Blair woke to darkness, his own breathing the only sound registering in his ears. His neck hurt, but he found himself unable to move around or try to correct the odd angle he was in. His whole body was stiff and sore.

"'Lo?" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello? Anyone?"

Silence.

What was going on? Where was Jim? Why couldn't he remember? Blair tried to remain calm. After working with Jim for almost a year, he knew how important it was not to panic. Although intellectually he knew this, Blair was finding the actual application of this principle to be more difficult.

He suddenly realized there was a sound, no, more like a vibration. He could feel it enter him, all the way to his teeth. He knew this feeling. It was like when he...

Was in an airplane?

The stomach-twisting drop in altitude confirmed Blair's assessment. His mouth suddenly became as dry as a desert. He was in an airplane.

This was `so' not a good thing.

He flexed his arms, finding them tied by thin flexible bindings behind his back. He moved his legs. The same things were wrapped around his knees and ankles. He was belly down on something soft, with a springy give, like a sofa maybe? Rocking himself from side to side, he discovered wider bindings that held him in place.

Seatbelts.

His mind briefly flashed on a bug display he once saw as a child. A friend of Naomi's had a collection of beetles under glass. Each specimen was held in place by small pins. He'd felt sorry for the bugs, not able to see the beauty of the collection.

Okay, fellas. Now I know how you must have felt.

Feeling more alert, he noticed his breath seemed to bounce back off something, warming his lower face. He rubbed his cheek against the cushion, something moved around his head.

A hood. The blackness was a hood around his head.

He felt the panic start to build.

What the HELL was going on?

Where was Jim?

"Ellison." Jim cradled the hand set against his shoulder as he finished fastening his pants.

"Blair Sandburg, please."

Jim retrieved the phone with a free hand and reached for his shirt. "He's not home right now, can I take a message?"

Click.

Jim frowned at the phone. "Sandburg, your friends need to learn some manners," he muttered.

Ten minutes later, he palmed the keys from the basket by the door and eyed the cane leaning against the wall. That stubborn kid, he thought, shaking his head. He had lectured Blair yesterday about not following the doctor's orders to use the cane for another full week. But Blair blew him off, insisting his leg felt fine.

Sure, like he knows all about bullet wounds.

Jim considered taking the cane and dropping it off at Rainier, but decided not to. He rationalized he was running late, plus he would be too tempted to use the damn thing on his friend's head.

Jim left the cane and arrived at work, forgetting about irresponsible roommates with no common since. He worked nonstop until noon, catching up his cases. The reports on the Quinn fiasco were typed, printed in triplicate and sent off to all the government agencies expressing an interest. That was one case he'd like to file and forget. No matter what Simon had said, he'd come too close to crossing that line. The intensity of his anger and hatred was scary. It was a dark side of himself that he never wanted to see again.

Pushing back from his desk, Jim eyed the clock on the wall. He felt like going out for lunch, tired of the stale sandwiches they offered in the vending machines. Before he could get up and wander into Simon's office to bounce a few lunch ideas off his friend, the phone on his desk rang.

"Ellison."

"Hello, is this the detective that Mr. Sandburg works with?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

The female voice hesitated before continuing. "Um...I just wanted to ask if Blair was with you this morning, you know, like working on an emergency case? Because I really don't mind covering for him, but usually he gives me some kind of warning...."

"Excuse me, miss. Are you saying Blair didn't show up at Rainier today?" Jim stood in alarm, his eyes returning to the clock.

Four hours! Blair had been missing for four hours!

"Oh, he's not with you? Forget I called, detective. I don't want to get Blair in trouble..."

Jim cut her off a second time.

"Listen, Sandburg left for Rainier at 7:30 this morning. Are you telling me that no one had seen him all morning?" Jim found his voice getting louder. Simon's door opened and the big man was standing in the doorframe with a scowl on his face.

"Uh, yes. That's what I'm saying."

They searched the campus. No Blair. No Corvair. Simon ordered an APB. Rafe called the hospitals. Brown checked the morgue, secretly. Jim called every friend he'd ever been introduced to by his roommate. No one had seen him.

Jim finally went home at midnight, lying in his bed for four hours before giving up and beginning another frustrating day. The results were the same. Every possible resource was checked, every person that knew Blair was located and interviewed, Major Crimes worked as a group possessed.

At the end of the second day, Jim sat in Simon's office. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he scrubbed his face, feeling his five o'clock shadow poking through his skin.

"Any word from Naomi?" Simon asked, his voice sounded tired. The captain leaned back into his plush office chair and stared at the clown figures that watched them from a position high on top of the bookshelves.

"No, I've tried every number I know for her. She's somewhere in Europe." Jim sat up and thumped his thigh with a fist. "Damn it, Simon. Why haven't we heard something?"

Simon sighed. "I know you're going to bite my head off, but I'm going to ask this anyway."

Jim gave his boss a wary look. "What?"

"Is it possible Blair just left? He's been kidnapped, beat up, shot..." Simon winced slightly. "Maybe he'd had enough."

Jim's face turned to granite. He gave Simon a cold glare as he rose stiffly and turned towards the door.

"Ellison, can the attitude and just plant your ass back in that chair," Simon ordered.

Jim swung around, his finger pointing at the seated man. He kept his voice low. "Sandburg does NOT quit! He doesn't back down, hell, he won't even stay in the truck! No way am I going to believe he just ran away."

Simon nodded his head wearily. "Yeah, I agree, Jim."

Jim studied the other man with a puzzled frown. "Then why ask?"

Simon leaned forward. "We have to consider all possibilities. I agree that something hinkie is going on here, but before I go to the Chief with a request for more manpower; I want to talk about it. You got a problem with that?"

Jim sat, his anger evaporating along with any strength he had in reserve. "No."

Later that same night, Jim wearily plodded down the hallway towards the door to his loft. He stopped suddenly, almost tripping.

He picked up a heartbeat inside.

Jim's breath caught as he hurried forward, his hand fumbling in his pocket for the key. He missed the lock cylinder with his first stab, his hands shaking from exhaustion. As he lined up the key for a second attempt, he realized the heartbeat inside wasn't Blair's. Similar, yes, but not his roommate's.

He also became aware the person inside was not alone.

This was it, he thought. This is where I learn what trick I have to perform to get Blair back.

Visions of Brackett came to mind as he quietly pulled his gun from its holster. Unlocking the door, he let it swing open as part of his brain wondered how the hell these intruders got inside in the first place. Anger and the long hours of worrying about his roommate's safety caused him to foolishly enter the loft, gun braced in both hands.

"Hi, Jim."

The hands holding the automatic dropped.

Naomi.

She was standing by the doorway to her son's room, dressed in practical black jeans and a matching black long sleeve shirt. No flowing scarves, no full-length clingy dress with handmade slippers from some third world country.

Jim gave the man sitting at the kitchen table an appraising look. He was Caucasian with dark hair, no facial hair or glasses. He looked about mid-thirties. His shoulders were broad, muscles defined and toned into shape. Jim guessed his height to be about six foot if he were to stand. No weapons visible. He had a coffee cup in both hands and as Jim watched, he raised it to his lips to drink.

That was the last straw. Jim was tired, worried sick and frustratingly out of ideas on how to find his guide. Now there were strangers stealing his coffee. He didn't need this crap.

"Well, please make yourselves as comfortable as hell," he said sarcastically as he holstered his gun and slammed the door shut with his foot. He looked again at the beautiful redheaded woman. "I've been trying to reach you for 48 hours."

"I know. I need your help." Naomi gave him a calm look. "Blair needs your help."

Jim watched as she moved forward and stood behind the man sitting at the table. She was different, and he wasn't just thinking about her clothes. She talked, walked and held herself totally differently to the last time he'd seen her. She didn't ask where Blair was, yet she knew he was in trouble.

She knew.

This wasn't about him being a sentinel, or one of his old cases or anything to do with Cascade Police.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest he gave them both a steely glare. He stood straight with his weight balanced evenly between both legs, his body ready for battle. "What's going on, Naomi? Where's Blair?"

The silent man pulled a small box from his jacket, setting it on the table. With the flip of a small toggle switch, it began to give a low hum. Jim's eyes narrowed as he recognized the device or ones similar to it from his days in Special Ops. He realized with dark humor that they'd learned how to make them smaller.

If they were being listened to, this box would jam any attempt at overhearing the conversation. Oh, yeah. Naomi had some serious explaining to do.

"I'm sorry, Jim." She pulled out a chair and sat down. With a slender hand she gestured that he join them. "Please."

Jim approached and sat down stiffly across the table. Naomi's friend seemed content to just listen, a real party animal.

"First, I want you to understand, Blair knows nothing about this. He's an innocent." She gave Jim a sad smile. "I worked very hard to keep him that way."

"Running out of sage to burn?" He couldn't stop his face from twisting into an ugly sneer.

Naomi sighed and continued as if Jim hadn't said a word. "I'm in a very delicate position. But I'm not the one being manipulated. A powerful person is being pressured to do something he would normally never consider..."

"Why Blair? What is he to this guy?" Jim cut her off impatiently.

She continued, remaining calm. Jim was reminded of his housekeeper, Sally, back in the early days when Steven would throw a fit over something. She would deal with him in the same manner. Jim hadn't thought he could get any madder at this woman. He was wrong. He held his tongue, though. He needed all the information he could get.

"We can't let this happen," she continued. "I can buy a little time. I need you to go in and get Blair. Keep him safe and out of sight. Then my people can eliminate any future threat, this may take up to seven days." She glanced at the dark hair man next to her. He looked at her and nodded. She leaned forward, her attention back on Jim. "I've read your military files, I know you're good. I can't do this myself. I'm being watched too closely, you're the unknown factor. Please, Jim. Get my son back."

"What the hell is going on, Naomi? How could you let this happen?" Jim slammed his palm down on the table. Jim couldn't explain the anger he felt at the moment. He wanted to strike out, scream at her. Naomi had lied to her son his entire life. He didn't want to be part of this. He just wanted Blair back.

"Ellison, stop being an ass and answer the damn question, mate." The black haired man spoke for the first time, his Cockney English accent thick.

Jim leaned back in his chair, his spine straight. "Just tell me this, if I do this, am I selling out my country?" Jim was afraid of the answer. Because leaving Blair in the middle of some possible cold war scenario was not going to be an option.

Naomi must have read Jim's mind, because she smiled. For the first time since he entered his home, Jim saw the same woman he'd first met cooking tongue in his kitchen.

"No. I've done a lot of shitty things in my life, Jim. But I've never sold out my country."

"You didn't answer me, what is Blair's relationship to this `important' person."

Naomi's eyes softened. She laid her forearms out on the table, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. The dark haired man stood quietly and crossed over to the front door, slipping out into the hallway. Jim could hear him striding towards the back stairs. He dismissed the man and returned his full attention to the woman he had always thought of as Blair's ditzy mother, until tonight.

"I was recruited very young," she began softly. "We fell in love when we weren't supposed to. But you know youth, we thought we knew what was best. Anyway, Blair was born."

"Skip the Hallmark moment. I'm not in the mood, Naomi," Jim said, not caring about manners. If Blair ever found out Jim had talked to Naomi this way, he'd be in hot water. Jim didn't care. He would deal with the new change in his and Naomi's relationship after Blair was safe.

Naomi didn't react to his verbal attack. She continued calmly, totally in control.

Oh, yeah. This woman was a player.

"We found ourselves on different paths. You'd be surprised how a young single woman with a baby gets overlooked in this world. I became very good at my job." She raised a slender finger. "But I never used Blair in any way that exposed him to danger. He was left with friends if anything looked remotely hazardous." "A regular June Cleaver."

"Blair's father went the political route. He was a natural and very good for the security of our country. Blair would be proud if he knew." For the first time, Jim could see a hint of self-doubt in her eyes. "He worked his entire career with a reputation of being untouchable, someone high up has turned, Jim. Only a few close friends know he's Blair's father."

"What about the Brit that just left?"

"He doesn't know. He's one of my best, but he's just following orders." She coolly eyed Jim, as if setting him on one side of a scale and wondering how much weight to place on the other side. "Blair is a genius. You know that, I'm sure. He could have followed any path he chose and become the best. But he had a passion from an early age to find a sentinel. It consumed him like nothing I've ever seen before."

Jim refused to acknowledge where she was heading.

"You don't have to answer me, but I know he found you. I'm glad you're together, although finding out this partnership has exposed him to some of the elements that I spent the last twenty-six years to avoid did not please me," she admitted with a frown. "It can't be helped, I suppose. Now, I have a very short window right now. In a few hours I'm going to be back under constant observation. You're the ace up my sleeve. Can you function adequately without Blair, enough to get in and retrieve him?"

It never occurred to Jim to deny her contention that he was a sentinel. What was the point?

He nodded.

"Good. You can't tell anyone where you're going or why. Find a reason to tell Banks you'll be gone for eight to ten days, just in case my timeline doesn't work. After you get Blair out, stay under everyone's radar." She eyed him with a firm look. "That's everyone, Jim. No police, no friends. I'm not kidding when I take a page out of Chris Carter's book and say `Trust no one'. I'll give you an all clear when it's safe to return to Cascade."

"How?" Jim could hear the footsteps of Naomi's companion returning.

"Keep listening to the radio, when you hear there's been a small fire in the kitchen at Camp David, you can come in."

Jim's eyes widened slightly. He tilted his head, his sneer returned. "Tell me Naomi, is Blair a valuable item to this guy, or a political embarrassment?"

A flash of fire swept through her calm green eyes and then was gone, her manner again as cool as ever. "Rest assured, Blair is the single most important thing to him."

The Brit returned, walking into the loft without knocking. Jim eyed the black leather case he held in his right hand. "Please, come in." He was not able to resist another dig.

If the man caught the sarcasm, he continued on without acknowledging it. He placed the case on the table next to Naomi. Opening the flap, she removed a bundle of ten by twelve inch manila envelops, a smaller white envelope and a few small electrical devices.

"We've got an hour to go over the Intel. It's the best I can give you." She pulled a large glossy picture from the first envelope and slid it over to Jim. "This was Blair's condition at noon today. He was still ambulatory at that time. We have to assume he will be when you reach him."

Jim picked up the color photograph with a grimace, a good quality picture, catching the nicely darkened colors of the black eye and bruising in the jaw area. Blair's upper lip was swollen and bleeding. They had stripped him to his last layer of clothing, a T-shirt and his jeans. His belt, shoes and socks were gone. He stood holding a New York Times paper dated that day. The wall behind him had a large clock that showed noon.

Jim studied Blair's face. Blair was obviously mad, furious even. Jim recognized the defiant gleam in his friend's eyes. They'd better not turn their backs on him if they knew what was good for them.

"As usual, he's fought them every inch of the way," Naomi told him with a sigh. "I'm concerned he'll go to far before you can get him out."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in me, I'm touched." Jim's tone refuted his words.

"I'm only repeating the sentiments of my son. He believes you are capable of anything. I have no choice but to trust his judgment."

That struck a chord deep inside Jim like no other comment Naomi had made that evening. He felt his anger begin to wane.

"What if the radio never mentions the Camp David fire?"

Naomi leaned back in her seat, pausing from sorting out the paperwork and maps on the table. She gave Jim a steady look. "Then I failed and Blair is in serious danger." Her face showed a vulnerability that caused the Jim to look away for a moment. "Jim, promise me you'll take him and run as far as you can. Please keep my baby safe..." Her voice lowered until the last part was barely a whisper.

Jim gave the woman he had considered the queen of the airhead parade a searching look.

"I promise."

Forty-eight hours later, Jim lay on his stomach observing the activities of the estate where Naomi believed Blair was being kept. Jim had arrived the day before. He had spent yesterday and all of today getting the pieces in place. Now he was ready to go in and get Blair. He studied the ranch below him. White fenced acreage and paddocks housed purebred Tennessee Walkers. Their long silky manes and tails floated in the breeze as the horses trotted playfully down the fence lines.

The ranch house was modest, for a multi-million dollar home. Heavy timbered supports held a clay-tiled roof. Large front windows overlooked a landscaped yard that belonged on the cover of a gardening magazine. Beyond the house and out buildings of the horse ranch, the rolling hills of Maryland were a canopy of greens, like a plush bedspread waiting to be smooth out.

The sun was setting and the spring air began to cool considerably. Jim double-checked the small rucksack hidden in a low bush, scanning the area in order to memorize the location. A similar pack was still riding on his back; he would need it when he found Blair. The rental car was a few miles away though the trees. He wasn't pleased with the location of the escape vehicle, but he had no choice. In order to keep to the cover of trees, he'd left the car in the only possible spot that would work. That's what worried him.

He'd spotted the private airstrip as he crossed the woods from above. A small airplane was tied down at one end along with a very expensive private helicopter. Would he be able to get Blair safely to the vehicle before the search started?

Jim circled around and waited for darkness, making himself comfortable in the shrubs and grass. He'd been briefed on the routine of the ranch personnel. The first to drive away was an older woman, a cook. Jim watched a man in an expensive suit get into a new Cadillac SUV. Two beefy guys accompanied him, probably bodyguards. He watched them drive away. Damn, he was hoping they'd take the helicopter.

It was the helicopter that worried him the most. It wasn't supposed to be there. With a high tech pair of night vision goggles from that bird, they would be sitting ducks. A brief study of the fence and the Germen Shepherd dogs inside, it made sabotaging the helicopter a risk that he was not willing to take.

There would be no second chance tonight.

