by Cindy Combs
"Jim!" Sam shouted, yanking on the larger man's arm. He nearly wilted with relief when Jim gasped for air and shook his head. Jim had been unresponsive and barely breathing. "Are you okay?"
Jim nodded, taking another deep breath. He spied a jeep driving away with the men to whom he'd been listening to.
"Was that a zoneout?" Jim nodded again. Man, no wonder Blair worries about them so much. Then a thought struck him. "What made you zone?"
"I heard some men talking," Jim replied, already putting the zone behind him and searching the area. "It sounds like Blair and possibly your father came through here." He discovered a couple of light planes sitting next to the hanger and started trotting towards them.
"Really?" Sam asked, jogging to keep up.
Jim stopped at the first plane and checked the door. Apparently, crime wasn't a problem out in the sagebrush, since the door was unlocked. "Keep an eye out for the sheriff for me. He may be in on it."
"The sheriff? Great, just great," Sam grumbled as he turned to face the road.
Jim quickly searched the Cessna, using both sight and smell. "Nothing in this one," he replied, jumping out. He stepped into the next one. Within seconds a familiar scent reached his nose. "Blair was in this one," Jim declared, opening a small compartment in the back. His guide's scent was very strong in the enclosed space.
"Do you think he's okay?" Sam asked worriedly, then berated himself for a stupid question. How could Jim determine that?
"I don't smell blood," Jim replied, trying to reassure both Sam and himself. "Just Blair's soap." He wrinkled his nose. "I also smell a very disgusting cigar. It's even worse than the ones Simon smokes."
"Any clues as to where they took him?"
Jim was quickly shuffling through the papers in the cockpit. "Plane's registered to Aqua Sources, but there's information here linking it to the Bar M Ranch."
"Jeep coming," Sam announced.
Swiftly, Jim replaced the papers and jumped out. By the time the white jeep pulled up, both Jim and Sam were several yards away from the planes, standing under the scant shade cast by the hanger's overhang.
"Howdy folks," a young man of mixed European and Native American descent called out. "I'm Deputy Toby Nighthawk. Are you the Cascade officers needing a ride into town?"
Cell inside cliff at Bar M Ranch
There was a slight chill within the cliff, in spite of the heat outside. Gently, Blair wrapped his arm around MacGyver as he slept, head resting in Blair's lap. For a moment he paused, studying his father. Mac was so pale, darkening the smudges around his eyes, emphasizing the bruises on his cheek and jaw, and deepening the lines in his face. He looked so much older than normal. It was a sharp reminder that even the athletic and healthy MacGyver was approaching fifty. Blair had missed so many precious years with his father. There were still so many of Mac's adventures untold, details of his family's history unknown. It was scary to think of losing his father so soon after finding him. Blair now understood Sam's concerns about not having enough time together after Blair had nearly drowned.
Blair took a deep breath and released it, trying to expel the fear of the past few hours. Mac had shifted incoherently back and forth between chills and fever, as was characteristic of malaria. With little more than water from the room's sink, a bare mattress on the floor, and the ibuprofen in his backpack, Blair had tried desperately to ease his father's suffering. After the fever had broken, Blair had worked to make him as comfortable as possible. He managed clean Mac up, dry him off the best he could, and slip Blair's large flannel shirt on him. That he did it without fully waking Mac only made Blair worry more. Yet all in all, his father had made it through this bout of the illness. However, what about the next one? In two or three more days, Mac would go through this again unless Blair could get him some help.
Fighting to keep his hand steady, Blair brushed a damp lock of hair out of Mac's eyes. How long had Mac been fighting this? Surely he would have sought treatment once he had realized what he had. However, Blair suspected Mac had been held captive at least since he and Dr. Hudson missed their flight, perhaps even before that. The jerks holding them certainly seemed to care less about getting him help. Anger burned within Blair as he thought of Mac's torn-up wrists and the deep bruising along his chest and abdomen. How the hell did these idiots expect his father to be of much use to them with this kind of treatment? Was this the same attitude that had put Dr. Hudson in ICU? Then again, it was probably Mac's illness that had prevented him from escaping before now.
