“Wait till we take him away. Then call them.” Darkness hid them now. No one but them at the rest stop. No one would know. It was too late to help the rest tonight. Only death. He had nothing to say to them. No hope to offer them.
His own hope lay beyond the door. And his hope might very well be their only hope.
Simon drew him back a few feet while Bridges broke through the lock, axe slicing through the air with repeated thwanks. Ellison stood, dazed, watching, waiting, waiting, then leaping forward to catch his partner as the door was raised and Sandburg tumbled into his arms.
Chapter Four
*
“SIU. Joe Dominguez. Can I help you?”
“It’s Nash.”
“What? What’s happened?”
“Keep a lid on this but we’ve got one back alive. Four dead.”
“Shit, man. Who’s alive?”
“The observer from Cascade. The others are wrapped up and I’m not touching them. I lost my dinner already just opening the back of the trailer here. The smell was overwhelming. Bubba, put Harvey on.”
“Sure. Uh, Nash … the bodies …”
“I don’t think Evan’s one of them, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh. Okay. If you’re sure …”
“No, I’m not sure, Joe. I wish I was. Can you put Harvey on?”
“He’s right here.”
“Nash?”
“Harv, we’ve found a semi-trailer. Four bodies. I’m not sure who they are, but I’m betting these are the four men whose pictures aren’t up on that website. You did good on that.”
“Tell me that when we have Evan back.”
“I’ll do that. We found one man alive in the trailer, the police observer from Cascade.”
“How is he?”
“He’s alive. We just found him a minute ago, so I don’t know any other details.”
“He’s not on the website.”
“No, he’s not. Expect an email from a Captain Taggart of Cascade. He’s sending you this young man’s picture. Find out what you can. I want to know why he’s still alive.”
“I’ll do what I can. Anything else?”
“Hang in there, Bubba.”
“Yeah. Here’s Joe.”
“Nash, anything I can do here?”
“Joe, I’ve got to go. Just keep everything safe there for me, okay?”
“You got it.”
*
.
Time stalled … Hearing. Smell. Sight.
Hearing: Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Smell: Copper. Death.
Sight: The divider separating them lifted a crack. Glimpse of hair. Skin. Blood.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Cloying stench of decay. Blood. Another scent he knew.
The door rose, screeching metal on metal.
Motion. Falling. A blur of familiar features.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The Guide. The Guide. The Guide, echoed in his veins, thrumming against his temples.
Blood.
A silent scream ripping through the fabric of night.
Falling. Falling.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The Sentinel surged forward, reason thrust aside as sight-fused-with-hearing-fused-with-scent. Touch.
The Guide. His Guide.
My Guide.
Face pressed into the seam at the bottom of the doorway, the body fell forward when the door was raised. With a strangled cry, Ellison caught his partner in his arms, the momentum knocking him to the pavement, buffering the fall as best he could.
My Guide.
He sat up quickly, pulling the naked body toward his chest, hearing focused only on the heart and lungs, monitoring, counting the beat, the respiration. “Chief? Blair?” Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Panic sent an adrenaline rush through his system. No response, there’s no response. But that was okay, he told himself quickly. This time, it was okay. Sandburg was breathing. His guide was alive.
He’s alive. He’s with me.
With me.
As though he belonged to a different reality, Simon Banks appeared through the darkness and knelt beside him, touching the pulse at Sandburg’s neck. “Steady. Breathing seems even. You okay with him?” the captain asked, standing, not waiting for an answer. “Much as I’d rather stay here, I better check this out,” he added, indicating the semi-trailer behind him. “Jim?”
Numb, Ellison looked up, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. His hearing cut in and out, trying to focus on the heartbeat of the man in his arms, and what Simon was saying to him, and the sound of Nash Bridges talking to someone on his cell phone. The cars passing on the freeway, just out of sight. The ocean waves crashing against the shore, miles to the west. Crashing, water sliding over rocks. Too far. I’ve gone too far.
Control was all over the board. He needed to center himself or he would risk zoning, and that was not an option.