When the darkness was complete, Jim slipped into the ranch grounds as silent as a shadow on the wall. Using the devices supplied by Naomi, he easily breached the security system and found himself standing inside a utility room off a big kitchen. The house's air system control kept the inside a warm seventy-five degrees. A commercial size washer and dryer dominated the room. Jim found himself having to dial down his sense of smell as he picked up the ripe smell of human sweat on the clothes in the large hampers.

Jim crouched against the wall under shelves loaded with cleaning supplies and closed his eyes. Using his hearing, he located four human heartbeats in the home. None of them was the one he had flown across the continent to find.

Damn.

He silently eased himself back out of the building. Where was Blair? Naomi seemed sure he was at the ranch.

A soft whinny drew the sentinel's attention. He studied the large red barn. Okay, it was worth a shot. Risking the short time exposed in the open yard, Jim raced towards the barn, grateful that the dogs were guarding the airstrip and not the main yard. A side door gave him access into a dark room, strips of leather from halters hung on the wall, expensive English and western saddles perched on large poles that stuck out from the opposite wall. Jim again dialed down his sense of smell to avoid a sneezing attack caused by the musky smell of hay, horse and leather cleaning products.

He located the multiple heartbeats of the horses in their stalls. Tuning them out, he locked on to two human hearts in the building. One was a slow rate of a man nearly asleep. The other was the most welcoming sound he had heard in the last four days.

He'd found his guide.

Blair was awake. He rolled his head back and forth, wondering how long he'd been out. It was colder than before. It must be nighttime, but he couldn't be sure because of the blindfold. Blair decided being awake sucked, there was nothing to do except worry and dwell on his current situation. How cold and hungry he was. How much his arms ached as he hung from the rafter overhead. He's been unable to feel his hands for a while now. How long would it take before his fingers would no longer work due to the lack of oxygenated blood flow?

But at least these questions distracted him from more serious issues at hand. Why had he been taken? Why hadn't they bothered to question him, about anything? Blair knew he was a pawn in a larger game, but against whom? Jim? That was the most obvious answer, yet you would think they'd have a few questions to ask the man they'd kidnapped, the man that knew more about modern day sentinels than anyone.

Blair was pissed at the way his captors totally ignored him. Even when they slapped him around and blackened his eye, it was performed without comment, no explanation or questions. As if it wasn't worth the effort to communicate with him.

At first, Blair had tried reasoning with the two men when the beating started. They looked like matching bookends with their short-cropped hair, large muscular physique and heartless eyes. But reasoning gave way to shouts of anger when they remained unresponsive. Finally he'd shut up and just endured it, knowing that he was wasting precious energy. The bookends took turns with him. No use tiring one goon out needlessly.

The pictures they took of him, holding the newspaper, let Blair count the passage of time. He knew he was in his third day of captivity. They fed him every other day and watered him daily. He snorted, realizing the horses were getting better treatment. He'd eaten a sandwich yesterday; so he figured no food was coming until tomorrow, if he was lucky.

The sound of something hitting a nearby wall followed by the creaking of the door reached Blair's ears. He held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. Earlier today, he'd caught one of the goons in the jaw with a bare foot, resulting in his current accommodations. They'd knocked him around some more and dragged him out of the house and into the barn. The blindfold was yet another privilege they revoked, as obviously Blair had already seen his guards. Blair knew it was another show of power on their part to take away his sight.

Was the guy returning alone to dish out a little more pay back?

"What's wrong, you ape? Can't accept that a longhaired geek managed to get a shot at you? Back to save your goon-hood?" Bair taunted, knowing he was risking more pain.

"Sandburg, think you can keep it down? I'm in the middle of a rescue here."

"Jim!" he gasped, almost choking in relief.

The blindfold was removed from around his head. In the darkness, Blair could only sense a dark form standing closely behind him. A strong arm encircled his chest, hugging him, as the rope above became slack. His bound hands dropped. Blair's pain was so intense, he barely noticed his bare feet touching the dirt and straw floor.

"Aauuuggghh."

"Easy, kid. Hold still."

Another tug dropped the rope around his wrists to the ground. Blair leaned heavily against Jim, finding his legs too weak to hold his weight, his arms just wooden limbs. Jim guided him back in the dark and lowered him until Blair found himself sitting on a scratchy bale of hay, his legs stretched out before him.

"Jim, what's going on? Who are these people?" Blair whispered urgently through chattering teeth.

"It's complicated, Chief. Let's get you out of here first, okay?"

"'Kay."

Blair felt a soft sock being slipped on his left foot. A second one covered his right, Blair sighed at the warmth they provided. Who knew that heaven was actually a pair of wool socks?

"Close your eyes."

Blair obediently did as instructed and a thick sweater was pulled over his head. The sound of his teeth clicking together was becoming loud enough to cause Blair to wonder if he could be heard from the house. Blair opened his eyes as pins and needles started gnawing on his hands. The blood flow was returning. He let Jim thread his numb arms though the sleeves. When the sweater was situated correctly, Blair found his eyes began to fill with grateful tears as the warmth started to spread into his chest.

A soft cap was pulled over his head; Jim took the time to pull his filthy hair back from his forehead. The gentle gesture was Blair's undoing as the tears broke over his lashes and he felt them fall down his face. Tucking the long strands behind Blair's ears, Jim situated the knitted cap firmly and moved wordlessly back to the young man's feet. He recognized the unmistakable feeling of a hiking boot being slipped onto his left foot and laced up. The right foot was given the same treatment. Finally, wool mittens covered both hands.

"Can you walk?"

Blair nodded, not trusting his voice, knowing Jim could see him in the darkness. One hand reached down to grab Blair's waistband at the small of his back, the other on his arm. Suddenly Blair was being lifted off his butt and was standing on his own feet again.

"Show me."

Blair felt Jim back off a little. God, he was stiff! He demonstrated a few clumsy, off-balanced steps.

"Good enough. Hold on and stay close."

Clamping his tingling fingers around a fold of sweater, he let Jim lead the way. The door opened and a splash of dim light entered his prison.

"Step high."

Looking down, Blair saw one of the bookends curled on his side on the dirt floor. He lifted his leg and stepped over the still form, wondering if the man was still alive. Jim towed him through the barn and into a tack room, until they stood outside. Blair shivered from the anticipation of pending freedom.

They avoided the house, the large lit areas of the yard and used the shadows of the barn as they snuck between parked trucks and horse trailers. Within a few short minutes, Blair was walking up a hill in high grass toward the tree line. His arms felt better and he could use his left one to wipe at the tears that were drying on his face.

They were in the tree line. Blair allowed himself to smile. They were going to make it.

His feet fell into a clumsy rhythm as he was led through the darkness between trees and over hills. It never occurred to him to ask where they were going or how long it would take.

It didn't matter, Jim was here.

He let his mind drift, just relishing the warmth from the sweater and the support the hiking boots provided his feet. He swore he'd never go barefoot again.

The moon was only a sliver in the sky as it dodged in and out of cloud cover. His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and Blair realized that Jim was wearing a small pack. It looked empty. Of course, he thought with a smile, that's how Jim brought him his clothes.

After a quarter of an hour of following at a brisk pace, Jim paused. Blair released Jim's sweater, giving it a chance to recover from the abuse he'd caused. Rubbing his leg, he concentrating on catching his breath. He had started to limp. The healing bullet wound in his right thigh was beginning to throb.

"Wait here."

Before Blair could respond, the tall man slipped away. A nearby owl called to him from a high tree. Blair stood and hugged his chest tightly feeling suddenly exposed and wishing he could become invisible.

A fellow teacher had a two-year-old baby. Once when they were playing a game in his office, she hid her eyes behind her hands, believing no one could see her. He had a crazy desire to do the same thing.

"How's the leg?"

Blair jerked back, not realizing Jim had returned. The moon picked that moment to come out from a cloud and for the first time Blair could see the worried face of Jim Ellison looking down at him. Jim's face was covered with black soot for night maneuvers. A large hand gripped his shoulder.

"Sorry, Chief." A water bottle was place in his hand. "Take a drink." Raising the open bottle to his mouth, Blair felt a surge of strong emotion tighten his throat and threaten to start the water works again. He forced himself to take a few gulps.

Shit! What was wrong with him?

Handing the bottle back, he wiped his mouth with a shaky hand. Man, he was going to lose it. He swallowed hard and kept his eyes down.

Jim must have understood. Blair found himself pulled into a tight embrace. Blair's entire body started shaking as he returned the hug. He gave himself the luxury of burying his face into Jim's shoulder for a moment, knowing they really didn't have time for this and thankful that Jim gave it to him anyway.

After a moment, Jim patted his back. "We need to move out. You okay? Need more water or take a piss?

Blair snorted a laugh, reluctantly pulling away from the taller man. He shook his head as he pushed away from Jim's chest with both hands. He still did not trust his voice to speak.

The moon was hiding again, taking the little light available with it and leaving the darkness behind. Blair resumed his position behind Jim and latched onto the sweater. Jim moved out again with complete confidence that only came to others when they walked in the sunlight. Blair limped along. If he stayed close behind Jim, he found the bigger man effectively blocked the low limbs that wanted to swing back and hit him.

There was a lesson in that somewhere.

Jim kept his dial for hearing turned up high. It was amazing how easily he could manipulate his senses when Blair was near. He'd missed Blair more that he'd realized in the last four days. When had his senses come to rely on his Guide so much?

The chop of a distant helicopter caused Jim to stop, Blair bumping into his back. He searched the dark sky out of habit, but his ears were telling him the copter was still too far away to see. After a minute, it became obvious the pilot was heading towards them. Any chance of reaching their escape vehicle disappeared like a crowd of marines when K.P. duties were posted.

Jim ran possible plans through his mind, aware of Blair's slightly elevated respiration rate behind him. Taking the physical condition of his friend into consideration, he changed direction and headed downhill. Jim smiled as Blair followed without a word. If the circumstances weren't so grim, he'd have made a joke about the length of time Blair had remained quiet. It was approaching a personal best record.

But he knew Blair was near the edge of his physical limitations. Blair had an inner strength that always came through when they found themselves in a hazardous situation. But he was beat up and still in shock. Days being someone's prisoner were hard to shake off in a few minutes. All in all, he thought Blair was doing great. But he knew the kid needed to rest, especially with that leg.

The helicopter was close now; Jim knew it would soon be visible through the trees. He picked up the pace, almost at a trot, slipping slightly on the rough slope and exposed roots that seemed to reach up and snag both men's feet. Blair stumbled behind him, dropping hard to his knees. Jim skidded to a stop, turning back to pull Blair back up to his feet. The sounds of the copter blades were close enough for normal ears to hear.

"Jim!" Blair gasped, his breath ragged from the run.

"A little further." Jim could hear the soothing sound of water moving across a rocky creek bed. He waited till Blair had re-attached a hand to his back again and started toward the sound. He reached the bank and paused, searching the options available to him. Locating a bend in the creek, he moved downstream staying close to the edge of the water.

The small creek flowed down the small mountainside in a wide bed. Obviously during the rainy seasons, the creek swelled into a fast moving river as the water rushed downwards towards the ocean. In the bend ahead, Jim hoped to find the result of what happened when tens of thousands of gallons of water hit a high bank of earth with force. Sure enough, Jim saw a shallow overhang carved out of the dirt.

He scanned the earthen shelf for possible tenants. A fox with a bushy red tail darted out and ran into the shrubs. Jim slowed as he drew near; the shelf was above the current water line by at least a foot and a half. Barring a flash flood, they should be safe.

Jim stopped. He slipped out of his pack and quickly removed a small space blanket from an outside pocket. In a few seconds he had it spread out on the dirt. He caught and pushed Blair's shoulders down until the shorter man was on his hands and knees, then pushed Blair's rump in the direction of the shallow cave.

"Get in."

He dropped down onto his knees and watched as Blair bumped into the end of the cave and turned his body so that he was lengthwise under the earthen overhang. He lowered his butt down to sit on his heels, his arms still extended straight out keeping his head and shoulders pressed against the exposed root system that hung from the low ceiling.

Blair waited as Jim placed the pack at the top of the blanket and crawled in to lie down on his back. Jim had to smile at the confusion on his friend's face. Jim was so close now; Blair didn't have room to lie down. It was going to be tight, but the helicopter was too close now to scout around for a larger shelter.

"Okay, lay on your side, you can use me for a full length pillow." Jim instructed up to Blair. Jim reached to his left and picked up the edge of the blanket and curled it around them, or at least tried too. Blair was still on his hands and knees. "Come on, Chief."

Blair lowered himself down. Jim lifted his right arm and watched his friend use his shoulder as a pillow for his head. After Blair settled in, he folded the space blanket over the top of them. As the last stiff-sounding crinkle stopped, the helicopter passed over head in a low search pattern and moved on. There would be no more hiking for them tonight.

Jim listened as Blair softly sighed and his body slowly relaxed. He laid his arm on Blair's back, pinning the paper-thin blanket around them both. The top of the blanket was level with the cuff of Blair's cap. They lay together for a few moments, just enjoying the relative safety of their current location.

"Jim?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna tell me what's going on now?"

Jim thought about it for a few minutes. Should he? Naomi hadn't told him to keep her secret. But this was her secret, her lie to explain, not Jim's. As much as he wanted to tell his best friend, he couldn't be the one to destroy his reality about his mother. That duty belonged to her.

"You going to stay awake and worry about it if I don't?"

Jim waited while Blair thought about that for a few seconds.

"Uh, probably not."

"Then no, Chief. I'm not going to tell you right now. Go to sleep."

A few more seconds clicked by.

"Jim?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't think to pack an air mattress?"

Jim lightly smacked the hip under the blanket. "Go to sleep, Blair," he ordered with an amused snort.

"Jeez, man. I was just asking."

God, he was glad to have Blair back!

Blair woke to the creepy feeling of a spider walking around under his ear. Warm fingers plucked something from his neck. Opening his eyes, he saw his world had become an unnatural blue sky and a fuzzy black earth. In a moment he realized the ground was Jim's sweater and the sky was the space blanket that had helped to keep him warm all night. He shifted; his hip was bruised and sore where it pressed against a rock.

Well, it gave him a distraction from his aching bullet injury. But more important than the hip, leg or whatever had been tap dancing on his neck was the pressing matter of his full bladder.

"Jim, I gotta go, man."

Jim unfolded their emergency bedding and eased out from under Blair. Jim seemed to move slow, even stiffly as if spending the last five hours sleeping on the ground wasn't his idea of fun either. But they were alive and free, for the moment, so Blair decided not to comment. Returning to his hands and knees, he crawled out into the morning air. The forest was draped with a low hanging mist. Blair saw that these woods were missing the abundance of evergreen that he saw in the Pacific Northwest.

Picking a direction downstream, Blair stiffly walked over and took care of his business. When he returned, he joined Jim at the waters edge and they washed their hands in the cool water. Jim removed the camouflage from his face and hands with a cloth.

"Hungry?"

"Oh, yeah. I could eat." Blair splashed his face with the cold water feeling the short stubble from a four-day beard. Jim placed a restraining hand on his arm when he began to cup the water to his mouth.

"Drink only bottled water, wait here."

He returned with his pack and under the watchful eye of Jim, Blair eagerly accepted the water and energy bar.

"Slow sips of water and chew the bar slowly."

Blair had a brief moment of indecision as he looked at both hands, which one first? Jim removed the bar from one hand, giving Blair both hands to open the bottle and start to drink.

Jim gently pulled the bottle down after Blair's third gulp. "What part of `slow sips' had you confused, Sandburg?" Jim grinned as he handed back the unwrapped bar.

Blair returned the grin, accepting the food. "Yes, dad."

As if a switch had been thrown, Jim's grin became a frown. Blair paused in the middle of his first bite.

"Jim?"

The cop stood abruptly. "Nothing, stay and eat, we're moving out in five." He climbed up to their `bed' and started folding the space blanked back into a small package.

Okay. What was that all about?

After the blanket was reduced to a small square and returned to the backpack, Jim returned to Blair's position exposed boulder by the creek. Blair munched happily on oats and nuts with dried cranberry as he watched Jim sit down beside him. He picked up Blair's left hand and pushed the black sleeve up a little to reveal a raw looking wrist.

Jim opened another pocket on the black backpack and removed a small field first aid kit. After he'd finished wrapping the left wrist, Blair switched the bar to that hand and crossed his right wrist over for the same treatment.

"Anything else?" Jim asked has he finished with the tape.

"Nope, that's it." Blair said finishing the bar and eyeing the magical pack at Jim's feet. "Got anymore of those?"

Jim grunted and opened yet another pocket. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Day before yesterday." He snatched the bar out of Jim's hands before the man could unwrap it for him. "I'll do it."

After he took his first bite, Jim removed a third bar and started his own breakfast. He finished his bar a few seconds before Jim did.

"Where to now, man?" Blair asked with a shiver. The rock was cold. He wanted to start moving knowing the activity would warm him up.

"Before we head out, you need to tell me if you have any other injuries," Jim said before popping the last bite into his mouth. He gave Blair a no nonsense look as he chewed the bar.

Blair rolled his eyes and gathered up the bottom of his sweater and T-Shirt. Turning sideways on the bank, he lifted his clothing and showed Jim his back. A footprint size bruise decorated his back, just to the right of his spine, a few inches above his jeans. Jim gently touched it, feeling the heat radiate off the injury.

"Piss any blood this morning?"

