by Beth Manz
Jim let out a long breath. "I know, Chief. But all we have to do is get home. Everything will be fine after that. Simon will be over in the morning and we'll figure this out."
Blair nodded. "You're right. Let's just get home." He tightened his hand around the strap of his backpack and started forward again.
"Chief?" Jim reached out and gripped his arm, stopping him. "We are going to get you to that graduation ceremony. Even if we don't catch this guy, we'll figure out a way to make it safe for you to attend."
Blair smiled up at him. "Thank you. It would really mean a lot to me if we could work it out."
Jim winked at him and grinned warmly. "We will work it out, Sandburg. Trust me. After all, I did not get your pants and my best suit cleaned for nothing."
Blair laughed. "Good point, man."
Jim slapped him on the back and the two men moved toward the exit. Reaching the door, Jim stepped outside, signaling Blair to wait. Silence echoed around him as Blair stood just inside the doorway, his heart pounding in his chest, his hand gripping and regripping the handle of backpack at his side. "Come on, man," he urged when Jim didn't come back for him right away. He was just getting ready to leave the building himself when Jim stuck his head back inside.
"Okay, Chief. All clear."
Blair stepped outside and took a position at Jim's side. The brisk night air swept over him, sending small chills up and down the length of his body. Lights from the buildings situated around the quad area outside Hargrove Hall cast a dim glow, barely making a dent in the thick darkness of the night. Jim grasped his upper arm and began leading him toward the parking lot.
Blair's gaze swept the deserted grounds as they moved, knowing Jim would be able to hear and see anything before he would, but needing to stay alert just the same. He tensed as the wind kicked up, shifting the shadows around them, making the branches of the trees sway and dance. "This is the last time I work late," he grumbled.
"Don't worry, Chief. We're almost--" Jim's words cut off abruptly The hand on his arm tightened. He stopped.
"Jim?" he hissed. "What is it?"
The sentinel held up a hand, silencing him. "I'm not--" His head jerked to the left, looking over Blair. His eyes widened. "Get down!" Jim gripped the front of Blair's shirt, jerked him to his side and flung him to the ground behind him.
Even as the grad student hit the asphalt, his hands skidding across the pavement, he heard two sharp cracks of gunfire above him. Before he could draw another breath, Jim was on top of him, pinning him heavily against the sidewalk. Sticky warmth spread across his back. But it was not his own blood that was soaking through his shirt. Fear knifed into Blair's heart and twisted.
"Jim!" Gritting his teeth, he shifted and wiggled on his stomach, struggling out from under his larger partner. He knelt beside Jim's prone form and rolled him gently on his back. His hands moved uselessly over his partner as a dark red stain spread quickly across the front of his shirt. Blood. There's too much damn blood! "No," he breathed. "No!"
Footsteps echoed in the silence of the night, moving closer. Blair's heart pounded in rhythm with the quick steps. Help... Jim will die if I don't get help! He wiped his blood-covered hands across the front of his shirt and groped for his cell phone. But even as his fingers closed around it, his gaze landed on Jim's weapon, clutched in his partner's hand. Somehow, the sentinel had managed to pull the gun from its holster before taking the two bullets in his chest.
The footsteps drew closer. Blair's reached down and withdrew the weapon from Jim's grip. His hand closed over the cool steel.
A low, satisfied chuckle came from above him. He looked up into the face of a man he didn't know, into malice-filled eyes he didn't recognize, into the barrel of a gun that was aimed at his head. "Say good-bye, punk."
Blair lifted Jim's gun and fired.
Part Two
Simon gripped the steering wheel of his car, jerking it hard, taking the turn too sharply. "Dammit," he ground out as the backend fishtailed slightly. He jerked into the spin and managed to regain control of his vehicle. Stomping down on the accelerator, he raced down the road, his siren cutting through the silence of the night.
He'd received the call about Jim at home, just as he was drifting off to sleep. He'd known it was bad news even before he answered.
"Jim's been shot."
