Jim had the cash ready to give the cabdriver. Blair had suffered the trip back to the motel in silence. Using one hand to shade his eyes, he let Jim lead him through the lobby, into the elevator and finally into their room.

"Bed?" Jim asked.

"Bathroom."

The sounds of Blair's breakfast being tossed into the toilet drifted through the closed door. Afterwards, Blair reappeared looking weak and wrung out. Jim had his bed ready. Stripping down to his boxers and T-shirt, Blair crawled in between the sheets with a groan. He didn't comment as Jim arranged his blankets and gently picked up one wrist.

"Your pressure's a little high, but not too bad," Jim reported. "If you don't feel better after some sleep you're going to a doctor."

"If this headache isn't gone when I wake up, man," Blair mumbled miserably, "I'm borrowing your gun."

"Not even funny, Junior," Jim said as Blair wrapped his head up in a pillow.

"Sorry," drifted from within the stuffing. "Sorry about all this, man. Go out and see the sights or something. I'll be fine."

"No thanks. I'll just kick back and watch some TV."

Jim changed into sweats, listening as Blair quickly dropped off to sleep. The sudden headache, nausea, and sensitivity to the light reminded Jim of a migraine. But what brought it on? In the time he had known Blair, there had never been any migraines.

Settling into his bed, using the headboard and pillows as a back rest, Jim picked up the room service menu and looked over his lunch options. He quietly ordered a sub sandwich and chips with soda. He found an old movie that was just starting and settled in for a few hours of pleasant relaxation.

The food arrived around the time the American hero deduced the German's diabolical plans for the train carrying the warheads. After tipping the waiter and assuring him the TV's sound was not broken, and yes, he did know how to use the remote, he checked to make sure Blair had not been disturbed and carefully ate his meal without dropping crumbs into his sheets.

After the last bad guy had been taken care of, the idea of a nap seemed appealing. Killing the TV, he dialed down his hearing and allowed himself to relax completely.

The headache was gone when they met Senator Livingston for dinner. Both men had brought suits and were dressed appropriately for the fancy Italian restaurant. The food was superb, the service top notch and the senator a gracious host.

Too bad Blair was in a rotten mood.

"How long will you and Jim be staying, Blair?" Livingston asked. "I thought perhaps, if you'd like, we could tour the monuments."

Shrugging, eyes on his pasta, Blair continued to poke his food with a fork. Most of the serving was still on his plate, even though Livingston and Jim were almost finished. "Actually, I should be getting back to my classes. I was thinking about flying back."

This was a surprise. Jim remained quiet as Blair broke the news to the man. It was obviously a lie. Both of them had made plans to be gone for two weeks if they needed to be.

Livingston did not look happy with the idea. "Surely you could find a way to stay on a few days. If you don't like DC, how about visiting New Mexico? You can both stay at the hacienda. I'll join you this weekend."

Looking up with genuine interest, Blair seemed to give the idea some consideration. "Hacienda?"

Livingston was eager to sell the idea. "The staff lives there year round, so you'll have the run of the place. There's swimming, horseback riding or you can go into Carlsbad and look around. There are wonderful museums and historical sights within driving distance."

"This is the same place that... you and your wife lived when I was..."

It almost pained Jim to hear Blair fumble over his words. He made a living out of talking. He turned it into an art form when he set his mind to it.

Livingston nodded, understanding his son's question. "Yes, you were born there. So was I, as a matter of fact. The ranch is called Casa Piedemonte. It's been in our family for close to two hundred years. Before New Mexico became a state."

"Wow," Blair said softly, glancing to Jim with wide eyes.

"That's pretty cool, Sandburg."

"Yeah, very cool," Blair said. His wide forehead wrinkled in thought. "House... at the foot of the mountain?"

"That's right. Sits at the base of a mountain range west of Carlsbad. How about if I make reservations for both of you to fly out day after tomorrow? You can have one more day in DC to yourselves. Unfortunately, I have meetings I can't get out of. But we could have dinner again tomorrow night." Livingston seemed to hold his breath, finally relaxing when Blair gave him a nod.

"Okay, I guess that would be good," Blair said. "Jim? Is that okay, man?"

"Sure, I'd like to see New Mexico again."

The last day in DC was clear. They managed to visit Arlington cemetery, the monuments and the Supreme Court. It wasn't until they stood on the narrow street outside Ford Theater that Blair seemed to take interest.

"Think about it, Jim. Lincoln was shot inside this building."

Jim pointed across the street. "They took him across the street, to that building. He died while the doctor was treating him."

"Wow," Blair murmured under his breath.

Inside the small theater, they went into the basement where the exhibits were kept. Tall glass enclosed display cases housed the original door to the presidential box, complete with the hole drilled in by Booth, the assassin. Blair gazed sadly at Lincoln's coat and hat.

"His blood is still on the coat," he whispered in awe.

"Look." Jim pointed to another case. "This is the pistol. And here are the boots that the killer was wearing. See the rip in the side? He broke his leg during the escape, by jumping onto the stage from the box."

"Shit, Jim," Blair said as he came to stand by Jim. "I remember reading about all of this, but - wow - it's so different when you see it."

The museum had been nearly empty when they arrived, but sounds of a noisy group of school kids warned them that was about to change. The kids clomped down the wooden stairs, breaking Blair out of the near trance.

"For all the good he did, he wasn't a very popular president, was he?" Blair asked.

Jim shook his head. "I guess not. It was a dark time for our country. Civil war made it impossible to please the entire nation, no matter what he tried to do."

Blair buried his hands into his coat pockets. "I wish we had more time."

"To what?"

"Look around." Blair waved a hand in the air. "All the history. It's here. You can see it, touch it, even walk the streets where it happened. There's too much to see."

"Sandburg, the senator said we could stay as long as we wanted. You're the one that said you wanted to leave," Jim pointed out. They were drifting toward the staircase leading them out.

"I know," Blair shrugged. "But I don't want to sightsee, knowing each night I have to have dinner with him."

"You don't like him?" Jim was amazed. Blair was seldom quick to judge a person.

Blair didn't comment as they waited for the last of the children to pass. They climbed the stairs and emerged back onto the narrow street.

"I can't explain it, Jim," he said unhappily.

"You've only met him once," Jim said. "Maybe you're expecting too much, too soon. Give it some time."

Wrapping his coat tighter, Blair shrugged.

Twenty- four hours later they landed at Carlsbad International Airport. Waiting in a large crowd at the baggage claim area, Jim spotted their bags on the carousel. Blair slipped in between a heavyset man and a business woman wearing a pinstripe suit and snagged both bags with ease. After verifying their claim check with the attendant, they walked through the electronic doors to the outside.

"Oh, man! I could get used to this, Jim." Blair paused to shrug out of his jacket. "It feels like seventy degrees!"

"It's nice all right." Jim scanned the wide roadway crowded with cars letting passengers off. "There's our ride."

A white Lexus was parked, motor idling, next to the curb. A short Hispanic man holding a large cardboard sign with the words Sandburg/Ellison above his head was standing silently on the sidewalk.

He met them with a smile. "Senors, welcome to Carlsbad. I am Guillermo. I will drive you to Casa Piedemonte," the greeter said with a heavily accented, deep gravelly voice, like a person who enjoyed a lifetime of cigarettes. After stowing their bags in the truck, he hustled them into the back seat and jogged around to the driver's door and climbed in.

The airport traffic dispersed around them and soon they were driving among the sparse desert land of New Mexico. Jim remembered a few training weekends in New Mexico as a Ranger in the Army. The harsh terrain and unforgiving temperatures had provided excellent environments for training new soldiers.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

Blair was staring out the tinted window, his brow lined in contemplation. They had been driving for over an hour. The Lexus purred over a narrow road that wound up and around rolling brown hills leading to higher mountains in the distance.