Blair shook his head, holding his position until Jim was happy. He felt the ex-medic pull down his sweater, signaling it was okay to turn back around. Jim was pulling out a small bottle. Removing the cap, he shook out four red Advil pills and handed them over. Blair accepted the medication and used the last of the water to wash them down.

"Anything else?"

"Nope."

Jim nodded, seemingly satisfied with Blair's response this time and stood. He fished something out of his front jean pocket and dropped it into Blair's open hand. "Okay, then. Guard the pack, I'll be right back."

Blair glanced down at one of his leather hair ties then watched the man disappear into the foliage, knowing he was still listening. "Here that, raccoons and squirrels? Ya gotta get through me to get to this pack."

In less than the time it took Blair to remove his cap and finger comb his hair and tie it back, Jim reappeared, striping green branches off a sturdy looking stick. Blair's face burned as he realized what Jim was fashioning for him and where he'd left the one the doctor had ordered him to use. Had it been only four days ago he'd purposefully left that cane behind in a spontaneous act of defiance? Jim had been so `in-his-face' about following the doctor's orders to the letter that Blair couldn't resist doing the opposite. He felt more than a little childish.

Jim wordlessly handed over the walking stick and picked up the pack to slip on to his shoulders. "We're looking at a few hours of walking, I want to know to minute you have any problems, got it?"

Blair used the new walk aid to push himself off the bank and studied the tip. He nodded his head in complete agreement.

"If we're lucky, we'll be sleeping on something a lot better than an air mattress tonight, Chief." Jim teased with a twinkle in his eye.

According to Jim's watch, they had been walking for twice as long as he'd estimated before he spied the paved two-lane road through the trees. They had been forced to circle around ranches and homes to stay out of sight. Leaning against a tree, Jim listened carefully to the surrounding area. Blair dropped with a grunt to sit on a fallen log. He must be warmed up by now, Jim guessed, tired as well. The cap was missing from the shorter man's head, now stuffed into the backpack. They had stopped for a break two hours ago, only because Jim ordered it. Blair seemed to refuse to acknowledge the need, stubborn kid, but he drank a second bottle of water and ate another energy bar. The supply of energy bars was down to one. If they needed to, he had small capsules he could use to help make any stream water safe, but he wasn't looking forward to drinking it.

Jim listened to a car drive by, doing about forty miles an hour. He continued to wait. So far, the search had been from the air, though he'd detected people behind them on foot as well. By now the people responsible for Blair's kidnapping had to be searching the nearby roads. He assumed they'd found the vehicle he'd left, although it wasn't a problem, as Jim had very carefully searched for anything that might identify him before leaving.

It wouldn't take a huge leap in guesswork to put two and two together and correctly guess who was behind the rescue. As soon as Blair's kidnappers checked with Cascade, they were going to learn Jim was missing. He didn't care. He was willing to stay under as long as Blair was in danger anyway. The big risk now to both men, was being hunted with dogs. Naomi's information had run an eighty percent chance they couldn't get a team of trackers together fast enough to catch them. He prayed that the other twenty percent wasn't going to bite him in the ass, literally. His automatic was strapped to his side under the sweater, just in case.

A large truck drove by. This time Blair heard the sound and stood with a hopeful expression. "Jim! We're near civilization!"

Jim grinned at his friend. "We never left it, Sandburg."

"Wha...You mean we've being walking all morning for no reason, man?" Blair was going from elated to surprised and heading towards anger with lighting speed judging from the expressions on his face.

Jim's grin slid away, replaced by a sigh. He'd better take a few minutes here. "Let's take five, Chief. We need to have a talk."

Blair continued to glare, but returned to his perch on the log, scooting down to make room.

"So spill it. And don't think I'm not totally thankful for the `cavalry-to-the-rescue' scene you did last night, man. But what the hell is going on?"

"I told you it's complicated and I wasn't kidding. We're in some serious deep shit right now." Jim scrubbed his face, letting some of his exhaustion show for the first time in the last twelve hours. Last night while Blair slept, he'd listened to the men searching for his partner. Several times they passed within hailing distance of them. God, when was the last time he'd had more than a few hours of sleep? Sunday? Saturday?

"Jim!" Blair nervously clutched his hiking staff.

Jim clapped a hand on the back of Blair's neck and squeezed lightly, forcing himself to smile. Blair looked scared.

"Sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to sound so grim. We're going to be okay. I just meant that for a few days, we can't come in."

"Come in? When did we go out?" Blair looked more confused than scared now as he watched Jim's face carefully.

"I mean we can't go home right now."

Jim watched as Blair tried to wrap his mind around that idea. "Can we call Simon?"

Jim shook his head.

"We can't call for `any help?"

"No." Jim gave another squeeze. "We're going to practice a little military `escape and evade' for a while."

Blair's dropped his eyes to watch a beetle lumber across the ground. "Was it some thing I did? Did I screw up again?" he asked, his quiet voice sounding miserable.

"No, Sandburg. I can, without hesitation, tell you that in no way, no how, you're to blame for this. Am I getting through your thick head or do you want it in writing?" Jim shook Blair slightly by the neck as he spoke.

Blair snorted and weakly slapped Jim in the chest with his hand. Jim was pleased to see a ghost of a smile appear, but it was gone in the next sigh. Blair looked awful. His hair was filthy. His unshaved face made him look scruffy. He smelled like someone that had not bathed in days. He was like a person living on the street, without any hope for a different life. Seeing Blair in this condition was a shock.

The sound of another truck driving down the road reached their ears.

"Jim, I really don't want to play army right now. I want to go home," Blair said, as if he already knew what Jim was going to tell him.

"Sorry, buddy. It's just not an option." Jim hated doing this. He hated Naomi right now more than anyone he'd ever hated before in his life.

"Don't I get a say in this?"

Blair was beginning to come across with a little more attitude. It was time to nip any thought of mutiny that was sprouting in that curly head right in the bud.

"No. You don't," Jim said slowly with emphasis. "And if I catch you trying to give me the slip or making a phone call, you're going to find yourself `my' prisoner, understand?"

Blair gave a small smile, his eyes still on the ground. "Well, at least I know your thoughts on the subject, Jim." He poked at the beetle with his staff; it had stopped in the middle of the path. Blair urged it into the high grass.

"I'm serious, Sandburg. If you let `anyone' know where you are, you're back in their hands and I'm dead."

Blair's head whipped around, his face openly displaying real fear. "Okay, man. I swear. I won't do anything until I clear it with you." Blair clutched Jim's arm. "I mean it, man. You're the boss."

Jim gave him a nod, but schooled his expression to remain stern.

"We're going to make it, Chief. I promise."

Jim gave Blair the last energy bar then they walked parallel to the road for several miles, staying in the cover of the woods. It was harder work and Blair finally had stopped asking why they just couldn't walk on the shoulder. Jim had to smile, Blair would let him be the boss, but he never promised to be a quiet subordinate.

Still, as he watched Blair stumble through a particularly thick, bushy spot, he gave the man some due. It was not an easy trek for Jim, and he wasn't recovering from a bullet wound.

Looking through the trees, Jim recognized a large oak snag that had been killed from a lightning strike years ago.

Finally, they had made it.

"Take a breather, Chief," Jim ordered.

Blair dropped to the ground. "Man, the charge of the Light Brigade was easier than following a bossy sentinel."

Locating a pile of tree limbs, Jim began pulling the top branches off and throwing them to one side.

"Uh, Jim? You okay, man?"

"Stay put, Sandburg," Jim told him. The pile was shrinking in size. Bits of chrome started to peek out between the leaves.

After a few minutes, he had an old Suzuki 1100 motorcycle uncovered. It was in need of a wash, road dirt dulled the maroon-colored fairing and rear luggage box. One side of the windshield had a crack in the Plexiglas. Its tires looked in good condition. Before paying for the bike with the money Naomi had provided, he had taken it for a test run. The bike had good speed and sounded in fair condition. Jim rolled it out into the clearing.

"Oh, wow! Where did this come from?" Blair was at his side, reaching for the black helmet hanging on the handlebars.

"I stashed it here yesterday. This is plan `B'. Plan `A' died when the helicopter started searching for us last night."

"Awesome! I am `so' into giving my feet a rest. I didn't even know you rode." Blair had the helmet on and was fiddling with the chinstraps. "What was plan `C', man?"

Jim opened the rear compartment and pulled out a heavy jacket. "Didn't have one." He handed the jacket to Blair and pulled out a larger one for himself.

Jim had ensured that Blair's clothes, the bike and their coats were secondhand to avoid attracting attention, but the full-face helmets were brand new. He'd mussed them up a little with grease and let dirty water dry on them, but they were the best he could buy.

After stowing the backpack into the same compartment he'd taken the jackets from, he pushed the bike through the bushes and out onto the road. Jim straddled the bike, the powerful motor roared to life. He nodded his head for Blair to get on behind him.

Holding his stick up, Blair pointed to it with his free hand. Jim made a throwing gesture with his hand toward the woods. The stick sailed into the brush. Reaching back to grip Blair by the waist of his jeans to steady him, Jim watched over his shoulder as Blair slowly worked his injured leg up and over the seat. Finally, Blair was settled in.

"Hold on!" Jim shouted over the motor.

"Got it," Blair answered grasping the bars that supported the luggage box behind him.

Jim twisted sideways and took one of Blair's arms off the bar. He wrapped it around his own waist.

"I mean, hold on to me! Both hands!"

"Oh."

Blair fought sleep as they rode. The sound of the tires on the asphalt, the vibration of the motorcycle and the warm sun on his back all combined to lull him into a doze. More than once, he came fully awake from the sound of his helmet hitting the back of Jim's. Both of his hands were hooked by his fingers into Jim's belt, Blair could feel the holstered gun that the cop was wearing.

Without a watch, Blair didn't know the time, but he guessed they had been riding for a few hours. They rode without stopping, sticking to small two lane roads and bypassing any major cities. The road signs told him they were in the eastern part of the United States. Jim kept the bike pointed in a southwestern direction. The sun felt so good. Blair shifted in the seat and closed his eyes, just enjoying the heat.

Tap.

"Oops, sorry, man."

Jim responded by slowing the bike down and pulling into a gravel parking lot in front of an old-fashion looking hamburger stand. Blair sat up with sudden interest.

Food!

The bike coasted over to the far corner of the parking lot, into the shade of a tree. Jim killed the engine. He gave Blair a nod to dismount. Blair groaned as he slid sideways, on to his good leg and eased his injured one off the saddle. He felt Jim's hand snag his arm to steady him.

Together they got the bike high-centered onto its stand, then Jim removed his helmet and rubbed his forehead with one hand.

"You ready for some food?" he asked as he reattached the chinstrap and hung his helmet on the nearest handlebar.

"Oh, yeah. I'm starving!" Blair eagerly set his own helmet on the seat and started across the large gravel lot towards the outside order window.

Jim stopped with a hand on his arm. "Not so fast, Sandburg. You walk over there with that face, and everyone's going to remember seeing you. Tell me what you want and I'll go get it."

Blair rolled his eyes, the thought of food so close was too much. "Jim, give it a rest, we've got to be hundreds of miles and three states away from that horse ranch."

Jim jerked him back to stand near the bike. "Sit. Down. And. Wait."

"Fine." Blair said. "Get me a sandwich. Turkey or chicken, whatever. And a big order of onion rings." Blair grabbed Jim's arm as he started to turn. "Hold it, man. I'm just getting started here! Give me a pen, I'll write this down."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Just give me the order, Godzilla, I'll remember it."

A few minutes later, Jim stood in line behind a large family of six. Hyperactive kids raced around their parents and the outside picnic tables. Blair watched from the bike, listening to the pinging sounds coming from the bike as it cooled down. The aroma of food floated on the breeze. Blair's stomach growled in response. He wanted to jump off the bike to push his way past the line and into the window and start eating everything in sight.

"Oh, man. This is going to take forever! Just flash your badge and cut in, Jim," Blair whispered with a groan, half serious. Jim tossed him an exasperated look. Blair wasn't sure if Jim was directing the look at him or the kids.

Just then a black Cherokee pull into the opposite end of the parking lot. Blair watched Jim step out of line and walk over to a nearby picnic table.

"What the heck?" Blair muttered.

Jim casually picked up some trash left on a picnic table and even went so far as to wipe his mouth with a napkin. Crossing to a nearby garbage can, he tossed the wrappers and paper cup away and headed back toward Blair.

"Hey, man! What about the food?" Blair blurted out as his friend neared.

"Get your helmet on," Jim ordered. Blair opened his mouth to ask why. Jim picked up the Blair's helmet and thrust it into his hands. "Now, Chief. No questions."

Blair eased his leg over the seat and pushed himself backwards, making room Jim. He didn't even have the strap threaded through the two `D' rings before they were back on the road.

Blair was numb with disappointment. His thoughts briefly flashed back to his freshman year in high school. His mom had promised he could finish his year at a school that he really liked. But the next day, when he got home from classes, he found all their stuff loaded into the van. No explanation, no appeal, no nothing.

Blair's stomach rumbled, this time painfully. He let the front of his helmet purposefully tap the back of Jim's.

"You'd better have a good reason for torturing me like this, man."

He felt Jim pat his left leg then they accelerated down the road.

Jim read the approaching billboard for a Super 8 motel more than a mile down the 2-lane road. He was still nervous after the near miss with the Cherokee earlier in the day. Thankfully, he'd overheard the two men inside talking about Blair. Neither man noticed them leaving on the bike. Since then, Jim had only stopped once. That stop couldn't be avoided. The bike had been down to a few drops of gas. He'd ordered Blair not to remove his helmet as he left him to fill the tank. After paying for the fuel with cash, he dropped a pack of Starburst fruit chews into Blair's hand before they continued down the road.

Now they were nearing the outskirts of Memphis. It was past midnight. The pressure of Blair's weight on Jim's back told him that Blair had fallen asleep. If Jim continued any more riding tonight, he'd most likely fall asleep as well.

With the sound of the bike downshifting, Blair shifted and sat back up. Jim patted his leg and pointed to the motel sign.

"Okay, sounds good," he heard Blair mutter around a yawn.

After ringing the doorbell, Jim got the clerk to let him into the office and started the paperwork for checking in. The bike was parked out front where Jim could keep an eye on it.

"Will you and Mrs. McDonald be staying more that one night?"

Jim picked up the fake ID that Naomi had given him and glanced over his shoulder at Blair. With the bulky coat and the brown hair poking out from the bottom of his helmet, he could be mistaken for a woman.

"No, we're on our way to New York to visit her sister. One night is all we need."

Wait until Blair finds out about this.

Their room was on the ground floor in the back of the building. Jim unlocked the door and flipped on the light switch. It was small but clean. A bathroom was visible through an open door to their left. A low set of dresser drawers doubled as a coffee station with a small Mr. Coffee and packets of grounds. The green floral bedspread was dulled from multiple washing. Jim closed the door, locking it at the knob and the safety chain.

Blair worked at the strap under his chin and removed his helmet. "My body wants to crash. My stomach wants to eat. I can't decide who to listen to, man." He fell face down on the bed with a groan. His next sentence was muffled as he spoke into the bedspread. "Jim, did I just walk into a motel room with a single bed?"

"Yep." Jim set his helmet down on the dresser and headed for the bathroom. "Don't leave the room, Sandburg. I checked you in as Mrs. McDonald. You're going to confuse the staff if they see you as a man."

Blair sat up. "What did you say?"

"The night clerk just assumed we were a couple, that's why we have a single. It's a better cover than two men checking in."

When Jim re-entered the room, Blair slowly pushed himself off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Jim rummaged around in his backpack. "If you want, I'll go get us some food at the corner gas station, they have a food mart."

"I want, man. I definitely want. Can you get a razor? I'm gonna shower and I really need a shave." He disappeared into the bathroom.

Jim had a large sack in his hand when he returned to their room. The shower was still running, telling him he'd better wait till morning if he wanted any hot water. Removing a few items they would need that night, he entered the steamy bathroom.

"Hey, you want that razor now?"

"Sure, thanks, man."

Jim stuck his arm over the top of the curtain rod. "High."

The razor was carefully taken out of his fingers.

Jim picked up a small bottle of shampoo with cream rinse added and held it over the curtain. "Here, for your hair."

"Awesome, man. Thanks."

A clean and whisker-free Blair walked into the room a few minutes later. A white towel wrapped around his waist. Jim had set out hotdogs, chips, chocolate milk and peanut butter crackers. He watched as Blair grabbed a hotdog and ripped off the wrapper, shoving half of it into his mouth. Blair began to eye the rest of the food items greedily as he chewed.

"It's all yours. Just do me a favor and eat it slowly, okay?"

Blair gave Jim a guilty look and nodded. The food was consumed at a slower rate, giving Jim time to get out more Advil and a clean pair of boxers for Blair to sleep in.

"Jeez, man." Blair exclaimed as the underwear was laid out next to where he sat. "You got a free weekend in Mexico in there too?"

Jim scratched his head with a wry grin. "In a way. I have some fake I.D. for both of us, good enough to get us into Mexico, if we need to."

Blair had finished the hotdog and chips. He had the crackers opened and was reaching for the milk. "Mexico?"

"Maybe, we'll see." Jim reached out and snagged a bag of chips for himself. He didn't have the energy at the moment to discuss why they were running. Frankly, Jim was amazed that Blair wasn't demanding an explanation.

