by Beth Manz
Jim stopped and turned to look down at Blair. "Think about what Dr. Olsen said, Chief." He looked past Blair for a second, studying the house they had just exited. "Hannah came to believe that the reason Mark O'Keefe died but she lived was because Mark must not have been--in the final scheme of things in her twisted head--the right man after all."
"Yeah? So?"
"So.... Hannah puts Mark out of her mind, deciding she made a major mistake in her choice of who she thought she'd be spending the next dozen or so lifetimes with. Then she's silent for all these years. There's no record of her attempting anything like she attempted with Mark until...."
Blair sighed out as Jim's point finally became clear to him. "Of course! She didn't see Mark's death as being wrong in and of itself. Mark's death didn't convince Hannah that there was no 'right one' for her--it only convinced her she'd made a mistake in her choice of men in the first place."
"Exactly," Jim agreed, reaching up to rub at his forehead in a gesture of frustration. "Which means...."
Blair shook his head as all the pieces fell into place in his mind. "...Which means that she's been looking for that 'right one' ever since."
"Yeah," Jim ground out, his features taking on a disgusted expression. "And I'm the lucky candidate."
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/
Jim glanced around the restaurant, taking in the faces of the other people seated nearby. She's not here, Ellison, so just relax and enjoy your dinner. Ever since leaving the doctor's office, Jim could not shake the feeling that he and Blair were being watched. Hannah is back in Cascade celebrating her victory with her father. Forget about her.
"I can recommend the white fish," Dryer said from his seat on the other side of the table.
Jim glanced at his guide as Blair chuckled softly at the comment. "No fish," he muttered under his breath, giving Jim a knowing look.
"No fish," Jim agreed, warmed by the memories of the spirit walk the two men had recently taken together...and the fish they'd consumed during their journey. "How's the pizza?" he asked wryly.
Dryer's brow furrowed. "I don't think they serve pizza."
Blair chuckled again. "That's okay, Sheriff. It's kind of an inside joke. We don't really want pizza."
"Speak for yourself," Jim mumbled, eyeing the menu again. But as he read the description of the beef stew with dumplings, thoughts of pizza left his mind. He set the menu aside and looked around for their waiter.
"Did you talk to Mrs. O'Keefe today?" Dryer asked, setting his own menu aside.
"Mrs. O'Keefe and Dr. Olsen," Blair stately simply. "And I gotta say that I'm more sure than ever that Hannah will not let go of this obsession she has with Jim."
"Why do you think that?" Dryer asked.
"Because she was never sorry about Mark's death." Blair glanced at Jim briefly before continuing. The sentinel could see the worry behind his partner's eyes, worry that had been there ever since their discussion at the doctor's office. "The only thing that Hannah is sorry about," Blair continued, "is the fact that she mistook Mark for her true love, a true love she's been looking for ever since."
"That's who you are?" Dryer asked Jim.
The sentinel nodded. "That's me."
"So you both think she's still hooked on Ellison."
"Based on what we've been told," Blair said, his voice strained, "I'm sure of it. I don't think Hannah will stop until she possesses Jim...or worse yet, she may try and kill him again if he continues to spurn her advances. So, finding proof against her for the death of Mark O'Keefe...that ranks pretty high on our list right now."
Jim reached over and clapped Blair on the back. "We'll find the proof, Chief."
"You bet we will. But right now...." Blair glanced around the inside of the restaurant. "Where's the men's room?"
Jim laughed lightly as Dryer inclined his head toward the exit. "To the left of the doors. Back by the pay phones."
"I'll be right back."
Jim nodded as Blair stood and made his way to the rear of the restaurant.
"You're not driving back to Cascade tonight?" Dryer asked, drawing Jim's attention back to the table.
Jim shook his head. "We checked into the motel across the street from your station. We plan to stay in Berne until this is over."
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/
Blair pushed out of the men's room door, turned toward the dining area, and nearly walked straight into Hannah Merrick.
