The hand on my arm was slim and elegant, the nails perfectly manicured and painted a delicate shell pink. Attached to that lovely hand was an equally lovely woman with eyes an improbable color of green that were looking back at me, wide and moist, as if I were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen in her privileged life. Her perfume was soft and expensive, engaging my senses but not overwhelming them. Even the pheromones she was shedding seemed refined and rare, promising me that an evening of high class sex was there for the asking.
God, I sighed inwardly, would this night ever be over?
Simon always said this kind of thing was necessary—and I understood that. Fundraising was the name of the game tonight. I smiled down at my dinner companion—Tracy, I think her name was—and continued our innuendo-filled conversation, all the while my mind elsewhere. Rafe, playing the major domo to the hilt in his perfectly cut tux, had interrupted the dinner party moments before with a small, white note that he'd offered to Simon on a silver tray. Simon had read it, then excused himself from the remnants of dessert with a smile, saying something to the assembled guests about a call from South America. Everyone had nodded their heads in understanding, but only I and the rest of the crew knew of the significance of his abrupt departure. Simon hadn't outwardly betrayed himself with so much as a flicker of an eyelash in my direction but he would know that I'd registered his quickening pulse rate. Like a pro, Vince picked up where he'd left off before the interruption, holding the well-dressed, middle-aged female guests rapt with the flashiest version of his charm. Smaller conversations restarted, including mine with Tracy, who was now sliding her toes up my pant leg.
Vince continued to act as the host and moved with the party into the salon for coffee and liqueurs. Tracy clung to my side and on another night, I might have been tempted to take her up on her so far unspoken offer, but those occasions were becoming increasingly rare. Warmth and companionship were not what people like Tracy were looking for, but I was—had been for so long—and I was tired. Tired of having sex either for meaningless recreation or as a way of furthering a relationship that would help the Group.
And yet, I still played the game. I maneuvered Tracy into a secluded corner, turning my back to the rest of the guests and giving her the illusion of privacy. She quickly caught on, using our intimacy to play with my bow tie and fondle the lapels of my tuxedo.
The innuendo was rapidly reaching the point where I would either have to commit or break off. Tracy was the niece of one of our investors so I had to be careful—any perceived insult could result in the loss of highly needed funds.
I was saved from making a decision when I heard Simon enter the room and make his way to my side.
"Excuse me," he said with a gallant grin to my pouting companion, "but I'm afraid I need to steal Jim away from you." He turned towards me, the smile on his face nowhere near his eyes. "The Peruvian project has hit a snag—our man in Lima needs your assistance."
My heart sank—this could be bad. I kept my expression bland as I turned to Tracy and lifted her hand to my lips.
"Forgive me?"
She arched her shoulder to play up her already impressive cleavage and gave me a sultry smile. "Hurry back," she murmured.
Minutes later, the library doors locked behind us, Simon broke the news.
"Eli's dead."
The breath left my lungs in a swift, painful rush. "God, Simon—when?"
He moved around the desk, sitting heavily in the massive leather chair behind it.
"Yesterday morning. Jack just confirmed it. Eli was found murdered in his hotel room in Lima. One shot to the base of the neck, execution style."
I shook my head and forced myself to sit down in one of the club chairs facing Simon. "Jesus," I muttered. "Locals?"
Simon frowned. "They don't know yet. Jack got a copy of the police report—the room was tossed; his wallet, passport and PDA were missing."
"Could go either way, then." I swallowed hard around a wave of self-loathing—Eli was a friend but I had to know. "Any news on the book?"
Simon gazed at me and the compassion in his eyes was hard to take. "Not yet. Eli's last report to Jack was that he thought he'd gotten a lead and that he was attempting to make arrangements to see it. It's sketchy at best." He paused. "Jim—you have to realize, this thing may not exist at all."
I stood up and paced in front of him, hands shoved in my pockets. "I know, Simon, I know—but what the hell do you want me to do? The government isn't always going to help us, the damn doctors can't help us—you think I'm comfortable entrusting our lives to some fairy tale written a hundred years ago?"
Simon let me fume, watching me as I took a turn around the book-lined room that remained a visible reminder that wealth alone wasn't going to be enough to save us. I paused and closed my eyes, willing back the familiar frustration that rose in my throat like bile. Time and money, I thought bitterly. No time and money that came with strings attached.
Sighing, I sat back down, stretching out my legs and crossing them at the ankles. My own problems could wait long enough to remember that a friend and colleague had died, leaving behind a family and friends who loved him. It was just a harsh fact that he'd died in a cause that was most probably lost.
"Have arrangements been made to bring him home?" I asked quietly.
Simon nodded, then leaned towards the computer sitting on his desk. "The embassy won't release the remains unless an American can accompany them back to the States."
"I want to go."
Simon nodded, smiling a little. "Yeah, I figured. But we have another problem."
He swerved the computer screen around so I could see it. It showed the black and white passport photo of a young man, someone I didn't recognize. I quickly scanned the information on him—Blair Sandburg, twenty-eight years old, from here in Cascade—but my eyes were drawn back to the picture. The face that looked back at me was open and attractive, the dark eyes intelligent and filled with humor. It looked as though the photographer had captured the image just as the young man had finished laughing at something and was trying to sober up for the photo. Long, curly hair framed strong bone structured and a hint of metal could be seen in his ear. There was a leather thong around his neck with a carved pendant nestled against the base of his throat, just above a shadow of dark chest hair.
I swallowed. "Who's that?" I asked levelly.
"That—" Simon leaned back in his chair and sighed, "could be our killer."
"I'm telling you, all I did was kiss her!"
The harsh clanking of the cell door closing drowned out my protestations of innocence. I gave the bars a frustrated shake and turned around to survey my temporary housing. It was right out of a bad movie, all whitewashed stucco and water—or worse—stained floors. What passed for a bunk was nothing more than woven string with a hay-stuffed mattress thrown on top. A closer look revealed a thriving colony of fleas, so I hunkered down on the dirt floor beneath the barred window and got ready to wait.
I mean, how long could this take? I'd told them to contact Eli in Lima; once they reached him, they'd know that I was telling the truth and return my backpack. But even before that, I was sure that Maya would straighten everything out and then I could hightail it back to town on the next bus.
My only real concern was the contents of my bag. Aside from my passport, there was Burton's monograph. To the local law enforcement, it was nothing more than an old book—to Eli, it was important and I felt duty bound to get it to him.
It was also the reason that I'd ended up in the local hoosegow—sort of. I'd met Maya at the University in Lima; one thing had led to another and I'd invited her to have dinner with me and Eli one night. It was during that dinner that she'd told us about her father's extensive library at their estate out in the boonies and offered to let me come see it. Eli'd given me the ok to visit almost immediately and off I'd gone on a beautiful, sunny morning, Eli's reminder in my ear that the author he was looking for had the same name as the guy who was in that Alistair Maclean movie and who kept marrying Elizabeth Taylor.
The bus ride was long, hot and boring, but fascinating, too, in a cross-cultural study kind of way. I got to Maya's home in the early afternoon and was immediately treated to a meal that she claimed she'd prepared with her own hands. She showed me around the grounds and when I pointed out that there was always someone close by watching us, she'd just shrugged and said that with all the unrest, it was best to be protected. I took that at face value—Peru had it's share of domestic terrorism, that's for sure.
We eventually made our way to the library. Although eventually I'd found Eli's book, the rest of the library had been a lot less than I'd anticipated. I wasn't really expecting to find anything usable for my own thesis, but private libraries themselves are kind of a hobby for me. Maya had told me that her father had inherited the contents when he'd purchased the house and the original owner had been something of an international traveler. Unfortunately, that meant that most of the books were in languages I couldn't begin to translate.
Maya turned out to be a disappointment of another kind. I really thought that I'd made it clear that I although I thought she was a great person, she really wasn't my type. But Maya seemed convinced that I just hadn't found the right girl, and that was where things took a turn into la-la land. I fended her off and spent the night alone in the guest room with a chair rammed beneath the doorknob. That doesn't really work but it made me feel better.
Hell, how was I supposed to know that her dad was some freakin' warlord who owned the little town next to his estate? Not only that, but that he had people watching his precious daughter night and day. If I'd have known that, maybe I would've tried to let her down a little differently. But one minute I'm giving her a fraternal peck on the cheek outside of the estate's front gate before catching the morning bus back to Lima, and the next minute I'm being tossed into an eight by twelve foot cell.
It was all just a misunderstanding.
"I still don't understand it," I complained as I checked the clip one more time before ramming it home. "Eli never struck me as the careless type."
Simon sighed patiently and leaned against a shoulder against the brick wall of my bedroom. "I told you, Sandburg was a last minute replacement. All of Eli's other students had been cleared but that one assistant of his—" Simon slipped on his glasses and glanced at the paper in his hands "—Tony Lombardi, had a family emergency at the last minute."
"Pretty convenient emergency." Another magazine was examined and tucked into a pocket of my gear.
"Relax, Jim, you know we checked it out. The sister in Ohio needed a heart transplant and one came available. Soon as his plane landed in Lima they shipped Lombardi back to the States and shipped Sandburg in. Stoddard was out in the field and thought the paperwork had gone through."
"Shit," I muttered. "That's what we get for using civilians." I looked at Simon, who was watching me sympathetically. "Damn it—I liked that old man, you know?"
"We all did."
I sighed and tied down the flap on my pack. "I, uh, checked Sandburg out too," I said sullenly.
Simon grinned. "I know. Connor told me you'd asked her to download his file."
"I mean, I went through some rather—unorthodox—methods check him out."
"More unorthodox than we are? Damn, Jim, you never cease to amaze me. And?"
I thought over what I'd learned from my military acquaintances. Blair Sandburg was exactly what he claimed to be, an anthropologist who's main field of study was subcultures formed by society's enforcement members—or something half-assed like that. He'd gone on an obligatory expedition with Eli in Mexico on one of the old man's legitimate university trips. That was his connection to Stoddard and, although he didn't know it, his connection to me.
"He's clean. My sources couldn't track down the current whereabouts of a mother but she came up clean as well." I didn't mention that I'd hunted down every contemporary photo I could find of Blair Sandburg. I told myself it was because it was my business to know—but if I were honest with myself, I knew it was something more. There was one other, highly personal little tidbit that I'd found that had no bearing whatever on the present situation, but had had an instant impact on me.
Simon handed me my jacket. "Thorough as always."
"Yeah, well," I grunted, pulling the straps of the pack taut and hefting it to my shoulders, "just wanted to make sure the guy you wanted me to bust out of a Peruvian jail was worth the trip."
I started to head downstairs, but Simon stopped me with a hand on my arm.
"Jim," he said earnestly, "if he's found the book, you know he may be our only hope of saving the Group. He may be your only hope."
I met the dark eyes, once again seeing the concern and friendship that were always there for me.
"I know," I replied quietly. "Let's just pray that he came through for Eli."
This time, I didn't even notice the hardness of the floor when they threw me back in the cell. Too many other things hurt too damn badly.
So far, I think they'd been pulling their punches. No rubber hoses yet, and nothing below the waist. They'd stayed with mostly open-handed slaps and hits to my abdomen. I was pretty sure that nothing was broken but God, my ribs were getting sore. I had a cut on my lip and one eye was a little swollen, but I was pretty intact otherwise.
Physically, anyway.
Emotionally, I was a basket case. Once they'd figured out that my Quechua skills sucked, they'd switched to Spanish. They kept asking me questions like who sent me, how did I know the Carascos. No matter how many times I explained it, they'd just hit me and ask again. I kept telling them to contact Maya, that she'd clear it all up, but finally one of the guards told me she'd been sent back to Lima. When I asked if they'd called Eli, the guy who seemed to be in charge had finally stepped forward.
"Yes," he'd said in clear English, "he has been called. He has denied knowing who you are."
That's when scared turned into terrified.
I went three rounds with these goons over the course of two days but I think towards the end of the third session they were losing interest. The last go around, the head guy didn't even bother to attend. They asked the same questions, roughed me up a little more, then tossed me back into my cell.
There was water and a bowl of tepid soup waiting for me again and once I'd caught my breath, I consumed both with the enthusiasm I usually reserved for the pasta putanesca from the little Italian place near my apartment back home. I was obviously in the deluxe suite, since I had a cracked toilet bowl—no lid and just a chain—and blanket had shown up as well the first night. Part of me was relieved that they'd bothered to feed me at all—but I also knew this could only go on so long.
I consoled myself with the thought that this experience was going to make a great chapter in my dissertation. My thesis was on modern, first-world law enforcement, nothing like this backwards, nihilistic society, but my mind raced with the idea of setting up comparative data that would point up my conclusions.
That only took so long. It's hard to concentrate on research when you're wiggling a tooth made loose from a slap upside your head.
I was certain they were lying about Eli—I just couldn't figure out why. Had they really tried to contact him? Was he even now trying to get me out? Or had they ignored my pleas like they ignored my request to talk to Maya? As darkness began to fall on my second night in jail, I was really beginning to sweat. Eli had known exactly where I was going and I'd been due back twenty-four hours earlier. Why hadn't he come looking for me?
The days were stiflingly hot but the temperature plunged when the sun went down. I wrapped the thin brown blanket around my arms and curled up on the floor, trying not to let despair get the best of me. I knew there had to be a reason for all this.
I'd slipped into a light doze when the first explosion went off. It had me scrambling to my feet to peer out the barred window into the night. Off to my left was a bright orange glow, although I couldn't see the source of the fire. People were yelling and running around the small square and somewhere a siren was going off. Another explosion hit close enough to me that the building shook. There was more screaming and the sound of lots of footsteps, but unfortunately none of them coming in my direction. If the building was on fire, I was toast. Literally.
"Hey!" I yelled, running over to the cell doors. "Hey! Let me out of here! God damn it—HELP!"
"You might wanna keep it down, Chief. I just went to a lot of trouble making those diversions so quit reminding them that you're still here."
I stared towards the source of that dry voice. Out of the shadows on the other side of my cell stepped a tall man in camouflage. His head was covered with a bandana, his arms and face streaked in lines of black and green that blended into his sweat-soaked tank top. He had some kind of gun in his hand and when he turned to smash out the single dim bulb that dangled from the ceiling, I saw a machine gun strapped to his back.
Oh, God—and I thought I was scared before.
So far, everything was going according to plan. My charges had gone off right on time—now all I had to do was get this kid out of his cell and rendezvous with Jaquin.
"Step away from the lock."
"Hunh?"
I glanced at my watch and then motioned him away from the cell door with the muzzle of my Ruger.
"Move it, Sandburg—we've got thirty seconds before the next explosion and I need to time this shot."
"How—how do you know my name? Who are you?"
"Never mind that, just—"
"What do you mean, 'never mind', man? I don't know you!" He clutched at the bars with dirty hands, not far enough away from the lock to suit me but in fifteen seconds it wasn't going to matter. I took that fifteen seconds to take a good look at my cargo.
He was dirty and on the ripe side, and two days growth of beard couldn't hide the infected cut on his lip. His hair was pulled into a surprisingly neat ponytail but his clothing was torn and spattered with blood. So far, it seemed he was moving pretty freely—they hadn't busted him up too bad. I could feel heat from where blood was pooling around his ribs and there was bruising beneath one eye, but it didn't look like he needed immediate medical attention.
"Sandburg!" I barked. "Step away!"
Surprisingly, he did, throwing himself into the corner and covering his ears. My next little gift went off—two seconds late, I realized with a frown—and I shot the lock out of the door. It's a crude method and you have to place the shot perfectly or it will ricochet—but it's effective. The door flew open and crashed into the bars with a loud clank that was completely drowned out by the conflagration I'd started outside.
"Let's go!" I shouted, stepping back and watching the corridor. Sandburg moved tentatively into the middle of the cell, obviously confused.
"I can't just go with you! My friends—they'll be coming for me and I don't know who the hell you are!"
Shit—he had a point.
"Look, G.I. Joe," he was continuing, pointing a finger at me, "unless you tell me just who you are, I'm not going—"
"Eli Stoddard sent me." My eyes flicked down the hallway, then back at Sandburg. Intelligent blue eyes widened with astonishment and hope and I played on that. "He knew you were in over your head and asked me to help out."
"Eli? Thank God—I knew he didn't forget me! Is he here?" Sandburg bolted through the cell door and looked around as if he expected me to produce the old man then and there.
"No, he's not. Here, take this." I turned the Ruger around and tried to hand it to him butt first, but he threw up his hands.
"No way, man! I don't do guns—"
I grabbed one of his hands and slapped the gun into his palm. When his fingers closed around it reflexively, I let go and swung the Uzi around across my chest.
"Today, you do guns. Now, listen up, Sandburg, and do everything I say and I mean fucking everything. There's a jeep and a driver waiting for us on the other side of the wall just outside this building. Once we're over the wall, we're home free, ok?"
The Ruger dangled from his hand and I suppressed a sigh of frustration. More explosions were going off in the distance and I was counting on that to draw the guards further away. Nothing I'd set off was much more than a smoke bomb—as soon as they figured it out, they'd be back. We were running out of time.
"Sandburg, you hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah—but I need my backpack. It has my—"
I grabbed his arm and pointed to where I'd laid it down near the door.
"Already got it on my way in. Now grab it and let's move!"
He lunged for the pack and scooped it up by the straps with his free hand, the Ruger still awkward in his hands.
"Ok, Chief, here we go. Stay close."
"Stay close," he muttered as he crowded in tight behind me. "Rambo hands me a loaded gun and tells me to stay close. I'll be lucky if I don't shoot myself in the foot."
"Better yours than mine, Sandburg," I said, shooting him a grin over my shoulder and pleasantly surprised when he grinned back. Another blast was heard and I took off running down the corridor. Sandburg stayed right on my heels as I led him through an outer room and into the yard behind the jail. There was thirty yards of dirt, squawking chickens and open air between the doorway where we stood and the wall that separated us from Jaquin and the jeep.
We paused just outside the door, our backs pressed to the stucco while I listened for the lay of the land. It sounded like everything was still confused behind us, so I caught Sandburg's eye and jerked my head.
"Straight across and over—you got that?"
He eyed the eight foot mud wall and swallowed. "Sure."
Something in his tone was funny but we had a schedule and I was damn well going to keep to it. I grabbed his arm and threw him in front of me, then turned around and ran backwards towards the wall with the Uzi slung low. Dark smoke was billowing over the compound and up into the night sky but the brilliance of the explosions was fading.
I slammed into the wall with my back, Sandburg panting beside me and making no move to get on the other side.
"Go! Go! Go!" I urged, my eyes sweeping constantly across the yard. Jaquin had the jeep about fifty yards beyond the wall, engine running. I spared a glance down at Sandburg and saw the problem. He had one arm stretched above him, fingers scrabbling at the dried mud.
The other arm was wrapped around those sore ribs, gun and all.
"I—I'm sorry, man, I just can't do it," he rasped.
"Shit," I muttered, then grabbed the strap of his backpack and pulled it off his shoulder.
"Wha—?"
I tossed the pack over the wall, then yanked the Ruger out of his hand, clicked on the safety and shoved it between his belt and the small of his back. Kneeling down on one knee, I made a cradle with my fingers and nudged his leg.
Thank God, the kid was fast. He held up his foot and I slid my hands under his boot. He bounced twice and on three I heaved him up to the top. Despite his grunts of pain, he scrambled over the wide edge and seconds later I heard him hit dirt on the other side. I took another quick look around, and then with a quick jump, got hold of the top of the wall and pulled myself over in one move.
I hit the ground on the other side in a crouch, the Uzi ready once again. Sandburg was leaning against the wall, breathing hard, the Ruger back in his hand.
"Ok?" I mouthed. He nodded and took a deep breath, then bent down and picked up his backpack. "All right, let's go. The jeep is right over that hill."
We quickly worked our way through the thick underbrush and onto a rutted goat path. I knew the jeep and Jaquin were waiting, so I focused my hearing back towards the village. The confusion was abating and they were starting to get organized. It would be only minutes before they'd discovered their boy had flown the coop.
We broke through the foliage and into a small, open area. Jaquin was leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette and looking surprised as hell. I didn't spare him more that an angry glance as I ran around to the passenger side and got in. Sandburg scrambled into the back as Jaquin climbed inside and gunned the running engine. He pulled out onto the bumpy lane, driving fast but not speeding enough to draw undue attention once we reached the main road.
I figured we had at least six hours of hard driving by back roads ahead of us. There was a bright, three-quarter moon lighting our path and nothing else, but Jaquin supposedly knew this area like the back of his hand and I knew damn well he could drive in the dark—he was the best Two we had in South America. I spared him a quick glance—his attention was on his driving, eyes jerking up to the rearview and then back to the road. I could've told him we had no pursuit, but I didn't bother wasting my time. Instead, I grabbed a canteen from a pack at my feet and took a long drink, then twisted around in my seat to hand it to the kid.
I repressed a smile at what I saw. He'd belted himself in tight and was clinging with both hands to the strap next to the window, his eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. The Ruger was bouncing on the seat next to him and his backpack lay on the floor, held tightly between his feet.
"Sandburg, secure that weapon," I snapped, even though I could see the safety was still on. He'd probably never taken it off.
Sandburg blinked at me, then picked up the gun and offered it to me by the grip. I waved him off.
"Keep it. We're not out of the woods yet. Stick it in your pack."
He looked like he was about to argue with me, then he shrugged and unzipped the pack and tucked it inside.
"Here." I handed him the canteen and he took it, rubbing the rim against his dirty shirttail before draining it and handing it back to me. I was just about to turn around when we hit a particularly deep rut in the road and bounced hard. Sandburg muffled a moan and clutched at his ribs.
"You ok there, Chief?" I yanked off the bandana covering my head and shoved it into my back pocket. My jacket lay at my feet and I snagged it and pulled it on.
"Yeah," he grunted, "just peachy."
I felt a twinge of admiration for him. He was in obvious discomfort but was trying to stick it out.
"Hang in there, kid. We'll get onto the main road in a few hours, after we're sure there's no one following us."
"Why would they?" he asked, relaxing a bit. "I mean, I don't get it."
"What don't you get?"
"Any of it! Look, I'm just an anthropologist, not some killer or—or defiler of virgins or anything! All I was doing was picking up a book for Eli and next thing I know I'm tossed in the local clink. Then you come along and break me out like something out of a Stallone flick." He winced and leaned back into the seat. "Man, I don't know what to think."
I curved an arm around my seat so I could talk with him a little easier. I wasn't real sure when to tell him that Eli was dead, but now just didn't seem right. "What do you think was going to happen to you back there?"
He shrugged. "They'd ask me everything they could—I think they were just gonna let me go."
I shook my head. "Not likely, sport. More likely they were going to ship you off to one of their remote farms, so far away you'd never find your way back home. Or," I added casually, "they could've just shot you."
He swallowed hard. "Sh-shot me?"
"Sure. You messed where you shouldn't have been messing. For an anthropologist, you're not very observant of local culture." I was baiting him deliberately, trying to take his mind off of his sore ribs.
It was working—he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "South American culture is really not my field of study. I only got sent here because Eli needed an assistant for a while and I owed him. Believe me, I'd much rather be back home, working on my own dissertation."
"Yeah? What's it on?" I already knew, but I wanted to continue the diversion.
His eyes lit up and I found myself again suppressing an answering smile. "The subculture of law enforcement. See, there's this whole phenomena—ever heard of the thin blue line?—that takes place inside artificially enclosed societies, especially where a pseudo-military archetype is followed. . ." He rambled on for a few minutes, obviously well-versed in his subject. I listened to him until Jaquin claimed my attention with a low-voiced question.
I vaguely registered the sound of Sandburg rustling in his backpack, figuring he was cold and searching for a jacket.
However, when I turned back to him, instead of looking into those blue eyes, I was staring down the barrel of the Ruger.
"Ok, time to cut the crap," I said, pleased that my voice didn't waver. "No way Eli sent you guys, no way. He's about the most peaceful man I've ever met so I don't exactly see him ordering up the brute squad. Now, you wanna drop the act and tell me just who the hell you are?"
The big man paused, and even though I couldn't see his eyes I could feel him assessing me. For all I knew, he could have a gun pointed at my gut at that very moment, but it seemed that after all that trouble of rescuing me, he wouldn't just turn around and off me.
"Name's Jim Ellison," he said pleasantly enough. "Eli and I go way back."
"Yeah, right," I said, shifting to hold the heavy gun with two hands. "And I'm Mahatma Ghandi."
In the darkness of the jeep, all I could see was the outline of those broad shoulders as they rose and fell. "Suit yourself, swami. If you think you can hold that gun on us for the next five hours, be my guest. Too bad your hands are going to get tired."
Damn it, he was right—they were already cramping and the bumpy road made it hard to hold the gun steady. I shook out the fingers of my right hand and then took a better grip. "Yeah, well, maybe I just shoot you and Tonto there and drive myself back to Lima."
The bastard just laughed at me. "Not likely, kid. You're no killer. And even though you don't have any reason to trust me, let me assure you that I do know Eli and you're perfectly safe. We're gonna get you back to town and straighten this whole thing out."
"Nothing to straighten out," I countered. "All I did was kiss a girl. And I only did that because she loaned me some old book that Eli wanted to see."
"Not according to the local police. They think you're a spy for the Arguillo family, sent to romance the daughter of the town into giving up information. The other theory is that you're a narc working for the DEA."
The gun in my hand wavered and I clutched it tighter. "A what? What information?"
"C'mon, Sandburg, don't play dumb. These are huge drug cartels you're dealing with here."
"What? No—no
way! Maya's a student in Lima, she's—"
"The daughter of the biggest drug smuggler in these parts."
Oh, God. The bars on the windows, the armed servants, the wealth in the midst of poverty. "How do you know all this?"
"I surveilled the place while I set up the charges and learned a few things."
I digested that for a few seconds; something wasn't right. But the gun was getting heavier in my hand and I knew I needed to make a choice here pretty quick. It was either trust this man or shoot him, and I knew I'd never do the latter.
I lowered the gun between my knees.
"So how did Eli know where to find—"
I stopped when Ellison held up a hand. "Hang on." He turned to the driver and spoke in rapid Quechua. I couldn't follow it but there was no mistaking the growing frustration in Ellison's voice.
"What? What's going on?"
Ellison turned back to me. "Seems we need to take a brief side trip, Chief. Jaquin says that the road up ahead is washed out and he had to detour on his way in."
"Yeah? Where were you?"
"Parachuted and then came in on foot." He turned back and spoke again with Jaquin, who replied emphatically. "Ok, looks like it'll take a little longer but it's the only way until we can get onto the main road."
"Why can't we do that now?"
"Part of this area is controlled by the Carascos and by now they know you're gone and it has something to do with all the big booms." He turned back to me and I could see a flash of white as he grinned at me. "You're one hot potato now, kid."
We hit another bump and the pressure on my ribs had me biting my sore lip. "You couldn't just post bail for me?" I complained between gritted teeth. "Maybe send a lawyer?"
I heard a soft laugh. "Welcome to the show, Sandburg."
"Gee, thanks." I leaned back against the seat and braced my feet around my backpack. "God, what I wouldn't give for a nice hot shower, a cold beer and a Jags game on the tube."
"Basketball fan, hunh?"
"Yeah. Back home—"
I was cut off when Jaquin slammed on the breaks, tossing me hard against the restraining belt. Before I could react, Ellison turned and jabbed a finger at me.
"Stay put!" he snapped, then leapt out of his side of the Jeep and disappeared. Jaquin was right behind him and as I fumbled for the latch on my seatbelt I peered through the dark to see what was going on.
Sudden muzzle flashes and the loud report of automatic fire made me dive low behind the front seat, clutching that damn gun to my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, paralyzed by sick indecision and so terrified I didn't even want to breathe for fear someone scarier than Jim Ellison was about to find me.
I heard shouting and more gunfire. The voices were loud but I still couldn't make out what was being said or even how many people were out there. Ellison's voice stood out, giving me a weird kind of comfort that had absolutely no basis in reality—let's face it, I'd only known the guy for, what, an hour?
And yet—I found myself straining to hear him, illogically hoping he was being careful, wishing I could figure out a way to help. I was desperately trying to think of a way to get out of the jeep without anyone noticing when another round of gunfire took out the front window, showering me with glass. As I heard answering fire, I scrambled around and pushed open the door, staying crouched next to the seat until I'd gathered up enough courage to toss myself out onto the dirt.
I hit the ground and rolled, the gun tucked in tight against my body. In the dark, I had no idea what kind of cover was out there but anything was preferable to being blown up in that jeep.
I let my momentum take me as far as it could, which unfortunately wasn't very far—I hit a tree with my shoulder. The adrenaline was pumping through me so hard I didn't even pause, just rose to one knee with the gun outstretched and pointed somewhere in the general vicinity of all the noise. I say somewhere, because my eyes were screwed tightly shut.
Except, now there wasn't any—noise, that is. A strange silence had fallen and when I wasn't immediately perforated, I peeled open my eyes, pulled the gun in and cautiously stepped forward.
The soft moonlight illuminated the most awful scene I've ever witnessed. As I came around the front of the jeep, I saw three obviously dead men sprawled all over the road. Black puddles were forming beneath them and I had to swallow against the rising nausea in my throat. I walked around them carefully, kicking away their guns and looking for only one face—and praying that I wouldn't find it.
The first man I didn't recognize; the second was Jaquin. A little further down the road lay the third man, but even from twenty feet away I could tell it wasn't Ellison. As my mind thankfully registered that thought, other senses were beginning to kick in. Beyond the sharp smell of cordite, there was a sickening odor of blood, vacated bowels and something else, something almost artificial or chemical smelling.
I still had the gun in my hands, holding it out stiffly in front of me and keeping it pointed at shoulder level. Slowly, my teeth clenched to keep them from chattering, I started to do a full three sixty, damning the poor light and painfully aware of my own vulnerability.
At first I saw nothing, just the outline of trees and bushes against the night sky. I moved a little closer to the jeep and then I saw him.
Ellison was standing absolutely still near a small stand of trees, almost invisible in his camouflage. The only reason I even noticed him was a moonbeam that glanced off the finish of the Uzi laying at his feet.
There was something eerie about the way he just stood there, staring into space. I spared another look for the dead men, then lowered the gun and slowly moved over to his side. Up close it was even stranger—his eyes were unfocused and he had a frown wrinkling his forehead. His jaw was tight, the muscles working as if he were trying to form words.
"Ellison?" I whispered, waving my hand in front of eyes that never blinked. "Hey, you ok?"
No response.
This was too weird. Praying I wasn't about to get my neck snapped, I prodded him in the chest with my finger a couple of times, just enough to wobble him a little on his tightly braced legs. Still nothing.
Panic began to gnaw at the pit of my stomach. Three dead guys and a zombie were way out of my league and God only knew who else was out there. That thought propelled me towards the jeep, searching for something to get Ellison out of his catatonia.
Then I started to get angry—a sign of near hysteria, I know, but Jesus, if I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all. I set the gun down and pawed through Ellison's pack, looking for medication or an ammonia cap and finding nothing. Lying on the floor of the jeep next to the gear shift was another canteen, so I grabbed it and hustled back over to Ellison.
"Ok," I said out loud, just to hear the sound of a friendly voice, "maybe you just need some water. Yeah, this should do it—"
I held the canteen up to his slack lips and tried to dribble in just a little but the angle was awkward since Ellison topped me by a good five inches. Instead of moistening his mouth, I ended up spilling water all over his chin and down the front of his shirt.
"Shit!" I mumbled, capping the canteen and shifting it to my other hand. I took the sleeve of my shirt and pulled it down over my hand, using the fabric to mop his face. "This is ridiculous, man! C'mon, can't you just wake up here? 'Cause the next thing I'm gonna try is try to do is wake you up with a kiss and I haven't brushed my teeth in, like, two days and it would be nasty—"
Suddenly, my wrist was caught in a harsh grip and my hand was held firmly against his mouth. I gasped and tried to draw back but his grip was tight, his other hand wrapping around my upper arm and pulling me close. He was still staring straight ahead but breathing harder, his breath warming the moist material that covered my fingers.
"Uh, that's it," I crooned. I had no idea whether he understood me or not, but some weird instinct was telling me to just talk to him, to keep my voice low and soothing. "That's it. Come on back now, ok? You're all right, just listen to my voice—"
The grip around my sleeve loosened and his hand slid up my cuff to hook a finger around the edge. He tugged the fabric down off of my palm, enough so that my bare fingers rested against his lips.
This was getting a little too intense for me, but when I tried to pull away, the punishing hold on my arm tightened. I froze, then gasped softly as Ellison's tongue stroked against my fingertips.
The gentleness of the touch shocked me deeply, almost bringing tears to my eyes in the wake of the horror of the past two days. I watched mesmerized as he proceeded to taste my skin, the smooth edge of his tongue at once calming and exciting. I echoed his little sigh when he closed his eyes, feeling almost bereft when he stopped and moved my hand down, keeping it locked to his chest.
Then a great shudder shook him and he took a deep, cleansing breath and blew it out hard. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes and seemed to come to himself, his eyes once again sharp and focused.
Focused on me—in rage.
As I came out of the forced zone, I knew immediately that something was different this time. Instead of being pushed back into the here and now by some kind of painful stimuli, it was as though I'd been led back gently, first by smell and then by taste. Whatever it was had served like an antidote to the chemicals that had been loaded into the blood of the men I'd just shot.
It was that thought that brought me back all the way—I was pretty sure I'd gotten all of them before the zone took effect, but my last thought before my descent into that damn blackness was that I was leaving Sandburg alone if I hadn't. When I started becoming aware of my surroundings, my first emotion was a strange, unprecedented protectiveness towards the kid and a pathological desire to hurt anyone that threatened him. Once my eyes were opened, it took me a second to realize it was Sandburg himself that I was clutching so tightly and the look on his face would have been funny in any other circumstance.
Wide blue eyes stared back at me, a mixture of fear and fascination that turned to caution as I relaxed my grip. I watched in grim amusement as Sandburg had to swallow twice before he could say anything.
"You—you ok, man? You were really out of it there for a couple of minutes." He tugged his way out my grasp and stood what I'm sure he considered to be a safe distance away from me.
"Yeah," I muttered, post-zone fatigue already beginning to seep into my bones. I swiped my mouth against my arm, grimacing as the jacket came away smeared with camo paint. It was then I noticed my chest was wet, along with my chin and neck. I shot a glance at Sandburg, who was shifting from foot to foot and watching me carefully, a canteen strap dangling from his fingers. Plucking the damp fabric away from my skin, I raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"Sorry about that," he said with a tiny grin, "but believe me, it was way better than my next idea."
I reached down and picked up the Uzi and started to make my way over to the dead men. "What was that?" I asked absently as I made a show of checking for pulses. My hearing had come online and I knew with certainty that Sandburg and I were the only two human beings—alive, anyway—in the vicinity.
"Oh, you really don't want to know." Sandburg was opening the driver's door and leaning inside. "Hey—you want some light over there? I can—"
"No!" I roared. "Leave those lights off!"
Sandburg backed out of the jeep like he'd been bitten by the steering wheel.
"Jeez, ok, ok! You don't have to yell, all right? I just figured the lights would help."
"Sorry," I sighed, wondering what the hell I had to apologize for. One shot of those headlights into my eyes would've sent me right back into the pit. It was difficult enough having to scale back my sense of smell again for fear the congealing blood still held some danger for me. "Let's not attract any more attention, ok? C'mon, there should be a tarp in the back of the jeep. Grab it and a flashlight and help me get these bodies to the side of the road."
"Uh, s-sure," he stuttered. I felt bad for the kid—one day, he's a student, safe in his cozy, book-lined world and the next he's hauling bullet-riddled bodies into a ditch. But he did what I asked, rolling out the tarp in a little depression near the road and keeping his eyes averted as he lifted the dead men by their ankles. We set the three bodies onto the thick plastic, then rolled them up tight and bound them with a length of rope.
By the time we were done with our grisly task, Sandburg was about at the end of his tether. After I stood up from retying the last knot, I saw him leaning his backside against the side of the jeep, both arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. His face was shiny with sweat despite the coolness of the night and I could tell the days' events had caught up with him.
I wasn't doing much better. Although I was well acquainted with betrayal, it never ceased to anger me. Jaquin had been one of us almost from the beginning, but any man can turn if offered enough. And he'd made it clear—just before he'd tried to capture me—that Alex had offered him plenty. The presence of the sense-damping compound in his blood was proof of that.
After a quick inspection of the jeep to make sure the engine hadn't been damaged in the fire fight, I unslung the Uzi and set it within reach on the hood and joined Sandburg.
"Last of the water," he murmured as he passed me the canteen. I nodded and I drank as little as possible, then capped it and turned to face him.
"Ok, new plan," I said with what I hoped was an encouraging smile.
"I'm listening." I frowned at the flatness of his reply.
"Hey." I nudged him with my shoulder. "We're gonna be ok, you know that, right? I don't think the jeep took any more damage other than the new air conditioning so we can get going here any time you're ready. All we've lost is a little time."
Well, so much for reassurance. Sandburg went off like a roman candle.
"A little time? Is that all this is to you, a fucking rest stop? Jesus—three dead men sent to kill me for something I didn't do and my so-called savior has an epileptic fit in the middle of a firefight and all you think we've lost is time?"
"Whoa there, Chief," I held up my palms. "Don't flatter yourself. Those three—" I gestured over my shoulder to the tarp—"didn't know you from Adam."Sandburg's already wild eyes widened further. "You mean—you mean they were after you?" He straightened and started pacing, using his hands for emphasis. "Great, just fucking great. Swear to God, when I see Eli I'm gonna give him so much grief about his weird choice of friends. . ."
I listened while he let off some steam, the mention of Stoddard making me wince inside. The lassitude I usually felt after a zone was beginning to drag at me and I knew I was in no shape to get us all the way to Lima tonight.
Sandburg finally came to a rest in front of me, his adrenaline-fed fury petering out. Now he just looked like what he was—a scared kid stuck in the middle of nowhere with a stranger who had other strangers trying to capture him for reasons unknown. He was looking at me and I could see a myriad of emotions in those dark eyes—fear, pain, wariness of course—but most of all the hope that I really was one of the good guys and someone who could make this go away.
Lucky for him—I could.
"Feel better?" I asked with a quirk of my lips.
"No," he responded with an answering smile and a shrug. "Sorry about the rant—I'm just really, really tired."
I nodded. "Roger that. But, we do have a way out of this. I just don't think we can get to Lima tonight. Neither of us are in any shape to drive, especially in the dark."
His shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I figured. Well, it's a fairly new jeep. Maybe the seats recline."
I wearily pushed myself away from the hood and moved towards the back. "Maybe you want to sleep in the jeep, but I want a bed."
Sandburg followed me as I popped the back hatch and reached for the metal box hidden beneath a blanket.
"Yeah, well, so do I, but I don't see a Motel Six handy."
I unlatched the lid and lifted it, revealing the satellite phone. "Don't need one."
"Hey, what is that?" he asked, curiosity momentarily outweighing his fear.
I spared him a glance as I hooked up the receiver. "It's our ticket out of here." It occurred to me that I really didn't want Sandburg overhearing this conversation. "Look—I've got a friend at the other end of this thing who can tell us where the nearest shelter is. Go clean the glass off the seats and gather up anything laying around so that we're ready to roll as soon as I get some directions."
Sandburg paused, then nodded. "Yeah, that works. Hey, see if your friend can get a word to Eli that I made it out, ok?"
"We'll see, " I said noncommittally. I grabbed the blanket and tossed it to him. "Here, use this so you don't get cut."
Sandburg took the blanket and I watched him move to the front seats, then turned away as I heard Simon pick up the line.
"Jim?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"Are you ok? The kid?" Simon knew that if I was calling from the comsat, something had gone wrong.
"We're fine but we've run into a big problem."
"What do you need?" That was one of the things I liked about Simon—no crap, just whatever it took to get the job done.
"Need you to get a fix on the GPS and find us a bolt hole for the night."
"What about Jaquin? Can't he—"
"Jaquin is dead."
There was a small silence. "Damn it. What happened?"
"I happened."
"Shit," he hissed. I heard the tapping of keys in the background. "Can you tell me why?"
I looked over my shoulder, making sure Sandburg was occupied with clearing off the seats. "No. You having any luck?"
"Hang on—Connor's on it now. Do you need someplace within walking distance?"
"Negative. Transport is good."
There was another silence and I could practically hear Simon puzzling it out. "Then why don't you drive all the—"
"I zoned, Simon."
"Aw, hell, Jim." Simon's voice was a study in regret. "Was it bad?"
I rubbed at the ache beginning to pound between my eyes. "God, Simon, it wasn't just bad—she did it. God damn it, she did it." My voice rose and I could see Sandburg turning his head my way in concern.
"Did what? C'mon, Ellison, talk to me."
"It's that damn formula Alex got when she—" I closed my eyes and pounded the jeep with my fist, taking a breath before forcing myself to continue "—when she was there that night. She somehow reached the same conclusion Eric did—and she—Jesus, Simon, I can't—"
"Ok, Jim, ok, calm down." Simon spoke soothingly but he didn't need to. That one flash of anger had almost cost me my last reserve of strength. "God, I didn't really think she'd have the resources to—ok, looks like we've come up with something. An abandoned house, maybe ten miles from your current position and out of Carascos jurisdiction. How does that sound?"
"Just give it to me."
I closed my eyes as he rattled off the directions, committing them to memory. "Ok, got it. Any chance this place'll have running water?"
Simon chuckled. "A good chance. It's the abandoned safe house of a local politician who just got sent to prison on corruption charges. The state took control of the place but since it's in the middle of nowhere I imagine there's little or no security. Oh—Connor says it's not running electricity but the plans called for a generator on the north side, so maybe you can use that. You have food?"
"A little."
Sandburg finished and walked over to join me after carefully shaking the glass out the blanket over some low bushes. "Tell him about Eli," he mouthed.
I waved him off, hoping my frown would intimidate him into silence. While he didn't exactly look intimidated, at least he didn't push it. I watched as he yanked on a lightweight jacket and moved to the front of the jeep, his hands shoved in his pockets.
"Jim—you need to know—Jack's been following the investigation into Eli's death. The main suspect is a bad boy named Miguel Pena who's mixed up with an offshoot of the MRTA."
"So it was local."
There was a little pause, followed by a sigh. "No. Pena's uncle Carlos is currently wanted in the States for questioning about that bank robbery in San Diego last month."
My jaw tightened as I made the connection. "The one pulled off by the Sunrise Patriots."
"Yes. Chances are Kincaid recruited him for this little mission. And if they have Eli's notes—"
"God damn it," I hissed. "That means they know about the book and they know about Sandburg." I rubbed tiredly at the muscles at the base of my neck; turns out I'd lied to the kid and that ambush had probably been set up not only to capture me, but to kill him, as well. "We're gonna need to get out of here fast, Simon."
"Did Sandburg have it?"
"Yeah. I don't know if it's the right one but that doesn't matter a damn if Alex thinks that it is."
"Jim," Simon's voice dropped low, "we're coming to the end game in this. She'll stop at nothing if she thinks there's something in there."
"I know. Have McNair waiting at the airfield. We'll head straight there at first light."
"Will do."
"Ok, then we're on our way. Oh—also need you to arrange a pickup here at these coordinates. Three bogies in a ziploc."
"Three? Ambush?"
"Yeah. Jaquin took us right into it. You'll need to do the bloodwork right away—I don't know how long the compound stays traceable."
"Got it. Ok, get going. I'll see you in twenty-four hours."
"Simon—wait. How's Emily?"
"Not good. Joel said she doesn't even flinch anymore."
I rested my hand over my eyes. "Ok."
"Jim—"
"No, it's ok. Talk to you tomorrow."
I closed down the line and locked the box. Turning around, I found Sandburg staring at me.
"There was something toxic in their blood, wasn't there," he said accusingly. "That's why you had a seizure."
I slammed down the hatch, mentally kicking myself for letting him hear that. "Something like that. Don't worry, you're safe from it." I scanned the area, looking for anything we'd left behind besides the tarp but it looked like Sandburg had already picked up. Climbing into the driver's side, I saw that my pack and Sandburg's were stowed in the back seat while the Uzi lay on the floor next to the gear box.
"How do you know?" Sandburg asked quietly as he got settled into the passenger side. "That I'm safe, I mean."
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as I started up the engine. "Look, Blair," I said, using his name deliberately, "I know it's a lot to take in but you gotta just trust me here. Let's get some rest and then head back to Lima in the morning. You're at no risk for the—toxin—but other than that, there really isn't a lot I can tell you."
He nodded and pulled his jacket tighter around him. The wind blowing through the busted out window was harsh, although I could control my reaction to it somewhat. Keeping my eyes on the road, I reached back and snagged the folded-up blanket that Sandburg had left on the back seat.
"Here, this should help."
"Thanks," he mumbled, then proceeded to tuck the blanket across my chest as well as his.
I started to say something, but instead just shook my head and concentrated on my driving. That flutter in the pit of my stomach at his artless gesture told me that already Sandburg was becoming important to me and as soon as I cut him loose, the better.
For both of us.
How Ellison drove in the dark was beyond me. We stayed on the same lane for about fifteen minutes before we came to an honest to God, paved road. Ellison paused for long moments before creeping onto the weed-choked asphalt, turning right and hitting the gas.
I shared his sense of urgency but the wind was freezing my butt off and filling the jeep with noise. When Ellison finally spoke to me, he had to yell.
"Look for a road on the left side!" he shouted. "I've got the odometer set but we don't want to miss it! About eight miles!"
I just nodded and squinted into the darkness, hoping that the moon would stay uncovered long enough for us to find this place. It turned out that Ellison saw it first anyway and turned into yet another narrow lane that was not much more than deeply rutted vegetation. We bounced along for a couple more miles until Ellison pulled up in front of a small building.
"This is it, Chief."
"Great," I said, pushing away the blanket. "Let's get—"
A strong grip on my arm stilled me. "Hang on a sec."
I sat there shivering while he did a visual scan of the house. It finally clicked in my head that he had some kind of enhanced vision, which on one hand was pretty cool and on the other hand was really creepy.
Ellison let go of my arm. "Ok, we're good. Grab as much as you can and follow me."
I rolled my eyes but kept my comments to myself. It seemed that along with great eyesight, Ellison had been born with an extra set of bossy genes.
But I did as he commanded and gathered up the backpacks, two canteens and the blanket while Ellison grabbed stuff from the back. We met at the shallow set of stone steps that led up to the front door.
"You sure there's no one in there?" I whispered.
"Other than some rats and maybe a snake or two, yeah, I'm sure."
"You're so not comforting," I muttered. "Hey, can I turn on my flashlight now?"
"Go ahead. Just keep it away from my eyes." I turned it on as we reached the landing and pointed it at the door. Ellison rustled around in his pack and pulled out a thin screwdriver that he patiently worked into the lock until I heard a soft click. Ellison removed the tool and gave the door a gentle shove, then turned to me.
"That was cool," I said approvingly. "I see shades of early MacGyver with a bit of a Bondian influence mixed in."
He ignored me. "Ok, listen up. We go in, we check for lamps, candles, water and food. It's possible there's a generator but I'd rather not use it unless we have to."
"Why not?" I asked as we stepped inside the door.
"We're not exactly free and clear here. We start turning on lights or making ourselves at home and that only increases our chances of getting caught should someone happen to wander our way. Last thing we need is Shining Path or MRTA finding us. Listen, keep that light down and stay here while I check the place out."
I almost started to argue the point that two people doing recon was better than one, but for some reason I didn't want to mess with Ellison's decision making mojo. I had a feeling he was used to being obeyed and probably for good reason, so for now, I thought I'd just go along.
So I stood there, feeling useless and listening as Ellison moved from room to room. The light puddling at my feet revealed a dark wood floor and the edge of a woven rug. The place smelled of dusty leather and fried spices and as I slowly raised my flashlight, I could see a few scattered pieces of furniture, most of them covered with thick fabric. This was obviously the main room and as I daringly lifted my flashlight higher, I could see an arched opening that let into a kitchen.
"I told you to keep that light down."
I dropped the beam, a guilty flush rising up my neck. I turned to where I could see Ellison's outline against another opening. He was leaning heavily against it, one hand braced against the wall. Even in the dim light I could tell how weary he was. Whatever he suffered from obviously left him debilitated afterwards.
"Sorry," I said sincerely, moving to join him. "You ok?"
"Yeah. House is clear. There's a small bedroom in the back that we can use."
