet of the room. That was the sound I heard. He concentrated again on the other noises around him--the muted voices he had heard now made sense; they were coming from the surrounding rooms and the corridor outside.
I'm in the hospital.
"Jim?" he whispered.
Immediately, Jim's gaze met his, surprise in the blue depths giving way to relief and happiness. The detective discarded the magazine he had been reading, dropping it unceremoniously into his now abandoned chair. Stepping up to the bed, he leaned over Blair. "Hey, Chief," he said quietly. "Welcome back."
Blair swallowed and looked up at his friend. "Hospital again?"
"I'm afraid so, buddy."
"Was I in an accident?"
"You don't remember?"
Blair shook his head. "No... I remember being wet."
Jim smiled. "Yes, you were out in the rain."
Blair glanced back over at the window for a moment, at the water pelting the glass. He frowned; he didn't remember being out in that... Looking back up at Jim, he asked, "What happened?"
Jim patted his hand. "I finished the game."
"The game?" Vague snatches of memories, fuzzy and disjointed, came back to Blair. There was a game... a game and someone named Eddie... and another man, a man with blond hair and glasses who came to the loft... He tried to make sense of the jumbled images, but he couldn't make them come together, couldn't concentrate. He sighed. He was sure that he'd probably remember more the next time he woke up, but for now he was happy to just focus on what Jim was saying... and he had said something about a game... "The game?" he repeated, frowning up at Jim. "Did you win?"
A bright smile broke across Jim's face and he leaned down closer and spoke low: "I sure did."
Blair closed his eyes and smiled. Maybe later Jim would tell him more about this game he had been playing. But for now, he was just happy to know that his friend had won.
Epilogue
Jim peered across the bedroom railing to the living area below, where Blair had just dropped wearily onto the couch with an audible sigh. Sandburg sat motionless, silent, staring out at the overcast sky and the mist-shrouded buildings of Cascade.
Jim bit his lower lip in concern; the two men had just returned from Eddie Rostin's funeral, and Blair had been withdrawn and preoccupied during the entire ride back to the loft. Jim hurried the process of changing from his dark gray suit into something more casual. Quickly, he pulled a light sweater over his head and tucked it neatly into his jeans.
Padding down the stairs, he called over to Blair. "Hey, Chief, is that coffee I smell?"
He grimaced inwardly at the absurdity of the question, knowing that his purpose for asking would be as transparent to Blair as it was to him. The question was a poorly veiled invitation, an effort to draw Blair out of his melancholy silence, and both men knew it.
Blair turned his head toward Jim, lifting tired eyes to his friend. "Yeah, it is," Sandburg answered simply, graciously allowing Jim the inane question. "It should be ready in a few minutes."
"Sounds good," Jim answered, lowering himself onto the couch opposite Blair. Leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs, he studied his friend for a few moments, then said, "Chief... I know you're upset about the funeral. Are you going to be all right?"
Blair took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, then offered Jim a ghost of a smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine." The fragile smile faded and Blair reached up to push absently at his hair, tucking a few strands behind his ear. "I just can't get
over the fact that no one except the two of us and a few people from the institution showed up."
"And Dr. Wheeler," Jim amended.
The hint of a smile touched at Blair's lips again. "Yeah, and Dr. Wheeler. It was great of him to come, especially after all these years. I mean, Eddie must have been a kid the last time Dr. Wheeler saw him."
"It was a nice gesture of respect. When you think about it, Dr. Wheeler showed more concern toward someone he hardly knew than Marcus Grant showed to his own patient. It just makes you wonder how different things would have been for Eddie if he'd been in Dr. Wheeler's care rather than Grant's."
"You mean if he'd had someone who cared for him rather than someone who just wanted to make a buck and a reputation off his problems." The disgust in Blair's tone was evident.
"Exactly."
"It's sad to say, but Dr. Grant isn't an isolated case, Jim. I told you scientists tend to be egotistical."
"You aren't," Jim said simply, softly.
An embarrassed flush colored Blair's cheeks at Jim's unexpected praise. He dropped his gaze to his lap. "Hey, man, give me a few years. I'm just starting out."
"I'm serious, Blair," Jim said, not willing to let his friend dismiss the subject so easily. "You could have published your findings on me a long time ago. Could have had your doctorate and a book deal by now and we both know it. And we both know the only reason you haven't published is because you're protecting me."
Blair concentrated on his hands where they rested in his lap. Jim could tell that his friend was a bit surprised that he was so openly broaching the subject that had been an unspoken understanding between the two of them for so long. Finally, Blair looked up at Jim and nodded. "You're right. I am protecting you."
Jim ran a hand over his hair. Scooting forward a bit, he looked steadily at Blair, demanding his attention. "Sandburg, I've been thinking about this, and there has to be some way you can publish."
Blair shook his head. "Not without jeopardizing you, Jim."
