Blair took the full contents of the bucket directly in his face. He gasped as the icy water brought him back to consciousness, his shuddering movements pulling on the straps that held him to the chair. His dark world had been reduced to pain and misery. His throat was damaged from screaming, even though he'd learned hours ago his screams earned him no pity, relief, or comfort.

He was ashamed to admit, had he known what these people wanted, he gladly would have spilled his guts. But he didn't know. He couldn't even guess what this guy was looking for, so making up a fabrication wouldn't work here.

Blair had begged. He'd pleaded. He'd used every cuss word he'd ever heard, in every language. But the questions never varied. The tormentor was relentless, he had no soul. Nothing seemed to get the man to understand, Blair did not know.

"Okay, Mr. Sandburg. Let's try this again and please try to stay conscious for more than twenty minutes. My man is getting tired of lugging the ice water from the kitchen," East Coast said.

"Just... kill me," he croaked in a voice his mother wouldn't recognize.

"McVey said she went to Seattle. What did she say next?"

"N-n-no... you ask... and ask, but you're not... listening to me." A harsh sob caused him to stop and take several deep breaths. His body had already embarrassed him in more ways than he wanted to think about. He'd been crying steadily for what seemed like forever. "She said... something, but it was so soft... no one heard it... not even Jim."

"That's right; our reports show it was just you with McVey at the end. You're the only one that can tell my client what he wants to know, so it's up to you. Have you had enough? Are you going to tell me what I need to know? We still have three settings to go."

Blair had learned to despise the snapping sound; it meant pain.

Chin resting on his chest, Blair rocked his head from side to side as he sobbed. "I didn't... hear anything... please, stop..."

"Let's try another level, shall we?"

Somehow he had enough energy to scream, which was surprising in a way. He'd thought his vocal cords were all but finished. Maybe the screams were being fueled by the currents that rocked his body and made his skin itch like a million red ants eating him alive. He drew in a fast breath for another scream before blacking out again and missing East Coast's next comment.

"You know, I'm beginning to think he truly doesn't know."

They found the road on the first try.

Jim was silent as he pushed the needle as fast as he dared. The dirt road had not had much in the way of maintenance over the years, and it showed. The twin beam from the headlights shot out into the darkness as the truck took the corners and climbed the mountain. Jim concentrated on keeping all four wheels on the road, yet found time to ponder their situation.

His experience as a ranger, cop and detective told him to check out the first house the ranger had mentioned. The owners were away, making it a perfect location. They didn't have time to waste.

But Jim couldn't stop but consider the odds. The astronomical odds!

Sentinel mountain? SENTINEL mountain?

A small voice in his head spoke, a voice that - over the last year - had grown. It was a gentle voice, persistent, relentless, not giving up, not shutting up.

Climb the mountain.

"This looks high enough," Buck announced, breaking into Jim's thoughts.

They parked and got out. The air was cold. The wind pulled at his jacket and tried to lift his Jags cap from his head. Jim adjusted his sight, using the faint light from the clear night's stars and scanned the panoramic view. The Columbia flowed like a wide ribbon, cutting the dark landscape in two. The concrete wall of the Wanapum dam held back the water and formed a wider reservoir, popular with the boaters. To the north, Jim could see the mountains of the North Cascades, white with winter dressing.

"Well?" Buck asked, standing at his side and adjusting his injured arm in its sling.

"Show me the map." It was time to get down to business.

Buck held the map out, given by the park ranger to keep with her blessing. The locations in question were circled with red marker. Jim matched the first circle with its actual location, spotting the large home close to the base of the mountain. Zooming in, he identified a new Land Rover parked in the driveway. This was the location she had first told them about. It looked like vacationer had rented the place while the owners wintered in Arizona. The lights were off. The house seemed asleep for the night. Jim worked on matching the other houses, using the large Gingko trees to help pinpoint their location. Only two of the four homes had lights on, the location on Crab Creek and the one below the dam.

None of the houses had visible black Dodges. But they could be in garages or tucked out of sight behind buildings.

"I can't tell," Jim said, his eyes bouncing between the four homes. "We'll just have to check each one."

Buck cursed softly at his side. Jim felt the same frustration build; they had done nothing but waste more time. Just as he started to turn back to the truck, Jim's eye caught a strange flickering at the house below the dam.