Blair sat on the edge of the bed, drinking the last of the milk. When Jim handed the Advil over, Blair swallowed them and yawned. He set the uneaten crackers back on the dresser and reached for the boxers. "I can't stay awake any longer, man."

By the time Jim had double-checked the locks, turned off the light to the bathroom and tossed the trash from their picnic, Blair was already under the blankets.

"Night, Jim."

Jim flipped the switch by the door and stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers. Blair had left him the side of the bed near the door, which was just fine with him. He got under the covers, flipping the top spread off him and doubling up over Blair.

"Try not to kick me, Sandburg."

Blair answered with a snore.

The next day they crossed over the state line into the rolling plains of Texas. The sky was heavy with angry, dark clouds that threatened unpleasantness. Jim eyed the storm warily. Riding a motorcycle could be an exhilarating experience, but not in a storm. As if God himself threw a switch, the clouds began to toss large grape-size hailstones. He heard Blair yelp in pain and felt him curl his body in close.

The landscape they rode through was bleak. No trees or shelter in sight. Jim had picked this route because of its remoteness. That was turning out to be a disadvantage. Jim twisted the throttle on the handle-bar, increasing the bike's speed. Most of the hailstones were deflected by the large nose and windshield of the bike, but Blair was too far back to benefit.

"Stay close!" Jim yelled over his shoulder. Blair drew closer, flinching each time a stone struck a part of his body.

Shit, he had to find shelter. Fast.

Using his sentinel vision like a zoom lens on a camera, Jim spotted a dry wash over a mile ahead. It ran under the road and looked like the best shelter they were likely to find out here. As they neared, he slowed down and parked on the shoulder of the road. Thankfully no cars had passed them for the last half an hour. The bike would be safe while they waited the storm out.

Kicking the side stand down, Jim dismounted and quickly pulled Blair off the bike. He retrieved the pack from its compartment and headed for the wash, towing Blair. The hailstones hit his shoulders and arms with tiny painful blows that stung even through his layers of clothes. Thankfully the helmet protected both their heads from any injury.

The ground was becoming white from the hail, causing them both to slip and slid. Blair stumbled, almost going to his knees except for Jim's hand around his upper arm, yanking him back up onto his feet. They scrambled towards the large metal pipe under the asphalt road. During the rainy season, when the wash would fill with water, the pipe would allow the flow to run safely under the road without eroding it away.

"Hold it, Chief." Jim held Blair back and scanned the dark interior carefully for snakes, finding none. "Okay."

The pipe was large, about five feet in diameter. Both men ducked their heads low. The ribbed metal floor was covered with loose rocks, causing both men to slip a little as they entered.

Blair pulled his helmet off and slid slowly down to sit on his butt, his arms propped on knees, gasping for breath and shivering. "Oh, man!"

"Yeah." Jim removed his own helmet and sat down in front of Blair, sitting at a ninety-degree angle to watch the storm. He wanted to keep an eye on the dry bed, knowing he would hear the water long before it arrived. The last thing they needed was a flash flood. "You said it."

Blair rested his head in both hands. "God, I feel like a slab of meat that's just been tenderized with a mallet!"

"Sorry, Sandburg. I didn't figure a hailstorm into the situation."

Blair started laughing. It sounded good to hear that laugh. Jim had missed it, even though he thought it was currently tinged with a dash of hysteria.

"Oh, my God, Jim. Listen to yourself, man! Now you're taking responsibility for the weather." He smacked Jim's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Lighten up, even Superman couldn't control the storms. Now, if you were one of the X-men; now that chick with the white hair could really..."

"Sandburg, are you okay?"

Blair pulled his hair out of its tie and scratched his scalp with both hands. "Yeah, man. I'm cool."

"You need more Advil?"

He shook his head. "Nah, but I wouldn't turn down a hot tub. You manage to pack one of those?"

Jim returned the smile and rolled his eyes. He removed a water bottle from the pack and handed it over. "This is the best I can do, Chief."

Blair accepted the bottle and took a long drink. Jim was happy to see Blair's swollen lip was getting better. The black eye was starting to fade but was still a visible reminder of what Blair had gone through that week.

"Jim. What's going on, man?" Blair rolled the bottle between the palms of his hands as he asked. "I know you saved my ass. I understand we have to keep moving to avoid being recaptured." Blair raised his head to look Jim squarely in the eyes. "I just don't know why."

Jim rubbed his forehead, unable to hold eye contact with his friend. "I told you it's complicated..."

"NO!" Blair's voice bounced off the curved walls of their shelter. "You are NOT going to pull that shit!" He snapped his mouth shut and hid his face behind the water bottle. Jim watched him breath deeply a few times. When the hands were lowered, Blair looked calmer.

"Okay, okay. That was over the top, sorry. I'm a little freaked out here." Blair handed the bottle back. "Please, man. Just tell me what's going on."

Jim took the bottle out of the hands and replaced the cap.

"Listen. I'm not just blowing you off when I say it's complicated. I don't know much. I was handed your location and the means to get you out. Frankly, at the time, that's all I cared about. You were being used to influence some person in a powerful position, to get this person to do something out of character and possibly at risk to national security."

Blair's eyes narrowed, his brow wrinkled in intense concentration. Then he shook his head wordlessly. Before he could say anything, Jim glanced outside to see large raindrops had replaced the hailstones.

"Come on, Chief. The storm's switched to the rinse cycle, let's ride." Jim stood and brushed the seat of his jeans with both hands. He grasped the hand that Blair raised and hoisted the frowning man to his feet.

The scenery flew by Blair at sixty miles an hour. He clutched Jim's belt with his mitten-covered hands. Before they had started riding, Blair had put the sweater back on, under the coat. It didn't help, he was still shivering. How could Texas be so cold? The fact that his jeans were wet didn't exactly help matters much. Jim had promised they'd stop in the next town that had a motel. He couldn't wait.

He leaned in closer to his friend, hoping to steal whatever heat he could from the bigger man. The broken yellow line painted on the wet asphalt was inches from his booted foot. Blair watched it in almost a trance. The effect of the moving dashes was like a yellow blinking light.

He purposefully let his mind become mesmerized by the effect of the painted line. It was a relief to stop thinking about the statement Jim had made in the pipe.

National security?

Blair Sandburg?

I don't think so.

He'd been pondering it for the past hour while he shivered. He was tired of thinking about it.

Man, Texas was huge! How far to the next town? The last couple of communities they had passed through only had farms and a gas station. One had an old singlewide trailer turned into a post office.

His thoughts returned to the reason for their travels. He had been so stunned at Jim's statement, he didn't think to ask who the `very important person' was. Why would this bigwig care about what happened to some grad student from Cascade, Washington?

If Blair didn't know better, he'd accuse Jim of using the motorcycle to prevent them from continuing their talk. Sure Blair could talk and Jim would hear him. But hearing what Jim said was another story. The wind snatched away every other word Jim said. No way could Blair understand anything more than `hold on' or `stay awake'.

He realized that their time in the pipe was the first time they'd had a chance to talk since the rescue. That morning, Jim had hustled him onto the bike before sunup after eating the food items left over on the dresser. Blair would have expected to be starving by now, but he wasn't. In fact the thought of food actually turned his stomach. Now it had to be close to dinnertime judging by the fading light. Blair still wasn't hungry, for food that is, he was starving for a warm dry bed.

The bike gears dropped a level, a signal that Jim was slowing down. Blair leaned out a bit to see around his back.

A motel? He looked down the road hopefully.

A small log cabin style restaurant appeared down the road. A few cars and several trucks were parked in front. Blair ducked back behind his wind block, disappointed to learn they were only stopping for food, not sleep.

"Okay, Sandburg. Let's get out of the rain for a bit." Jim waited for Blair to slide his leg over the seat before he got off and pulled the bike onto its stand. They hung their helmets on the handles. "No names while we're inside. Try not to attract any attention."

Blair eyed the eatery. It was obviously a barbeque. The first clue was the name on the large sign above the building `The Warthog', the second clue couldn't be missed as they entered the front doors. Mounted heads of wild pigs, antelope and other animals hung on the walls. Everywhere they looked the gleaming peeled logs were decorated with hunting and animal trophies.

"I suppose asking to see the vegetarian menu would fall under the category of attracting attention," Blair muttered under his breath. The place was over half full of diners. He shivered as they walked towards an empty table in the corner. It felt as if the air conditioning was on, for crying out loud.

Jim set the backpack under the table and draped his coat over the back of the bench seat. He sat facing the front door, reaching for the menus tucked behind squirt bottles of barbeque and hot sauce. Blair sat with his shoulders hunched, hugging his chest.

"Ribs smell good, what are you getting?"

"Pneumonia, you think they'd turn the damn heat up in here." Blair ignored the menu and pulled the collar of his coat tight. The coat was fairly waterproof, but Blair's jeans and boots were soaked.

"You need food. Order something hot."

Blair shook his head. "I think I'd end up just hurling if I ate anything, J--, man."

"Hi! Y'all ready to order?"

Blair looked up at the young woman wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a `Warthog' apron over a red T-shirt. She looked about nineteen.

"I'll have a rack of pork ribs with cornbread and a coffee. What's your soup today?"

"Chicken `n carrot with noodles." She showed off her dimples. "My dad makes it himself. Everyone loves it." Her Texas accent caused Blair to smile through his misery.

"Okay, you sold me. Large bowl with crackers and some tea." Jim folded the menu.

She nodded and looked at Blair. "How `bout you, sir?"

Blair shook his head. "Nothing, thanks."

She frowned. "You okay? Ya look a mite chilled."

Blair looked at Jim, unsure how to respond.

"We're on a bike, got caught in the hailstorm. He's a little cold-blooded," Jim explained.

"Oh, honey, I'm the same way." She looked around the dining room briefly. "Y'all follow me."

They followed her to a flight of stairs, which took them up to a smaller empty room with tables and chairs.

"The local lodge uses this room for their meetin's." She pulled a space heater away from the corner and pulled it in. "You just sit down and warm up. I'll bring your food up."

Blair felt a wave of blessed warmth as he sat. "Oh, wow. Thank you." He leaned forward and extended both hands towards the heater.

"Thank you, miss. We really appreciate this." Jim gave her a genuine smile that Blair suspected warmed the woman up as well.

"You're welcome." She leaned closer to whisper. "My boyfriend rides a Harley. Pa hates it, but I love to ride with him."

After the meal arrived, Jim moved the soup and tea over to Blair's side of the table.

"I told you, I'm not hungry," Blair said with a frown. He didn't have time to eat. He was too busy getting warm.

"Eat, the soup will help," Jim ordered.

Jim could hear the waitress climbing the stairs, probably to bring the bill. He eyed the half-empty bowl of soup with a scowl. Blair had to be coaxed, threatened and pleaded with, just to get him to eat what he did. Jim hated to acknowledge the inevitable.

Blair was sick.

The four days of being slowly starved, dehydrated and exposed to the temperatures followed by their escape had wiped out his resistance. He watched as Blair reached out to scoot the space heater closer. This time, Jim left it. They had been quietly fighting all through dinner over its position. Jim was sure that Blair was trying to climb into the damn thing.

Well, no matter. Dinner was over and they were getting back on the road. Unfortunately, the rain did not show signs of letting up. He watched the waitress approach with a small slip of paper.

"Anythin' else? We got hot apple crisp tonight." She laid the bill on the table and started collecting the dishes.

"No, thanks anyway." Jim stood and set a twenty down on the table. "Keep the change, thanks again for the heater."

"Sure!" She slipped the bill into her apron pocket. "Y'all on vacation?"

"Kind of. Can you tell us where the nearest motel is? I think we're going to have to wait this storm out."

"Used to be one in Applewood, but it burned down last year. Been talk of buildin' a nice Holiday Inn at Four Corners." She sighed and shook her head. "Y'all probably have ta' go all the way to Lubbock or Forth Worth, pendin' on your direction."

Jim nodded. "Okay, thanks again, the ribs were good."

Within thirty minutes of riding, Jim felt the familiar pressure of Blair asleep on his back. It was dark, the rain hitting the blacktop at a steady rate. Back in the restaurant, he'd been able to pick up a radio playing in the kitchen. The news was warning people of flashfloods in the area. The night promised to be another long ride judging from the waitress' report regarding the nearest motel. It wouldn't be a problem if Blair weren't sick.

He decided to avoid both of the major cities the waitress had suggested, just in case Blair's kidnappers were able to track them this far. He made a slow, wide turn at the intersection called `Four Corners' careful not to cause Blair to tilt. Maybe if he crossed over into Oklahoma they could find a decent place for the night.

Soon they were riding through the dark rolling plains of scrubland, leaving the green fields of grain behind. Jim could see the normally dry washes filling with runoff from the storm. The headlights of an approaching truck caused Jim to dial down his vision. The truck slowed and without warning, turned in front of them.

Jim squeezed both brakes for the front and rear tires, aware that the wet road would cause them to hydroplane out of control if he wasn't careful. At the same time, he knew Blair was at risk of falling if he did any extreme maneuvering. He could see the land next to the road was relatively flat. Leaving the asphalt behind, Jim missed the truck by inches and let the trajectory of the bike take them out through the low sagebrush.

"Jimmm!" Blair yelled from behind as he felt Blair's arms wrap tightly around his chest.

Good, at least he wasn't going to fall off the bike now.

Jim began to believe they were going to be all right, when the front tire hit a large rock. The rubber split as the tire blew out. Before Jim could stop it, the bike was sideways and they were leaning over, the ground rushing by under their left shoulders as the bike continued to travel on its side, tires first, over the wet ground.

"Hold on!"

He was answered with a bear hug that left him breathless. After several long seconds that seemed like days, the friction started to build and the forward momentum of the bike and riders slowed. Until they came to rest, the bike pinning both men's left leg into the mud.

Jim started pushing frantically to free himself. He scooted out from under the bike on his butt. "Sandburg! You okay?"

Blair nodded as he pushed himself off the muddy ground with both hands. Jim lifted the bike up by the handlebars, holding it off Blair's leg until he could roll free, then let it fall back.

"What happened, man?" Blair sat up, pulling off his filthy, wet mittens and removing his helmet.

Jim lifted his own helmet off and glanced back at the road. "A truck turned in front of me." He looked back at Blair. "You sure you're okay? Did the exhaust pipe burn you?" Jim asked.

"I'm fine." Blair struggled to stand, but his right leg folded each time he attempted to put any weight on it.

Jim lifted him up with a firm grip on his arm. "You're not fine, Sandburg. Is your bullet wound hurting again?"

"Y'all okay?" a weak voice called out from the road. Jim could see through the darkness that the driver of the truck was an elderly woman. She stood on the shoulder of the road looking in their direction, but not able to see either man clearly.

"We're going to need some help here," Jim shouted back at her. He draped Blair's right arm around his shoulder and started back towards the road, pulling Blair along.

"Jim, what are you doing, man?" Blair hissed, either from anger or pain, Jim wasn't sure.

"You're done for the night, Chief, so's the bike. The least the woman can do is take us somewhere warm and dry."

As they neared the road, the driver of the truck spotted them. "I'm a damn fool!" She looked about sixty to sixty-five years old. Her shoulders were starting to stoop from age, but she could still set a mean pace as she walked towards them, her face set in an angry frown. She arrived to take Blair's other arm and help guide him over the terrain.

"Get him in the cab, we can see about your bike afterwards," she ordered to Jim.

Jim nodded. "Didn't you see my headlights?"

If she noticed the angry way Jim asked the question, she didn't show it. "'Course I did, young man. I just can't tell how close y'all are. I don't drive at night much anymore, damn storm made me late."

They reached the truck, still sitting sideways in the road, its motor running. Jim opened the passenger door and lifted Blair with one hand under his leg and the other around his back. Blair used his hands to help pull himself in. Soon he was sitting in the bench seat. Jim adjusted a heat vent to blow warm air towards him.

"Aaah. Thanks, man."

"Stay here and warm up, I'm going to get our stuff from the bike."

Blair nodded, his eyes already closed and his head back against the seat. Jim turned to face the woman.

"Helen Tidwell." She thrust out her hand.

"McDonald." Jim shook it.

"Got some long two by sixes, we can get your motorbike into the back and I'll drive y'all to the hospital in Lubbock.

Jim rubbed his forehead. He liked the idea of bringing the bike along, but he did not want Blair go through the paperwork of an E.R. visit.

"He doesn't need a hospital, he hurt his leg a while ago, this just aggravated it some. We were on our way to find a place to sleep for the night. He's sick."

"What the hell are you doing draggin' him around in the rain for?" Helen asked.

"He just started showing the symptoms today," Jim answered, a little exasperated with the old woman.

"Shoot. I caused this, you both can stay at my place `til he's well."

Jim was looking for a ride to the nearest motel, not an invitation to stay at the woman's home. "You don't even know us," he protested.

She snorted. "I know I ran ya off the road. Now, if you're done gettin' me soaked to the skin, let's get that scooter of yours and get out of this gully washer."

Soon they were driving cross-country, having left the paved road behind. Jim hugged Blair close to his side as Helen navigated another detour in the dirt road. The numerous potholes had filled with water from the rainfall. Helen obviously knew the route, but Jim thought she was driving way too fast for the current road conditions.

"Would you just slow down, please?" Jim braced himself with both feet and tightened his grip on Blair who was sitting next to him. How in hell was Blair able to sleep through this?

"Relax, you're worse than a two-day old colt. If we don't keep movin' in this muck, we'll get stuck." She wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right.