"One bedroom? In a place this size? C'mon, I bet we each can—"
"No. We stay together in case we need to bug out." He grabbed my arm and pulled me through the kitchen and down a small hallway. The house was darker here in the back, and when Ellison turned on a small lamp I could see he had drawn the heavy drapes.
The room wasn't very welcoming but I was too sore and tired to care. One bare, double-sized mattress lay on a wood and rope frame. Beside it was a low, round table where Ellison had laid his pack, along with some things obviously purloined from the house—the camping lantern, a sheet and a small knife. I sat my pack on the floor and then flopped back onto the mattress in utter ecstasy.
"Ahhh," I sighed, stretching my hands high overhead, "this feels so good."
A gentle grasp on my wrist hauled me back into a sitting position.
"Listen." Ellison's voice was becoming rough with fatigue. "I need to crash soon. My—problem—leaves me wiped out for a while. I think we're safe enough here that we can both get some rest but we need to take care of a few things first. You got any food in that pack?"
I bit the uncut part of my lip and took a deep breath, nodding as I carefully stood up again. Right then, my ribs decided that they were getting pretty tired of all this moving around and my stomach muscles clenched against the sharpening pain. I swayed and then Ellison's arm was around my waist, pulling me close for support. I laid my hand on his chest for balance and tried to control my breathing, feeling sweat break out across my forehead.
Just for a second, I was deeply tempted to lean against him, to rest my head on that broad shoulder and take comfort in the strength he offered so casually, but I resisted. God, this man was a stranger and a dangerous one at that. He'd killed three men just tonight and handled himself like some merc out of a pulp novel. Sure, he'd save my life twice, but was that any reason to trust him?
Yet he stood patiently, our hands somehow all over each other in an intimate but not uncomfortable embrace, and I felt—safe. His warm palm sitting lightly on my hip and the satisfying weight of his arm across the small of my back felt right, a natural coming together of parts fitting together.
I started to get too comfortable and a signal went off inside my head. With a reluctant sigh, I pulled away from him and gingerly knelt down next to my backpack, unzipping the main part to do a quick inventory.
"Ok—wait, let me get this out of the way—" I pulled the heavy leather book out and set it on the floor. "Thing weighs a ton, I should've left it behind. 'The Sentinels of Paraguay'—does that sound like a snorer or what? Oh, and here's this."
I removed the gun and set it on top of the book. Once they were out of the way, I finally got the chance to touch my stuff again. Ellison crouched down beside me as I started yanking things out. "Let's see—I've got a banana. Ew, uh, ixnay on the banana. Blech. Um, a granola bar, a pack of Big Red and—ooh! Score! A mostly full bag of Skittles! I can't believe they left them alone!"
I held my prize up to Ellison, who was staring back at me blankly.
Uh, oh. Either he was having another of his fits or I'd just horrified him beyond words.
Then, an amazing thing happened.
He smiled at me.
Not the feral grin I'd seen before, but a fully engaged smile that lit up his tired eyes—tired, beautiful blue eyes—and had me smiling in return.
"I'll say this for you, Chief," he said, "doesn't take much too make you happy."
My
smile faded as his gaze locked onto my mouth. I watched, my next breath trapped in my chest, as the tip of his tongue came out to touch the bow of his upper lip, then slide to the right as if tasting something wonderful lingering there.
And, God—despite the pain and the fatigue and the fact that I was still scared to death, I felt my body begin to ache in sweet response.
"Nope, not much," I agreed hastily. "Just glad to be alive, you know what I mean?"
He raised his eyes back to mine and suddenly he was all business again. "Yeah, I do. Anything else in there?"
I rummaged around inside and through the all the pockets, thankfully coming up with my passport, shaving kit, glasses, a map of New Orleans, two Cascade bus tokens, the shirt I'd worn yesterday, my journal, three pens (one broken but it was my good luck pen), my pocket watch, hair pick, the beaded anklet I'd bought as gift for Naomi, a ripped rain poncho and my battered copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide. Thank God I'd left my plane ticket with Eli and I said as much to the big man beside me.
Ellison stood up abruptly and moved over to his own pack. He methodically emptied it and placed everything in a neat row next to my pile of stuff. There were power bars, a first aid kit, shaving kit, a package that apparently opened up into a camouflage rainsuit, a beat-up Kerouac anthology, a dark green shirt and an impressive amount of ammo.
"You hungry now?" he asked, his voice suddenly oddly impersonal.
"No," I replied quietly, unsure of the change in his mood. "Just want to get some sleep."
He nodded and cleared his throat, reaching for the first aid kit. "Right. Take off your shirt and let me have a look at those ribs."
There was nothing remotely suggestive in his tone and I was too tired to question it. I shrugged out of my windbreaker and unbuttoned my shirt, tossing it on the floor before slowly peeling my tee shirt up over my head. The room was cool but when I went to wrap my arms around my waist for warmth, Ellison pushed them back.
I tried to be still as he trailed his fingertips across my ribcage, hard enough so that it neither tickled nor hurt. I caught a look at his face as he passed in front of me to examine my other side—he was intent on his job, his frown deepening when he prodded me a little too hard and I tensed.
"Ok," he said, backing away, "I'm not going to tape you up. I don't feel any breaks but you've got some pretty serious contusions." He popped open the kit and handed me a tube of ointment. "This is for your lip—it'll help with the infection. The water system is working so I'm going to go fill up the canteens and then you can take some ibuprofen."
He was gone before I could reply, so I pulled my tee shirt back on started putting everything but the food and the gun back in my bag. By the time he returned, I'd removed my boots, applied the nasty-smelling stuff to my cut lip and was sitting cross-legged on the bed, munching on a handful of Skittles.
"Shouldn't eat that crap, Chief," he grunted, sitting down next to me and untying his shoelaces.
"Ever heard of comfort food?" I popped one of the kiwi limes into my mouth.
He ignored me as he stripped off his tank and snagged the old sheet and a tube from the table. I swallowed and averted my eyes; that tank top had been covering abs that more than fulfilled the promise of those ripped biceps. There were lots of scars as well, including an odd series of cross hatches across the back of his upper left arm. He squirted what looked to be some kind of cleanser onto the sheet and cleaned the remains of the paint off of his face and arms.
I stayed silent, watching beneath eyelids growing progressively heavier as he folded the stained sheet and set it on the floor. Then he looked at me out of the corner of his eye as he grabbed one of the canteens and took a swallow of water.
"Nilla wafers."
"Hunh?" He'd spoken so softly, I'd barely heard him at all.
He sat further towards the middle of the bed, scooting me over to the far side. "Nilla wafers—you know, those little vanilla cookies? That's my comfort food."
I stared at him and then burst into a fit of too-tired giggles. He looked annoyed at first but soon his lips were twitching. I was punchy and laughing made my ribs hurt again, but I couldn't help myself.
"Nilla wafers? Big ol' badass soldier and your comfort food is a baby cracker?" I snickered, nudging him lightly. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried for that indignant look but failed, finally giving in and setting loose a few deep chuckles.
As my laughter died away, I held out the hand that contained the remaining Skittles. He narrowed one eye at me and then uncrossed his arms to trail a finger through the little pile, finally picking up a blue one.
"Watch out for those, man," I cautioned.
He tossed it into his mouth. "Why? I thought it was the green ones that make you horny." He grinned as if I should be impressed with his knowledge of urban legends.
"Nah," I said with an air of superiority. "Green M&Ms are for amateurs. Everyone knows it's the blue Skittles that make a man strong." I flexed my less than impressive bicep.
"God." He grimaced and swallowed. "What the hell was that flavor?"
"Passion punch."
He leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled the table closer, still leaving himself plenty of room if he had to get up. "Well," he grunted, handing me my flashlight, "gives a man a strong stomach, anyway. Ok, time for lights out. Keep the flashlight with you. Bathroom's out the kitchen door and to your right if you need to go."
Bathroom. He had to mention the word bathroom.
"Uh, big surprise—now I gotta go," I muttered, wiping my candy-stained hand on my shirt.
"Put your shoes back on and leave them on," he replied as he started to spread our one pitiful blanket over his legs. "And keep the—"
"Yeah, yeah, keep the light down, I got it, I got it."
By the time I got back, Ellison had arranged the room to his satisfaction. The Uzi sat propped against the wall near the head of the bed, right next to that cool satellite phone. Both of our packs had been closed up and placed at the foot of the bed, ready to go if we needed to leave in a hurry. Our clean shirts, the canteens and a small, unmarked plastic bottle remained on the table next to the lamp.
"Take some," Ellison ordered, pointing at the bottle. "You'll sleep better."
It sounded like a good idea so I shook two of the pills into my hand. "Hey," I said before washing them down.
"Yeah?" He was still bare-chested, the blanket drawn up to the middle of his chest.
"Where's the other gun?"
He didn't reply, just slid it out from beneath the blanket and showed it to me.
"Right," I muttered as I got settled in next to him. He tossed the blanket high around my shoulders and then reached over to turn down the lamp.
"I'm leaving it on low. Will a little light bother you?" he whispered.
I snorted. "You kidding? Fireworks on the Fourth of July wouldn't keep me awake at this point. " I yawned and rolled over onto my side, away from him. The light behind my closed eyes faded away and then I felt Ellison slide down next to me.
My last thought was that I hoped Ellison didn't have nightmares or I'd be sporting an extra belly button in the morning.
It was still dark outside when I awoke but I felt rested—unusually so, considering that I'd zoned. Maybe it was the way I'd come out of it this time that made it a little bit easier to recover.
I lay there for a few minutes, absorbing my surroundings with my eyes still closed. The first thing I noticed was that Sandburg remained deeply asleep beside me—in fact, I think he'd hardly moved. That was fine with me; let the kid get as much rest as he could.
The area surrounding us was wrapped in that predawn stillness found throughout the world. I listened carefully, relieved but not surprised to hear nothing out of the ordinary, just vermin in the house and some larger animals outside.
The only scent I caught was Sandburg's—and that left me uneasy. Underneath all that sweat and dirt was the essence of a flavor that I could still taste on my lips. I don't know how it worked, but some characteristic in his skin had eased me out of the zone in a way I'd never experienced. I remember scenting something, something soothing that called to me in my darkness.
Then I knew I had to have more. For the first time ever, I'd been able to move independently while still in the zone and I'd managed to bring his fingers to my lips, experiencing the taste my body told me it needed.
It had to have been a fluke. Maybe the adrenaline that was flowing through his body at the time had attracted me somehow, or some chemical in his sweat. Whatever it was, it was unnerving—and exhilarating at the same time. I'd never felt anything like and to tell the truth, I wanted to feel it—to taste him—again.
I sat up carefully and laid the gun on the table before making sure the blanket had stayed over Sandburg. Glancing at my watch, I figured we could make it to the airstrip by nine, barring any further complications.
Sandburg stirred beside me as I reached for my clean shirt.
"Jim?" he whispered. I recoiled a little—it was the first time he'd called me by my given name.
"I'm here," I whispered back. "You can sleep a little longer if you like. I'm going to get the jeep loaded."
"No, s'ok," he muttered, sitting up and scratching his chest as he squinted at me. "Don't suppose we could stop for a cappuccino on the way into town, hunh?"
He gave me a sleepy grin and I sighed as I reached down to turn up the lamp. This wasn't going to be easy. I pulled on the shirt and then turned around on the bed until I was facing him with one foot on the floor and my other knee bumping his leg.
"Blair," I started, then stopped as his grin died. With his ponytail askew and dark beard shadowing his face, he looked completely defenseless against what I was about say.
"Yeah?" He nodded seriously, obviously aware that what I was about to tell him wasn't welcome news.
"We're not going back to Lima."
"What do you mean, not going back?" he asked softly.
I laid my hand on his shin. "It's complicated—shit. I'm sorry. Eli's dead."
What I'd just said didn't connect at first. He smiled tentatively and then looked away, plucking at the blanket pooled around his hips. Then his smile faded and looked back at me, swallowing hard.
"He's dead?"
I gave his leg an awkward pat. "Yeah. He was murdered two days ago."
"Murdered?" he repeated, his voice rising.
"Yes. By the same people that came after us last night."
"Us?" He pushed the blanket away and curled his legs beneath him. "What do you mean, us? Last night you said they were after you!"
The accusation in his tone didn't faze me; it was understandable under the circumstances.
"I know, I know," I soothed. "Look, I'm sorry. That's what I thought until I spoke with Simon. The truth is, we think the people responsible for killing Eli are after the same thing he was."
"Hold on, wait a minute." He held up his hands, gesturing sharply as he spoke. "Eli wasn't after anything, all right? He was just a—a nice guy, a respected professor. I mean, he raises zucchini and likes John Coltrane and wears the ugly sweaters his wife buys him so he doesn't hurt her feelings! The only thing he was after was some information on something he called a 'sentinel' and that's why he asked me to. . ." His eyes strayed to where his backpack lay near the floor. "Oh, my God."
"Exactly," I said. "Now you've got what everyone wants."
He looked back at me, fear plainly written in his eyes.
"And you've got me," he murmured.
I smiled a little and shook my head. "Not the way you think, Chief. Whatever's in that book may or may not be important to me, but right now there's a group of people that don't care whether you're innocent in this or not. We need to get you out of the country right away. You can bet they're watching your place in Lima and they're more likely to shoot first and look for the book later."
His face crumpled a little and my heart sank. He was having a hard time with this and I didn't like being the cause of all that pain and confusion.
"Ok, so—who are they?"
I scrubbed my hand over my face. Deciding how much to reveal was difficult, but I had an irrational desire to divulge the whole thing, to make him understand that I really was the good guy here.
"C'mon, Ellison. Quit trying to figure out how much to tell me. I'm in this now—I deserve to know."
I nodded. "You're right, you do. But I have a responsibility to a lot of people, people who are depending on me to come through. You are an innocent in all this and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Too late, man," he said quietly. Our glances met and the determination in his eyes startled me. Sandburg was an academic—his world was defined by research and theory. What I had to tell him was equal parts science, espionage, farce and family tragedy. Involving him further was not a good idea.
"I'm struggling here, Chief," I admitted. "This isn't a place you want to go, believe me."
"Oh, I believe you all right," he replied with a small, humorless smile. "I've got a dead friend and three bodies in a ditch to convince me that I want no part of your world."
I winced and turned away; he was saying the right things but it bothered me anyway. His hand fell on my arm and I forced myself to face him and the contempt I expected to see in his eyes.
But there was none. Instead, Sandburg was leaning forward, his fingers still wrapped around my bare skin.
"Eli was a friend and if he died for something, it had to have been something important, something worthwhile. And you—" he squeezed my arm and let go "—you saved me when you didn't have to and now you're risking your life to get me back home."
"That's right," I said a little too harshly. "I want you back home and out of my hair." He flinched a little and for the life of me, I couldn't leave well enough alone. "Aw, c'mon, not like that, ok? I meant that I'm a dangerous acquaintance, Chief. It's in your best interest to cut me loose."
"Is that what you tell people? That you're too dangerous to know?"
"Why not? It's true." I didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. Sandburg was turning this personal when I was trying to keep it impersonal—and I was losing.
"Sounds pretty lonely to me."
"Look, Sandburg—"
"Yeah, whatever. You wanna tell me what all this is about?" He settled back against the wall and folded his arms expectantly.
Once again, our eyes locked in a battle of wills and I'm sorry to say I wasn't a match for Sandburg stubbornness. Or maybe I just wanted to tell him. Maybe there was something about Blair Sandburg that made me want to reach out, hoping he'd be there, reaching back.
"I'm sick," I said quietly. "I have this—gift, curse, call it what you will—that allows me to feel, see, hear, even taste things far beyond the norm. Touch and smell, too. All five senses are highly developed."
"Sounds like a blessing to me," Sandburg murmured, his demeanor shifting now to one of complete concentration.
"It can be. I don't know yet."
"I don't understand."
Tipping my head back to stare at the ceiling, I started over. "I've known I possessed these heightened senses since I was a kid, but they diminished as I grew older. Went to college, then the army, became a Ranger—but it wasn't until my helicopter got shot down here in Peru that they resurfaced."
Sandburg's gasp of recognition brought my attention back to him.
"You're that guy! That soldier that they found!"
"Yeah. I survived by living with the Chopec and during those eighteen months or so, I started to learn how to use my abilities. But after I was pulled out, they just—faded away. After debriefing and rehab, I got assigned to Fort Lewis and started winding down my army career."
Sandburg tilted his head, like an inquisitive rabbit. "Did you miss them?"
I stared at him. What the hell kind of question was that? "Jesus, I don't know—yeah, I guess so. They seemed natural in the jungle but once I got back home, it's like I didn't need them anymore."
"What brought them back?" Sandburg's tone had turned slightly interrogative and I hid a small smile.
"After I got out of the army, I went to the police academy and went to work for the Cascade PD. I moved up through the ranks until I made detective in the Major Crime unit. Then, a couple of years ago, I got stuck for days out in the middle of nowhere on a surveillance assignment and that's when my senses started to resurface. Except—I couldn't control them. They felt weird, unnatural. I—I couldn't handle the simplest sensory input."
Sandburg scooted closer. "What did you do?"
"I thought I was going crazy. I saw every doctor in the book, I saw psychiatrists—nothing worked. Then one day, I got a call from this guy from Rainier University who said he thought he might be able to help me."
"Eli?" The single word was hushed and mournful.
"Yeah. Someone had forwarded my file to him—illegally, I might add—so that's how we met. And that's how I met the others."
"Others?"
I paused. Up until now, the story had been mine to tell. I mentally reviewed what I knew about Blair Sandburg, reminding myself that he'd come up totally clean.
"Five of us. Five that we know of, anyway. All suffering to different degrees with this thing. Eli found us and then hooked us up with people who began helping us control our environment because I gotta tell you, having exaggerated senses is no walk in the park. It's like—your life starts to revolve around protecting your senses from being stimulated all the time. You find yourself avoiding things that might set you off, like music, food, fabric."
"Like having an allergy."
"Right. Now imagine that feeling multiplied a hundred times. Then imagine that anything can distract you, pulling you so far into one sensation that you can't get out without help."
"My God," he breathed. "How do you live with that?"
I shrugged. "You learn to cope. We have friends that have come up with ways to make the world an easier place to live. Even then, sometimes one sense can spike—painfully."
"Sounds awful—and lonely."
I drew back at the pity in his voice. "It was, at first. But when the five of us found each other—it got easier. I almost had a normal life for a while; got married, worked hard, the usual stuff. Until we figured out that there must be others, people who may be exploited for their abilities, just like one of us who had been abused. That's when the research started in earnest."
"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "So this is that sentinel thing he was working on?" At my indrawn breath, he hurried on. "Eli didn't talk about it much, but I knew he was working on some project outside of his duties with Rainier. He used to get in trouble because he was spending more time on it than his teaching responsibilities."
He nodded as if agreeing with himself, then nailed me with a sharp look. "I can't believe that he was mixed up in something dangerous."
"He shouldn't have been," I agreed. "But anything can be exploited."
"Exploited? How?"
"Money. Power. Think about it, Chief. Hearing so sharp you can hear what law enforcement are saying in another building. Sense of touch so refined you can perfectly balance a pair of dice in your hand or mark cards so that only you can see the mark."
"So, someone found out about your abilities and what, they're trying to kidnap you?"
"Not someone," I spat out. "One of us."
"One of the five? Someone like you? I mean, how do you get this thing, anyway?"
The unwelcome face of Alex Barnes came to mind, a face I'd once thought of as beautiful. Now when I thought of her, I remembered the hatred and contempt that had twisted her features the last time I'd seen her.
And I remembered betrayal.
Sandburg was waiting, so I continued. "The legend of men having this ability can be found in a lot of cultures. But alongside that legend is another one, about a temple where warriors used to pray to their god and receive a gift that would help them to be like the 'sentinels' of their tribes. Sometimes by immersion, sometimes by drinking water from a special well. But make no mistake, Chief. This thing is genetic."
"Do you test it? Do you know what your limits are? What about different stimuli in a controlled versus an uncontrolled environment—"
I covered his mouth with my hand. "Hold up there, professor." I removed my hand, savoring the slight moisture that had been deposited onto my palm even after so brief a touch. "I'm not some science experiment here. This is my life we're talking about."
"Man, I know, but—"
"No," I said firmly. "There hasn't been any time anyway. Events have moved too fast and we've been defensive almost from the start. People I work with have come up with some tricks if things become too intense for me, but most of the time once a sense begins to spike, it's too late and it goes off the chart."
"Off the chart? Sounds like you need a way to turn it off or something."
"What I need, what we all need, is time to figure this out—and the safety to do it right. Those people I told you about? They aren't exactly what you'd call ethical scientists."
"Ok," he said slowly. "So, they want you for experimentation?"
"Something like that."
"God, my head is, like, spinning with all this. Wait—so what does that have to do with Eli and the book?"
"Eli was looking for that temple, that place where men supposedly went to get this power. He's searched for it for years. It was his life's work, to find ways to help people like me. If he could find that temple, maybe it held some answers for us. Something to prevent the trances we fall into when over-stimulated. Hell, anything. And he then he died for it."
Sandburg cleared his throat and blinked hard. I knew he was grappling with his knowledge of Eli versus what I was telling him and finding it hard to conceive that that kindly old man was involved in something farfetched like this.
"What's in that, then?" he asked, jerking his chin towards the pack. "Some kind of map or something?"
"I don't know," I replied frankly. At his look of disbelief, I hurried on. "I honestly don't. Maybe the answer to a prayer, maybe another dead end. Look, I know you have a lot more questions." I stood up and stretched, popping my spine. "But we need to get moving."
Sandburg stood up as well but made no other move. "Get moving where?"
"I'm taking you back to Cascade."
"Eli has—had my plane ticket," he said, his voice small.
"I know," I replied just as softly. "Don't worry about it. I'll get you home."
"And the book?"
I shrugged. "You don't need that book, Chief. I do. But like you said, if all I cared about was that damn thing, I could've taken it and left you sitting on your ass in jail."
I grabbed his extra shirt off the table and tossed it to him.
"You with me?"
"Do I have a choice?" he asked as he caught it.
"Not really," I admitted. "You wanna get cleaned up, do it now. I'll get the jeep loaded and then do the same."
I took one of the power bars and handed it to him. "Here's your breakfast."
"Thanks." His voice was quiet again and I watched him as he sat his backpack on the bed so that he could pull out his shaving kit.
"Sandburg."
He looked up at me, his eyes solemn and guarded. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry about Eli."
"Was he really a friend of yours?"
"More than a friend," I said with a sad smile. "He was my salvation."
Sandburg nodded, then grabbed his kit and the flashlight and moved out into the hallway. I suppressed a sigh and started gathering things up. There was so much more to the story and now Blair Sandburg was an unwilling part of it. The best thing I could do was get him home safely, out of harm's way and out of my life.
By the time we hit the road thirty minutes later, I think we were both feeling a little better. A cold shave isn't my favorite thing and judging from the mutterings I'd heard while Sandburg was in the bathroom, it wasn't one of his, either. But it felt good to be cleaned up, and even Sandburg looked a little perkier. He'd combed his hair back into a neat ponytail as well as shaved and brushed his teeth.
He didn't say anything as we drove on through the dawn, just huddled beneath the blanket and chewed on the power bar. I was fairly unconcerned about running into any more trouble before we reached the airstrip and that left me plenty of time to worry about a lot of other things. The wind blowing through the open windshield precluded any conversation and I didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed.
What I really wanted to know was what was going on inside Sandburg's head.
He thinks I'm a dork.
What the hell was I thinking? I knew that Jim Ellison had better things to do than sit around my meat locker of an apartment and watch the game on TV. Of course he's going to say no.
No, no, let's be honest—dork doesn't cover it.
I'm an idiot.
I flopped down on my couch, missing the many broken coils with practiced ease, and buried my face in my hands. He'd sounded regretful, he'd sounded flattered—and then he'd said no.
Too much work, Chief.
Maybe a rain check, Chief?
Maybe you're just pathetic, Chief.
I needed to face facts. Three phone calls, one funeral and a latte one morning do not a relationship make. Ellison was just too decent a guy to tell me to bug off and this was his way of putting a little distance between us.
Yep. Time to move on.
I leaned back into the couch and let my head fall back, contemplating the ceiling that I couldn't quite make out, since it was some twenty feet over my head.
Jim Ellison didn't want to see me again. Period.
It hadn't seemed like that when we finally got back to Cascade. I don't remember much of the two flights home, other than after the horror of the previous days, it was pure heaven to experience in-flight boredom. When we were both awake, I tried to get more out of Ellison but he was close-mouthed on the subject. I probably used twenty different approaches, knowing each time that he might lose his temper and tell me to shut up, but he never did. Towards the end, I think he got a little exasperated, but he stubbornly stuck to the company line that I was better off not knowing.
A Lear jet got us from an airstrip outside of Lima to Mexico City and from there we caught a commercial flight back to Cascade. Ellison made a phone call in the terminal but shooed me away when he thought I was too near and might overhear something. 'Need to know' apparently did not include an explanation on how tickets and money were waiting for us in a locker or who the Lear belonged to; I thought I was being pretty cagey when I asked who I needed to repay for my ticket, but all I got was a smile and a hand on my elbow guiding me to the nearest bar for some cerveza while we waited for our flight home.
Maybe it was some kind of post foxhole mentality, but sitting at that bar in the airport—we bonded. Ok, only in a buddy, fellow soldier kind of way, but bonding nonetheless. We started out by talking about Eli, saluting him with a shot of tequila after sharing a couple of stories. Ellison told me that that guy Simon had made arrangements to get the body home and that Angie Stoddard was planning a memorial service for Saturday. That gave me two days to get cleaned up, healed up and rested up—and to watch Jim walk out of my life.
That should have been a good thing. I'd been totally serious when I'd told him I wanted no part of his world—it was a scary place and I liked my little slice of academia just the way it was. But separate the life from the man, and I was in trouble.
I mean, he wasn't my type, not really, not that I really had a type, being pretty eclectic in my tastes. Ellison was disciplined, stoic, hard. Capable. A little bit of humor poked through that granite expression occasionally, and there in the bar I found myself angling for a smile or a laugh. More often than not, I got one as he started to loosen up a little. I say a little, because I could tell he was still vigilant and using those hyped-up senses of his. He'd tilt his head or his eyes would wander away from mine and I just knew he was on point, or whatever the term was.
But he was also compassionate, caring and loyal. He'd saved me for no other reason than he felt it was his duty but how many men would do that? He'd obviously been fond of Eli, judging by the way he talked about him over one and a half ounces of very fine mescal. It looked like his dedication to whatever group he was associated with was unswerving, given the fact I hadn't swerved him into telling me anything more—and I used my most persuasive stuff, too.
So, take all that and tie it up in a criminally good-looking man with wounded blue eyes and a killer smile and I was struggling against the strongest current of attraction I'd ever known—and not a paddle in sight. Actually, if I'd had one, I'd have tossed it overboard.
Because, man, I was gone.
Gone, but not stupid. He'd mentioned being married and that was enough for me. Blair Sandburg is no home wrecker, even if the other party were so inclined.
We finally landed in Cascade around ten o'clock that night, both of us exhausted and silent. I got stuck in customs because of that damn book, but luckily Maya had had the brains to give me a receipt so that Eli could take it back to the States if he needed to. By the time I got out, Ellison was nowhere in sight. I stood there, still carrying that damn book in my bag and staring around the quickly emptying terminal. I had no change on me but I did have two bus tokens and with any luck, they'd get me within walking distance of home.
I tried to ignore the disappointment that stuck in my throat. Maybe the book wasn't as important as I'd been led to believe, because I was still schlepping it around. I'd hitched the straps of my backpack up around my shoulders and had started looking for the exit when Ellison came out of nowhere and fell into step beside me.
"Hey," he said with a little smile, "you ready to go home?"
I stopped and looked up into his eyes, watching his smile falter and his expression turn quizzical. I wondered briefly if he could hear my heart speed up as I got a little immersed in that pale gaze, but then discarded the idea right away—that was just too far out there.
"You ok, Chief?"
"Yeah," I replied, a smile of my own beginning to grow on my tired face. "I'm good. Um, how—"
He dangled a set of keys in front of my eyes. "My truck's parked in long-term." He paused and looked over my head for a second before bringing his eyes back to mine. "Uh, Blair—I gotta ask. Can I have the book now?"
I stared at him, open-mouthed and speechless. He could've taken the book from me at anytime. Hell, I'd long since resigned myself to being his pack mule and was more than happy to give the damn thing over to him.
"Oh—sure, sure! Here!" I knelt down on one knee and unzipped my pack, pulling the book out and handing it up to him. He accepted it almost reverently, running his fingertips over the worn binding as his forehead creased in a frown. I turned away and zipped up my pack, absurdly thankful that I could give him what was so
obviously a gift of hope.
A few minutes later, we were in his truck, a two-tone Ford that looked to be in pretty good shape despite its age.
"Thanks for the lift," I mumbled as I hooked up the seat belt. "God, I just want to be home."
"No problem. You're right on my way."
I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. "Yeah? How do you know where I live?"
He flipped down the visor and grabbed his parking ticket and two twenty dollar bills. Without looking in my direction, he shrugged as he pulled into one of the exit lanes. "I did some checking on you before I left for Lima and read your address. No big deal."
"Right," I murmured, turning away to look out into the misty night. "No big deal."
The rest of the trip home was quiet until Ellison pulled up in front of my place. He peered up at it through the front windshield, distaste clearly written on his face.
"Some digs you got here, Chief."
I nodded, unfazed by his disapproval. "You better believe it. A ton of room, a third floor view and as of last week, no loud neighbors. Right now I'm the only renter, thank you very much. Hey, you wanna come up?" My heart lifted at the idea of spending just a little more time with him, then plummeted when he shook his head.
"No thanks, kid. I need to get home."
I slumped a little, then grabbed for the door handle. "Sure. Bet your wife is anxious to see you, hunh?"
"Wife?" An unreadable expression passed over his features. "No wife—divorced."
I blinked. Ok, hold it right there, Sandburg. Divorced did not mean anything other than divorced. In fact, divorced meant straight and probably looking for batchelorette number two. I had started to turn the handle when Ellison's hand fell gently on my shoulder.
"Listen, I want you to be careful for a while. Don't let in anyone you don't know, be aware of strangers watching you or taking an interest in what you do. Pay attention to wrong numbers or packages delivered that you're not expecting."
If it was his intention to scare me, he was doing a hell of a good job. My eyebrows flew up into my hairline. "W-why? I mean, these people, whoever they are have, to know you got the book, right? I mean, when their guys don't show up—"
"They know," he responded grimly. "We've made sure of that. Still, I'm not exactly comfortable about just dropping you off like this."
He leaned forward and slipped his wallet out of his hip pocket. "Here," he said, handing me a card, "you can reach me at this number anytime, day or night. You so much as hear a bump in the night, I want you to call me." He laid his palm lightly on my wrist, his thumb brushing the back of my hand.
I nodded mutely, my throat suddenly tight and not completely from fear. Having someone care about my well-being was uncommon enough, but the fact that those protective words were coming from a man that I was highly attracted to didn't help shore up my shaky composure. I held the card forward until the greenish light from the street's one working lamp could illuminate the printing. It was a plain white card, no address, with an embossed letter I couldn't quite make out in one corner. Beyond that, there was just "Jim Ellison" and a phone number.
"Well, guess I'd better go," I said hesitantly, inwardly slapping myself for sounding like a little kid who was afraid of the dark. "I'm thinking 'thanks' would be a little bit of an understatement, but—"
The fingers still encircling my wrist squeezed and let go. "You don't owe me your thanks, Chief. It's the other way around, believe me."
I looked at him as I opened the door. He was gazing back at me, a little smile twisting his lips. I started to say something, then just nodded and climbed out. He watched me all the way to the recessed door of the warehouse, and minutes later when I peeked down from my third story window, the truck was still there. By the time I'd turned on the one little floor lamp next to my couch and returned to look outside, he was gone.
The vast wasteland that I laughingly called home was predictably frigid and unfortunately, my little space heater only warmed a radius of about two feet. So, my ribs still sore and my spirits somewhere south of low, I took a mercifully hot shower and crawled beneath the covers to find instant, dreamless sleep.
Morning brought a set of realities that I was in no way ready to deal with, but you can only roll over and ignore your bladder so many times. I'd completely disregarded that maniacally blinking light on my answering machine the night before, but like all bad things, it had to be faced eventually.
I wish I'd waited longer.
Most of the messages were from friends, students and co-workers, all wanting to know if I was ok and how awful it was about Eli. Apparently the word was that he'd been fatally assaulted by robbers and I was just one lucky son of a bitch to have been on the country with my girlfriend at the time. There was also a call from the State department, asking for an interview. I guess it was to be expected since I was the closest thing to being a witness but nonetheless, it shook me up—I mean, what was I going to say? I called the guy who'd left the message and set up an appointment for the following Monday, then wondered if I should call Ellison and tell him about it. At first I thought it odd that people expected me to be back at all, until I realized that Ellison or one of his group had probably gotten in touch with the university and told them some whitewashed version of what had happened to me.
How was I going to keep these stories straight?
I returned the important calls and gritted my teeth through most of them. It was hard to act shocked and horrified when it was for so many other reasons than just the obvious one. Everyone concluded that I'd had a terrible ordeal and that I needed time off to rest and relax and "get over" it.
Yeah, right. If they only knew.
There were two messages from Bobby—God, I didn't know what to think about that. No, wait—yes, I did. The little spark between us that we'd been trying to fan had been completely engulfed by a forest fire named Jim Ellison. Put them side by side and there was no comparison. I may not have a lot in common with Ellison like I did with Bobby—namely sexual orientation and how big is that, right?—but Ellison had completely blown Bobby out of the water. That probably wasn't my most adult decision. After all, I actually had a chance with Bobby, whereas with Ellison, let's face it—I had zip.
The call I'd dreaded most—the one to Angie Stoddard—turned out to be the easiest one of all. She was warm and calm and motherly, all the things I'd always admired about her. She invited me over but I was evasive in my reply, saying that I had a lot of stuff to do and that I'd see her on Saturday.
After I got off the phone, I felt totally at loose ends. Jeez, you'd think a man who'd just been through what I'd been through would have a million things to do—but the only thing I really needed to do was get to a store for some Tylenol because my ribs were killing me.
I walked to the corner and bought a paper, some day-old brioche, the largest bottle of aspirin I could afford and a quad breve to wash it all down with. Then I went home, hunkered down on my sofa and proceeded to read what the media had to say about the shocking, unsolved murder in Peru of a respected Cascade citizen.
My lackluster enjoyment of the comics was interrupted by the phone ringing yet again. I let it go until the machine picked up, then just about broke my neck trying to grab it when I heard who was on the other line.
"Uh, Sandburg, this is Jim Ellison. I was, um, just calling to see—"
"Jim! Hey, I'm here. Sorry about the machine, man—phone's been going crazy."
"Yeah, I'll bet. Anyway, I was just calling to see how you were doing, make sure those ribs weren't giving you any grief."
I unwound my free arm from around my sore midsection. "Oh, no, I'm fine, I'm good, actually. Clean, even. You'd hardly recognize me."
He laughed dutifully and then we shared a kind of funny silence.
"Oh, hey—I got a call from some guy at the State department. I guess he needs to file a report and since I was the only American down there who—"
"What was the guy's name?"
"Um, hang on, I wrote it down. Here it is—Duane Pastor."
"Ok, I know him—he's legit."
That tweaked me a little. I'd never given one thought to maybe this guy being fake. God, I was so naïve.
"Sandburg? You still there?"
"Yeah, sorry. Don't mind me, I'm just a little freaked here. I mean, what do I tell him? How do I explain that I borrowed a book for Eli and then just—just gave it to some guy I'd just met?"
"Let me make a few inquiries, find out what they know first, then I'll get back to you. When are you meeting him?"
"Monday at two."
"Got it. I'll let you know before then. And listen—with that receipt, you're clear on that end. By the way, one of my co-workers has been researching its provenance and she's pretty certain that the last owner of Carascos' house obtained it illegally from a private collector in La Paz."
"No kidding?"
"Nope."
"Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. But should I tell this Fed guy about the book?"
There was a slight hesitation before he replied. "If it comes up, don't worry about it. Pastor may make the connection between Eli looking for the book and being murdered. Just tell him the truth, that you gave it to me. Then send him my way."
I sighed, too relieved to be embarrassed about sounding so grateful. "Thanks, man."
Neither of us said anything for a minute or two, so I popped up with the first question I could think of.
"So, about that book—doing you any good?"
He sighed. "We don't know yet. Our people here haven't been able to translate a lot of it so far but—we're hopeful."
"Translate it? I thought the guy who wrote it was English or something."
"He is. There's only one part of the book that interests us, and that's text that he copied down from the walls of the temple. There's a map too, but we haven't figured out a point of reference to make it useful."
"Oh, ok."
Another little silence fell between us. I started thumping my forehead with the base of my palm, trying to force something out of my brain that would keep him on the line a little longer.
"What's that noise?"
Oh, damn. I forgot the guy had bat ears.
"Just me, being an idiot," I muttered, then took a deep breath. "Look, um, you wanna catch some lunch sometime? There's a Cuban place over on Huston that's pretty good."
One more pause and I was going to crawl into the nearest hole, but Ellison spoke right up.
"Yeah, that sounds great. I'm not real sure what my schedule is going to be like for the next few days but maybe some day next week?"
"Sure! I don't have any classes until the start of the spring semester so all that I'll be doing til then is working on my diss." I laughed a little self-consciously. "So, I guess you could say I'm flexible."
"All right," he said firmly, "I'll know more by the time I call you back about Pastor, so we'll set it up then. But I don't know, Chief—maybe you'd like to do dinner instead?"
I grinned so hard my ears hurt. "You bet," I answered calmly, doing the happy dance all over my couch until my ribs once again protested the activity. Then a sobering thought occurred to me.
"Hey, are you going to Eli's funeral?"
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Me, too. So, I guess I'll see you Saturday, right?"
"I'll be there." He said it like a vow and I shivered a little, suddenly reminded of the camo-streaked soldier that had protected me with deadly force.
Eli's funeral was an ordeal, to say the least. Being the last one to see him alive, I was the center of attention as people wanted to hear first hand what I'd been through. I kept to a story that I'd refined in the days before the funeral, just saying that I'd been mistakenly detained during the whole thing and that a mutual friend had helped me to get home.
The only thing that made the funeral bearable was that "mutual friend", who kept to the back of the crowd but was almost always within my view. While I was surrounded with people that I knew from Rainier, Ellison seemed to have his own group with him. One man especially stood out, a tall, black guy in gold-rimmed glasses wearing a suit that cost more than my last car. Our eyes met once and he smiled and tapped two fingers to his forehead in a little salute, giving me the impression that maybe he was the mysterious Simon. But I stayed away from Ellison and his friends, feeling strangely protective of them. Whatever battles they fought, they'd found the time to honor a fallen comrade. That meant a lot to me.
There was a thing afterwards but I never did see Jim or his friends show up. I bailed as soon as I could anyway; it was all unutterably sad and I figured I was allowed if I didn't want to keep up the pretense.
Saturday night and Sunday, I tried to concentrate on my work, but it wasn't easy. When I wasn't thinking about what had happened in Peru, I was fantasizing about Jim Ellison.
Yep, fantasizing. I remembered exactly what he'd worn to the service—a dark blue suit, the impeccable white shirt beneath it giving strong contrast to his tanned skin. Although he never got within ten feet of me, I acutely aware of his proximity, my eyes seemingly picking him out of the crowd without effort. Aside from the big guy with glasses, the only other person with him that I remembered was a real knockout, a tall redhead in a conservative grey suit, but she and Jim seldom seemed to interact.
Not that I was paying attention. Yeah, not much, I wasn't.
I was all twitchy and nervous by the time Ellison called Sunday night. My weird South American interlude hadn't altered the reality that still hanging over my head was the fact that my dissertation was just about DOA. Unless I found a way to take my research to the next level, it would never rise beyond mediocre. The addition of my experiences in the Peruvian jail was colorful and on topic, but didn't help that much in bringing my point home. For that, I needed to hang around cops—and no one would let me.
When the phone rang, I was ready to throw my laptop out the window and the frustration showed in my voice.
"Yeah, hello."
"Blair? It's me, Jim."
He called me Blair. Instant mood enhancer. Who knew?
"Hi—Jim." Oh, I liked this first name basis thing, yes I did.
"You can stop worrying about Pastor. He's going to call you tomorrow and ask that you write up a report and get it to him by the end of the week."
"Uh," I gulped, "is that legal?"
He laughed softly and the sound raised the hairs on the back of my neck, reminding me yet again of the dark, dangerous man I'd first met.
"Perfectly legal. You're not under suspicion, remember?"
"Ok," I said doubtfully. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but—"
"It's all right, I understand. Do what you feel is right, Chief."
"If I knew what that was," I mumbled, then perked up. "So, dinner? What about Wednesday?"
"Can't. I'm sorry."
Although he sounded sincerely regretful, I couldn't keep the disappointment from my voice when I answered.
"Oh, well, that's ok."
"I'm headed out of town Tuesday—how about we meet for breakfast Tuesday morning?"
My head was nodding up and down before my voice caught up with me. "Ok, cool! There's a Tully's on the corner of Deloit and Ninth, does that work?"
"I know the place—that's fine. Eight ok with you?"
"Yeah, great! I'll see you then."
"Sounds good."
I spent about two minutes feeling guilty that Jim had gotten me out of meeting with that government guy, then spent the rest of the evening alternating between frustration and elation. Every time I'd try to settle in and get some serious work done, I'd remember Jim's smile when I shared my Skittles, or the genuine affection for Eli that he evidenced in the bar at Benito Juarez.
Tuesday's meeting over breakfast added a lot of dimension to my picture of Jim Ellison and pretty much cemented the fact that I was more than half way to being in love with him, despite the fact that there was no way he could reciprocate these deeper feelings. But it was fun finding out that Jim Ellison was a guy, a really normal, down to earth guy who went fishing, watched sports on TV and liked to go surfing when he could. We didn't talk about old books or hyper senses or Peru—and it was great.
We did go over the phone call I got from that Fed guy, Pastor. Whatever Jim had done to get me off the hook, it had worked. Pastor knew about the book and the jailbreak, but nothing about the dead guys. He asked me some questions I had no problem answering and then told me I needed to complete a statement as soon as possible and then he'd call me to go over it. With the burden of having to confess a whole lot of unsavory things lifted, the process seemed less intimidating.
However, when I hinted around for an explanation as to why this was turning out to be a non-event, Ellison just gave me a bland smile and asked me if I thought the Ms could take the pennant this year.
The only really disappointing thing was learning that he was no longer a cop, and that only bothered me because I'd had this great idea to ask him if I could do a ride-along with him for my dissertation. Apparently, he'd been placed on long-term disability after that one gig that brought back his senses, so that was out. He laughed when I told him about the ride-alongs I'd been on so far—one day spent with a MacGruff knockoff visiting grammar schools and another on a visit to the mounted patrol's city stables—and shook his head.
"Maybe this thin blue line thing doesn't exist, Chief," he said, taking another bite of his mutantly large blueberry muffin. "Where'd you come up with this?"
"My mom. See, she hates cops—well, ok, not hates, maybe respectfully loathes—them, and when I was a kid, she was always pointing out how cops seemed to act differently than the rest of society."
Jim wiped his mouth on his paper napkin, then shot me a mischievous grin. "You have a lot of experience with cops growing up?" He nudged me with his elbow and I nudged him back. Then he grew serious. "Cops act differently because they have to. The responsibility they carry—it's unreal. Civilians have no idea."
"See? That's my point! I don't view the blue line as necessarily a bad thing, you know?" After that I was off and running, Jim as fully invested in the conversation as I was. Time flew by and long before I was ready, Jim was glancing at his watch and laying a ten on the table.
"Gotta go, Chief."
I sighed. Normally at this point in a relationship, I'd be asking for that next date, but not with Jim Ellison. Luckily, he took the problem out of my hands.
"I'm gone for a few days, but let's try that Cuban place when I get back, ok?"
I was so thrilled I could hardly speak but when I did, the words came out with gratifying coherence.
"Ok."
Well, so it wasn't a complete sentence—it worked. We parted with hearty, masculine back pats and I walked home with the whimsical feeling that I'd just commenced the most important friendship I would ever know. Even though nothing else would ever come of it, I knew when to count my blessings.
I spent the next two days getting my life back into some kind of routine. Spring semester was approaching and I had more teaching obligations than ever. Diss committee meetings were also looming large in my future, so I spent some time reworking submission letters to the Cascade PD, hoping they'd relent and finally let me run with the big dogs.
And—I spent a lot of time waiting for the phone to ring.
When I answered it that Thursday afternoon, the first thing I noticed was how worn out Jim sounded. We chatted for a few minutes, then I took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
"Hey, I know we talked about Cuban food some time, but what do you say to pizza and beer at my place tonight? There's a Mariners game on at seven we could watch."
When he didn't reply immediately, my heart fluttered uneasily and I started to feel a little sick to my stomach.
"Wish I could, Chief. But—damn. See, I've just gotten back and things here are a mess. I really don't think I can get away right now. Take a rain check?"
I swallowed—it's not like I haven't heard a brush-off before. "You bet. Year's just starting, right? They've gotta be more fun than watching the Jags, that's for sure."
There was more than a hint of relief in his voice when he replied. "You said it, Chief. Talk about a rough season, hunh?"
"Yeah." The painful conversation ended soon after and that's when I plopped onto my sorry excuse for a couch and began my contemplation of the heavens as defined by the pipes crossing the ceiling above me. I was so confused at that point that I didn't know which way was up. Jim liked me, of that I was confident, but I couldn't convince myself that he was looking for something more—and the temptation to do so was a dangerous line of thought to pursue.
To hell with it. I went ahead and ordered a pizza because a guy's still gotta eat. Then I started straightening things up a bit, pulling the little color TV I'd held onto since my dorm days closer to the couch. Next to it went the little heater but that was mostly to give me the illusion of warmth, not for any truly useful purpose like, well—heat.
I settled in with my work to wait for the food, but I still hadn't gotten my groove back when it came to writing. The blank screen sat there and mocked me, so I did a few rounds of Pinball until I finally gave up and went back to thinking about my non-existent relationship with Jim.
I was finally pulled out of my funk when the security buzzer rang. I walked over to my front door and flipped the intercom.
"Who is it?"
"Pizza."
"Ok, cool—wait for the buzz."
A few minutes later there was a thumping on my front door and I reached for my wallet. I opened the door without looking as I dug around for some cash.
"Just set it over there." I motioned towards the pickle crate the I used for a table as I stuffed my wallet back in my pocket. When the guy didn't move or make a sound, I finally looked up—and froze.
"Oh, shit," I mumbled. "I knew I shouldn't have ordered the carnivore special."
"You keep doing that, you're going to put a dent in your head."
I looked up to see Simon standing in the doorway of the library, watching me with undisguised amusement. He was right—using the phone to pound myself on the forehead wasn't getting me anywhere.
But—hell. When Blair had invited me over, all I wanted to do was drop everything and head for the door. There was this—this need to be with him, to watch his eyes as he talked, to breathe in the clean scent of his skin one more time. The entire time I'd been in Dallas, part of me was aching to be with him and it was somewhere over Colorado that I admitted to myself that I'd made a huge tactical error—and in record time, too.
In the space of a week, I'd come to care for someone, something I swore I'd never do again. And if by 'care' I meant 'love', I wasn't ready to deal with that. Not yet.
Meeting him for coffee had been one glorious, fucking mistake. I'd already arrived at the coffee shop and so I got to watch him when he came in. That was good—it gave me a moment to recover from really seeing him for the first time. I needed every second of that moment, too, because my memory was nothing compared to the reality of Blair Sandburg.
His hair was down—the first time I'd seen it that way. The morning sunshine streaming through the restaurant windows got caught up in it, playing in the dark shades that rested in the near shoulder-length curls. The red and white shirt he was wearing looked like a vintage bowling shirt—the name "Irv" embroidered over a pair of bowling pins on the breast pocket confirmed it. It was too big for him, revealing a good deal of white tee shirt in the vee of the neckline. Two silver hoops were hooked in his right ear and around his neck was a plain black cord with a silver ankh dangling from it. His faded pegleg Levi's were too long and had worn into a fringe that dusted the top of his black Nikes.