"Wait a minute." He stared at the light fixed on the front of the attached garage. It changed back to its previous strength. Then a few seconds later, it dimmed again. Jim felt suddenly cold. He knew what could cause that. Hell, he'd seen it first hand.

"What is it?" Buck pressed.

"Quiet, give me a sec," he answered, rushing his words.

Using his line of sight to give his ears a direction to track, he picked up the faint but clear scream.

Oh, shit.

Maybe it was something in his expression, but Buck refused to be put off again.

"Dammit, Ellison! What do you see?"

"Come on," he replied tersely, spinning on his heels and running for the truck. "He's in the house below the dam."

Buck barely climbed in before the tires threw gravel. Jim reversed in a three-point turn and accelerated down the mountain road.

Looking back, Jim remembered little of the drive. They had to head north, catch the interstate bridge over the river and head south to reach the house. He longed for a cell phone, a way to call for back up without stopping and finding a payphone or waking a civilian. Jim watched the road for a trooper, hoping they would try and pull him over.

"Look!" Buck pointed to a light rising in the night sky. They were on the bridge now, crossing over the mighty Columbia.

Jim recognized the blinking light as a small private airplane. It was taking off from somewhere below the dam, rising in altitude over the river. From their angle, he couldn't read the registration numbers on its tail.

"The map shows a private airstrip about a quarter of a mile south," Buck said. "You think it could be them?"

"I just hope Blair wasn't with them," Jim replied grimly, his knuckles white on the wheel.

Buck barked out the turns to take, soon they were bouncing over potholes and in sight of the Ginkgo trees. Like the others, most of the leaves had already fallen; only a few managed to cling to the branches till the next high wind arrived. A ranch-style home sat among the tall trees, the light over the attached garage burning steadily. Jim pulled the truck off the road and killed the engine.

Both men carried automatics as they silently neared the house. When they where within a hundred feet, Buck paused and looked at Jim expectantly. They had been in a similar position last summer.

"Well? What do you hear? Is Blair inside?" Buck asked.

Jim tilted his head and extended his hearing. The house was quiet. He picked up the hum of central heating, a motor from the refrigerator and, in the garage, a single heartbeat.

"Someone's in the garage."

The lock on the front door showed signs of being picked. Would they find the owners of the house inside? Perhaps murdered in their sleep? Or had they been away for a few days? Jim sniffed the air carefully once they slipped into the living room.

No blood. Maybe the owners were gone.

They passed through a dimly lit living room. A few cans of soda sat in odd spots throughout, not in keeping with the overall tidiness of the home. Buck followed, watching his back. A short hallway off the back took them through a spacious mudroom. Two pairs of boots rested on a carpet square, one large man's size, the other much smaller, perhaps his wife's. Jackets hung on the wall. Bins for recycling stacked against the other wall. Jim zeroed in on the door, which should take them to the garage - and hopefully Blair.

Buck watched Jim turn the knob and carefully ease the door open. Without have to confer, both men stood off to the side. It was just a standard precaution. Buck knew Jim would hear if anyone other than Blair was on the other side, but some booby traps wouldn't be heard or smelled.

Nothing blew up, shot at them or swung through the opening and they entered the darkness of the large three-door garage. The light from the living room reflected dimly on the shiny paint job of a parked car. After a second, Jim flicked on a switch by the door and flooded the area with light.

The back of Blair's curly head was visible over the roofline of a Lincoln Towncar. The other two stalls were empty.

"Sandburg!" Jim called, jogging around the long car and pausing to curse with vehemence.

Buck steeled himself, moving to Jim's side to get his first full look at his nephew.

Blair hung by straps in a sturdy chair. A wide black cloth was tied over his eyes, covering half his chalky, white face. His upper body and lap were soaking wet. He was breathing in hitches, a thin smear of blood mixed with drool trailed from his mouth. He was barefooted, both feet submerged in a shallow metal pan filled with water.

With sick realization, Buck understood what Jim had seen from the mountainside.

Jim was moving now, reaching Blair in three long strides. Kneeling directly in front, he gently eased off the blindfold to reveal two red and puffy closed eyes.

"Hey, Chief, we found you. You're safe now," Jim said softly.

Blair jerked back in his chair with a frightened cry. "No!"

Buck was attempting to unbuckle an arm strap one handedly and flinched when he heard the gravelly croak. He saw Jim's eyes narrow with anger, but the man continued to speak in a soothing, calm voice.