The three words echoed through his mind, speeding up his heart. He could still hear the tone of Blair's voice. The fear behind the words. It was all the kid could say. All he needed to say. Simon had gotten the other details on his way to the hospital. Sterile, practical details from the men who had arrived on the scene after Jim had been taken away.
The shooter was dead. Shot three times in the chest. Simon let out a long breath. At least Jim had managed to take him down.
Simon pulled his car into the hospital parking lot and parked in the visitor's section. He pushed himself from the car and quickly made his way to the emergency room, a trip he'd made too many times before. Stepping through the automatic doors, his gaze scanned the expanse of the waiting room before settling on Blair Sandburg.
The observer sat in one of the room's uncomfortable plastic chairs, his gaze locked downward on the floor before him, his clothes covered in blood. Jim's blood. Simon crossed to him. "Blair?" he said softly.
Sandburg looked up at him, his face drawn and pallid.
"Have you heard anything about Jim?"
Blair blinked several times, as if not quite understanding what Simon was asking. "He was shot," he said finally, his voice flat, emotionless.
Simon's mouth went dry. What the hell...? But as he stared into Blair's haunted eyes, he realized... the kid's in shock. The captain sat down beside the police observer, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. "I know, Blair. You called me and told me. Do you remember doing that?"
Blair's gaze returned to the floor. "I called you," he repeated softly.
Simon's gaze swept the area. Hadn't anyone here noticed him, realized the kid might need some medical attention of his own? But as he watched the rush of activity all around him, he knew that Blair's pain was just one of many. "Blair," he said, his gaze returning to the young man he considered to be one of his men, an important part of his team, "Are you hurt? Did he--"
"I'm not family," he whispered brokenly, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.
Simon's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? What are you talking about?"
Blair's gaze locked with Simon's, worry darkening his eyes. "I asked about Jim but they said I wasn't family so they wouldn't tell me anything. Stephen and his dad... they're camping. Jim was supposed to go, but... but he stayed for my graduation." He shook his head. "I don't know how to get in touch with them." He dropped his gaze again, biting at his trembling lower lip.
"Didn't you tell them you're Jim's partner?" Simon asked gently.
Blair nodded, his eyes wide when they met Simon's. "I did, but they asked to see my badge and I don't have one. I couldn't find my backpack and that's where my wallet and my credentials are." His gaze shifted away again, moving across the room before him as if his missing pack might be found among the other people waiting for news about their loved ones.
"You probably left it behind, Blair. At Rainier."
Blair's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze turning inward as if searching through his memory, trying to piece together a lost moment in time. "I don't know. Maybe."
"It's okay, Sandburg. Don't worry about that now." Reaching out, Simon put an arm around the smaller man's shoulders. He was surprised when the kid actually leaned into him a bit. "C'mon." Simon tightened his grip slightly. "Let's go get a cup of coffee. Then we'll come back here and I'll see what I can find out."
"I can't believe this happened," Blair whispered, making no move to leave. "Those bullets... they were meant for me. It should have been me."
Simon let out a long sigh. "Blair, I'm just glad Jim managed to take down the shooter before you were hurt, too."<
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Blair pulled out of Simon's grip and turned toward him, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. "Jim didn't shoot him, Simon."
Confusion furrowed Simon's brow. "He didn't? Then who did?"
Blair licked his lips. His hands twisted nervously in his lap. "I did," he admitted softly.
"You?" Simon breathed, disbelief washing through him.
Blair nodded. "He shot Jim and there was all this blood. And then he was going to kill me and there was no one around." The words came out fast, one stumbling over the other, as Blair tried to explain how things had gone down. "Jim would have died, Simon. I know he would have because there would have been no one there to call an ambulance. The shooter would have just left us, and Jim was bleeding so badly. He wouldn't have survived. So I... I shot him."
And as Simon looked into Blair's wide blue eyes, he knew that the young man before him had not fired that gun to save himself. He had shot for one reason and one reason only--to save Jim Ellison.