Thump-thump.
He looked down, hearing settling around him. Simon’s shoes shifting on the pavement. Bridges, gasping for air, jumping from the semi, one hand over his mouth, the other over his stomach.
“I’m fine here. Go ahead.” Ellison closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and studied his partner. Sight focused, cataloguing, searching for anything wrong. Touch followed, one hand carding through the lank curls, feeling his skull, while the other held him close, protecting and shielding him while he was so vulnerable. No head injuries. He leaned forward, letting his guide’s weight fall back onto his supporting arm, rain splattering the eyebrows and lashes, the fine bones, the slight growth of beard on the firm jaw. He traced the familiar features reverently, cheekbones and nose, pausing over the open lips, feeling the brush of air on the tips of his fingers, lips moving to frame his name.
Ellison’s heart quickened, relief and fear clutching at him. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Lie still. I’ll take care of everything.”
The faintest nod, a fluttering of lashes, a shiver. Sandburg’s head tilted slightly to one side as he swept his free hand along the young man’s jaw line. Light stubble. Shaved within the last six hours. The bone beneath was sound. There were no serious facial injuries. Cuts and bruises, yes, but they would heal. The eyes opened, looked vaguely in his direction, then closed again. Pupils dilated.
His right hand rested on Sandburg’s throat, registering the pulse again, reveling in the sensation of life beneath his fingers. The heartbeat was racing; it would take time before his guide relaxed fully. He had been drugged, certainly. A moment, then Ellison touched both collarbones and skimmed down the breast bone. Ribs. Center to sides. Bruised. Possible fracture on two, but it would take an X-ray to detect it. He could feel the heat of contusions across the lightly furred abdomen, but no guarding, no sign of peritonitis. His hand passed around to the back to rest above Sandburg’s kidneys.
A dark shadow before his eyes, blocking his sight, became Simon Banks’ hand, and he tore his gaze from his partner to the captain.
Simon’s mouth was moving, the sound suddenly connecting. “—hear me? Jim?”
“I hear you,” he said, nodding, then looking back at his partner. “He’s alive. I don’t think there are any serious injuries. He’s been drugged with something.”
“Jim, his arms are fastened behind his back. I’m going to unfasten the buckles. Is it safe? I don’t want to hurt him.”
The request made sense. Ellison looked back to the collarbones, moving touch-sensitive fingers to the shoulder sockets. The muscles were strained on one side, he decided, but it wasn’t dislocated. He nodded, holding the body still while Simon worked behind, undoing straps and buckles. Finally the hands dropped free. He checked for needle marks, but saw none.
“J’mmm ���”
“I’m here, Chief,” he said immediately, shifting Sandburg as raindrops splashed into his face. It was raining harder, each drop bouncing off the pavement, sliding down blades of grass, knock
ing against the roof of the public restrooms, drowning out the heartbeat he was trying to focus on, swishing under car tires, catching on pine needles, reclaimed by the ocean waves that pounded against the rocks.
Too far.
He laughed at his own lack of control.
Thump-thump.
There.
The captain stood to take off his lightweight raincoat. “We have four dead bodies, Jim. Smells worse than putrid in there. We need to call in the authorities on this.”
The authorities. Detective Ellison blinked, feeling the dazed ‘otherness’ fall away. He had work to do. Sandburg was back, and he was alive, and he might just have the answers they needed.
“Give me a minute, Simon.” Monitoring Sandburg’s breathing was a distraction, but Ellison’s mind was trying to work several steps ahead, plotting like a chess master. If A, then B or C. If not A, then D or E. If A, then B, then F. The tangle of possibilities soon got out of hand and he shook his head to clear it, water flying from his short hair like a wet dog, then he settled back to the first two sets. If Sandburg was able to remember anything that might help them, it might very well be an advantage to keep his rescue a secret for now. If Sandburg was ���
“Come on, Jim. Why the delay?” Banks asked, impatiently, holding the coat up as a makeshift shelter from the rain. “If he’s unconscious, we should be calling an ambulance, too.”