"I think I know this place," Blair admitted, bringing a hand up to his face. He closed his eyes and began to massage his own forehead.

"You remember being here?" Jim whispered.

Blair nodded, his Adam's apple jumped erratically as he swallowed several times. Small beads of sweat appeared on his face.

"Sandburg? Are you getting another headache?" Jim asked. "Do you want to pull over for a second?"

"No, it's okay. It doesn't hurt very much."

Guillermo slowed and made a turn. They drove through an open gate, complete with a manned guardhouse. A guard gave the driver a cheerful wave as they passed. Distant buildings appeared in the distance; barns, horse paddocks, outbuildings. Blair was squinting now with a painful expression as he surveyed the grounds belonging to his father's family.

It took another half an hour before they reached the green, irrigated lawn surrounding the main house. It looked like a compound, the type Jim remembered seeing in history books. The older, original buildings were easy to pick out by their thick adobe construction. The main house looked newer, but still built in Spanish tradition with a flat red tiled roof and arched windows. A deep shaded porch ran the full length of the front, shading the heavy wooden door and windows from the New Mexico sun. The hacienda had been built snugly nestled into the foothills of a long mountain range.

The driver parked the Lexus in the middle of the circular tiled drive and turned off the motor. "Welcome home, Senor Livingston."

With a groan, Blair grabbed his head. "Ahhhh, Jim, it hurts."

Jim paced the floor impatiently. The doctor had arrived quickly. It was amazing to know that some doctors still made house calls. Maybe that privilege was reserved for rich senators. Whatever the reason, Jim was glad. Blair had to be half carried into the house. The cool, air-conditioned interior had produced goose bumps on his friend's arms. They'd hustled him through a massive entryway, down a hallway, past impressive displays of authentic looking Mexican wall hangings and hand painted tile, and finally into a spotless bathroom; where Blair promptly vomited his airline lunch into the toilet.

"Mr. Ellison?"

Jim turned to address the doctor. He hadn't even heard the man approach, his mind too busy trying to figure out why Blair was having these migraines.

"How is he, Doctor Sunde?"

The doctor was Caucasian, a few years older than Jim. He passed a delicate looking hand over his own bald head and sighed. "From what you've told me, and what I've seen, your friend is having some fairly intense migraines. I'd like to run a few tests to rule out something more serious. But frankly, I believe these may be caused by stress. I've been the Senator's personal doctor for over ten years, as well as his late wife's. I'm aware of the situation. I can't imagine what that young man must be feeling right now."

Jim nodded, he agreed. Blair seemed fine during the tour of DC yesterday and during the flight to New Mexico. It wasn't until he started recognizing the countryside that the pain had started. "Can you give him anything?"

"I've given him a mild sedative," the doctor said, a tiny smile appearing. "He doesn't like needles much, does he? But then, show me a man that does and I'll show you a fool. He should sleep for a while. Wake him for a late dinner, something bland would be best. I'll call tomorrow and see how he's doing. I'll set up a time he can come in and have those scans."

"Thank you." Jim automatically walked at the man's side as he headed towards the main door. "So, you've known the Senator for a while?"

"Actually, all my life," the man said. "My father was the family doctor. You might say I was groomed to take over the job. The Livingstons have been a big part of this area for hundreds of years. I know the senator doesn't want the news to leak to the general public yet. But the surrounding area was in mourning when Scott was kidnapped. It's incredible to find him after all these years. We all believed he was dead."

"Why?" Jim asked.

Pausing in the entry way, the doctor shrugged as he answered, "No ransom note for one thing. Why kidnap the only child of a rich man? If it wasn't for money, it must have been revenge. Powerful men have powerful enemies."

"Who are his enemies?"

The doctor seemed to realize he was talking to a cop. With a vague wave, he sighed. "Just a general observation, nothing specific. I'm just happy to see Scott back home again. He looks like he turned into a very nice person, in spite of his upbringing."

Good grief, if Blair heard any such comments along this vein, there would be fireworks in the near future for sure. "Listen, Doc. I'd appreciate if you didn't call him Scott. He's only known the name given by the woman that raised him. This has been very difficult for him."

"Certainly! I'm sorry. Blair Sandburg, isn't it?"

"Right."

"Okay, I'll make a point to remember that," the bald man promised.

After Jim saw the man off, he followed the sounds of people talking, finding himself in the large kitchen. The staff needed to know Blair would need something bland for a late dinner. An elderly Mexican woman was dicing potatoes for a large pot on a commercial sized gas stove. She wore a traditional looking black dress and white full apron of a hired cook. Tiny in size, her wrinkled skin was dark brown. Silver-streaked hair was pulled high into a neat bun. Guillermo was sitting at a long pine table, drinking coffee. He quickly rose to his feet.

"Senor! How is Senor Scott?"

Oh, boy. Jim had a lot of people to set straight.

Ten minutes later, Jim slipped into the darkened room where Blair lay on a massive bed. Earlier, before the doctor had arrived, Jim had helped Blair out of his clothes and into the bed wearing just boxers and T-shirt. A thin cotton blanket over a sheet had been the only covering at the time. Jim had sent Guillermo off for more blankets. Now, Blair was resting under a thick down comforter.

"Jim?"

"Why aren't you asleep, Chief?"

Blair rolled on his side, blinking painfully in Jim's general direction. "What's happening to me, man? Why does this keep coming back? Am I sick or something?" His words were slurred and sluggish. It wouldn't be long before the drug the doctor gave him would take him down.

"I'm not sure," Jim said honestly. "We'll talk later. Just sleep."

A faint ghosting of fear appeared briefly in Blair's eyes. "I think I made a mistake, Jim. I don't want to be here."

Jim responded without thinking, placing a soothing hand on Blair's shoulder. "Everything's going to be just fine, Blair, I promise. I think you'll feel better when the migraine's gone. But, if you still feel that way when you wake up, we'll leave, okay?"

"Where will you be?" he whispered, his eyes closing. "I don't know these people."

"Right here. I'm not going to leave. I promise."

Some of the tension seeped out of Blair's body. He sighed wearily. "Sorry, man. Sorry I'm being so stupid..."

"Sleep," Jim ordered gruffly, then nullified the effect by gently patting Blair's arm and tucking in the covers. By the time he was satisfied Blair wouldn't feel any of the excessive air conditioning the younger man was asleep.

Jim kept one ear on Blair's breathing as he unpacked his clothes. True, he might be repacking them soon, but he didn't mind. This gave him something to do. The room he had been given was a mirror image to the one next door, where Blair lay sleeping. Not as large as their DC hotel room, but still roomy. The walls were thick and textured, made to look like authentic adobe. Jim could feel the cool air from the tile floor swirl around his ankles. The ceiling was high, probably to trap the hot air during the summer.

The beds were constructed with old, heavy carved oak, stained in a dark color. They lifted the sleeper high off the floor, so high you needed to use the built-in step to crawl onto the mattress. A tall, matching dresser held drawers for clothing as well as a door that opened up to shelves for sweaters and such.

A soothing collection of desert landscapes, painted in watercolors, hung on the walls of Blair's room. Jim's room had a collection depicting men and women, obviously Mexican, doing menial tasks like cleaning, cooking and working in gardens.

Jim studied one picture of a young woman sitting by an open fire. It looked like she might be grinding corn or some other grain. Each picture looked like an original, yet Jim didn't recognize the painter. Perhaps the pictures had been specially commissioned.