God. If I'd had any sense at all, I would've paid the tab and snuck out the back door.
He saw me and grinned, giving me a wave as he began to wind his way through the tables. The place was busy and the only seats I'd been able to snag had been at the counter. That didn't seem to faze Sandburg as he swung his leg around and got settled in, ordering some complicated espresso drink as the waitress refilled my cup.
"So," he turned to me with a smile and a wiggle of his eyebrows, "you catch the game last night?"
The conversation never got much deeper than that and I couldn't have been happier. The topics ranged all over the place and included his dissertation; I could tell he was a little disappointed that I was no longer a cop but it was perfectly understandable when he explained why he asked.
It was the most relaxing two hours I'd spent in years. Blair had a way of making me forget my problems and talk about normal things, the kind of things a couple of buddies actually would discuss over a cup of coffee. I think he made up half the crap he told me about traveling as a kid with his mom, but then I had no qualms about exaggerating the size of the trout I pulled out of Table Lake last year. Typical buddy conversation.
Well, except that for the entire time, I wanted to toss him on the counter and kiss him unconscious.
It just about killed me to leave, but I had to catch that flight to Dallas. Sandburg looked as disappointed as I felt, so I took a chance and brought up our phantom Cuban dinner as a way to still feel connected to him. He'd looked excited but acted casual about it, and I left the coffee shop feeling as though maybe I was finally back on Somebody's good side.
Dallas was interesting; the Sunrise Patriots had made another unauthorized withdrawal from a small bank near Austin. Whatever Alex was up to, she needed a lot of cash. This was the second bank robbery that we could attribute to her pet piranhas but after that, the money trail went cold. Whatever she was spending it on, it wasn't easily traceable.
I'd been waiting to board the flight home when Simon called with the lousy news that Eric had come down with a case of the flu and his research on the book had come to a halt. Not only that, but lack of progress on the medical front had two of our investors needing their hands held.
I called Blair when I got home, anxious to hear his voice before I started in on all the problems waiting for me. My eyes closed when he answered, sounding so good and so damn normal. When he invited me over to watch baseball, I knew there wasn't anything in the world I wanted more right then.
But I had to tell him no. Once again he'd downplayed it, but the regret in his voice unmistakable and I'm sure he thought I was giving him a line. The conversation ended on a falsely cheerful note with no future plans to meet as consolation.
I told myself it was for the best. In fact, that was the notion I was trying to beat into my head when Simon walked in.
"How's Eric?" I asked him as I replaced the receiver.
"Better, in spite of Vince. Hell, maybe because of Vince. Those two never fail to surprise me." He chuckled and leaned a hip against the desk.
We shared a smile as I rose and stretched. "That's good news. The guy works too hard anyway. Ok, so what's next?"
"More good news. Hamilton has been mollified to the point where he's thinking about giving us another ten grand, and Furikame just wants an update by the end of the week."
I yanked slowly at the knot in my tie, my mind racing with new possibilities. "So, sounds like maybe I can take the night off." I looked at Simon out of the corner of my eye and added casually, "Sandburg's invited me over to watch the game—be great to take him up on his offer."
"Jim." Simon clasped his hands tightly together. "Do you know what you're doing?"
I started to reply, then stopped and planted my fists on my hips, suddenly suffused with resentment. "Hell, what am I doing? You don't have to say it—you're right, this is for the best. I should just leave well enough alone." I looked at Simon defiantly. "But—Jesus, Simon—aren't I allowed?"
"Jim, look." I knew that tone. Simon was about to tell me something he knew I didn't want to hear. "I know you like the kid, but aren't you afraid of involving him further?"
I shrugged as I yanked the tie off the rest of the way and threw it onto the desk. "Hell yes, I'm afraid, but I think I'm the problem here."
Simon frowned. "How so?"
I sighed. I hated reminding him of how vulnerable I was—because it only reminded him of what everyone had in store. "Unless Eric or one of the others can come up with some kind of solution, there's every reason to believe that I'm going to end up just like Emily."
Simon bowed his head in acknowledgement of that one inescapable truth. "I know," he said softly, then raised sad eyes to meet mine. "You're afraid he's going to get attached to you, aren't you? Is that it?"
I allowed myself a bitter smile. "Something like that."
"What about you, Jim?" he asked quietly. "What will you do if you find yourself becoming too close? Will you be able to back away?"
I looked him in the eye and watched as he read his answer in my expression.
"Too late?" he whispered.
I didn't reply. We shared a long look, then I brushed past him to go change.
I tried Sandburg's number on the way over but got a busy signal. It would serve me right if he were making other plans. In fact, I gave serious thought to turning the truck around and going back home, but the prospect of an empty apartment was too depressing. If nothing else, I could at least say hello and maybe resurrect the Cuban food scenario.
God, I hated Sandburg's neighborhood. Two blocks in any direction and it would have been respectable; his little neck of the woods consisted of empty warehouses, light industry and cheap housing that barely passed inspection. The streets were poorly lit and most of the doorways were occupied with transients sleeping off an afternoon's indulgence of malt liquor. I parked about half a block away on the other side of the street and tried his number one more time but got no answer. When the answering machine came on, I took a chance.
"Hey, it's me. I got cut loose so I decided to take you up on your offer if it's still open. In fact, I'm, uh, about to knock on your door. If you're not actually home, um, just give me a call when you can."
Well, that made me sound pretty much like an idiot. Once again, I sat there debating whether or not to continue this insanity, but I had to acknowledge that unless I was very careful, Blair Sandburg was going to turn out to be my greatest weakness. I'd already been weak once and it had cost me everything. Common sense told me to start up the engine and drive in the opposite direction.
For one of the few times in my life, I told common sense to go to hell.
Climbing out of the truck, I pocketed the phone and looked up at the long expanse of windows on the third floor. Something caught my eye, a quick flicker of color in an otherwise monotone scene. As I crossed the street I saw it again, but it wasn't until I was almost to his door that I caught a whiff of an odor that had terror skittering down my
spine.
Smoke. I could smell it but I couldn't see it. I ran back out into the street far enough to be able to see Sandburg's windows and there, coming from a cracked corner on the far left side, I could make out a trickle of almost transparent smoke.
I raced back into the doorway and started pounding on the door, slamming the buzzer simultaneously.
"Sandburg! C'mon—Sandburg! Unlock the door! Damn it!"
Nothing worked. I rattled the door handle as hard as I could but it stayed locked. Yanking the phone back out of my pocket, I dialed 911 as I sprinted back to the truck to grab my tire iron. I got out the information as quickly as I could before tossing the phone aside to take a two-handed swing at the door. The handle shattered on the third try and I bolted through and up the metal staircase that led to Sandburg's place.
I felt the door and it was cool; no smoke was escaping in the gap between the bottom of the door and the concrete beneath it. I took the iron and knocked a hole through the cheap wood until I could reach in and unlock it. Once inside, I looked around frantically for Blair.
At first, I didn't see him. Fire was beginning to crawl up the far wall where a small, now almost unrecognizable heater sat shoved against it. The area that Sandburg had outlined as his living space was a wreck—tables were overturned, his TV was smashed and his laptop lay in pieces on the floor.
A soft moan led me right to him. The overturned couch had landed on top of him, creating a kind of tent. I shoved the couch out of my way and knelt at his side. He was on his back, one bloodied palm laying up near his head where a ragged cut had bled across his temple, dripping in small spots on the cement floor.
"Oh, Jesus. Hang in there, buddy, I'll get you out of here." The smoke was beginning to descend and I didn't have time to check for life-threatening injuries—we needed to get out of there now.
I grabbed his arm and yanked him over my shoulders in a fireman's carry. The big gulp of air I took when he landed across my back pulled in a lungful of smoke and I started coughing as I made my way across the wide space and out the door. As I maneuvered us down the stairway, I could hear multiple sirens approaching. By the time I reached the ground level, one fire truck was pulling up and right behind him was an ambulance. That was where I headed and when they saw me, they yanked a gurney out and I was able to unfold Sandburg onto the padded surface.
As soon as I let him go, I was overcome with coughing. I doubled over, trying to cover my mouth and keep a hand on his shoulder at the same time.
A hand landed on my shoulder. "Sir? Let's get you some oxygen. You want to step over here?"
My eyes were tearing up as I nodded and I let myself be led to the back of the rig where an EMT slid an oxygen mask over my nose. I recoiled at the sharp smell of the plastic but made myself hold still as a blood pressure cuff was placed around my arm. Although I could still taste the smoke that coated my mouth and throat, I knew that I hadn't sustained any permanent damage. I stripped off the mask as the cuff was removed, nodding absently as the EMT told me the results.
The entire time, my attention was focused on Sandburg and the paramedics attending him. My eyes closed with relief when they got clear but hoarse responses out of him while they cleaned up his head laceration. That seemed to be his only injury, thank God. He hadn't inhaled much smoke in his semi-conscious state so although he sounded a little raspy when he spoke, he had no problem answering their questions.
They were just getting ready to transport him when I made my way to his side. His eyes were shut again, only this time they were tight with pain. I couldn't stop myself—I reached out and lightly brushed his cheek above the oxygen mask. His eyelids fluttered and then he opened his eyes, looking around until he saw my face.
"Hey there," I breathed, stroking the hair out of his eyes.
"J-Jim," he replied, and gave me a tiny smile as his eyes closed again. I leaned in until my lips were an inch away from his ear, ignoring the impatient EMTs.
"Chin up, Chief," I whispered. "Now your head will take your mind off of your ribs."
His eyes flew open and he turned his head just enough to see me. I looked back blandly, gratified to see a smile spread across his face beneath the mask.
"You bastard," he managed through a choking laugh as the paramedics elbowed me aside one last time.
As much as I wanted to go with him or follow right away, I could hear investigators already preparing to approach me for my statement. I had no idea what was going on with the fire and I didn't care.
I was relieved to see Ben Kopec as one of the first investigators on site. He waved at me and I nodded, holding up my cell phone. He gave me a thumbs up in acknowledgement so I got a quick call to Simon and brought him up to date. With very few words, we agreed on a course of action and by the time I hung up, I was satisfied that every precaution had been taken.
Kopec took my statement and let me go in short order; we'd been hallway acquaintances when I was still with the force and I knew him to be efficient and thorough. Now everything depended on getting to Sandburg as quickly as possible, to find out what really happened and to figure out how much damage control was going to be required.
I was unfamiliar with Westside Hospital, but all emergency departments are pretty much the same. What surprised me was walking into the admitting area and smelling the distinct aroma of hand-rolled Cuban cigars mixed with Dolce and Gabbana.
It seemed that Simon had decided to take the watch himself.
I rounded a bend in a corridor and found him, his large frame folded into a small vinyl chair near the swinging doors that led back into the examination rooms. He saw me and stood up, speaking before I even had a chance to open my mouth.
"He's fine, more or less. Bump on the head, no stitches, some bruises and pulled muscles around his ribs. Doctor says he can go home in a while."
I raised an eyebrow. "How'd you find all this out? Claim to be his brother?"
He let out a deep chuckle. "The thought crossed my mind, but I went with the employer angle this time. They didn't seem to care too much, that's for sure. What happened at the scene? Jim? Hey—Jim?"
"What?" I pulled back my hearing, not finding what I was looking for anyway.
"The fire? They get it out?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, I think so. Ben Kopec was the on-site, so he made it pretty painless. They're going to know soon enough that it wasn't an accident, though."
"What do you want to do next?"
"I need to see him," I said distractedly. I'd finally found Sandburg's voice when a nurse came bustling through the doors. I turned back to Simon. "Look, I'll get him released to my care and take him back to the loft."
"Jim, do you really think that's a good—"
"Damn it, Simon!" I hissed. "He's got no where else to go and even if he did, how can we protect him unless he's with us?"
I stabbed a finger in the direction of Sandburg's room. "This is our fault! He's laying in there because I fucked up! I should've known they wouldn't leave him alone!"
Simon held up his palms. "Calm down, calm down, all right? Damn it, I know you're right but how is involving him more going to help him?"
"I—I don't know," I admitted, my tone softening. "All I know is that his home is gone and he's in danger. He's also hurting and when he thinks about it, he's going to be scared as hell. Right now, we're the only ones who can protect him."
"We can take him to the House—"
"No. He stays with me."
Simon eyed me carefully; we were equal partners all the way and I respected his opinion in all things—but this was different. He must have sensed that I was going to be intractable, because he nodded and picked up his coat and laid it over his arm.
"All right. I'll have Rafe follow up with the police department and keep tabs on their investigation. You get the kid home and we'll compare notes later."
"Thanks, Simon."
"Don't thank me," he replied, his tone flat and serious. "You're vulnerable here. That puts us all at risk. I'm trusting you to keep our objectives in mind."
He paused next to me, resting a hand on my shoulder.
"Be careful."
I swallowed and gave him a jerky nod, then listened as he left through the outer doors. Even as his footsteps echoed down the corridor, I was striding into the emergency ward and up to a nurse's station.
"Blair Sandburg—can I see him?"
Simon was right; this group wasn't real sharp on the details. The nurse bought my story about being his cousin and led me down the hallway to Sandburg's room. She ushered me in with a vacant smile and pointed to the bed on the far right. It was a four-bed room; only one other was filled and that one had the curtain pulled around its unconscious occupant.
Sandburg was dozing, loosely curled on his left side facing the door. His arms were tucked close to his body, argyle-clad feet peeking out from under a light blue blanket that covered him up to his waist. He'd toed off his Nikes without untying the laces and they'd fallen onto the floor, one beneath his bed and the other almost to the middle of the room. I grabbed them both and set them neatly under the end of the bed, then took a good look at Blair.
He didn't look all that bad, except for the white gauze taped high on his forehead and the bruising just visible around its edges. But then I saw the red outline of fingerprints on his throat and the bruises on his wrists and a cold, thick rage settled in the pit of my stomach. My fingers curled into fists and I turned away for a minute and took a deep breath.
My fault.
I heard a soft inhalation and turned back to see that Sandburg was coming around. His fingers fluttered and he brushed at the bandage, grimacing without opening his eyes. I waited silently, finally rewarded when his eyes slowly opened and he focused on the middle button of my shirt. His gaze traveled upwards until he squinted at my face, then he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned into the pillow.
"Oh, man," he mumbled. "What are you doing here?"
I saw a metal stool and pulled it over to sit beside him. "Well, now, I'm glad you asked, although I think you already know the answer."
One eye opened to stare at me balefully. "Yeah, maybe I do and maybe I don't."
He shifted around and sat up slowly, nodding his thanks when I propped some pillows up behind him. "I can tell you this much—I am so damn tired of that book I can't see straight."
"Can't say as I blame you, but let's table that for later. How do you feel, anyway?"
His forehead wrinkled and I watched with bleak amusement as he took inventory.
"Head hurts—big surprise there. Ribs, ditto." He held up his wrists and pushed back the sleeves of his shirt to reveal purplish welts. "Oh yeah, let's not forget these beauties."
He dropped one arm and coughed into the elbow of the other. "And this cough thing sucks. Not to mention I smell like smoke—yuck."
He coughed again, wilting a little as he glanced up at me from beneath his lashes. "Was anyone hurt?"
I pushed the stool away and sat down on the bed next to him. "No. Even the winos got out ok."
"My place?" He swallowed and lowered his eyes to his lap. "My stuff?" he continued quietly.
"I don't know," I replied just as softly. "When the detectives get here, they should know how much damage was done. I called them pretty fast, so I'm hoping that some of your things can be salvaged."
He leaned away and wrapped his arms around his waist. He looked everywhere but at me and when he spoke, his voice cracked with anger.
"Salvaged? Gee, that's so not a word I like attached to my life. I've got no fucking place to live now, thanks to you and that—that dumb book and that weird uber-black ops thing you belong to."
"I know, I'm sorry—"
"Yeah, well, sorry isn't gonna replace my laptop or—" his eyes widened in dismay and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "God—Jim—there's my guitar, and pictures of my mom, and, and my—oh, shit."
He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders rocking with the effort to control the tears that were so close to the surface that I could taste them.
I hate feeling helpless in the face of someone else's pain; comfort has never been my strong suit. But there it was again—Blair's ability to pull things out of me that I didn't want the world to see. He exposed vulnerabilities that I needed to keep hidden—but none of that mattered. Not now.
I scooted forward on the bed, nudging Sandburg's legs to the side so that I could get close enough to wrap my arms around his shoulders. He resisted initially, his body tensing as I urged him forward. Then he just sort of collapsed against me, the undamaged side of his head coming to rest on my shoulder as his arms came around my waist in a loose embrace.
His tears receded without being shed. I kept my hands centered on his back, occasionally stroking but mostly just letting him feel the warmth of my palms. His moist breath penetrated through my collar to my skin and I could taste him when I inhaled. It wasn't something I could describe, not like a flavor or a smell. It was more elemental than that, more primal—blood speaking to blood.
My arms tightened slightly when I heard voices coming from the nurse's station, then I released him and moved away.
"We're about to have company," I said quietly. "You ready?"
He met my eyes and then looked down at his hands, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Sorry," he muttered.
I rested my hand briefly on his bowed head and bent down close to his ear.
"So am I," I whispered, then got off the bed and walked around the other side. "Ok, Chief, we've got a friend of mine name of Ben Kopec coming to ask you what happened. Tell him everything he wants to know. At some point, there's going to be a victim's advocate who can hook you up with a place to live, clothes, food, stuff like that."
"Ok."
"But—" I paused, waiting until he looked at me "—I want you to come stay with me." I was surprised it came out that way, since I had no intention of giving him a choice.
Sandburg was shaking his head and untying the cord around his ponytail at the same time. "No, I couldn't do that." He pulled his hair back and retied it, wincing at the pressure brought against the cut on his forehead.
I crossed my arms and leaned on the wall behind him. "Why not?" I asked mildly, but Sandburg was saved by the entrance of Kopec and another guy I didn't recognize.
The interview went smoothly, although I could tell Kopec didn't want me there. I kept my mouth shut and my expression bland as Sandburg recounted letting in someone who he thought was the pizza delivery guy. Somehow, I doubted I'd need to drive home the stupidity of that move later.
A nice piece of news was that the kid delivering the pizza was ok; Sandburg's attacker met him in the doorway and paid him off, saying he was the one who'd ordered the food. The kid took off and the pizza had ended up in a dumpster in a nearby alley.
I prided myself on the fact that I managed not to react as Sandburg described what happened. After giving a pretty detailed description of his attacker, he went on to tell how the man had asked what he knew about the book. Sandburg told him nothing and demanded that he leave—that's when he got grabbed by the wrists and tossed to the floor. Sandburg fought back and that apparently pissed the guy off; the fight ended abruptly when Sandburg got thrown against his couch, tipping it over and hitting his head on the foot of a metal chair.
From Sandburg's description, Alex hadn't wasted her time on finesse—she'd sent in a heavy hitter, probably thinking a college kid would be easy pickings. When Sandburg got knocked out, his attacker could've thought he'd killed him and decided to cover up murder with arson. That was another tough truth for me to deal with—she'd thought I'd abandoned him.
I wouldn't make that mistake twice.
"So, Jim," Kopec said, lifting his brown eyes from his little steno book, "that's when you think you called?"
"Yeah. My voice on the machine must've warned the guy off before he had a chance to finish setting up the arson."
Kopec nodded. "And down the fire escape he went."
"And all over this book that you now have in your possession?" That was the other detective, Darnell Yates.
I straightened up from the wall. "Yeah."
"We'll need to see it," Yates continued. "Do you know of any reason why someone would be after this item?"
"No," I lied with a shrug.
"And you, Mr. Sandburg? You have no idea why someone would attempt to kill you over a book you never read?"
Sandburg didn't so much as blink. "Like you said, I never read the thing. I just borrowed it from my friend Maya for my now dead friend Eli Stoddard. I didn't know what else to do with it, so I gave to Jim."
"Whom you'd just met in Peru." Yates was being thorough—annoying, but I respected him for it.
Sandburg sighed and then coughed. "Who works—worked with Eli."
"Ok." Kopec closed his notebook and tucked it inside his coat pocket. "Mr. Sandburg, we'll let you get some rest. Jim, I'll give you a call about seeing the book—do you think that you can get an estimate on its worth for the record?"
I extended my hand for him to shake. "No problem."
Kopec turned to Blair. "Ok, Mr. Sandburg, here's my card. There's a social worker coming who'll find you a place to stay if you don't have one. The fire investigators should give you an all clear to get in tomorrow—oh, and give us a call when you get settled, all right?"
Sandburg took the card and tucked it into his breast pocket. "I will," he promised.
The two detectives left, leaving us alone. I used that time to check on Sandburg—he was holding up pretty well, all things considered, but I felt an urgent need to get him into a controlled environment.
"So," I asked, bringing his attention around to me, "what do you say we try ordering pizza from my place this time. The game's over but the Ms won, so by the time we get home, maybe we can catch the highlights."
Sandburg smile ruefully and then winced, his hand once again brushing over the bandage. "No, that's ok. Doesn't Red Cross get—"
"Blair," I interrupted, "I'm gonna stop dancing around this. I screwed up—I didn't think they'd try to get anything out of you."
"Look—don't take this personally, but you're not in charge of my world, ok?" He sighed and began rolling down the frayed cuffs of his flannel shirt. "If anyone screwed up, it was me. You warned me, remember? I just didn't think twice about opening my damn door."
"Yeah, that wasn't your brightest moment," I said, but I added a grin to soften the criticism. "So let's say we both screwed up—and not make the same mistake twice. What did the doctors tell you?"
"That I'm good to go as soon as I find someone to take me home. God, I feel like a stray schnauzer."
He pulled off the blanket and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. I picked up his shoes and sat them next to him but when he bent over and tried to put one on, the movement made him grunt in pain. Before I could suggest anything, he tossed me the shoe and stuck out his foot.
"Here, make yourself useful."
I started to object, then just shrugged and started unknotting the shoelaces of one shoe while he tackled the other.
"So," he said as I slipped the first shoe on. "Any brilliant ideas?"
"About?"
He handed me the other sneaker. "What happens next! How do I get my stuff back, where am I gonna live, how am I gonna get to school, how do I take a shower with this thing on my head?"
I smiled, my eyes intent on the laces I was tying. "Oh, that kind of suggestion. I already made one."
"What, crash with you? No, man, that's no good. You can't—"
I finished the second lace and patted the side of his leg as I stood up. "Don't fight me on this, ok, Chief? Until we stop this thing, you're going to be vulnerable."
"I don't want to be vulnerable," he said through gritted teeth. I caught his gaze and he nodded tightly. "Yeah, yeah, I know—too late, right? But am I ever gonna have my life back?"
"You will. I promise."
He must have heard something in my voice that satisfied him, because he rolled his eyes and gave me half a smile.
"So, I guess that means you've got yourself a roommate, as soon as someone springs me from this joint."
I turned away, hiding my relief that he'd finally given in. "I'll take care of that. Let me dig up your doctor and while he's cutting you loose, I'll tell the admin desk you won't need that advocate after all. We can pick up any prescriptions on the way out."
"Jeez, my mistake," I heard him mumble as I left the room, "I guess he is in charge of my life."
Damn straight, I added silently.
I just couldn't figure Jim Ellison out.
One minute, he's Commando Bob and the next he's a just a guy grousing about the Jags playoff chances. Ex-cop, ex-military, wealthy enough to command a huge amount of shady, hi-tech resources but cheap enough to drive a '69 Ford.
And that was just the outside stuff. He'd told me he was sick—but he was the most alive, beautiful man I'd ever met. This—illness—that affected his senses seemed to weigh him down, yet he used them effortlessly. He was by turns taciturn and domineering, but with me, he was also protective—and surprisingly tender.
His home turned out to be a small apartment over a block of storefronts. It was a cold, almost sterile place but it had great bones. The front door opened into large, high-ceilinged room with a small kitchen off to the right. A staircase led up to a loft area and directly below that was a small room that turned out to be my new home away from home. Tucked in there among the bookcases and boxes was a small futon, already made into a bed with the covers turned down. That was odd enough, but sitting at the foot of the bed was an athletic bag that held a set of toiletries, a travel blow dryer and a pair of dark blue sweats. When I asked Jim about it, he just shrugged and mentioned he'd asked a friend to pick some things up for me.
A friend who had not only had a key to his apartment, but knew how to get past the sophisticated alarm system that had been installed at every turn. A girlfriend, I guessed, steering my thoughts away from that unwelcome reality. My life was complicated enough.
So it was with very little trouble that I got settled in. Jim had peeled off the bandage over the cut on my forehead and replaced it with another one that was water-proof, then gathered up my smoky clothes to start a load of laundry. By the time I got out of the shower, I was feeling—and smelling—about a hundred per cent better and more than a little interested in the enticing smells coming from the kitchen. I did a half-assed job of drying my hair before donning the sweats and cotton socks and heading out into the living space.
Instead of ordering pizza, Jim threw together some pretty decent pasta. We didn't talk much as we prepared to eat, but it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling—in fact, it felt like we'd been doing this for years. Jim pointed out where to get the silver and napkins and I set the table, then grabbed a couple of glasses for the milk carton he handed me. By the time we sat down, a lot of the jitters I'd been feeling over yet another weird situation had faded and I ate with enthusiasm. The shower had gone a long way towards loosening up sore muscles and relaxing me; my head hurt but not so much that I intended on taking the high octane pain pills I'd been prescribed. I doubted Jim had any good teas on hand, so some plain aspirin would do me just fine.
Halfway through the meal, Jim told me that he'd called the police and let them know where I was.
"What did they say about my stuff?" I asked around a mouthful of tortellini.
"We´ll be allowed in tomorrow to see the damage and get out what we can. From what Kopec said, the fire didn't spread far, so I'm hoping that most of your things survived. They'll post a security guard to make sure no one goes in to steal anything tonight."
"Yeah, well, we know my laptop's toast." I took a big gulp of milk to avoid commenting further; I doubt Jim knew just how much the loss of the computer was going to set me back.
"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "I know some people that may be able to salvage your files if it's just the outside that's broken."
"You do?" I said hopefully, then bopped myself on the unsore side of my forehead. "Oh, duh, of course you do." I grinned at him. "That'd be great."
He smiled back and we finished eating in companionable silence. With dinner over, I made an attempt to help clear the table but Jim shooed me into the little living room. I sat there kind of awkwardly until I found the remote and turned the TV on to ESPN so that we could catch the scores.
Half an hour later, I was three quarters asleep, curled into the corner of the couch. Jim sat at the other end, eyes intent on the TV that had been turned down so low I couldn't hear it. The news was on and I watched the coverage of the fire through sleepy eyes, wondering what the official story was but too tired to care.
After the news, I yawned and stood up. Jim rose as well, stretching his long body before moving around the room to turn off the lights and check the locks. I stepped into the bathroom one more time, then came out to find Jim leaning against the wall near my room.
"Well," I said tentatively, "um, I seem to be saying this every time I see you, but—thanks."
His lips twitched in amusement. "You say thanks, I say I'm sorry—I'm sensing a pattern here." He moved into towards the bathroom, then paused right beside me.
"Let me know if you need anything." His voice had dropped to an intimate whisper.
His nearness affected me in a way that was becoming all too familiar. I took a deep breath and pasted a smile on my face. "Will do." I stepped out of his way and moved into my little room, listening as the bathroom door closed and the shower came on.
Stripping off the sweatshirt, I plopped down on the bed and assessed my situation. On the minus side, I'd been beaten up again, I'd lost my home and most of my possessions, the government and local law enforcement were suspicious of me and my dissertation was close to being dead in the water.
On the plus side—I was now living with Jim Ellison.
No wonder I was smiling as I fell asleep.
I don't know what time it was when the phone rang; being in a strange house I was disoriented when I woke up anyway. I heard the floorboards creaking above me as Jim rose and came down the stairs, talking quietly. I kept my eyes closed, listening without really comprehending what I heard, oddly content to just hear his voice.
The conversation ended but I didn't hear Jim return upstairs. The harder I listened for his footsteps, the more awake I became. It was still obviously the middle of the night, so I wondered if he'd fallen asleep on the couch.
It didn't take much to convince me that I needed to go out and check on him; after all, he shouldn't be sleeping on the couch with a nice bed just a staircase away, right? With that logic firmly in mind, I got up with the idea to do him a favor and make sure he was comfortable upstairs.
As soon as I'd opened the door, his voice floated towards me through the darkness.
"Chief, you ok?"
It registered immediately that his voice was funny—off-key and thick.
I squinted through the gloom, but all I could see were thin strips of pale gray reflected through the blinds that covered the balcony doors. "Yeah, I'm good. Um, are you ok?"
He didn't answer right away. I stepped further into the main room, my arms held out so I wouldn't hit anything.
"I'm fine."
I took two more steps forward. "I hate to argue with my host, big guy, but you don't sound fine."
He sighed, but when he spoke again his voice held a hint of amusement. "You want me to turn on the light?"
"No, no," I said hastily. "I can kind of almost see you."
"Three more steps and you'll hit the back of the sofa."
"Got it." I made it to the sofa and then stepped around it so that I could join Jim on the other one. All I could see was the outline of his head and shoulders against the lighter blinds.
"So," I started, folding my legs beneath me, "you're sitting here in the dark in the middle of the night because you're fine?"
The humor in his voice was stronger when he replied, "Sandburg, anyone ever tell you you're a nosy little bastard?"
I nodded. "Pretty much everyone I know." I turned towards him and slid my arm across the back of the couch. "Seriously—what's wrong?"
I felt him shift beside me, leaning back until he brushed against my arm. "Got some bad news—a friend of mine died."
"Another one?" I blurted out before realizing how it sounded.
"Her name was Emily," he said simply. "She was like me."
"Aw, Jim," I whispered. Without thinking twice, I laid my arm across his shoulders, curling my fingers around his neck near the top of his tee shirt and scooting closer until my knee bumped his thigh. "I am so sorry."
He didn't say anything but the muscles beneath my fingers tensed. I took that as a sign that my touch was unwelcome and started to back off.
"Don't," he murmured.
I froze. "Don't?"
"Don't go, ok?"
"Ok." I moistened my lips with the tip of my tongue, wondering if I dared get even closer. I wasn't looking to start anything, especially knowing that Jim didn't think of me that way. All I wanted was to offer as much comfort to this hurting man as I could. It was the least I could do for someone who'd saved my life twice, and if it left a bittersweet ache in my heart, that was my own problem.
The decision was taken out of my hands when Jim slipped his arm between my side and the couch, pulling me almost into his lap. I went eagerly, glad he was open to physical expression and more than happy to give it. Wrapping his other arm around my bare waist, I found myself nestled close to his body in a warm hold. As I relaxed into a comfortable position, my cheek brushed against his and with a shock, I realized it was wet.
"I'm sorry about your friend," I repeated quietly, bringing up my free hand to wipe away the moisture on his face. Our mouths were only inches apart and Jim's warm breath on my neck was making it hard to remember that he was seeking only solace in my arms.
"Blair?" His voice was barely a whisper. I tried to get some distance between us in a vain attempt to see his eyes, but his arms tightened around me.
"What?" I whispered back, my heart beginning to struggle with this unexpected intimacy.
"Don't—ah, Jesus." His voice broke but before I could react, his lips were on mine.
His mouth was gentle and coaxing, nuzzling against me until I opened to him. In one shared breath, the kiss changed, becoming incendiary as he pressed against me, his hands splayed wide across my back and urging me forward. I moaned low in my throat when he slipped inside to caress my tongue with his own, and my body began to respond to his mouth and hands.
Even as I began exploring his mouth in return, a tingle of warning was growing inside my head. This was Jim Ellison that I was kissing—nice, straight Jim Ellison who was
obviously so in need of comfort he didn't know who he was kissing.
When his lips left mine to drop a path of hot kisses over my jaw and down my neck, I knew I was in trouble. He was turning me on so much that unless I brought an immediate halt to the proceedings, we'd both regret it. I brought my hands up to his shoulders and pushed at them firmly. He fell back against the couch immediately, his hands falling to rest on my hips.
"Blair, I'm sorry," he stammered, but I laid my fingers over his mouth.
"No, don't be. I totally understand. It's just that—" I laughed a little awkwardly, my face heating with embarrassment. "Well, it's just that I know you're not—you know—and that this is just a—a reaction."
There—I thought that sounded suitably supportive and considerate, despite the fact my heart was very close to breaking.
"A reaction to what?"
Uh, oh. His voice had turned flat and cold, even though his hands still cupped my hipbones.
"To—to—" Shit. This all sounded so logical in my brain. "To bad news, to—to high emotions like grief and anger—"
"Anything but you. Is that what you're saying?"
I gulped a little—if anything, the tone in his voice had gotten chillier. "Well, yeah," I said gamely. "I mean, c'mon Jim—it's not like you're not gay."
Some of the stiffness went out of his body. He didn't say a word, so I waited patiently. I figured he was trying to think of a way to extricate himself from this uncomfortable situation without offending me, so imagine my surprise when his hands slid up my sides and around my back, pulling me hard up against his chest.
"Let's get one thing clear right now," he growled, sending a ripple of shivers across my skin. "You have no idea who or what I am, you got that? And if I say I want to fuck you into the next county, you'd better not think I'm confusing you with some woman because you'd be dead wrong."
My eyes widened with his passionate words and breathing became optional as his arms constricted around me.
"Jim?" I squeaked. I wasn't scared by any means—just very, very confused.
He must have sensed that, because his grip on me shifted into a gentle hold. One of his large hands came up to cradle my head, guiding it onto his shoulder. I settled in hesitantly, a little flicker of hope coming to life inside of me.
"I'm sorry," he was saying quietly. "God, Blair—I swear I never intended for this to happen—for you to know how I felt about you."
I closed my eyes at his words, feeling more vulnerable than I had throughout this entire week of life-altering experiences.
"How—ok, how do you feel?" I ventured, wondering if I could stand to hear him say the words.
He let out a long, slow breath.
"Scared to death."
I didn't take offense; I knew what he meant but I wasn't letting him off the hook, so I head-butted him gently.
"Not flattering, but I understand."
"No, you don't, but that's ok."
"So explain it to me."
His voice, soft as it was, was firm and clear.
"I'm falling in love with you."
God—he'd actually said it.
"Oh, Jesus, Jim," I said on an emotion-choked laugh, "we are a pair, aren't we."
He shifted a little so I could tuck my hands into the small of his back. "A pair of what?"
"Doofuses, evidently. I mean, here I was, fighting against how I felt about you, and all the time—"
"Why were you fighting?"
I sighed, noticing how he shuddered slightly when my breath drifted across his collarbone.
"Uh, remember? Divorced cop? You didn't exactly present as someone who'd have the slightest interest in me—you know, that way."
"Ah, ok. So I guess you're saying that despite the fact that you thought I was straight, you still felt attracted to me?"
"Attracted? That's a pretty bland word for how I feel, Jim."
"Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me how you feel."
I pressed my sore forehead into the curve of his neck, then sat up until I could approximate looking into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, I answered his question as honestly as I could.
"How do I feel? Like I've been hit by a truck. I mean—" I laughed a little wildly as the truth tumbled out of me "—I've never met anyone like you. It was almost like—like I was living under water until we met. And it's not just because you saved me in Peru or any hero worship crap like that. I know this is gonna sound stupid—"
"No, no" he objected quietly.
"—but I've always thought that there are just a lot of—of things inside of me, things that I've carried all my life—pieces of me that I've just been waiting to give to someone."
I tried to smile at him, but it was a wobbly effort. "I think that someone is you. I want it to be you. And—God, Jim, you want to talk about being scared? I don't know what frightens me more—the idea that you'd never want me or the reality that maybe you do."
"There's no maybe about it." The conviction in his voice went a long way towards easing the trepidation that filled me, now that I'd confessed. "I've wanted you almost from the moment I met you, but getting to know you has been incredible, too." He leaned towards me to ghost his lips over mine.
"And this fucking across county lines thing?" I asked a little hoarsely, his mouth still touching me. "Is that still a go?"
He chuckled and the sound poured over my body like warm water. "God, if you only knew what holding you right now was doing to me."
With a sudden shift of his hands, he had me flat on the seat of the couch, my legs trapped between his knees as he loomed above me. He lowered his head until his lips rested against my ear, his fingertips sliding up and down my sides with a feather light touch. "Your skin is so warm and soft—my fingers can't stop touching you," he murmured, his wicked, silky tone cutting through me like liquid heat. "I want to taste every part of you, Blair Sandburg. I want to hear you scream my name when I make love to you. I want to watch you writhe beneath me, out of your mind with wanting me—" his voice lowered even further as his fingers slid just inside the waistband of my sweats "—and I want to smell myself on you long into the night while you sleep in my arms, knowing that I was the one who'd loved you into oblivion."
His mouth took mine hard this time, his tongue thrusting in and out in a hungry rhythm as I clutched at his shoulders to pull him closer. Come on, I thought frantically, come on, take me all the way, Jesus, Jim—but abruptly, his kisses mellowed, bringing me back from a growing state of arousal into a slightly calmer state of frustration.
"What's wrong?" I panted when he finally relinquished my mouth. There could be no mistaking my response to his touch but to have him pull back like that confused me.
"Nothing, nothing," he comforted, sitting back onto his knees and guiding me up beside him. "It's just that we need to take our time with this, ok?"
I scrambled to sit up, surreptitiously trying to put some space between us so that I could gather my wits but defeated when Jim just scooted closer and took both my hands in his.
"Blair, listen to me," he said urgently. "This doesn't change how I feel about you. You have to understand that. But getting involved with me is too dangerous right now. You know I have enemies."
I squeezed his hands and smiled. "Uh, gee, Jim, what are they gonna try to do? Kill me? Been there, done that."
"That's not funny."
"No, it's not—but so what? Jim, let's not make this any more of a tragedy, ok? We're here, we're together—please—don't push me away now."
One of his hands pulled out of mine and a second later I felt his fingers on my cheek. "Ah, Christ," he murmured. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."
"So tell me already. Look, I'm on this roller coaster ride whether I want to be or not. We can't go back and I don't want to." My voice failed me and I swallowed hard before continuing. "Not if it means losing you."
"C'mere," he whispered, and I went into his arms. We shifted around until we were both comfortably laying down, my back to Jim's chest. He pulled a thick chenille blanket off the back of the couch to cover us, then wrapped his arms around me.
"Tomorrow."
My eyes drifted shut as he rhythmically brushed the crook of my arm with his thumb.
"Tomorrow what?"
"I'll tell you everything tomorrow."
"Ok." I smiled contentedly, nestling in closer. "Tomorrow is good."
"Yeah," I heard him whisper. "It sure is."
Despite being smashed into the back of the couch, I slept better that night than I had in a long time. How much actual rest I actually got was a moot point; unlike the first time we'd shared a bed, this time Blair talked in his sleep and was constantly pulling my body around his until I felt like a pretzel.
A very happy, very terrified pretzel.
I was crazy to involve Sandburg in the disaster of my life. But when he'd come to me last night, so soon after the devastating news about Emily, I'd had no defense against him. His proximity, the heat from his skin, the caring in his voice—it all combined to make me hurt with wanting him. I couldn't stop myself from touching him, allowing myself that brief contact to reassure me that there were still good things in life.
But once he'd moved so naturally into my arms, I was lost. With the tears I'd shed for Emily still wet on my cheeks, I told myself to only take comfort from him, as I would from any friend. But I knew immediately it wasn't enough. Even as his strong arms held me, my body was craving to taste him, to bury myself inside him—to drag words of love from him and return them in equal measure.
It almost happened. When I pinned him to the couch, I knew he was mine for the taking. With those words of love already shared between us, it would have been so easy to move us to the next level. Everything I told him that I wanted to do to him was only a heartbeat away, but some kernel of common sense told me that now was not the time. Maybe it would never would be the right time, but until Blair knew the whole story, it wasn't fair to go on. I forced myself to be content with just holding him through the night, shying away from any thought that it might be all I would ever have.
I awoke slowly, immediately aware that my arms were empty and that Sandburg had made coffee. It was a testament to how relaxed I was with him that he'd managed to leave without me knowing.
Right now, I could tell he was sitting in the chair across from me, sipping black coffee he'd made strong enough to float bullets. I yawned into the blanket that had been drawn over my shoulders, peeling open one eye to see Sandburg grinning at me.
He tipped his mug in my direction. "I sorta made myself at home. Hope you don't mind."
"Too bad if I did," I groused as I sat up, comfortable with the fact that he knew I wasn't serious.
"Yeah, pretty much," he agreed cheerfully. "Want some?"
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Riiight, dumb question. Black, light on the milk."
"Make that heavy on the milk—you made it strong enough to chew."
He grinned at me as he unfolded his legs. "Mother's milk to a grad student, my friend."
I rubbed my hands over my face and hair, watching as he moved around my kitchen with ease. He was wearing his sweatshirt again and had tied his hair back into a loose ponytail, he needed a shave and his under-the-breath whistling was off-key—I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
He brought me a steaming mug along with his own and sat down beside me, not too close but not too far. We both drank silently for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet morning and neither of us exactly sure what to do or say next.
Finally, Blair broke the silence.
"How you doin', man?" he said softly, and a little uncertainly. It was that note of nervousness that bothered me, so I took control of the situation. I removed the mug from his hands and set it on the table next to my own, then pulled him into my arms and kissed him. He responded eagerly, opening his mouth beneath mine without hesitation as his hand came around my neck. The warm coffee flavor mingled with the taste of Blair was heady stuff and I took my time to savor it. Then I released him, picked up his mug and handed it to him.
"I'm doing just fine." I picked up my own coffee, taking a swallow before meeting his happily surprised gaze with a lazy grin. He blinked at me, then smiled down into his drink.
"So, what's on our agenda?" he asked eventually.
"First, we find out about your things; what needs to fixed, cleaned, salvaged or tossed. We'll take as much as we can back here, and then—" I hesitated; after today, there would be no turning back.
"Then—what?"
"I'll take you to the House."
"The. .. House."
I patted him on the shoulder and stood up. "The House, Chief. Let's get moving."
While Sandburg got dressed, I called Simon. I had a lot of things on my mind, but I hadn't forgotten that we'd lost another one of our own.
When Simon answered, he sounded weary. He was the glue that kept us all together and the strain had to be getting to him.
"Hey, Jim. How's the kid?"
"You'll get to see for yourself. I'm going to bring him over this afternoon."
"I gotta say, I'm looking forward to meeting him. How much do you want him to know?"
I didn't hesitate. "Everything."
"Ok. I'll see if Eric is up to giving a little slide show for our newest member."
"He feeling ok?"
"Oh, he's fine. Vince is getting his ears pinned back on a regular basis again, anyway."
I smiled, then got to the point. "How's Joel?"
"He's really struggling, Jim. He's going to stay through the funeral."
"Damn it," I muttered. "We gotta get him back here, he needs to be with his family. Bad enough we can't get down there for the service."
"I know, but he wants to do this. He said—he said she just. .. faded away."
I rubbed at my eyes and took a deep breath. Faded away—in the end, Emily must have just let it all go, giving herself over to the sensations that she couldn't escape. God knows I'd felt the desire to succumb to the seduction of my senses, even knowing that to give in was to fall so deep into myself that I'd never get back out. When death finally came, I wouldn't even know it. I wouldn't even care.
"Jim? You still there, man?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. Look—can you get the cops off our backs with this arson thing? We've got to turn over the book and come up with some reason why Sandburg was attacked for it."
"Sure. I'll get Megan to alter the trail on the provenance to increase its value, maybe throw in something about a treasure map. We're almost done scanning it anyway."
"Good. I'd like to get that part of this over with."
"You and me both."
"So here's the plan. I'm taking Sandburg over to his place so we can get his stuff out. We'll get it squared away and then head over, I'm hoping after lunch."
"Right. I've got some news on the DBs you left behind in Peru, so you can go over that while Sandburg's getting the grand tour."
We chatted a few minutes longer, avoiding any sense of urgency—or defeat. We'd all held out the hope that we could discover a way to conquer the zones in time to save Emily; our failure to do so cut deeply.
Cleaning out Sandburg's place wasn't exactly a picnic, either. He'd gotten out with his life, his wallet and the clothes on his back; everything else was going to be a crapshoot as to whether or not he'd be able to ever use any of it again.
A small contingent from the fire department was still on site, along with an insurance adjuster and the owner of the building. I didn't like the looks of the owner and couldn't help but be glad Sandburg wasn't going to be paying him rent anymore. I stood off to the side as Sandburg told the guy in no uncertain terms that not only was he not responsible, he expected the balance of the month's rent back plus his security deposit. I'm not sure how he did it—technically, Sandburg did let the perp into his space—but he had the guy grudgingly nodding his head when he started mentioning his cousin the lawyer. Now, I knew for a fact that Sandburg didn't have a cousin, let alone one who was a lawyer, but the owner was robbing him blind with exorbitant rent, anyway. Seemed like a fair trade to me.
The fire department had plastic suits for us to wear over our clothing and masks to protect our lungs, for which I was truly grateful. I could already feel the chemicals released by the fire crawling on my skin, so anything would be a help. We donned the protective covers and headed upstairs, a guard and a rep from the fire department tagging at our heels.
The fire had followed a spreading path up the wall where the heater had been set, fanning out over the ceiling and dropping down the sides. Lucky for Sandburg, most of the room he'd utilized was centered between four large cement posts in the middle of the floor.
Fire wasn't the problem here—it was water damage. What the fire department hadn't trampled on was soaked and blackened with falling soot. The furniture was a total loss—although, after taking a look at it, I'm not sure there was much to lose in the first place—and so were the hot plate, TV and small refrigerator. The bed was also ruined, but it'd saved the clothes he'd stored in suitcases beneath it. We tossed them into the bed of the truck, along with a box holding the various knickknacks we managed to find.
The backpack was ruined but the contents weren't. He pulled everything out and placed all of it but his glasses in another plastic bag. I noticed how his fingers lingered over certain important items but I refrained from commenting; Blair had to deal with this in his own time and he was entitled to his privacy.
He put his glasses on and took his first good look around the place. I watched as he swallowed once, hard, then squared his shoulders and turned back to the job at hand.
Sandburg remained composed through the whole thing, giving me only a terse yes or no as I held up things I found that he may want to keep. The only time he wavered was when he pulled out an Adidas shoebox that had been squashed and soaked. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he carefully tore back the sopping cardboard, only to have the box disintegrate in his hands.
"Whatcha got there, Chief?" I asked as I came to stand by him. He held the mess up mutely, his shoulders sagging as I looked at what he held.
Damn it—pictures. They were probably unsalvageable, but I took them from him anyway and placed them in the plastic sack that also held the pieces of his laptop. I think he wanted to protest, but just then his eye fell on something and he jumped over a pile of debris to get to it.
"Hey," I snapped. "Be careful, all right?"
He waved me off, falling onto his knees near a puddle of sooty water as he yanked and pulled at a battered guitar case until it came free from the rubble.
"Oh, man, oh, please," he breathed, "please let it be ok."
"We can get you another guitar, Chief," I said quietly, exchanging a sympathetic look with the guard.
"Not like this one."
He unlatched the clasps and pushed open the lid, letting out a huge whoosh of relief when he saw that the guitar lay undamaged inside. I looked but couldn't see anything special about it, so I just figured it held a lot of sentimental value for the kid.
We finished up soon afterwards, a dismayingly small amount of Blair's life loaded into the back of the Ford. I could tell he was upset but he was handling it really well; the loss of the photos had hit him hard but he'd rebounded with the find of the guitar. Possessions didn't seem to mean a lot to Sandburg.
"So," I said as I pulled away from the curb, "how do you feel about Mexican for lunch?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head. "Um, not really hungry. Go ahead if you like."
I suppressed a sigh. My fault.
"That's ok. We can get something at the House later. Let's drop this load off at home first, then I'll take you out there." I cleared my throat, aiming for a lighter tone. "Simon's looking forward to meeting you."
That caught his attention. "Yeah? Hey, was he the big guy with you at Eli's service? Gold-rimmed glasses?"
"That's him."
"Cool. I've always wanted to thank him for helping us out in Peru."
I ducked my head so he wouldn't see me smile. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that. Look—you have a car somewhere? We should move it over to the loft."
"No," he said, his face turned away as he stared out the passenger side window. "I mean, yeah, I have one, but it hasn't worked in a while. It's sitting at over at a shop on Cameron until I can get enough money to get the ignition fixed."
"Ok," I said easily, making a mental note. "Let me guess—muscle car, right? GTO? No—wait—you look like a VW bus kinda guy. Peace sign decals and furry dash, steering wheel held together with a bungee cord, that kind of thing."