Ellison sat back, Sandburg still in his arms, and looked up at the captain. “Simon, can you lock up the trailer again? Make it look like no one has touched it?”
Banks met his eyes, then shrugged. “Maybe. You have a good reason for this?”
“Hear me out. Let me finish checking Sandburg, though. Everything hinges on how he’s doing.”
“Okay. We’ll close up the trailer. — Jim, let me help you move him out of the rain first. There’s a picnic table under cover just behind you.”
Ellison turned to see where Banks was pointing, then nodded, accepting the captain’s help in moving to the shelter. Simon spread his coat over the table, and Ellison rested Sandburg’s limp form on top of it, then pulled off his jacket, draping it over his partner’s torso, offering him a measure of dignity and warmth. Anger boiled up within Ellison, that his partner had been abandoned, tossed aside, and left for dead. Not even worthy of the extra effort to kill him.
Granted, that had worked in his favor, at least, Ellison thought, his hands cupping Sandburg’s face. His guide was alive. It easily could have been otherwise. In a way, it was good he was drugged right now. The utter terror Sandburg had been in hours earlier was gone, replaced by the false complacency that would allow the sentinel to get him to safety with the least amount of trauma as possible. It had bought Ellison time, time he needed desperately.
“Oh, God ��� Jim, let me call an ambulance,” Simon said, when he took a good look at the observer. The captain’s arm went up protecting his nose from the smell.
What smell? Ellison opened his sense and realized that the dial was turned down as far as he could get it. He knew now why Bridges looked ill, why Banks was gagging. Sandburg smelled of death. Two or three hours shut in with decaying corpses had left a sickening stamp on his guide. He reeked of death.
He was breathing, though. Alive. Foggy blue eyes peeked at him through thin cracks, following his movements. Death’s hand had once again been about to grab him.
With a ragged sigh, Ellison laid his head gently on his partner’s chest, listening to his heart, his lungs. “No, no ambulance. Not yet, Simon ��� He’s cold. A blanket maybe? And a bottle of water?”
“I’ll get them from your truck.” Banks moved away quickly.
Sandburg stirred, eyes opening wider for a moment, shivering, and Ellison stroked his forehead gently, offering the reassurance that was needed. “Chief, I’m here. You’re safe.”
“Jim.” The soft murmur of his name sat in the air like a blessing, gently falling like the rain around them.
“Just rest. You’re with me. I’ll take care of everything,” he repeated, knowing it was what Sandburg needed to hear.
The faintest of nods, then the eyes closed again.
Ellison continued almost dispassionately with his examination, his hands gently checking, probing, touching. He had to find out quickly what the scope was on his partner’s injuries. Five lives might well depend on his next few decisions. The list of injuries was short — simple brutal facts that he mentally catalogued, disassociated — for now — with any kind of emotional reaction. Sandburg had no broken bones in his arms or legs. There were scrapes, scratches, cuts, abrasions. Deep bruises in places. Blood. Skin scraped raw. Signs of physical assault. Signs of sexual assault. Signs of exposure and mistreatment and lack of food and water.
All of which he had expected, given the circumstances.
All of which he would deal with.
Ellison turned his head at the soft curse behind him. Bridges moved toward them, putting away his cell phone. The SIU chief peered down at Sandburg, grimaced at the lingering smell, then dropped to the picnic bench, weary. “I closed the door and replaced the bar. I can’t do anything about the seal.”
“Thanks.”
“How did you find him?” Bridges asked, staring now out across the night-hidden fields behind the rest stop.
Ellison shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
“You zeroed right in on him. How did you know?” Without waiting for an answer, Bridges turned and looked at Sandburg on the table behind him. “How is he?”
“Alive. Nothing life threatening, as far as I can tell. Simon’s just gone to get a blanket.” Ellison shook his head as Bridges began to remove his jacket. “Save it. One of us has to look unrumpled.”
