Sentinel - Progression Series 09 To Have and To Hold

by Beth Manz

  Desperation gnawed at the detective's stomach. He knew that if Blair was on his way back to Cascade, it was for one reason and one reason only--to try and find evidence that would prove Jim's innocence. But where would he go? Back to the loft? The station? Hannah's house? Jim ran a hand over his face and back across his short hair. It didn't matter where he went. Blair was not safe. Hannah had made that perfectly clear. And if his partner believed she was still in Berne, he wouldn't be watching his back as carefully as he should be.

  Jim had no choice. He had to get out of this cell, out of Berne. Now!

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  Sheriff Gil Dryer sauntered back into his police station, glancing briefly at the clock on the back wall. He'd let the detective cool his heels long enough. The man surely would have calmed down by now and was probably hungry for lunch. He shifted the small carry-out bag he held, "Nell's Diner" printed on the side. He'd gotten the city cop a burger and fries. More than he deserves.

  He still couldn't believe the situation he was in. Hannah Merrick had always been such a quiet, reserved girl. To be involved with a man who would abuse her? Try and rape her? The thought made him sick to his stomach. And all this talk about her trying to kill that long-haired kid? Ridiculous. Hannah had watched his own children for him when she was younger. He trusted her completely and there was no way he was going to let these men, these strangers, come into his town and push her around.

  Opening the door to the holding cells, he stepped through. Ellison sat on his cot, eyes closed, his back pressed against the wall. At least he's calmed down, the sheriff thought as he pulled out his keys and opened the cell door. Ellison didn't move. Placing his hand on the butt of his gun, Gil stepped inside.

  "I brought you lunch," he announced loudly. He set the bag from Nell's on the shelf built into the wall beside the cot. Still Ellison didn't move, didn't open his eyes. Maybe he fell asleep? Even as the thought crossed his mind, Ellison's right leg kicked out, catching the sheriff in the stomach, pushing the air from his lungs.

  Sheriff Dryer didn't have time to pull his weapon or even cry out before the detective's fist came up and connected squarely with his jaw. His head snapped to one side with a loud pop, and then the floor came up to meet him.

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  Simon hung up the phone and rubbed wearily at his eyes. It had taken most of the morning but he'd finally managed to arrange for a lawyer to appear at Jim's arraignment on Monday morning. He was more used to dealing with public prosecutors than he was with defense attorneys, but the man had been highly recommended and had agreed, quite amiably, to travel to Berne on Monday to represent the detective.

  He glanced at his watch, knowing Sandburg was probably in Cascade by now. He looked at the phone again. I should call Joel, fill him in on what's happening. The detective could get the investigation regarding Hannah Merrick started so that if Blair did find something, they'd be ready to move on it.

  But before he could dial the phone, a sharp knocked sounded on the motel door. He pushed up from his seat and crossed the small room in three long strides. Disengaging the lock and pulling the door wide, he stared in disbelief at the man before him.

  "Jim! What are you doing here?"

  The detective stepped over the threshold, brushing past Simon and into the room. "I escaped," he explained tersely as he moved.

  "You what?!" Simon peeked out the door, making sure there were no police officers rushing toward his room, guns drawn, ready to recapture his fugitive detective. "Why the hell did you do that?" He slammed the door shut and turned toward Jim. "You've just made this entire situation a lot worse. How-"

  "Hannah went back to Cascade," Jim cut in, his gaze sweeping the room before coming to rest on the phone.

  "Sandburg went back to Cascade," Simon told Jim, even as the sentinel crossed to the phone.

  "I know," Jim bit out. "That's why I escaped." He lifted the receiver and began punching in numbers. "Do you know if Blair has his cell phone with him?"

  "I don't think he even has his wallet with him. We were in a hurry to get to you. He pretty much just came as he was."

  Jim held the receiver away from his face and stared down at it. "It's just ringing. His phone is probably sitting in his backpack in the loft." Frustrated, he slammed the receiver down into its cradle before turning his steely gaze on Simon. "Where was Sandburg going?"