He flipped around in his seat, mouth already open to reject my supposition, but I was already grinning at him. He blinked and then rolled his eyes, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips. After that, the stiff line of his body eased a bit and the trip home was a little less tense.
We unloaded in three quick trips, tucking the boxes, bags and guitar case underneath the stairs. The suitcases and the bag with the laptop we left in the truck; I told Sandburg we'd get the smoky clothes washed at the House and that we'd turn over the computer to our resident expert.
"Must be some house," he said with a raised eyebrow. We were standing at my kitchen sink, washing smears of soot from our hands.
"It is." I tossed him a towel to dry his hands. "C'mon. You've got quite an afternoon ahead of you."
Damn if he didn't toss the towel aside and sidle up to me, a sexy smile playing around that beautiful mouth.
"What about after that?" he said softly, setting his hands on my hips and giving them a little jiggle. His eyes were warm and affectionate and I sank into them, wishing with all my heart that I could just let go—and love him.
I placed my hands on his shoulders and squeezed. I wanted to reassure him—and God knows I needed to believe he'd still want me after he knew the truth—but I couldn't.
"After that—you tell me what you want. It may not be the same thing you want now."
His hands slid up my sides, arousing and comforting at the same time. "I know I'll want to be with you. Nothing can change that."
I shook my head and looked away from his discerning gaze. "No, you don't know that." He started to protest but I went on. "Look, I'll make you a deal. If, after you've heard the whole story, you still want to come home with me, that's what we'll do. But if you don't want to, I'll—I'll understand."
"Oh, brother," he sighed patiently, "will you just stop being so damn noble already?" He stood on his toes and pressed a kiss to my mouth, then moved away, grabbing my jacket and tossing it to me. Still wrapped up the taste of him on my lips, I barely caught it. He snickered and took down another of my jackets—my good leather jacket—and put it on.
"Let's go, James."
Twenty minutes later, Sandburg was staring open-mouthed as I pulled into the long, tiled driveway that led up to the House.
"Oh, my God," he muttered. "That's not a house—that's a friggin' subdivision!"
It was impressive, I have to admit. The aspen-lined driveway was framed at its entrance with sloping brick fencing, the words Aegis Group in elegant metal script inscribed on both sides. The House itself was a rambling twenty-five thousand square foot Craftsman masterpiece, and that didn't include the garage and other outbuildings. A lush, perfectly landscaped park surrounded the structure, edged on three sides by sheltering trees. I was used to the grandeur of the place, but it was fun to see Sandburg's reaction.
I drove behind the building to the little parking lot and parked next between Connor's bright blue Miata and Vince's maroon Coupe de Ville. What had been a fairly nice spring day had turned dark, a cold front beginning to push in from the Pacific. We hurried across the driveway, Sandburg carrying the bag and me grabbing the suitcases. We got to the door leading into the mudroom and I quickly keyed in the password. As soon as the door clicked open I pushed through, Sandburg right behind me.
Dropping the suitcases on the boot bench, I breathed deeply and appreciatively.
"Whoa," Sandburg said as he took off his—my—jacket. "What smells so good?"
I took the jacket and hung it next to my other one on the brass hooks by the door.
"That," I replied, clapping him on the shoulder and prodding him into the kitchen, "is Sally's rosemary garlic bread, and if you're very good, she'll let you have some. Grab that bag."
"Good? Man I was born good!"
"No, I think you've got that confused with short. C'mon, time you started meeting the crew."
Sally was sitting at the large middle island of the industrial-sized kitchen, cutting out biscuits on a marble bread board. Behind her, two assistants were doing prep work on the counter, one of them deboning a salmon. Sally looked up as we came in, a smile of welcome spreading across her elderly face.
"Jimmy!" She stood up and wiped her hands on the dish towel tucked into the pocket of her apron. I moved in for a hug, then turned to Sandburg who was watching with a grin on his face.
"Sally, I'd like you to meet Blair Sandburg. Sandburg, this is Sally, the backbone of the outfit." I gave her waist a squeeze and released her. "Stay on her good side," I added with wink.
She giggled, tapping me lightly on the chest and then extending her hand to Sandburg, who took it between his own two and shook it enthusiastically.
"Nice to meet you!" he said, turning on his considerable charm. I watched with amusement as Sally lowered her lashes, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"Jimmy, you boys want some lunch?" she asked briskly as she smoothed a lock of gray hair off her forehead with the back of her floury hand.
I shook my head regretfully. "Not right yet. Simon's waiting."
Her faced clouded as she reseated herself. "He's very tired," she said disapprovingly.
I exchanged a look with Sandburg. "I know. Tell you what, I'll drag both him and Sandburg back here in a while—think you can throw something together for us?"
She gave me a withering look that I returned with a grin, then shepherded Sandburg out into the hallway.
On the surface, the House was just that—an impeccably furnished private home, filled with expensive furniture and tasteful artwork. There was a hushed atmosphere that suited the polished wood and carefully lit rooms and walkways. If you didn't know better, you'd think the place was empty.
Sandburg's head swiveled as I took him from the back into the massive foyer and up the stairs to the library. Although he was unaware, I could hear the comforting click-whir of the discreet cameras that had followed our every move since pulling into the driveway.
We turned right at the top of the stairs, our footsteps muted by the plush Turkish carpets. The library doors stood open at the end of the hallway and I could hear Scott Joplin playing softly in the background. I rapped on the doorjamb and poked my head inside to see Simon rising from behind the desk.
"'Bout damn time, Jim," he said with a smile. "Thought you'd gotten lost."
He came around to greet me and we shook hands, our eyes meeting in shared understanding and grief.
"How's everybody holding up?"
He shrugged. "It hasn't gotten any easier the second time around. Vince is taking it harder than I'd expected, but he's trying to hide it from Eric."
"Like that's going to work."
"Exactly. Megan can hardly be pried away from her computer and Sally—well, she's been cooking since sunrise." He took off his glasses and rubbed at one eye with the palm of his hand. "We're coping," he finished, replacing the glasses.
"What about you?" I asked quietly.
Simon aligned his body into a military stance, hands clasped behind him. "I'm—angry," he said tightly. "Angry that we waste so much money on counter-intelligence, trying to keep just one fucking step ahead of Alex, when we should be saving lives, using what we know to heal people."
He turned away from me abruptly and leaned his fists on the desk, his head bowed. "Damn it, Jim—she shouldn't have died."
"I know," I whispered around the lump in my throat. "I know."
After a little pause, Simon sighed and tapped the desk with his knuckles, then straightened up and turned back around.
"I will not lose another friend to this, God damn it," he vowed quietly.
I nodded. "Can't argue with that," I said with a little smile.
Our eyes caught and held, then Simon cracked a slightly crooked smile of his own before clapping his hands once.
"All right, let's meet this kid."
I jerked my head at Sandburg who was lingering in the doorway. "C'mon, Chief. He won't bite."
Sandburg tossed me a disbelieving look but walked inside, shifting the bag to take Simon's extended hand.
"Hi, uh, Simon. Blair Sandburg."
"Nice to meet you, Sandburg. Come in, sit down."
They took the two chairs facing the desk while I walked around and took the big leather chair behind it. Simon had the latest reports up on his computer monitor and I gave them a quick look as he and Sandburg exchanged pleasantries.
One report caught my eye and I interrupted.
"Excuse me—Simon? Sierra Verde—isn't that in Mexico?"
Simon turned to me, his expression darkening. "Yes, the Yucatan. Eric thinks they're on the right track, too."
"How so?"
"He's compared the carvings that Santiago found to the symbols in the monograph—they're almost identical. There are ruins there that have never fully been explored, so—"
"So the Temple of the Sentinels could be there." I leaned back, rubbing my chin. "Could be worse. We can get in and out fairly easily."
"True, but that also means they're ahead of us." He tented his fingers, his expression turning thoughtful. "One other, curious thing that we haven't quite figured out. The Patriots have been dispersing—Jack doesn't even think they're cohesive enough to be called a group. We also think they're out of money."
"That means Alex may be looking for new funding. This Pena guy, the one with the connections to the MRTA, he could be financing them."
"Maybe. We've been watching him for a while, but I'll have Jack step up the surveillance. The DEA might be able to help with that."
"Right." I flipped past some other info that Simon had gathered, then stopped when I came upon a series of mug shots that had been bookmarked. "Hey, Sandburg—take a look at these."
I motioned Blair to come around the other side of the desk. Megan had done a hell of a job with his description of his attacker from the warehouse and come up with several possible matches. How she got into the PD database—or any of the other places she managed to hack into—was a mystery that none of us really wanted to solve.
It didn't take long for Sandburg to pick the guy out. "There," he said, pointing to a face in the upper right hand corner. "That's him. Hair's longer and stringier and he's uglier in person, if that's possible, but yeah, that's him."
I enlarged the picture and read the info out loud. "Dawson Quinn. Did a nickel on
McNeil for assault. Here's a note from Megan—hunh. She thinks he's a broken Three."
"A what?" Sandburg asked, pulling his glasses out of his breast pocket and sliding them on.
I glanced at him, then at Simon. " You'll know soon enough. Ok, what else—missed his last parole meeting and is wanted for questioning in the sexual assault of a—shit." I shut the window down before Sandburg could read the rest.
"What? What did it say? I didn't get a chance to read it!"
"Never mind. Simon, has Kelso contacted Mexican law enforcement?"
"He's working on it, but so far it's a no go. I don't think they're going to be a lot of help."
I nodded. "We'll have to step up our own surveillance." I turned to Sandburg. "Look, I've got a little work to do. I'm gonna turn you over to Simon here—he's going to take you into the labs. You can leave the bag here and I'll get someone to come pick it up later."
Sandburg moved towards Simon, his eyes widening. "Labs? As in—laboratories?"
Simon and I shared an amused glance. "That's right," Simon replied, motioning Sandburg ahead of him.
"What kind of labs? I mean, like, computer labs, or chemistry labs, or—" I listened as Blair interrogated Simon all the way down the stairs, Simon replying when he could get a word in edgewise. But my indulgent smile faded away as I got caught up, the information I was reading growing more and more disturbing.
"God damn it, Alex," I muttered. "What the hell are you up to now?"
"Ok, so let me get this straight," I said as the elevator doors opened. "You have a chem lab, bio lab, forensics lab, computer lab and an agronomy lab?"
The big man beside me nodded as he led me down yet another plushy hallway. "And some other labs that we haven't thought up names for." He nodded a greeting to a couple of white coated guys who passed us.
"Man, this is incredible." I shook my head and turned around, walking backwards to face Simon and gesturing at the opulence around us. "I mean, I knew this house was huge, but I had no idea! We just came down—what, three levels? From the first floor?"
"That's right."
"That is so cool!" I turned back around. "This really is like something out of Bond!"
Simon paused beside a set of gleaming mahogany doors. When I got a good look at his expression I sobered up. The blunt finger beneath my nose also did a good job of erasing the smile from my face.
"Listen up, Sandburg. I'm only gonna say this once. This is deadly serious business here. It may look like a movie set to you, but people's lives are at stake, yours included."
I held up my hands and took two steps back—this guy was intimidating as hell. "Hey, no worries, man! Believe me, I've got the contusions that prove your point, all right?"
The fierce frown softened into a sheepish smile. "Sorry, kid. I know. I tend to forget this is all whiz-bang stuff to you. We just have to be careful, you understand?"
"Sure," I said quietly. "Like I said, no worries. I—well, I'd like to help if I can."
His eyes became guarded. "Why is that?"
I looked past him for a second, then brought my gaze right back to his eyes. "Because I care. I cared about Eli and I care about Jim and I want to help."
He regarded me for a long minute. I waited, knowing I was being subjected to some kind of test—and that this man could either pave the way for me or make my life a living hell. Finally, he nodded and moved to open the door. Then he froze and turned back to me.
"So help me God," he said, his voice dropped to a menacing octave, "if you hurt Jim, I will rip you apart with my bare hands and dance a jig on what's left. Are we clear on that?"
Strangely, this part of the conversation didn't intimidate me at all. In fact, it gave me a kind of surreptitious thrill to think that somehow Simon knew that Jim and I were becoming close. It almost made up for Jim's current attempts to deflect that closeness.
"Clear as can be."
He reached again for the doorknob, but my next words stopped him.
"Um, just so we're clear on another point—I know I don't look like much, but just so you know—I fight pretty nasty when someone I care about is in trouble." Ok, I don't know what the hell inspired me to say that, but I knew once the words were out that they were true. I was beginning to find a lot of strange new feelings inside me, not the least of which was a fierce protectiveness of the very complicated, very self-sufficient Jim Ellison.
Simon stared at me—then broke into a huge grin and clapped me on the shoulder, knocking me a little sideways.
"Somehow, I don't doubt that at all," he chuckled. "C'mon—Eric's waiting for you."
He turned the curved brass handle and pushed the door into the room, motioning me to go ahead of him.
My first impression was if this was a lab, it was by far the strangest lab I'd ever seen. There were the obligatory counters on the left, one running along the wall and the other running parallel to it in a room about the size of a lab at Rainier. The overhead lighting was fluorescent, but it had a different tone to it, something that made the light softer. And also unlike the messy, underfunded labs at school, this was all state of art, not to mention impeccably neat and orderly. I took all that in, then looked to the right where there was an area that I'd never seen in any lab anywhere—it was like a little apartment, marked by a large area rug and complete with a big-screen TV and sound system spread across the wall opposite the counters. There was a tiny kitchenette next to a closed door on the back wall, with a mini-fridge, microwave and espresso machine. Facing the entertainment console was a couch covered in chocolate brown suede that looked like it would be heaven to sink into; on either side of that was a big wing chair, one of which was currently occupied by, I assumed, the famous Eric.
He was absolutely nothing like I expected.
I guess I imagined he'd either be a crackpot scientist with Albert Einstein hair or a hotshot, twentyish Mensa reject with a bent for espionage.
Turns out he was neither.
As he set aside the book he was reading and got up, the first thing I noticed was that he was slender and more importantly, he was almost exactly my height. I know that might not seem like much, but after hanging with Jim and meeting the behemoth known as Simon, it was great to meet someone normal size. His age was harder to determine, but my best guess was late fifties, about Eli's age. He had on a white lab coat over a black turtleneck and black slacks and beyond that, the only things that stood out were his pale blond hair and a pair of sharp blue eyes that looked me up and down as he extended his hand.
"Mr. Sandburg. Nice of you to join us." His voice had a faint accent, Scandinavian maybe, or eastern European.
I shook his hand and gave him a smile and a shrug. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was hell."
He looked at me, then smiled slightly, motioning me into the sitting area. Simon closed the door behind me and joined me where I stood awkwardly in front of the couch. Eric moved into the kitchen, talking over his shoulder.
"Simon, are you staying with us? I have Dancing Goat today."
I turned to the other man, watching with amusement as his eyes closed and he smiled beatifically.
"Well, I was going to take off, but you know how I can't refuse your coffee."
"Yes, your weakness is well known. Mr. Sandburg? Would you like coffee as well or perhaps some tea? I have a Rasa Sinharaja that I'm particularly fond of. The kettle is already on."
Oh man, one of my favorites. I was practically weak in the knees. "The tea would be great—oh, and please call me Blair."
"Very well. Please, be seated, both of you. I won't be a minute."
I sat down gingerly on the edge of the couch, running my left hand over the pillow next to me and enjoying the flow of the nap beneath my fingers.
"I see you're tactile, Blair," Eric said, although I don't remember seeing him turn around.
I shot a look at Simon, who had picked up a magazine and was thumbing through it, ostentatiously licking his finger as he turned the page and steadfastly not meeting my gaze.
I had a feeling my indoctrination had begun.
"Well," I said with an uncertain laugh, "maybe. I mean, this is nice. A—a nice couch. Soft."
"Yes, it is. How do you like your tea? Milk, honey, sugar?"
"Nothing, thank you. Tea like that—I hate to mess with it."
He brought over a steaming, handleless clay mug and set in on the small table next to me. That was when I noticed that he was only wearing socks.
"Excellent choice. Simon, your coffee will be ready momentarily."
Simon set the magazine aside and stretched out his legs, crossing his arms over his chest as he slouched lower in his chair.
"Oh, don't mind me," he said with a grin strongly reminiscent of a self-satisfied shark. "I'm just here for the floor show."
I looked over at Eric, glad to see he was amused by Simon's flip attitude. After a few minutes, we all had our beverages and I'd finally set back against the couch. Simon seemed happy just to sip his coffee and make contented little noises. I drank my tea, letting myself concentrate on its complex flavors, while in the other chair, Eric watched me quietly.
The silence had stretched almost to the point of discomfort when Eric finally spoke again.
"You're a Two," he said with conviction.
I shot another look at Simon, who was now taking great interest in a carved wooden sail boat he'd picked up from the table next to him.
"I'm too what?"
"No, Blair, not 'too'. You're a Two. You have two heightened senses. Touch and hearing, I believe."
"No—no, wait a minute. I don't have anything—"
"Blair," Simon interrupted. "Listen. Hear the man out."
I turned back to Eric.
"Sorry."
"Quite all right. It only gets harder to believe from here." He took a sip of his tea and settled deeper into his chair, not unlike a professor about to lead a study group.
"Now, follow carefully," Eric continued briskly, "and lay aside your preconceptions about sensory input. As defined by science, the world consists of six groups of individuals—Zeds, Ones, Twos, Threes, Fours and Fives. Each person has a different level of heightened senses, but ninety-nine per cent of the population have no idea that they possess such a gift."
"Really? I mean, I don't doubt you, but—"
"No, go ahead and doubt. Much better than believing everything you hear. As I said, five senses and each of us are born with a varying degree of increased ability with at least one but rarely all five of them."
"Like Jim."
"Correct. But let us consider the Zeds first. All of their senses are equally balanced and, unfortunately, quite muted. They go through life unaware and faintly unsatisfied, wondering why other people can speak rapturously about, say, chocolate, or a Bach sonata. They are luckily a minority in this world."
"Wow." I looked at Simon. "I mean, really, that's—wow."
"Ones are the majority, as you may expect. Unfortunately, the difference between the one sense they have that is increased and the other four is usually not enough for them to notice. Furthermore, age tends to erode all the senses and by late middle age, the difference is negligible."
Simon got up and walked around the couch behind me, gathering up the cups for what I hoped was a refill.
"Twos, such as you and I and Simon here, are the next most common. Although you may have gone through life never knowing of this ability, if you looked back now you may see where certain senses have added pleasure to your life."
"Ok, like—like music. Music has always been important." I rocked a little from side to side. "You know—beat and rhythm, that kind of thing. It's always fascinated me."
"That is one—but isn't there also pleasure in the stroking of the strings of a guitar? The slick feel of the wood against your palm?"
I though a moment—and shivered. He was right. "Yeah. Ok, yeah, I see that. But things still taste good, right? And I can smell stuff—"
"No, you misunderstand. The other senses do not suffer in comparison. Furthermore, a sense that may have been stronger once can be damaged, bringing the subject back to only one enhanced sense and evening out the others."
I nodded firmly.
"Right."
I shook my head.
"I don't get it."
"Well, let me—oh, thank you, Simon," Eric said as his refilled cup was placed at his elbow.
"Yeah, thanks, Simon," I said with a grin as the same was done for me. Simon caught the grin and leaned down over my shoulder with a slightly more dangerous version.
"Don't get used to it," he growled, then retook his seat with his coffee.
"Take our friend Simon, for example. He too has a greater ability to hear. He also once possessed eyesight that was beyond the norm, as evidenced by his school and army records. Not enough to cause interest, but definitely measurable. However, abuse and—forgive me, Simon—age have taken their toll and he must now wear glasses."
"All right," I said thoughtfully. I looked up to see Eric watching me closely. "I assume you have anecdotal evidence on all this."
"I have more evidence than you could possibly imagine. I have studied this phenomena for over thirty years."
"No kidding? That's really impressive, sir."
"Impressive? Hardly," he said sternly, and I had the feeling that he felt his years of study had only brought failure. He gathered himself to move on. "Now, Threes are those lucky people whose prime senses are so pronounced that they usually have a career that utilizes their abilities."
"Oh! Ok, like perfumers, or wine makers, or—or man, what else—"
"Very good. What is not so well understood is that it is usually a combination of senses that make them successful. A wine maker, for example, obviously uses taste. Taste is tightly woven with smell. Usually, in those cases, touch is the balancing factor. A wine taster will often speak of the 'mouth' of the wine, meaning the actual feel of it inside the mouth. A good perfumer will have scent, obviously, but also taste and interestingly enough, sight."
I leaned forward, the excitement of learning something again beginning to fire in my veins. God, it seemed like it'd been so long.
"So, then, Fours—they must be like that, only more so, right?"
"No."
"No?"
"Fours are, unfortunately, the group that has the most societal problems. Although any one of the Numbers can have a sensory break, it's only the Threes and above that really suffer for it. Four heightened senses with one not carrying its weight can lead to severe mental problems. Years of study have shown that these unfortunate souls suffer from many disorders, many of them misdiagnosed."
"Yeah? As what?"
"Schizophrenia, usually. Picture this—a man complaining about hearing voices, telling him what to do. He could be hearing conversations from another building. He cries out, feeling insects crawling all over him, when in fact he's feeling tiny air currents brush against his skin. Food tastes poisoned to him, as he can taste individual additives in every bite. He's constantly seeing shadows and colors that no one else can. Yet, his sense of smell is normal or slightly less than normal."
"No kidding." I didn't bother to hide the wonder in my voice. This was whole concept was extremely fascinating and I had a kind of wistful realization that maybe if I'd found something as compelling as this for my doctorate, I'd already be Dr. Sandburg.
There was a lull in the conversation, and I had the feeling everything up til now had been the windup and I was about to receive a high and inside fastball.
"So," Eric said as he set his cup aside, "that leaves us with the Fives."
"Jim—and people like him."
He nodded. "Yes. The rarest of them all. Also the most advanced biologically, by the way. Without any obvious impediments, such as injury or illness, the sentinel's abilities do not fade with time."
I perked up at the word sentinel. "Hey—that's the term Eli used, right? Is that what you call these people? Sentinels?"
Eric reached for a remote near his elbow. "That is what they are referred to by the civilizations that recognized their contribution. Although sentinels—Fives, if you will—exist throughout the world and across every culture, they found their evolutionary stride with the native Americans, both north and south. It is in the societies of South America that most of the history of their activities has been found. However, exhaustive study has convinced us that many historical figures were Fives."
"Ok, but what about—" I stopped with I heard a noise behind me and I saw Eric's eyes move to the door.
"This the kid?"
I swerved around to see a man come into the room whom I instantly recognized, though I'd never in a million years expected to see him deep in the bowels of this place.
"Oh my God," I said, scrambling to my feet, "you—you're Vince Deal!"
"That's my name, don't wear it out," he said with a smile as he extended his hand over the back of the couch. I know my eyes were big as saucers as we shook and for the life of me, I couldn't get out a word. This was Braddock, my Saturday night staple whenever Naomi and I lived in a place that had TV. He was the coolest TV detective in the mid seventies and I remember imitating his smooth moves until Naomi caught me and scolded me on the sins of violence. This man, although considerably older—yikes, in his sixties, I'd guess—was that same groovy detective that I'd admired as a kid.
He looked different than the last time I'd seen him—there'd been a picture of him in the Cascade Times as Grand Marshal of the Founder's Day Parade. The jet black hair and white temples were gone, replaced by a much more natural looking stone gray worn away from his face except for a lock that fell across his forehead. Gone too were the pseudo Beverly Hills gigolo clothes—here he was wearing a dark brown cardigan over a pale cream shirt and a pair of black slacks. The caricature was gone and in its place stood a man who looked intelligent, charming—and maybe even a little menacing.
I was still speechless as he gave me a knowing smile and tossed a greeting to Simon. Then he moved behind the couch over to where Eric sat watching him with open affection, the first strong emotion I'd seen him show.
"Giving the kid the spiel, hunh?" Vince perched on the edge of the couch near Eric, his back slightly turned to me. Although his voice was perfectly audible in the room, I had the distinct feeling that they were only two people having this conversation.
"Yes, we'd just gotten to the interesting part when you came in with your usual poor timing."
"My timing," Vince replied silkily, "has always been perfect, as you well know. I've never heard you complain before. At least not about that, anyway."
I sat down and stole a look at Simon to see how he was reacting to this decidedly intimate tete a tete but he was just regarding them with a tolerant smile.
Vince leaned forward and said something too low for me to hear, but whatever it was caused a pink glow to wash across Eric's high cheekbones and his blue eyes to shine. Then Vince patted his knee and pushed back into the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles and giving me a good long once over.
"So, Blair Sandburg, what do you think of the show so far?"
I finally closed my mouth and swallowed. "It's great! But, man, I have so many questions!"
"Yeah? Like?"
Vince seemed to have taken over the conversation, but a quick glance at the other two men confirmed that this was perfectly fine with them.
"Ok, like—like this place. It's a multi-million dollar facility with beyond state of the art installations. Who pays for all this? What do you need all these research facilities for if you already can identify the levels of sensitivity inherent in the populace?"
I looked at each man in turn, making sure I had their undivided attention.
"And just who the hell is trying to kill me?"
"I'll answer that."
Once again, I turned around in my seat at the very welcome sound of Jim's voice. That feeling of welcome evaporated when I got a good look at him. He strolled in to the room without acknowledging the other occupants, his expressionless gaze firmly fixed on me.
"The answer to your first question is the federal government. Technically, it's called blackmail but we refer to it as a mutually beneficial arrangement. They're the ones that paved our way out of Peru and also got us off the hook with the PD for Burton's monograph."
As Jim came around to stand at parade rest in front of the large screen TV, I asked, "Uh, Jim? Blackmailing the government? Basically illegal, right?"
He held up a hand to stop me. The feeling in the room had shifted dramatically, from an easy discussion to a sudden—and decidedly frigid—lecture. This wasn't my Jim staring at me with hard, blank eyes. Not the Jim who'd held me tenderly through the night and kissed away my insecurities this morning. This was the Jim I'd met in Peru, the one who shot first and asked questions—like, never.
Keeping my eyes pinned on him, I slowly reached for the pillow I'd been leaning on and clutched it to my stomach.
"Your next question—we raise research money because the government won't supply funds for research. The money they grant us is strictly defensive in purpose and is subject to repeal with any change in administration and therefore unreliable. We raise money for research to find ways to use the knowledge of enhanced senses medically, to find organic responses to aging, failing eyesight, hearing loss."
"All right," I said quietly, letting it go—for now. "And my third question?"
Jim tilted his head at Eric, who nodded and turned on the TV behind him.
"The answer to that question is here."
I slipped on my glasses as he stepped out of the way to reveal a woman on the screen, obviously being played from a videotape. It was a homemade tape of what had to be her birthday party. She was cutting a big cake, getting white frosting all over her hands and laughing up into the camera as she licked the mess off of her fingers.
No doubt about it, she was a beautiful woman, with blond hair tied back in a ponytail that fell over her shoulder as she bent down.
Abruptly, the picture changed to a fuzzy tape of what I quickly figured out was a bank robbery. There were several robbers, all in black with ski masks over their faces, but one was distinctly female.
That little strip of tape ran several times from different angles, then stopped and changed to show a mug shot of the same woman I'd just seen smiling at the camera with frosting on her cheeks, only now she was staring back with undisguised malice. I looked at the bar beneath her face to read her name but it had been blacked out.
The tape ran out and Eric turned the TV off. In the silence that developed, I took a quick look around the room. Simon was leaning forward, his arms around his midsection as he stared at the top of his shoes. Vince and Eric were looking at each other, and although I couldn't see Vince's face, Eric's was eloquent enough.
There was great sorrow here.
Finally, I looked at Jim. He was looking right at me and at the expression in his eyes, my heart constricted painfully.
"Jim?" I whispered.
"That's the one I'd told you about—the one who betrayed us."
I swallowed hard. "Who is she?"
"Alex Barnes—Ellison. My ex-wife."
"Ex-wife?"
"That's right."
If I'd punched Sandburg in the gut, he couldn't look more stricken. At the horrified look on his face, I felt a bleak certainty that anything more between us was now in jeopardy. Whatever his feelings were for me—and I had no doubt they were genuine—it would be hard to go forward knowing that it was my ex that had ruined his life. The best thing would be for him to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction from me—but I couldn't let that happen, not as long as there was still a threat against him.
"God, Jim—" he began, but I cut him off.
"Yeah. Alex was the last five to come to the group. Eric found her in a mental ward down in Ontario."
"A mental ward? Man, that's harsh." He wasn't looking at me anymore and my heart sank a little.
"I should have left her there," Eric said softly. I glanced at him and he met my gaze with a sadness that time had not mitigated. I shook my head and gave him a faint smile; he'd never forgiven himself for bringing Alex into the family, no matter how many times we told him that it wasn't his fault.
"You did what you thought was right." Vince repeated the oft-used words with quiet authority.
"Jim," Simon said broke in, "tell Sandburg the rest."
"Right," I sighed. Might as well get this over with. Sandburg still wasn't looking me in the eye, but I plowed on doggedly, the thought in the back of my mind that maybe I should arrange to have his things delivered here to the House asap.
"Eric here had started studying the five sense phenomena back in the sixties, when the government agency he worked for began experimenting with drugs that enhanced senses artificially. Other, less legitimate groups were also trying to develop something along the same lines."
"But why?" Sandburg asked with a quick look in Eric's direction.
"You must remember, this was during the Cold War," Eric said. "There was a very real possibility that nuclear war would wipe out most of mankind and mutate the survivors. Any enhancement to the human body was greatly sought after, the thought being that drugs could repair damage done by radiation."
Sandburg paled and looked down at his hands. "Jesus," he murmured.
"But," Eric continued, "it took many years of research to come to the conclusion that enhanced senses were actually the norm, not the exception. But it wasn't until I met Eli Stoddard that we began to piece together what later we'd come to call the Aegis Effect."
Sandburg leaned forward, his hands on his knees. For all the attention he was paying me now, I wasn't even in the room.
"Ok." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Eric. "Aegis, meaning protection, got that. What does that have to do with having five heightened senses?"
Eric looked at me, then continued. "Traditionally, the Fives of this world have been the protectors of their tribe. That is why we believe they evolved that way. Unfortunately, with the advent of the Industrial Age, their usefulness was soon outstripped by technology. We don't believe they are any less prevalent in the population, but only extreme conditions bring the abilities back to the forefront."
For the first time since my bombshell about Alex, Blair looked at me. It was an unreadable glance, giving me no clue at all as to what he was thinking.
"So," he was saying, "when Jim was stranded in the jungle and then later as a police officer when he was lost for a couple of days, the senses kicked back in."
Eric steepled his fingers and I thought with a kind of grim pride that he must have been thrilled to have someone to tell about this, someone who was smart—and not emotionally involved.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Ellison.
"Correct. But the second deep remission of the abilities threw them into confusion, so that when they resurfaced, they had lost their point of reference. He began to suffer what we call zone outs, when one sense overwhelms the others. It was that state in which I found Alex not long after Emily joined us."
"Us. You keep saying there was five of you but I've only heard of three. Who are the other two?"
Vince got up and walked past Eric, pausing briefly to rest his hand on Eric's shoulder before moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. I had stayed parked in front of the TV screen, my arms crossed over my chest and my face carefully impassive. Blair had relaxed a little, but he still was avoiding my eyes.
"You know of Jim, Alex, and Emily. The fourth member is a young man now living in Alexandria, Virginia, by the name of Jason Banks. The fifth member—" Eric lowered his eyes "—was a good friend. His name was Tomas Viejo and he died—"
"He was murdered," I said flatly. "Alex killed him."
Sandburg finally looked at me again and I wish to God he hadn't. The kid wore his heart in his eyes, and right now they were telling me he was just about on overload.
I felt—God, what did I feel? Maybe it was better not to feel anything right now, because I knew the alternative could be unbearable. Vince had parked his butt on the arm of Eric's chair, so I sighed and unlocked my knees, taking his seat next to Sandburg and not missing the satisfied twitch of Vince's lips.
"Look, Chief, this isn't a long story. Eric brought Alex back and that completed the five. Jason was getting ready to go to college so we were in the middle of making plans, trying to find someplace where he'd be comfortable. Emily—wait, you don't know about her yet, do you?"
He shook his head, then reached back with shaking fingers to pull the tie off his hair. That's when I noticed the little lines of pain around his eyes and his slightly elevated temperature.
"Hey," I said quietly, bringing his eyes back to mine, "you doing ok?"
He nodded right away and gave me a smile that had my heart beating double time in renewed hope. It was an intimate smile, a private, almost bedroom little grin that told he me he was pleased that I'd asked. Since it was the first time he'd really looked at me since I'd entered the room, the weight of his gaze hit me like a ton of bricks and I found my jaw relaxing into an answering smile.
"All right." I cleared my throat and ordered my thoughts, trying to explain the rest of the story with as little fuss as possible. We were all getting hungry and tired and there was still work to do. Plus, I wanted Sandburg to get checked out at our little infirmary.
"Here's how it went. Eli and Eric met in the early eighties and started amassing information on the Effect. The first legitimate subject they found was Jason Banks, who at that time was what they call a 'special needs' kid living in Seattle. His family thought he was autistic and—"
"Wait a sec—" Sandburg interrupted. "Did you say Banks?" He turned to Simon. "Aren't you—"
"Yes. Jason is my nephew." Simon spoke so smoothly, you'd never know of the worry that ate at him day and night. "He's the only one who's been able to grow naturally into his abilities, once the therapies that Eric has come up with began to work."
Sandburg looked at Simon a moment longer. "Ok," he turned back to me, "sorry. Go on."
"Emily was next. She and her husband Ed came to Eric after he'd published a small article regarding sensory perception. Tomas—well, Eli found Tomas in Brazil. He was—" God, how to explain this.
"Tomas was in the hands of very cruel people," Eric said tonelessly. "They owned a circus and abused him terribly, forcing him into performing as a side show freak. They used his senses to play parlor tricks on carnival patrons, then wrapped his head and hands in cotton batting and burlap to blunt input when they weren't working him. They fed him food infused with drugs to keep him docile."
"My God," Sandburg murmured, looking understandably green around the gills. I wish he'd met Tomas, a large, friendly, quiet man who would give you the shirt off his back, a man who died trying to protect the only friends he'd ever known. I took in a deep breath and picked up the story.
"Emily Dawson suffered from her senses
all her life and had been constantly misdiagnosed but they'd leveled out lower by the time she'd reached her fifties. One day she and her husband Ed were caught in their motor home during a blizzard outside of Great Falls, Montana. They ran out of gas and battery power and were close to dying of hypothermia by the time the highway patrol found them. Emily's Five nature reasserted itself and she was institutionalized soon thereafter."
I stood up and walked over to one of the bookshelves that flanked the entertainment center, taking down a picture frame that consisted of three parts.
"Here," I said, retaking my seat. I held up the frame and pointed to the first photo. "This is Emily and Ed, celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary."
It was a great picture of them, too. Looking at them, you knew they were the ideal retired couple; Ed was a big, balding guy with a middle-aged gut and hearty laugh. Emily was about half his size, pretty and quiet and possessing a devastatingly dry sense of humor. Ed had his arm slung around Emily's shoulders and they were leaning together and toasting each other with sparkling apple cider.
"This next one," I indicated the middle photo, "that's Jason, the day he graduated from high school. Kid next to him is Simon's son, Daryl."
Sandburg threw a quick smile at Simon, then turned back to look at the last photo.
"Tomas?" he said softly.
"Yes." I could never look at this picture without getting a lump in my throat. Tomas was only in his fifties—we never knew his exact age—and although he'd known only abuse for most of his life was still one of the gentlest people I'd ever met.
This picture showed Tomas in Sally's old rooftop herb garden, diligently weeding his way through the basil. He was kneeling, smiling up at the camera with his mud-covered hands extended like a playful monster. Frasier, the Group's adopted marmalade tom, was butted up against his thigh in a perfect capture of feline ecstasy.
"Looks like a cool guy," Sandburg murmured.
"He was."
We all fell quiet, each of us re-experiencing the pain of so much loss. Simon drew in a breath and was just about to say something when Eric started coughing. I turned to see him leaning forward, coughing harshly into a handkerchief as Vince rubbed his back in soothing circles.
"I think that's it for now, Jim," Vince said firmly. I nodded and stood up, ignoring Eric's upraised hand. I could've kicked myself for not noticing that Eric was tiring, obviously still not fully recovered from his bout with the flu.
"Sorry—you're right. C'mon, Chief. Let's go grab a bite and then I want you to see Jenny."
Sandburg was sliding off the couch, plumping the pillow he'd squashed. "Yeah? Who's that?"
"Resident doctor."
"Doctor? What for? I feel fine!"
"I'm sure you do." I sighed, reaching down a hand to grab his elbow, helping him stand. "Just—humor me, ok?"
He shrugged. "Sure, ok. But really, I'm good." He tucked a long strand of hair behind his ear and smiled at me, but that didn't erase the pain shadowing his eyes. Half healed ribs, the knot on his forehead and the welts on his wrists gave the lie to his being 'good'.
Simon was already out the door and we moved to join him. I turned back to see Vince helping Eric to his feet.
"One more thing," I said apologetically, "we're going to need a phone for Sandburg."
Eric pulled away from Vince and walked stiffly over to the counter.
"Already taken care of." A small black cell phone came flying through the air and I caught it.
"Damn, you're good," I said with a grin.
"Yes, he is," Vince broke in. "Now get out of here."
I gave Vince a mock salute and closed the door behind me. Slipping the phone inside my pocket, I joined up with Sandburg and Simon and we headed upstairs.
Funny how grateful you are when the mundane takes over from the surreal. After the twisted fairy tale we'd been laying out to Blair, it was a relief to sit down to Sally's salmon en papillote—just a snack, she'd protested—and relax for a few minutes. Conversation was general, and once Simon found out that Sandburg was a Jags fan, they really started to hit it off, although they disagreed—loudly—about what they needed to get in the next draft. I let their voices wash over me, the affection I held for these two men going a long way to heal up recently re-opened wounds.
After the blackberry cobbler was wolfed down, Simon excused himself and left Sandburg and me alone. Blair wiped his lips with the linen napkin and then tossed it on the table.
"Man," he groaned, leaning back in his chair so that the front legs lifted off the floor, "food like that, I just may take up permanent residence."
Perfect opening. "You could, you know," I said casually.
The chair came down with a thud. "Jim, I was kidding!"
"I know," I answered, shifting uneasily. "But maybe you'd be more comfortable here."
"Why?" His voice had lowered and I knew him well enough to know that was a sign of rough currents ahead.
"God, Sandburg, why not?" I responded, my tone defensive. "Hell, you'd be safer, for one thing."
"That is so lame, Jim." He crossed his arms over his chest, mouth set in a mulish line.
I stared at him in frustration. Was he going to make me spell it out for him? Probably.
I sighed in defeat. "I just thought maybe you wouldn't want to come back with me."
The edge of anger remained in his voice as he replied, "Why the hell not?"
I kept my eyes fixed on my plate. "Alex."
"What about her?"
My eyes flew up to meet his. "Jesus, Sandburg—"
I was interrupted by Tim, Jenny's assistant, knocking lightly on the door frame.
"Sorry to disturb you," he said timidly.
"No problem," I sighed, grateful for the break. "Jenny ready?"
Tim nodded and I stood up. "Ok, Chief, go with Tim here. I'll come get you in a bit."
Sandburg rose, still glaring at me. "Ok, but we are so not done with this conversation."
I nodded and watched them go. Maybe I was just making things worse by pointing out the obvious, but I was very sure of one thing—I couldn't stand to be with Blair, knowing that the spectre of Alex stood between us. If he was going to—if we were going to go forward, he had to know what kind of monster my ex-wife had truly become.
"See? Just like I told you. I'm fine".
Jenny removed the blood pressure cuff and nodded.
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say fine, but you're improving, Mr. Sandburg."
"Oh, for Pete's sake, call me Blair." I jumped off the exam table and slid the sleeve back down my arm. I know I sounded like a cranky four-year-old but that was about how I felt. Somewhere along the line I'd been absorbed into this world and though for the most part I was ok with that, I was beginning to feel a little rebellious about the whole thing.
And Jim was not helping, not by a long shot. This tendency of his to clam up and get all prickly was annoying, especially when he used that attitude to push me away. What he didn't know was as hard as he pushed, I could push back just as hard.
I wasn't going anywhere.
For half an hour, Jenny—a tough, no nonsense military type with a gentle touch—had poked and prodded, examining my old souvenirs from Peru as well as my new set of bruises.
I was just about to button my cuff when Jenny stopped me. "Hold on, Blair, I want Tim to take some blood."
"Whoa, wait a minute. What for?"
"I asked her to." Jim walked in and shook hands with Jenny.
I parked my hands on my hips. "Again I ask—what for?"
Jenny raised her eyebrows at Jim and then beat feet out of the little room. I leaned against the table and crossed my arms. This was something I had control over and no one was taking so much as a looking at me with a needle in their hand unless I received a good explanation why.
Jim looked at me, then closed the door. He paused with his back turned to me, then came and stood in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders.
"When we were in Peru and I had my zone out? You brought me out of it."
"I did?" I squeaked, dropping my defensive stance.
Jim nodded. "I think so. Usually, it takes direct physical pain to distract us out of the zones. It has to be something strong enough to make the one prime sense let go. I didn't have to do that when you were there."
"Pain?" I whispered, the idea unbearable.
"Yeah. Slaps, pinches, things like that."
"God, that's awful."
Jim shrugged, keeping his hands on my shoulders. "Not so bad for us. Bad for those who have to do it."
My eyes widened as I realized what he just said. "You mean, like Ed? He'd have to—"
"No, not Ed. For some reason, all he'd have to do was touch her, talk to her, and she'd come back."
He gave my shoulders a squeeze and let go to come beside me, setting his hips next to mine on the table.
"But," Jim continued, "if he wasn't there and she zoned, someone would have to do something they didn't want to."
I thought about that for a minute. "Ok, so then why did she die?" I asked quietly. "Why couldn't Ed bring her out this time?"
Jim scrubbed at his face, then dropped his hands. "Ed passed away. He had a coronary about a year ago. Emily zoned not long afterwards and there was nothing we could do to help her. Towards the end, we had to send her to a nursing home, so we made arrangements for her to be near her family in Austin."
He arched his head low to stare at his feet. "So, you're the second person we've found that could do that. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe not." He tilted his head and looked up at me. "So, is it ok?"
"Is what ok?" I was still reeling from this latest set of revelations. The idea of having to slap or otherwise hurt Jim was repugnant.
"To take some blood, Chief."
"Oh!" I started to roll up my sleeve again. "Sure!"
Jim closed his eyes briefly. "Thanks. I'll get Tim."
"Hey—wait." I rested my hand on his arm.
"What?"
I looked around, not really sure what to say. All I knew was that in all this chaos, Jim was the one constant. Of course, I'd seen right through his whole 'maybe you should move here' thing, knowing he was trying to put distance between us in case I couldn't handle it. Right now, I knew I didn't want him to go off to try and come up with yet another reason to separate us. I wanted to be in his face all the time, a physical reminder that he and I had a lot of unfinished business between us.
"Will you hang around? Needles aren't exactly my favorite thing, you know? In fact—I hate the damn things."
It wasn't exactly a lie, but lucky for me, Jim folded immediately.
"Sure," he said, adding a sweet little half smile that almost made me regret my little obfuscation—almost. "They're not mine, either."
I nodded firmly. "Right. Ok. Let's get it over with."
Blood was indeed taken, Jim turning into a deluxe-sized Florence Nightingale and hovering as Tim did his thing. I encouraged him to talk a little about the others; at first, he didn't seem to want to, but I kept at him. So finally, as I sat there squeezing a rolled-up towel, he told me little stories about Emily, how she and Ed were huge Denver Broncos fans and would follow them around in the motor home but could never go inside a stadium because of the noise. And how Tomas loved to work in the gardens and slept outdoors as often as he could and in the warmer months, Jim and Simon would take him camping. He actually laughed a little as he explained how Tomas never learned to speak English properly, but sort of developed his own language that everyone picked up on. I'm ashamed to admit that as much as I loved hearing Jim talk about his friends, I was a little jealous. Affection lit up his blue eyes as he spoke of these people, and I envied them his obvious loyalty, not to mention the good times he was enjoying telling me about.
Alex was never mentioned and it occurred to me that until we got through that particular discussion, Jim would never truly be free to feel—well, whatever it was he was going to feel about me. We'd lost a lot of ground since this morning, ground I was not only anxious to make up, but determined to.
Because among the many startling and even disturbing revelations this day had brought, one thing was crystal clear—my feelings for Jim were growing exponentially with each one. I knew full well that stiff-armed act of his was just a clumsy way of trying to protect me from unsavory truths, but as an anthropologist, I'm trained to evaluate cultures of any kind.
What I found here at the Aegis Group was a family in all but blood, a group of people who cared dearly for each other and suffered together when there were losses. There was a high level of comfort among the members I'd met so far, telling me that there was also an enormous amount of trust here.
And for some reason, they were extending an invitation to me to join this cobbled-together family. My acceptance by them was obviously guaranteed by Jim's faith in me, and I was humbled by that. It also furthered my belief that Jim was trying very hard to protect me—and while I appreciated the thought, the more I knew about these people, the more I wanted to do a little protecting myself—even though I still wasn't sure exactly what I would be protecting them against.
After I got my Gumby Band-Aid—which Jenny put on with the first smile I'd seen from her—Jim led me back upstairs into the empty library. I'd completely lost track of time and was surprised to see it was early evening.
Jim moved straight to the desk and turned on the computer.
"I've got a little work to do here, Chief. I'd invite you to pull up a chair but this is just paying some bills—nothing really exciting."
"Uh, actually, Jim,—I need to make some phone calls. I imagine everyone thinks I've fallen off the face of the earth."
"No problem. There's a media room down the hall—you can use the phone in there. Oh, here—" he tossed me a cell phone, "this is yours. Megan pre-programmed a lot of your numbers for you. Let me know what's missing and we'll add those, too."
I shook my head. "You guys are unreal, man. Ok, I'll make my calls from the TV room. Down the hall and to the—"
"Right."
"Ok. See you in a bit?"
Jim looked up from the screen, a resigned—amused, but resigned—look on his face. "Yeah. Then we'll head home."
Ha. Gotcha.
"Sounds good."
The media room turned out to be media heaven. More gleaming wood, furniture covered in deep greens and reds, lots of brass doodads. Of course, it had a projection screen TV, surround sound, the works. Lighting was discreet and recessed and really cool because it was controlled by the same remote that controlled the screen, the TV and the stereo system. I fiddled with that for a while, making the screen go up and down and the lights flash, mentally making a list of all the movies it'd be cool to watch in here.
The phone was on a table that stood behind the u-shaped couch, so I kicked off my shoes and turned the lights up, then grabbed it. I touched base with my advisor, Professor McReynolds, with Chet, my weaselly landlord who promised to refund my money before the week was out, Detective Kopec where I just left a message, and then finally with Bobby.
That was quasi painful. Bobby is a really nice guy and I tried to position the conversation so that we could remain friends, but apparently he wasn't interested in that and was honest enough to admit it. We parted cordially and I hung up the phone and set it aside, then turned down the lights and walked over to the cd player to check out the collection. Like everything else about this place, it was impressive. Hell, it was borderline musical nirvana and so I loaded up the carousel with abandon, Eric's observances about my enhanced senses ringing in my ears—so to speak. Then I resumed my seat in the corner of yet another sinfully plush couch, crossed my legs beneath me and closed my eyes.
I'm not sure how long I was there—the CDs were set to play randomly and I'd chosen very unobtrusive music. This was the first time I'd really felt alone since the fire and I had a lot of thinking to do. The one thing I couldn't seem to do was relax my body; if something wasn't aching, it was itching, stinging or just plain sore. I worked hard on setting aside the physical and concentrating on the mental until finally slipping into that nice space between my ears where the processing really kicked in.
Now that I'd seen Alex, insecurity was rearing its ugly head. While not discounting all the horrible things she'd done to Jim and his friends, he'd once loved her enough to marry her. She was beautiful, she was blond, she was female—everything I was emphatically not. I have a feeling Jim was afraid I'd be disgusted by his association with her, but that's just not the way I think—the question was, how do I prove to him that what she did wasn't a reflection on him? God, the fact that he suffered so much because of her was proof enough that whatever it was that had brought them together, it hadn't survived.