He cast one more look around the room. Terra cotta reds, browns and off whites, the colors reminded Jim of earth. Even the scent of the place was anchored in the land around them. It didn't take much imagination to picture the compound two hundred years ago, probably the only shelter for miles. It would seem that Blair had strong roots here.

With nothing more to occupy his time, Jim went back to check on Blair. His friend hadn't moved a muscle. Hopefully he'd be sleeping for hours. He watched Blair's relaxed face for a moment, relieved to see him free from the migraine's pain.

These last three weeks felt like a trip down the rabbit hole. How much worse was it for Blair? People might argue that every person had a right to know the truth about their birth and their ancestors. But Jim wasn't sure. What was the harm in his friend believing he had been the only child of a beautiful, if not a little ditzy, carefree woman?

With an impatient shake of his head, Jim left the room. He'd remembered seeing a room filled with bookshelves off the hallway by the main bathroom. And the senator had said they could have free run of the place while they were staying.

The comforting sound of a page being turned woke Blair to darkness. He wasn't sleeping on his futon. Before he could piece together enough information to arrest the fear growing inside him, he heard nearby sounds of someone moving.

"How's the headache?"

Jim.

Releasing air he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Blair relaxed. With a rush, memories of the plane trip to New Mexico and the drive out to the senator's house returned.

"Gone," Blair answered after a few seconds. It was sort of the truth. His brain still felt bruised and sore. Although he couldn't see much, he knew Jim could. Offering up a tiny smile into the darkness, Blair pushed the bed covers down. Two issues needed attention. One couldn't wait.

Jim clicked on a small lamp, bringing yellow light that bounced off the woven rug next to the bed. Wow, steps. Blair carefully swung his bare feet over the edge. A person could get a nose bleed from up here.

"There's a small bathroom right across the hall," Jim told him. "If you're ready, the cook's been holding dinner for you."

"What time is it?" Blair asked, shivering as his feet left the warmth of the rough rug and hit the cold tiles.

"Around nine PM."

After using the bathroom and changing, Blair followed Jim down a hallway. He remembered nothing of their arrival earlier that day. He had been too busy dealing with keeping his brains from spilling out his ears. The pressure had been so intense, so severe, Blair was sure the gray matter had swollen to three times its normal size.

High ceilings, arched entrances from room to room, heaving wooden furnishings and doors, even the windows were set in deep casements; the place was a fortress.

They arrived in a large kitchen. A circular, open fire pit on a pedestal occupied the center of the room. Above it, a hooded duct system made to look like earthen clay gave the feeling of old Mexico. Blair had seen similar authentic cooking systems in South American missions. The cabinetry looked handmade from heavy oak. The counter tops were hand painted tile. Hammered copper pots hung from a huge rake by a commercial-size gas range. The kitchen was the same size as Jim's living room and kitchen combined.

"Senor Sandburg, how are you?"

Blair tried to remember the man's name, recognizing the driver that had brought them out. "Fine, thank you."

Guillermo. That's right.

Another woman was standing, almost at attention, by the long trestle table. She looked old, her brown face a roadmap of wrinkles. One look at her eyes and Blair felt a rush of shyness swallow him from within. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

"I think Sandburg's ready for that soup, Senora Carmen," Jim said, pushing Blair towards the table.

"Si." The woman invited them to sit with a wave of her hand.

Blair took a seat on the wooden bench, his mind numb. Please, please - no more headaches. There was a smell in this room that made him think of warm bread and soft laps, of being held close while wrapped in blankets - no, not blankets; towels, big towels, because he was wet. He'd just gotten out of a warm bath.

Blair's eyes went to the deep sink against the far wall, then to the large rocker in the corner.

Oh, God.

"Sandburg?" Jim sounded worried.

"Jim," Blair murmured, his vision suddenly blurry. "C-can we eat in our rooms?"

Without asking for a reason, Jim gripped Blair's elbow and he was propelled out of the seat, away from the kitchen and its smells. Once back in his room, Blair shuddered and dropped into a chair.

"I'm calling the doctor," Jim said calmly, kneeling next to Blair and looking unhappy. "You're going to the hospital."

Blair snagged Jim's shirt before the older man could rise. "W-wait. It's not that." He took a deep breath, ignoring the hitch. He needed to get back in control. "I'm fine, man. No pain, I swear."

"So what's wrong?" Jim demanded, squatting back down to look deeply into Blair's eyes. "You're pale, like you're in shock or something."

An abrupt escape of laughter from Blair's mouth startled both of them. Blair grabbed the chair's padded armrests and closed his eyes. He had to get a grip.

"Sandburg? You'd better start making sense here; because I'm thinking it's ambulance time."

Okay, deep breath... and hold. There.

Blair opened his eyes and forced himself to relax. Jim's image was clear now.

"I'm remembering, Jim," Blair explained quietly, stopping to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. "Th-they used to bathe me in that sink. There was a fire in the fireplace... in the middle of the room. I remember the wood would pop and snap as it burned."

Jim was getting blurry again. Blair closed his eyes as he continued. "She'd wrap me in a big towel and hold me on her lap. We'd sit in the rocker, only it was closer to the fire so we could feel its heat."

Now that he'd said it, now that the words were out, the truth was easier to handle. It still freaked him out, but it was just a memory. It couldn't hurt him.

"No headache?" Jim asked.

Blair shook his head.

"That's good," Jim said. A sturdy looking footstool sat against the wall. Jim pulled it close and sat facing Blair. "I've been giving your headaches some thought, Chief. That book," he pointed to the book on the low table next to Blair's chair, "is an interesting study on the human brain. I found it in the library. It talks about repressed memories."

Blair looked at the book. Yeah, he'd seen similar textbooks at Rainier. But that textbook looked old. "Jim, recent studies are proving repressed memories can't be trusted. Besides, most repressed memories are of trauma. I'm not remembering trauma, man. This is normal stuff."

Jim held up a hand. "Let me finish." Clasping his hands together carefully, Jim looked ready to deliver bad news. "When I was involved in... when I was in the army, we studied ways to repress even normal memories using drugs and hypnotism. They'd plant suggestions that would prevent the memory from surfacing. One thing that worked well was to cause headaches."

"I don't get it, Jim. Why would Livingston give me ..." Realization slapped Blair in the face. "Shit! You think Naomi did that to me? No WAY!"

"Sandburg, calm down," Jim ordered.

Snapping his jaw shut, Blair crossed his arms purposefully across his chest and leaned back into the chair's cushion. Jim was absolutely out of his GI-Joe-mind if he thought, for one second, Blair was going to buy any of this shit.

Jim was talking, unaware of the mental ranting inside Blair's head.

"Not the drugs. I doubt she'd use pharmaceuticals. But what about all that meditation she taught you, and the herbs she used? You said yourself that some of the medicine in plants could be just as powerful as chemicals. You were only three-years-old. It wouldn't take much to repress some of those early memories, give you a posthypnotic suggestion that would trigger a migraine if you started to remember."

"She wouldn't do that, man, not to me," Blair said with feeling. "This is crazy."

Holding up a hand to prevent any further comment, Jim sighed. "Let's just move on, okay? My point is this: now that you know what's happening, you should be able to prevent the migraines. I think this happens each time you first see the trigger. You've already reacted to the land and the house, so that shouldn't cause anymore. If you should see something else that surprises you, try and remember this, okay?"

A light knock on the door interrupted Blair's answer. Soup had arrived; carried on a large tray by Guillermo and set down on a collapsible stand he had draped over one arm. After bidding them goodnight, he left.