  "To Hannah's house...to look for evidence," Simon admitted reluctantly.

  "Dammit, Simon! I told you to keep him with you!"

  "He wanted to do something to help and we both thought Hannah would stay in Berne for your arraignment." The captain reached toward the phone. "I'll call Joel, send him over to Hannah's..."

  "We can call him from the car," Jim explained before Simon could lift the receiver. "We're heading back to Cascade."

  Simon frowned. "I loaned Sandburg my car. We don't have transportation."

  "We do now." Jim held up a set of keys. "Courtesy of Sheriff Dryer and the Berne Police Department."

  Simon moaned and rolled his eyes. "Oh, heaven help me... Could this day possibly get any worse?" His voice increased in volume with each word.

  "I parked the cruiser around the back of the motel, Simon," Jim added, ignoring Simon's concern, probably enjoying his captain's discomfiture. "It's all ready to go."

  Simon shook his head. His detective had already broken out of jail. Now he wanted to steal the sheriff's cruiser as well. How could he go along with this? But as he stared at Jim, his jaw clenched tight with determination, his eyes darkened with worry, he knew they had no choice. Blair's safety came first. The rest could be explained later--he hoped...

  "Lead the way," Simon said with a tone of weary surrender.

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  Blair stepped into Hannah Merrick's kitchen, his gaze slowly sweeping the neat room. He'd gotten into the house through the garage. His first attempt at "breaking and entering" had been easier than he'd thought it would be--he'd simply reached through the still broken pane of glass in the garage's side door, unlocked it, and slipped inside. Once in, he'd rummaged through the shelves and cupboards in the garage until he'd come across a key hidden under an old paint can. As he had hoped, the key had unlocked the back door.

  He made his way quickly through the kitchen, opening cupboards and peering into drawers. The living area was next, but nothing jumped out at him as being unusual or out of place in the tidy house. Part of his problem was that he really didn't know what he was looking for. Leaving the living area, he moved down the hallway to Hannah's bedroom. Just like the rest of the house, the room was spotless.

  He pulled open her dresser drawers, glanced under the bed, rifled through the neat stack of magazines atop the bedside table. Nothing. Next he turned his attention to the walk-in closet. Opening the doors, he flipped on the light and stepped inside. Clothes lined each side of the closet and the shelves above held perfectly-stacked piles of sweaters, shirts, and jeans.

  Blair rubbed at his aching side as he scanned it all. This is pointless. But just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye. Frowning, he crouched down and ran his hand across a gray sweater. The garment looked familiar, and he picked it up and shook it out. It was Jim's--the gray sweater his partner had been searching for just two days ago. As he re-folded the stolen garment, he noticed a box on the floor--a box the folded sweater had concealed from view. A wide smile broke out across his face as he comprehended what he was looking at.

  "Gotcha," he whispered with satisfaction.

  The box was adorned with the familiar blue and white Cascade PD logo. Beneath the logo was a label that had been stamped with a file number, and below the file number, printed in black permanent ink, was the name "Kaage, Philip J." Blair didn't need to open the box to know it contained the missing evidence from the precinct. Evidence regarding the Kaage burglary. Blair shook his head at Hannah's resourcefulness--the records clerk m
ust have taken the evidence in order to ensure the man's cooperation. And now--this same evidence would ensure her own arrest.

  Blair didn't touch the box, not wanting to get his prints on it. Instead, he carefully replaced Jim's sweater, making sure it sat atop the evidence box just as he had originally found it. But as he rose to his feet, something else caught his eye--something odd. There was a bright splash of glossy colors on the back wall behind Hannah's clothes.

  Shoving dresses, skirts and slacks aside, he stared at the wall that was now fully revealed. "Oh, man," he muttered as his gaze flitted from photo after photo of Jim. The pictures were taped to the wall, each one clearly taken without Jim's knowledge. One photo in particular drew Blair's attention. He leaned closer, trying to make out the vaguely familiar building behind his partner. "Delancy's Bar and Grill," the sign read. He remembered that place--he and Jim had gone there only once, neither one of them really liking it.

