“As long as you need. You don’t have to go back in there.”
“I do.” Blair took a few deep breaths. “I’m feeling better now.” He took a step toward the door and turned to face his partner. “I need to talk to you first.”
“Then talk.”
“Okay. Just listen to me, then — please? Let me talk.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Jim asked, his eyes reflecting his frustration.
“I know how to get Evan out of there. And the other men. I know how to do it.”
“What do we need to do?” Ellison asked.
Blair stared at his partner’s face, his friend’s face, wishing it could be different. But they had no time — and as far as he could see, this was the only chance of getting Evan and the others back.
“Chief?”
“I’m going to let them capture me again.”
Chapter Nine
*
“Is he there yet?”
“Joe? Have you abandoned all standard greetings?”
“No. Hello, Nash. Good morning, Nash. How was breakfast, Nash? Where’s Harvey?”
“He hasn’t called, but it’s only 9:30. His plane wouldn’t have landed yet.”
“Oh. Okay. It just seems longer, I guess.”
“Where are you?”
“SIU. Kinda empty here. No one else is here. Just me.”
“Where’s Michelle?”
“At court testifying on an old case of hers that’s gone to trial.”
“Well, just man the phones. I’ve gotta go here, Bubba. I promise I’ll call you when anything happens.”
“Sure. I guess I’ll be here, barring another earthquake or other major disasters.”
“You just keep those happy thoughts. I’ll talk to you later.”
*
June 20, Saturday
Bellevue, Washington
Ellison shook his head firmly. “No.” He turned to walk out of the restroom, but Sandburg snagged his arm.
“Jim, I need to go back there. To let them capture me again. And I know how to do it.”
“No. No way.”
“Yes.” He waited, watching Jim’s cold expression spread from his eyes throughout the man’s body. Jim could do ‘stubborn’ better than anyone. Well, almost anyone. Blair was also regarded as rather skilled in that area.
“No,” the sentinel repeated. “I’ll go. Just tell me what—”
“Sorry. I’m going. I owe them. I owe Evan. And I need to do this.”
“I understand how you feel, but — no. You’re not going. You’re not a cop. Let someone else—”
“Isn’t that Simon’s line?”
“He’s right about that.”
“Jim, it’s got to be me. No one else will do.”
“No.”
“You’re not listening to me. You’re not even giving me a chance to explain what—”
“We’ll rescue Evan, but you’re not going back there.”
“Then how are you going to find him?”
Ellison frowned, drawing back, a spark of anger in his eyes. “Sandburg, if you know where he is, why haven’t you told us?” he growled. “What is this martyr complex that you feel you have to do this on your own?”
“Jim, I haven’t even told you what my plan is.”
“It won’t—”
Blair turned around and headed to the door of the men’s room. “No use talking to you.”
“Chief—” Jim took a few steps and dragged his partner to a halt with a quick yank on his arm. “Just wait a minute.”
“What for? Are you going to listen to me?” he asked, pulling away from the detective, his left arm held tight against his ribs. Now was not the time to admit how much that had hurt physically. “No. You just assume that—”
“Yes,” Ellison exploded in a fierce whisper. “Yes, damn it, Sandburg. I’ll listen.”
Well, that took him by surprise. His eyes narrowed. “You will? Really?”
The jaw tightened. The hand on his arm released. It took a moment before the detective could get himself under control to respond calmly. “Let’s go back upstairs. You’re right; we need to talk.” Jim held open the door for him. “I’m not convinced there is any way in hell I’m going to let you go back there. And if you can’t convince me, you’re never going to convince them.”
“I have to do it, Jim,” he said, not moving.
“Fine. Let’s go talk. Convince me.”
Blair stood uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other. His back hurt. His arm hurt where Jim had grabbed him. He had a headache the size of Pittsburgh. His stomach was starting to feel decidedly weird. “Go where?” he asked, still suspicious. He had expected a major battle for this and was just starting it when Jim suddenly caved. But appearances could be deceiving. He knew he had the only way of getting to Evan, and there was no way Jim could do it for him. “Jim—” he said as Ellison was heading out the door. “Where are we going to go?”
“Upstairs. Private. Alone.”
“What about Simon and the others?”
“No.”
Single words. Not good. “Upstairs?” he repeated. Well, Jim wouldn’t handcuff him to the bed or anything like that. Not with witnesses. “Okay.” Blair moved past him to the hallway, pausing as Jim’s hand on his shoulder directed him to stop.
“I’m going to tell them you need to lie down for a few minutes.”
“It’s only been like half an hour or so since I was lying down,” Blair pointed out. “Can’t you think of something else?”
“No.” Jim’s head tilted in that ‘I’m-listening-to-your-vital-signs’ kinda way. “Besides, you need to lie down.” Blair leaned back against the corridor wall as his partner went inside and spoke to the four men. Whatever it was Jim said, he didn’t take long to say it, for he was back out in less than a minute. “Come on.”
The stairs were worse than last time to manage, the pain in his side growing worse, the cut on his lower calf throbbing. And Jim knew he was hurting; there was no way Blair could disguise it. His forehead had a sheen of sweat on it, his body language clearly showing injury.