A pot of fragrant soup, a covered dish of hot tortillas, assorted sliced cheese and fresh fruit looked inviting and Blair's mouth began to water. He didn't want to continue this conversation anymore. He didn't want to fight with Jim.

"Can we just eat?" Blair asked in his best neutral voice. "I hear what you're saying, man. I know you're trying to help."

Jim stood, repositioned the footstool back and moved the tray to place it between them. "Bottom line, Sandburg? If those migraines don't stop, we're making appointments for some tests."

Now that was incentive to give Jim's theory serious consideration. But he still refused to believe Naomi gave him drugs as a child. Helping himself to some cheese while Jim ladled out the soup, Blair nodded. "I'm so for the `no more migraines' part, Jim."

Blair's first waking thought was that Jim got the first shower. Then he remembered they weren't at the loft. With a huge yawn, he stretched. The bed was nice. The mattress had a pillowy soft top, yet still firm underneath. Blair wondered if he'd grow too spoiled to go back to his small futon.

Jim hadn't said much after dinner last night. He'd gone to his room after telling him to call out if he needed anything. Blair knew Jim would hear him if he did call. The man could wake from a sound sleep at the drop of a hat. Like that time that reporter and camera man had tried sneaking up on them at the loft. Nothing could sneak under Jim's radar.

Surprised he had managed to sleep after the long nap yesterday afternoon, Blair climbed off the bed and opened the curtains over the room's single window.

New Mexico was... beautiful.

The rising sun threw a rose petal shade of red across the sky that kissed the bottom of the high clouds, showing their soft bumps and dimples. The land stretched out before him, rising up into sloping foothills, then distant, higher hills with spots of dark greens marking the scraggly beginning of a stand of small pine trees.

Blair could see for miles. It reminded him of how it felt to stand and look out across the ocean or to look up at night and see billions of stars. He wanted to explore, learn the names of all those low shrubs and bits of color growing close to the ground. The desert was in bloom.

"Wow," he whispered, turning as someone knocked on his door. "Come in."

"Morning, Sandburg," Jim said, entering wearing Levis, lightweight hiking boots and a long sleeve T-shirt. His Jag's cap stuck out of his back pocket. "Plenty of hot water. Hurry up, I'm starving."

After Blair showered and dressed in worn jeans and a long sleeve button up shirt over a lighter polo shirt, they followed their noses. Smells of sausage and biscuits drifted from the back of the large house.

"How'd you sleep?" Jim asked casually as they walked through the hallways.

"Good," Blair replied truthfully. "No problems."

"We're eating in the dining room this morning. I talked to Guillermo and we can pretty much do what we want today," Jim said, turning Blair as they reached a section of the hallway that split in three directions. "This way."

Leave it to Jim to already have a road map in his head. "This house has its own zip code, Jim," Blair half-joked, half-complained. "How long have you been awake, anyway?"

"Couple hours." Jim pointed out the last turn and Blair found himself in a sunny room with a long table already set with place settings and hot coffee. The far wall was a series of high glass doors that opened up to a lush garden complete with a fountain. "I needed to burn off some calories. Ran a few miles. I found the senator's weight room and had a good work out."

Blair was still mesmerized by the garden. He nodded. "That's nice." Walking to the doors, he turned the handle. Rich smells of spices and moist dirt met his nose. Droplets of water splashing delighted him. Four adobe walls bordered the open greenbelt, the sky above revealed clouds and the blueness beyond. The garden appeared to be in the center of the large house.

He felt Jim standing close. "You can see this part of the house is the original homestead," Jim explained, pointing to where the wall looked like real clay. "The rest was added on later."

"Wow, this is really, really nice," Blair said turning to look at Jim. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's okay." Jim wasn't smiling though. He looked down at Blair. "Any of this giving you problems? Any pain?"

"No, it's cool, man." Blair turned away, his stomach telling him to quit goofing off and feed it. "Let's eat."

Guillermo entered, carrying steamy plates filled with scrambled eggs topped with salsa and sausage. Carmen followed with a large platter of biscuits. She gave Blair a warm smile.

Blair bolted from his chair at the table. "Excuse me, Senora. I just wanted to apologize for last night."

Her smile broadened as she set the platter down. As she spoke, her voice soft and gentle, Blair felt a rush of nostalgia hit him. God, he knew this voice! He caught a few Spanish words that he understood: precious, small joy, welcome home. When she moved close to embrace him, Blair leaned in and returned her hug.

"Thank you," he whispered into her wrinkled neck. She was gone before Blair's vision cleared enough to realize he was alone with Jim again. In a daze, he plopped back down in his seat. "Oh, man..." he croaked, pausing to clear his throat.

Thankfully, Jim gave him a few moments. Filling his plate and breaking open a hot biscuit, he searched through a small assortment of homemade jams before digging a spoon into the strawberry. Blair wiped his eyes, waiting for his hands to stop shaking before reaching for the eggs. This was getting ridiculous.

"What do you feel like doing today?" Jim asked before stuffing half a biscuit into his mouth. A look of pure bliss on his face made Blair chuckle.

"How about exploring? Can we go riding?" Blair asked. The eggs tasted great. He even sampled the sausage; tasty, but too much grease. Jim was fast, before Blair could even voice the offer; his links were speared and transferred to the older man's plate.

"I saw some horses in the paddocks. I'll ask if we can take a ride this morning," Jim promised.

"These horses are very good," Guillermo explained as he led two geldings to the fence and looped the leads through a ring. He pointed to the north. "All this belongs to your father. The horses, they know the trails. You cannot get lost." Guillermo eyed the distant horizon knowingly. "We will have a storm later. The morning will not have any rain."

Jim ran a hand down the flank of the nearest horse. Both animals looked fit, eyes alert but not too wild looking. The taller one, a dark brown three year-old, tossed his head impatiently, ready to go.

Just as Jim opened his mouth to ask Blair if he had any experience on horses, the younger man ran a friendly hand down the shorter horse with a light brown coat and a white, speckled rear. The horse gave Blair a curious sniff, which Blair used as an opportunity to gently blow into the animal's large nostrils, then hold perfectly still as the horse sniffed his face. The animal abruptly rubbed the side of his long jaw against Blair's flannelled shoulder. With a chuckle, Blair patted his neck and moved down to the saddle. He carefully lifted the stirrup and checked the cinch carefully for slack.

Okay, looked like Blair knew his way around horses.

Ten minutes later, they rode side-by-side, following a double dirt track into the foothills. High rock walls, canyons and large rock formations lay ahead of them. Exploring them promised to make a very enjoyable morning. Jim shifted in his saddle. He knew how to ride both Western and English style, but these Western saddles seemed too large and clunky.

"You okay, Jim?"

"Yeah, how about you?"

"Okay, I wish we could ride bareback, though. I always get sores on these saddles." Blair shifted forward to peer at his mount's head. "And bits. Yuck, man."

Jim made a note not to complain about the saddle. The thought of riding bareback made him shudder.

It was just over three hours before they returned to the barn. The sky to the northwest was building with dark clouds. Blair had chatted happily the entire time. Trips in Southern America on horses or mules across rugged mountains for weeks on end, expeditions with college classes in jungles, long summers working as a volunteer on digs in Mexico, Jim heard them all. He was still chatting as they dismounted and led the horses to the deep trough to enjoy a drink.

"I did turn down the hunters, though," Blair said with a grim look. "I refused to take part in that, man. Hunting for food is one thing, but just to fill a room with mounted heads? No way." He quickly worked the wide strap out of the buckle and lifted the saddle off his horse and setting it on the top rail of the fence.

Jim placed his saddle next to it. "I don't see Guillermo anywhere."