Jim released his right hand from Blair's arm and latched on to the door, leaving just his left arm around Blair's shoulders to keep him from sliding into the driver. That's all they needed right now. He was less then pleased when he realized there were no functioning seatbelts in the cab. Blair had fallen into a deep sleep as soon as he stopped shivering. Jim could feel the fever in his friend's body. At first, Jim had tried keeping him awake, but soon gave it up. It was tiring him out and irritating the hell out of Blair.

A small distant light in the rolling scrubland came into view. Jim zoomed through the darkness and saw a single-story house built with a sloping flat roof supported on whole timber round beams. The walls were constructed out of adobe-like material. Jim released a thankful sigh as he repositioned Blair's lolling head back on his shoulder.

Helen brought the truck to rest in an area between the house and a barn apparently reserved for parking. Past the barn was a short row of pens, housing wet goats that bleated out a welcome. Jim could hear the sound of water flowing in the darkness. They must be near a river.

"I'll help you with him."

"Go ahead. I can manage."

"Suit ya'self." She disappeared into the rain.

"Come on, Sandburg. Give me a break here." He lightly slapped Blair's feverish cheek. "Open your eyes."

"Ummm..."

"I'm not carrying you, Chief."

"Jim...?"

"Yeah. There's a warm bed waiting for you, but you've got to walk to it, understand?"

Blair opened his eyes and looked around. "'Kay."

Jim supported Blair as they started to make a break for the low porch. The muddy ground was treacherous, forcing Jim to slow their pace and once again become drenched. Reaching the safety of the front porch, Helen stood ready with two dry towels.

"Just leave your boots n' wet things out here. I'll get a blanket."

Jim tossed a towel over Blair's wet curls and started briskly rubbing. Blair's balance began to deteriorate under the onslaught.

"There's a chair behind you." Jim guided him safely into a bent willow rocker. After he was satisfied the hair was as dry as he could manage, he started to unlace Blair's boots.

"Where are we, man?" Blair asked, becoming more alert as he used the towel to dry his face.

"The woman that ran us off the road is letting us stay with her tonight," Jim replied. "Take off your coat."

"It's too cold."

"I'll wrap you in a blanket. Your clothes are soaked."

"Oh." He blinked slowly. "I hate Texas, man."

"Don't tell that to a Texan, Chief." Jim finished with one boot and started on the other.

"It's `posed to be hot. Somebody lied," Blair whined as he started to fumble with the zipper.

"Quiet, here she comes."

Helen reappeared with a large blanket. Blair was fighting to remove his coat. His arm was stuck somewhere in the fabric. Helen set the blankets on a low side table constructed out of small twigs, and pulled on the offending sleeve then helped Blair with his other arm. "You're burnin' up, child." She laid a hand on Blair's forehead.

The dark sky exploded with light as a large bolt of lightening flashed a few miles to the west. Before Jim had a chance to react, a boom of thunder followed close behind. Falling to his knees onto the hard packed dirt in front of Blair, Jim clapped both hands over his ears.

"Your dials, man!" Blair slid out of his seat and leaned close to whisper, his own hands on top of Jim's. "Turn them down. Eight, seven, six...until you see two and hold it."

Jim's face relaxed from the pain induced grimace. "I'm good." He patted Blair's arm.

"You okay?" Helen asked, wrapping the blanket around Blair's body and giving Jim a worried look.

Jim nodded, pulling Blair up to stand with him. "Yeah, I have sensitive ears."

"Well, I tell you what, you'd be on your knees a lot this time of year. This toad choker is pretty common in May. We'll be lucky if the river stays inside its banks."

Between Jim and Helen, they managed to get Blair into the house. She led them through a small living room and down a short hallway towards a back bedroom.

"My kids are grown, this is a guest room now." She flipped on a light to reveal two twin beds and a small student desk. A low bookcase stood under the window. Jim noted the window casing was thick, the adobe walls were authentic. He guessed this place must be an original homestead.

"This is fine, thanks."

"Get him into bed `n I'll fix some tea." She closed the door, giving the men some privacy.

After Jim got Blair out of his wet clothes and into the bed, he examined the red healing bullet hole on Blair's light thigh. It was still healing fine and didn't look infected. He draped the extra blanket on top of his friend. Blair was shaking hard from his head to his feet, even though Jim could feel the heat coming from his body.

"Jim, we can't stay, man." Blair mumbled with his eyes closed.

"We're okay, Chief," Jim said, patting his shoulder. "Try and relax. I'm going to get something for your fever. I'll be right back."

Jim ran to the truck. Climbing into the bed, he stepped around the rope he'd used to secure it from falling over and retrieved the backpack. Blair needed that fever brought down. All Jim had was the Advil but it would help. He jogged back to the porch and toed off his boots again. The rain was still falling. Jim noticed each corner of the house had a large rain barrel that caught the precious water for future use. At home in Cascade, the population would laugh at such a plan.

Jim entered their temporary bedroom to find Helen bending over Blair. A bottle of green medicine sat on the desk.

"He's gettin' a mite agitated. I brought some medicine."

Jim nodded, hoping Blair hadn't been blurting out their life story while he was outside. He should have taken the time to listen. "Thanks."

She pointed to a wash bowl sitting in the straight back wooden chair. "The water's hot. If he wants to clean up. I'll bring in the tea when it's done." She left the room.

Jim eyed Blair on the bed. His face was covered in mud from their unexpected trip off-road. He lay on his side, back to the wall with his eyes closed. The shivering was not so bad right now as he was cocooned under several wool blankets.

"Okay, partner. Wake up for me." Jim shook a shoulder and reached for the nighttime cold medicine.

Blair was not easily woken. He'd found a warm spot, apparently and was not too interested in giving it up. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and coaxed him into a sitting position. Preparing the medicine, he got Blair to swallow an adult dose of green syrup. He smiled briefly at the face Blair made as it slid down his throat.

"Real tasty, huh, Chief?" Jim said, easing the sick man back down. Taking the washcloth, Jim dipped it into the warm water. Blair's eyes fluttered open as Jim began to carefully run the cloth over his face.

"Jim..."

"Still here."

"Wha'..."

"Relax. I'm just cleaning you up before you sleep."

"Oh." Blair closed his eyes again and sighed.

After the job was finished and the water in the basin was brown from the effort, Jim removed one of the wool blankets and drew the others up to Blair's chin. He didn't want to make the fever worse. Blair had fallen into a sound asleep half way through the `bath'. The removal of the mud from his face brought out the fading bruises. Jim noticed the dark circles under his friend's eyes that had nothing to do with the beating.

He leaned back and scrubbed his face. His watch told him it was only nine at night, but Jim felt like it was two in the morning. He let his gaze roam. Helen had said this was her children's room. Any evidence of them had long since been removed. The books in the case had titles relating to raising goats, gardening and a few farmers' almanacs. No husband or significant other had made an appearance when they arrived. She must be living out here alone. Jim shook his head at the foolishness of a woman bringing two strange men home to an empty house.

Helen chose that moment to return with two cups of tea. She eyed the man sleeping in bed and stopped.

"I reckon this won't be needed."

Jim stood and reached out to accept a cup. "He's probably going to sleep all night."

"Well, he looks like he needs it." She handed over a mug and raised the other to her lips, as she studied Blair's face. "What did that boy tangle with?"

"Can we talk somewhere else? I don't want to wake him."

"Let's sit in the kitchen."

Jim followed her out of the room, switching off the light before closing the door. Helen led him into her kitchen and pulled out a chair for Jim as she sat.

The kitchen was roomy, larger than the living room. A wide window without drapes allowed a view of the back garden. Neat rows of small plants were growing in the dark soil. Inside, the kitchen was comfortable with sturdy pots and pans hanging above a low wooden table that reminded Jim of something he'd seen in an antique store in Cascade. Large sloped pullout bins were under the pine tabletop. Jim remembered the storeowner calling it a `dough boy' and that it was used for making bread. The large bins were metal lined and kept the flour for the bread handy. He'd wanted to buy it, but waited. When he returned, it was gone.

"I hope you don't bring strangers home often, Mrs. Tidwell. It's not safe," Jim said as he sat at the table. He tried the tea. It was strong and heavily sweetened with honey.

"Call me Helen. I still look for Bill's mother when I hear Mrs. Tidwell." She leaned back in her chair and studied Jim with a serious expression.

"Okay Helen. I assume you live here alone, it's not safe for you to bring home strangers," Jim repeated.

"I'll tell you what, child, I ran y'all off the road, nearly killed you. Of course I'm gonna take you in. I wouldn't be a Texan if I did otherwise." She snorted into her tea.

Jim shook his head, a small smile playing on his face. He gave up. "Well, thanks. I hate to ask you, but is there a chance I could get a ride into the nearest town tomorrow to get that tire repaired?"

Helen nodded. "Cooper Flats is about an hour away, there's a gas station. You just take the truck, I'm not up to another drive this week," she said, acting as if she loaned her truck out to strangers all the time. "I'll watch your friend. He needs to rest tomorrow."

"That would be great."

"I better have your names if you're gonna be stayin'," she said with a wicked grin. "I could call ya `handsome' and your friend `cutie-pie' but I doubt it's proper."

Jim ducked his head to hide the blush he felt creeping up his neck.

Oh, boy. Maybe he should be more worried about their own safety.

Later that night, Jim woke from a sound sleep. The small bed was comfortable, even if his feet did hang off the end a little when he stretched out. Normally he woke from sleep as sharp as a tack and knowing what woke him. It was disconcerting to lie in bed and wonder what brought him out of his slumber.

Blair was softly snoring on his bed. He could hear Helen sawing some serious lumber in her room. Somehow Jim was not at all surprised to learn she snored. It fit her.

Then he realized what had woken him. The rain had stopped, deciding to give the earth a chance to recover from its onslaught. He rolled out of bed and padded silently in his boxers to Blair's side, placing a hand lightly on his cheek.

The storm wasn't the only thing that had broken. Blair's skin felt normal to his touch. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. He let himself feel some hope that things were going to work out okay. Blair was better, now all he needed to do was get the bike repaired and they'd be on the road again.

Jim arranged Blair's blankets carefully, as he considered their situation. Was the road the best course of action? Perhaps staying on with this goat rancher was the perfect hideout for them. She made it clear last night, they'd be welcome to remain as long as Blair's condition needed. Could he milk her feeling of guilt for a sanctuary to the end of Naomi's seven day timetable? What was it now? Three days. Okay, then, maybe four more to go.

"Jim..."

Damn.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you?" Blair was mumbling softly, obviously still asleep. "It's dark...Airplane?"

His kidnapping, Blair was dreaming about his abduction.

"You're safe, Sandburg. I'm with you, relax."

Blair huffed softly and rolled toward the wall.

Jim took a chance and lightly rubbed his back. Blair responded with a murmur and sigh, then relaxed back into a deep sleep. Walking over to gaze out the window towards the Texas landscape, Jim made his decision.

They'd stay.

"I'm going, man."

"Sandburg, you are `not' coming with me." Jim stood firm, blocking the doorway to their bedroom with his body. "I'll be gone four hours, tops. You're staying with Helen. Just remember, your name is Joe Sanderson and I'm your step-brother Robert MacDonald."

Blair studied his friend, shaking his head. He felt better, but weak after his shower. Helen had brought him some of the best oatmeal for breakfast that he'd ever tasted. His stomach liked it. He knew he should stay down, but he hated the thought of Jim leaving without him.

"I don't want to stay with Helen, I want to go with you!" Blair almost cringed as the words came out of his mouth. Great, Sandburg, you sound like a six year old! That will certainly convince Jim you're back to normal.

"If you're good for Helen, I'll bring you back a surprise." Jim's mouth curled upward as he teased.

Blair smacked him on the arm. "I'm serious, Jim. We need to stay together."

"Sandburg. You're still sick, what we don't need is for you to relapse. I'm going to get the tire repaired and come right back. We'll talk then, okay?"

Blair knew he'd lost the argument. Jim had that way of squaring off with his whole body and digging in for the long haul. He gave in. "Fine. I'll stay."

"Good. Remember, no phone calls...anywhere, for any reason. Use that cane Helen loaned you." Jim was removing some of the extra weight from his backpack as he talked. Extra energy bars and water bottles they'd bought in Memphis.

Blair sat with a bounce on his own bed and watched with a frown. "Right, house arrest."

Tossing a stern look over his shoulder, Jim resumed unloading<,> then turned and sat, facing his angry partner. "Look. I know I'm giving a lot of orders. But we're not out of the woods yet, we need to stay low and wait."

Blair looked up with interest. "For what? What's going to happen?"

Jim stood and shouldered the pack. "When I get back, we'll talk."

Blair threw himself backwards onto bed. "Riiight."

Blair watched from the yard as Jim drove away in the battered GMC truck, the motorcycle still tied down in the truck bed. Blair took a good look around. The land was once again dry. Any evidence of yesterday's rainstorm had long since disappeared. The spring growth of scrub grass cast a faint green across the landscape. The air smelled fresh with a hint of `goat' from the pens.

Helen walked across the dirt yard wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and carrying a bucket filled with milk. "You shouldn't be out of bed." She slapped Blair's hand away as he reached out to take the goat milk from her.

Blair slowly followed her into the house, leaning on the cane. He was wearing a pair of borrowed overalls she had given him when he woke. The legs had to be folded up three times before he could walk. Apparently her son was as tall as Jim. The morning was starting to warm up. As they entered the house, it was noticeably cooler, thanks to the thick earthen walls.

"You rest on the couch." She carried the bucket into the kitchen.

Blair followed. He did feel tired, but he could rest later. Right now he wanted the company. It took his mind off worrying about Jim. "How long have you lived out here?"

She set the milk on the doughboy and gave him a sour look. "You're not gonna to rest, are ya?"

Blair sat at the kitchen table, his face the picture of innocence. "Can't I rest from here?"

Helen rolled her eyes and chuckled. She opened a bin under the table and filled a blue bowl full of potatoes. Setting the bowl and a potato peeler in front of her guest, she instructed, "Here, tire yourself out doin' somethin' useful."

Blair started on the potatoes. She laid old newspaper out to catch the peeling. As he worked, she poured the milk into a pitcher through several layers of cheesecloth and stored it in the old refrigerator.

"My husband, Bill and I moved here in fifty-five. Buried him in eighty-three, after we raised two kids and a bunch of goats."

Blair stabbed at a dark spot on the potato he was peeling. "You never thought about moving? Don't you get lonely out here?"

"Heavens no, child. Got grandkids that stay most of the summer. Neighbors less than an hour's drive away. Church on Sundays `n Wednesdays. I get so tuckered out, look forward to spendin' time with the goats." She started removing canisters from a cupboard above her head.

Blair smiled. He tried to imagine his mom living out here, the closest neighbors an hour away. He couldn't picture it. As he worked, he studied his host. Helen was about his height. She worked in her kitchen with confidence, appearing to enjoy good health, in her early sixties. Her sun-bleached hair was cropped short, styled to frame her face in a functional manner. Her skin was weathered from many years living in the desert, but Blair had seen elderly people that had allowed their skin to become leathery from repeated exposure to the sun. Helen looked as if she was careful to protect herself. Her skin was still soft and attractive. Today she wore a long sleeve man's white dress shirt, worn soft with a multitude of washings, the arms were folded back from her thin wrists and the tails were tucked into heavy canvas jeans. Outside, she wore a pair of rubber boots for tending to the goats. When she entered her home, she left the boots outside the front door and changed over to a pair of leather slippers she kept in the living room.

"You like bakin' powder biscuits?"

Blair watched her remove the lid from a can of lard.

Oh, man, Jim was going to love eating here.

Jim parked the old truck in the same spot Helen had last night. The temperature in the cab was nearing ninety degrees. It was tolerable when he was moving with both windows rolled down, but unbearable at a stop.

He headed for the house. The windows were open and Jim could smell the aroma of bread. He opened the wooden screened door and entered the much cooler interior.

Blair was asleep on the old, overstuffed olive green couch. A light cotton blanket was draped over his still form, his head supported by a quilted throw pillow. Jim walked towards the kitchen, following the sounds of dishes being set out. A radio was on, playing soothing music.

"Ah, you're back, Robert. Did they fix the tire?" Helen was removing a large tray of golden biscuits from the oven.

"I had to order a new one. It might be a few days." Jim set his pack down and eyed the baked bread longingly.

"You just let me know how much and I'll pay you. I washed your clothes from yesterday. They're in your room. Now, wake Joseph, he's been sleeping for a couple hours. Both you boys wash up and we can eat."

The noonday meal was simple, biscuits with wildflower honey and butter, pan fried potatoes and sweet tea. Blair was finishing his first biscuit as Jim reached for this third. His plate already had a second helping of potatoes. He ignored the look Blair gave him as he reached for the plate of butter.

"When I was in town, the guy at the hardware store recognized your truck. He gave me your lumber and fencing order to bring back." Jim bit into the hot bread.

Helen handed Jim the honey. "Great. I've got some pesky goats that have been getting out."

"Tell you what." Jim set the bread down. "I'll work on your goat pens to pay for our room. We've got some money for food..."

She waved her fork in the air, shaking her head. "You're both welcome to stay. I'm the one that run you off the road in the first place. Now, I'd be a fool not to accept any work you want to do, but I won't be takin' your money."

Jim nodded. "Deal, then. You show me what needs to be done. I'll start today. The tire should arrive tomorrow or the next day, he said he'd call when it came in."