/
/
/
Blair stared down into the cup of black coffee Simon had bought him. It was cold. They had gone down the hall to the coffee machine, the captain insisting the hot liquid would do them both some good. But Blair's stomach had only clenched in nausea at the smell of it.
He sighed deeply, shifting where he sat. He was back in the emergency waiting room. Back in the same chair he had occupied when he first arrived. Simon had left him nearly ten minutes ago in search of information regarding Jim.
"Please let him be okay," he muttered, trying to ignore the blood that had dried and stiffened his shirt. It had been nearly two hours since Jim had been shot. Two hours and he still had no idea if his partner was going to live or die.
"Jim's in surgery."
Blair looked up at Simon as the captain's words flowed over him. "Did they say how bad it is?"
"They already removed both bullets. One hit him in the chest. It missed his heart but nicked his left lung. The second one hit him higher, in the shoulder. He lost a lot of blood and there was some damage to the muscles there. That's what they're repairing now."
"Oh man." Blair closed his eyes and leaned back, his head resting against the cinder block wall behind him. "That doesn't sound good, Simon."
The chair beside him creaked as Simon lowered himself into it. A hand gripped his knee, squeezing tightly. "He'll pull through, Blair. He's strong."
Blair nodded. "Yeah, I'm counting on that."
The hand on his knee was removed, shifting instead to his shoulder where it rested lightly. "I got a call from Henri a few minutes ago."
Blair opened his eyes and looked at Simon, raising one eyebrow in question.
"He got an ID on the shooter. Carl Becker."
"Becker," Blair repeated. "Do you know who he is?"
Simon nodded. "He's a highly paid professional hit man."
"Highly paid?"
"Didn't Jim tell you that whoever ordered the hit on you paid big money?"
Blair frowned and shook his head. "No. He didn't tell me much before..." His gaze shifted away as his words trailed off. But as he thought about what Simon had said, an idea took shape in his mind. "Captain," he began, his voice tentative, "There's only one person I can think of who could have done this."
"Yeah, I know. Dr. Marcus Grant. Rafe and Brown are on their way to the good doctor's even as we speak."
/
/
/
Marcus Grant looked out his window at the vibrant flowers that covered the grounds of the Le Clos. Beyond the perfectly manicured lawn lay the rue de la Ferte' Vidame-quiet, serene, so different from America. He took a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled it slowly. He loved France this time of year. Satisfaction wound through him, leaving a warm feeling in its wake.
Getting out of the country had been easy. He'd simply used his father's private plane to fly to DeGaulle airport in Paris. France. Such a lovely country. But a country with discretional extradition laws. Tomorrow morning a chartered plane would fly him to Italy, where extradition was unheard of. He planned to acquire a new name, a new identity, settle for a time into a rented villa overlooking the ocean. Then he could go anywhere in the world. Explore it all. Live the life of a free man.
The pleasant thoughts pulled up one corner of his mouth. He would be free while Blair Sandburg lived forever trapped. Trapped into reliving the same moment of his life over and over and over until he died.
Stepping into the plush living quarters, Marcus poured himself a cognac. He swished the dark liquid around the inside of the glass before swallowing it in one gulp. As the alcohol burned its way down his throat, he thought about the phone call he'd received from his father less than an hour ago.
He had expected his father to tell him that Blair Sandburg was dead. That he was free to come home anytime he wanted to. Instead, he'd told him that Jim Ellison had been shot. Might not live, according to the news reports.
Marcus chuckled softly at the memory. He'd told his father to call off the hit. He much preferred the idea of Sandburg living with the knowledge he had been the reason the big detective had died. Marcus relished the thought of the hippie anthropologist having to relive those last moments of his friend's life over and over again. The young man would be trapped just as surely as he had been when Grant placed him in that hole so many months earlier and covered him in wet earth. And this trap would be just as suffocating, just as deadly.