"We can take care of them, Jim," Blair said pointing to the large barn. "Let's take them out of the sun and rub them down. We'll find them some grain and a stall or something."

They led their horses into the cool shade of the barn. A spacious tack room opened up on the right. After tying his horse to a wall-mounted ring, Blair investigated the equipment and returned with two metal curry brushes and a bucket of grain.

"Okay, Hoss," Jim said, "Confession time. I don't have a clue how to do this."

"It's easy, man," Blair replied. "I'll show you."

And it was. Jim enjoyed combing his horse, appreciating the animal's strength and beauty. During the ride, they had enjoyed a few short canters, but mostly kept the animals at a leisurely walk as they explored. The animals seemed to enjoy the attention as they munched grain from a half barrel mounted on a wall.

"That should do it," Blair said, glancing over his shoulder. "I wonder if we can use a couple of these stalls."

"I'll check." Jim set the comb on a shelf built from rough wood and strode down the wide corridor, lined on each side with stalls. Each had a sturdy looking door with heavy iron bars as well as a matching window to allow good air circulation. Looking between the bars, Jim could see the first few stalls were currently being used to store straw, hay and burlap bags filled with grain. When he reached an empty stall, he lifted the iron latch and opened it.

And fell back as the stench hit his nose. "Shit!"

"Jim?" Blair was at his side within a few seconds. "What? You having a reaction?"

Breathing through his mouth, Jim shook his head. He closed the door quickly and stepped back. "Damn..."

Blair buzzed and flitted at his side seeming ready to burst with concern. "Talk to me, man. What is it?"

"They've been keeping more than horses in there, Sandburg," Jim said, wiping his eyes. He hadn't smelled such a concentration of human feces and urine since the army, when he'd been part of a rescue mission. He approached the door and examined the latch, an inkling of dread starting to grow in his chest.

Sure enough, Jim could see the faint scratches on the metal where a padlock had hung.

"Senors, I did not see you return!" Guillermo called out cheerfully as he jogged into the barn. "And you have taken care of your horses. What a happy surprise. I must thank you!"

"Not a word, Chief," Jim whispered before raising his voice to answer. "No problem, we were just looking for some stalls to put them in."

"Ah, gracias! But, allow me. Why don't you go into the house and clean up? Carmen has a special lunch for you both. You will enjoy very much." Guillermo swung an arm towards the open doorway and the house beyond. "Please, I will take care of the horses."

After washing up, they enjoyed a light lunch of cold seafood salad and ice tea in the same room they had eaten breakfast.

Jim pushed away from the table and regarded Blair with a critical eye. "How's your head?"

Blair proudly resisted rolling his eyes. "Fine, thanks for asking." Judging by Jim's reaction, the sarcasm wasn't lost on him. Blair would have to work on that some more.

"I think you should take a nap," Jim announced with a frown.

"Excuse me?"

"You know, genius. A nap? As in... rest?" Jim stood, jerking his thumb toward the doorway leading to the hallway that would take them back to their rooms.

Guillermo picked that moment to enter through heavy swinging doors and began to collect the dirty dishes. "How was your lunches, senors?"

"Very good, thank you," Jim said to the man. "Senor Sandburg and I will be resting in our rooms for a few hours."

"Ah, very wise! In my country, this is a good thing."

"Jim!" Blair was having a hard time getting used to `bossy-Jim'. He couldn't believe he was being told to take a nap. He had never been ordered to sleep in the middle of the day before, even Naomi had known better. Besides, Blair wanted to do some more exploring, or maybe drive into town.

One look at Jim's face, however, halted his response. Captain Ellison of the US Army calmly returned his gaze. The ex-ranger towered over Blair with the determination of years and years of covert operations backing him up.

Even if Blair hadn't been a genius, he knew when to fight and when to surrender.

Looked like he was taking a nap.

"Would you please thank Senora..." Blair realized he didn't know Carmen's last name, and he didn't feel like he should be referring to her by her first.

"Senora Lopez," Guillermo said. "Si, I will tell her you enjoyed the meal."

Blair waited until they reached his room before cutting loose. He smacked the middle of Jim's chest and all but stamped his foot as he vented.

"What the hell was that all about, Jim?" he said in a harsh whisper. "I'll thank you to remember that, while I may not be twenty-six, I am still an adult! I know when I need a nap and when I don't." Pacing back and forth on the rug next to his large bed, his hands flying through the air as he spoke, he ended the rant with clenched fists on his hips and turning to stare hard at his friend. "And stop smirking at me!"

"Sorry, sorry," Jim said quickly, not quite managing to pull a straight face. "I have a plan. We're going to look around after everyone's gone to sleep tonight. We should catch a few hours sleep."

"Oh." Blair dropped his arms, feeling slightly foolish. "Well, if you're going to rest, too, I guess I can lie down for a while. What are we going to look at? The barn again?"

Jim nodded, glancing quickly at the closed door behind him. "I may be reading too much into this, but I believe a thorough look might enlighten us. And I don't fancy an audience while we snoop."

A thousand tiny ants marched up and down Blair's back and over his scalp. He sucked in his breath. "What? You mean we're being spied on? Why didn't you say something before?"

Jim shook his head. "Sandburg, it's okay. I'd expect some security. You're the son of a United States Senator. This is his home. Remember the armed guard back on the road? He has men patrolling the perimeter and a few lookout towers out in the desert. He'd be a fool not to be cautious."

Still, Blair didn't like it. Pushing back his hair, he couldn't help but glance over at the window. Men were watching them? Like they were in a prison or something?

Jim continued softly. "Look at it from his point of view. You were kidnapped out of this very house. He's bound to be paranoid."

Swallowing hard, Blair tried to relax. "Yeah, you've got a point."

"Listen, I'm sorry I even brought it up, Chief," Jim said, deep creases appearing on his forehead. "Would you try and get a few hours of sleep?"

Jim really did look sorry, so Blair managed to summon up a calm look and nodded. "I'll be ready."

After Jim left, Blair slowly changed for bed. Before closing the heavy drapes, he took a few moments to look up into the foothills with wonder. The clouds were getting closer and darker; a storm was heading their way for sure. He hadn't seen any signs of guards on that horseback trip. Jim must have used his sentinel ability to know they were out there.

Question was, if they were there to keep him safe, why did Blair feel afraid?

It was three-twenty in the afternoon when Jim woke. He'd slept on top of his blankets. Even though he had changed clothes after the ride, he could still smell the horses on his skin. He decided to take a shower before waking Blair.

Afterwards, feeling clean and dressed in comfortable Dockers and a polo shirt, Jim knocked lightly on Blair's door. When he didn't hear an answer, he peeked in.

Blair was sound asleep, burrowed into the bedding like a dormouse in its nest. Tufts of brown hair stuck out. Two of the pillows rested on the rug. Jim could see the outline of the third under the covers. Blair's rhythmic breathing told Jim he was sleeping deeply.

Maybe too deep to be woken. Jim dropped his chin and gave the idea some thought. The extra sleep wouldn't hurt him, but he'd probably have another fit. Blair did not enjoy being left out.

Decision made, Jim entered the room and shook the rolled up body under the covers. "Up and at `em, Sandburg."

"Geoophum..."

"Yeah, whatever," Jim said with a smirk. He shook the lump again. "You going to sleep all day?"

A wild mane of brown hair appeared with one blue eye peering through a small gap. "It's time?"

"Geeze, you in there?" Jim asked, grinning widely. "Yeah, it's time."

"'Kay, I'm up, I'm up." Blair yawned widely. "I'll be just a second."

Ten minutes later, Blair tapped the doorframe and leaned into Jim's room. "Hey."