"I can help, too," Blair said, stabbing his last potato with his fork.

"You're still sick, young man."

"Absolutely not, Sand... Joseph."

Blair gave Jim a grin.

Jim's started to respond in length when he caught a familiar name on the kitchen radio.

"...Authorities are still investigating the early morning explosion at the Cascade Police Department. Reporters on the scene tell us a pipe bomb exploded on the seventh floor. One employee has been confirmed killed, two others injured..."

"Jim!" Blair blurted out.

Jim stood, his hand raised to stop any further comment.

"...Time no one has taken responsibilities for the bomb, the Chief of Police has announced a press conference for three p.m. today. In local news, the county fairgrounds are ..."

"We gotta..."

"Settle down," Jim said with a hand on Blair's shoulder. He looked at Helen. "We both have friends that work for Cascade P.D," he explained, giving Blair's shoulder a meaningful squeeze.

"Oh, my. You can use the phone to call and check on them if you'd like." Helen set her fork down and pushed her chair back from the table.

"No, we'll wait for the press conference. Let's just finish the meal." Jim gave Blair's shoulder a final squeeze before returning to his meal. Trying not to let the cold dread show, he forced himself to finish his lunch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blair's hand tremble as it picked up his glass.

Jim helped Helen clear the table. She refused their offers to help with the dishes. As soon as they stepped out of the kitchen, Jim turned to Blair with a finger to his lips and pointed towards the front door. Blair followed quietly until both men were standing in the shadow of the barn.

"Jim, someone was killed, man!" Blair exclaimed. He pulled his hair back from his face with both hands.

"I heard," Jim said. "We'll know more at three."

"We gotta call home."

"No, that's exactly what we shouldn't do," Jim said firmly, holding both hands up. "Any call can be traced back to us."

Blair gave Jim a puzzled look, shaking his head as if suddenly unable to follow Jim's meaning. "What are you talking..." His eyes widened in horror as he stepped back, nearly tripping over a coil of rope on the ground. He started shaking his head in a negative gesture.

"Blair, calm down."

"Nonononono..."

Blair eyes had a wild glint in them as he looked around the barnyard, as if see it for the first time and checking for possible escape routes.

"Sandburg, listen to me for a second," Jim said, trying to soothe his friend. "I'm not saying the bomb has anything to do with us. We just can't take any chances."

Blair gave a harsh laugh, his face contorted with self-hate. "I got away, man. They can't find me so they do something like this to make us call! Why else the seventh floor? Oh, God! Maybe Simon's dead! Or Joel..."

"That's enough!" Jim reached out and dragged Blair through the open barn door, out of sight from the house. Blair's voice had risen to a shout, Jim didn't want Helen to come investigate and see Blair in his present state.

"Let me go!" Blair had no choice but to follow the bigger man into the structure. Once they were near the back of the barn by some bails of hay, Jim turned him loose.

"Sandburg, you have to calm down. We can't change what's already happened! We're safe here, as long as we don't draw attention to ourselves." Jim took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice calm. Yelling at Blair was not going to get him anywhere. "The news will tell us more after the press conference. Until then, we just act as if we're worried about some people we know in Cascade, got it?"

Blair still looked upset, even sick, but he nodded. "But what if it is my fault? What if Simon's dead?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Putting his arm around Blair's shoulders, Jim urged him back towards the house. "Chief, even if Simon's gone, it was never your fault. You were kidnapped. You're the victim."

Helen looked up from putting the lunch dishes away. "Joseph okay? He looked a mite green."

"Yeah, he's lying down." Jim retrieved his pack from the floor. "When you're ready, you can show me the pens that need work."

Jim worked for an hour after Helen moved some of the goats from the pen with the broken down fencing. The posts had broken off at the ground and needed to be dug out and replaced before new fencing could be strung out. He kept one ear on Blair as he worked. Although he was lying down, Jim could tell he wasn't sleeping. Jim drove the pick into the hard ground, venting the anger he had for the unknown persons behind the attack on his fellow police officers.

Why hadn't he warned Simon of the possibility of them being attacked? Now it might be too late, damn it.

When the heat became too much for even Jim to ignore, he leaned on his pick and checked his watch. It was nearly three. Leaning the tool against the fence, he headed for the house. Blair was out of the room, sitting back at the kitchen table. His hair was combed and pulled back into a ponytail. His face freshly scrubbed and shaved.

Helen came in from the back yard. She placed her straw hat and gardening gloves on a low shelf by the back door. Without a word, she turned on the old box A.M. radio on the windowsill and took a large ceramic pitcher of water out of the fridge. She poured three glasses of water as the newscaster started with the national coverage. By the time they covered the Cascade story, the three listeners were seated at the table, sipping water.

The Cascade Police Chief started the news bite with an expression of outrage over the domestic act of cowardly terrorism. After exhausting his prepped supply of quotations for future political use, he revealed some information on the damages.

The bomb did go off in the area used by the Major Crimes Unit.

Jim tightened his hand around the glass of water.

A file clerk was dead. She had been standing near the bomb when it went off.

Blair groaned quietly as if in pain. Jim continued to stare as his water glass, his entire body still.

Two police detectives were injured and in surgery at Cascade General Hospital. One of the injured officers, a Captain, was listed in critical condition with second and third degree burns over twenty percent of his body.

Blair folded his arms on the table and dropped his head as if to hide his face. Jim could smell his tears.

The news ended the coverage of the live conference and added some general information on how to recognize pipe bombs and who to call locally if anyone were to see such a device.

"Honey, are you alright?" Helen moved to stand next to Blair and laid a gentle hand on his back. "Do you want to make that call now?"

Blair rocked his head side to side, keeping his face hidden.

Helen gave him a final pat and gave Jim a sad smile. She picked up her straw hat and slipped through the back door, leaving them alone with their grief.

Placing both elbows on the table, Jim leaned his forehead into the palm of both hands. He rubbed his brow hard with the heels of both hands and closed his eyes.

Simon? Joel? Which captain was burned?

The other injury must be H or Rafe.

"Jim..."

Jim flinched at the pain he heard in that voice. He lifted his head and turned to look at Blair, his face still hidden. He placed a hand on top of the brown curls.

"You're not responsible, Chief."

Jim looked up from setting the new fence post. Helen was approaching, her face troubled.

"What's wrong?"

"You better come check on Joseph."

"What's wrong?" Jim removed the leather gloves he'd found in the barn and started walking towards the house.

Helen fell in step beside him, moving fast for a woman her age. "He started watchin' the news on the T.V. Somethin' he saw got him upset."

Jim extended his hearing. Blair heart was beating fast and he was softly moaning. Opening the screen door with a bang, he saw his friend kneeling on the floor in front of a small color television in the corner of the living room.

"What's wrong, Chief?"

"She's gone, man!" Blair cried out in pain as he rocked on his knees, his arms hugging his chest. His eyes were wet with tears that soaked his eyelashes and ran down his cheeks.

Jim squatted down next to his friend aware that Helen was watching from the front door way. "What are you talking about?"

Blair pointed to the TV. "Naomi. They're saying she died in a plane crash!"

"Whaa...?" Jim looked at the small screen. A Canadian reporter was standing in front of an emergency command post. A light commuter plane had crashed earlier that morning killing all passengers, including one American woman. Naomi Sandburg.

"Who's Naomi?" Helen asked softly, walking into her living room and sitting down on the sofa behind both men.

"...Attempts to find the American woman's family have revealed another bizarre twist to this tragic story. The woman's son, Blair Sandburg is missing, presumed kidnapped. Mr. Sandburg volunteered as a consultant with the Major Crimes Police Unit in Cascade, Washington. Earlier today, this station released a story involving a pipe bomb explosion in the Major Crimes Division of that same city. We go live to our sister station for that update."

Jim watched with dread as the picture switched to a local King-Five newscaster standing in front of the main entrance to the Cascade Police Headquarters.

"Thank you, Steve. Authorities here are reeling from what's being described as an act of domestic terrorism. One woman was killed and two men hospitalized one in critical condition, after a pipe bomb was discovered in the desk belonging to a police detective. The FBI are currently searching for that same detective's whereabouts but are unable to locate him. As this story unfolds, we've learned that the missing detective worked with a local teacher from Rainier University. The teacher disappeared last Monday..."

Jim reached out and shut off the TV as two side-by-side pictures of his own photo ID and a Rainier ID of Blair appeared on the screen. The living room became quiet except for the soft moans from Blair...

"Shit. I'm sorry, Chief." Jim reached over and pulled the distraught man near. Blair leaned sideways into his friend. Jim wrapped both arms around Blair's shoulders and looked over Blair's head to find Helen staring at both men with a stern expression.

"I think you'd better start explainin' what is really goin' on with you two," Helen said in a cool voice. "Why are they sayin' this young man's been kidnapped?"

"He was." Jim took Blair by the upper arms. "Let's get off the floor, Sandburg." Getting his feet underneath him, he helped Blair stand.

Blair pulled back. "I'm fine, man." He wiped a hand across his face, collapsing boneless onto the couch. Helen reached out and patted his knee.

Jim pulled a rocking chair close to the sofa where Blair sat. There was no more lying to this woman now, she had seen their pictures, knew Blair's real name. Hell, she'd heard Blair forget his alias and blurt out his real name twice now. Jim was amazed she wasn't running out the door screaming for help by now.

"My name is Jim Ellison, I'm a detective with Cascade PD. Sandburg's my unofficial partner."

Helen nodded. "I thought you were police. My daddy was the sheriff in this county for three terms. Bill was a deputy until he retired. I can tell a police officer a mile off. So why the hoax?"

"Blair's still in danger. The people that grabbed him are very powerful and politically connected." Jim paused, hoping he didn't have to go into any more detail.

"Is that why you can't go to the police?"

Jim nodded. Blair lifted his head. His face twisted with misery. "Jim got me out. Now they're hurting our friends and...my mom." He swallowed, his eyes getting moist.

"You think they killed your ma?" Helen asked in a horrified whisper.

"We don't know that, Chief," Jim warned. He tried to get his thoughts organized. What the hell had Naomi been doing in Canada? None of this made any sense.

The ringing of a telephone interrupted their conversation. Helen gave Blair's knee a final pat and left the two men to answer her phone in the kitchen.

"Sandburg, we have to leave," Jim told his friend. "Both our pictures have been on national news. It's not safe for us to stay."

"Mexico?" Blair asked quietly.

Jim nodded, shamelessly listening in to the phone conversation.

"Helen, you okay, hon? Jesse's callin' the cops. He says that fella that drove your truck today is a kidnapper!"

Oh shit.

Jim stood, entering the kitchen as Helen responded. "I tell you what, Sara, that man is no criminal! Jesse's gonna make a fuss over nothin'."

"I know, girl. I tried tellin' him not to call, but you know that man."

"Thanks for the warnin'. I'll try `n call the sheriff and end this nonsense." She replaced the phone and looked at Jim with a frown. "Damn town gossip."

Jim smiled sadly. "It's okay. We have to leave, anyway."

"How to you plan on goin' anywhere, child? Your bike ain't runnin'."

"I'll leave it. I'll sign over the title. You sell it for what ever you can get. All I'm asking for is a ride to the closest large city. I'll take it from there."

She walked back into the living room to look at Blair still sitting on the couch. He sat leaning forward, both elbows propped on his knees, his face buried in his hands. "Just take the truck. Send me a note where to pick it up if y'all don't want it anymore."

"I can't do that! You need it," Jim protested.

She shook her head. "Honey, with the money from that bike, I can get a better used truck than that old GMC. You're doin' me a favor."

Jim had their meager belongings packed and in the cab of the truck in seconds. Loading Blair took a little longer. He walked as if dazed. Jim sent him off to change into his jeans and use the bathroom, not sure when they would be stopping again that evening. Helen was in the kitchen packing a box of food for both men. Jim had to carry the box out when he realized how much food she was giving them. After returning from the truck, he found Helen in the guest bedroom folding blankets and extra clothing and stuffing them into pillow-cases.

"Helen, you've given us enough," Jim said from the doorway.

"Hush, go check on Blair."

Jim saw the door to the bathroom was still closed. Extending his hearing, he knocked. "Sandburg? You ready?"

"Yeah." Blair emerged wearing his clean clothes from the day before.

"Let's get going then."

Helen gave Jim a fierce hug and handed him the pillow-cases. She stuffed a scrap of paper into his jean pocket. "My phone number and address. Call me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Helen, for everything."

She turned to Blair and took his face in both hands. "You be careful, child. I'm sorry about your ma, but I believe everythin' happens for a reason." She kissed his cheek and gave him the same hug.

"Thanks..." Blair blinked back his tears and followed Jim out into the yard.

Inside the truck, Jim stowed the pillow-cases behind the seat. The box of food was in the bed and the backpack sat on the bench seat between the two men.

"Jim, we can't take her truck. She'll be stranded."

Jim started the motor. "She called her friend, they're bringing out another vehicle for her to use. Don't worry. I left a nice surprise under your pillow for her. Along with the bike title, she can get a nice truck." He gave the woman one last wave and pointed the GMC towards the dirt road.

Jim was almost to the highway when he saw the two black Cherokees driving on the dirt road towards them. He hit the brakes, throwing his right arm out to catch Sandburg before he bounced off the windshield.

"Hey!" Blair braced himself as the truck slid sideways and stopped. "What are you doing, Jim?"

"We've got company." Jim turned the truck around and headed back towards the house. He was certain the jeeps were too far away to have spotted their truck. He floored the gas pedal, knowing they would be kicking up some dust. He had no choice.

"How'd they find us so soon?" Blair cried out, twisting in his seat to look through the back window.

"I'm not stopping to ask, Chief. Hold on."

The arrival in front of the house brought Helen out at a run.

"What's wrong?" she called out as she approached.

"We've got visitors. Does this road lead to a back way out?"

Helen shook her head. "No!" She looked at Blair with concern and then back at the road. "It dead ends..." Helen thumped the door with her hand. "The river! It's still high from the rain, you can float out!" She ran around to Blair's side and opened the door. "Scoot, child. We need to move!"

After she closed the door, she pointed Jim down a faint double rut path away from the dirt road. Taking the trail at as fast a speed as he dared, Jim kept checking the rearview mirror for signs of the Jeeps. Soon the river came into view. Still high from the rain, the water was muddy and moving fast, just reaching the top of the bank.

Helen pointed downstream. "Just past those cottonwoods. There's a fishing boat you can use."

Jim parked the truck in the shelter of the large trees. Grabbing his backpack from Blair's lap, he led the way towards a green boat that was pulled up halfway out of the water and tied to a tree. Jim was elated to see a fifteen horsepower Johnson motor on the back. The two men managed to get the boat pushed back into the water.

"I'll take the truck back `n follow the old road to the end. It'll buy y'all some time." She gave Blair a quick hug and headed back towards the truck.

"Jim! They're going to hurt her if they catch up with her!" Blair exclaimed as he tried to scramble out of the boat to stop her.

Jim held him back with a firm hand on his chest. "She's in more danger if she stays with us, Chief. Sit down!" He pushed the bow of the small boat out into the water and jumped in. The momentum drifted them out into the current and they were swept downstream. "Get on those oars, Sandburg! Keep us pointed downstream."

Blair moved to the center bench and sat facing the rear of the boat as he took up the long wooden oars. With a little experimenting, he had the boat pointed downstream. The cottonwood trees flew past them as they were carried along with the flow.

Jim took a position at the rear, close to the outboard motor. He opened the fuel line and set the choke. "Cross your fingers," he said as he gave the rope a pull.

Nothing.

Jim let the rope coil back inside and tried again, using more muscle this time.

The engine gave a cough.

Blair glanced over his shoulder to check their position in the river. He dipped both oars in and pulled them into the faster moving water. Checking back on Jim's progress, he watched as his friend reset the choke and pulled a third time.

The motor fired and roared to life. Jim gave Blair a thumbs-up and revved the throttle a few times before cutting the choke and putting the motor in gear.

"Put that life jacket on, Sandburg." Jim pointed to an orange PFD under the bench seat.

Blair slipped it over his head and tied the belt around his waist. He looked back under the bench. "Jim, there's only one."

"I'm fine," he shouted over the sound of the motor. "Hold on."

The boat seemed to fly down the river. Jim kept away from the areas where the water flowed outside its bank, knowing it would be to shallow for them to navigate. The river only had a few turns and stayed flat, without any of the rapids or white water the men were used to in the Northwest region.

Just as Jim started to believe they were going to make it, he picked up a new sound over the noise of the outboard. He tracked the sound, realizing it was coming from above them. Turning in his seat to look to the northeast, towards the direction of Oklahoma, Jim could see a black helicopter coming towards them. He zoomed in to see a man with a rifle sitting near the open side door of the chopper.

"What? What do you see, man?" Blair called out, seeing Jim's attention was towards the sky behind them.

Jim pointed. "Chopper! We need to find some cover," he answered. He turned the throttle full open, causing the small craft to fly dangerously over the water. Jim scanned down the river. How could you lose a helicopter in this flat country?

A few miles down, Jim could see where a road crossed the river. If they could get to the bridge, they'd have some shelter. Maybe get the pilot to come in close, then he could take it out with his handgun.

His handgun against a rifle? Why was he not having a good feeling about that outcome? Jim began to formulate a plan `B' as he guided the craft and checked the water ahead for danger.

He was fresh out of plan `B's.