"Long time no see, Blair." She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, a satisfied grin pulling up one corner of her mouth. "Beautiful day to be free, don't you think?"
Frustration wound through Blair at her reference to her recent win in court. He stared at her evenly, determined not to let her know how deeply her presence affected him. "What are you doing here, Hannah?"
The smile left her face. "A better question is, 'what are you two doing here'? First you visit Peggy O'Keefe, then my old doctor's office. What are you looking for?"
Blair's eyes widened. "You've been following us?" How the hell could she follow them without either of them being aware of it?
She raised one eyebrow. "Let's just say that over the last year or so, I've become quite skilled at following Jim without his knowledge." Hannah moved closer to him. "I think I know why you're here and I want you to tell Jim something for me." Reaching out, she fiddled with the collar of Blair's shirt, straightening it.
He shoved her hand away. "I'm not telling Jim anything for you."
She gave him an indulgent look. "Just tell Jim he doesn't have to be jealous. I never loved Mark the way I love him." With that, she turned and walked away.
Blair watched her go, stunned by her arrogance. She had to know why they had talked to Mrs. O'Keefe, what they suspected her of--yet she seemed perfectly at ease, as if she didn't have a care in the world.
We are going to nail you, Blair vowed as he watched her exit through the front doors of the restaurant and walk out into the cool spring night.
Making his way back to the table where Jim and Dryer waited, Blair slid into his seat.
"Hey, Chief, I was starting to get a little worried. Everything okay?"
"Well, not exactly." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting from Jim to the sheriff and back again. "I sort of ran into Hannah."
"You what?" Jim's gaze darted toward the area at the back of the restaurant. He started to rise from his chair.
Blair reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back down into his seat. "Save it. She's long gone, man."
"Dammit! How could I be so stupid? I should have--"
"Jim, calm down. She didn't do anything. She just wanted us to know she's here...and that she's been watching us."
Dryer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table before gripping his hands together. "I'm sorry. I thought Hannah would stay in Cascade. I had no idea she'd come back to Berne. I wouldn't have invited you here had I known she'd be coming home."
"Don't apologize, Sheriff," Blair said. "Hannah is here because Jim is here. If he were still in Cascade, she'd be in Cascade. He is her entire world. It's that simple."
The sheriff nodded, his expression weary. Beside him, Jim rubbed at his temples as if he were in pain.
"You okay, man?" Blair asked. "You wanna order some food now?"
Jim let out a long breath. "Sorry Chief, but I just lost my appetite."
/
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/
"If you keep punching at that pillow it's going to explode!" Sandburg groused into the darkness as his partner grunted in annoyance and once again attempted to pummel his motel-issue pillow into submission. "Try explaining that to the manager when we check out."
Blair looked toward the double bed situated nearest the motel door. It had begun raining before they left the restaurant and had not let up since, and the steady sound of the downpour echoed softly through the small room. Street light filtered in through the thin drapes drawn across the rain-streake
d windows, allowing Blair to discern Jim's outline in the darkness. "You want to talk about it?" he asked after several seconds passed and Jim didn't respond to his comments about the hapless pillow.
"I'm sorry," Ellison admitted finally. "I don't mean to keep you awake." The detective shifted his position again, loudly turning onto his back. "I just can't seem to put this whole thing out of my mind."
"Mark O'Keefe," Blair stated simply, knowing only too well what was occupying his partner's mind.
"Yeah," Jim breathed. "I just keep imagining how Hannah must have obsessed over that poor kid, then lured him to his death after he tried to break off their relationship." There was the sound of a long, weary sigh, then Jim continued, "And to think of her living all those years following O'Keefe's death, searching for the 'right' man.... I mean, anyone could have been her next victim...."
"But they weren't," Blair reminded him. "There's no indication she's had an obsession with anyone else." He shook his head against his pillow. "She's been waiting all this time, Jim. Looking all this time." Fear tightened his stomach as the reality of the situation swept over him again. "And now that she's found you... man, Jim, we have to stop her."