Another worry was that Blair didn't know if Jim and Sam could find them. While he knew his sentinel would follow any remote clue, he didn't know if there was a trail for Jim to follow. That meant it was up to Blair to find a way out and get Mac to treatment before the next bout of malaria hit. Leaning against the wall behind him, Blair closed his eyes and thought, wrapping his arm protectively around his sleeping father.
Late afternoon Tuesday, Downtown Fortuity, WY
"Well, that was less than helpful," Sam stated as he and Jim walked away from the sheriff's office. After a half hour of verbal dancing, neither the sheriff nor the newcomers had shared any information.
Jim's face was a granite mask, hiding his growing anger. "That sheriff knows something." The man's vague responses had rang false to the big city detective, even without his senses. He leaned against the Jeep Cherokee that Deputy Nighthawk had helped them rent at the local dealership.
"Yeah, but he's not going to tell us. Man, this is as bad as the run-around I got in El Salvador." Then Sam spotted a small, hand-lettered sign. "You know, I think it's time to check out my turf."
Jim followed the younger man into the newspaper office called the Fortuity News. A young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair sat in front of a computer screen, an older man looking over her shoulder. A discrete sniff led Jim to suspect they were father and daughter. Both looked up to see who had entered.
"Hi there," Sam greeted them with his quiet smile. The woman quickly returned the smile. With a flash of amusement, Jim wondered if charming the opposite sex with a smile was as much a MacGyver trait as a Sandburg one. "We have a few questions and was wondering if you could help us?"
"Be glad to," the man returned. "I'm Ted Rhodes, the proprietor of this newspaper. This is my daughter, Jill."
"Hi Mr. Rhodes, Ms. Rhodes. I'm Sam Malloy, and this is my friend, Jim Ellison."
"Sam Malloy?" Jill looked puzzled for a moment. Then her face lit up. "THE Sam Malloy? The one who did that series in Bosnia about human rights violations?"
"Yeah, that's me," Sam admitted shyly.
"That was a fantastic piece of work, young man." Mr. Rhodes paused a moment. "Any relation to a photojournalist named Kate Malloy? If I remember correctly, she did some outstanding work herself back in the seventies."
"My mom," Sam replied. Jim caught the flash of sadness in his eyes.
So apparently had the newspaper man. He quickly changed the subject. "Don't tell me you are on the track of a breaking story here in sleepy Fortuity."
"No, this trip's a little more personal."
"Have either of you heard of a Dr. Patrick Hudson?" Jim asked.
"Rick? Of course. He's been here the last couple of summers looking through our records."
"A really nice man," Jill added, studying the intent faces of the visitors. "Is he in trouble?"
Sam paused, uncertain as to how much to trust these people. He glanced at Jim. Sensing the honest reactions, Jim nodded his head for Sam to continue.
"Dr. Hudson is an old college friend of my Dad's. He was having some kind of trouble, so Dad flew out to help him." Sam took a deep, steadying breath. "A few days ago, Dr. Hudson was found gravely injured and my Dad had disappeared."
Alarm filled the faces of father and daughter. "How bad was he hurt?" Mr. Rhodes asked.
"Last we heard, he's in ICU," Jim replied.
"Damn," Mr. Rhodes muttered.
"What about your father?" Jill asked.
&nb
sp; Sam shrugged. "We don't know. Jim, my brother Blair, and I were starting to dig around when Blair was abducted this morning."
Both Rhodes' were now completely drawn into the story. "Why would they want your brother?" Jill asked.
"MacGyver, Sam's dad, had managed to send some information to Blair. We believe the perps were after that information," Jim explained.
"Did they get it?" Mr. Rhodes questioned, frowning.
"No, we had already secured it." Jim wanted to make sure that bit of news was spread around town, hoping it would keep the perps from hurting Blair like they had Dr. Hudson.
"Since all our leads point to Fortuity, we decided to dig here and see if we can find Blair and Dad," Sam added.
"What's your role in this?" Mr. Rhodes asked, turning to Ellison.
"Blair's a good friend of mine. I'm a police detective back home and Blair works with me as a consultant."