Blair was hunched over on the bench seat, his knuckles white from holding on as the boat bucked over the water. He hadn't moved from his position at the oars, so he was able to look over Jim's shoulder and towards the chopper. Jim didn't have to look to know they were in danger from above, everything he needed to see was written on Blair's face.

He began to weave the boat in a serpentine course, trying to create a harder target for the sniper in the air. The bridge was a mile away now. If they were extremely lucky, they had a chance of reaching it. Jim glanced again at the bridge as a black Jeep Cherokee parked and three men stepped out. They stood, looking upstream as if waiting for their arrival.

Jim really needed a plan `B'.

He felt the burn of the bullet enter his shoulder as he heard Blair scream his name. The boat lurched to the side, caused by Jim's jerking motion as he fell sideways in his seat from the bullet's impact. Before he realized he was in danger of falling, he was out of the boat and in the river, fighting for air as he tumbled in the swift current. The water tasted like mud and it entered his mouth and nose before he realized he was wet.

Just as the blackness started to eat away at the edges of his vision, he felt an arm snake around his neck and pull his head up, above the water and he was gasping air again.

"Just relax, man. Keep your feet up," Blair said, his lips inches away from Jim's ear.

Jim closed his eyes and trusted his partner to navigate the current. Blair's life preserver kept them moving along the top of the water. The sniper seemed hesitant to try any more shots, but Jim could hear the chopper as it tracked their progress downstream. After a few moments, Jim felt something brush his feet. Blair had managed to get them both over to the side where they could stand.

Jim's shoulder burned from the bullet wound. He hugged his left arm close to keep the area splinted. Blair had an arm around his waist as he worked them out of the water to fall in a sprawl on a gravel bed alongside the river.

"Let me see, Jim." Blair rolled him over on his non-injured side and pulled the T-shirt down from his neck. "No exit wound, man. It looks like the bleedings not too bad. The bullet went through the backpack first and got slowed down."

"Sandburg, listen to me. They're coming." Jim could hear the man in the chopper using a radio to the men from the jeep, giving them their location. "Get my gun out from the pack, keep it out of sight."

He felt Blair open the zipper and rut around inside. "I got it. What now?"

"Give it to me." He felt the gun placed in his hand. Lifting his head, he checked the location of the chopper. It was close, about a hundred feet up and just down stream from them. Bringing his right arm up suddenly, he snapped off two shots. The first one missed, but the second bullet hit the sniper in the chest. Jim was pleased to see the look of shock on the man's face before he fell back, out of sight from the opening. Jim pulled off a third shot, this time hitting the area that housed the fuel tank. The pilot dipped the metallic bird at an angle, then took off towards the north again, apparently deciding to let the ground crew finish the job.

"Help me up."

Leaning on Blair, Jim climbed up the short bank and surveyed their options. The boat had floated down river, its motor at a low idle. They would never catch it in time to escape. Two men were on foot and running towards them from the bridge. Jim pulled Blair backwards, towards the water.

"Time to get wet again, Sandburg." He ignored the panic in his friend's eyes, forcing his own face to remain calm, in control as if they had a dozen excellent options to choose from.

Blair pulled away, his expression changing to determined resignation. "No, they want me." He started to untie the PFD. "You take this and float down. I'll tell them you didn't make it."

"Not a chance, Sandburg." Jim pushed him hard towards the water's edge, following until they both were waist deep in the brown Texas water.

"Jim, no! You're shot, you can't..."

Another shove and they were swept away. Jim found himself unable to keep his head up with his injury. Blair's arm returned and he was pulled up onto his chest and they floated.

"Stubborn jerk...always have to do things your way..."

"Shut up and drive, Chief."

Jim could hear the men running now, heading for the spot that he and Blair had climbed out. Without the chopper, they didn't have the advantage of knowing their exact location.

This could work.

They neared the bridge. Jim extended his hearing again and heard the jeep's motor still running. No other sounds.

"Get us over the side, under the bridge if you can."

He felt Blair kicking, floating them at a forty-five degree angle until Jim felt bottom again. They dragged themselves up to the road. It was just a dirt road, similar to the one leading to Helen's home. A long wooden bridge had been constructed to span over the water.

Jim eyed the jeep with longing. This was too easy. The men were back up river, running at full speed to return to their vehicle. Jim pushed Blair towards the driver seat, with a nasty grin. Those bozos were going to have some explaining to do to their boss tonight.

"Which way, man?" Blair closed the driver's door and put the SUV into drive.

They were near a cattle ranch now. Herds of longhorn grazed on lush grass on either side of the road. Jim pointed over his shoulder. "Turn around and head back the way they came, it should hook up with a main road," he instructed as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Oh, God, his shoulder hurt. Getting shot never was Jim's favorite past time. He found himself unable to believe they had gotten off that river without capture. It was too good to be true. He let himself relax for a moment, enjoying just the chance to breathe and close his eyes, even with the throbbing pain from the bullet.

But his mind would not relax. Blair was still in danger and Jim was almost out of the game. He needed to get the bullet out before he lost the ability to function. Mexico was their hope now. He had enough money to get a decent surgeon and hide Blair someplace so remote his own shadow wouldn't be able to find him.

Jim's head bounced off the side window as the Jeep swerved sharply off the road. He sat up, instantly alert and cursing himself for dropping his guard, even for a second.

"Where did they come from?" Blair screamed, his frustration evident as he wrenched the gear control into reverse.

A Jeep similar to the one they had stolen was careening down the road in their direction. Blair did a fast three-point turn, only to see the same sight behind them. A sturdy range fence on either side of the road prevented them from getting around. They were trapped.

Jim knew it had been too damn easy.

Both Jeeps stopped at the same time, blocking the road in each direction. Jim laid a hand on Blair's arm, getting the younger man's attention.

"Ram them, Chief."

Blair's eyes went wide as he looked at the jeep. "Uh, which one, man?"

"Turn back around and continue south." Jim patted his arm. "You can do it. Aim for the back of the rig, its lighter. Just floor it and keep going."

Blair muttered nervously as he complied with the order. He had enough distance to get his speed up to thirty before nearing the parked Jeep. Jim braced himself, knowing the collision would be on his side. He watched with grim satisfaction as the two men in suits scrambled out of the way.

Blair drove like a pro, hitting the SUV perfectly and knocking the vehicle out of their way, letting them pass. Jim was proud, he couldn't have done better. It was through no fault of the driver that the cheap metal they used now on vehicles crumpled inward and blew out the right front tire.

Blair fought the wheel as their Jeep spun sideways in the dirt, coming to a rest and stalling. Even as he cranked the key to restart the engine, men were surrounding them, guns drawn.

Jim reached for the gun tucked into his waistband, but froze as a man in a dark suit wrenched the driver's door open and nearly pulled Blair half out of his seat by his wet hair causing him to cry out in pain. The suit forced Blair's head back with a gun under his chin, giving Jim a satisfied smirk.

"Care to rethink that plan, cowboy?"

Handing his gun away to the man that opened his door, Jim let himself be pulled from the car by two men and marched back to the surviving Jeep. The suits pulled his pack roughly off his back and threw him across the hood to search him for a weapon.

"Hey, man! Be careful, he's hurt..."

Jim lifted his head, catching a man in the act of backhanded his friend across the face. His head was slammed back down on the hot metal of the Jeep's hood, in retribution for breaking the silent rule of moving during the search. Jim silently cursed their luck. He had rescued Blair from being their personal punching bag, only to let him fall into their hands again.

The search ended and they cuffed Jim's hands behind his back, causing him to grunt as his shoulder was wrenched. He was pulled off the hood and shoved towards the rear of the Jeep. The tailgate was open and they forced him to sit with his back to the spare tire. They tied his ankles down and secured his cuffs to something behind his back. Jim kept his eyes on the two other suits with Blair.

Blair's hands were still free. He was standing next to the Jeep between two beefy men. One man had a small radio that he was speaking into, his other hand still entangled in Blair's long hair. Blair was watching Jim, their eyes met through the glass in the Jeep's side window.

Jim gave him a nod, trying for a smile of encouragement, but not quite pulling it off. Blair must have appreciated the effort. He returned it with a rueful smile of his own. Jim turned his hearing up to catch the conversation on the radio.

"...five minutes out. Hold for our arrival."

"Received."

Blair's hair was released.

"Move from this spot and I'll plant your face in the dirt," Jim heard the man with the radio threaten.

"Whatever, man," Blair replied mildly, rubbing his neck.

Jim had to smile as his friend's brave front. The two suits had finished securing Jim to the back of the Jeep by his cuffs and ankles. The slammed the hatch closed and walked away to join their cohorts.

Testing his bonds, he found he was unable to lift his feet or move his hands. His back was sticky with blood from the bullet wound. He was feeling light-headed and having difficulty following the sounds outside due to the ringing in his ears.

A black helicopter, larger and newer than the one Jim had shot appeared overhead. It landed in the road on the other side of the wrecked Jeeps. Jim watched a man in his sixties climb down and walk towards them. This was someone new, Jim would have remembered seeing him at the horse ranch. He was dressed in an expensive tailored suit, his red silk tie flapping in the windstorm caused by the chopper's blades. Jim studied the man's features, committing them to memory. White, thick hair, small mouth, brown eyes, he appeared about five-eleven when he stood up straight after clearing the chopper. He walked with confidence, his eyes briefly looking over at the Jeep where Jim was a prisoner before resting on Blair.

Jim forced himself to turn his hearing up, filtering out the sounds from the helicopter.

"Hello Blair. I'm so happy to meet you." The boss's voice was deep, almost friendly as he reached the group standing in the road.

Blair ignored him, keeping his eyes locked on Jim.

Jim shook his head. Talk to him, Blair.

As if the younger man could read Jim's mind, he turned and studied the newcomer. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of your father."

"Excuse me?" Blair asked, his voice high and unsteady.

"I work with your father, known him from before you were born."

Blair snorted in disbelief. "Oh man, you are `so' off your rocker, dude. You think some guy you work with is gonna care what happens to me?"

The man gave Blair a condescending smile. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother, son. She was a fine woman."

Blair exploded towards him with a scream. The suits caught him before he could reach the newcomer. Jim watched as Blair was once again subdued, but not before one man caught a fist in the eye for his efforts.

The white-haired man stepped back and chuckled as Blair's arms were pinned behind his back.

"You bastard! I'll kill you!"

"I believe that nomenclature belongs to you, young man." The older man nodded towards the chopper. "Make sure he's secured. I don't need him breaking out while were in the air. Get these vehicles disposed of, then meet me at the church."

"What about the other guy?"

Jim watched as he was examined by the group of suits.

"Drive him out to the canyon and kill him."

"No!" Blair shouted as he tried twisting free.

Jim could only watch, unable to look away while they manhandled Blair towards the helicopter. Blair kicked out with both feet, until one man caught up both legs, hugging them to his chest. Blair twisted like a snake in the claws of a large bird.

"No! You don't understand! No one's going to care if I'm your hostage!"

Jim flashed back to last year, when Blair was being dragged into another helicopter, that time by Kincaid. Jim tried kicking his feet free from the tie-down he'd been secured to. It was no good, they had done too good a job. He wasn't getting out of his bonds anytime soon.

Blair was at the chopper now. They had him face down, his face and upper body pressed against the floorboards as they tied his hands behind his back. When that was completed, he was lifted into a seat and lashed in place by a four-point harness. Finally his ankles were tied to the seat supports. The entire time, he screamed at the man in the red tie, trying to convince him with words that the whole thing was a mistake.

The leader walked back to the chopper and climbed in to sit up front next to the pilot. He nodded his head towards Blair and shook his head.

"Gag him."

"I'm telling the truth, man!" Blair screamed over the sound of the helicopter revving up to prepare to lift off the ground. "No!" He turned his head as a rag neared his mouth. "Jim!" One man caught Blair's head with a fist in his hair, holding him still. The cloth was forced into his mouth and tied in place with a strap.

Jim watched the helicopter lift off and head north. He forced himself to pull back from following the rapid sound of Blair's heartbeat. He didn't need to fall into a zone. They would have to cut him loose eventually, unless they planned on burying the whole Jeep with him inside. Jim just hoped they would wait until after he was released before they tried to kill him.

After making more calls on their cell phones, the two men instructed to kill Jim returned to their Jeep. They drove south until they turned onto a paved road and picked up speed. Neither man seemed inclined to talk which suited Jim fine. He was growing weak and needed to conserve his strength. He rested his head on the spare tire and closed his eyes.

Jim awoke from a light doze as the Jeep was struck hard by a larger vehicle driving alongside. He braced himself with his boots as his driver fought the wheel. Three loud cracks from a gun shattered the driver's side window, killing both men instantly. The vehicle that had sideswiped them bumped the jeep again, sending it into the soft shoulder where it finally came to a stop as the grill struck the fence.

Jim bounced painfully off the back of the rear seat. Figures in black jumpsuits swarmed out of the attacking vehicle and circled the Jeep. The hatch was released and swung upward by two familiar looking figures.

"Hi, Jim."

Jim looked into the face of a very alive Naomi Sandburg.

"Please forgive me for not being able to welcome you personally back in Maryland. I was very distressed to learn you'd already left before I could join you."

Blair continued to ignore the man seated across the heavy timbered rustic-looking table. They had arrived over an hour ago, landing in a private compound around dusk. New muscle had released him from the helicopter seat and hustled him into a large adobe building with flagstone floors and expensive furnishings. The windows and doorways were arched, reminding Blair of a Spanish-style Mission he had visited on a field trip in high school.

They had secured him to a heavy chair, a wide strap across his chest binding him to its straight back. His hands and legs were free, but the chair weighed a ton. Blair didn't feel like he had the strength to swat a fly at the moment. A simple meal of cornbread and stew had been placed in front of them. As if he could sit and calmly eat a meal with the man who ordered Jim killed.

Oh, man. He can't be dead.

"You should eat. The stew is excellent. The cook puts brandy in it, she thinks it's a secret ingredient but I had one of the maids watch her make it once and she told me." He chuckled to himself, as if he expected Blair to give a hoot about his domestic transgressions.

Blair remained motionless, silently contemplating the religious figurine of the Virgin Mary that adorned the shelf above the man's head. It was not that he was purposefully disobeying every `request' this man had made of him. Well, actually, that did have a lot to do with it. But more importantly, Blair felt sick again. Like before, when Jim had gotten him to Helen's house. He hated to throw up, it hurt and it was disgusting. But Blair swore if this man didn't shut up, he would make a point of hurling chunks right into his smug face.

"You know, I could have just as easily been your father as Jake. The three of us joined the agency together, on a whim, I guess you'd say. Your mother was younger than us. Jake and I didn't expect her to stay long. But damn, son, she was a natural in the game." He stirred his stew as he spoke. "I cried when they told me she was dead. I loved her very much. I expect they'll offer me her position now..."

Blair saw his hands reaching for the bowl with almost a detached sense of expectation, like he wondered what was going to happen next.

The older man was fast, Blair had to admit to himself as the two suits released him and dragged him out of the room. The man dodged that bowl of stew as if he'd been doing it all his life. Blair just wished he hadn't hit that figurine and knocked it off its shelf. He was pretty sure it was authentic sixteenth century.

Jim fought the drugs that slowed his mind to the speed of molasses. He hated waking up from surgery. Naomi had flown him to Lubbock and he found himself on his back, being attended by an anesthesiologist in no time flat.

Now he was in a private room, Naomi was sitting in a chair next to his bed, staring out the window. She wasn't aware yet that he was awake. Jim took a moment to study her.

She was the Naomi that he'd first met in the loft. She was relaxed, but worried, her face showing her age with fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Jim knew she was thinking of Blair.

"Naomi."

"Jim," she said, her face changing into the professional once again. She scooted her chair closer. "What can you tell me?"

"Not much." Jim moved his shoulder to test his mobility. Okay, time to dial down the pain. "Help me up."

If he expected her to protest, to tell him he shouldn't be moving so soon, he was disappointed. She leaned over and let him use her as a support to pull himself into a sitting position.

"Easy. Nice and slow." She flipped the blanket back and lowered the bar down to let him twist, his bare legs over the edge. "We know Hersch is behind this now. We have enough to charge him with everything from treason to murder." She swallowed hard, avoiding Jim's eyes. "God, I can't believe it. Blair's his godson."

"White hair?" Jim asked as he looked for his clothes.

"That's Hersch." Naomi went to a closet and came back with a white plastic sack.

"Believe it, he's got Blair. They took off in a helicopter about an hour or so before you arrived." Jim's nose wrinkled as he opened the bag and got a whiff of the damp clothing. He pulled them out and started dressing, oblivious of the fact Blair's mother was seeing him naked and in fact helping him dress. "He said something about meeting his men a `the church'. Does that tell you anything?"

Naomi held the T-shirt open for Jim to slide into. She smiled "It does. He's got a place in Mexico. He could have easily reached it by chopper. You want to be there when we make the arrest?"

Jim snorted. "Try keeping me out. How are you going to get authority to arrest him in Mexico? Isn't that out of your jurisdiction?"

Jim suddenly saw where his best friend inherited that distinctive Sandburg grin. Naomi had the exact same smile.

"Badges? We no' need no' stinkn' badges..."

Blair was curled up on his side. He had been tossed into a small room. The floor was concrete and the heavy adobe walls had a high window about four by six inches. The bed was soft, and he was thankful for the heavy wool blankets. The night was cool and Blair wanted to sleep, but couldn't.