"We will, Chief."
Blair pushed himself up on one elbow and stared over at Jim's shadowy face. "But how? All we've come up with so far is a bunch of circumstantial evidence. No one can testify to Hannah's state of mind at the moment she locked herself and Mark O'Keefe in that car. Only Dryer, Mark's mother and the two of us know it was murder--but we feel that in our guts. It won't fly in court and you know it."
"I know," Jim replied softly, and Blair recognized the tone of the detective's voice. He was trying to stay calm in order to help Blair remain calm. It was the tone of understanding the sentinel always used when Blair was upset and Jim was in full understanding of what he was feeling.
Blair flopped down against the mattress again and stared up at the darkened ceiling. "Maybe it was a mistake to come here, Jim. It only makes you more vulnerable, being on her own turf and all." Again, he looked over at his friend. "Promise me you'll be extra careful while we're here."
"I'm not the one she approached at the restaurant," Jim reminded him.
Blair shook his head against his pillow, shifting his gaze up to the ceiling again. "Nope. She isn't after me this time, man."
"I hope you're right, but let's not forget we're dealing with someone who doesn't exactly navigate on an even keel."
Blair snorted. "Is that your 'politically correct' way of saying Hannah's mentally unbalanced?"
Jim made a sound of feigned injury. "I was trying to be nice, Sandburg." He shifted again and Blair turned his head to find his partner staring over at him. "Seriously, though, Chief, I want you to stay on your toes until we can nail something down on this case. Neither of us can let down our guard because that's exactly what Hannah's waiting for."
"Okay, so we'll both be extra cautious," Blair summarized. He glanced at the small clock that sat on the table separating the two beds and groaned as he read the numbers on the illuminated display. "It's 1:30 already!" He pushed his head firmly against his pillow and yawned. "You think you'll be able to sleep now?"
Jim's matter-of-fact answer surprised him: "No." The sentinel sat up abruptly and turned to face Blair. "But I could eat," he said, the underlying enthusiasm in his voice boding ill for Blair's ability to get any rest himself. "There's an all-night diner up the highway a couple of miles," Jim informed Sandburg with exuberance, "and the sign said it serves breakfast 'round the clock."
Blair gaped at him. "You're joking!" he spat out, hoping that's all this was going to turn out to be--a joke, and a bad one at that. His attention turned to the warmth of the blankets covering his body, the comfortable position he'd just assumed.... "We are not going out to eat in the middle of the night," he announced with finality.
"Why not? If you remember correctly, I missed dinner."
"That was your choice," Blair pointed out. "Now my choice is to stay in my nice, warm bed. Besides, it's pouring and I am not going out in the rain."
Jim laughed, stood, moved toward Blair and whapped him on the arm. "Come on, Chief. I've found that there are simply no problems in life that a little late-night snack can't cure."
Blair turned his back to his friend and grumbled, "You want a late-night snack, there's a vending machine outside the motel office. Go snag yourself a Twinkie, man, and leave me alone."
"A Twinkie?" Jim countered with disgust. "I don't think so."
There was the sound of movement, fabric rustling against fabric, then Blair felt a cold whoosh of air as the covers were pulled away from his body. There was a low, pleased chuckle, then Jim's hand smacked him firmly on the back of the head. "C'mon, Sandburg," the determined sentinel announced, already moving away from the bed and rummaging around for something to wear. "There's a Colorado-style omelet out there with my name on it. And if you behave yourself, I might even share it with you."
Part Five
Blair glanced at Jim as the sentinel steered the truck down the dirt road leading toward the house Hannah and Mark used to visit years ago. As they bumped over the uneven surface, the tires splashing through puddles left by last night's rain, Blair couldn't help but notice the tension lines that marred Jim's forehead and pulled down the sides of his mouth. His gaze was distant, introspective--and Blair knew he was thinking about Hannah, worrying about where she was, what she was planning.