But it would work into his plan beautifully. He hoped.
They finally reached the top of the stairs and Jim opened the motel room door. Blair scooted in quickly and walked through to their room. He turned after a moment and stared back through the open doorway, but Jim was still standing in the other room, unmoving, his body rigid with controlled tension.
Deal with it, Jim. Please don’t fight me on this.
Blair crawled onto the bed, moving higher until his back was against the headboard, his knees raised to ease the pull on his abdominal muscles. A stupid tear ran down his face, and he angrily wiped it away. Damn it, you bastard. Trust me!
Jim appeared in the doorway, his image a blurry watercolor. “I’m trying, Chief. I’m trying, but do you know how difficult this is for me? Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”
“I’m asking you to be my backup. That’s it. Just back me up and get me out of there.”
“Where? We don’t know where the warehouse is.”
“I can get to it. But I’m going to need your help. It’s more complicated than just finding the warehouse. Evan’s not there anymore.”
“What?” Jim finally stepped into the room.
“Pete told that me that Evan was taken to a different place, to get him ready to be sold. It wouldn’t be good for the buyer to go to the warehouse for him, and the man would be picking up Evan in person.”
“So how is you going to the warehouse going to get Evan back?”
“I’ll get Pete to take me to him, then you can take it from there.”
“No.”
“Jim, listen to me! Pete won’t hurt me. I think he’d take me there.”
“Why don’t we just find the warehouse, rush it, and arrest them all? Force them to talk. Plea bargain. I’m sure Jurgen’s assistants will tell us—”
“They don’t know where he is.”
>
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t know. I think Pete told me. He talked to me a lot.”
“Then why does Pete know where he is?”
“Pete drove them.”
“Then why wouldn’t Pete tell us, if we arrested him?”
“Because it would be too late. If they’re threatened at all at the warehouse, the guy guarding Evan at the other place would just kill him.”
Jim came to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “And why would Pete take you there?”
“Because I’m not a threat. If you arrest Pete, I don’t think he’d say anything about Evan — he’s scared. But if I fake amnesia, he finds me, takes me back to the warehouse, and then I convince him that seeing Evan one more time would make me happy, I’m sure he’d do it.”
“Just because you asked him?”
“This guy is ��� well, he’s different, Jim. He’s kinda obsessive. And he’s obsessed with me, which might be to our advantage.”
“Might?”
“It will be to our advantage.”
“Still not convinced. Besides, how are you going to let Pete find you?”
“By remembering.” Blair shivered, reaching to pull a pillow onto his lap, something to hang on to. “That’s where I need your help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember how I helped you recall the message Jack left for you the time your answer machine didn’t record it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m no sentinel, but I am a sentinel’s guide. I don’t have your phenomenal memory for things, but I’m probably more aware of sounds than most people, because of my training with you.”
“So what do you want to remember?”
“I was in a truck — well, a semi-trailer — going to the warehouse that first time I woke up. I remember a bridge, a gravel road. A dirt road. I remember the feel of the pavement changing. We might be able to figure out around where I was.”
“I don’t know this area, but we could get the others to help us.” Jim paused.
“And your secret will still be safe. This isn’t anything Sentinel-like, Jim. This is just remembering. And I think you can help me remember a bit better.” Blair sat up straighter, wincing again from the ache in his side. He looked up as Jim moved closer up the bed, the man’s hand reaching under Blair’s shirt to touch his ribs, to trace the path of the pain. “I’ll need a map.”
“I’ve got one in the truck.”
“A good map — detailed. And someone who knows the area.”
“Harold Woodward. Frank Black. And Simon lived in Seattle for a while.”
“He did? When?” he asked, gasping as Jim’s fingers touched a particularly sore spot.
“In college.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“Chief—” Jim withdrew his hand impatiently.
“Okay. The point is, Jim, Pete likes me. I think this plan will work. I don’t think he would let anything happen to me.” Blair eyed Jim carefully, aware of his partner’s intense stare at the far wall.
“He likes you? That’s supposed to reassure me?”
“He didn’t do anything to me, Jim. It wasn’t him.”
“How do you know that? How much do you remember? Not very much, as I recall.”
“He just wants to film me.”
Jim turned to him, incredulous. “Are you nuts? Don’t you get it, Sandburg? The man makes snuff films!”
“That’s not what he wants to do with me—”
“The man makes snuff films — What are you talking about? You can’t seriously think it would be safe for you to be with him?”
“Jim, listen to me. You have to trust me. You have to trust my judgement—”
“Oh, no,” Ellison said, bouncing from the bed to stand before him. “You are not going to wave that word in my face. Trust. Sure, I trust you. I trust you with my senses. I trust you to watch my back. I trust you with my life. And I trust you to find trouble if it’s anywhere remotely in the same neighborhood that you are—”
“It’s still about trust!” Sandburg yelled back, clutching his side. “You have to trust me on this, because you weren’t there, Jim! You don’t know what I saw. You weren’t there!” He watched, stunned, as his partner crumpled before him, dropping to his knees at the side of the bed, his head resting on crossed arms, face hidden. “Jim?” he whispered softly, one hand reaching to touch the top of the sentinel’s head.