"So what do you need to know?" Mr. Rhodes asked grimly.
Jim decided to shake a few bushes. "I believe I've linked the plane that may have brought Blair here to a place called the Bar M Ranch."
"Figures," Jill grumbled.
Rhodes' face turned grimmer. "Yeah, we're familiar with that one. It's owned by Winston Madison. His family has had a lot of power in this town for generations."
"Yeah, but Ms. Lyndi was a whole lot nicer than her grandson," Jill pointed out. "Winston just takes what he wants, never mind who gets hurt."
"Sounds about right," Sam replied tersely, thinking of Dr. Hudson and how Blair was abducted off the street.
"Didn't he just get back in town?" Jill asked her father.
"Yeah, something about business with a boot manufacturer in Miami."
Jim and Sam exchanged looks. Jim turned back to the Rhodes. "I don't suppose you could tell us how to get to the Bar M Ranch?"
Inside the cliff, Bar M Ranch
This is really getting old. I hate losing time, especially when there are bad guys around. Especially when I feel like there's something I should remember.
MacGyver shifted, discovering there was something holding him. "Easy, Mac," a soft voice admonished as a hand gently rubbed his arm. That was when Mac realized his head was resting on someone. Someone whose voice sounded like…
"Blair?" MacGyver slowly sat up, wincing from his bruises. He now remembered Blair's voice demanding they take Mac to a hospital. A quick glance around showed that his son hadn't been successful. "What are you doing here?"
"Having you scare the hell out of me," Blair replied matter-of-factly as he handed his father a cup of water.
Yet Mac could hear the fear still lurking in his voice. "Well, now you know how I felt when we were guests of Kincaid." He sipped the water, studying Blair's face.
Startled, Blair paused a moment. Then a faint smile of discovery crossed his face. "You know, we really have to stop meeting like this."
"Yeah, I'd agree to that," Mac replied. "Are there any more at this party?" He couldn't stop the slight shiver from the chilly air.
The worried frown on Blair's face deepened. "Not at the present, though I'm still hoping for a few gate crashers."
Probably Ellison. No way he'd let Blair out of his sight for long. Mac ran a hand down the soft flannel shirt. "Yours?"
"Yeah. My office is usually freezing during the summer with the air conditioning, so I always toss something into my pack to go over my Ts."
"Thanks."
"How long have you had this bug?" Blair asked as he studied his father intently.
Mac rubbed his face, trying to force his weary mind to work. "Ah, what day is this?"
Blair bit his lip a moment, not liking the fact Mac had lost track of the days. "Tuesday, a week after you had the plane reservations for yourself and Dr. Hudson."
Mac looked up. "How is Rick?"
Blair sighed, not sure how to answer. "Last I heard, he's alive in a Florida hospital." Seeing the questions still lurking in Mac's eyes, he pointed out, "But that's not answering my question. How long have you had malaria?"
Sighing himself, Mac rubbed his face again. "The first attack hit the Monday we were to leave, just as Madison's men caught us."
"Mac! That was over a week ago!"
"Yeah. At first, I thought it was the flu, but after the third time it hit, I realized it had to be malaria."
"Where do you think you picked it up?"
Mac shrugged. "I've been in several regions with malaria during the past year. I've always taken the preventative, but…"
"That doesn't always mean you won't get it," Blair finished. "How many days in between?"
"Two"
Damn. That means I have less than two days to get us out of here. "How are you feeling now?"
"Groggy and exhausted."
"Well, the parasites have been feeding off your red blood cells for a week now. You're probably anemic." Blair fought to keep the fear for his father out of his eyes. Now was the time to turn to other matters. "Why is this guy so hot on getting this 19th century loot?"
Mac sighed. "Madison fears that the loot contains old water rights. Apparently, there were disputes in the past that might not have been settled fairly. He would lose money if he lost some of his current allotment of water. He first tried to buy Rick off, to either stop the search or give him any water rights documents that might be found. Rick refused, so Madison started to threaten him."
"Which is when he called you," Blair added, a slight smile to his face. Mac's tendencies to help people in need made him proud to claim him as a father.