"Blair, open your eyes. It's Buck and Jim. You're okay now."

Blair seemed lost in his own private hell. His body shaking, tears flowed down his cheeks. Both eyes remained tightly closed. Jim had the wide chest strap off and was working on the other arm while Buck still fumbled with his.

"Come on, buddy. Open your eyes," Jim continued to plead with an almost quiet desperation. Buck could see the cop was shaken and scared.

Hell, he was scared. Blair had been tortured. It was beyond belief. How could they possibly fix this? Buck clamped down on his emotions and concentrated on getting his fingers to finish undoing the last of the buckle.

"Yeah, that's it, Darwin. We're here now. You're safe."

Looking up from the buckle, he saw Blair's eyes open, staring at Jim. The younger man's tremors were growing by the second, but he appeared to recognize his roommate.

"Get... them out..." Blair said with effort. Both arms were free now and he hugged himself tightly as if freezing.

Jim understood instantly and cursed softly. "Oh, shit, Blair. I'm so sorry. I should have done that first." He went to the rope that bound his friend's legs and started to work on the knots.

The water, of course, Buck thought to himself. It was how these bastards delivered the electricity. Gripping a wet shoulder firmly, he smiled at Blair as he squatted down to get eye level. "Hey, runt, we've been looking for you."

Blair turned his head to look at Buck, causing the older man to swallow hard. Gone was the youthful exuberance he was used to seeing in Blair's face. Dark pools filled with terror looked out of Blair's eyes. Buck kept his own expression calm, giving Blair a gentle squeeze. Jim had the rope off his legs now and Blair kicked his knees up in a jerk, clearing his feet from the water.

Buck chanced a glace at Jim and saw raw fury incarnate. Jim's entire face was hard, as if chiseled out of stone like the presidents on Mount Rushmore. His mouth compressed so tightly, his lips were white and bloodless. When Blair made clumsy movements to get out of the chair, Jim moved. One strong arm under Blair's knees and the other circling his back and gripping under an armpit, Jim lifted the injured man easily.

Buck was unable to keep the surprise off his face, impressed with the cop's strength. Blair was by no means a lightweight.

"Just relax, partner. Let us do the work," Jim muttered so softly, Buck almost missed it. Buck ran ahead, opening the door as Jim carried Blair into the warmer interior of the house. Blair was silent, his eyes tightly closed, one hand anchored in a fistful of Jim's jacket. Back inside the living room, Jim carefully lowered Blair to a couch and started peeling the layers of wet shirts off.

"Buck, would you check the bedrooms for warm sweats and thick socks... and a blanket and some towels."

"Sure." Buck headed down a promising hallway, hoping to find the items in question. When he returned a minute later, his single good arm filled, Blair was shirtless and Jim was just finishing with his jeans and boxers. A strong scent of urine filled the room. Buck was relieved to see no obvious evidence of abuse on Blair's body. If they had beaten him on top of the electrocution treatment... Buck steeled his emotions. Losing control wasn't an option.

"...Perfectly normal reaction, Chief. Don't even worry about it," Jim muttered lightly as he snatched a large towel from Buck to carefully clean the blood and moisture from the younger man's face, then briskly dried him off.

Dropping the rest of the items on the sofa, Buck handed Jim a large pair of thick sweatpants. Blair would have to endure going commando for a while. Jim held the pants open for Blair to step into. The younger man clumsily lifted a leg while bracing himself with a hand on Jim's shoulder.

Once Blair was wearing the pants, Jim eased him back down to sit on the sofa and gently pulled a sweatshirt over his head. He examined both Blair's feet before encasing them in heavy-duty boot socks. The owner of the house must be a large man, judging by the double X's on the clothing tag, causing the borrowed sweats to make Blair look a lot smaller than he actually was.

"Buck, find a phone and call for help... and an ambulance," Jim ordered without looking up from his job.

"I already checked. Phone lines are cut," Buck reported. "We'll have to drive him out."

"Okay, let's get him warmed up first," Jim suggested, kneeling on one knee beside Blair and taking another clean towel and gently attacking the wet curls. "How about something to drink, Chief?"

Blair remained silent and withdrawn, avoiding both men's eyes. Occasional shivers ran down his body, after effects of the electrocution.