He chuckled again, pouring himself another good-sized portion of cognac. His gaze traveled lazily over the room he occupied. Truth be told, it didn't really matter anymore whether Blair Sandburg lived or died. Grant's life in Cascade was over anyway. His license to practice medicine had been revoked. He would never be allowed to work with patients again.
And it didn't matter to him in the least. In fact, he found the prospect oddly freeing.
He'd never really enjoyed working with the mentally ill. While his colleagues waxed eloquent about the good they were doing for their unfortunate patients, Marcus had always found most of the people he had treated repulsive. Inferior. A waste of his time.
So he would allow Blair Sandburg to live. Because there was something about him that fascinated Marcus. Something...
He shook his head, unable to put words to his feelings about the grad student. But whatever it was, Marcus liked the idea that he might be able to visit the young man again. That he might be able to determine what it was about him that made him seem so unique. So special.
"Someday," he promised darkly, draining his glass in one quick swallow.
Part Three
The first rays of morning light streaked across the floor of the hospital room as Blair walked slowly up to the bed where Jim lay. His gaze traveled over the equipment set up all around his friend. An IV pole stood next to the bed, several bags of clear liquid hooked up with lines running into the sentinel's arm. Beside the pole was a machine that beeped in a steady rhythm. Heart monitor, Blair guessed. He listened to the steady beat, letting it calm him, assure him his partner was truly alive.
Blair's gaze shifted to the man in the bed. Jim's skin was pale, the veins beneath his skin evident even in the dim light. He'd come through the surgery without complications, but it would still be a day, maybe two, before he woke.
Needing to be closer to his partner, Blair lowered the rail at the side of the bed and settled himself carefully on the mattress. Reaching out, he touched lightly at Jim's arm. His skin was cold. Blair pulled the blanket up higher, hiding the bandaging that covered the majority of his partner's chest and left shoulder. As he tucked the covers around Jim's torso, he studied the face in repose... I was so afraid you were going to die...
Pushing the thoughts aside, he lifted his hand to Jim's face. Gently, he ran his fingers down his friend's cheek. You need a shave, he thought absently as the stubble of Jim's beard caught at his fingertips. "I'm here, Jim," he whispered, leaning forward. "I know you can't hear me, but I hope you can sense that I'm h
ere. That you know nothing happened to me." He bit his lip at the words.
More than anything, he wanted Jim to know that he had survived. That the man who had been hired to end his life had failed. That he was safe and Jim didn't have to worry about him. Didn't have to worry about anything but getting better himself.
He shifted his fingers away from Jim's face and wrapped them around his friend's hand. Carefully, not wanting to dislodge any of the lines hooked up to him, he drew Jim's arm up and placed the palm of the detective's hand flat against his chest. Intertwining his fingers with Jim's, he pressed his partner's hand firmly across his heart.
"Can you feel that, Jim? Can you? That's my heart, man. You'd recognize that heartbeat anywhere, wouldn't you? I'm here, Jim. Just feel my heartbeat and know I'm here." Blair's throat tightened but he forced himself to continue. Squeezing the hand beneath his, he whispered, "I need you to wake up for me, okay? Maybe not right now, but soon. And I'll be here, waiting. Whenever you're ready, man."
A sound from behind him caused him to cease his quiet entreaties. He waited for the person who had entered the hospital room to identify himself, but only silence met his ears. Turning his head, he saw Simon standing at the door, his backpack clutched in the larger man's right hand.
"It's okay, Captain," Blair said, smiling sadly. "You can come in."
Simon walked up the bed and stared down at the two men. Blair flushed beneath the captain's gaze, embarrassed at the obvious intimacy that the scene projected. But it quickly dissipated--if anyone could understand just how much Jim meant to him, how close they'd become in the last four years, it was Simon.
"I'm just hoping this will let him know I'm here," Blair whispered, indicating the hand he still held to his chest. "I thought that maybe if he could just feel my heartbeat, it will let him know that I survived. That I didn't die. I thought maybe that would help him want to come back..." The sentence trailed off as his voice broke.