"Hey, sleep well?" Jim set a book on military history that he had borrowed from the senator's library aside.

"Yep, slept great," Blair admitted. "You think Livingston would let us look around his house?"

"He said we'd have free run of the place," Jim reasoned. "We can ask Guillermo."

They found the man in a small office-like study near the kitchen. He stood as they entered and held a phone handset out. "Senor Sandburg, I was just coming to find you. The senator is wishing to speak with you."

With eyes wide, Blair accepted the phone, giving Jim a nervous looking glance. "Hello?"

Jim pointed toward the hallway, eyebrows raised in question. Blair shook his head and pointed to the floor, so Jim leaned against the corner of an old wooden desk and waited. Blair was nodding his head as he listened.

"No, it's okay. I understand. We've been riding horses and resting... yeah, it's been nice. Oh, he did? It was no big deal. I just had a headache... yeah, like the one in your office. I know... I know, but it hasn't been back, so I think I'm okay. Sure... no, he was fine. If I have another one, I'll make an appointment."

Blair gave Jim an exasperated look, causing Jim to smile. The senator was certainly acting like a parent.

"Actually, I do. Is it okay if Jim and I look around the house? I'm kind of interested in it. It looks really old. Yeah... okay, we will. Thanks, and I'll see you this weekend. Bye." Blair handed the phone back to Guillermo. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Guillermo set the handset back. "You wish to look around?"

Blair nodded. "We won't touch anything, but I'm interested."

"Certainly, certainly. It is understandable. You were born here. This is your home. Go anywhere you want. I will answer any of your questions. You can find me here." He pointed at the old desk with its scarred surface.

"Thank you." Blair headed for the hallway. Once outside he turned to Jim. "The senator gave me permission to go anywhere, Jim. He said even the outbuildings."

"Perfect," Jim answered softly. "Let's look around the main house first."

Letting Blair take the lead, Jim followed behind as they explored. The house was well built. With thick adobe walls and a flat roof, it was hard to see where the old merged with the new. Careful consideration had been taken to blend the additions together. The center garden could be seen from various windows and a few glass doors as they moved around the large home. Occasionally, Blair would find a hallway that led away from the center of the main house to smaller rooms that appeared to be used for storage. On one such side trip they found Carmen Lopez's room, set up like a studio apartment. Another looked like it might belong to Guillermo. Off one side, a covered walkway led to a swimming pool, complete with an enclosed hot tub.

There were formal parts of the house, probably used for entertaining. In one such room, with clusters of furniture to give guests a place to sit and chat, Jim's eye was drawn to a large oil painting of a couple with a child. He recognized the senator immediately; the woman with him was probably his deceased wife. She was pretty, beautiful in fact, with long blond hair and fair skin. She held a young child in her lap, Blair. He looked about a year old.

"Chief." Jim pointed up to the picture.

Blair's mouth parted as if to utter an exclamation, but nothing came out. He stared at the painting for a full minute, his eyes traveling over the entire framed picture, but constantly returning to the woman's face.

Finally, he spoke. "She's beautiful."

"Yeah."

Turning to look at Jim with puzzlement, Blair shook his head in small motions. "But, shouldn't I remember her? I remember Carmen giving me a bath. Shouldn't I remember her?"

"I don't know what to tell you. The mind is funny sometimes," Jim said carefully. Would this give Blair a headache? He watched his partner carefully, trying not to look like he was hovering.

Blair's attention returned to the painting a few seconds, then he moved on.

They left the room. After a few turns, Jim spoke. "We're in the old part again."

"How can you tell, man?" Blair asked, looking carefully at the walls, even reaching out to lightly touch. "It looks the same."

"It's not really the look," Jim answered. "I can smell the real adobe here, not the fake stuff. And the temperature's always just a little cooler."

"Cool." Blair's eyes twinkled.

For the first time in weeks, Jim recognized the look his partner got when the mental cogs were turning. There were tests in Jim's future. Jim bit back a grin, offering a menacing glare instead. The result was less than heartening as Blair returned a totally fearless chuckle before he headed off again.

Damn, Jim was losing his touch.

They didn't have much left to explore, Jim realized as they walked down a dim hallway. None of the southwestern art or decorations adorned the walls. Pausing at a door, Blair tried the handle. The door opened to reveal a child's nursery.

The walls were pale blue. Someone had painted colorful flowers, a rainbow, and white fluffy clouds in a cheerful mural. A thick layer of dust covered a low dresser, wooden toy box, adult-sized rocking chair and a smaller, child-size chair. In the far corner, a hand carved bed with a bare, dusty mattress sat like a forgotten relic.

"Oh... my...God..." Blair murmured under his breath, frozen in the doorway as if rooted to the floor.

Was this going to send Blair into another migraine?

"Remember, Sandburg. If any pain starts, concentrate on taking control of your thoughts. Don't let yourself get lost in the memory." Jim had no idea if any of that actually made any sense. It had been years since he had read that report on the army's attempt to repress memories.

Blair nodded, shaking off his stunned look and moving toward the dresser. Small picture frames and odds and ends were scattered across its surface. Blair picked up a frame made from Popsicle sticks glued together at the ends and studied the picture. "I remember making this," he whispered, and then handed it back to Jim, his attention already moving on to the next item, a small wooden box.

Jim took the frame. He and Steven had made similar frames back in the Cub Scouts. Within the frame was a color picture of a grinning Blair, short corkscrew hair and a wide gap between the two small front baby teeth. Jim smiled. Blair looked as much a handful at two-years-old as he was today. The photo had been snapped while Blair stood out in the sunshine. A woman's pair of tan, bare legs could be seen behind him. Who was she? The skin looked too brown to be Blair's mother, the woman in the painting. Was it a younger Carmen? No, the legs looked even younger than Carmen would have been at that time. Maybe the senator had hired a nanny for Blair.

The small box held a few small stones, the kind a kid might pick up and keep for no reason other than they looked pretty. A plastic troll doll with long green hair stood next to the box. Blair picked him up and absentmindedly stroked his hair before setting him back down, almost reverently before wandering away to look around the rest of the room. Squatting down, he lifted the lid to the toy box and started pulling out Tonka trucks, a kid's holster and plastic gun, a couple of plastic horses and a child's microscope. It was bigger than a normal microscope with the words `I want to be a scientist' printed on the side.

He stood, holding the microscope in his hand, his face pensive as he turned it over. "I remember this. I wanted a real one so much." A grimace of pain stopped him from continuing.

"Sandburg, relax. Don't push it," Jim warned. Maybe they should leave.

Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No other signs of pain appeared. Exhaling loudly, Blair squared his shoulders and returned all the toys to the box. "I'm hungry. Let's see if dinner is ready."

"No pain?" Jim asked.

"Nope."

"Good," Jim told him. "Dinner is ready, smells like cornbread and BBQ chicken, with potato salad."

"Lead on, Marco Polo," Blair told him. "I'd need a map to find my way back. This place is huge."

Jim knew it was an act. Blair was deeply affected by the discovery of his old room. But he wasn't letting it sidetrack their plans. Jim was proud.

Blair woke in terror.

Then remembered. The large hand lightly covering his mouth belonged to Jim.

"Quietly," Jim whispered, his lips close to Blair's ear. "Dress in dark clothes. I'll be back in a few minutes."

When Jim slipped back in, Blair was ready. It was like a being in an old spy movie as they slipped through the silent house and exited through a side door. Jim must have a pretty good map of the place in his head, Blair realized. Even with all the exploring they had done earlier, the younger man could only manage the front door, his room and the dining room.