  Blair searched his memory, realizing with a sickening feeling that their visit to the bar and grill had been over a year ago. An eerie shiver of dread coursed down Blair's back. Just how long had Hannah been watching his partner?

  He took another long look at the shrine Hannah had erected to his friend. Interspersed with the pictures were small notes, all written in Jim's distinctive handwriting. Blair leaned in and read through a few of them -- and a sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Hannah had kept every note Jim had ever attached to a file that he'd borrowed from her or returned to her. The notes were quick, precise, professional, but still Hannah had kept them.

  "Oh, man," Blair murmured to himself. "This is just too weird."

  Disgusted, he moved the clothes back into place. He had clearly found enough evidence to prove that Jim's story was true--Hannah Merrick had been stalking him for some time and she had been working with Philip Kaage. Now it was just a matter of getting out of the house, back to Simon's sedan, and placing a call to the captain so he could call in some of those favors he'd told Blair about.

  Taking a final look around, satisfied he'd put everything back just as he found it, Blair backed out of the closet, flipped off the light and closed the doors behind him. But as he turned to leave the bedroom he found himself face to face with Hannah Merrick. Before he could do anything, Hannah swung her arms and brought a heavy candlestick up against the wound in Blair's side. He doubled over at the pain that radiated through his body, the agony so all-encompassing that no sound passed his lips. He was half way to the floor when Hannah hit him again, the base of the candlestick striking him hard against his temple. Pain exploded in his head, he felt the rough burn of nylon carpeting against his cheek as he fell forward onto the floor, then he knew nothing more.

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  Hannah crouched down beside Blair's unconscious body. He lay on his left side, his arm tucked awkwardly beneath him. Trailing her fingers through his soft curls, she brushed the hair away from the cut she had just opened on the side of his head and sighed deeply. Philip Kaage was supposed to have taken care of this for her. That was their deal--not only was he supposed to act as though he was stalking her, he was also supposed to kill Blair. Then she would give him the evidence regarding his case--the evidence she'd stolen from the precinct.

  When he'd missed Blair's head with that crowbar in her garage, she'd instructed him to choose a different weapon, to use something the anthropologist couldn't simply duck and avoid. Together, they'd come up with the idea of stabbing him.

  Just thinking about Kaage's mistakes angered her. "Our plans were so perfect," she muttered irritably. After all, not many people could recover from a deep stab wound to the stomach. It was just such a vulnerable area. But Kaage had messed it up again, not driving the knife into the anthropologist's stomach but only cutting his side. "I wouldn't have shot him if I'd known the job wasn't finished," she complained to her unconscious companion.

  She'd planned all along to kill Kaage. He was too big a loose end to leave alive. "Kind of like you," she whispered to Blair.

  It wasn't that she disliked Blair. On the contrary, she thought he was nice. He was just...unnecessary, especially to Jim. She'd known she had to get rid of Blair ever since that day she found Jim standing so still in the record archives room. She'd known something was wrong with him and it soon became apparent to her that it was something that he relied on Blair to help him with.

  She wasn't exactly sure what that something was, but she knew that as long as Blair was around, Jim would never confide in her about his problem. Would never come to rely on her for help. And she just couldn't have that. She and Jim were meant to be together in every way, including emotionally. And that would never happen completely as long as Blair was in the picture.

  At that time, she'd already set in motion her scheme with Philip Kaage, had only been waiting to begin. Adding Blair's death to her plot had been simple. Except that it hadn't worked out quite right.

  No matter. She would just have to get rid of Blair herself. "If you want something done right," she mumbled to herself. She just wished they hadn't taken her gun away from her after she shot Kaage. That would have been the easiest, quickest way to do this.

  A soft moan escaped Blair's lips and he shifted slightly where he lay on the floor.

  Hannah pushed up from where she was crouched beside him and crossed to the bathroom. Reaching inside, she grabbed her robe from where it hung at the back of the bathroom door and pulled the belt from the loops. Moving back to Blair, she knelt down beside him and rolled him onto his stomach. She hummed softly to herself as she drew his arms behind his back and bound his wrists tightly together. That done, she left him where he lay on the floor of her bedroom and walked casually to the kitchen.