However, that didn't make it any easier. I chased around these thoughts for a while and failed to come to any useful conclusion. My feelings for Jim were so clear in my head, absolutely unlike anything I've ever felt for anyone, but until I could read his mind or he decided to share, I felt pretty much alone.
It was a subtle lowering of the light, a darkening registered on my eyelids, that gave me my first inkling that I wasn't alone. The room was windowless, so when I felt a slight shift in the air currents, I started to come out of the meditative state I'd fallen into. I was completely unconcerned, my body still sitting stiffly although I'd stretched my legs out across the cushions in front of me.
I inhaled deeply and was about to open my eyes when a soft voice floated to me from somewhere in the darkness.
"Keep your eyes closed."
The couch near my feet dipped and I jumped a little. Jim had moved like a cat, absolutely no sound coming from his shoes on the carpeting to give me a clue where he'd come from. I did as he asked, but when I tried to scoot my feet out of his way, he stopped me with a gentle clasp around my ankles.
"Relax."
"Ok." Easier said than done—I remained rigidly upright, the universe suddenly centered around my feet.
He chuckled softly, then the fingers around my ankles tightened.
"Hold on."
"Wha—!"
With a firm tug, I was laying flat on my back, my feet and calves landing across rock hard thighs. Jim's movement had been so fast I didn't have time to tense up even more, so I came down easy. My eyes flew open and I was staring up into the shadows, just able to make out the crown molding that hid the recessed lighting.
"Eyes closed, Chief."
I did as I was told, wiggling my butt and arranging my arms until I was completely supported on a cloud of burgundy velvet—except for my feet, one of which was being denuded of its borrowed white sock.
Large, warm hands began massaging the sole of my left foot, easily rotating my ankle in a circular motion guaranteed to make me relax. I bit my lip and breathed deeply, at a loss as to why I was being pampered in this way but in no rush to solve the puzzle. It was as unexpected as it was wonderful, and I sank a little deeper into love with the big dope.
"You ever hear of reflexology, Blair?" came a seductive whisper.
"Sure," I said with a hitch in my voice as his thumb bored into a spot just beneath the ball of my foot. "Not—ah, oh man—not sure if I believe in it, though. I mean, how could my little toe could be attached to my pancreas or—"
"Shhh." His voice, rich as dark chocolate, held a note of amusement. "You comfortable there?"
"You have got to be kidding," I mumbled, drowning in the sensations washing across every nerve in my body. Maybe there was something to this reflexology thing. Down the sole of my foot with a firm touch, then circular moves up and out from my heel until warm hands cupped my toes and squeezed lightly. Back down again, thumbs curving round and round my ankle bone before his hands slid teasingly up my pant leg to massage the base of my calf.
I whimpered happily, rewarded by another deep chuckle. The sock was replaced and that foot set down to rest up against his abdomen. My right foot was given the same treatment, but instead of relaxing me further, I began to feel a welcome tension begin to curl around the base of my spine.
We'd fallen silent, the music continuing to play on almost inaudibly in the background. Although my right foot was being expertly massaged, my left foot was finding its location pretty interesting as well.
I brushed my toes across his shirt as if by accident, feeling for a gap between the lower buttons and finding one. Just then he rubbed the edge of his hand over the base of my toes and I moaned, my fingers curling into the palms of my hands where they rested on my chest.
"You're very good at this," I panted.
"You think?" He ran his thumb hard down the middle of my foot, drawing a long, shuddering sigh out of me.
"Smart ass," I mumbled, then tucked my toes inside his shirt.
And wiggled.
His stomach muscles flinched.
"Whoa there," he said, and I was pleased to hear a little bit of roughness in that voice. "You're supposed to be relaxing."
I peeled open my eyes and lifted up on my elbows, giving Jim another tickle with my toes.
"I don't wanna."
Jim looked at me with a raised eyebrow as he replaced the sock, shifting a little—but not moving out of reach—as my toes continued to burrow their way inside his shirt.
"No? Well, ok."
He took my feet and set them flat against the couch so that my knees bent upwards. I thought maybe I'd ruined the playful moment until he lunged at me, grabbing my forearms and leveraging me back down the on the couch—and full length right on top of him.
Laughter spilled out of both of us as I landed with a soft oof, bouncing once until strong arms wrapped around my waist to steady me. I braced my hands on either side of Jim's head and stared down into his bright eyes until the laughter faded away, replaced by a tingling, breathless awareness that we both recognized.
Carefully balancing myself on one wrist, I lifted my free hand to run my fingertips over the planes of Jim's face, giving myself over to the pleasures of his smooth skin. Our eyes remained locked until I dragged the tip of my index finger over his long lashes, causing his nose to wrinkle and his eyelids to drift closed as a small, unwilling smile twisted his lips.
I tossed my hair out of the way and dropped a delicate kiss on the end of that nose, then went back to exploring his face with my fingers. Jim's hands began stroke lightly up and down my back as I began to follow my fingers with my lips, dropping open-mouthed kisses across that strong jaw and over the sharp cheekbones.
Jim spread his legs and I settled between them so that my weight was distributed evenly across his body. The angle was just right for the bottoms of my feet to brush against the top of his, allowing me to rub my toes on his sock-clad insteps. Having him quiescent beneath my mouth was something I'd sort of dreamed about and he was allowing me to touch and caress at will, little hums of pleasure coming from his throat to encourage me.
I was tipping his head away so that I could run my lips across his Adam's apple when I felt his hand fall low on my back, just below my belt. At first I didn't notice, so wrapped up in the texture of that patch of skin, but then I felt a slight tug and suddenly Jim's hand was sliding over the waistband of my jeans and under my shirt to begin stroking the bared flesh at the base of my spine.
That blew my concentration out of the water—all I could do was sigh and burrow my head into his shoulder as his second hand slid up my neck and into my hair. The hand on my back moved higher, pulling my shirt with it and revealing more skin. The cooler air lifted goose bumps from my flesh—Jim must have felt it because his big palm spread across my lower back like a warming blanket.
I lifted my head to look into his eyes again but the hand tangled in my hair urged me down until our mouths met with a dizzying pulse of desire that wrung moans from both of us. At first only our lips touched each other, learning shape and curvature as we traded soft, loose kisses. Then Jim increased the pressure on the back of my head, angling his mouth so that our mouths locked together. His tongue slipped inside with a sure touch, meeting my own and teasing it before retreating.
Languorous heat was building in my muscles, making me feel heavier and lighter at the same time. Every point where my body touched his was highly sensitized and the intimate friction between our fully clothed bodies was almost too much to bear. The arousal that flowed between us was sweet, growing stronger as the kisses deepened.
"Jim," I whispered when he'd relinquished my mouth, "let's graduate from the couch level, ok? Big house, lots of bedrooms—"
My lips were retaken in a gentle kiss that ended by Jim framing my face with his hands and gently moving me away.
"No," he said simply.
"Why not?" Disappointment tightened my throat—even though his hands still caressed my face, I could feel the moment fading away.
"Oh, Blair," he said on a sigh as he closed his eyes, "this is nothing but trouble for you."
"You keep saying that," I whispered fiercely.
His eyes opened, shadowed and serious. "And I keep meaning it, too," he murmured with a wry smile. He touched the pad of his thumb to my mouth. "Trouble is, I keep forgetting why."
I shook off his restraining hands and brushed my lips lightly over his. "What do I have to do to make you forget—permanently?"
"No, God damn it," he groaned, pushing me carefully away and easing us both up to a sitting position. I scooted back until I was curled in the vee of the couch, my legs drawn up.
Jesus, that hurt.
Jim sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. He took in a deep breath and then turned and looked me in the eye.
"I married Alex less than six weeks after she came to the group. Simon, Eric, Vince, even Tomas—they all tried to convince me it was wrong. They thought she was unstable, and not from her Five nature. But I—I didn't see that."
He swallowed and ran a hand across his head. "She and I—we just—God, we were—like animals. When I was with her, I turned into something—ugly. Even when we suspected her of trying to divide the group, with the evidence right in front of me, I defended her."
He stood up abruptly and crossed the room, keeping his back to me. When he spoke again, it was over his shoulder.
"That tape you saw—the bank robbery—she'd done that before we ever met her. We don't know what ultimately sent her into a deep zone. Her—partner—abandoned her and that's how she ended up in the mental hospital."
"Jim—"
His hand went up, a silent order to keep quiet.
"Once Eric and Eli brought her to the group and got her out of the zone, she pretended to join the rest of us in our search, which was at that point twofold—one, to find a way to prevent the zone outs we were prone to, and the other, to try and benefit from the knowledge of enhanced senses. Eli was just beginning his investigations into the Victorian explorers in South America when Alex and I—we eloped. I thought when we came back—if they saw how happy we were, they'd understand. Damn thing was—I wasn't happy. From the beginning, I knew I'd made a mistake, but I was trapped. Alex—God, she needed so much, she needed me so much—at least that's what I thought."
He fell silent and bowed his head. My own disappointment long forgotten, I resisted the urge to go to him, knowing that he needed to get this out without interruption.
"What we didn't know was that Alex had been in contact with her partner and between the two of them, they decided to use the same knowledge we were after. But instead of helping people, they wanted to package the ability and sell it to the highest bidder. When it looked like we were on the right track, she came after our files."
"What about her lover? I mean, her partner was her lover, right?"
Jim turned around and I almost flinched. There was so much pain in that face—again, I stopped myself from reacting and let him continue.
"Yes. Garrett Kincaid, leader of the Sunrise Patriots, a bush league supremacist group. They lined up buyers for this non-existent sense-enhancing drug—buyers that run third world countries and drug cartels that make the Medellin look like frat boys. With that kind of clientele bankrolling them, they needed to come up with results and fast, but the files Alex took from us were inconclusive. The best evidence we had was the reference to the monograph that Eric had found years ago in Burton's biography. He'd forgotten it, actually, but a few years ago there was an archeologist name of Santiago who found markings on the wall of a ruin in the Yucatan."
"Ok, yeah, I kind of remember that. Santiago was out of USC, right?" At his surprised look, I shrugged. "Anthropology and archeology—everyone thinks they're the same thing. Our paths tend to cross a lot professionally."
"Got it. Anyway, we think Alex and Kincaid are banking on the runes that Santiago found to lead them to the Temple of the Sentinels. If Eric's matched those symbols to the ones in Burton's book, it's the best lead we've had yet. If that temple exists, we've got to find it before they do."
"Sure," I said thoughtfully, "because with the big money that she and Kincaid have behind them—"
"Had, remember?"
"Oh, right—Simon said he thought they were broke. But if they found new funding—"
He crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "There isn't much they couldn't do. We've always known we were outnumbered and outgunned, so that's why Eric contacted the federal government and reminded them of a little known project in the sixties that almost caused World War Three. When Eric told them what we suspected Alex and Kincaid of doing, they were more than anxious to help out when we needed a little assistance outside the lines."
He crossed the room, trying to walk off nervous energy, before pausing in front of a bookcase.
"Up until the point that we realized what Alex had done, we'd been nothing but a research group. Between Simon's money, my inheritance and the investors—"
"Simon's money? What, is he rich or something?"
He shot an amused glance at me. "Yeah. Came out of the army and went straight into investing. Made a fortune in tech stocks—and made connections, thankfully. He'd been spending a lot of money trying to help his brother's kid—that's Jason—so when he saw what Eric and Eli were trying to do, he came on board."
I dropped my knees and leaned forward. "So he's ex-military, too."
Jim nodded. "And Eric's an ex-Fed. Pretty much everyone here is from a military, law enforcement or government background."
"Even Vince?" I said with a small laugh.
"You'd be surprised," he replied cryptically. "Anyway, once we realized what Alex was up to, we had to start allocating resources to keep up with her. Research has pretty much gone by the wayside—Eli's search for the Burton book was about our last hope. Knowing that Alex is on the same track is a disaster."
"So now it's a race," I murmured.
"Yeah," he replied wearily, finally coming back to sit on the other end of the couch, far away from me. "Their
backers want results and they're getting desperate. We think their money got cut off and that's why they've been hitting small banks in the south."
"Ah," I said quietly.
We sat there for a few quiet moments, Jim lost in his thoughts and me trying to find a way to reach him. I looked at my hands, poked at an incipient hole in the knee of my jeans—and then, taking a deep breath, I slid over on the cushions until our thighs touched.
"Tell me the rest." It was as much of an order as I could make it, but it still came out shaky.
Jim turned his head and looked at me like I'd just landed from Pluto. I could see an argument forming in his eyes, so I said two simple words and put every thing I had behind them.
"Trust me."
He said it sincerely, convincingly. So far I hadn't been very good at explaining to him that trust wasn't something I did well. And it wasn't that I didn't trust him, exactly—I didn't think he'd betray us, although that line of reasoning hadn't protected us from Alex. The problem lay in that although I felt he could be entrusted with the secrets of the group, I wasn't so sure I could trust him to not break my heart when he learned what a fool I'd been.
"Look, Chief, I do, but—"
Blair's eyes narrowed.
"But?"
I paused—and that was my mistake.
"Fine." Sandburg's tone was clipped as he slapped his knees and slid away from me, reaching for his shoes. "I'm out of here. You wanna call me a cab or am I hoofing it back to town?"
"Blair, you can't just—"
"The hell I can't." His face was hard as he tied his laces and stood up. "Watch me."
I stood up as well, trying unsuccessfully to toughen myself against the hurt underlining his attitude.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "There's people out there trying to kill you, or have you forgotten that?"
"Uh, that would be no, I haven't forgotten that." He turned away and moved around the far edge of the couch. When he reached the door, he found me planted in front of it.
"Look, will you just move?" He tossed up his hands in frustration. "I'll hide, I promise, ok? And I won't tell anyone about your stupid secret bat cave."
"No, I want—"
"Yeah, Jim, that's it—you want. Well guess what—you can't have unless you trust."
He tried to push past me but I didn't budge.
"Ok, I get it," he said bitterly. "I can't go through you, you won't come clean—so what do we do now? Play Nintendo? Watch a movie?"
We stared at each other. Seeing the determination in his eyes, I realized with a sense of helplessness that I was going to lose him completely if I didn't finish the story.
Pinning my gaze on a spot over his head, I took a deep breath.
"Alex left me. Almost from the beginning, any finer feelings between us were gone and we fought tooth and nail about everything. She had no interest in the group—all she wanted was money. Money and power. Money I could give her—my brother and I each inherited a decent amount when our dad died. But once she realized that the groups' interests were benevolent, she took off. We didn't know what she had in mind—or that she'd hooked up with Kincaid again."
I closed my eyes for a second, hoping it would somehow make the painful memory a little easier to share. "One night—God, it was months after she'd gone, she broke into the old building on Alpine where we'd first set up shop. I'd stopped by that night to bring Tomas some chiles I'd gotten from the farmer's market."
"Tomas?"
"Yeah—oh, sorry—he lived on the roof." I smiled a little in remembrance. "We—Vince and Simon and I—set it up real nice for him up there, lots of trees and bushes and a little shed that he could use in the winter. He called it his forest in the sky. We still own the place—I'll take you there someday."
"Cool. I'd like that."
With a guilty shock, I realized what I'd just done. God, it seemed like no matter how I tried, every time I turned around I was drawing Sandburg deeper into my life.
I cleared my throat and pressed on. "Anyway, I was walking up to the door and I heard her, smelled her—I thought she'd come back, at least to the Group."
"You didn't want her to come back, did you?"
"No."
I looked up to see Blair standing riveted in front of me, the animosity gone from his expression.
"I confronted her. She wanted copies of all the research. I told her to get out. We argued—she pulled a gun on me and said she'd kill me if I didn't give them to her."
My throat closed despite my best effort to remain emotionless and I had to swallow before I could continue.
"I screwed up." My voice was shaking and I took a deep breath to steady it. "I didn't love her but I wanted to help her. I could tell her senses were out of whack—she looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. I tried to talk her into staying, to letting us help her, but she said she'd found a better use for Fives. "
Sandburg took half a step closer to me. "So, you gave the files to her in good faith," he guessed quietly. "You did still care about her, at least some."
I looked at him and sighed, the familiar, sour taste of disgust in my mouth. "There was something there—Eric thinks it's a kind of chemical reaction brought on by the heightened awareness between us. But what I'd once thought of as love now seemed more like some kind of warped competition. No two sentinels of sexual maturity should ever share a territory, apparently. So—to answer your question, no. I had stopped caring about her long before she'd left and seeing her again confirmed that. And, God—" I choked back a harsh laugh and looked up at the ceiling. "God, she knew it, too—she saw it in my eyes."
"What?" Blair whispered. "What did she see?"
"How fucking glad I was that she had left. I didn't care—I'd gotten her out of my system and had already started divorce proceedings. I threw that in her face and told her to take the files and get out." I rubbed a hand over my face. "I shouldn't have pissed her off."
"What did she do?" The question was asked gently.
"She became upset, irrational. She tried to convince me to go with her and join Kincaid's group, telling me all this shit about Fives being superior to the rest of the human race. Same crap Kincaid's been spouting for years, only now he thinks he's found his proof."
"A super race of sentinels. Scary thought, man." Blair took another step towards me and I took two to the side—having him close was too much of a distraction. His forehead creased with irritation but he went on smoothly. "What happened then?
"She needed to be stopped. Kincaid's group was suspected of numerous bank robberies—I couldn't believe she was involved in that. Involved, hell—that night she boasted about how she'd helped plan and execute them."
I moved to the couch and wearily leaned against the back edge, my body heavy with the fatigue of failure—failure to save Alex, to protect people I cared about, to be the man Blair thought I was.
"When I realized that reasoning with her was going nowhere, I tried to stop her physically. We struggled for control of the gun and it went off next to my ear. I hit the ground—God, it felt like my head exploded—and zoned. I didn't come around for hours."
I dropped my head and stared at the carpet, only managing to choke out a whisper as I continued. "When I came to, I was lying on the floor. Everything was hazy as my senses came online but the first thing I was aware of was a—this pain in my arm. I managed to turn my head and that's when I saw Tomas. He was lying next to me and he was—he was dead."
Somehow without me seeing, Blair was right there, his body pressing up close to my side. A warm hand came to rest on my shoulder but I still couldn't look at him. I ground the heels of my palms into my damp eyes, then surreptitiously wiped the moisture off on my pants.
"We figure he'd come downstairs when he heard us arguing. She'd shot him and run, but he, uh,—he didn't die right away. The pain I'd felt in my arm—he'd been trying to get me out of the zone by using his cooking knife, cutting at my arm while he bled out on the floor next to me. He died alone because I didn't make it back in time."
"Oh, Jesus, Jim," Blair murmured, then rested his forehead on my shoulder in a strangely comforting gesture. His fingers rubbed soothingly on the back of my arm, right over the scars as if he knew exactly where they were. After a moment's hesitation, I shifted so that I could slide an arm around his waist.
I held him lightly and we were quiet for a few moments.
"So now you know," I said eventually.
He rolled his head against me. "Yeah. I know," he murmured.
I pushed at his shoulder until he could look me in the eyes.
"You said it yourself, Chief. I'm too dangerous to be around." I shook my head and looked away, my jaw tightening. "People get hurt. People die."
Sandburg stiffened. "Bullshit." He pulled away to stand in front of me, hands on his hips.
"What?"
"You heard me—remember, mondo good ears and all that? I said bullshit because that's what this is. People don't get hurt by being around you, all right? They get saved. Case in point—yours truly."
"Yeah, but you were—"
He waved me off impatiently. "Uh uh, sorry, man. You wanna take the blame for global warming or the Mariners trading Johnson to the Astros, that's fine. But don't include me in your little guilt-fest. You had no control over what happened to me. You still don't. But I know that my life is better for having you in it. Hell, I'm alive because of you, so don't use that again as some goddamn excuse to push me away."
I got a couple of pokes in the middle of my chest, courtesy of Sandburg's index finger. "Listen up, Mr. I'm-so-sensitive," he said firmly, "I love you, and I'm staying. You got that?"
"Wait a minute," I protested, "five minutes ago you were already out the door—"
"Hey! I'm talkin' here! Ok, one more time for the remedial class—I. Love. You. I. Am. Staying. Are we clear on this?"
"Yeah, we're clear," I said faintly, gaping at him because I'd never seen him quite like this before. His color was heightened and his chest rose and fell as he glared back at me defiantly, daring me to contradict him.
I wanted to give in to him, to let him see how much I wanted him inside my life, but I had one more fear.
I let my mouth tilt into a crooked smile. "You, uh, don't mind hanging around with a six foot two freak of nature?"
"Oh, don't be a jerk," he said disdainfully. Then his lips quirked into a wicked answering grin. "I'm sure it's something I can get used to it."
My eyes widened and then narrowed.
"Uh, ruh roh," he muttered and tried to step back but I was quicker. I shot my hand out and grabbed his arm, making sure it was above his abrasions, and yanked him against me. My other arm went around his hips and bound him to my body.
"Sandburg," I growled, "when are you gonna stop being such a smart ass?"
"Well," he said breathlessly, "I'm still working out the timetable on that, but my schedule seems to be pretty—"
I swallowed his next words, pressing my mouth to his with a force that tried to express the explosion of feelings going off inside me. He'd heard the worst and he was still here, kissing me back with the abandon I was coming to appreciate as Sandburg's own unique style.
Yeah, he knew the worst—and the stunning truth was that he loved me despite that knowledge.
The rumble of a clearing throat brought us back down to earth. Our arms around each other, we turned to see Simon standing in the doorway, rocking on his heels and looking amused and a little embarrassed. If Sandburg felt uncomfortable being found in the passionate embrace of a man, he covered it well.
"Hey, Simon—how's it hangin', man?" came tumbling out of that mouth that I'd just finished exploring with a high degree of enthusiasm.
Simon stared at him, then at me, then shook his head and pulled out his cigar case.
"If you two gentlemen are finished with your, er, consultation, you might be interested to know we'll be having a staff meeting at eight." His expression sobered as he met my eyes. "Joel's coming in."
I sighed and rested my forehead briefly against Blair's, then gently put him from me. Even though I knew the next few hours were was going to be hard, I felt like I could deal with anything thrown at me, now that I knew Sandburg was here for the long haul.
"Ok. We'll be there."
He pulled a cigar out of the case. "Good. Now, I'm going to step outside for a few minutes—I'll see you in there." Simon began to walk away, then turned back with a raised eyebrow. "And Jim—put some shoes on, ok?"
He closed the door behind him as I looked down at my socks, ignoring Sandburg's snigger. He followed me as I picked up my shoes from where I'd left them at the end of the couch and sat beside me as I put them on.
"So, what happens now?" he asked, pulling a hair tie out of his pocket and scraping back his hair into a ponytail.
"Now," I grunted as I bent over, "you'll meet more of the major players. We'll have to figure out our next move, try and anticipate what Kincaid and Alex are going to do next. We'll probably get a progress report from medical, too."
"Cool." He rose and bounced on his toes. "Then what?"
I stood up. "I don't know. There's a lot of variables to consider. If we have nothing new to go on, then we keep working. We'll have to figure out a way to get you to and from school, for one thing."
"Why? I mean, your place isn't far from the bus line. I can just—"
"Sorry, Chief. Taking us on means changing your life. A lot. We know Alex knows who you are and by now she knows you're one of us. You'll need protection and the first thing that means is no more public transportation."
"Well, that just sucks," Sandburg muttered as we moved towards the door.
I grinned at him as I opened the door and led him into the hallway. "You think that sucks? Wait until you hear the rest of the house rules. And remember—this is a damn big house."
"Leaving? Why? When are you going to be back?"
"Sorry, Chief. That was Simon—he's just gotten word that San Diego police arrested Garrett Kincaid tonight. I've got to get down there right away."
I couldn't believe it. We'd just walked in the door when Jim's cell phone started ringing. Throwing me an apologetic look, he answered it while shrugging out of his jacket.
I didn't mind, frustrating as it was. It had been a long, unbelievable day, and although I could still feel the residual effects of getting the crap beat out of me, there was only one way I wanted this day to end.
Jim seemed just as anxious as I was. After the staff meeting—another mind-blowing experience in a day chock full of them—we'd gathered up my newly cleaned clothes and a box full of food from Sally and driven home.
Now, I know Jim is not like me—he's just not a demonstrative guy. I accepted that; moreover, I liked that side of him. So when he scooted his hand across the seat of the truck to link his little finger with mine on the drive home, that meant more to me than any overt gesture.
Oh, yeah, I'd thought happily—it was all good now.
It was close to midnight by the time Jim was unlocking the door to the loft, both of us lugging a suitcase and me with the goodies beneath my arm. We'd set them down near the door and I was wondering where exactly I was going to unpack when his phone rang.
Jim had walked over to the French doors as his conversation continued, so I wandered into the kitchen put the cold food away, then grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. By the time I'd ripped off the plastic overrap, Jim was closing the phone and turning to me, apology written all over his face as he told me he had to leave for California—tonight.
I blinked a couple of times as I took in the ramifications of Kincaid's arrest.
"Jesus, Jim—that's huge!"
"I know." He headed upstairs and I followed at his heels. "That's why I have to move on this now."
He slid a small carry-on suitcase out from beneath the bed I'd had dreams of sharing with him and tossed it on top, talking as he packed.
"So far, there's no word that Alex was with him. Sounds like they got not only Kincaid but a couple of his men, too. From what Simon knows, they were caught trying to break into a military facility outside of San Ysidro."
I watched him, a knot growing in my stomach as he methodically and efficiently gathered his stuff together.
"Sounds promising," I said in a voice that pretty much failed in the enthusiasm department. Granted, what had happened was a fabulous break for the Group—no, I corrected myself mentally, for us—but there was no denying the selfish hurt growing inside me.
"Yeah, it does," Jim replied, his attention totally focused on his task. After he finished with the clothes, I followed him like a well-trained puppy as he moved downstairs into the bathroom to grab his shaving kit. I leaned my shoulders against the wall outside and crossed my arms over my chest.
"So, how you getting down there tonight?" I asked in the general direction of the bathroom door. "I doubt there's any flights this late."
His voice floated back out to me. "Simon's arranged a seat for me on the Laker's charter. They finished up late at the Arena so I should have plenty of time to get to the airport. Jags lost, by the way."
I rolled my eyes. "Figures. Well, tell Shaq I said hey."
I heard him laugh and the sound of a zipper closing before he came back through the door and headed for the kitchen. "Nah, I won't be with the players. I'll be in back with the trainers and the press corps."
He dropped the bag on the table and started gathering up what looked to be an on-the-run dinner of an apple, a couple of granola bars and a sports drink, all of which found a place in various pockets of his carry-on.
I didn't have much to say at that point. Anything I did say would sound whiny and uncaring—and I definitely wasn't. I'd already come to care a lot about the people I'd met today and as for Jim—well, I think I'd made my feelings about him pretty clear back at the House.
"Ok," Jim said as he walked over to a locked drawer. "C'mere."
I joined him as he took a small key from his key ring and inserted it into the lock. He turned the key and slid the drawer open, then pulled the key out and handed it to me.
"Now—" he reached inside and pulled out a gun "—this is my backup .38. I want you to carry it with you at all times until I get back."
He tried handing it to me but backed off. "No way, man, no can do. For one thing, I can't bring that on campus—I'd be fired on the spot! Not only that, but c'mon, you know I don't do guns!"
"Sandburg—" uh, oh, bad sign, "I need to know you're protected! Take the gun, damn it!"
I set my mouth in a thin line. "No. I can't. I'm sorry—look, I promise to be careful but I cannot carry a gun. Period."
We had a little stare-down before Jim's gaze dropped. I knew he was in a rush and I had to use that in my favor if I was going to win this one.
"You'd better get going, man. You don't want Kobe pissed off at you."
He heaved a sigh and put the gun back in the drawer, then pulled out a sheet of paper and gave it to me.
"These are the instructions for the alarm system so you can get in and out. If you have any problems with it, call Simon—he can talk you through it and he's on your speed dial."
"Ok, got it."
"And here—" he pulled off another key, " this is to the truck. Your car won't be ready until Friday—"
"What?"
He grinned and patted my cheek as he stepped around me. "Courtesy of the Aegis Group, we're getting your ignition fixed. They're just waiting for a part to come in. Where's your cell phone?"
Still a little stunned by the car thing, I fished the phone out of my pocket and handed it to him. He flipped open the top and pointed to a small set of buttons on the lower right side.
"This green one—you'll need to hit it every two hours or someone from the House will call you. Do it on the hour, every other hour, when you're not home—there's a timing device that will activate when the alarm here goes on. You'll have a two minute window after each deadline before they ring you. If you forget and they do, you don't have to say anything, just hit the green one and they'll know you're ok. Go by the clock in the phone readout, not any others, or you'll get messed up, timing wise. Call when you get in at night and if you want they can remote set the alarm from there."
"Uh, ok." Every two hours? And he expected me to remember that?
"The blue one is a direct line to the House. Use it anytime you want to, no restrictions. They'll hook you up to whoever you need to talk to. This one—" he pointed to the red button—"is the panic button. Emergencies only. It's also wired directly to the House so you can talk to someone if you need to, but if you're unable to, help will still be sent. We can track the phone for up to sixty miles from the House. You straight on all that?"
I nodded as he handed the phone back to me and reached for his jacket.
"Jeez, can you say overkill?" I asked sourly. "Why don't you just assign me a bodyguard?"
"Would if I could, but we're a little understaffed right now." The leather jacket was settled onto his broad shoulders and I sighed—this was all wrong but there was nothing I could do about.
I set the phone aside and stood there awkwardly, looking down at the floor. I was definitely not ready to say goodbye but it looked as though there was no avoiding it.
"So," I cleared my throat, my eyes still downcast, "looks like I get all of the leftovers. Too bad for you, man—that Mexican chocolate cake looks killer."
"Look, Blair—"
"Plus," I interrupted, scraping my toe along a seam in the hardwood floor, "this will give me a chance to go through my stuff and get it cleaned out so when I start looking for a new place to live—"
"Hey." A long finger tipped my face up to meet warm blue eyes.
"Yeah," I sighed, "I know. You gotta go."
"I do. I just heard Simon just turn onto Prospect." He gave me a barely there smile and shook his head. "I can't tell you how sorry I am."
I dredged up an answering smile. "Me, too."
This was ridiculous—we were both making this out to be some kind of tragic farewell. Jim needed encouragement, not me waving my handkerchief at him as his boat pulled away from the dock.
"So," I said brightly, straightening up and shoving my hands in my pockets, "have a good trip, write if you find work and, uh, bring me back a souvenir, ok?"
He didn't smile back. "I'll probably need to stay through the arraignment. I doubt they'll let me talk to him but I may be able to get some information from his lawyers. The feds will help some, too. So, I'm thinking I'll have to be there at least through Monday, hopefully coming back Tuesday."
Tuesday. Today was Friday.
Crap.
His phone rang and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket to answer it. "Yeah, I'm on my way. Be right down."
He tucked the phone away and grabbed his pack, slinging the strap over his shoulder and yanking a cloth baseball cap out of his back pocket.
"Ok," he said as he walked to the door, "I'll call you when I can. You can hang out at the House whenever you like—you know Sally would love to feed you. Oh, that reminds me—no more delivery pizza, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, ha, ha," I mumbled. He gave me a weak smile in return and grasped the door handle. He started to turn it, then turned towards me with an expression on his face that I didn't expect to see.
Gone was the soldier-spy with all the answers and in his place was a man who desperately wanted someone to ease the burden he carried so faithfully. The harsh lines of worry were still there, but the woebegone look in his eyes gave him the heart-catching appearance of a scolded Boy Scout.
One glance at that face and my own concerns were forgotten. In three strides I was at his side and pulling him into my arms, tightening my hold as his rested his head on my shoulder. I gave him a squeeze and turned my head enough to plant a smacking kiss on the soft hair just above his ear.
"I'll be waiting for you, so hurry back, ok?" I said in a whisper, about all the volume I could manage right then.
He nodded and pulled away, taking one last moment to his slide his knuckles down my cheek as our eyes met. He dropped a light kiss on my lips and then snapped on the cap as he opened the door. A second later he was gone.
I closed the door behind him and set the locks, then quickly moved over to the French doors that led out onto the balcony. I got to the railing as Jim appeared on the sidewalk below me and headed over to where a dark sedan sat double-parked in the street. Just as he was getting in, he looked right up at me and waved, then made a little motion with his hand, like he was turning a key in a lock.
I gave him a salute and hurried back inside, taking care to lock the doors securely. Then I grabbed the instructions for the alarm and went over to the little box by the door, reading out loud as I went. It was easy enough and in about thirty seconds, the red light turned on and I had the alarm set.
Now all I had to worry about was not setting it off myself.
That left me in Jim's apartment—without Jim, unfortunately—and my disappointment made a sudden and forceful reappearance. Along with that was the realization that my ribs, head, wrists and pretty much everything else was beginning to hurt.
However, my feet felt great.
Still, I had that funny, vaguely naughty feeling you get when you're house-sitting; you're in a strange place where all the kitchen stuff is in the wrong drawers and you know you're gonna break something and not be able to find the broom. But there were bookshelves I wanted to peruse and a pretty meager looking CD collection that might yield some gems, but it didn't take much to convince me that bed was my best choice right now.
The downstairs bed, that is. I had yet to be invited to sleep anywhere else.
Once that was decided, my overtaxed brain really started to shut down. I guess that since the promise of a night of passion was off the table, the rest of me decided to call it a wrap. After a quick wash up in the bathroom, I stripped down to my tee shirt and shorts and crawled into bed.
I woke up early—well, early for me—and felt pretty good. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, I was a little lost. In the cold light of day, with Jim gone and no distractions, I figured it was time reassess my situation.
And what a weird situation it was.
I was just rolling out of bed when the phone rang in the other room. The loft was chilly so I took the blanket with me as I stumbled into the living room.
"Hello, yeah, Ellison residence."
"Did I wake you?"
I pulled the blanket over my shoulders and smiled, settling cross-legged onto the couch. God, it was good to hear Jim's voice.
"Nah, I was just getting up. What time is it?" I asked as I smothered a yawn.
"Ten after eight. You sleep ok?"
"Yeah, ok. Um, wish you were here, though."
There was a little pause before Jim answered. "Yeah, Chief. Me, too. You finding everything all right? Simon says you haven't managed to set off the alarm yet, so that's a good sign."
"Very funny—not. So far, so good. Where the hell are you?"
A soft snort came over the line. "At a Day's Inn just off of 405. We got into LAX about three, so I crashed here. I'll be able to rent a car at nine and then I'll drive down to San Diego."
"What do you hope to do down there, anyway? Do you really think Kincaid will be able to see you? Or even agree to?"
"I don't know. One thing about Kincaid—he's an arrogant son of a bitch and he likes to think he's smarter than everyone else. If he knows I'm here, he might consent to see me just to yank my chain."
"And if not?"
"Then I can at least talk to the fibbies—they're the ones that brought him in."
"Hate to be a downer, man, but that doesn't sound very promising."
"I know—but there really isn't a choice."
"Yeah. Um, hey—how are your senses, anyway?"
"What? Why?"
I bit my lower lip, not sure what prompted me to ask. "Well, you know, I mean—you were tired, planes are loud, stuff like that. I was just wondering if you had one of those spikes you told me about."
This time, the pause was longer and I began to wonder if I'd overstepped some kind of boundary. But when Jim spoke again, there was such warmth in his voice that I was instantly relieved.
"You worried about me, Chief?"
"Well, duh," I answered, positive he could hear the smile in my voice.
"I was fine. Planes don't bother me much anymore. "
"That's good. So—still Tuesday, hunh?"
"Yeah, I think so. Sooner if I can manage it."
"Cool. Like I said, you know I'll be waiting."
"All the more reason to get this over with." The intimate tone of his voice sent a happy shiver straight to my naked toes. The man knew how to use his voice.
"Ok, Chief—I'd better hit the road. I'll call you tonight, ok?"
"Ok. You be careful, you hear me?"
"Loud and clear. You, too."
I think we both knew that was macho shorthand for I love you and want to jump your bones the minute I see you again. At least, that's what I heard.
I took a shower and then decided that if I was really going to get into the weirdness that was my life, I'd better fortify myself. I made coffee and dug around in the box from the Sally, sure I'd seen some scones in there. And there they were, right next to a little tin of the tea that I'd had with Eric. There was even a tea ball.
Unreal.
It was raining outside, so even if I wanted to mess with the alarm to sit on the balcony, I wasn't tempted. Instead, I took my breakfast and curled up in an ugly but comfortable yellow chair, pulling it around so that I could look outside and watch the storm.
To get my mind off of missing Jim—which wasn't easy, considering everything around me reminded me of him, including the big, ratty terrycloth robe of his that I'd appropriated from the bathroom door—I thought about the House and the people I'd met there.
The "staff meeting" the night before was unlike any one I'd ever been to. It was held in a large living room with lots of comfortable couches and chairs and little conversation areas here and there. The really strange aspect to the whole scene was the video camera and monitor set up on one side of the room. A tall, good looking guy introduced to me as Rafe ran the set-up and as everyone milled around and got settled and I parked myself on a little ottoman, I caught Jim's eye and jerked my head towards the camera.
"What's up with that?"
"Well, look around, Sherlock. Who's not here?"
"Oh, yeah—where's Eric? And Vince?"
Jim squatted down beside me until we were almost eye level.
"Vince," he said quietly, "is with Eric, who hasn't left his rooms since we moved in here."
"Hunh? How come?"
"He's agoraphobic."
"Oh, my God," I whispered. "No way! Man, that sucks."
He nodded and rested his palms on my knees for balance. "Yeah. It's a long story—ask him about it someday."
"I will," I promised quietly. "What about Vince?"
"What about him?"
"Well, I mean, he's—they're—aren't they?"
One side of Jim's mouth quirked up.
"Yeah, they are. Another long story. Happier ending, though."
"But Vince—he's an actor! How did he get mixed up in all this, anyway?"
Jim narrowed his eyes, although he was still half smiling. "Trust me, Chief. There's more to Vince than meets the eye. And, well—let's just say where Eric goes, so goes Vince."
He said it affectionately but with a hint of wistfulness, as though he envied that kind of devotion.
Frankly, so did I. But I had a feeling we were going to fix that.
Simon came in and greeted everyone individually, moving across the room with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you're a born leader. A hand placed on a shoulder here, a head inclined for a confidence there—he was leadership in action. However, I had the feeling that for all his charm, he would make a formidable enemy—he had that same air of danger that Jim did. But right now, he was meeting and greeting his staff like a Fortune 500 CEO. Even Sally was there, nestled in a comfortable chair and sipping a small glass of sherry brought to her by Simon himself.
Simon had started with a brief introduction of me, which I took in stride. I got friendly smiles all around from the twenty or so people gathered, including that leggy redhead I'd seen at Eli's funeral. She even gave me a cute little wave from across the room, smiling at me like she knew a secret.
Ok, that made me a little nervous.
I was glad to be off to the side, Jim standing behind me with his arms crossed. It wasn't hard to figure out who did what. The redhead—Megan—was the resident computer geek. Her report had to do with following a money trail from some offshore bank to an account in Cancun that was connection to somebody named Pena. That was all interesting, probably made more so by her sexy Aussie accent. If I were so inclined—but I wasn't. I was only inclined towards one person—the man standing silent watch behind me.
There was a guy in a wheelchair who really fascinated me. His name was Jack something and I pegged him as the spook in the mix—my guess was ex-C.I.A.. He talked a lot about stuff that to me seem unrelated at the time but I listened closely and made mental notes so that I could talk about it with Jim later.
The mood turned grim with a Native American name of Dan talked about the compound found in the blood of the men who'd ambushed us in Peru. Autopsies had been done at a military base down there and the results had not been encouraging; apparently, the other side had high level scientists on their team, too. I turned a little red when that discussion segued into a debate about how I'd brought Jim out of that zone—I mean, all I could add to the conversation was that he'd tasted me. That made everyone laugh and lightened things up a bit; I stole a look up at Jim and was glad to see him grinning back.
There were other people that spoke and I took it all in, but one thing I knew for sure was that there was an air of expectancy among them. Eyes kept shifting towards the wide double doors and then back to the monitor that showed Eric and Vince sitting side by side on the couch in the lab. I figured they must be monitoring the grounds, ready to give the high sign when this guy Joel showed up.
I liked Joel from the minute I met him. The meeting had actually ended and people were standing or sitting around, chatting quietly. I saw Jim stiffen and turn towards the doorway, then move swiftly to greet the man who was coming in. I couldn't see him clearly at first—too many people gathered around him, shaking his hand or collecting a hug. I hung back, content to get some of the backwash from so much affection.
Finally, the knot broke up and the room began to empty. Jim motioned me over to where he stood with Simon so I could meet Joel.
"Joel, this is the kid we've been telling you about. Blair Sandburg, meet Joel Taggert."
"How you doing, Blair?" We shook hands and despite his obvious exhaustion, Joel seemed genuinely pleased to meet me. It's hard to explain, but there was just a real warmth about him that I responded to immediately.
We made social conversation for a few minutes before he was hustled away by somebody else. I noticed that Jim seemed just a bit more relaxed now that Joel was home; I think it was that protective thing he has going on. One more chick back in the nest.
We left for home not long after that—and I remember thinking that how cool it was going to be to really be alone with Jim.
And I was, for about twenty minutes. So much for that.
It was still coming down in buckets when I drained my mug and stood up to begin the day. Even though it was Saturday, I decided to head over to Rainier and see if they'd assigned me any office space yet. Even though my everyday life seemed outstandingly mundane now, it couldn't just be ignored.
I only missed pressing the little button on the phone twice. The first time was when I was trying to drive that two-tone tank that Jim calls a truck. It purred like a kitten but it turned a corner like a rhino on valium.
The second time was when I was in the middle of a bilingual conversation with the janitor and trying to convince him that he really couldn't store his solvents and cleaning utensils in the closet anymore, because that closet was now my office. Despite the seemingly impermeable language barrier, I finally got my point across. When the phone rang, I answered instead of pressing the button and quickly assured Megan that I was fine. As I hung up, I thought longingly of the luxurious surroundings of the House and tried not to look too closely at the somewhat obscenely shaped stain gracing my concrete office floor.
However, I couldn't let that other world interfere with my real one, sucky though it was. The truth remained that I could no longer deny my interest in my thesis subject was just about gone. Add to that my continuing failure to get any deeper into the Cascade Police department and my fascination with the Aegis Group—well, I was in trouble. Even with all the backed up files I'd kept at school, without my laptop to use at home, I'd have to spend even more time in the closet/office I'd been assigned.
And, of course, the kicker to all this was that no dissertation—no teaching fellowship. No job and no money. I was lucky I had a place to live and though I knew Jim wouldn't throw me out, that whole thing was still a little too new to take for granted.
The rest of the weekend was quiet. I went to the grocery store on my way home and picked up some things I considered essential and a couple I chalked up to wishful thinking. With all the hassle of the phone button monitoring, I decided to hunker down in Jim's apartment until Monday.
Jim and I spoke several times over the next twenty-four hours and each time we hung up, my heart sank a little further. I didn't know it was possible to miss someone so much that I actually choked up a little each time the phone rang, knowing there'd come a time when we'd have to say goodbye. The spaces in our conversations grew longer and I think Jim used those pauses just to listen to me breathe.
Then Monday came around—and the world caved in.
End part two
"So, you've finally decided to return to the land of the living."
The voice was muffled but familiar, coming to me through a tinny ringing in my ears that grew louder as I came to a pain-filled consciousness. My senses were all over the map, so I experimentally rolled my head to one side, instantly regretting it as pain spiked through my head and roiled low in my gut.
"Try not to move. That just makes it worse."
The ringing abruptly faded and I swallowed thickly, forcing back the incipient nausea. My eyes felt glued shut but behind my lids was a bright, tormenting whiteness. My hands were at my back, bound by nylon cord at the wrists, as were my ankles. The surface beneath me vibrated with the unmistakable throb of a jet engine, the rigid surface beneath my fingers telling me I was in the back of some kind of cargo plane.
We hit a particularly vicious pocket of turbulence and my eyes flew open as my body bounced against the hard metal. I quickly squeezed them shut again against the harsh light, but not before getting a quick look at the pitted side of the curving fuselage. I tried to roll closer to the wall but with my legs tied, I couldn't get a purchase on the slick metal.
"You'd be more comfortable if you stopped moving around."
Oh, God. That smugly sweet voice now came through loud and clear.
Alex.
I tried to order my thoughts, desperately searching my foggy memory for anything to give me an idea of what had happened to me. The last thing I clearly remembered was giving Sandburg grief about trying to make homemade granola in the loft—God, this morning? Yesterday?
"What do you want?" I finally croaked.
"Nothing, Jimmy. I have everything I need now."
I peeled my eyes open and carefully shifted up onto one elbow. My feet were pointed towards the tail of the plane; I tilted my head towards the cockpit and that's when I saw her. She was in the passenger seat, curled in it sideways, one leg resting on the arm with her foot dangling near my face. All I could see of the pilot was a head of close-cropped black hair beneath a set of headphones.
Hot sunshine streamed in behind Alex but I could still see her face clearly. She looked good—better than the last time I'd seen her. The blond hair I'd once admired lay in waves around her shoulders and her eyes were clear and sparkling with spite.
With a massive effort, I pushed hard enough to sit up straight, resting my shoulders against the side of the plane. My head still pounded with a sickening rhythm, but I was beginning to feel better by slow increments.
"Look, whatever you're trying here, you don't have to—"
"Save it, Jim. I've already heard that story, book, chapter and verse." She leaned forward confidingly, lowering her voice. "And you know what? Now it's my story. My story and no one is going to screw it up for me."
I ran my tongue around the inside of my dry mouth, wincing at the acrid taste I found. Definitely drugged. "Too bad, Alex. Your boyfriend already has. Kincaid's been captured."
"Yeah, poor Garrett. I heard he was caught trying to break into the Las Palmas Armory. Funny how that happened. You'd almost think someone informed on him."
Oh, Jesus.
"You?"
She smiled and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. "Me. He'd been useful but he'd lost the vision. It was time for me to move on and dump the excess baggage."
We hit another bump and I swallowed convulsively, closing my eyes as I concentrated on not throwing up.
"Here." I felt the plastic tip of straw pressed against my lips. I took a mouthful and tasted it carefully before swallowing—even if the water was drugged, I knew I needed the moisture. It tasted fine but I sipped cautiously so I wouldn't bring it all back up.
"Better?"
I nodded and leaned my head back against the wall.
"Where are we going?" I asked hoarsely when I felt I had more control.
"Well, we're currently over the Gulf of Mexico. Maybe you can guess."
"No games, Alex."
"Oh, poor Jimmy, still no fun. Well, it's simple. I've located the Temple of the Sentinels and you and I are going to go there. Together."
"Forget it, Alex," I spat, opening my eyes and throwing her a look of contempt. "That place is a myth and this is a wild good chase."
Her lips thinned into an irritated line. "You don't know anything. We have proof and we didn't even need the book that your cute little friend found in Peru."
I looked away, flexing my shoulders to get some circulation going in my arms. "I'm telling you, the place doesn't exist. You're wasting your time."
"Well, it's mine—and yours—to waste. Especially since there won't be much of a reason for you to go back to Cascade."
Something in her tone had me turning to stare at her in suspicious horror. I inhaled deeply, careful to keep my face blank despite the dread I was beginning to feel.
"What have you done, Alex?" I pitched my voice low and even.
She smiled at me gently, tilting her head to one side and pressing a finger to her lower lip.
"Did you think it went unnoticed that you'd made a new friend, Jimmy? He's a good-looking kid, I'll give you that. His photos just didn't do him justice."
I forced out a slow breath, measuring my words carefully. "Leave him out of this. He has nothing to do with us."
"No, he doesn't. But I'm afraid by surviving that fire, he could identify a valuable colleague of mine and that just isn't in my plan. Now that you're not keeping the boy glued to your side, he's a loose end we can dispose of."
Lethal anger flooded inside me on a surging tide. "I swear to God—anyone fucking touches him, they're dead. Including you."
"Of course," she replied mockingly. Then her demeanor changed again, to one of speculation. "Quinn was upset with you for interfering and saving your precious professor. I'm afraid he'll be taking out his anger on him in some rather creative ways. Quinn's always had an eye for pretty boys. Oh, and by the way—since fire didn't work the first time, he was thinking about a different scenario for your friend, something to do with water."