The wind swirled, knifing through his clothes as they headed toward the barn and Blair wished he'd dressed warmer. The storm had finally arrived. Jim kept them on a course that skirted the large pools of light cast by the overhead vapor lights. Once inside the barn, Blair had to latch onto Jim's belt. The interior was black and silent like a tomb. No sounds of horses greeted them.

"Okay, I want to start here, where I first got that smell," Jim whispered.

Blair waited, listening to the hinges creak as Jim opened the door. A sour odor met his nose. He hadn't noticed it before. It was similar to a public restroom on a hot day, long overdue for a cleaning.

Jim gently removed Blair's hand from the back of his belt and patted his arm. "Stay put, I'm going to look around."

Blair nodded. He could do that. Tentatively reaching out and touching the rough boards of the stall, he stood quietly, listening to the faint crunching of Jim's feet in the straw. Sounds of rain hit the barn's roof. The cop searched in silence. After a few moments, Jim's hand was on his arm and he was pulled out of the stall. Blair welcomed the relatively fresh air.

"I want to check the others," Jim told him.

By now, Blair could pick up slight shapes in the darkness. Just a hint of night vision was working for him now. Still not enough to walk around without tripping, at least he could watch Jim's shadowy form as he searched. They went into several stalls. Jim would crouch down as if searching the floors. In one stall, he picked up something that clanked like heavy metal. After what seemed like hours of searching, Jim finally called an end to their excursion.

"That's good enough for now," he whispered. Taking Blair's hand, Jim guided it back to his own belt, playing the part of the seeing-eye dog. "Let's head back to our rooms."

Rain fell with a vengeance, soaking the ground. By the time the two reached the side door, they were thoroughly soaked. Blair shivered as he leaned down to remove his tennis shoes and tiptoed back into Jim's room. A small table lamp clicked on, causing Blair to blink rapidly.

"First light, we need to call Simon," Jim said grimly, peeling off his wet shirt.

"What did you find?" Blair asked.

Jim looked pissed as he pulled on a dry T-shirt and tossed a clean sweatshirt to Blair to wear. "People have been kept in those stalls. I found a set of old leg irons buried in the straw."

"Why?" None of this made any sense. Why would Guillermo keep people in the barn? Blair was out of his own wet shirts now, pulling the borrowed top over his head.

"I have a theory," Jim said gravely. He pulled his cell phone out from his coat pocket. "Question is - does the senator know what's going on while he's away?" He glanced at his watch, then checked the display screen on the small phone. "Damn, no signal. We must be blocked by the hills. Okay, we might as well get some sleep. The sun will be up in a few hours anyway. We'll borrow a car and drive into the city in the morning."

"Jim! I'm not going to be able to go back to sleep now. Tell me what you're thinking!"

"Sandburg, think about it. We're close to the Mexican border. Why else would you hide groups of people?" Jim asked.

"Illegals?" Blair blurted out. "But that doesn't make any sense, man. He's a US Senator. He wouldn't risk that to help people enter the country illegally."

"Maybe he doesn't know," Jim reasoned. "Now go back to sleep, we'll get up early and tell Guillermo we need a vehicle to take into Carlsbad."

Back in his room, Blair waited for his bed to warm up. Damn, that rain had been cold. They may be in the desert, but the spring nights were chilly. Plus the fact the air conditioning was always on. Jim's soft sweatshirt along with a dry pair of his own sweatpants made for warm pajamas. He'd done his best to towel his hair dry before laying down. Curling into a ball, he tried to relax. He still couldn't get over Jim's theory. But it made sense. Plus the senator was away in DC for long periods of time. Who knew what happened out here?

Blair opened his eyes to find morning had arrived. A dim light filtered in around his drapes, bathing the room in soft shadows. Blair yawned and rolled over, not wanting to leave the bed. It was warm and the room was not.

Holy crap! They needed to drive into town. Jim had wanted to leave at first light.

Tossing back the covers, Blair climbed down, glancing at the small digital alarm clock on the bedside stand.

"Shit!"

It was after eight. They'd slept in.

Quickly pulling on a pair of sweats, Blair left his room and knocked on Jim's door. Was he sick? There was no way Jim would sleep in. He didn't think the older man even knew how.

"Jim?" When he received no answer, Blair opened the door. The empty bed was unmade.

Blair checked the bathroom across the hall. No Jim.

Back in his room, Blair hastily pulled on a thick pair of socks. His tennis shoes were still wet. He didn't feel like dealing with hiking boots, so he jogged towards the dining room in stocking feet.

"Jim?" Blair looked into the empty dining room.

He found the kitchen. Carmen was stirring a large pot on the stove.

"Buenos dias, mi hijo."

"Good morning, Senora Lopez," Blair answered quickly. "Have you seen Jim? Ah, Senor Ellison?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Where's Guillermo?" Blair asked, feeling panic seep into his heart like an enemy.

Guillermo entered, wearing an oiled canvas raincoat. "Good morning! You slept well?"

Blair didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Where's Jim? He's not in his room. I can't find him."

"Ah." Guillermo shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. "Senor Ellison told me to tell you he had to drive into town very early this morning. He will call you when he can."

The absurdity of that statement was like a cold slap to the face and Blair physically took a step back from the very concept. "No, he wouldn't do that, man."

"Senor?" Guillermo looked alarmed. "Are you feeling well? Do you need a doctor?"

Blair took another step back. "Jim wouldn't leave me."

Just the look on the other man's face told Blair he was heading toward dangerous water. Taking a deep breath, Blair mentally changed directions. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. But being freaked out wasn't going to make things better. He back-peddled toward the hallway.

"I... forgot my, ah, shoes." He fled down the hallway, his mind searching for a plan.

Back in his room, he grabbed his hiking boots and put them on. There was that phone in Guillermo's office. Maybe he could sneak down there and call out. But first Blair wanted to look in Jim's room, look for a clue to explain what had really happened to his friend.

Making sure the hallway was clear; he ducked into Jim's room. Jim's bed had the covers flipped back. That alone told Blair something was amiss. Jim always made his bed, always. All of Jim's clothes were still in the dresser. His wet shoes were under the bed, but his hiking boots were missing. Blair bit his lip in thought.

Had Jim brought his gun to New Mexico? He didn't remember seeing it. The airport security would have found it, right? Or do the police just get to take them onboard? Blair didn't know.

Time to find the phone.

With a few false turns, he found the office. It was empty. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest, he picked up the handset.

Nothing. No sound, no dial tone - nothing. Blair made sure the device was plugged into the wall; it was. Why didn't it work? Did the storm take out the phone lines?

Screw this. He'd steal a car if he had to. He needed to reach the police, tell them Jim was gone. He'd bring back help and they'd tear the ranch apart if they had to.

The rain had slacked off from last night. The puddles made the trek a challenge, like threading through a maze. Without being challenged, Blair reached the building Guillermo had parked the Lexus in. The side door was unlocked and he found himself in an enormous open bay. The Lexus was parked inside, along with a flatbed Ford truck, a dark green Hummer and a blue Chevy Suburban. Quickly checking the vehicles, he found them all without keys.

Okay, time for a little hot wiring, but which car? Blair headed for the Chevy. With his head down under the dash, he never heard the door open and the two armed men enter. He was working on stripping the second wire when one of the men tapped his leg. Blair jumped, hitting his head on the hard steering wheel before twisting to see the two new arrivals. Both men were armed with rifles. Looking at him in a no-nonsense manner, one pointed to the doorway. Their Spanish was fast but Blair picked up enough to understand they wanted him back inside the main house.

"Listen, guys. I really need to go into town," Blair explained, careful to keep his hands in sight as he backed out of the Chevy.