Buck turned towards the kitchen, glad to have another task to keep him busy. Without the use of both arms, he wasn't much help right now, except for fetching. When he returned with the water, Blair was wrapped in a blanket, leaning back against the couch, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

"Okay, let me see your mouth, Sandburg. Open up," Jim said.

Hesitating slightly, Blair opened his mouth to reveal a nasty looking cut on one side of his tongue. Buck winced, knowing the cut would need stitches.

"The bleeding stopped. We'll have the doctors check it out. Want to try some water?" Jim held the glass while Blair slowly sipped, insisting Blair drink at least half before setting it aside.

Buck watched Jim fuss, amazed at the man's natural ease as a caregiver. Sure, Jim mentioned he'd been a field medic in the army; a lot of guys got that job handed to them. But they didn't all display this kind of bedside manner. Jim only seemed to show this facet of his character around Blair. Feeling like an intruder, Buck's gaze roamed the living room, noticing the empty cans of soda and a few magazines left open on the side tables. Their significance was obvious to the ex-Seal.

The bastards had lounged around while Blair was being tortured out in the garage. Buck's anger swelled, causing his hands to shake uncontrollably. Somewhere in the house, the soft sound of a central heating system clicked on - probably set by an automatic thermostat. Under normal circumstances, Buck would have hardly have acknowledged the sound.

"Jim..." Blair's hand emerged from the blanket to grab Jim's wrist, his eyes wide and panicky.

God, that voice! Buck's nails cut into the skin of his palm. How long does a person have to scream to sound that bad?

"Okay! Okay... calm down, Blair," Jim soothed with a gentle smile, moving close to wrap an arm around Blair's trembling shoulders. "I'm listening. No one's going to sneak up on us. Buck and I think they took off in an airplane. Now, save your voice, okay? It needs a rest here, kiddo. We're just going to sit here a minute and let you warm up."

Blair relaxed a fraction, after a few long seconds he closed his eyes and rested his head on Jim's shoulder. Jim adjusted the towel around Blair's neck, drawing it close to catch any drips from the damp hair. A violent wave of tremors shook Blair hard, causing Jim to tighten his hold.

Without realizing it, Jim started a slight, gentle rocking motion which soothed Blair even more. Buck released a pent up breath and sagged into a nearby chair. When Jim looked at Buck over the top of Blair's wet curls, Buck saw the silent rage and anger in those blue eyes.

Jim's usual strong armor of emotional detachment was slipping.

Buck realized his good hand was clinched in a tight, hard fist.

It would appear Jim wasn't alone.

Blair refused to be carried again.

Frankly, Jim was surprised his friend had allowed it the first time, it wasn't Blair's style. But they needed to leave and Jim would not consider letting Blair walk outside in socks. In the end, it was Buck's idea of borrowing the boots from the mudroom that ended the stand off. Jim scratched a quick note to the owners, explaining briefly who to call in order to be reimbursed for all missing or damaged property. Then, while Buck stayed with Blair, he jogged out to the truck and drove it to the house.

"It'll take a minute for the heater to warm up," Jim explained as Buck helped Blair, still wrapped in the blanket, climb into the cab and slide towards Jim on the front bench seat.

Jim took the dirt road slowly. Each pothole drew a painful gasp from the man huddled at his side. When they reached the pavement, Jim heard a small sigh. By the time Jim merged with the eastbound lane of Interstate Ninety, Blair's damp head was resting on Buck's shoulder and soft snores filled the cab.

"He needs a hospital." Buck muttered quietly.

"I know."

"Can you tell how bad he's hurt?"

"He's in shock. He needs a twelve-lead to know if his heart's okay. Best case scenario... he'll be sore as hell for a few days."

"What did they use on him?"

"Not sure, I could see scratch marks on the metal pan holding the water... they looked like they may've been made by clamps. They must have taking the device with them in the plane."

Buck combed his fingers through his hair. "What about his voice?"

"He should heal, with time."

"So, why did they leave him?"

"Probably realized he doesn't know anything."

Buck was quiet for a few moments, the questions apparently all asked as he gazed out at the passing darkness. He rubbed his injured arm for a moment before starting up again. "They had a chance to kill us... but didn't. They could have killed Blair, thank God they didn't. So, what do they want? Who are these guys? It takes real money to arrange all this. I have a hard time believing they're going through all this trouble for a quarter mil."

Jim agreed. "We'll find out. Whoever's behind this, they just made a serious mistake. It's personal now."