She leaned towards me and grabbed my chin in a tight grip, her nails digging into my jaw and the hate she carried inside of her written plainly on her face. "Ever seen the fountain in the quad at the university, Jimmy? It's a beautiful, wide pond with just enough room to—."
"Shut up!" I tried to pull out of her grip but she tightened her hold and I could feel the blood coming to the surface of my skin in nail-shaped crescents.
"Don't you remember how good it used to be between us, Jimmy? You still feel it, don't you?"
I didn't have to do any soul-searching to find the answer to her question. I'd been cleansed of the unhealthy attraction that once had me by the balls, replacing it with what I knew to be true and good and right. All I felt now for Alex was revulsion.
She was waiting for my answer as I stared at her for a full minute—then I smiled at her.
She let go with a snarl and backhanded me. My head snapped back, impacting with the base of the side window and darkening my vision for a second or two
"Fine," she said coldly. "I was prepared to take you on as a partner but I'll be happy to use you as a lab rat."
"Forget it," I ground out. "I'm not cooperating."
"You don't have to." I watched through eyes squinted in pain as she reached behind her. Seeing her pull out a white cotton surgical mask, I tried to throw my body away from her but couldn't in time.
"Welcome to the jungle, Jimmy."
I heard a hissing sound a second before my face was hit by a sharp spray of cool liquid—and then everything went black.
"You have got to be kidding me!"
In my hand I held the printout of a newly revised teaching schedule. Six-thirty on a Monday morning and my day had already gone from bad to worse.
Apparently, my conversation with the janitor on Saturday hadn't gone as well as I'd thought. Scattered across the scarred surface of my desk were packages of sponges and gallon jugs of nasty-looking cleaning chemicals. Buckets, mops and brooms were piled around my boxes and metal shelving stood propped up in pieces against the walls. So, not only had my communication skills failed me, but it looked like I was in charge of building my own storage, as well.
School was scheduled to start in a week and I was fairly ready. I'd gotten a lot done before leaving for Peru, so now it was just a matter of getting organized and reacquainting myself with the details. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done—my computer hadn't been installed yet; neither had a phone. I think I was lucky I had lights.
I found a black marker and wrote my name in block letters across a piece of yellow tablet paper, then stuck it to my front door in case anyone needed to find me. It was as I was closing the door that I saw the edge of an envelope peeking out beneath a shrink-wrapped twelve pack of paper towels. Someone had obviously shoved it a little too hard beneath my door, so I snagged it and leaned my hips against the edge of the desk as I opened it up.
Inside was the teaching schedule and a quick glance showed me that it had been drastically altered—and not to my benefit. With Eli gone and Tony still in Cleveland with his sister—who was doing well, thankfully—I'd known we were going to be stretched thin, but this was ridiculous. I'd been stuck with all four Intro to Anthro classes, three labs and the lowest blow, the Anthro/Sociology split squad—and that was in addition to the rest of my duties.
That meant less time for my thesis, more office hours in my smelly closet and no time for a ride-along, provided I'd even be granted one.
Who was I kidding—what it really meant was no time for the Aegis Group and no time for Jim. That was the worst part of all.
There wasn't a lot I could do about it and I did understand the circumstances, but since my enthusiasm about school was already at an all-time low, this wasn't helping. With a mental shrug, I tossed the paper onto the desk and got to work.
When Jim didn't call me by eight, I didn't worry; last night he'd told me he was going to try to get to the courthouse early. Besides, I'd been so relieved he wasn't angry with me, I wasn't going to quibble about him not calling.
See, I'd come up with the brilliant idea of making this fabulous granola to surprise Jim when he got home. After a quick recon of his kitchen, I'd decided he could use some good home cooking, and I'd learned from the best. My problem lay in not knowing Jim's oven, because once I'd started the granola browning, I'd gone to take a shower because I wanted to get into the office early the next day.
Nothing like coming out of the bathroom and being immediately hit with the distinctive aroma of Quaker Oats flambé.
I was in the middle of cleaning up that mess when Jim called. I copped to the cooking disaster right away and he sounded only mildly annoyed, then amused. Even when I told him that the oats had welded irrevocably to his pan, he was ok. After that, we talked about general things, mostly how he was going to try to get in to talk to the Feds who'd taken over Kincaid's case. This conversation ended a little better than previous one, because he thought he might be able to come back Monday night. So far, that was the best thing going for me this morning—the possibility that I just might have Jim in my arms tonight.
After clearing off my desk, I turned to start on the mops and pails. I'd just crouched down to gather up a discarded tube of wood glue when I heard the door open behind me.
"Just a sec," I said, even though I figured it was just the janitor—the one who didn't speak English.
"No hurry," said a nasally, oily voice, and I froze.
I knew that voice. The last time I'd heard it was at my apartment, and it wasn't a good memory.
I didn't turn around or stand up. "Man, I told you before—I didn't read the book, I don't know what's in the book, I don't have the friggin' book!"
The door clicked close behind me and I jumped, my eyes flying to my jacket where it lay draped across the back of my office chair. In its right pocket was the phone, making my panic button about ten feet away from doing me any good and I was at least forty-five minutes from the next check-in.
"I don't give a fuck about the book."
The voice was closer now and I swallowed, setting the glue on the floor and hoping my body blocked Quinn's view of my reaching hand.
"Yeah?" I said shakily.
"Oh, yeah, boy. Decided I was gonna have a piece of your ass before I took you outside and drowned you like a sack full of kittens. Get up."
"Why? Wh-what are you going to do?" I remained on my knees, unmoving, as he stepped further into the room. Was I terrified? God, yes—but on some really basic level, I was also getting pissed off. This victim thing sucked and three times in ten days?
Not if I could help it.
"I told you—you and me gonna have us a party before I sink your sorry ass."
He was so close now I could actually smell him—Quinn wasn't exactly the hygienic type. His stench and the overwhelming fear his words invoked in me combined to blank out clear thought from my mind and I struck out on instinct. When his hand landed on my shoulder, I grasped the handle of one of the mops and pushed back, then planted my feet and turned, swinging for the fences and connecting with a bone-rattling thud. Either I was incredibly lucky or I'd missed my chance by not trying out for the majors, because the business end of the string mop connected squarely with Quinn's pock-marked jaw.
His arms pinwheeled as he flew back and I pressed my advantage. Wielding the mop like a stave, I shoved the end into his solar plexus, grimly satisfied as he grunted and fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach.
That's when I made my mistake. I turned the handle around and stepped closer to give him another whack when he lunged forward, his hand shooting out and wrapping around my ankle to drag me down. I landed hard, my left elbow connecting painfully on the concrete floor, but I was too freaked out to react because my erstwhile weapon went flying out of my hands. I kicked Quinn's fingers away from my legs and scrabbled forward on all fours until I reached the desk, my hands blindly searching the surface for something to defend myself with.
Quinn had caught the loose fabric of my shirt and was pulling me further into his reach when my left hand slipped off the desk and connected to the curved handle of a bottle of bleach. Its slippery plastic surface made it difficult to grip, but when I heard cloth tearing and realized it was my shirt, I made a last, desperate grab and got it.
Foul breath pumped into my ear as Quinn clawed at my back, fingers digging into my sore ribs. I had to choke back the rising fear when I realized I had no leverage, but when Quinn pulled back hard on my belt, I went with it and rolled back on him. That tumbled us both into the middle of the room with Quinn ending up on his back with me on top of him, the bottle still in my hand.
I managed to sit up before he could get his arms around me again, so I folded my knees beneath me and swiveled, throwing the gallon bottle right at that ugly face. Quinn saw it coming and threw up his hands, deflecting the bottle away, but it had bought me enough time to find that damn mop again.
This time it was the rounded edge that connected with the side of Quinn's neck—not where I'd aimed but good enough to incapacitate him long enough for me to bring the handle back down right across his head. The wood cracked and the splintered end went flying off somewhere, but it didn't matter. Quinn was out before his greasy head hit the floor.
I slumped where I was, trying to catch my breath and clutching the stringy end of the mop to my chest. My eyes were frozen on Quinn's twisted body, looking for any twitch but relieved to see only the rise and fall of his chest.
When I felt my legs could support me, I stood up and looked around for something to tie him. I took back all the nasty things I'd thought about the bureaucrat that had assigned me this space when I found a Costco-sized flat of packing tape among the janitor's supplies. In minutes, I had Quinn trussed up like a chicken, using my pocket knife to cut long strips of the tape and bind him at the ankles, wrists and across his mouth, just for the hell of it. If he woke up before help arrived, I didn't want to hear it.
Once that was finished, I took a second to figure out my next move. What I should have done was call 911 and then campus security, but I did neither of those. I retrieved the phone out of my jacket and hit the red button.
There was no ring. By the time I'd put the phone to my ear, there was someone on the other line.
"Blair, this is Eric. Are you all right? Can you answer?"
"Yeah," I breathed, closing my eyes and trying to control the shakes that had finally set in. "Yeah, I'm ok. I need help—Quinn's here."
"Leave right now. I'm calling 911—"
"No, no, it's ok. He's here but he's unconscious and I've got him tied up. I just—I just need to know what to do next." My voice was beginning to tremble and I squeezed my eyes tighter and took a deep breath.
"Ok, Blair, ok. Take it easy. First, are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine, really. Just shook up."
"I can imagine. Hold on." I heard him talking to someone, then he came back on the line. "Listen, Simon and Vince are on the way. Will you be all right until they get there?"
"Sure, no problem." I swallowed and opened my eyes, glancing at Quinn's prone figure. He hadn't moved. "Yeah, I'll be fine."
"Good. I'll stay on with you until they arrive. Um, Blair—" his tone turned hesitant—"we'd rather not bring in any authorities right now if that's ok with you. Quinn may prove valuable to us so we don't want to lose access to him."
"Yeah, I figured. That's why I called you first."
"Good thinking, Blair. I appreciate that. Now, can you tell me what happened?"
The praise in his warm tone settled my nerves enough so that I could move around as I recounted the story. Still keeping an eye on Quinn, I straightened overturned boxes with my free hand, fully aware this had more to do with working off the adrenaline than any real desire on my part to make the place look nice for company.
Quinn was just beginning to moan when my office door opened and Simon and Vince burst in. Vince came right over to me while Simon crouched next to Quinn and began checking him out, lifting his eyelids and carefully probing the bloody lump on his head with gloved fingers.
"Ok, they're here," I said to Eric. "Thanks, man."
"I'm just glad you're ok," he said simply. "I'll see you soon."
Before I could hang up, Vince rested his hand on my shoulder and reached for the phone. I gave it to him and he grinned at me. I smiled back, absurdly pleased to see him there, and that's when I realized I'd stopped thinking about him as the cartoonish character he showed to the public.
"Yeah, he's fine," he was saying, giving me a wink. "Kid did a great job—Quinn's been completely defanged."
I turned red and shrugged, relieved when Vince turned away to finish his conversation with Eric in private. I moved over to where Simon was checking out Quinn's taped wrists and ankles and nodding his head.
"He's right," he said as he sat back on his heels and stripped off the gloves. "You did a hell of a job here."
Before I could stumble out some kind of answer, he stood up and nodded at Vince. "He's good to go."
Vince relayed the message to Eric, then hung up. Quinn was becoming more and more active as he regained consciousness, so even though he was securely tied, I kept my distance.
"So, what now?" I asked.
Simon glanced at Vince, then answered me. "We've got someone coming to take him back to the House. How do you feel about getting some breakfast, then we'll head for home?"
I looked around the little room—no phone, no computer, no window—and my eyes fell on the teaching schedule where it had landed on the floor during the fight. With a sigh, I nodded.
"Breakfast sounds good, but then I have to come back." Simon started to protest, but I held up my hand. "Look—I've still got a job to do here. Much as I'd love to go with you, the truth is I don't know when I'll be able to go back to the House. Work is just too intense right now and school starts in a week."
Simon and Vince exchanged another look, then Vince clapped me on the back.
"Fair enough. Let's go."
I was shocked to find out that I had an appetite after the mornings excitement. Simon and Vince kept me entertained throughout the meal, helping me to regain some of the feeling of security that I'd lost. Although they were great, the only person who could really make me feel safe again was Jim—but that had nothing to do with protection, because I've taken care of myself all my life.
No, what Jim made me feel was deeper than that. He made me feel wanted, important, like I belonged—belonged with him. Even though words like that hadn't been spoken between us, the emotion was there nonetheless. Sitting at the Shari's on Broadmoor with a plate of French toast in front me, I knew that's what I was missing.
When I climbed out of the back of Vince's Cadillac in front of Hargrove Hall, I didn't know whether to feel reluctance or relief. Simon had been notified that Quinn had been picked up, so essentially I could go back to work, just liked I'd asked. Although that was the plan, the first thing I intended to do when I reached the privacy of my office was to call Jim.
I'd made it almost to the top of the steps when I heard the squeal of tires on asphalt. I turned to see the Caddy flying towards me in reverse, one back tire jumping up over the curb as it came to a halt. I ran back down the steps and over to the passenger side, where Simon was waving at me frantically.
"What's wrong?" I panted as I reached him.
"Get in! Get in!" he yelled, and I didn't hesitate, lunging for the door handle and throwing myself across the back seat. Before I'd righted myself, Vince hit the gas and peeled out, the momentum slamming the door before I could reach for the handle.
I straightened up and leaned forward, bracing myself on the head rests as we exited the campus on a four wheel drift that almost had us heading into oncoming traffic.
"Jesus, Vince!" I shouted "What the hell is the rush?"
Simon turned to me and whatever it was, the expression on his face alone convinced me it was really, really bad.
"It's Alex. She has Jim."
The next time I came to, I was alone in the back of an unmoving van. I felt dehydrated and a little nauseous, but whatever Alex had been using on me, it wasn't sending me into a zone and for that I was grateful, since it left me free of the lingering fatigue that usually accompanied my return to awareness.
I stayed motionless and gathered data as everything slowly came up to speed. Night had fallen and the air was filled with the sound of nocturnal animals. Thick air drifted over me in a moist fog, bringing with it the unique scent of a tropical ocean. If Alex had been telling the truth when she'd said we were flying over the Gulf, chances were good that we were somewhere on the Yucatan Peninsula, fairly close to the coast.
I needed to take whatever time was granted to me to assess my situation. Judging strictly from the state of my own body, I knew that it was only this morning that I'd been in San Diego. I wasn't dehydrated enough to have gone two days on so little water.
I thought back as far as I could. I remembered rising early and eating breakfast in the hotel coffee shop because I had an appointment at the federal courthouse with the FBI agent in charge of Kincaid's capture.
I never made it. It had to have been some time after I'd checked out, but I couldn't remember a struggle or seeing anyone or even suspecting that I was being followed. The last thing I recalled was getting into the rental car and being blasted with foul-smelling air from the fan; it was irritating because I couldn't get it to turn off and I'd wondered if it were broken—
Jesus, what an idiot—that was it. What I'd assumed was a bad freon mix must have been some kind of anesthetic gas.
Once I'd solved that mystery, I went over my conversation with Alex in the plane. She'd set up Kincaid, which told me she'd found a new partner—my guess was Carlos Pena. She'd scored
twice, first by getting rid of Kincaid and then by having me fall neatly into her trap. Furthermore, she must have known that as soon as Kincaid realized he'd been played, he was going to sing like a canary to get a deal with the Feds—and she didn't care. That was bad—but not nearly as bad as the idea that she'd sent Quinn back to finish the job on Sandburg.
God. Blair. I couldn't go there; I had no control over what was happening in Cascade and it would be fatal to let fear distract me now.
Composing mind and body, I thought about Blair Sandburg. Deliberately, carefully. I lingered on his smile, the laugh lines around his eyes, the texture of his hair. In my head, I replayed his voice; my fingers twitched as if reaching to touch the rough silk of his cheek. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, replacing the scent of the jungle with the scent of his skin, vibrant and alive. In a few short days, he'd come to mean everything to me—more than the quest I'd undertaken, more than the responsibility I bore, more than my own life. If I didn't survive, I wanted this image to be the one I died with.
Then, with an effort of concentration that had sweat dripping into my eyes, I focused every emotion into a ball and shoved that ball inside, forcing it deep and in return bringing out a part of me that I rarely let show.
I needed to be sharp to get through the next few hours.
I needed to stay alive, if for no other reason than to avenge the unthinkable.
I brought my senses completely online and then sent them searching. There were humans nearby, within a hundred feet, and when the wind shifted I could smell food. My stomach rumbled in response, but my most pressing need was water and a little privacy. Trussed as I was, I knew I wasn't going anywhere without help, so I slid over to the side of the van and kicked it.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Alex! Let me out of here!"
Within the space of a few minutes, I heard footsteps on the soft earth.
"Move away from the door, Jim," Alex called. I scooted back, knowing she could track me as easily as I could track her. The door slid open and Alex stood there in jungle fatigues with another man I didn't recognize and didn't need to—the Sig Sauer he had pointed at me was introduction enough.
Ignoring him, I addressed Alex. "If your plan is to keep me alive, I need a tree and some water and if you're feeling generous, something to eat."
Alex grinned at me. "Always cut to the chase, don't you, Jimmy?"
She turned to the gunman. "Go get Matthews and take Ellison someplace suitable for his modesty, then bring him back to the campfire."
Ten minutes later, my hands retied in front of me but feeling a hell of a lot better, I was led to one of two fire pits that had been dug out of the jungle floor. I'd scanned the area as much as possible, coming to the conclusion that we were on the edge of a dense, flat jungle. The van was parked off to the side of a barely discernible burro trail that disappeared into the foliage not far from the campsite. Alex sat at one fire and half a dozen men were gathered around the other; I could count five more out walking a perimeter. I sat down across the fire from her and took the water bottle that somebody handed to me. After a long swig, I wiped my mouth on my shirt sleeve and looked around.
"You wanna tell me where we are now?"
Alex shrugged and nodded to one of the men who pulled a tamale out of the coals and sat it on a tin plate. I glanced at him as he handed it to me, tensing my muscles just in case I had an opportunity, but when I heard the slide action of a semi-automatic from somewhere behind me, I froze.
"Don't try anything stupid." Alex hugged her knees to her chest and smiled at me. I relaxed, taking the plate and setting on my lap. It wasn't easy with my wrists bound, but I managed to tear away the corn husk and shovel the steaming contents into my mouth with two fingers.
She watched me eat for a few minutes. "To answer your question, we're ten kilometers south of the Uxnal ruins. In the morning, we're going to hike in to the Temple of the Sentinels."
I tossed the plate aside and reclined to the side, leaning on one elbow. "Right. The Uxnal ruins were discovered years ago—they're a tourist site now. What makes you think you've discovered something new?"
Her mouth thinned into a harsh line. "Don't underestimate my resources. The Penas or their friends own half this state so it wasn't all that hard to pin down your stupid Sentinel legend. Lucky for us, Sierra Verde was only partially mapped by Santiago before the Mexican government declared the place unsafe and off limits. We know there's a temple there—and so do you, so stop treating me like a fool."
I took another drink of water, watching her carefully. She was edgy; she'd pulled her hair back but kept yanking strands forward and twisting them, an old nervous habit. Her eyes never remained still, jerking at noises only she and I could hear. The scent of fear and excitement lay on her skin like sour perfume.
"Ok," I said conversationally, "we find this temple. So what. Sentinel history is rife in this area—it'd be odd if there wasn't a temple dedicated to them."
She waggled a finger at me. "Ah, you know the legend as well as I do—a temple where the sentinel went to receive his calling, be dedicated to the tribe—to see the Eye of God. That's a little different than your run of the mill pyramid, don't you think?"
I shrugged. "So what do you need me for? "
"If you'd cooperated, you could have been a part of this—think of the fortune we'll make when we learn how to distribute the power of heightened senses. World leaders will be beating a path to our door, the rich and famous will write us blank checks."
She laughed harshly, looking me up and down with contempt. "But you—you insist on sticking to your altruistic, Boy Scout bullshit. I'll employ you as a guinea pig first, then—if you survive—you'll be our baseline. We'll set you up in a cell and use you until we use you up."
"They'll come looking for me." My voice remained flat, unconcerned.
"You mean your friends at Aegis? They can try, anyway. That cute little phone of yours with the homing device in it? Currently on a cargo ship bound for Seoul. No, Jimmy, I'm afraid it'll be a long, long time before we let them find you."
"Clear something up for me here. If you're so sure this place is a secret, what's with the mercs?"
"Just a little insurance," she said with a shrug. "This isn't the friendliest neighborhood. Besides, they're not all hired help. There's a couple of higher Numbers here who'd rather make money than save mankind."
"So you've promised them what—a cut of the profits when you bottle whatever it is you hope to find up here? That's just rented loyalty, Alex. No way you can trust them."
"I prefer them to that self-righteous group of yours, believe me. What are they going to do with their prize lab rat gone, I wonder?" She leaned forward, the spark of hate in her eyes rivaling the flames that separated us. "Not that we don't have plans for them, too—your dear friend Simon's nephew will serve us well when you no longer can, for one thing. With the money we're going to make, there'll be nowhere any of them can hide."
Her words bounced off me without leaving a mark. "You're taking a lot for granted. You have no proof there's anything at this temple at all."
She didn't respond right away and I watched as she stretched out on the nylon sleeping bad she'd been sitting on.
"Doesn't matter, Jimmy," she said with a confident smile. "I have you—and if the temple turns out to be nothing but a hole in the ground, I'll still have you."
The men at the other fire were settling in; one of them threw me a blanket that I clumsily wrapped around my shoulders. They'd changed shifts, still leaving five men on patrol, one of them directly behind me. They all had their own fully equipped set of camping gear and a decent variety of firepower.
"Marron, check his ropes." Alex pulled a blanket up to her chin as the man who'd given me water came over to me and examined the knots in the bindings. The three taps on my wrist were unexpected and I barely managed not to jerk in surprise. I kept my eyes on Alex as he made a few crucial adjustments before joining the others as I pulled the blanket over my hands.
"I'd advise you to get some rest. We'll be leaving at first light."
She pulled the rubber band off of her hair and rolled away but I made no move to lay down on the sand-choked grass. I'd been unconscious on and off for over fourteen hours and sleep was as unnecessary as it was unwelcome. The night had cooled as the breeze shifted to come out of the northwest, bringing with it a tang of salt. The fire was well built and would last for hours, but I felt no warmth.
It was no match for the ice inside me.
They'd left me my watch but I never glanced at it; on a night this clear, I preferred to tell time by the passing of the stars. I methodically blocked out the sound of a dozen heartbeats, the traffic of animals and far in the distance, the crash of waves against limestone shores. When the guards met on their circuit I listened in on their soft conversations, but they revealed nothing, seemingly more interested in the World Cup than whatever job Alex had in store for them.
The constellations wheeled above me as I sat there, hour after hour, making plans and discarding them, going over every contingency, preparing my body. Like an athlete before a race or a soldier before battle, I focused my mind on the goal and set aside the distractions. There was no past, no future, only the present and the objective before me.
Dawn was still an hour away when I felt vibrations in the ground, signaling a new arrival. They woke Alex as well, and I watched as she rose on her bag and sat up to stretch. The fires had long since died away but we saw each other clearly in the predawn darkness, and in her eyes I saw an awareness that I shared, a knowledge that today could see an end to us, one way or another.
She stood up and walked over to the other campfire, waking the men with soft kicks while she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It was while the mercs were eating their breakfast that we caught the first glimpse of headlights darting through the scrub brush. Half an hour later, the sky only beginning to gray in the east, a black Silverado with tinted windows pulled up next to the van. Alex walked over to the passenger side, greeting the man who got out with a deep kiss. Two more men also got out—the driver and a man from the back seat. The driver went over to the fire that the mercs had restoked and helped himself to coffee; I dismissed him immediately.
The other man warranted more attention. Small and wiry, with long gray hair pulled back in a braid, he wore a plain blue cotton shirt beneath a denim vest. His jeans were dyed an indigo that was almost black and around his neck he wore a red bandana. His dark eyes moved across the scene, resting briefly on mine before moving on. When he turned to join the others, I saw he was wearing a two-foot machete in a back sheath as his only weapon.
Alex and her companion finally broke apart and she led him over to where I'd risen, still keeping the blanket draped over my shoulders and concealing my wrists. The new man was tall, with black wavy hair framing an intelligent face. Brown eyes devoid of emotion swept over me before turning to Alex, who stood with her arms crossed over her midsection.
"There has been a change in plans," the man said in English, his voice slightly accented. Sharp cheekbones and skin the color of café au lait gave a hint to his ancestry—my guess was that his family had inhabited the jungles of South America long before any white man set foot on the continent.
Alex dropped her arms and took a step forward. "What? What change? Carlos, you can't just—"
He raised a hand and she stopped, her eyes shifting to me. I watched the by-play impassively, noting how Alex uncharacteristically deferred to Carlos Pena.
The upraised hand stroked down her cheek and she was careful not flinch.
More and more interesting—as was the sound just beginning to tease the edge of my hearing.
"Watch it, Alex," Pena was saying, his voice still low. "Do not forget who has financed this excursion of yours."
She smiled and slapped his caressing hand away. "How can I?" she said acidly. "You remind me constantly."
Pena laughed quietly. "Sì, I do. So, since I am paying, I am also making the decisions. You and I and Meto will find the Temple and Ellison will remain here with the men. Should the Temple prove to be everything you say—"
Alex stepped back suddenly, her eyes going to the horizon before turning back to me, hands clenched at her sides.
"You bastard," she spat.
I shrugged, keeping my face impassive but inwardly, I was elated. In two words, she'd betrayed the fact that the distant sound of an engine that only she and I could hear was unexpected. If it was a lost tourist or local, I might be able to use it to my advantage but more importantly—she'd suspected I'd somehow pulled off a miracle and been found.
"What? What is it?" Pena swung his gaze between us as his hand slipped beneath his jacket.
"Someone's coming."
"Impossible!"
Alex stared at me before turning away.
"No," she said bitterly. "It isn't."
The drive out to the House was a blur—in more ways than one.
Vince was either the best driver I'd ever witnessed or the luckiest; we flew through the streets of Cascade and most of the time on less than four wheels, like a chase scene out of some old Steve McQueen movie. I'd have been terrified if I wasn't worried out my mind about Jim.
Simon had told me exactly nothing after delivering his devastating news. He had a cell phone glued to his ear during the entire ride back and my attempts to get information from him were ignored. I wanted to find out what Vince knew, but I quickly realized that his driving required all his concentration. That left me in the back seat, hanging on to the front seats with my fingertips and sick with apprehension.
The mood at the House was tense as a small group of us gathered in the same room where the staff meeting had been held three nights before. I stayed off to the side and paced nervously while Dan and Joel spoke in hushed tones on one of the sofas. Jack Kelso wheeled in and parked in a corner, immediately pulling out a laptop and going right back to work. We were all waiting for Simon to show up—he'd disappeared somewhere with Vince, telling me to wait with everyone else. I wanted to protest but what could I do?
When Rafe came in to set up the a/v equipment, I hurried over to his side to give him a hand, grateful to have something to do. We were just setting up the tripod when the room went dead silent. Looking up at the doorway, I—with the rest of the room—stared in shock.
There beneath the ornate lintel stood a pale-faced Eric, flanked on one side by Vince, his expression grimly proud. Eric smiled faintly at the room in general, then focused on where Rafe and I were frozen in our task.
"Thank you, gentlemen," he said in a soft but firm voice, "but that won't be necessary. We don't have time for weaknesses today."
He walked over to a couch and sat down, grabbing Vince's hand and pulling him down so that he could speak into his ear. Vince listened, then nodded and straightened up.
"Can we get those drapes closed, please?"
Dan jumped up to comply as Joel moved around the room to turn on the lamps. Even though it was only late morning, once the heavy tapestry drapes were pulled, the room would be submerged in darkness. But one look at Eric's face told a tale of immense will surmounting an immovable fear and despite my all-consuming fear for Jim, I felt a huge amount of respect for this man.
Rafe and I were just finishing moving the equipment out of the way when Simon and Megan came bustling in. She shot me a wan smile as she sat down while Simon took his place in front of the fireplace and began to speak.
"All right people, listen up. This is what we know. Jim had a meeting this morning with a federal agent by the name of Wayne Alpin. It was scheduled for eight o'clock; Jim never showed. His rental car was found abandoned in a culvert near a private airfield belonging to a Paraguayan company that we're fairly sure is a dummy corporation run by the Pena's, possibly the same money laundering conduit that Megan was following last week."
"What was the condition of the car?" My mouth went dry; what Dan was basically asking was if there was any blood.
"The car was clean but our man at the scene noticed a faintly astringent odor coming from the air conditioning vents. He's pretty sure gas was pumped in through those vents and once Jim was out, persons unknown drove him in the car to the airstrip. All they'd need was a mask until the gas was dispelled."
"How do you know this happened at all?" I asked. "It's only, what, eleven now?" My God, so much had happened—and where the hell was Quinn?
"We intercepted a phone call from Carlos Pena this morning." Megan replied as she curled one leg beneath her and leaned forward. "He was contacting one of his operatives in Cancun, telling them to expect a shipment—from San Diego."
Simon picked up the story. "Eric tried to reach Jim immediately, but we think they'd already taken him. Jack didn't receive confirmation until an hour ago, when we were dropping you off."
"Jesus," I breathed. I stared at my feet for a few seconds before looking from Simon to Eric and back again. "Confirmation from who?"
Simon nodded at Jack, who set his computer aside and maneuvered his chair closer to the center of the room.
"We'd started monitoring Pena's affairs even before Eli was killed. He's gotten into bed with some heavy-hitting drug cartels and we're pretty sure he's split off from the Patriots and is now trying to find the Temple himself."
"So what?" I said harshly, beginning to pace again. "You know how goddamn big the Peninsula is? If they've taken him there, there's no telling—"
"Sandburg, hold on!" Simon didn't shout, but the effect was the same. I stopped in my tracks and folded my arms tightly across my body, more to hold myself together than anything else. I raised my eyes to Simon and his severe expression softened.
"Look, kid, I know you're worried. We all are, but we've got to stay calm—for Jim's sake."
I nodded slightly and closed my eyes. He was right, I knew he was right—but precious time was being lost. We needed to be doing something, damn it!
Jack cleared his throat and continued. "You asked where we got our confirmation. Like I said, we'd been paying closer attention to Pena and part of that was working low level sleepers into his organization. That paid off this morning when one of our men in Merida got a message to us that he'd been activated."
"Whoa, wait a minute. You mean you have someone there already? Someone who knows where Jim is?"
"Better than that," Eric said with a small smile. "Someone with a transmitter. Once we reach the Peninsula, we should be able to pick him up easily."
I dropped my arms and stepped towards the door. "So what are we waiting for? Let's go!"
Simon didn't move, pinning me with eyes narrowed in annoyance. "And just what makes you think you're going anywhere?"
I blinked at him; it hadn't occurred to me that I'd be left behind.
"Hey—of course I'm going!" I spluttered. I turned to Eric, my hands held out in supplication. "Why wouldn't I be going?"
It was Vince sitting next to him who replied. "Oh, I don't know, kid," he said dryly. "Maybe the fact that you're not trained for this sort of thing. That you're more likely to get in the way than be a help. That Ellison would kill us if anything happened to you. That—"
I held up my hand. "What about the fact that I'm the only who can draw him out of those zone things without hurting him?"
Joel shook his head. "C'mon, Blair. That's inconclusive evidence. We can't—"
"How about the fact that if you don't take me along, I'll follow anyway on the next plane."
"You do that," Joel said quietly, "and you could ruin everything and maybe cost Jim his life."
I didn't know what to say to that—what he'd said was painfully, damnably true. I started to reluctantly agree when Simon spoke up.
"He can come."
I whirled, completely offguard, to see Simon staring at me with his arms folded.
"Really?" I blurted.
"Simon—" Joel was going to argue, but Simon spoke over him.
"Joel, I understand your objections and I concur with them. But Blair is right—if Alex is still doping her men with that compound and we get in a firefight, Jim may go down."
"Firefight?" I echoed faintly.
"The evidence may be inconclusive, but it is there," Eric's voice was thoughtful and I began wondering exactly what evidence they were talking about—so I asked.
"Uh, guys? What evidence?"
Eric glanced at Simon before replying. "Your DNA came back with some abnormalities, Blair. Nothing to worry about, but we've only seen this kind of anomaly in the DNA of one other person."
I swallowed, not completely sure I wanted to hear about something wrong with my blood. And yet—
"Ok, I'll bite. Whose DNA?"
"Ed Dawson, Emily's husband."
"Oh man," I managed to choke out. "The only person who could bring Emily out of a zone!"
"Exactly."
"God." My world tipped a little with that knowledge, then swiftly righted itself. I looked up at Simon, unreasonably hurt. "And you were going to tell me this when?"
Simon looked uncomfortable as he replied, "Not for a while, if at all. We're a long way from finding out the reason for the abnormalities, let alone why they affect the Fives the way they do. There's a lot of unanswered questions but they'll have to wait."
He paused, his dark eyes searching my face. "Are you still with us?"
I rolled my eyes; did he think I was some kind of flake? "Jesus—of course I am! When do we leave?"
"As soon as we're ready." He extended one long finger in my direction. "Listen to me, Sandburg. You're coming, but under one condition. You do exactly what you are told, at all times, no questions asked. You got that?"
I nodded vehemently. "Oh yeah, sure! No problem—I'm great at following orders!"
Simon shook his head. "Somehow, I sincerely doubt that." He motioned me to sit down, then took a chair himself. "Now let's get this show on the road."
In less than two hours, Simon, Megan, Joel and I were on a chartered jet to Merida. I'd been given a set of rugged, comfortable clothes and a pair of boots that couldn't have fit better if they'd been made for me. I'd also been issued a pretty wicked knife and sheath to fit on my belt and a backpack with survival essentials.
I was not issued a handgun and I didn't know whether to be pleased or offended. I settled for grateful that the decision was taken from me. I think Simon had some idea that I'd wait on the sidelines or something and only be called in if needed. Well, that's just not how it was going to happen. If I needed protecting, these people had all my trust. My focus was on Jim and Jim alone, this Temple of the Sentinels be damned.
As soon as we'd taken off, the three of them had huddled together, leaving me to my own devices. That was ok—I had a lot of thinking to do. As I looked out over the clouds that obscured any view, I kept returning to what Eric had said about my DNA. I wasn't worried—much—but I was curious. Did I have something inside me that worked with all Fives or just Jim? Did I actually still have to be present for whatever gizmo was in my blood to do its thing?
Oh, my God—would I have been able to save Emily?
My thoughts chased each other around the inside of my head for awhile, but only superficially. This stuff was fascinating, scary even, but nothing could distract me from thinking about Jim. Was he hurt, zoned—alive?
That last one I was desperately counting on—I know full well they could've killed him in San Diego if that was their intention.
Somewhere over Texas I fell into an uneasy sleep as the events of the day caught up with me once again. Even though I felt no physical pain from my encounter with that sleaze Quinn, I'd once again thought I was going to die. That tends to take the stuffing out of you, believe me. At some point my weird dreams were disrupted by someone placing a blanket on top of me, but soon enough I was back on some dreamscape inhabited by a big, black cat and oddly enough—a wolf.
Well, zoology was never my strongest subject.
It was dark when I woke up and there was no way of telling where we were. I stood up and stretched before making my way towards the bathroom in the rear of the dim cabin, noting that Joel was dozing while Simon had a phone once again attached to his ear.
When I was done, instead of retaking my seat, I plopped down into the empty one next to Megan. She had possession of the laptop and was looking at scans of hieroglyphics.
"Hey," I said quietly.
"Hey, Sandy," she replied with a smile.
"Sandy? Like Little Orphan Annie's dog? Sheesh."
"Aw, no offense meant, you know."
"None taken. I've been called worse." I jerked my head towards to screen. "What are you looking at?"
She sighed and bit the end of her finger. "I've been comparing the markings from the Burton monograph to Santiago's records—for the umpteenth time, I might add. Look here."
She pointed towards two images laid out side by side on the screen. The symbols were very similar and made absolutely no sense to me.
"Ok," I said, encouraging her in order to distract myself, "what about them?"
"See—these symbols here, here and here. Almost exactly the same as these over here."
"Yeah—that's good, right?"
She nodded. "Yes, it is. But it's this one—" she enlarged one particular marking that was found only in Santiago's writings, "that seems out of place."
"Why?"
She rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she reached for a bottle of water. "It's the image of the magician," she grumbled as she twisted the cap off. "It's significant in the narrative in that it's the magician—or possibly shaman—who performed at the ceremonies, which of course the anointing of the True would include. But in this instance, it's almost as though the Temple is named for the magician, in an almost proprietary manner. It's very odd."
She ran a fingernail along the bottom of another glyph. "Then, the magician symbol changes, as if his purpose is somehow altered during a ceremony, described here. The magician is gone and in his place is something more like companion, or guide, maybe. We're just not sure—it's so bloody frustrating!"
When I didn't say anything, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye as she took a sip of water. "I'm sure he's all right," she murmured, replacing the cap.
I met her concerned gaze and smiled slightly. "No, you're not, but that's ok. I know you're worried about him, too."
Her hand covered my nervously tapping fingers and squeezed them briefly. "Let me tell you something, Sandy. On most days, Jim and I—we tolerate each other. Oil and water, mate. But there's no doubting the truth of his abilities—or the size of his heart. If anyone can take care of himself, it's Jim Ellison. And now that you're in his life—"
She shrugged and released my hand. "He'll do whatever it takes to stay alive."
"Yeah," I murmured noncommittally. "So tell me, how'd you get mixed up with this group?"
Megan took my change of subject in stride and went on to tell me how she'd been sent out here from Australia as part of a police officer exchange program—and that she'd responded to the scene the night Tomas had been murdered.
Within a month, she was working for the Group.
We chatted a bit longer, then I regained my seat and stared out into the night, absently eating the little boxed meal that we'd been provided. My mouth was so dry it was like eating dog kibble, but I was well aware that I needed the strength.
Some indeterminate amount of time later, the pilot announced his approach to the Merida airport. Simon rose from his seat a few rows in front of me and turned to face the rest of us.
"Here's where we stand. The transmitter has been picked up south of Merida, near the Uxnal ruins. There's a plateau beyond that containing a less well-defined archeological field that the Mexican government has declared off limits due to its instability. That's our destination."
"Um, excuse me, Simon?"
"Yeah, Sandburg, what is it?"
"Well, uh, two things, really. One—isn't the Mexican government going to be a little upset when we barge in to their country and ignore their laws and two—isn't our government going to be a little bit peeved with us as well? I mean, this has 'international incident' written all over it."
Simon leaned forward against the headrest of his seat. "We have a tacit understanding with our government that they will provide a certain amount of support, all of it tactical, so that we don't give the impression that we're actually, well, invading Mexico."
"Makes sense," I nodded.
"As far as the Mexicans are concerned—there we have to tread a little lighter. Since the Aegis Group isn't a recognized law enforcement entity, we will not be afforded the hospitality of the local cops. Therefore it is imperative that we move in and out with as little fuss as possible. We have the few people we've managed to round up on such short notice and that's it."
"I do have one more piece of news," he continued. "Our guest Dawson Quinn has been convinced to come up with some information, including the fact that Carlos Pena is now Alex's main supporter. He also alluded to the fact that Kincaid may have been set up."
"By Alex?" Megan asked
"Apparently. Vince said he and Eric were still—explaining—things to Quinn and they hoped get more out of him in the morning."
His casual words made me shiver a little as I read between the lines. It wasn't just the loss of altitude that was making my stomach dip—it was the memory of the look on Vince's face right before we'd left for the airport.
He'd volunteered to come along; in fact, he'd almost demanded it. But Simon had gently told him no, explaining that he needed Vince to stay behind and run things while we were gone. It was unspoken but evident to all of us that Vince's best field days were behind him and I knew even he saw the truth in that. The slump of his shoulders as he nodded his agreement revealed his own sad acknowledgement of that fact.
But Eric was having none of that.
"Vincent, that will be enough pouting. You have a perfectly good prisoner cooling his heels down in the basement and I can think of no one better equipped to deal with him."
The words were harsh but the expression in Eric's eyes was one of such understanding that I had to look away. For his part, Vince responded like a hound dog picking up a scent as he exchanged glances with his partner—glances that boded ill for Dawson Quinn. Funny—I really couldn't dredge up a lot of sympathy for that loser.
As I tightened my seat belt and turned off my overhead light, I vowed that someday, I'd get to hear the story about those two.
But I needed Jim to be the one to tell it to me.
"We stop here, señora."
Hours of hard walking, most of it on a gradual incline, had brought us to a plateau covered with foliage more dense than what we'd already passed through.
The burro track had given way to a footpath that had quickly degenerated into nothing more that a consistent break in the plant life. Meto—the older man who'd arrived with Pena—guided us with sure-footed precision, setting a steady pace and never wavering from it. Judging from the way he moved, my guess was that he was at least a strong Two, with sight the predominant sense.
Once Alex suspected that we'd been traced, the plans had changed once more. She'd insisted that I accompany them to the Temple, so it was a larger party that headed into the hills, even though by then the sound of the distant engine had faded. Pena, who'd never heard the engine in the first place, was now halfway to being convinced that Alex and I were playing him. Whatever small amount of trust they'd had was now seriously damaged, and I began working on a way to use that to my advantage.
We stepped into a small clearing and paused to catch our breath. Coastal morning fog had burned off and the day had warmed up considerably, but I wasn't uncomfortable. I'd been abducted wearing Levi's, a denim shirt and work boots so clothing hadn't been an issue. The hard part had been walking while constantly reminding myself to not use my hands for balance but that got easier after a while. Only two of the hired help had come along with us, neither of them the man named Marron, so keeping my ropes looking taut became imperative. Although it would've been nice to have someone else on my team, my odds were now five to one—not bad. But as much as I needed to regain my freedom, there remained the siren pull of the Temple itself. Whether it turned out to be the Holy Grail or a hole in the ground, either way I wanted to see it—I wanted to see the place that had cost Eli his life and brought Blair Sandburg into mine.
But it could be more. I'm not a man who believes in fairy tales and I don't have a lot a illusions left, but if there was something, anything here that could save a kid like Jason Banks from going through what Emily and Tomas had suffered—then I would try my damndest to find it.
"Let's move out." Alex hitched her pack higher onto her shoulders and turned to Meto, who looked back at her impassively and shook his head.
"Only you." He spoke in Spanish, jerking his head in my direction. "And him."
"No!" Pena crowded the old man, towering over him. "We all go!"
Meto shook his head. "You are not welcome there. Only the True may go."
"The what? Oh, my God." Pena stalked angrily around the clearing, past the mercs who watched him with cold, indifferent eyes. "This is ridiculous—to come all this way only to be stopped by idiotic superstition!"
Meto glanced at him, then dropped and sat cross-legged on a low outcropping of limestone. Pena stared down at him, then turned to Alex.
"This is not the deal, Alexis! I will see it for myself!"
Alex stood unfazed by his outburst, but there was a growing nervousness about her that intrigued me. She reminded me of a junkie trying to placate her pusher, wondering how much she could get away with. Shooting me a quick look, she laid a conciliatory hand on Pena's arm.
"It's all right, Carlos, it's all right. We're not far from it now and as soon as I find out if it's legitimate, I'll come back for you." When it looked like Pena was going to argue, she continued hastily, "Look, the old man isn't going to let you go and he's our only ticket in. Ok?"
"And what of him?" Pena sneered, waving his hand sharply in my direction. I didn't say anything as I drank carefully from the canteen that one of the guards handed to me.
"Meto and I can handle him." She reached back to her hip holster and pulled out her efficient-looking little semi-auto. Behind her, Meto stood up and wordlessly walked into the bushes.
"This is not right," Pena blustered, but his belligerence was fading. Alex rewarded his acquiescence by taking a fistful of his shirt and pressing a savage kiss to his mouth. When they broke apart, his blood was on her lip and she ran her tongue over the smear, her eyes pinned to mine. Keeping eye contact with her took an act of will but I did, long enough to make sure she watched me as I turned my head and spat onto the dusty ground.
There was no mistaking my meaning and she sprang at me across the clearing, extending her arm to point the barrel of the gun directly at my head. I braced my legs and prepared to jump, but she was stopped by a sharp word from Pena.
"Enough!"
"No!" she screamed back at him, her arm still aiming straight towards me.
Pena moved up beside her and laid his hand on her wrist. "No, not yet. We still need him."
Alex was shaking hard, her nostrils flaring as if she were scenting a hot wind. That's when I realized that what I thought was nervousness was actually her senses spiking—a closer look at her eyes showed that they were too dilated against the midday sun. That alone had to be painful but now I could also see a circle of red around her neck where the fabric of her shirt rubbed against her skin.
"What's the matter, Alex?" I taunted. "Having a little problem there?"
"Shut up!" Her gun hand jerked but Pena forced the barrel down towards the ground. She let him, shaking off his hand from her wrist. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at Pena and gestured at me with her free hand.
"Go."
I followed after Meto, Alex bringing up the rear but never close enough for me to get a chance at the gun. In less than an hour, we reached the edge of the temple field. There was a haphazardly erected barbed wire fence surrounding what wasn't much more than a pile of stones. We crossed the fence easily and then moved onto the swath of grass and rock that surrounded the temple itself.
The structure was unimpressive. I'm not sure what I expected—I knew the ruins weren't going to be well-preserved but somehow I wanted more. Slabs of algae-encrusted limestone sat piled on top of each other in what once may have been a pyramid but now was little more than a heap of squared-off boulders. The tree canopy had grown over the site, covering it in perpetual shadow. From where we stood I could see no entrance, but Meto led us around to an opening that we had to crouch to get into. Sitting just inside the threshold was a large Coleman lantern that Meto paused to light before going on. Alex remained vigilant, never getting close to me and keeping the gun on me at all times.
But bit by bit I sensed that her control was slipping. Even from ten feet away I could tell the difference in the smell of her sweat; there was a sickly, sweetish tinge to it and I suddenly realized that my comparison to a junkie was more right on than I'd imagined.
Alex had been controlling her senses with drugs—and they were beginning to fail her.
We descended gradually as the path widened; even Meto had to stoop to avoid the ceiling that got lower every few yards. The ground was soft sand, the walls limestone covered with moss and choking vines that Meto cut through with the machete. I was careful to keep my body as far away from the walls as possible—the place was crawling with snakes and rats. Although I could hear their hurried retreats as we pressed further in, I didn't want to take the chance that some lazy fer-de-lance might decide to take a swipe at me.
Maybe thirty feet inside, the small corridor opened into a room-sized cavern. Most of what had once been the roof had fallen in, allowing tree-filtered, dusty sunbeams in to light the room. Meto moved to the far side and turned the lantern off before setting it down on the floor. Behind me, breathing heavily, Alex came into the chamber and stepped swiftly to my right, still keeping a safe distance. With the gun trained on me, she took a good look around the cavern walls, a wondering smile on her lips.
At first glance, the structure looked heavily eroded, many of the original slabs cracked and weathered with time. But as I stepped further into the middle of the room, I began to see faint symbols, some of them painted and some of them carved into the rock itself. None of it made any sense to me—I was more interested in the sound of dripping water coming from an adjacent cavern.
I turned towards Alex, taking a step towards her. She backed up immediately, the gun pointed at me chest high.
"Ok, what now?" I asked with a shrug.
"Meto!" Alex turned to him and snapped her fingers twice. "Give it to him!" she barked in rough Spanish.
Meto shook his head. "No, señora—it is not for him. You must wait!"
The gun twitched in Alex's hand but not enough for me to make a move.
"Do as you're told or your village will pay."
Meto's eyes widened as we both realized that Alex had just changed the circumstances of whatever deal she'd made with him.
"What—what do you mean?"
"You didn't think a few pesos in your pockets would be enough for me to trust you, do you? After all, I only have your assurance that this will work at all, so a few of my men entered your village at dawn to ensure your cooperation."
"Señora, I told you," he said frantically, "this is not for the True. The stories, they tell us—"
"This is the temple, isn't it? You read the symbols and prepared the elixir, right?"
"Sì, but—"
"But nothing. Now do as you're told."
He looked over at me with fear and apology in his eyes as he made his painful decision. With shaking hands he reached into a pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small object. I dialed up my sight to get a closer look—it was an airline sized bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, filled with a brownish liquid.