"Senor Sandburg." Guillermo stood in the doorway, a frown on his face.

"Guillermo! Tell these guys to put away the guns, man!" Blair demanded.

"Please come back into the house."

Pushing his hair back from his face, Blair considered his options. Nobody was listening to him. They hadn't come out and stated he was a prisoner, but it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that he was. Blair slowly walked toward Guillermo. "I want to leave, Guillermo."

"You are ill. I have called the doctor and the senator," Guillermo told him patiently, scolding him like a misbehaving child.

"I'm not sick. I just want to leave," Blair answered, keeping his voice steady. The men with guns were following. Would they really shoot him?

Gesturing for Blair to go ahead, Guillermo waited till he had gone past. The rain had started up again. Blair could see the comforting figure of Carmen watching from the doorway off the kitchen, but doubted the woman could help him.

Guillermo's actions were the convincing factor in Blair's mind. Somehow last night's little trip had been discovered. Jim was in danger. Blair had to get help, even if all he could manage was running to a neighboring ranch. It was worth the risk. Besides, there was no way the senator would let these guys shoot his only son.

He waited until they were halfway to the house before making his move. He'd try the same stunt that had worked with the FBI Agents back in Cascade. Slowing until Guillermo was close, Blair threw himself backwards, knocking Guillermo back into the two gunmen. Not looking to see how much damage he'd caused, he ran.

Clearing a low stone wall, he ducked behind an adobe shed and ran for a distant pasture holding several horses. If he could reach one, he had a chance. Shouts spurred him on and he threw everything he had into running. The hiking boots slowed him down. He would have made better time if he'd put on the tennis shoes; even wet, they would have helped. Before he could reach the fence to the pasture, an olive green ATV roared into view and cut him off. Blair changed directions, running for the distant foothills. He was breathing hard now. No one was shouting anymore, but no one fired at him either.

A second ATV appeared and Blair veered off again. Shit! He was running back toward Guillermo and his goons. He wasn't going to make it.

Before he could change directions again, the first ATV roared by him, within mere inches and Blair stumbled to get out of its path. The ground was slick from rain. A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through his left knee as he fell. The rider was off the vehicle and had him pinned into the dirt before he could blink.

These guys were good. In seconds, Blair's arms were pinned behind his back, his cheek pushed into the muddy desert floor.

"Senor Sandburg," Guillermo said, barely out of breath. "Why do you run? We only are worried about you."

"B-bullshit!" Blair shouted in frustration as he panted, tasting the mud work its way into his mouth. "I told you... I want to leave. Let me go!"

They lifted him to his feet easily. Guillermo shook his head. "We will wait for the senator. He is flying home. He is very worried."

Blair was coated with mud, from his hair to his boots. They escorted him back to the barn. His knee throbbed. The rain was falling hard enough now to finish the job of completely soaking him to his skin.

At the barn they began pulling off his clothes. Blair fought them, cursing and shouting. His fury drove the shivers away. A bright, warm furnace of anger burned in his gut, fueling his body to fight with everything he had.

Which is why, when the doctor arrived and followed the sounds of loud cursing, he saw a muddy Blair scratching, clawing, and snapping like an animal. Without inquiring, the medical expert drew a large syringe from his bag and prepared a shot.

Blair saw him too late.

"No! Listen to me! They took Jim! They won't let me GO!" Blair struggled madly as the doctor approached. Guillermo and his men shoved him up against the wall, face first. Their boots and knees kept him from kicking. Strong arms pinned his arms and shoulders.

"Easy, easy, Blair. I'm going to give you something to calm you down."

"Shit! Listen to me, damn it!" Blair shouted. "Don't! DON'T!"

The needle found its mark on the fleshy, upper part of Blair's right butt cheek. It burned as the man drove the plunger down. Blair threw back his head and screamed with frustration.

By the time they finished stripping him to his boxers and half-carried him into the kitchen, Blair could barely hold his head up. He caught a glimpse of Carmen standing by her stove, wiping tears from her eyes. Blair tried calling out for help, but the drug had found its way into his brain, scrambling his ability to talk. A low guttural moan escaped.

Bits and pieces of dialog between the doctor and Guillermo made it into Blair's mind.

"I need a ... examine him, you ... senator is on his way?"

"Si, he must be ... cannot let ... see him like this."

Blair was laid down. He could feel the rough weave of a coarse blanket on his back and shoulders. All strength had been robbed from him. Hands held him down effortlessly. Blair couldn't even keep his eyelids from closing.

Warm fingers gently pressed on his injured knee and he groaned. He could feel the beginning of unconsciousness creeping up. He wasn't going to last much longer. Just before the darkness took him, he heard one last comment.

"... clean him up..."

The guard said something in Spanish, but Jim paid no attention. All his attention was focused on the sounds of Blair's attempted escape and subsequent capture. Whatever that damn doctor had given Blair was calming him down. Jim lay on pile of moldy straw, his wrists in iron cuffs behind his back, attached by a few links to an iron ring bolted to the wall. Rough cord tied his ankles together. Once a storage room of sorts, the outbuilding he was in had been turned into a very effective jail, complete with a decorative iron grate over the single window. It sat on the far edge of the hacienda compound, too far for anyone to hear him if he had called out.

Not even aware he was glaring at his single guard with murderous intent until the man shifted uncomfortably, Jim allowed a feral smile.

"I think I will kill you slowly," Jim said in a calm manner. "Perhaps use your own knife to cut out your tongue, so when I rip out your heart and stuff it into your mouth there will be room."

The guard, a nervous looking man about Blair's age, grew pale, his eyes wide. He understood enough English to realize what Jim was promising.

"Let me loose now and you can live," Jim continued.

Guillermo opened the heavy wooden door and entered. "Senor Ellison, your threats are empty. It is you that will be dead by the time the sun is gone today." He turned to the young man and jerked his chin toward the open door. A second later, another man entered. He was older with cold, dead eyes and a large potbelly. He spit at Jim's feet before settling into the chair, resting a sawed off shotgun in his lap.

Jim saved his breath.

The hours passed. Blair was sleeping now. Jim could easily hear the even breathing. After a bit, another vehicle drove up and he recognized the senator's voice as he asked about Blair and went into the large hacienda. Jim's eyes narrowed in anger. The conversation between Livingston and Guillermo did not sound promising. Any doubt that the senator might be clueless about the illegal activity in his home disappeared.

He knew.

The door to Jim's jail opened. Two men followed Guillermo into the single room, the kid from before and an older man with a face scarred by chickenpox. Guillermo followed, pointing to Jim and they unlocked his chain from the ring. Lifting him roughly by the shoulders, they dragged him out into the rain and awkwardly lifted him into the back of a Chevy.

"Good-bye, Mister Cop. Say hello to El Diablo for me," Guillermo said and laughed.

Jim didn't bother answering. At least they didn't plan on killing him immediately. Guillermo had said by nightfall he would be dead. Jim judged it to be about noon. So they probably planned to drive him somewhere off site, maybe even out of state or, more likely, into Mexico. They slammed the rear door. Two of the guards, Pox Face and the kid, climbed into the front and they were off.

Jim bounced around, his back and shoulders taking a couple of painful knocks against the spare tire as the Chevy danced over potholes and rough spots in the road. Turning to brace his body with knees and shoulders, Jim worked on a plan. He knew the cuffs were metal, but if the hardware was anything like the set he had found in the barn, they belonged in a museum.

Jim fingered the rust covered links of the chain. One felt corroded. Could he manage to break it? Grimly, Jim tensed his back and arm muscles and began to pull.

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