The first hospital they reached was in Moses Lake. During the transfer to the gurney, Blair woke, afraid and confused. Jim waved the hospital staff back, letting Blair sit a minute in the cab of the truck, his body turned to face the open door. Jim stood close, lightly rubbing a blanketed shoulder until the shaking eased. The gurney was taken away and replaced with a wheelchair. Once Blair seemed calm, they wheeled him into a brightly lit treatment room.

Jim briefed the doctor quietly after coaxing Blair up onto an exam table. Buck went off to make a phone call to the FBI agents. Jim stayed close, available should Blair become frightened again.

"Mr. Sandburg? I'm Doctor Chase," the doctor said. "I'm going to give you a brief exam... nothing unusual. I'll tell you everything before it happens, okay? My nurse is going to put a few patches on you; we'd like to get a picture of your heart activity. While she sets that up, I'd like to check your pupil response. May I shine this penlight in your eyes?"

The house looked exactly the same in the morning light as they'd left it yesterday. Jim killed the engine and scrubbed his face wearily, the familiar weight of Blair's head back on his shoulder again. After hours of cardiac observation and hospital visits from the two FBI agents, Blair had insisted he was not being admitted. His stubbornness was tainted with exhaustion, but it still gave Jim some comfort to see this small part of Blair's spirit return.

Buck opened his door. "Let me get the house unlocked and his bed turned down before we get him inside."

Blair stirred on Jim's shoulder. He'd refused any pain medication before leaving the hospital. Jim didn't want to think how the other man's body was going to feel in a few hours.

"Sandburg? You awake?" He craned his neck to try and get a look at Blair's face.

"Ummm... ow, ow, ow..."

"I've got those pills the doctor prescribed."

Blair lifted his head slowly and rubbed his neck with a hand completely covered by the sleeve of a sweatshirt. "No," he croaked, trying to shift sideways on the bench seat, towards the passenger door. He froze, a gasp of pain escaped.

"Stay put for a second." Jim was out his door and around to the other side of the cab in seconds. He reached in and looped an arm around Blair's waist, taking a gentle grip on the smaller man's upper arm. "I'm not going to carry you, Chief. Just let me slide you out, then you can stand."

It worked, but Blair's face was drawn and pale by the time he stood next to Jim.

"Damn it, Sandburg. Take the pills, you don't have to hurt this much," Jim muttered, keeping his grip on Blair's arm as they made their way towards the house.

"No..."

Blair might have been speaking softly, but Jim recognized the obstinate tone.

"Fine, but youare going to lie down. No options. You'll rest and do what we say or we'll haul your butt back to the hospital," Jim threatened.

"No hospi'ul," Blair said resting heavily on Jim's arm as they climbed the three steps onto the porch. Buck was watching from the open door. "No stan'ers..."

Jim worked at trying to understand the slurred words. Blair's tongue was still feeling the effects of the numbing shot the doctor had to use before putting in the sutures. It sounded like Blair didn't want `strangers'. Jim didn't need to ask why, how can you protect yourself from a faceless enemy? Every male stranger Blair met might be the man that had tortured him.

"Okay, I understand, Chief," Jim said, his earlier irritation completely gone. "But you do things my way for a while, got it?"

They were in their room now. Blair sagged down on the edge of his bed, his strength apparently spent. "'kay"

Jim bent down to remove the large boots from Blair's feet. "You need anything before you lay down?"

Blair's eyes were already closed as he shook his head. Jim guided him down sideways, aiming his head to land on the pillow. Judging by his respiration, Blair was asleep before Jim finished getting him under the covers. Jim took a second to reposition his head on the pillow to best accommodate his breathing before standing straight and stretching his spine, his hand pressing against the small of his back.

"What?" he asked, catching the look on Buck's face as the man stood in the doorway.

Buck raised his good hand. "Nothing, nothing. So, which one of us takes first shift?"

"I doubt they're coming back. I'll be able to hear anyone approach," Jim said. "We can both catch some sleep; can you set the alarm to give us six hours?"

"You betcha." Buck checked his watch. "I'll see you at fourteen-hundred."

Jim dropped wearily on his bed, pulling off his shoes. He would have no problem keeping his senses on alert while he slept. He'd done it before with less sleep. Knowing Blair was back and relatively safe, would make it that much easier.