We need to end this. Get Hannah out of our lives once and for all.
Last night, as they ate their impromptu meal at the all-night diner, they'd decided to search the farmhouse today, hoping they could find something that would help put Hannah away for good. But as the abandoned home came into view, Blair's hopes faded. Leaning forward, he looked out the windshield, his gaze slowly scanning the area.
The small two-story house sat on a desolate parcel of land, the ground mud-covered and uneven. Thick trees pressed in on the west side of the building, while the terrain on the east side spread out across a barren field dotted with small bushes and half-dead trees. No other houses were in sight.
Blair shifted his gaze back to the house itself. Boards covered the windows in a haphazard style, the big gaps no doubt letting in a large amount of moisture when it rained or snowed. The front porch sagged, the overhang threatening to come down in the next big wind. Bricks from the chimney lay scattered around the base of the home where they had crumbled away from the foundation over the years.
"You're sure this is the right place?" Sandburg asked dubiously.
The sentinel nodded, shutting down the truck engine. "The mailbox by the road said 842. That's the number Mrs. O'Keefe gave us."
"You really think we'll find anything in there?" He pushed out his door and hopped down. The rain had stopped some time during the night but in its place was a heavy wind that tugged at Blair's hair and clothing. "It looks like no one's been here in a while," he shouted over the wind, tucking his wildly blowing hair behind his ears.
"We won't know until we look." Jim clapped Blair on the back. "Come on, Chief. We'll check out the house first then we'll move on to the barn." He nodded toward the small structure located beyond the house.
"I can hardly wait," Blair quipped, earning himself a well-aimed slap to the back of the head.
They tromped through the mud to the house, bypassing the front porch and using the back door to gain access. There was no need to break in--the door hung off its hinges and they simply slipped past it and stepped inside what used to be a homey kitchen.
Blair squinted at the room around him, the only light filtering in through the broken door and past the boards on the windows. "Oh man," he muttered, taking in the dirt covered counters, broken cupboards, an upturned table. "What a mess!"
"Sort of reminds me of your room, Chief," Jim said drolly.
"Very funny," Blair retorted. "You're just a laugh a minute, you know that?"
The wind bore down against the house, battering th
e rotting walls, howling through the slits in the windows. Jim cringed, his hands going up to cover his ears from the sudden onslaught of sound.
"Dial it down, man," Blair instructed as a second gust blasted through the house, whistling and moaning all around them.
Jim nodded and moments later the lines of pain left his face.
"Better?" Blair asked.
"Yeah," the sentinel muttered. "Just caught me off guard there." His gaze did a slow sweep of the room they stood in. "Some love nest, huh, Chief?"
"Oh, yeah," Blair agreed dryly, remembering Mrs. O'Keefe's story about how Hannah and Mark were going to buy this place and fix it up. "Maybe twenty years ago it was better."
"Yeah," Jim breathed, "let's hope so." He looked down at Blair, frustration etched in his features. "Let's hope they spent a lot of time here and left something behind."
Blair reached out and gripped Jim's arm, holding tightly. "We're going to get her, man. If we don't find something here, then we'll find something somewhere else. But we're going to prove to everyone what she really is."
Jim smiled at Blair. "Okay, Chief," he said softly. "I believe you." He looked around the kitchen, determination hardening his jaw. "Why don't you check around downstairs and I'll head to the second floor. I don't know how sturdy this place is and I think I'll have a better chance of avoiding bad areas in the flooring up there than you would."
"Let's get started."
As Blair began to pull open the drawers in the kitchen, searching for anything that might help them nail Hannah, he could hear Jim's tentative footsteps overhead. Clearly, the sentinel was checking out the flooring before entering each room.
"All I need is for him to come through the ceiling," Blair muttered, shaking his head. The wind continued to pound at the house, howling through the cracks in the boards covering the windows, shaking the walls, causing loose pieces of debris to swirl around Blair's feet.