  Pulling open the utensil drawer, she fished inside, looking for... "There you are," she muttered, pulling out the large carving knife. She hefted the blade in her hand, admiring the serrated edge. This should work perfectly. She'd wait until dark, then she'd force Blair into the trunk of her car, drive him to a remote area and slit his throat. She'd make it as painless as possible. Jim would want it that way. Jim wouldn't want him to suffer unnecessarily.

  She closed the drawer and headed back toward the bedroom. But she'd only taken two steps when someone pounded hard on her front door, the sound startling her and stopping her in her tracks.

  "Hannah! It's Joel Taggert! Open up!"

  Part Seven

  Jim raced down the highway, the blaring siren of the Berne sheriff's police cruiser easily clearing traffic ahead of them. Simon sat in the passenger seat, his mouth set in a grim line of determination. They'd called Taggert as soon as they got in the car, sending him to Hannah's house to try and intercept Sandburg before Hannah had a chance to arrive home. But Jim had a bad feeling that the detective wouldn't reach his partner in time.

  His cell phone rang, the sound startling the tense detective. Quickly, Jim snatched it up from the seat beside him. Flipping it open, he said, "What's going on, Joel?"

  "She's inside, Jim, just like you thought she'd be. And Simon's car is parked up the street a couple of blocks, which means Blair's got to be in there with her."

  "Damn." Jim's hand tightened around the phone he held to his ear. "Did you hear Sandburg at all? Did he call out to you?"

  There was a pause and then Joel admitted with obvious reluctance, "I didn't hear him, Jim. I'm sorry." And in that moment, Jim knew what the detective was thinking, because Jim harbored the same fear--had Hannah already killed Blair?

  "Jim... I think we should break down the door," Joel said.

  "No!" Jim instructed without hesitation. "If Blair is still alive, that could force her hand and get him killed. Go back to her door and tell her that I'm going to call her. Tell her she needs to answer her phone because it'll be me."

  "You think you'll be able to talk her into giving herself up?"

  "No, I don't," Jim admitted softly. "But if she hasn't hurt Blair yet, I think I can convince her not to do any
thing to him until I arrive."

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  Blair let out a low moan as his eyes blinked slowly open. His head felt like it was about to split in two, his side throbbed, and he was lying in a distinctly uncomfortable position. What the hell happened? He shifted where he lay and realized his hands were bound behind his back. As the room around him came into focus, he suddenly knew where he was, knew who had tied his hands.

  He moved again, pulling at his wrists, struggling to free himself. But there was no give in his bonds. He tried to shift onto his side, to get his knees beneath him, but the effort only caused agonizing pain to flare through his left side. He bit his lip, collapsing back onto the floor.

  Okay, Sandburg, think. He needed to figure out where Hannah was, buy some time until he could get his hands free. Lying very still, he listened for sounds within the small house.

  "Hannah!"

  Blair's head jerked involuntarily toward the sound of someone calling Hannah's name--it was Joel Taggert's voice. Relief spread through him. Joel sounded strange, his voice muffled as if he were talking from some distance away. But that didn't matter to Blair. Joel was here, which meant the Cascade Police knew something was wrong...

  "Hannah," Blair heard the big detective call out again. "Jim is going to call you on the phone! He wants to talk to you!"

  "You're lying!" Hannah screamed from somewhere nearby.

  Gritting his teeth, Blair rolled onto his right side, hoping to get a better view down the hallway leading to the main area of the house. The movement brought tears of pain to his eyes, but he stubbornly blinked them away and squinted down the corridor. Hannah paced in and out of view at the far end of the hall, muttering softly to herself. And Blair realized what was going on--Joel was outside the house, talking to Hannah through the closed front door. Even as the situation clarified in Blair's mind, the phone on the bedside table rang, the sudden shrillness causing him to jerk reflexively. Again, white-hot pain radiated through his side, and he clenched his teeth together to keep from crying out.