His head was pounding from a headache with almost migraine proportions. His leg was aching again. The bug was back with force. He knew he had a fever, his scalp itched. His stomach was making noises, he expected he'd soon be kneeling in front of the toilet in the corner of the room.

What kind of house had a room like the one they had locked him in? It was obviously a holding cell. Blair decided he didn't want to think anymore about that.

His life sucked.

The worse pain, though, was the one in his heart. How could he not have known about his mother? He found it impossible to ignore the white-haired man's one-sided conversation, before he'd made stew-tossing a spectator sport.

He and Naomi had moved around his entire life, all over the world, for crying out loud. He'd never thought about how she'd had the funds for that lifestyle. They were far from rich, but Blair had never been deprived of good food, a clean place to sleep or medical attention. Naomi had been a constant whirlwind of activity. She had campaigns and causes to fight. She made friends everywhere she went. And those friends were loyal to her.

God, he was an idiot. Those weren't just friends. They must have been fellow agents in whatever spy thing his mother belonged to. She'd been living a lie his whole life.

She'd been lying to him his whole life.

That was the secret that Jim had been keeping from him. He'd been able to tell just by looking at Jim's face. If Blair had learned anything in the past year, it was how to read James Ellison's face.

Oh, God.

Jim.

Was he dead? Like his mother?

Blair groaned, the pain from his head was becoming mind-numbing. He curled into a tight ball on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest as he shivered. His clothes were still damp in places. He knew he should take them off if he wanted to be warmer, but he couldn't find the energy. It was too much effort to get out of bed. Shit, it was too much, period. He squeezed his eyes shut as the tears began to flow.

No, he wasn't going to cry.

It made his nose run. Blair hated that.

Jim leaned back against his seat. They were flying low, under the radar range as they headed south. In less than an hour, the sun would be up. Naomi had found him some dry clothes, now he was dressed like the others in black tactical pants with long sleeve black turtlenecks. Jim's dark boots were fine for the upcoming task. Naomi had applied the grease-like substance to his face personally to prevent his white skin from reflecting any light.

They had spent their time this morning studying the information on the converted missionary turned residence. There was a landing strip nearby that would serve them. The plane they were in was frequently seen making landings and fast take offs out of that field. One more shouldn't attract any attention, just another drug pickup as far as the locals were concerned.

Jim was having flashbacks to his days as a Ranger.

"We're fifteen out." The words floated to Jim through a small device he was wearing in his ear. It had a speaker that picked up his own voice when he spoke, the latest in spy tech.

"We're on schedule. Nothing new from the satellite photos. Enjoy the rest, guys. We're not staying long once we land," Naomi said with complete confidence. She moved over to join Jim and took her communication device out of her ear, signaling Jim to do the same.

"How's the shoulder?"

"Fine, you look pretty good for a corpse. I take it the plane crash was a ruse?"

Naomi nodded. "We had to draw him out, make him confident. It worked. He used normal channels to track you and Blair to Texas."

"You never considered how Blair was going to take the news?"

A flash of anger burned across her face then disappeared. "I'm trying to keep him alive. I'll deal with the fallout later."

Jim shut up. What he wanted to say to this woman was going to take more time than they had. But, damn it. Blair was going to feel betrayed.

"Look, Jim. I know I'm not one of your favorite people right now. But I've spent my life trying to preserve a country that allows people like my son to pursue what they love doing." Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. "You're military, you know what I'm talking about."

"I may understand. But do you think Blair will?" Jim asked. He knew he was being an ass with her, but he found himself unable to get past his anger.

She sighed, her face softening. Jim was trying to compare this woman to the same one who had insisted on moving this furniture around in the loft.

"No, he won't. But he has you now. Please, be there for him if he can't forgive me. Maybe I did do the wrong thing, but I have to tell you. I could not leave my son to be raised by other people. I love him too much. Maybe I'm selfish. I wanted to have everything." Her voice dropped below a whisper as she looked past him and out the plane's window.

Jim felt sucker-punched by her words. He knew what it felt like to have a parent pick something else over the choice of staying with you as you grew up, being there for you when you needed a mother.

He felt his anger for Naomi evaporate.

Wordlessly he reached over and drew the woman into a bear hug. She responded immediately with a quiet sob as she buried her face into the side of his neck.

"Let's go get your son back, Naomi."

The GPS was useful as the team made their way through the thick growth of trees and brush. Jim stayed near Blair's mother, communicating only with her when he heard or saw some possible danger to the mission. She would then pass it along to the others. Keeping Jim's ability a secret was another factor in Naomi causing Jim to rethink his early anger.

Who was he to judge? Blair turned out fine, a little annoying, but basically a perfect guide. And a better friend in the year they'd been together then he'd ever found with his other partners, military or police. Go figure.

"This is it," Naomi announced to the team. She pointed to a stone wall that, according to the satellite shots, circled the grounds. It was still dark, the sun just a hint of pink in the eastern sky.

Jim tilted his head and extended his hearing. Everyone inside was asleep, even the person that was supposed to be guarding the house from a small building by the gate. They split up into two groups. Naomi kept Jim with her. The other group was instructed to deal with the guard and watch their back.

Slipping inside was not a problem. Naomi was right, Hersch was confident. It made the job easy and soon they had silently taken out the two hired muscle that Hersch kept with him. The cook and maid were left alone in their rooms. It was doubtful they would even know the Americans had been in the house.

Naomi looked at Jim expectantly. "Where's Hersch?" she whispered.

Jim pointed down a long hallway. Recognizing the man's heartbeat from when they'd flown off with Blair in the helicopter.

Naomi nodded, the look of a hunter closing in on her prey showing on her face. "Where's Blair?"

Jim pointed in the other direction.

"Okay, we'll bring Hersch. You get Blair and meet us outside the wall." She led the way down the hallway followed by her British teammate.

Jim followed the sound of the Blair's heartbeat towards a smaller hallway off the kitchen. Overhead bare light bulbs lit the passage. He came to a short flight of stone steps that took him below ground. The air temperature was cooler down here. He could smell vegetables and other food items nearby. This must be where they stored food before the days of refrigeration. At the end of the hallway was a sturdy looking wooden door. It was effectively locked by a sturdy board that rested in brackets on either side of the door. Jim lifted the board and set it to one side. The door swung out easily.

Next to the opposite wall in the small room, Blair was asleep on a twin-size bed. He had several blankets wrapped around him tightly. His body was curled into a ball. Hid long hair was a mess from being soaked in the river and drying without aid of a comb. It fell across his face, but Jim was still able to see the red swollen eyes and tracks from dried tears.

Damn.

Jim crossed over to the bed and started unwrapping the blankets as he shook Blair's shoulder. Blair moaned and opened one eye.

"Give me another five, man..."

"Not today, Sandburg. We're on a tight schedule here."

Blair groaned again and pushed himself up with his arm. He rubbed his face before pulling his hair back in confusion. Jim had the blankets off now and was please to see Blair still had his boots on.

Good, that would save time.

"Jim?" Blair looked around the small room, as if only just realizing he wasn't in his room in Cascade.

"Sit up, Sandburg." Jim got his good arm around Blair's shoulders and sat him up before pulling his legs over the side. Blair's skin was hot again, his fever returning with a vengeance.

"Am I dreaming?"

"You're awake. We need to get out of here."

He got Blair to his feet, keeping him upright was turning into more of a challenge. Blair would not stop staring at him. Jim could see the confusion was still evident on his friend's face. As much as he wanted to grab Blair and run, he would never be able to manage with his shoulder. He needed to get Blair fully on-line before they could meet the others.

"Sandburg, I'm real." He took Blair's right hand and laid it on his chest. "See? This is me standing here talking with you." He couldn't resist a small grin.

"You're not dead," Blair stated matter-of-factly, watching his own hand pat Jim's chest.

Okay, boys and girls, Blair's cheese was still slipping off the cracker.

Jim steeled his resolve and gave Blair a soft but stinging slap on one cheek.

"Hey!" Blair stepped back with an irritated look. "What was that for, man?"

Jim was pleased to see a more coherent-looking, if not pissed off, Blair. "Sorry, Chief. You were taking a bit too long to boot up."

"Well, warn me for crying out loud." He rubbed his cheek and saw the open door for the first time. "Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah, but listen, Sandburg." Jim stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Your mother's death was a ploy to get Hersch to make a move. You mom's not dead, she's here with me."

Blair froze as the words sunk in. He gave Jim a wide-eyed look. "Mom's here? She's alive?"

"I know I'm throwing a lot at you, but we have to get moving. We have a plane waiting to take us out of here. Are you going to be able to run?" Jim held his arm to steady the dazed man as he swayed.

"Yeah," Blair answered with an uncharacteristically flat voice. "I don't want to keep my mother, the super spy, waiting."

Jim watched as Blair led the way out of the room, then followed with a sigh. This was not going to be a fun trip.

As they climbed the stairs towards the kitchen, Jim heard the soft popping sound from a handgun with a silencer. He reached out and pulled Blair back behind him and pulled out the gun Naomi had issued him in Texas. Blair took his position behind Jim without comment, falling easily into their usual routine.

They met Naomi and her teammate in the main entryway. The Brit was holding his arm just below his elbow. A cloth napkin had been wrapped tightly around it, blood soaking a spot in the linen. Naomi gave her son a warm smile when she saw his head over Jim's shoulder.

Jim couldn't see Blair's response, but judging by the look on Naomi's face, it wasn't what she was hoping for.

"Problems?" Jim asked, noticing that Hersch was not with them. The sharp smell of gunpowder was coming from Naomi.

"We screwed up. Let him get to a knife," Naomi explained. "Let's meet up with the others, we're behind schedule." She slipped out the front door, followed by the Brit.

Jim took a step to follow and turned when he realized Blair was not behind him. Blair was standing in the hallway as if stunned, staring in disbelief at the door his mother had just exited. Jim reached back and took Blair's elbow.

"You're still awake, Chief," he said quietly, towing Blair though the doorway.

Oh, yeah. This trip back was gonna to be some kind of fun.

Blair lasted over halfway back to the plane until the fast pace caused him to stumble. He tripped on an exposed root and planted his face into Jim's back, causing the bigger man to grunt in pain.

"Sorry," Blair muttered, as he pushed back from Jim and got his balance.

Jim turned and gave Blair a head to toe examination. His breathing was fast. He was sweating heavily and Jim wasn't happy with the glazed look in his eyes, although that could be caused by going without his glasses for nearly a week.

"You okay?"

Blair nodded. He flapped his hands, gesturing he was ready to keep going.

Jim circled his good arm around Blair's back and pulled him tight to his side. "How about you pretend I'm that cane you hate to use?"

Blair closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into Jim. "I keep expecting to wake up in that little room, man," he whispered for Jim's ears only. Naomi and the others had stopped to wait for the two men to catch up again.

"We're close to the plane. Next time you wake up, you'll be back on American soil."

"You mean we're not?"

"Nope, this is Mexico. Ready?"

"Huh." Blair nodded and the two men started out again.

Jim caught Naomi's eyes. She gave him a warm smile and took the lead. The sun was up now, they were walking directly into its rays as they filtered through the thick foliage. Jim kept his hearing extended in a wide net around them. He monitored the brief chatter from the others over his ear-piece, only adding an occasional comment when he was directly asked a question by Naomi about their surroundings.

They reached the airstrip a few minutes overdue, but not so late the pilot was instructed to leave without them. Blair was hoisted up into the plane by two of Naomi's men, followed by the injured Brit and Jim. The others jumped up as the plane's engine kicked to life. Naomi was the last to jump in, as the plane began to taxi down the grass runway.

The plane gathered the required speed and lifted into the air to take them back to Texas. Jim guided Blair to a seat in the back. Naomi was getting out bottled water and a first aid kit. She handed Jim a thick blanket from under a seat, then turned her attention back to her men.

Blair watched his mom work as Jim wrapped him in the blanket. After taking a drink from the water bottle, he handed it back to Jim. The plane suddenly dipped from turbulence and Blair's hand appeared from under the blanked to latch on to Jim's arm.

"Easy, Sandburg. Just a little air turbulence," Jim whispered as he settled in the seat next to Blair.

They had the back of the old `Twin Otter' airplane to themselves. Jim guessed the plane was a short hop commuter plane in its time, before it was turned into questionable service over the U.S./Mexico border. The seats were narrow. Each row had three seats, one seat on left side and two seats on the right, about four rows in all. The back row was a single long bench, wide enough for four. It gave the two men plenty of room to spread out.

Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulders, pulling the shivering man close. The fever was well over one hundred. Jim would be happy when they got him to a hospital.

"I hate flying, man," Blair muttered as he leaned against Jim. "It's too cold in here."

"A thank you would be nice, you know. Instead all I get is complaining," Jim joked.

Blair looked up in alarm, then huffed when he saw Jim's smile. "Thanks, man. That's two I owe you."

"Nah, I'm counting the river in your favor. I was having a hard time pretending to be a fish, a little short in the gill department."

Blair snorted, his eyes closed. "That's why I'm the guppy." He opened his eyes and started to sit up straight. "Jim! What about Helen, man? And who got hurt in the bull pen?"

"Relax." Jim pulled him back to rest. "I talked to Helen last night, she's fine. They never even followed her, really pissed her off, too. Your mother called the station. Simon and Joel are both fine. It was McVey from Burglary that got hurt. He's in stable condition with burns to his back. He'll make a full recovery. Brown got some minor cuts, he was treated and released."

"Oh, man. What a relief," Blair exclaimed. "We need to go back and visit Helen. She's a nice lady."

They didn't say anything for a while. Blair shivered again, causing Jim to adjust his blanket higher. Jim noticed he was watching his mother again. Jim was aware what a shock it must be to Blair, seeing his mother like this. She was still dressed in black, commando style clothes, a gun holster holding her automatic against her side. Her face was still black from grease paint.

She'd finished wrapping the man's arm and was putting her supplies away. When it was stowed back under the seat, she rose and walked forward to speak with the pilot. She seemed satisfied with what he said, patting the man on the shoulder. As she walked back to the first seat, she caught Blair's gaze.

Jim watched her as he felt Blair turn his head to the right. Naomi seemed to shrink a little as she continued to her seat and turned to sit, her back to them. Jim studied the back of her red head for a moment.

This was not good.

"Want to talk about it?"

Blair continued to stare out the window.

"Sandburg, she's your mother," Jim whispered.

Blair turned to face Jim. "She lied to me, man."

Jim saw the pain in his friend's eyes. He knew Blair was working through some powerful emotions, but he also knew that Blair was nothing if not forgiving. Hell, look at all the stuff Sandburg had to put up with while living with him.

"She had to make some pretty tough decisions, Chief. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was pissed too, when I found out." Jim gave Blair's shoulder a squeeze. "But, hell, I know all about keeping secrets and living two lives. Who am I to judge?"

"This is different, Jim," Blair mumbled, as if not ready to give up his pain.

"Is it? Maybe with you she was real and when she does her spy stuff she had to tell lies. The way I see it, she put you first. Isn't that what a mother should do? Even the double-oh mothers?"

Blair laid his head on Jim's arm and sighed. "I'm confused."

Jim leaned his head close and whispered, "Talk to her. She loves you."

Blair rolled his head to look at Jim. The beginning of a `Sandburg smile' was playing on the edges of a tired face. "When did you turn into `Dear Abby', man? Wait till I tell Simon and the guys."

"I'll kick your ass from Texas to Cascade if you even breathe a word of this conversation, junior."

Naomi was startled when Jim tapped her shoulder. He pointed back toward the rear of the plane.

"Switch seats with me."

She frowned. "Are you sure he wants me to?"

Jim nodded. "It was his idea."

As Jim settled into his new seat, he glanced over at the Brit. He raised his eyebrow and nodded at his arm. The man smiled and gave a `thumbs-up' before closing his eyes again. Jim tuned into the conversation that was starting behind him.

"Mom?"

"Hey, baby. It's okay."

The sound of a blanket being moved around.

"I'm sorry..."

"Shhhh..."

Jim turned his dial down and leaned back, enjoying the ability to stretch out his long legs and cross them comfortably. He was looking forward to getting home.

Naomi sat sideways in the seat to accommodate her son as he leaned into their hug. She closed her eyes, cherishing the feel of Blair's embrace.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, honey," she murmured into his ear.

Blair shook his head slightly. She could feel his fever on his forehead and his bare arms. She noted his shuddering breaths, recognizing her son was working to prevent his emotions from spilling over.

"It's okay, just rest." She rocked him gently. A small smile appeared when she felt Blair relax into her arms.

Blair was safe, for now. But had Hersch told anyone about the identity of his father? Naomi knew she was not in a position to cause any danger to her son. In fact, her last several years had been more of a training/consulting capacity.

She studied Blair's face carefully, he was drifting off. The blanket slipped off his shoulder and she pulled it back up. Her heart soared that he trusted her enough to sleep. But she was not fooled by his acceptance of her newly revealed lifestyle. He would have her in a chair as soon as he was well, given her a thorough interrogation. That was fine. He deserved to know the score. The name of his father would mean nothing to him. As was usually the case, the truly powerful people in the world were unknown to the media and the public.

She pulled him close, leaning against the side of the plane as she settled for the ride back to Texas. Blair was asleep now, his face relaxed.

Naomi studied the back of Jim's head. Could he continue to keep Blair safe? Would he want to? She knew the bond between the cop and her son was strong, but would it be enough?

As if Jim was reading her thoughts, he turned in his seat. Their eyes met and Naomi smiled.

The End.

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