"What the hell is that?"
Alex gestured at the symbols behind her with her free hand. "A sentinel highball, written right here and waiting for us. Meto's people know the legend and translated the symbols. They said this mixture was dedicated to the sentinel."
A warning bell was struck inside my head, but before I could pin it down, she spoke again.
"On your knees, Jim. Now."
Alex stepped farther away and braced her legs, switching the gun to a teacup grip. I hesitated, feeling the situation slipping further away and desperate to figure out a way to stop whatever she had in mind. Seeing my reluctance, Alex made sure she had my attention before slowly swinging the gun in Meto's direction.
"I don't need him anymore, you know." Her tone was chillingly conversational. "We're here, we've discovered the Temple. Now it's your cooperation that will keep him alive."
God damn Alex; in her spite and cleverness, she'd hit upon the one thing she knew I couldn't overcome—the threat against someone else.
I knelt on the damp earth, moisture instantly seeping into the denim of my jeans. I catalogued that useless fact with about a dozen others as the adrenaline forced my senses into a higher level of awareness. Alex's harsh breathing reverberated off the walls and the smell of Meto's fear now rivaled the fetid stink coming from the dank water in the other cavern.
"Meto, roll the bottle to within his reach. Do not go near him."
Meto bent down and let the little bottle roll off of his palm with enough momentum that it landed within a foot of my knee.
"Pick it up."
I squared my shoulders, tilting my head to one side. "If you think I'm going to drink that—"
"I think you'll do anything to avoid me killing this man in front of you—not to mention his family."
She saw the capitulation in my eyes and tossed back her head to laugh. "See, Jimmy? I know you better than you thought I did." Her laughter ceased abruptly. "Don't be afraid," she whispered. "It's going to be wonderful."
I looked into her mad, beautiful eyes and felt an infinite weariness. "Alex, c'mon. Walk away from this. You don't have to—"
The gun swiveled back to me.
"Pick it up and drink it. Just one swallow. Then I want you to walk into the next cave and step into the grotto."
Finally, a tactical error—she should've made sure I could make it inside the next cave before having me drink whatever crap was in the Stoli bottle. Keeping my eyes on hers, I leaned forward and scooped it into my palm. My fingers fumbled with the cap, the bottle getting tangled in the sweaty ropes I'd been holding tight for hours. With Meto's life and the life of his family being held over me, I couldn't take the chance of having the bottle fall and break.
Finally, I had the cap loose and I dropped it onto the ground.
"One swallow."
I held the bottle up to my nose and sniffed as Alex watched me avidly. Dirty creek water, herbs, some unknown algae—it smelled like the perfect recipe for the runs, not some sensory-enhancing elixir. If I was lucky, a case of the trots was all I was going to get.
I locked my eyes on Alex's and held the bottle to my lips. Doing exactly as she said, I tipped the bottle and let a small amount of the foul liquid trickle into my mouth.
It was hard not to spit it out immediately. My gorge rose as my body tried to expel the nasty-tasting crap before I could swallow it. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself anyway, tears surfacing with the effort. Aside from the gross taste, the texture was equally repulsive and I didn't even want to think about what some of the lumps in the liquid could be.
"Good, Jim, good. Set the bottle down carefully and stand up. Now we move on to the next step."
I sat back on my haunches and twisted my body to set the bottle aside. With my stomach honestly in knots, I straightened, then let out a groan and clutched at my abdomen.
"Oh, God," I panted, "oh, Christ, Alex! What the hell was in that!"
My eyes rolled back into my head and I collapsed face down into the dirt, pulling my legs beneath me and forming a hollow over my hands. In the background, I could hear Alex screaming and Meto's terrified replies. Rolling my forehead in the dirt, I angled my head to watch Alex's boots as she danced back and forth in her agitation. I threw in a few more retching sounds as I pulled off the ropes and my hands came completely free beneath me; she moved a little closer but not close enough.
Time to throw out all the stops. I moaned dramatically and drew my knees into my chest so that I was curled into a fetal position. Alex stepped back and then quickly forward—and that was her downfall.
Literally.
I struck out with my right hand, grabbing her ankle and yanking as hard as I could. She fell hard on her butt with an angry cry, but recovered almost immediately. I scrabbled over her, reaching for her gun arm and dragging it down as she tried to raise it against me.
She struggled furiously, using her knees and feet against my lower body as I worked on pinning her down. I tried to keep an ear out for Meto behind me—I had no idea which side he'd rather play on at this point. But Alex was writhing like a wild animal beneath me, using her free hand to claw at my face and neck as her legs wrapped around my thighs. Bracing my foot against a wall, I surged up over her and used my elbow to press her throat to the ground, finally gaining enough leverage to pull her arm down all the way and grab the gun. Meto chose that moment to make a break for the exit and I let him go, knowing I could easily track him later if I needed to.
I got the semi-automatic positioned in my hand as Alex fell back with a keening wail of frustration. The sound ripped at my nerves and now that I was in control of the gun, some of my inner control slipped. I slid down her body, placed a fist around her throat and pointed the gun right between her eyes.
"What do you think, Alexis?" I whispered hoarsely. "Think I should show you as much mercy as you showed Eli?"
I leaned forward until the barrel of the gun was within an inch of her face. She stared back, malevolence once again lighting her eyes from within with an ugly glow. Beneath me, she kept her body rigid but I could feel tremors of tension and antagonism rushing across her skin. My own hands were shaking as the emotions I'd so carefully compressed were let loose and a crimson veil of rage descended over my eyes.
"What about Tomas?" I choked and swallowed hard, the aftertaste of the concoction less bitter than the disgust of her rising inside me. "God, Alex? Why? Why are you doing this?"
Her hands clenching convulsively in the sand, she gave me a gentle smile.
"Weak, Jimmy." She looked up at the ceiling and laughed wildly. "You're all so goddamned weak! You think you're saving the world but you're not—you're killing it with kindness. You, Simon, that kid Sandburg—"
"That's enough." I pressed my fingers harder into her neck. She grunted but continued.
"Oh, yes, talking about weakness—he was yours, wasn't he? And now he's dead because of you."
"No," I ground out. I never hated anyone or anything as much as I did her right at that moment. My trigger finger twitched and I didn't bother to lie to myself that it was some kind of muscle spasm.
"Oh yes, Jim," she whispered. "You let him die."
From behind me, a voice spoke up, a voice that I thought I'd never live to hear again.
"I dunno, Simon, what do you think? Do I look dead to you?"
My flip words sounded hollow and inadequate, but that's what came out of my mouth as I took in the sight in front of me. Jim remained oblivious to our arrival—and believe me, five people tromping through this knockoff Temple of Doom made a hell of a lot of noise.
Simon never took his eyes off the horrifying tableau in front of us, the gun in his hand pointed low but ready.
"No, Sandburg, I'd say you looked very much alive. Jim, what do you think?"
Jim didn't respond. His sweat-drenched body quivered as he held the woman—I knew it was Alex Barnes—by her throat with a gun gouging into the space between her eyes. A shaft of light broke through the trees, harshly illuminating the two figures coiled around each other in a violent caricature of a lover's embrace.
I thought back on the night Jim broke me out of the jail in Peru—I remember thinking then that I'd never see anything so awful as those dead men lying in the road.
I was wrong. True, that was terrible, something I won't forget as long as I live—but it had the virtue of being an impersonal horror. I didn't know those men, couldn't mourn their passing.
This—this was so totally, painfully different. Jim's every sense was engaged by the woman he held at gunpoint. He didn't so much as blink the sweat out of his eyes as he stared down at her, his face frozen in a mask of implacable, insatiable anger.
It was only now that all the fighting was over that I began to get really, really scared.
We'd landed on an airstrip outside Merida and immediately climbed into a big, black four by four that had been waiting on the tarmac, an identical one behind it. No customs to go through, no luggage to claim—the only way these people seemed to travel. Our little caravan quickly left the confines of the city, going from major roads to streets to tracks to dirt paths. Megan was running the little device that was wired to the homing beacon they'd managed to attach to Jim; Simon was once again on a cell phone and Joel just looked tense while trying to give me reassuring smiles. I was keenly aware that I was along for the ride as a fail safe and not as any actual contributor. My curiosity was turned up full bore but it was no match for the anxiety that kept surging through my stomach in waves. With the stakes so impossibly high, I resolved to go against my nature and keep a low profile.
Right before we plunged into the jungle itself, we were joined by another truck and that's when I realized that Simon was coordinating a sophisticated attack. That gave me some degree of comfort; I'd somehow pictured the four of us storming a camp of hard cases and although I was game—well, let's just say I really appreciated the arrival of the pros.
In the end, the first set of bad guys gave up rather easily. One team was sent ahead and called back to us when they were ready for us to join them. I told myself I wasn't disappointed, but there was something kind of—embarrassing—about the way Alex's hired muscle had laid down their guns; when we'd caught up, the mercs were all sitting on the ground, their hands linked matter-of-factly behind their heads. No shots fired, nobody hurt, thank God.
As we arrived, the troops that Simon had called up were methodically and thoroughly securing the mercenary's camp. Megan, Simon and Joel didn't even pause—in fact, they just ignored the business-like doings while I watched in slack-jawed amazement. Those three were huddled around the tracking thingamajig and when they took off into the bush with a smaller contingent of our troops, I had to haul ass to catch up.
Thus began the hardest part—the trek through the jungle. Whoever had packed for me had done a great job; I felt like I could carry my well-balanced load for days if necessary. Unfortunately, there were a lot of other things that served to make that hike a real nightmare. Things like bugs—my God, some of them were as big as my Volvo—the humidity, the rough terrain. The boots I'd been given fit great but they weren't broken in, and after the first couple of hours I felt the tell-tale sting of a blister forming on my heel. I didn't dare slow down or complain, not that I really wanted to; my comfort was of absolutely no significance.
When it came, the second offensive was a little trickier. I'd fallen into a good walking rhythm between the one woman from the assault team and Joel, who was doggedly bringing up the rear. With my head down, concentrating on my next step, I never saw the arm that was suddenly blocking my way. With a finger to her lips, the soldier told me to be silent, her other hand cupped over the microphone in her ear. She motioned me to move behind a fallen log and I did as I was told, stark fear making a reappearance as I was forcefully reminded that we still had a long way to go before saving Jim.
I couldn't see anything where I was, but I sure as hell heard the shots when they rang out. After that, I tried to become one with the plant life, burrowing into the ground as deep as possible and suddenly unmindful of the creepy crawlies I just knew were getting pissed off by my home invasion.
A weird quiet descended after the shots. I waited what I thought was an appropriate amount of time, then slowly lifted my head over the tree trunk. I had no idea where Joel was—I didn't know if he'd hit the ground for cover or gone on ahead to help. I looked around and didn't see anything, so I slowly rose to my feet with the half-formed intention of trying to go forward in the direction I thought we'd been going. That wasn't exactly a great plan—my sense of direction can be a little questionable sometimes.
What happened instead still makes me shake my head in wonder. One minute, I'm standing there with my backpack, one hand clutching the straps with the other trying to get the water bottle out of the pocket netting. The next minute, there's shouting and some guy is coming at me in a rush, his body twisted away as he looked back at whoever was pursuing him.
That was why he didn't see me and that was why he looked so surprised when my backpack connected with his shin. As he fell, the gun he was carrying discharged and I swear I could feel air displaced as the bullet whizzed past my face. But despite that little distraction, I still felt a whole lot of satisfaction as this guy landed with a loud thump and a louder expletive, clutching at his leg. I dropped the pack and did my best Pele imitation, kicking the gun away from of his hand and into the ferns.
The guy was down but not out. I was just dancing out of his reach when my backup arrived—the lady merc and Joel, to be exact. Joel came to my side and gave me the once over before clapping me on the shoulder with a big grin.
"Good job, Blair," he said. "You're two for two."
"Yeah," I agreed breathlessly, "but to tell you the truth, I'd like to retire undefeated if that's ok."
"More than ok. Maggie, can you get Pena here back to base?"
Maggie had her knee firmly on the small of Pena's back as she secured his hands with plastic cuffs. She nodded as she stood up and hauled Pena to his feet as well.
"Sure thing. The Mexican authorities would love to have a conversation or two with this guy." She gave him a shove onto the path that we'd been following, pausing briefly as she came level with me. She was a little taller than me and had to look down to meet my eyes.
"Got some nice moves there, lamb chop. Ever decide to see the world from the wild side, give me a call." She grinned at me and then gave Pena another push as they went back the way we'd come.
I stood there in bemusement as I watched them disappear, wondering not for the first time why everyone in this outfit liked to call me something other than Blair. I mean—lamb chop?
"Blair, let's go. We need to catch up with the others."
Well, almost everyone.
Joel turned and moved out, so I snatched my pack and followed. Right around the next bend we joined Simon, Megan and the other soldiers that had come with us. There were two more mercenaries on the ground, this time face down with their hands bound to their ankles behind them. Talk about uncomfortable.
Simon was talking to someone I didn't recognize as being part of our original team, so I moved to join Megan, who was lifting her heavy ponytail of off her neck in hopes of catching some cool air under there.
I jerked my head in Simon's direction. "Who's the new guy?"
"Ah, that's our inside man. He's the one who got the homing device on Jim."
I looked at him across the clearing; he sure didn't look like a hired gun. Kind of round, with a face that had good-natured written all over it, I thought he looked more someone who'd be coaching little league baseball than a member of an elite strike force.
The sudden lull in the action drove the tension that had been dispersed by adrenaline to reclaim it's place inside me. I glanced around the dusty clearing, noting with rising anger that everyone just seemed to be sitting—or laying—around and doing nothing.
"What are we waiting for? Let's go!" I pulled on my pack and took a few steps in a random direction, hoping somebody would take the lead and get us moving again.
Megan shook her head and reached into her pack to pull out the tracking device.
"Hang about, Sandy. We can't."
She held the readout up for me to see. There was a small monitor that held an image that looked a little like the grid you'd see in old submarine movies, with concentric green circles veined like a spiderweb.
"No," I said, frustration giving my voice a rough edge. "I don't see."
Megan sighed. "Exactly. We've lost the signal."
"Oh, my God," I whispered. Hundreds of miles of jungle in any direction and no idea where Jim was—this was a catastrophe. "What about that Pena guy? Would he know?"
"No," Simon spoke up as everyone began gathering around him. "Pena never made it to the Temple. According to one of our friends here, only Jim, Alex and the guide went forward from this point."
"Forward where?" I angrily swiped at the sweat on my face with my forearm. "Jesus, Simon, how are we gonna find him now?"
Inside Guy spoke up. "I know which direction they went. My eyes are pretty good still—I may be able to track them by following where their feet broke down the underbrush. The breaks will still be fresh."
He slung his weapon, some kind of rifle, over his shoulder by the canvas strap and parted a thick wall of brush.
"This way."
He plunged into the jungle and we lined up in our previous formation and followed, leaving behind one of our soldiers to watch over the two captives. The fatigue that had begun to slow me down was gone, replaced by nervous energy as we got closer to Jim.
We came upon the temple field a lot sooner than I'd expected. We were off by a little bit, maybe fifty yards, but we covered that quickly, following the line of barbed wire fence that sagged with the weight of faded "keep out" signs. Finding a low point, Simon led us over the fence and we all spread out around the base of the temple, looking for an entrance. Under other circumstances, I would've been fascinated, excited even, by being on site of a lost ruin. But right now, these ancient stones were nothing but another obstacle to overcome.
I heard a shout to my left and saw Simon waving us in. We all trotted to his side and I saw the opening he'd found, a tilted stone arch that was almost completely collapsed on one side.
"Listen up," Simon was saying, "Joel and I will go in. The rest of you stay out here and wait to hear from—"
"No way!" I stepped up, going chest to chest with him. "At the risk of repeating myself, I'm going too!"
"Sandburg," he growled just as Megan grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the temple entrance. "What the—?"
"Man coming out!" she yelled. Everyone pulled their weapons and backed away—everyone except me, of course—I was sure that it had to be Jim. I'd have stood there til the cows came home, too, except Joel hooked his arm beneath mine and pulled me out of the way.
Before I could shake him off, a small figure flew across the stone threshold, skidding to a halt in the face of all that firepower. It was an older man, his leathery skin the color of used brick. He looked around the circle of faces, his eyes wide with fright as he threw his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.
"No, no!"
Simon got to him first, taking a fistful of shirt, turning him to reveal a sheath that ran the length of the strangers back. In one long move, Simon pulled out a wicked-looking machete and flipped the old man back to face us, resting the blade just above the man's collar.
"Where is he? Where is Jim Ellison?"
The old man flinched and Simon gave him a shake.
"Where is he?"
"Inside!" the man stammered. "With her—she is crazy, she made him—"
Simon tossed the man to one of the soldiers, then dropped his backpack and fell to one knee. When he pulled out a flashlight, the rest of us caught on and I ripped open my pack and dragged mine out. If Simon had a comment about who was going where now, he kept it to himself as he stood up and trotted into the Temple, the rest of us right behind him except the old man and his guard.
In the darkness, I had no way to keep track of time. I concentrated on keeping the beam from my flashlight low so I wouldn't trip, so it was with a little jolt of surprise when I looked up to see a growing patch of light beyond the people in front of me. It was even more surprising when the five of us stumbled into the large, sunlit cavern to see Jim and Alex locked in each others' arms.
When Jim failed to respond to Simon, I took a half step closer, dropping both the backpack and flashlight to the ground.
"Jim?" I whispered. "C'mon, man, come back to us."
Still lost in some dark place, Jim barely shook his head in response.
"It would be so easy. . ." he muttered.
I took another step, shaking off somebody's restraining hand on my arm.
"No, Jim," I disagreed softly, "it wouldn't be. You know that—it's not worth it. Let her go and let's get out of here, ok?"
Still no response. Alex Barnes was watching me, a weird, disturbing smile on her face. Ignoring her, I slowly reached out my hand and rested my fingertips on Jim's shoulder. "Hey, we still have a date for Cuban food, right?"
Jim blinked once, twice. "Sandburg?" he croaked. "That you?"
"Yeah, it's me," I said roughly. I had to swallow before I could continue. "You about ready to go home?"
Kneeling at Jim's side, I held my breath and waited. Jim kept his
eyes on Alex but turned his head a little bit in my direction.
"You ok?"
I nodded vigorously, relieved to hear some strength returning to his voice. "Yeah, I'm good. Hungry, though. You know of any good places to eat in Cancun? Simon says he's buying."
Simon knelt down next to me and nudged away the gun in Jim's hand with the edge of the machete he'd taken off of the old man. "I don't remember saying that, but I think I can cover it." The point of the blade brushed across Alex's chin as he paused, then continued quietly, "Stand down, Jim. You're covered."
I still had my fingers on Jim's shoulder, so I slid them over his collar and up to grasp his chin, turning his face towards mine. After a space of maybe three heartbeats, he turned those baby blues on me and thank God—he smiled. It was a weary-to-the-bone smile, but beautiful none the less.
"It's over," he murmured, then grasped my hand and pulled us both to our feet.
"Yeah," I sighed on an answering grin, "it is."
The atmosphere around us turned brisk and business-like as Joel and Simon hoisted Alex to her feet and began restraining her. Megan moved off in another direction, something obviously piquing her interest. I knew this stuff was going on around me, but my eyes were strictly for Jim—and his for me. I don't know if the others were aware of it or not, but they left us alone. I stood several feet away from him, just soaking up the fact that he was alive and unhurt. Jim looked me over carefully, his body visually relaxing as it finally seemed to sink in that I was perfectly fine. His pointed attention reminded me that Alex had taunted him with my death—God, she had a lot to answer for.
As Joel and Simon hustled her out of the chamber. I did some of my own checking because Jim looked like hell. There were bruises and scratches along his jaw and dark circles beneath his eyes. His blue denim shirt was patchy with sweat and stained around the collar with some whitish, crusty substance that I couldn't even guess at. Aside from looking worn and way too pale, he was still in one piece—physically, anyway. The shadows in his eyes told me there was breakage inside, some wounds unseen—wounds I knew I could help him heal, if he'd let me.
Our mutual once-over was disrupted when the man I'd labeled Inside Guy bent over with a curse, snatching up what looked like a bunch of nylon rope.
"Aw, man, it's broken," he mumbled, holding it out like a toy to be fixed.
"What's that?" I asked, stepping to his side.
"It's what saved my life," Jim said quietly, switching the gun from right to left so that he could extend his hand to the guy. "Jim Ellison."
"Henri Brown. Nice to finally, officially meet you." They shook and Henri turned to me.
"Blair Sandburg," I said as our hands met. "So what's with the ropes?"
He dropped one end and let it trail to the ground, raising the other end to eye level. Sticking out of the weave about four inches from the end was a little black fiber, almost like an insect antenna. Check that—a broken antenna, because the end of it was bent sharply to one side.
"Transmitter—brand new one, too. Eric just sent it to me. Man, is he gonna be pissed off." Henri grinned and dropped the rope with a shrug. "What the hell—let's get out of here and find someplace that has beer, hunh?"
"I hear that," I agreed, sharing an amused glance with Jim. "Megan, you ready?"
She looked up from where she was kneeling in the dirt. "Not yet. Jim, what's this?"
She held up a small liquor bottle, like one of those you get on an airline. It was dirty and the label was partially stripped off, but inside I could see a little bit of liquid.
Jim tucked his gun into his waistband and crossed his arms over his chest, looking faintly nauseous. "We need to bring that back—Alex made me drink some of it."
Simon came back in and overheard Jim's remarks. He took two strides to Megan's side and took the bottle from her.
"Christ, Jim! Do you have any idea what's in this? Do you feel ok?"
Jim held up his hand. "Relax, I feel fine. Aside from some bad water, I don't think there was anything toxic in it. Besides, that old man is the one who mixed it up. He can tell us exactly what's in it."
"Lucky for you," I murmured, holding out my hand. "Can I see?"
"Don't spill it." Simon gave me the bottle and I held it up to the sunlight, giving it a little shake. The brackish color and flakes of something floating in it made it pretty unappetizing and I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
"Yuck," I said succinctly.
Then I had what can only be described as an "oh, shit" moment—I held the bottle to my nose and inhaled. I mean, I expected it to smell gross, right?
I didn't expect to have the world immediately go black.
"Sandburg!"
It was horror in slow motion; one minute, he's standing there with this look of comical disgust on his face and the next he's sinking to his knees, eyes dilating to black before slamming shut. The little bottle fell from his fingers and shattered on impact.
No one was prepared for this; both Megan and Simon were stunned into immobility. Before Sandburg could slump all the way to the ground, I shoved them out of the way and caught him, both of us sliding to the dirt as I cradled his unconscious body to my chest.
"Sandburg!" I slapped him lightly but his head just lolled against my shoulder. "Damn it—come on, Chief, come on, don't do this to me."
Oh, God—I laid two fingers over his carotid as I looked up into Simon's shocked face. "No pulse—he's not breathing! Help me start CPR!"
Connor took Sandburg's arm from the other side and helped me lower him all the way to the ground as Brown straightened his legs. Simon pushed her aside and linked his fingers, glancing up at me and nodding.
"Ok, Jim, come on, get his airway open. All right, here we go."
I counted with Simon as he did the compressions, then leaned down and breathed in Blair's mouth. The clock was ticking in my head—four minutes, that's all I had. When I paused to check for a respiration that didn't come, I began pleading, my hands twisting in the fabric of his shirt.
"This can't be happening—God, this cannot be happening. C'mon, buddy, c'mon—breathe, damn it!"
Simon stopped and I again breathed into Blair, praying he'd receive life-saving air from me, that he'd inhale spontaneously.
"Again!" I barked, watching in growing desperation as Simon leaned into his task. This time instead of counting along, I crouched down until my mouth was against Blair's ear.
"Don't you go," I whispered, pushing my voice past the tears that clogged my throat. "Don't you leave me, Blair. C'mon, you and I are just beginning, right? You owe me granola and a new pan, right? Give me a sign, Chief. I'm waiting right here—you gotta come back now, damn it! C'mon!"
"Jim! Breathe, now!"
I pulled back and had just started to lean down for the next session of breathing when Blair convulsed once, drawing in a huge lungful of air before collapsing again.
"Blair!" I turned his face towards me; his mouth was open and he was breathing on his own. His eyelids flickered but didn't open. "God—Blair! You back with us?"
Simon had his hands wrapped around Blair's arm. "Sandburg? C'mon, kid, wake up now. You want me to buy dinner in Cancun, you need to get off your ass." We shared a glance and Simon shook his head.
I pushed a strand of loose hair off of Blair's forehead. "Hear that, Chief? Simon's buying, but you gotta wake up first, ok? Blair?"
"Please, Sandy," Megan implored.
It felt like an eternity, but Sandburg finally stirred. Moaning softly, he tried to lift a shaky hand but I gently pushed it back down to the ground.
"Jim? Wha happ'nd?"
I closed my eyes, struggling to keep it together. When I reopened them, Blair's questioning blue eyes were staring back at me.
"You passed out. Got a whiff of that crap in the bottle and took a header." I kept my tone light as I stroked his cheek. "Let's not do that again, ok?"
"Oh, man," he mumbled. "This feels worse than the worst hangover I've ever had—and I've had some beauties, let me tell you."
He reached out and connected with my thigh, grabbing at my jeans as he tried to sit up.
"Whoa there, Chief," I objected, "take it easy. You had us all pretty damn worried here."
His clearing gaze passed over the faces gathered above him. "Hey," he said with a flustered smile. "Floor show's over, folks." He coughed slightly and I dug into my back pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his face.
"Just relax for a few minutes, ok? No rush, we've got time. Somebody grab a pack for his head."
Henri snagged one and slid it behind Blair's head as I carefully lifted him forward.
"That better?" I asked with a little frown as I resettled him.
Sandburg's color was already vastly improved and I couldn't hear any hitch in his breathing. Wrapping two fingers around his wrist, I found a strong, steady pulse; he just rolled his eyes at me and sighed melodramatically.
"Yeah, it's fine. Hell, I'm fine. Even the headache's about gone, so can I get up already?"
I ignored him and held a canteen someone handed me to his lips. "Drink." He did, swallowing easily. I capped the canteen and set it aside.
"Ok, stay down a few minutes longer and then we'll head out. We've got a long walk ahead of us and I want you to take it easy, all right?"
He grimaced and nodded, turning to Megan who was still kneeling at his side. "So, I fainted, hunh? Too weird."
"You didn't just faint, Sandy. You arrested."
"Connor," I growled as Sandburg lost a little of the color he'd regained.
Sandburg turned back in my direction. "No, it's ok. Arrested as in I stopped breathing? Did you guys have to do CPR? Man, no wonder my chest feels like an elephant sat on it."
I scrubbed at my face with both hands. God, I was tired. "That was Simon," I said. Then I grinned down at him and tapped his forehead.
"But I did the breathing bit," I said with a wink, my voice pitched low. "Trust me, you're a lot more fun when you're conscious."
When I looked into his eyes, they were bright with growing energy. "So I've been told," he teased back. "Care to try it again when I'm awake?"
"If you think you can handle it," I replied, a little giddy with relief.
"All right, you two, enough with the Tracy and Hepburn routine." Simon stood up and stretched, then reached down and pulled Connor up beside him. "Jim, you two come out when you're ready. I gotta go figure out what to do with that old man and get Barnes ready for transport."
He and Brown picked up the discarded packs as Connor gingerly gathered up the pieces of the broken bottle.
"Here." I handed her my handkerchief and she murmured her thanks as she placed the shards in its folds. "Keep that away from Sandburg, ok?"
She shot me a withering look that had 'no shit' written all over it, then rose and followed the other two out of the cavern, leaving me alone with Blair.
I pulled the gun out of my waistband and set it aside, looking over at Sandburg when he tapped my leg.
"Help me sit up."
"Look, I don't think—"
"C'mon, give me a hand. This backpack ain't no feather pillow."
I offered him my forearm and he grasped it, slowly leveraging himself to a sitting position. Sliding my hand around his neck, I encouraged him to keep coming forward until our foreheads touched. The hand that wasn't holding on to my arm came up to cup on the side of my face, his sand-dusted palm rough and warm.
"I'm so glad you're ok," he murmured after a minute, his eyes tightly closed.
"Hey, you're stealing my line," I replied on a broken laugh, my own eyes falling shut so I could concentrate on the feel of him beneath my hands. He was in about the same shape as I was—sweaty, dirty, taut with fatigue. But the muscles in his back were strong, the arms that reached to pull me closer steady and firm. I slid my forehead away from his and buried my face in his neck, taking deep breaths and filling my nose and mouth with his scent. Making soothing noises in his throat, he brushed his fingers through the hair at my nape, letting me take all the comfort from him that I needed. He shuddered when my tongue rested briefly on the pulse at the base of his throat, but when I started to move away, he simply tightened his arms.
I'd thought he was dead, and even though it'd only been a short time, the idea of it had eaten away at me like poison. I'd been so ready to survive only to take my revenge that the reality of him being here was almost more than my hard-won composure could handle. But as we leaned into each other, a soft calm began to grow inside, leaching away the last of the deadly anger and replacing it with something I couldn't exactly define. I thought back to the zone I'd had in Peru, the terrible feeling of nothingness that Blair had washed away with just the touch of his fingers. In years of dealing with my Five abilities, I'd never been eased so gently out of that black void. Blair Sandburg resonated inside me, something no one else had ever done—and being close to him now, I could feel myself settle back inside my skin. Maybe there was something clinical about all this, something that science would be able to explain someday. I didn't care—all I knew was that he and I had just been given a second chance to have a life together—a chance I decided right then that was going to fight to keep. There'd be no more pushing away.
For long moments, we didn't speak; there was communication happening here that didn't require words, restoration in the silence, recovery in our breathing. It was all I needed—the only thing I needed.
Eventually, inevitably, the clock in my head restarted. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I reluctantly eased him away. Several strands of hair that had broken loose from his ponytail were stuck to the sweat on my face and Blair had to reach up to brush them aside. The slightly embarrassed, half-wiseassed grin he shot at me went a long way towards convincing me he really did feel ok, but I wasn't thrilled about another half day's walk out of this damn jungle—for any of us.
But it wasn't getting any lighter outside, so I heaved myself to my feet and reached down a hand. Sandburg grabbed it and stood up slowly; I watched him for any discomfort but he let go immediately and starting walking around the cavern to stretch his legs. Considering that a few minutes ago he didn't even have a pulse, his recuperative powers were pretty impressive.
That's when something Meto'd said came back to me—that the mixture he'd concocted wasn't for sentinels, or the True, as he called them. I'd heard the term before, so that hadn't thrown me—it was the fact that there might be another player in this melodrama, one our research hadn't uncovered yet. As Sandburg knelt down to retie his shoelace, my gaze turned speculative.
"All right, no bullshit, Chief—how do you really feel?"
He finished tying the lace and stood up, resting his hands on his hips as he gave my question considerable thought.
"Aside from being a little sore around the midsection and a blister on my heel, I feel—I feel—damn, I feel pretty great, actually." He frowned at me. "That's not really possible for someone who went into cardiac arrest about ten minutes ago, is it?"
I shrugged. "Normally, I wouldn't say so, but the stuff that dropped you like a stone only gave me a slight belly ache after half a swallow. That doesn't strike me as being exactly normal, either."
"Yeah, good point." I watched as he brushed his hands over his arms, legs and backside, removing the sand. "So now what?" he asked as he finished.
I laid my hand on his shoulder and turned him so that I could reach a spot that he'd missed on his butt.
"We start walking."
When we emerged from the Temple into the afternoon sunlight, the rest of the my rescue squad were sitting or standing around, eating survival rations. I looked first for Alex—hands bound behind her, she was seated cross-legged on the ground with her head bowed and seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. Joel was leaning on a tree behind her and he gave me a brief nod. Meto stood as far away from Alex as he could get, given the armed guard who stood right behind him.
That had me staring—where the hell did the guard come from? I hadn't had a chance to think about what Simon and my friends had accomplished to free me—but looking around at his team, I was beginning to get a clue. Simon had not only gotten in country almost immediately after I had, he'd mustered up enough local talent to overtake Alex and Pena's men.
Joel called out a heads up and tossed a foil packet of dried fruit to Sandburg and then one to me. I ripped mine open and poured half of it into my mouth as I joined Simon where he stood a little apart, a walkie-talkie in his hand.
Simon jerked his head towards Sandburg, who'd moved over to join Connor by the small stream that tumbled off to the right of the temple.
"He seems fine."
I nodded and reached for the canteen strap that was looped over his shoulder.
"Yeah," I said after washing down a mouthful of fruit with stale water. "Says he feels great."
"But you didn't have a reaction like that?"
"Not even close."
"Well, we have a problem. That old man wants to get back home and he's the one who put that concoction together. But he's been telling us that Alex sent soldiers to his village—he's afraid if he helps us, they'll start killing his family." He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We need to help him, but we also need to get out of here."
"What do we have for manpower?"
"Not much. I—let's say borrowed—a group of professionals from an old friend of Eric's. We left most of them with the first contingent of Pena's men. We don't have enough to split them up again."
"Where's Pena?"
"We got him right where you and Alex left him, so he's on his way back to our base camp."
"Ok, how about this. Keep Pena on ice and let the rest of their hired guns go. Pay them off if we have to—that'll get rid of them and free up enough of our people to liberate the village. Oh, and see if you can get their names—Alex said there were some higher Numbers mixed in with the regular dogs. We might be able to use them some day."
"What about the old man?"
"Send him back home."
Simon raised his eyebrows. "Send the old man home? What about that crap he made? Don't we need him to—"
"If I'm right," I said slowly, thinking out loud, "he knows more about the culture of sentinels than all the books and research we have put together. Let's earn his trust, make him an ally, instead of forcing his hand."
At Simon's doubtful look, I continued. "Look, I want to know what he put in that bottle as much as you do, but this isn't the right time. We're tired, we're hurting and we need to regroup."
"Plus," I glanced over at Alex, "we have to get her back to face murder charges. That's our priority."
Alex must've heard me, because her head snapped up.
"Jim?" she said sharply, bringing all the conversations going on around her to a halt.
"What?" I moved towards to her but she didn't look in my direction. Her gaze was fixed blindly upward and as I got closer, I saw that the irritation around her throat had evolved into some ugly looking welts.
Still reacting as though she were blind, she turned her head in my direction when she heard my approach. Finally getting a good look at her eyes, I was shocked to see that her pupils had contracted to mere pinpoints.
"Jim," she muttered, "I know you're there. Did you see it, Jim?"
I knelt beside her, aware of everyone's eyes on us. The walkie-talkie crackled to life in Simon's hand, but I ignored it.
"See what, Alex?" I asked calmly.
"The Eye of God," she whispered, a beatific smile on her lips.
"No."
"But you—"
"Alex, you need help. We're taking you back to Cascade."
Sandburg moved away from the stream to join me.
"Jim—her eyes—"
"I'm already home," Alex said tonelessly, dropping her head. She swayed from side to side, shutting her eyes and grimacing for no apparent reason. "I can feel the vibrations of the earth itself. I can hear the clouds moving in the sky. I can see the molecules in a drop of water."
"Oh, man," Sandburg breathed, "she's gone totally fruit loops!"
"I know, I know. Damn it! Simon?"
"Yeah, Jim?" Simon suspended his conversation and joined us.
"I don't know that she's up for a trial." I straightened up and rubbed at the sore spots on my wrists. "She'd been taking something to control her Five and she's either OD'd or she's having withdrawals. Either way, it's affecting her senses in ways I don't understand, but could threaten her life. Her heartbeat's a little erratic, for one thing."
I looked at him, expecting to find him as frustrated as I was. Instead, he was smiling back at me, a huge, smug grin that lifted my spirits despite the circumstances.
"What?" I said, permitting myself a little answering smile. "What're you grinning at?"
He held up the walkie-talkie like a trophy. "I think we've got a ride out of here."
"Sandburg! Hey, Sandburg, wake up. C'mon, we're home."
My eyes were pretty determined to stay closed, so I batted away the insistent hand that kept shaking my shoulder.
"Go 'way."
"Can't. Come on, move it, kid. I want get to bed too, you know."
I peeled open one eye and looked over at my companion. "Bed?"
"Yeah. You remember those, right? Soft, warm, clean—horizontal."
I smiled dreamily and burrowed closer into the leather upholstery of the Cadillac.
"Sounds good. Wake me when we get there."
"Sandburg!"
"All right, all right! Jeez, Vince, you don't have to yell, you know? I'm, like, two feet away here."
I rubbed at my eyes, then stretched them wide in an attempt to wake up long enough to haul myself upstairs to the loft. With a sudden influx of panic, I turned to Vince.
"God! I don't remember the code! How'm I gonna get in if I don't remember the code?"
Vince peeled my fingers off of his leather jacket. "Would you just relax? Eric's monitoring us—he'll get you in and lock you in, just like he told you fifteen minutes ago."
I smiled a little sheepishly. "Yeah, well, ok. Guess I wasn't really listening."
Vince slapped me on the arm and released the lock on my door. "Can't imagine why. Go on, go up and get some rest. Things'll look better after you've had some sleep."
I nodded without enthusiasm. "If you say so. G'night—er, good morning, actually."
"Night, kid."
I climbed out and made my way up to the loft, noting without surprise that the door to Jim's apartment was unlocked. When I shut it behind me, I heard it lock but I really wasn't paying attention.
Once again, I'd come home alone.
The light on the message machine was solid red but I ignored it in favor of flopping on the couch. Dawn was still a couple of hours away and that left me some serious sleep time before thinking about going to school, but I had that nervous energy thing going for me. Tired as hell, but not ready to give in to exhaustion yet.
Besides, I wasn't done being ticked off at Jim yet. Those bossy genes had reasserted themselves and that's why I'd come home without him and he was somewhere in eastern Oregon.
I swept my hair off my neck and leaned back so that I could intimidate the ceiling with my glare. God knows I couldn't intimidate anyone else right now, especially the guy who deserved it the most.
Back at the Temple, it had become evident that Alex wasn't capable of anything beyond basket weaving. Simon and Jim quickly came to the conclusion that she needed to be committed, somewhere where they could have some kind of control over her. Which was all fine in theory but we were still stuck in the middle of the Yucatan, at least until Simon and Eric pulled off another miracle.
I didn't want to say anything at the time, but I didn't believe any of us were up for a return trip back to the place where we'd left our soldiers. I felt fine, except for that dumb blister, but I will admit to being tired. Jim looked about as played out as I'd ever seen him but he also had that 'soldiering on' expression pinned to his face—he probably could've walked ten miles uphill carrying us all on his back if he'd had to.
Everyone else looked to me to be in varying degrees of weariness. I was mostly worried about Joel, although he acted game enough. Before Alex had gone into her weird little monologue, I'd been talking to Megan and we'd thought maybe we should suggest staying at the Temple overnight.
Leave it to the Aegis Group to come up with a better idea.
It had included a walk of some distance, but mostly on a straight line, so not too bad. We'd ended up by a large clearing just as a bloody sunset was splashing the sky above us. I guess we'd been waiting there maybe half an hour when both Jim and Alex had looked out towards the darkening east—and sure enough, that's where our ride had appeared—a decommissioned military Huey, big enough to take us all the way back to Merida. No one ever explained exactly where it had come from—my friendly attempts to engage the pilot in conversation were ignored.
I never did get my dinner in Cancun.
The pilot who'd brought us in to Mexico was refueled and ready to go, so it was decided that we'd head back to the States instead of staying the night there. I'd thought this was a great idea, until Jim pulled me aside from our little group waiting on the tarmac at the airport and told me that he wasn't coming with us.
"Why?" was my obvious question.
"I want to get Alex settled before I come home."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Settled? Where?"
"Eric's found a private hospital near Pendleton, Oregon. They'll take her in for now."
"Uh, ok. No questions asked, they're just going to take her?"
"Yeah." I still looked skeptical, so he continued. "Look, would it help if I told you that this particular hospital specializes in psychoses related to a certain line of work?"
"No."
He looked a little uncomfortable. "It's a mental hospital for spooks, Chief."
"Oh. Oh! You mean, like, spies?" I twirled my finger around my ear. "Spies who've, like, gone off the deep end?"
"Exactly. Highest possible security, no chance of anyone every breaking out." He looked over my shoulder at Alex who was sitting on the ground and talking quietly to herself. "She'll be ok there."
"So, how do we get there?"
Jim looked back down at me, a frown of annoyance between his eyes. "There's no 'we' here, Sandburg. Joel and I will see her to the hospital. You're going home with everyone else."
I smiled winningly. "C'mon, Jim, I don't need to! Let Joel go home and get some rest and I'll go with you. We can—"
But Jim was already shaking his head. "Sorry. Decision's made. As soon as we get some food on board for you guys, you're out of here. Joel and I will get Alex to Oregon some other way."
Disappointment made my voice sharper than it should've been, but I was afraid that Jim was pushing me away one more time. "Really? How? Gonna catch a flight back with a bunch of crispy-fried tourists or what?"
Heads had turned at my raised tone, so Jim steered me a little further away.
"Look, it's not that hard. You ought to be hip to how we do things so you must know we can figure out a way."
I sighed and looked at my feet, feeling a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I know," I muttered.
"So what's your problem?"
I looked up into his eyes; they were oddly neutral, giving me nothing to go by.
"Jim, c'mon—I just got you back and now you're telling me you're not coming home with me?"
"That's right."
"Well, I don't like it." I knew I wasn't explaining myself well but in fact I really didn't want to come out and say that it felt as though I was taking a back seat to Alex. Childish, I know, but she was always going to be between us if Jim kept putting her there.
"I'm sorry, but that's the way it is." There was a shout from behind and we turned to see Simon waving at us as he ascended the portable stairs to the plane. Jim clamped a hand on my shoulder and gave me a little push towards the plane.
"See you at home."
All the way back to Cascade, I nursed my sense of ill usage—when I wasn't sleeping, that is. My traveling companions sensed my foul mood and gave me a wide berth, allowing me to sulk in solitude.
We landed about 3:00 a.m. Cascade time and went straight to the House—in a limousine, no less. I was too grumpy and tired to enjoy it very much. Eric and Vince met us in the media room where a buffet had been laid out on the couch table and despite having eaten on the plane, we fell on it like a plague of locusts.
I'd guess you'd say I'm not very good at hiding my feelings because no sooner had Megan and Simon filled their plates with fruit and pasta salad, Eric pulled me aside for a private conversation.
"Blair," he said quietly, "Jim wanted me to let you know he'd be home late tomorrow night."
"He called you?"
"Yes, a few hours ago. They're flying to Portland in the morning, then taking Alex to Thorpe Hospital in Pendleton. They'll drive home from there. Oh, and his truck is back at the loft—he wants you to continue to use it."
I rubbed my hand across my eyes as I yawned. "Ok, thanks."
"How are you feeling? I've been filled in on what happened inside the Temple; Jim suggested that Jenny should look you over before you go home and I think he's right."
I gave him an exaggerated double-take. "Now? Jeez, don't any of you guys ever sleep around here?"
He responded with a slight smile. "Not lately."
"Ah. Right. Sorry. Um, yeah, sure, I'll run down there in a little bit. Any chance someone can give me a ride back to the loft afterwards?"
"Vince can take you home."
"Hey, look at you," I said suddenly. "You're on the second floor—that's great!"
Eric's cheeks turned a little pink and I could've kicked myself—open mouth and insert foot, Sandburg. Jeez.
But he answered graciously, "Yes, considering what everyone else has been through, I thought it was time to make some changes myself."
"Besides," he continued wistfully as his gaze moving to where Vince stood talking to Simon, a snifter of brandy cradled in his hand, "Vince wants to go to the islands some day. He never says anything, but I know he does. Maybe not this year. . ."
He brushed a lock of pale hair of off his forehead and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "It's time for me to stop being selfish," he murmured, almost to himself, but I had the feeling I was definitely supposed to hear.
Eric had looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he held back. I saw him briefly after my exam, but he just explained that he'd let me in when I got to the loft.
Now that I was home—Jim's loft, anyway—I thought about what Eric had said and struggled to set aside my feelings. Alex's welfare was an enormous burden that Jim deserved to lay down, and if he thought he was doing the right thing, then I just needed to deal with it. I think, deep down, Jim still wanted to save her somehow, or at least release her from the hell her senses had doomed her to. I could hardly argue with that; even I felt a little surge of compassion for her, despite the fact that she'd tried to have me killed—twice. But as
Megan so bluntly put it as we'd taken off from Merida, Alex had totally fried her circuits. I couldn't find it in myself to wish that on anyone.
I went ahead and listened to the messages before finally going to bed and that didn't help my attitude, either. It seems I'd missed a staff meeting and my department head wasn't too pleased about it. Although I'd managed to leave a message with the secretary before we'd left for Mexico, I'd been well aware that leaving for an indefinite period of time the week before school started wasn't a good thing. In fact, judging by her tone, I think I was lucky to still be employed—and probably wouldn't be except for the fact that they were so shorthanded.
My highly apologetic, ok, groveling, demeanor didn't go very far towards mollifying her that morning, so it was with my tail tucked tightly between my legs that I crawled back to my office. Things didn't improve much once I got there, even though my computer had been installed during my absence. Just for the hell of it, I slipped in the disk holding my thesis and found it held very little interest for me.
Basically, I was screwed professionally. The subject that I'd chosen with the full intention of getting a doctorate was growing mold in the refrigerator of my head and I wanted desperately to throw it out. The Aegis Group and the whole sentinel thing had caught my attention like nothing in my life ever had. As a scientist, I realized there were so many ways to go with this, anthropologically speaking—and admittedly, working side by side with Jim would have been a dream come true as well.
But who was I kidding—the roller coaster ride I'd been on since Peru was slowing towards the exit and I had a feeling I was going to be asked—politely, of course—to get off.
However, six hundred impressionable young minds were going to be waiting for me come Monday. I did a full day of prep then headed for the loft, thinking I'd better grab a newspaper on the way. It wasn't too soon to be doing something about a place to live now that all the excitement was over. While I fully planned on pursuing a relationship with Jim, I didn't want him to feel obliged to house me indefinitely.
I parked the truck at the loft and then picked up some sushi and the paper at the corner market. I had a plastic sack with my school papers in one hand, the newspaper in my right and the white paper sushi bag between my teeth, reading the front page as I got off the elevator. I was so engrossed in what I was reading that I'd made it all the way to the front door before I'd realized it. I was just about to tuck the paper beneath my arm to fish for my keys when the door opened and there stood Jim.
Thud. My jaw dropped open and dinner landed on the floor.
"Jim!" I said, my voice high with surprise and pleasure. "You're here!"
"Nicely put," he replied, smiling at me. I had to look twice at that smile—it was relaxed and open, reaching all the way to his eyes—beautiful.
I managed to nod and started to bend down to reach for the bag at the same time Jim did. Our heads collided gently and I ended up dropping everything as I fell back on my butt.
I started to laugh. "Ow," I said mildly, rubbing at my head.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry, Chief!" Jim knelt beside me and pushed my hand away so he could look. Seeing me laughing up at him, he started chuckling. He was so close, I could practically—
What the hell.
I reached up and snagged him by the neck, pulling him down and kissing him hard.
If I caught him by surprise, he recovered nicely. Strong arms gathered me close, pulling me up to my knees as our mouths slanted against each other, searching, hungry, absolutely sloppy with love.
I broke off first, leaning back and running my fingers across his clean-shaven jaw.
"So, can I come in or what?" I muttered, leaning in to steal another kiss. He took my newspaper in one hand and grabbed the paper bag with the other as he rose to his feet.
"You get your papers, I'll stick your sushi in the fridge."
How did he—man, was I ever going to get used to that?
I tossed my stuff into the bedroom and came out just as Jim was uncorking a bottle of wine.
"I wasn't expecting you back until later tonight," I said, feeling kind of awkward despite that humdinger of a kiss at the door.
He handed me a glass and clinked his against mine as he moved to sit on the couch. "No problem. Just don't ask Joel how the trip was up from Pendleton. He'll tell you all he saw was a big blur—when he had his eyes open."
He patted the cushion near his hip and I joined him, toeing off my sneakers and curling my legs beneath me to face him.
"Yeah? You been taking driving lessons from Vince?"
"Hey, it wasn't that bad."
"Uh hunh, right." I took a sip of wine and set the glass down on the table. "Jim—man, I need to apologize to you."
He laid a long arm on the couch behind me. "Yeah, what for?"