“If I could have been there, I would have.”
“I know. I know, Jim. That’s not what I meant,” he whispered, bending over his partner, resting his head on Jim’s curved back.
“Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” The muffled question was fraught with pain.
“Yes,” Blair answered, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry.”
*
Nash knocked with the toe of his shoe, balancing a tray of coffees and muffins. Amazing. He’d gone from being captain of the SIU in San Francisco, snapping out orders and devising strategies, to a delivery boy. There was nothing really he could do to help them other than getting coffee and donuts. “Room service!” he called, kicking the door to the motel suite again.
Frank opened it, his solemn face almost smiling as he rescued several sugar packages that threatened to slide from the tray. “We’re just getting started.”
Nash put the tray down by the sink and glanced quickly at the others, trying to read the mood of the room. Harold Woodward was rummaging through his briefcase, looking for something. Simon was definitely hovering over his two men. Jim was aloof, all business. Blair sat almost listlessly on the edge of one bed, his thoughts far from the bustle around him. Frank was doing what he had done all along — studying the two partners, seemingly fascinated by whatever it was he was seeing about them.
“Here they are. I’ve got detailed maps of the county and neighboring counties,” Woodward said. “Which do you need first?”
“A general road map of this part of the state.” Ellison took the proffered map and spread it out of the table in the main room of the suite where they had all retreated to. “Could you also arrange for a police composite artist? We need to get an idea of what these men look like, and Sandburg can help us there.” As Woodward picked up his cell phone to make the call, Ellison smoothed the creases of the map, his hands flattening the diagram as he studied it briefly, then pointed to one specific spot. “Sandburg was found here, at a rest station on the east side of the I-5, heading north. He has some memories of that trip, and of the first trip he took to the warehouse where he was held. We feel he has some specific indications that might be helpful in pinpointing an area.”
Nash looked over at Blair, still seemingly disconnected to the proceedings in the room, his shoulders slumped, his face far sadder than any face deserved to be. Without pausing to consider his actions, Nash moved to sit next to him, one arm slipping around him, unsurprised when the young man leaned into the embrace. A lone tear ran crossways down Blair’s face to drop onto a curl, caught and glistening in the sunlight coming in through the open window. His lower lashes, as were his partner’s, were ringed in red. These tears were not the first for either of them.
“Are you in pain?” he asked quietly as the other men were gathered at the table looking at the map. He would be of no help to them, not knowing the area at all, but he could offer what he was able to this one. It didn’t bring Evan any closer, but it still helped ease some of the tightness across his chest.
Blair shrugged, then sighed. “Not really. Just a little. My ribs,” he added, softly.
“Are you comfortable? Would you rather lie down?”
“No,” came the soft reply. “I’m fine, thanks. Just tired.” Without moving his head from where it rested against Nash’s shoulder, Blair looked up, meeting his partner’s searching gaze and a soft smile touched his lips, reflecting through the expressive eyes.
Ellison nodded, as though to himself, then continued his search. W
ith a heavier sigh, Blair straightened up, one hand resting briefly on Nash’s leg as he stood. “We’ll find him.” He moved to his partner’s side, Ellison making room for him automatically, although he hadn’t turned to see him coming.
Nash fixed Blair a coffee, remembering how he had ordered it at breakfast — another plus for a photographic memory — and took it to him, smiling as it was gratefully accepted, Blair’s long fingers curling around the warmth of the ceramic mug.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He brought the others their coffees, then perched against the back of a chair, watching the proceedings. We’ll find him. He closed his eyes, holding on to that thought. It was difficult to just sit. He should be doing something. Maybe he should be elsewhere looking for leads. For anything.
But there was nowhere to start but in this room.
His cell phone rang, startling him. He flipped it open, irritated by his reaction. “Talk to me.”
“Nash? It’s Harvey. I’ve got a rental and I’m heading your way. Joe said Bellevue. Where abouts?”
He gave Harvey the address, then hung up, already feeling less scattered. His own people were coming. Maybe Jim Ellison could find Blair by some supernatural method, but if anyone could be trusted with finding Evan, it would be Harvey.
Ellison pulled out a chair at the table and had his partner sit in front of him. His hands rested on Sandburg’s shoulders, grounding both of them. “What do you remember about the road?” he asked, his voice level, taking on an entirely different quality. “Think back. Go back to it.”
The young man’s eyes were closed and he sat with his hands on top of his partner’s. “I can remember ��� At the end of the trip it was gravel. Bumpy. For at least five minutes. Before that it was paved, but there were lots of bumps on it, like pot holes.”
“A private road, or seldom used road,” Woodward said, slowly shaking his head as he stared at the map. “Lots to choose from. How long were you on that road?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes ��� There was a bridge we crossed. I could feel the grates or whatever they are as we went over it.” Blair sat up straighter. “First was a smooth road. We were going fast, but not fast like a freeway. It didn’t feel like a freeway. Then the bridge. Fairly long bridge. Then the bumpy road for ten or fifteen minutes, then the gravel road for five minutes.”
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