“I take it you have a plan. Well, I suppose one of us should. What do you want to do?” Bridges looked out across the darkness. The heavy clouds hid the moon and stars. The only light was the overhead freeway floodlights illuminating the rest stop’s entrance and exit lanes, harsh light sending deep shadows as Simon moved toward them.
Ellison glanced at the semi-trailer. “We can’t help them,” he replied, when Banks was close enough to hear. “We need to help my partner, so we can find the rest.”
“Do you think he can tell us anything?”
“We’ll know as soon as this drug wears off.” He took the blanket and spread it over Sandburg as the two men waited, alert to every noise around them, nerves tight, weapons ready. The blue and white pickup was the only vehicle in the lot. Simon stood with his back to them, his eyes on the road. Nash watched the other direction where they were also vulnerable, the fields and bushes and trees.
Ellison ran through another quick check of his partner, then tucked the blanket closer and straightened up. “He does need medical help. I can’t diagnose everything here.” He had hoped to be able to look after his guide himself, but the ribs needed x-rays. A doctor needed to check out the traces of sexual abuse and take tests that he was unable to do alone. “Once he’s been looked at, we can leave with him.”
Simon moved closer and sat next to Nash, still watching the road. “So we take him in. But where?”
“Somewhere quiet. Where this can be contained.”
“Why the secrecy?” Simon looked back at him then. “Give me some details.”
“The trailer would have sat here unnoticed for a few days. He would have been dead by then. No threat to them. Wait until tomorrow morning, then we call in the police. Ask them to report five bodies.”
“Let them think he’s dead, for now.” Banks turned and glanced at Sandburg.
“I agree.” Nash nodded, his eyes narrowed. “Our ace in the hole.”
“Amy’s at Bellevue General,” Simon said, looking back as Jim wrapped the blanket tightly around his partner. “Let me see if she’s on duty tonight.” He pulled out his cell phone and hit a two digit number, then waited. Feeling his detective’s eyes on him, he shrugged, smiling. “Okay, we’ve seen each other a few times. Are you satisfied?”
&n
bsp; “Simon, who you have on speed dial is your business not mine,” Ellison said, returning the smile. It felt so good to smile again. He held the bottle of water to his partner’s lips, coaxing him to swallow.
“Amy Billings, please.” Simon listened for a moment, then gave them the thumbs up signal and moved away from them to take his call.
Bridges stood up, restless. “Let me go get the rental. It’s down the road still. I can put my suitcase in the trunk and you can get him into the back seat of the car.” Without waiting for a response, Bridges moved away quickly, the surrealistic lighting sending his shadow first one direction, then the next.
Alone for a moment, Ellison carefully sat his partner up. “Chief? We’re going to go for a car ride, okay? Get you some help.” The fever warm body pressed closer against him, face resting in the crux of his neck. Ellison let the rush of emotion sweep over him, drawing Sandburg closer. “I think a bubble bath is in order, kid.”
“Hot ��� mmmm”
“Yeah, nice and hot. You’d like that?” he asked, softly, his voice offering shelter and calm and the memory of peace.
“Mmmm ��� hot,” was mumbled into his neck.
“We’ll see what we can do. Can you concentrate for a minute? Huh?” he asked, tilting Sandburg back to look into his eyes. “You with me? Huh?”
“Mmmm ��� J’mmmm ���”
“Close enough for now. Hey, Chief, are you in pain at all?”
The anthropologist stared back at him, eyes dull. It seemed to take a minute for the question to register, then Sandburg blinked back tears. “Breathin’.”
“Does it hurt to take a breath?”
“Mmmm ��� ‘urts.”
Ellison ran his hands over the ribs again, concentrating on the two that seemed bruised or possibly cracked. Without putting too much pressure on them, he couldn’t tell. His sense of touch would only reveal so much through layers of skin and tissue. He was reluctant to give him much to drink yet, in case there were internal injuries, but after observing him and checking his stomach muscles again, he relented.
Steadying Sandburg’s head slightly, Ellison held the bottle to the crackled lips, smiling as he greedily swallowed a few more mouthfuls. “Easy. Let this settle first, okay?”
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