"Right. I tried to settle the matter, but Madison refused anything but total compliance to his wishes. Judging that he would eventually use force, I secured Rick's research onto a disc, cleared his computer, and arranged for us to fly to LA. Once we were in Phoenix's home turf, it would've been easier to give Rick some protection. Only Madison's men caught us on the way to the airport. I tried to get Rick to safety, but, well…"
"You were coming down with your first bout of malaria."
"Yeah," Mac admitted, still disgusted with himself. "Later, I managed to spring us from Madison's rental house in the Everglades. However, in trying to get back to civilization, I got sick again. By the time I was able to travel, we had lost too much of our lead time. They caught us within a mile of the nearest gas station/ convenience store." Mac took a deep breath. "When they brought us back, we were separated. They kept trying to force me to decode the disc and I kept stalling until I got sick for the third time. By the time I was coherent again and found a way out of the room, they had beaten Rick up pretty bad. I managed to get a truck on the property started and drove as fast as I could to that store. Unfortunately, they were only minutes behind me. I left Rick at the store and tried to reach the nearest town and the sheriff. They caught me again." Mac again rubbed his face, fighting against his fatigue.
Blair handed him another cup of water. "But when they took you to the airport to fly here, you managed to escape again and ran into Lisa."
Mac smiled. "That was definitely luck. Lisa was the last person I expected to see, and I hated to get her involved, but they were too close behind me. I feared what damage those idiots could do in a crowded terminal."
Blair nodded. "Yeah, they managed to track her to LA and Cascade, but Lisa did a pretty good job of keeping out of their way until she reached us."
"Is she okay?" Mac asked worriedly.
Blair chuckled. "Don't worry. Megan had Lisa tightly tucked under her wing last time I saw them." Then his face turned serious. "So now they want you to translate Dr. Hudson's journal. Jack said you were about the only one who could read his shorthand."
Mac nodded. "Only thing is, it's been a while since I've seen it, so it's been rather slow going. Nor is Madison very happy to hear about woman's fashions in the 1880s."
Blair chuckled, suspecting Mac was finding the most boring parts of Hudson's research to translate first. "So, what we need to do is get out of here."
"Agree."
; "So, when do they feed us?"
Mac sent him a puzzled look, then caught the glint of mischief in the big blue eyes.
Early Tuesday evening, twenty miles out of Fortuity
Frustration was growing in Jim as potholes forced him to slow down even more on the rough dirt track. The nearing foothills promised that the road could only get worse. Jim could feel his temper burning shorter by the minute. He missed his partner's normal chatter, taking his mind off his worry. Only problem was, this time Blair WAS the worry.
However, he was not alone in that worry. Jim took another glance at his quiet companion. Sam hadn't said anything after thanking the Rhodes for providing them with food, blankets, and a first aid kit. The silence was beginning to concern Jim. He was all too well acquainted with that particular defense mechanism.
The jeep hit another pothole, much deeper than expected. They were tossed around, Sam banging his head against the side window. "Ow."
"You okay?" Jim asked, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," came the slow reply as Sam rubbed his head.
Jim spared another glance from his pothole search. "You sure about that?"
A faint smile flickered across Sam's face. "Yeah." He paused a moment, realizing Jim wasn't fooled. "I'm scared for Blair and Dad," he admitted. "They're all the family I have."
"Is this reminding you of your Mom?" Jim barely caught Sam's nod.
Jim swiftly made connections as he swerved to avoid another pothole. He took a deep breath. "You know, I left home when I was still in my teens, joined the army, and never looked back. When I came back from Peru and joined the PD, my attitude was bad enough to keep most people away. My partner, Jack, was starting to get through but his disappearance just sent me scurrying to cover that much faster. Carolyn tried, but we both gave up too soon. After my divorce, I wasn't letting anyone get near me. I only existed.
"Then a long-haired whirlwind called Blair Sandburg entered my life. That brother of yours somehow managed to penetrate the attitude and the pain. He kicked me back into living." He glanced over to find Sam watching him, listening to every word. "Family doesn't necessarily mean blood, Sam. Family is whoever cares enough about you to look out for you, be there when things are tough, and yell at you when you need it. Blair is my family.