This was hard to say, and him sitting there looking so—so completely Jim wasn't making this any easier. He had on a blue and black checked shirt that was only partially buttoned over his bare chest, as if he'd just gotten dressed. His hair was a little damp around the edges, so I knew he'd been home long enough to shower.
He was looking at me over the rim of his wineglass, his expression openly affectionate, even a little flirtatious—a stark contrast to the closed-off man I'd left in Mexico. I sighed and looked down at my hands, feeling even worse about the way I'd acted.
"Pulling the pissed off 'tude at the airport. Man, I was way out of line about that."
"Forget about it."
I looked up in surprise. "Oh sure, easy for you to say. You're not the one who acted like a jerk. Even Eric knew I was being an idiot and he was thousands of miles away. That's gotta be some kind of record, right?"
"Uh, that was my fault, I think. I mentioned to him that you'd had kind of a rough time."
"Whatever. You had enough going on—you didn't need crap from me, too." I dropped my gaze, my cheeks warming annoyingly.
The couch dipped as Jim leaned forward to set his glass next to mine. I didn't look up at him until his hand covered mine.
"I need to do some apologizing of my own," was his surprising reply. I started to shake my head in denial but he held up a hand. "No, listen. I know you thought I was blowing you off back there."
"Well, yeah," I admitted with a reluctant grin.
"I'm really sorry about that." He looked away and clenched his jaw, something I was beginning to recognize as an Ellison trait. "See, it's—it's like this. Until I had Alex completely out of the way, it didn't feel right to keep dragging you between us."
He tilted his head, looking back at me with such naked tenderness that my breath caught. Smiling more to himself than me, he shook his head as he leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss against the side of my mouth.
"But most of all," he whispered, sliding his hands into my hair, "I didn't want her anywhere near you ever again."
I exhaled softly and laid my hand against the warm skin of his throat. "And now?" I asked as he drew me close.
"Now, we can start."
"Start? Start what?" Oh yeah, I knew the answer. I just wanted to hear him say it.
"Anything you want."
Right answer.
"I'm hungry."
"Last of the romantics, aren't you."
"Can't help it. I was hungry when I got here and I'm even hungrier now."
"Why can't we just live on love?"
Blair rapped my forehead with his knuckle. His other hand was inside my open shirt, lightly stroking my abdomen. I lay against him, my back to his chest as we reclined against the arm of the couch, our two empty wineglasses sitting on the table next to us.
It was Blair who'd scooted back and waved me in, inviting me to rest against him within the circle of his arms. It was odd at first, being the recipient of this kind of embrace. But Sandburg's strong legs held me comfortably and when his hand started undoing the rest of my shirt buttons, I forgot all about who was where.
Conversation faltered as we lay there, the loft going dark around us. His hand was casually seductive, never going too high or too low. It was also an unmistakably proprietary touch, one heavy with promise and yet easily keeping the mood even.
"You wanna live on love?" he was saying. "Remember, I'm the one who's been driving your truck the past few days and those aren't my ketchup packets stuck in the visor."
"Ok, so we live on love and French fries."
"And Nilla wafers. And Skittles."
"And beer. And pizza."
The hand inside my shirt paused, hovering just above the button of my jeans. "Hunh. You know, with all that fast food, maybe I should check for some extra padding down here—"
He dove in, somehow instantly finding my most ticklish spot. I let out a howl and grabbed his wrist, sitting up and pulling him with me. He was already laughing as I returned the favor, yanking at his sweater to reach the bare skin over his ribs.
"Ok, ok! Uncle already, I give, I give!" he said all too soon, still giggling as he smoothed down the sweater. I grinned down at him—admittedly, it was a smug grin—and stood up, offering him a hand.
"All right, tell you what. You share your sushi, I'll broil the salmon I brought home."
His eyes lit up as he took my hand and got up. "Yeah? Salmon? Really? Cool."
"Yeah, salmon, really." I started to rebutton my shirt as I headed towards the kitchen. "It's an all seafood menu tonight, apparently. Grab the glasses."
"You know something?" he asked a minute later as I tossed stuff at him so he could assemble the salad.
"What? Hey, you like, uh, Lemon Asiago dressing? I don't think it's expired." I threw him the bottle and he threw it right back.
"Jim, man, think oil and vinegar, it's so much better for you. No, what I was going to say was, you look good. Real good. Relaxed, even."
I shut the refrigerator and opened a cupboard, looking for vinegar. "I am relaxed. Balsamic? Does that work?"
"Yeah, works great. No, I mean you were already this phenomenal looking guy. And now that all that, you know, weird stuff is out of the way, you look about ten years—"
I opened up a slender cardboard box and gave it a sniff. "These croutons seem to be ok—"
"Jim! Jeez, I'm trying to give you a compliment here!"
I turned to him, croutons in one hand and vinegar in the other. "I thought you wanted to eat."
He shook his head and turned away to start shredding a head of romaine into the bowl. "I do, I do. Sorry."
I frowned at the back of his head, wondering for a sec what I'd done wrong. Then the lightbulb went on. "Hey, no—I'm sorry. Just not used to that kind of thing, ok?"
His hands paused, then he reached for a towel to wipe his hands before turning to face me.
"You should be, man," he said seriously. "You totally should be used to hearing that. If you could see what I see. . ." His voice trailed away as he looked me up and down, a sensual little half-smile pulling at his mouth.
That got the blood in my veins moving rather abruptly. Seeing the predatory gleam in his eyes had me seriously rethinking dinner, but then he wiggled his eyebrows and shot me a playful grin before turning back to his salad.
God, I'd forgotten what it was like to be in love and having fun. Or maybe I never knew—I don't know. But as we went about making dinner, getting in each other's way, snapping towels at butts that were too tempting to pass up, I guess I'd been telling the truth when I said off-handedly that I was relaxed.
But it was more than that—I was at peace. I couldn't remember the last time there hadn't been some threat on the horizon or some emergency that needed my attention. Now, there was only dinner, the night—and Blair.
Ok, there was one more thing I needed and as the night went on, the anticipation of meeting that need was growing. I could see it reflected in Blair as well—his glances lingered on my mouth and his skin grew steadily more flushed. We both knew that tonight was our night—we'd earned it, we deserved it—and we were going to have it.
The phone rang as we were clearing the table and I moved over to the couch to answer it. Blair continued cleaning up as I struggled not to sound too gruff to Connor while she filled me in on Brown's progress with Meto. In retrospect, I think she knew her timing was lousy, but maybe I'm just being paranoid.
But I gave her my full attention, at least until I heard the shower start behind me. Only one reason he'd be taking a shower now, and I closed my eyes as a little anticipatory shiver raced across my shoulder blades. Whatever Megan had to say after that was pretty much lost, so I made a note to call the House in the morning and ended the conversation.
The shower turned off and I figured with all that hair to dry, I had some time. I went back and finished cleaning the kitchen, noting with a kind of fond irritation that his idea of clean and my idea of clean had a long way to go before they were even in the same zip code.
That done, I thought it would probably be overkill if I went up to my room and waited for him, naked on the bed. After all, I had yet to actually invite him to my bed and even though I felt it was implicit, sometimes I can be a little slow—like in the kitchen earlier. I shut off all the downstairs lights and then stood at the foot of the stairs, doubts making me hesitate. Do I wait down here, up there—hell. I just knew I didn't want it to be awkward, for us to be awkward. I wanted it to be perfect—and I don't think I was asking too much.
I was still dithering at the bottom of the staircase when a low, one-sided conversation drifted over to me from the bathroom.
". .. will not act like an idiot. C'mon, Sandburg, you can be cool, right? Just go out there, be suave, be cool, take him by the hand, lead him up the stairs. .. shit. Shit! This isn't working! Ok, ok, don't panic, one more time—"
The look on Blair's face when I flung open the door was priceless. He was standing in front of the mirror, hands clenching the sink and a navy blue towel knotted around his hips. In one glance, I took in the slightly damp hair, the smooth-shaven cheeks, the eyes made impossibly more vivid by another blue towel he'd slung around his neck. Whatever soap he'd used he'd brought into the loft himself; I'm strictly a no perfume kind of guy due to obvious reasons, but whatever scent was in what he'd used was unusual. Unusual because I liked it—or maybe I just liked it on him.
The shocked look was one thing, but the slow smile that spread across his face as I held out my hand was something different. He placed his palm beneath mine and gave it a firm squeeze and two seconds later, we were on the move.
"Get the lights," I said, and sure enough I heard the slap of his hand against the switch, followed by the soft plop of the towel from his shoulders as it hit the tile floor. His feet squeaked across the wood as he double-stepped to keep up, but there was absolutely no resistance in his hand. I had one goal in mind and that was to get upstairs as soon as possible.
However, once again I underestimated this man that I'd come to love so bewilderingly fast. Even the brushing of his palm against mine was exciting and I could feel my focus begin to narrow as we approached the stairs. But apparently, Blair couldn't wait. He stepped past me to pause on the first riser and before I could react, he'd slid his hands up over my shoulders and pulled me in.
The first time I'd kissed Blair, I'd been grieving—for Emily, sure—but to be honest, more for myself. It was as though I'd given up on a life that I'd never really had—and I'd promised myself the following morning that I wouldn't touch him again, not until Alex wasn't an issue anymore.
The second time was when I'd found him in the media room. Once again, I'd let my guard down, but Sandburg had a way of making me believe in things I'd long since let go. And even though after I'd told him everything, even though he'd still come back into my arms without hesitation, I knew it was simply the wrong time.
And now—now, when he lowered his head, that sweetly shaped mouth touching mine with passion and no small amount of love, something began to swell inside me—the same feeling that had me breaking speed limits in two states, just so I could be with him. That feeling, alien as it was, revealed itself to me now as an undeniable truth.
I was free.
Free to live my life the way I chose, free to serve with the people I loved as my own family and most importantly—free to love Blair.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and lifted him high, laughing exultantly into his mouth as I kissed him back. Blair caught my laugh and swallowed it, a hum of answering happiness rising inside him as he gave a hop and wrapped his legs around my hips. His towel came loose, trapped between us but exposing him completely in the back. I slid one hand down the knobby plane of his spine and underneath him to give him support, my other arm secure across his shoulders.
His hair fell across my cheeks as he kissed me again, this time with a tender, light touch. I found my equilibrium and climbed the stairs as we traded more small kisses, Blair balanced perfectly against my pelvis. When we reached the foot of my bed, I held him steady as he let his bare legs glide downwards against my pants, the drag exerting subtle pressure on my groin.
When his feet hit the floor, the towel did, too—and suddenly I had an armful of naked Blair.
I was thrilled—I don't think he was. Vulnerability flickered in his eyes as he silently acknowledged that I was still fully clothed, and I can't say that I blamed him. I placed my hand at the base of his neck and pulled him protectively against my body, pressing a kiss to the side of his head as I gave him a hug.
I rested my mouth against his ear. "Turn around for me, ok?"
He stiffened a little, leaning back to meet my eyes. When I saw his frown, I tipped him forward to touch my lips to his temple.
"It's ok, turn around," I repeated softly. When I looked, the frown had been replaced by an unreadable look; nodding, he let his lashes drift over his cheeks as he moved to turn.
Every light in the place was off except a small lamp on my nightstand. Its pale glow brushed his right arm and shoulder with gold, burnishing the smooth skin and inviting my touch. I slowly ran two fingers over the point of his shoulder, smiling slightly as a shudder ran through him. While my fingers trailed down his arm, I used my free hand to unbutton my shirt, then quickly shrugged out of it. My fingers paused again in their journey downward as I worked my jeans loose, then I planted a kiss between his shoulder blades as I kicked the rest of my clothes away.
Blair saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. "Can I turn around now?" he asked, his voice a little rough with frustration.
"Not yet." Sliding my hands up his arms, I cupped my hands over his shoulders and exerted pressure so that his back came to rest against my bare chest. He jumped a little when he felt my heat branding his lower back, but that fulfilled my intention—I wanted no miscommunication tonight.
He crossed his arms over his chest and covered my hands with his, rotating his hips in sensual invitation. The friction of his silky skin rubbing against me caused a hitch in my breathing and I gasped. My body was becoming impatient with the slow pace I'd set, especially considering our current arrangement, but while there could be no doubt for either of us now that I needed him, I had to have confirmation that the feeling was mutual.
Burrowing my nose into the heavy hair that tumbled against his neck, I breathed deeply. "I like this stuff," I muttered, not really expecting a response.
"Good," came the amused reply, "'cause it ain't going anywhere."
I smiled in silent acknowledgement as I let my right hand drift down the front of his chest, my palm brushing delicately over one nipple. He inhaled sharply once, then again as I tickled my fingers over his flat abdomen. Closing my eyes, I went lower until heightened warmth flowing against my skin told me I'd reached my destination.
"Yes," Blair breathed on a sigh, and I took him in my hand. I was rewarded with another lush sigh as I stroked him easily, his readiness now gratifyingly apparent.
"Jim," he said, his voice breaking slightly on my name.
My body took that as a signal that it was time to move. I released him only long enough to swing him around, kissing him hard as he fell against me. He must've felt it too, because he kissed back, his mouth taking dominance over mine. I sucked gently at his tongue as he explored, my hands doing some research of their own. While Blair's chest was lightly covered with hair, I found to my delight that his back and butt were smooth until the tops of his sturdy thighs. The satiny quality to his skin invited my fingers to linger and the frantic pace of his kisses told me that my touch was pretty damn welcome.
When we parted briefly, Blair placed his hands on my chest and took a half step away.
"My turn." He stroked my eyelids with his fingers, urging them to close. I obliged and dropped my hands, eager for his touch.
But it wasn't his hand that I felt caressing my collar bone—it was his lips. I felt his hands on my elbows a second later, but he only used them to steady himself as he began kissing and tasting his way across my body. As his mouth lowered, I almost called him off. I knew where he was heading and I grew rigid with anticipation. But I decided against saying anything that would call a halt to one of the most erotic episodes I'd ever had. When his mouth closed over my left nipple I tensed, ready to urge him to another direction, but I didn't need to.
In fact, this was the first time I'd ever been pleasured so expertly this way. Exerting only the tiniest pressure with his lips and tongue, he seemed to know instinctively that he'd taken on one of the most sensitive parts of my body. No sharp nips, no painful twists—just a tender laving with his tongue, first one and then the other.
Ignoring my whimpers, Blair proceeded to trail kisses down my chest to my abdomen, then stepped behind me to explore my shoulders and back. By now my hands were clenched into fists of frustrated desire and when he finally lifted his mouth from a spot at the base of my spine, I groaned.
"God—Blair—"
He ran his hands soothingly along the outside of my legs as he straightened up, then pressed the entire length of his body against my back, resting his head on my shoulder blade as he embraced me around the waist. Now it was my turn to feel the scorching evidence of our foreplay as he nestled insistently between my thighs.
I gathered up his hands and kissed his knuckles, then released him to bend down and snag the comforter, giving it a sharp tug. It bounced along the sheet and pulled the pillows with it, but I gave another yank and the comforter fell in a heap at my feet.
Blair traced his fingertips across my lower back as he climbed on to the bed, putting the pillows back at the top. Turning over, he laid down and extended his hand to me. I took it but didn't immediately lay down beside him. Instead, I knelt at his side, my eyes roving over his body as I stroked the palm of his hand with my thumb.
"Blair," I murmured, leaning across his body and supporting myself on my fist. With my free hand, I traced a line down his sternum, enjoying the flinch of his abdomen. "I don't know how else to ask this, but—I really want to make love to you. I—I need that. .. no, that's not true. I need you."
He sat up and smiled at me, a soft, knowing smile, then placed a butterfly kiss against my chest before turning away and bending over the side of the bed. Before I could question what he was doing—since I was too busy enjoying the view—he'd straightened back up, a small plastic bag in his hand. He opened it and two items fell onto the sheet between us.
"How'd you do that?" I asked with a choked little laugh.
He didn't say anything, just shrugged and smiled enigmatically. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have hesitated, but with Blair there was a primal desire inside me to have nothing between us—not tonight, not ever—not in any way. But I didn't feel like I had the right to ask that of him yet. Maybe someday, but not tonight.
Suppressing a sigh, I reached for the foil pouch, but he intercepted my hand.
"Do we really need that?" he asked softly. I raised confused eyes to his, wondering if he could actually read my thoughts. "It can't be comfortable for you, of all people."
I stared at him. "It's—it's not," I admitted reluctantly. "But don't you need—"
"All I need is you," he murmured, "but it's your choice." He leaned forward to nuzzle gently at my Adam's apple.
My eyes drifted shut at the contact. He'd just told me in no uncertain terms that he trusted me and there was no way I was going to deny that trust. Even though I knew for a fact that neither of us were at risk, he didn't—and that made all the difference in the world.
Blair's mouth was busy at my neck as I tossed the foil packet off the end of the bed and sat the small plastic bottle aside. Sliding my hands beneath his arms, I pulled him up for a quick kiss before urging him to slide down beneath me. I bracketed his body between my knees and lifted up until I was on all fours over him, looking down into his flushed face.
"Love you," I whispered. A drop of my sweat fell onto the side of his mouth and I rubbed it into his full bottom lip with the edge of my thumb.
"I know," he whispered back, then gave me a heartbreaker of a smile before slipping his hand between us to cradle me with sensitive fingers. I inhaled sharply as he slowly danced those fingers backward, one fingertip dipping a little deeper than the rest.
A rumble rose from deep in my chest and I tensed above him, biting the inside of my cheek to keep hold of the last bit of control I owned.
"It's ok, Jim. You can let go."
His softly spoken words finally cracked apart the restraint I'd held onto, and I did just that. Without warning, my senses amped up to feast on the man below me. My nostrils flared, drinking in the hot, musky scent that rose off his body; his skin burned me where it touched mine and I absorbed that heat eagerly, first with the palms of my hands as I ran them over his arms and down his chest, then with my mouth.
I deliberately kept our lower bodies separate as I made love to every part of him above the hips. I tasted his fingers, ran my tongue along the bend of his elbows, mouthed the skin of his quivering belly. The hair on his chest became an obsession and I traveled the path it laid out for me over and over as Blair whimpered and writhed, often cursing me and urging me on in the same ragged breath.
In between my explorations, I came back often to taste his lips, to renew the flavor of his mouth on my tongue. Blair gave generously every time, his own hands always busy, caressing and guiding me as I sought the greatest pleasure for both of us.
It was on one such visit that I reached for the little bottle at my side, flipping the cap and distracting him with a series of rough kisses that stole his breath until he was panting into my mouth. When I released him, he groaned and arched his back, his eyes tightly shut.
"C'mon, please," he cried hoarsely as I smoothed back the hair from his forehead.
"S'ok, s'ok," I soothed. "Hang on, shh, I'm coming."
"Hurry, ok? I don't—I can't—God, I need you now, Jim!"
"Shh, I know, I know, shh... here, feel that?"
His dark lashes lifted to reveal eyes black with passion and he nodded frantically, acknowledging the feel of the back of my hand as it slid down his inner thigh.
"Look at me," I commanded as his eyes started to close again. "Blair, look at me!"
When he did, I slipped one cool finger inside him, absorbing his carnal moan with a kiss meant to divert us both. Blair contorted beneath me, spreading his legs and locking his ankles behind my knees.
"More," he ordered as his hands clutched at my shoulders. I obliged but took my time, enjoying the play of emotion across his face as much as the incredible welcome his body was giving me. When I knew he was ready, I detached his hands from my arms and had him rest them at his side, leaving me free to mouth the inside of his thigh.
"Ji—ahh, God, wha—what are you doing?"
I let my lips answer for me, working my way higher until I reached my goal, taking him into my mouth and torturing him with delicate suction. The scent I'd been chasing was concentrated here in a rich, masculine taste that saturated my mouth and fed a craving I'd had since I'd first tasted him in Peru.
At that point, Blair went subverbal. Each swipe of my tongue, each subtle caress from my mouth resulted in wave after wave of silent moans that made his body undulate uncontrollably. The wanton sound found it's answer deep inside me and I responded in kind, a vibration that started in my heart and spread out in ripples of voluptuous heat. When I felt neither of us could wait any more, I released him and gently, reverently spread his knees.
At my first thrust, his eyes widened then slammed shut as his hands clutched convulsively at my hips. He tried to pull me in tighter but I resisted, finally grabbing his wrists and pinning him down. Sweat continued to flow freely off my skin as I used years of muscle control to go slow, but eventually the supple pull of his body was too much and before I could stop myself I began to plunge inside him, savagely twisting my hips in an attempt to go even deeper.
That's when Blair's strength rescued me. He met each thrust with equal force, his hips rising off the bed as we flew higher and higher. There finally came a time when our rhythm matched perfectly and I could feel him start to strain towards me, seeking enough sensation to send him over.
I don't know how I did it, but I managed to release one of his wrists and take him in my hand, providing that friction he needed so desperately.
And that was all he needed—with a final, triumphant cry of my name, Blair tossed back his head and came in my arms. The strong clench of his body surrounding me increased unbearably and then I was there, pouring myself inside him as tears overflowed my closed eyes to mingle with the sweat on my cheeks.
I hovered endlessly above him, paralyzed in the power of my orgasm. I had to drag air into my lungs before my body could release enough energy to let me move but again Blair was right there, running loving hands over my body and murmuring nonsense words until I had the ability to withdraw. He scooted to one side and I stretched out beside him, picking up his hand and bringing it to my lips, my eyes meeting his sated gaze in a silent, mutual vow of love and gratitude.
We dozed for a little while; Blair ended up curled against me with one arm flung across my chest. I floated contentedly, only coming back to vague awareness when Blair stirred. I thought maybe he was uncomfortable and I felt a little twinge of disappointment when I thought he was turning away from me to sleep. But to my relief, he just snuggled up higher, one finger idly beginning to trace swirls around my nipples.
At that point, I really started to perk up.
"So," he murmured against my neck. The play of his mouth across my skin as he spoke evoked a pleasurable shiver and I'd hoped he'd keep talking. He did, but I was so into the experience that it took me a second to catch up.
". .. keep my
keys, hunh?"
My eyes flew open. "What?"
"I said that you'll probably let me keep a set of keys." He rose up on one elbow and swung his hair off his shoulder, his expression suddenly troubled. "Is that ok? It's not a big deal, we don't have to discuss it right this minute."
I looked up at him in honest bewilderment. "Chief, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
He leaned away from me, his eyes downcast. His withdrawal warned me that something significant was happening, but I didn't like him pulling away from me like that. I shifted a little and brought my palm to his face, turning him so that he looked me in the eye once more.
He smiled uncomfortably. "What I guess I'm trying to say is that, um, this was great—no, ok, this was incredible, well, for me, anyway—and I'd have to point out that you seemed to be having a pretty good time, too—anyway, I was thinking we're gonna want to do it again and would it be cool if I just, uh, kept the keys you gave me."
I still wasn't getting it. "Why wouldn't you keep your keys? How else are you gonna come and go?"
"Well, I mean, that's the point, right? I'll give you a set of keys to my place, too, once I find one—"
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute." I sat up and leveraged him up with me, the pleasant post-sex afterglow fading in the face of a fear I hadn't even contemplated. To buy time, I grabbed a pillow and stuffed it behind my back, then slid into it. When I'd gotten comfortable, I did the same thing with his pillow but when he went to sit back, I slung my arm over his shoulder so that he was leaning against me.
"Now, from the beginning," I ordered, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.
His fingers fretted the edge of the sheet. "Ok—you're probably thinking it's time for me to find my own place to live but you just haven't figured out a nice way to tell me, that's all. It was really just an offhand comment, anyway."
I let a little silence play out before answering him.
"Do you want your own place?" I asked carefully, steeling myself against his answer. He paused and I laid my hand across his still fidgeting fingers.
He shrugged, then turned his face to mine and gave me a wry smile.
"Not really."
I exhaled in relief. "Then what the hell are you talking about?"
"Jim, you asked me what I wanted. You didn't tell me what you wanted."
I leaned my head against the railing, my thumb idly stroking his arm. How did I tell him that everything I'd ever wanted was already here in my arms?
"Well, let's see," I began reasonably, reaching behind me to scratch an itch on my shoulder blade. "I want courtside Jags tickets. I want to get the Ford detailed. Hell, I want my hair back."
I tilted my head until it rested against his. "But most of all, I never, never, want us apart again." I cupped his cheek and turned his mouth up to mine.
"I meant what I said," I whispered against his lips. "I love you. And I can only imagine loving you more as time goes by. Don't leave, ok? Stay here. Stay here with me. Forever."
I kissed him lightly. His hand stole around my neck, deepening the kiss. Sliding my arm beneath him, I encouraged him to straddle me, our mouths never parting. The kisses slowed and deepened, Blair's hands on my shoulders, mine resting on the rounded curve of his hips. Arousal came more slowly this time but I felt its kick nonetheless as he started rocking against me.
I lifted my knees and spread my legs and he settled in, his strong thighs gripping me firmly. When my hands slipped around him and tugged him closer, the friction increased dramatically, causing Blair to throw back his hair and bite at his bottom lip. When he fell back forward, I latched onto his neck and began a rhythmic sucking that matched the pace he'd set with his hips.
His body began to tense and soft grunts were coming from both of us as we sought that elusive completion. His thrusts became sharper and when I'd finished with his neck, I gripped his head between my palms and locked my eye with his.
"C'mon," I whispered hoarsely, my words picking up the beat of his body against mine. "C'mon, Blair, c'mon, you and me, you can do it, God, you're beautiful, yeah, you can—"
Blair's hands traveled down my sweat-slicked chest to grip us both. I choked out a moan at the exquisite sensation, seconds later exploding between us. Right behind me, Blair arched his back and climaxed, his mouth open in a silent cry.
I caught him to me as he slumped. His head nestled limply on my shoulder and I brought him down with long, easy strokes on his back as we both fought for breath. When I felt I could talk again without wheezing, I gathered up a handful of damp curls and kissed his ear.
"Was that a yes?"
"What do you think?" he mumbled, then collected enough energy to sit up. I watched him as he lifted his hair off of his face with both hands and let it loose again, an innocent gesture made sensual by his ignorance of its effect on me. His silver hoops sparked in the lamplight, inviting my fingers to play with them as he settled more comfortably into the cradle of my pelvis.
"Still waiting here, Chief," I said with an upward tilt of my hips, about all the movement I was capable of just then.
"You want the words?"
I stroked his cheek with the back of my fingers. "Yeah, I want the words."
He caught my hand and brushed my palm with his lips. "Yeah, I'll stay. Forever," he added with an indulgent smile before I could remind him. "There's just one little condition."
"Condition?" I frowned, having the unmistakable feeling I was being set up. The mischievous gleam in his eye confirmed it.
"Yeah, just one, though."
"And that is. .. ?"
"Jim—man—we have got to paint this place!"
"Paint it?" I spluttered.
"Yes," he nodded firmly, then shot me a look filled with speculation. "So—how do you feel about green?"
"Did you do it?"
"Yeah, I did it."
"How'd it go?"
I sighed and switched the phone from my right ear to my left. "About as lousy as I'd expected. Even though I told them I'd keep teaching, they still gave me a truckload of grief about quitting the program."
"Morons, Chief. All of 'em."
I snorted derisively but smiled anyway. "Yeah, well, maybe they are, but those morons are going to audit my use of grant monies for the past two years."
"Are you ok with that?"
"Yeah, it's fine. I'll be able to account for everything, especially since I've published quite a few papers." I shrugged even though he couldn't see it. "If not, I'll just have to find a way to pay them back. Then I'll be teaching Intro to Anthro classes 'til I retire, I guess."
"Hey, you know I can—"
"No, you can't. This is my mess."
"Our mess, you mean."
I smiled again, rubbing incipient moisture out of my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. After the unpleasantness of the past hour, that about undid me.
"Yeah, ok. What you said."
I leaned forward to stick the key in the ignition. "Look, I'm done for the day. You still want me to come out to the House?"
"Yep. Soon as you can."
"What's up?" I asked as I started the Volvo.
"Lasagna. And you need to pick up the files that Megan retrieved from your computer, too."
"Excellent! I'll be there in about twenty. Later."
I tossed the phone aside and drove out of the parking lot, feeling a lot better that I had five minutes ago.
Resigning from the doctorate program had been a decision long in coming, but once I'd made it, I knew it was the right one. My dissertation had been hopelessly derailed the day I'd left for Peru and then it'd been one disaster after another. All of which I could've overcome, if I'd wanted to.
And therein lay the problem. Whatever passion I'd felt for my subject was gone, replaced by a different scientific fascination that I'd probably never even be able to investigate, let alone tell anyone about. The whole sentinel, five senses thing had caught my attention as the thin blue line theory never had. Knowing that, I couldn't go on with the lie that my dissertation was going to be anything but a hack job.
That effectively cut me adrift from a life I'd known since I was sixteen.
I didn't want to think about that too much; after all, people went through these kind of life-changing events all the time—and many of them didn't have the support of the people they loved behind them. When I'd told Jim that I was resigning from the program, he'd looked surprised and then sad. It struck me then that he probably blamed himself and when I called him on it, he'd confessed to exactly that. It took a lot of persuasion on my part—some verbal, some non-verbal—but in the end, I think I convinced him that this decision was the right one.
With the nasty encounter at Rainier behind me, I drove toward the House with a lighter heart. I hadn't been back since the night we'd returned a week ago. It wasn't because I didn't want to, but there hadn't been any reason. After the events in Mexico, Simon had declared a Group-wide holiday and given everyone a few days off, including the lab staff. I know that he'd flown back to see his son and nephew, and Megan had taken off for Canada with her boyfriend. I imagine Eric and Vince were happy to have the House to themselves—even Sally had gone out of town with her family.
Besides, I'd had a lot of work yet to do to prepare for the upcoming semester, so my days had been pretty booked.
So were my nights, but in a much more enjoyable way.
My first night together with Jim played in my memory like an incredible dream. God, he was the most generous lover I'd ever had, easily the most responsive. Just thinking about him made the seam running up the back of my jeans feel more snug. I know he's the one with the enhanced senses, but I swear I could still feel the smooth texture of those broad shoulders beneath my fingertips, could still hear his sighs and words of praise, still see the world in his eyes as he came inside me for the first time.
Every night since had had its share of revelations, too. Jim loved having his fingers sucked—I learned that early on, seeing his rapt expression the first time I'd done that. As much as he enjoyed that, he hated having his ears grabbed, especially when his, um, concentration was elsewhere and it seemed the most natural thing for me to hold on to at the time. The first—and last—time I'd done that, he'd just about come unglued. He'd apologized quite thoroughly later, an apology that had left me nearly comatose, but that was one lesson I'd never forget.
In return, Jim quickly learned every spot on my body that gave me gratification and played on that knowledge mercilessly. One night, he'd kept me on the edge so long that when release finally came, I grayed out. Scared the crap out of him, but when I came to with this loopy grin on my face, he settled down.
Don't think I didn't have fun returning the favor, either.
And if that wasn't love—one night after I got off work, we went out and bought that green paint, Jim grumbling good-naturedly all the way. It was all stored in the basement, waiting for a dry weekend so that we could open all the doors and windows. Even though we'd bought so-called "odorless" paint, Jim assured me that really didn't help him much.
Speaking of helping him, every once in a while I wondered if they'd found what it was I had in my DNA that reacted so well to him. I also wondered if they'd figured out why I checked out after sniffing that glop back in the Temple. I was hoping that when I got out there, they'd have some answers for me.
Aside from those answers, there really wasn't a reason for me to continue going out to the House—and that depressed me more than quitting my dissertation program. I genuinely liked these people, liked and furthermore respected them and the work that they did. But as far as my contribution—well, I was pretty sure I'd be invited to the company barbecue, anyway.
I parked next to Jim's truck and was let in through the back door by forces unknown—Rafe, I figured, since Jim had once told me that he was sort of the head of security around here. As soon as the door opened, I was hit with the fabulous aroma of lasagna. I darted through the kitchen and waved at Sally, who waved back before returning to instruct her assistants as they labored over an antipasto platter.
God, I loved this place.
When I arrived at the door to Eric's lab, it was already open. I rapped on the doorframe and Eric looked up from the counter where he sat on a high stool, his gloved hands holding a small beaker up to the light. A quick glance around showed me there was no one else in the room.
"Blair! Come in, come in." He stoppered the beaker and removed his gloves to shake my hand. Ushering me to the seating area as he stripped off his lab coat, he invited me to take a seat and opened the small refrigerator to pull out two bottles of Widmer Blonde Ale.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting beside me on the couch and handing me one.
I uncapped it and set the top aside. "Fine," I said with a shrug, and took a long pull from the bottle.
"Good, good. As you know, your tests came back normal, except for that one anomaly that we couldn't account for before you left."
That was an odd way of putting it. I watched as Eric took a swallow of beer; there was an air of suppressed excitement coming from him and I started to wonder if maybe he hadn't had some kind of breakthrough.
"Before I left, hunh? Find something recently?"
"Told you he was smart." I turned around to see Vince sauntering in to the room, followed by Jim. I smiled quickly at Vince but my eyes were strictly for the tall guy behind him, the one who gave me a little wink and a light touch on my shoulder as he passed by.
Vince made himself comfortable in the overstuffed chair as Eric wordlessly passed him his beer. Jim helped himself to a bottle from the fridge, then went and stood in front of the large screen TV. I recalled the last time he'd stood there—jeez, it seemed like that was years ago.
"So, c'mon, tell me!" I asked with a grin impartially bestowed on all of them. Eric shifted beside me, drawing my attention back to him.
"Blair—this may be difficult to hear, but this is what we know. It would seem that whereas nature has imbued the sentinel's Five nature with a host of natural abilities far beyond that of average man, it would seem he was also given a sixth gift, one we are only beginning to understand."
"A sixth gift—like a sixth sense?"
"No, nothing like that. As far as we know, Jim can't see ghosts, although it is a fascinating idea. But let me back up. As you know, the Temple you visited in Mexico was nothing like the Temples we'd previously associated with the sentinel in South American culture."
Eric paused to share a quick glance with Jim, who hesitated before giving him a tiny nod.
"In fact," Eric continued with a small grin, "we believe that Temple where you found Jim was dedicated to an entirely different individual. You."
"To who? Me? To me? Hunh?"
I swiveled my head as Jim picked up the narration. "Connor had picked up on the fact that there was a second character, either a magician or shaman, depending on the interpretation, named in the mythos written on the walls in the Mexican temple. Not only that, but the concoction that Alex had forced Meto to make was meant for that person, not the sentinel."
"And," Eric continued, "that character was dedicated—at that very Temple—to the service of the Sentinel."
"Whoa, now hold on." I set the bottle aside and leaned forward, clasping my hands between my knees. "Are you saying that somewhere in all this sentinel stuff, there's someone, like, assigned to him? What for?"
"Remember my zone in Peru?" Jim asked. "The one caused by the chemicals released with the blood of the dead men?"
"Yeah," I said slowly. "So?"
"If you hadn't been there, chances are I'd still be standing by the side of that road, lost inside my Five nature, right? Someone would've had to hit me with a baseball bat to get me out of it. You did it with a touch."
I ran a hand through my hair and stared at the floor. My heart began to beat double time as I realized that they were totally serious.
"But—maybe it was just a fluke, you know? Maybe—"
"No, Chief," Jim gently interjected. "Trust me, I'd never felt anything like that before."
"Tell him about the mixture that knocked him out," Vince said, taking a drink before handing the beer back to Eric.
"Ah yes, that mixture has been quite an interesting discovery." Eric took a sip from the bottle, then frowned down at the label. "We managed to get a very small sample from the broken pieces that Megan retrieved from the site. It had some very interesting qualities, the most important of these being that it was made incorrectly and second—it contains a plant that is uniquely constructed to interact with the bloodstream of a very small percentage of the general population."
"Wait, let me guess." I held up my hands like I was stopping traffic. "The same percentage of the population you've theorized as having the ability to bring a sentinel out of a zone."
"Got it in one, Chief." Jim looked faintly apologetic, giving me a sheepish grin when I looked at him. I shook my head, more bewildered than anything else. This wasn't anything I'd expected, not by a long shot.
"So what was all this about it being made wrong? Is that why it damn near killed me?"
"It was made with the correct plant, but with the wrong part and in the incorrect amount." Eric got up and moved behind me into his lab.
"And you know that how?"
"You remember Henri Brown, right?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, sure. Inside guy."
"Right. He's been working with Meto and his village, gathering the ingredients for the mixture as well as uploading digital pictures of the inside of the Temple. The labs have been working on creating the right combination—" he looked up and smiled—"hey, you're here. Glad you could make it."
I turned towards the door to see who Jim was addressing. Standing shyly in the doorway was Meto, dressed identically the way I'd first seen him except for the addition of a straw cowboy hat he was twisting nervously between his brown fingers. Beside him was a large, elderly woman, dressed in a colorful caftan with her gray hair braided in a crown on top of her head. Coming in behind them was Henri, a big grin on his face as he ushered the pair further into the room.
As I was shaking Henri's hand and we were exchanging pleasantries, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Meto and his companion were staring at me. I tried to ignore it, but Jim caught me sneaking glances at them.
Henri herded them into the little sitting area and was talking to them quietly as Jim motioned me over to the counter where Vince had joined Eric.
"Why are they looking at me like that?" I whispered, giving Meto a half-wave, which was returned enthusiastically, accompanied by a gap-toothed grin.
"Because as they understand it, you're the shaman of this crowd." He patted my cheek and leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. "They think you're a holy man, Chief."
"Boy, are they gonna be disappointed," I muttered.
"Maybe," he replied enigmatically, then turned his attention to Eric, who was holding a covered jar in his hand. The liquid inside was a pale yellow color, clear enough to see through.
As Eric swirled it around, he explained. "We believe this is the correct form of the mixture. The plant it is derived from contains an hallucinogen and in its proper measurement and form is relatively harmless. The idea was for the shaman to partake of the potion and then weave dreams that would protect his sentinel and the tribe."
He set the jar down with a sigh. "Unfortunately, the high dosage taken from the most toxic part of the plant hit you much like anaphylactic shock, because the same quality in your blood that makes you what we've tentatively labeled a sentinel's 'guide' also made you more vulnerable to the toxins."
I stared at the jar as a little silence fell over the group. In the background, I could still hear Henri talking to Meto and I jerked my head in their direction.
"What are they doing here, anyway?"
"Guests of the Aegis Group. In return for helping us explore the Temple, we're going to be establishing a school as well as donating medical supplies. There's a helluva lot we still don't know about the sentinel/guide relationship, for one thing. We think our association with Meto and his people will help us find some of those answers."
"Hunh," I mumbled, my eyes once again drawn to the jar. I started reaching for it, but a sharp rap on my wrist stopped me.
"Hey! Ow!" I looked up with surprised irritation. "What?"
Stern blue eyes looked back. "Sandburg, I don't want you fooling around with that stuff, ok?"
"But Eric said it wouldn't hurt me if it was made correctly."
The expression on Jim's face was haunted. "I know, but we aren't completely sure yet. There's still some tests we need to do in the lab before we expose you to it—and I'm telling you, I'd really rather not have to resuscitate you again, if you don't mind."
"Ok," I agreed faintly, watching with relief as the warmth returned to his eyes.
"Look, Eric wants a chance to talk to Meto and Tassa before dinner and I've got some stuff to do. Why don't you head upstairs—I'll come join you in a few minutes."
Recognizing a dismissal when I heard it, I laid down a little drum riff on the counter and started to leave the room.
"Hang in there, Blair," Vince said as I passed him. I glanced up into his hazel eyes, seeing nothing but compassion and humor in his expression. He was trying to convey something to me and I think I got it. I knew he trusted Eric—and Jim—with his life, and in his way, he was asking me to trust them, too.
I could've gone to the media room, but instead I veered into the big living room where we'd met as a group. Wandering over to the French doors, I crossed my arms over my chest and looked out.
It really was a pretty view. I could see the Cascades curving away to my left with Mt. Adams just barely visible. The late afternoon sunshine warmed the room to a comfortable temperature, but outside it was still chilly enough to see your breath. Summer was too many months away.
As I watched a bluejay hop along the stone terrace, I had to admit that I was pretty shaken by Eric's revelations, although I'd tried to hide it. They were so excited about this whole new discovery of theirs and I really didn't want to be the guy who rained on their parade, but being the lab rat definitely put a different slant on things for me personally. I had to wonder how Jim had put up with it all these years.
On the other hand, the scientist inside me was as intrigued as they were, which is how I got my hand slapped. In a way, that made things more difficult—I mean, how often does the rat get to plan his own experiments?
But there was no question that I'd give them all the cooperation they asked for; after all, now that my dissertation was out of the picture, I'd have some extra time on my hands—and maybe now a legitimate reason to hang out here.
"Hey, Blair, what you up to, man?"
I jumped a little and turned, glad to see a friendly face joining me at the window.
"Joel! Hey, how're you doing?"
I stuck out my hand and we shook enthusiastically; I hadn't seen him since Mexico so I was pleased I'd run into him now.
"Good, doin' good. Does Eric know you're here? I know he wanted to tell you—"
"Yeah, I was down there earlier. Did you hear about this whole guide slash shaman thing they've come up with?"
We talked that over for a few minutes, Joel seemingly taking the whole idea in stride. Easy for him—he wasn't the one that Meto had been staring at like he was a cherry snow cone on a hot August day.
"So what are you doing up here then?" he asked finally. "Waiting for Jim?"
"Yeah, I guess. I got kicked out of Eric's lab and Jim asked me to come up here before dinner."
Joel looked confused, which in turn puzzled me, but before we could continue, Simon stuck his head inside the door.
"Sandburg, Joel, let's go."
"Me?"
Simon came into the room and frowned at me. "Yes, you. You see another Sandburg in this room, God forbid?"
The improbably droll vision of Naomi meeting Simon momentarily distracted me, but I shook my head.
"All right then, let's go."
He made shooing motions and shuffled Joel and I out and over to the staircase. I kept shooting questioning looks at Joel, but he was careful not to make eye contact.
Something was up.
We walked into the library and to my surprise there were a lot more folks there than I'd expected. A tan, relaxed Megan was standing next to Rafe, talking quietly. Vince and Eric were in another corner having what looked like a very intense conversation until Vince laughed and tapped Eric's nose. Eric smiled in return and shook his head, the two of them creating their own private world in the crowded room.
Jim was nowhere to be seen.
With everyone occupied in private conversations, I sidled around until I was wedged in the corner next a ficus, with a full view of the room. Simon had taken his seat behind the big desk and Joel pulled up a chair beside him. The two of them seemed to be deep into a discussion about basketball, judging from the jump shot Simon kept reenacting.
It was an odd, decidedly sad feeling to look around at these people that I'd come to call my friends. With Alex and the Penas out of their hair, they were free to pursue their life's work—and I envied them their passion.
"Sandburg! Come out from behind that tree, kid. You're not a parrot."
Suddenly I was the center of attention as conversation came to a stop. My cheeks reddening, I looked at Vince and shrugged, pinning a smile on my face. He waved at me impatiently so I had to come back into the room, but just as I was looking for a chair, Jim came in and whispered in Simon's ear.
The mood in the room turned expectant as Simon nodded. They exchanged a few more words, then Simon slipped something into Jim's hand.
"All right, all right, settle down people. Jim?"
Jim came around the desk and stood in front of me, arms crossed over his chest and a stern look on his face as the room fell quiet.
"You're, uh, finished with the Aegis Group, Chief."
I swallowed and bobbed my head. "Yeah, well, I sort of figured that."
"As a civilian."
He tossed me what Simon had given him, a small leather case folded in half. I opened it and inside was a white business card with my name stamped on it.
I looked up and the severe look in Jim's eyes was gone, replaced with the expression of man standing on the edge of a cliff.
"This is—what is this? Jim, this looks exactly like your card. I don't get it."
"What we're trying to say," Simon intoned from behind the desk, "is that we want you to come work for us."
I snapped the case closed. "You mean for experimental purposes, right?"
"Not at all," Eric chimed in. "You may decline to participate in anything you chose. In fact, I think Jim would prefer it if you did."
A small ripple of laughter ran through the room as Jim's cheeks turned pink.
"What we need, Sandburg," Simon continued seriously, "is an anthropologist. With the discovery of this Temple, our research is going to take us in directions we'd never imagined. We need someone we trust as much as we trusted Eli—and you're that man."
To my dismay, my throat closed with that last affirmation. I reopened the card case, running my finger over the black Helvetica print that spelled out my name. A small, embossed A was imprinted in the upper left hand corner and beneath my name was the number of the cell phone I'd been given.
"Say something, Sandy," Megan teased.
I blinked and let out a little laugh as I glanced at Jim. "So, uh—does this mean a paycheck?"
"Can you say half the mortgage payment on the loft?" He stepped closer and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper, locking his eyes with mine until I felt as though we were the only two people in the room. "C'mon, what do you say?"
I looked around at the faces watching me expectantly and it occurred to me—this was is it. This was everything I'd ever wanted and more—a job, a cause I could devote myself to wholeheartedly, co-workers I'd come to respect and care about—and most important of all, I'd be working with this man that I loved so very much.
That man stood before me now, arms tightly crossed and his entire body taut with anticipation as he waited for my answer.
So what was I waiting for?
"I say yes," I answered simply.
A cry went up around me and somebody called for champagne amidst the scattered applause. For me, it was all about Jim, and I watched as he closed his eyes, his hands dropping to his side. People were patting me on the back and Simon was busy on the phone to Sally, telling her to get some bottles of champagne and join us. I was grinning across the room at Eric when Jim grabbed me and folded me into a bear hug, giving me a little noogie for the amusement of the crowd but sneaking a kiss when no one was looking.
So that's how I ended up being the resident anthropologist for the Aegis Group. We eventually took the party into the dining room and replaced the champagne with a good cabernet. Even Meto and Tassa joined the group and at some point, I vaguely recall Tassa and Sally leading a bunny hop line through the main floor. Needless to say, we all got a little fried and most of us just stayed the night there at the House.
That was also the night—ok, technically it was morning—that Jim and I christened the couch in the media room. Of course, that was followed by a little bit of thievery when we went to recover the videotape. Hey, it wasn't my fault that Jim had forgotten that the public rooms were always under surveillance. We're still working our way through the rest of the guest bed rooms on those rare occasions that we have to sleep there. Always good to have a goal, that's what I say.
A few weeks after I'd officially come on board, I was working down in the lab with Eric when we were asked to join Simon and the rest of the staff in the living room. The serious tone of Simon's voice had us moving fast but we were still the last ones there. Eric moved to Vince's side as I found a seat next to Jim, who was looking pretty grim. I started to say something but he shook his head and pointed to where Simon and Megan were standing, ready to fill us in.
Simon cleared his throat. "We've just gotten word that there's been a breakout at the Thorpe facility in Pendleton."
There was a collective gasp but it was me who voiced the fear we all felt.
"Not Alex?"
"No, but trouble nonetheless. Connor?"
Megan tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she nodded at Rafe, who started passing around a set of folders. I got mine and flipped to the first page. It held a picture of a man about Jim's age, dressed in a military uniform I didn't immediately recognize.
"This man was incarcerated there only six weeks ago. He's an ex-CIA duty officer, sent to Thorpe after trying to steal an Air Force recon plane. It was determined he'd lost it and turned rogue."
"How does that effect us?" Eric asked.
"This morning, we caught a call off of the police scanner—the Stoddard's house was burglarized."
"What? Is Angie ok?" My voice cracked but who cared—oh God, please
say she's ok.
"Yeah, Sandburg, she's fine," Simon assured me. "She wasn't even home. No report yet if anything was taken."
"Still don't see the connection," Jim muttered.
"Connor, go ahead."
"This morning, we were hacked—quite expertly, I must say. Fortunately, we found him before he got in too deep, but he did get to some of our early Five files, the ones Eli used, mostly dealing with cultural sentinel theory. We don't think it's a coincidence that the man who walked out of Thorpe was rated a computer expert by our government. And we've been told by the administrator at Thorpe that he had access to Alex."
A shocked silence followed that last piece of information. I stole a glance at Jim, unsurprised to see a flare of anger in his pale eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, time to get to work." Simon loosened his tie and grabbed a chair, swinging one long leg over to straddle it.
"Let's start at the beginning. The name of the man we're dealing with is Lee Brackett."
Thanks to the Ls, as always; to Aithine, for everything and forever; and to Dolimir, who repeatedly told me "no, it isn't too long!"—and kept me sane throughout the process of writing this epic piece of fanfluff.
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