A barely visible shudder under Blair's blankets immediately drew Jim's attention. Remembering where Buck stored the linen along with a few extra blankets, Jim retrieved a wool Pendleton. He gently draped it over the sleeping form, adding it to the top of the existing bedding. Stripping out of his clothes, folding them carefully on a chair, Jim slipped between the sheets of his own bed, grateful to be off his feet.

In six hours, he would wake, eat and form a game plan.

Jim returned the phone to its cradle.

"What time are they coming?" Buck asked from his position in front of the stove.

"After dinner, that way Sandburg has a chance of getting some food in him before he has to tell his story," Jim explained.

Buck slid the folded omelet into Jim's plate, the smell of mushroom and cheese made the cop's mouth water. They'd both been awake for about an hour, taking turns in the shower, keeping their voices low, and walking softly around the small house. Outside, the sun was low, almost touching the top of the canyon walls.

"Thanks, looks good, impressive for a one handed guy."

Buck shrugged as he dropped into his seat to eat. "It's a Navy thing. Plus, it's easy and filling."

"Plus Sandburg's asleep and can't give us his lecture about the average adult's weekly serving size of eggs," Jim answered before filling his mouth with his first forkful of light, fluffy eggs and cheese.

Unable to hide the look of guilt, Buck gave Jim a small grin. "It may have crossed my mind."

Jim washed the eggs down with hot coffee. "I've been thinking about this business with the old kidnapping and Blair's abduction."

"And?"

"I agree these people aren't after the money, it just isn't cost effective."

"So, what are they after?"

"The baby," Jim said, resting his elbows on either side of his plate and tenting his fingers together. "Only now he would be a man in his sixties."

Buck continued to stare, not comprehending, his food untouched for the moment.

"What's the one threat this sixty-year-old man could pose to his family?" Jim asked softly.

After a moment, Buck thought of a likely answer. "Inheritance?"

Jim picked up his fork and resuming his meal. "Give the man a cigar."

Buck shook his head. "His only sibling was the brother, right? The guy owning the shipping company? How would the missing brother affect the inheritance?"

"The business may be family owned, which means there may be a will," Jim said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Ahhh, I get it. The will may name the kidnapped child as a benefactor, in the event he's found," Buck said picking up his fork. "When the FBI called the brother about finding Maude McVey, he somehow found out who'd been the last one with her. He thinks maybe she blurted out the identity of his missing brother."

"So he hires some mercs to take Blair and get the information," Jim added darkly.

"How we going to prove any of this?" Buck demanded.

"We'll nose around; get all we can on the brother. Then..." Jim wiped his mouth and set his fork down on the empty plate. "I have a plan."

Any answer Buck had went unheard as Jim picked up a faint moan from the other end of the house. He rose from the table. "Sandburg's waking up."

Buck waved him out. "Go, I'll finish this and fix whatever he wants to eat, just come tell me."

"Thanks," Jim tossed over his shoulder, already out of the room.

Blair's eyes were open. His face was white and twisted in pain, short gasps marking his distress.

"Hey, hey, easy, Chief," Jim said, picking up the pill bottle and shaking out one small, white pain pill. He grabbed a water bottle and sat next to Blair, careful not to jostle the man. "I'm going to lift your shoulders, just enough to get the pill and water down. It's half your dose. It'll take the edge off."

They performed the maneuver and Jim eased Blair back down onto his pillow. Moving to drag a desk chair close, he transferred off the bed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "How ya feeling?"

"Okay," Blair croaked, his eyes closed.

"Liar."

Blair managed a deep breath and opened his eyes, searching Jim's face. "I `memba a gunshot," Blair said, his damaged voice made even more alien by the two stitches the doctor put in his tongue.

Jim nodded. "Buck took a round through his arm, right below his elbow. He's okay."

That seemed to take some of the worry away from the younger man, relaxing his face a few degrees. "Thank God... how long did they..."

"Almost nine hours," Jim answered thickly. Considering what Blair was experiencing during those nine hours, it seemed indecently long. "I'm sorry, Chief. We tried---"

"Jim, don't..." Blair interrupted. "You came... that's what mattahs."

"Save your voice, Sandburg," Jim admonished lightly. "The doc said no talking for the next few days."

Blair managed to pull a face as he slowly drew back the covers, mouthing the word `bathroom'. He grimaced with pain as he moved. Using Jim's arm, he pulled himself up and stood drunkenly on his own for a minute, breathing deeply through his mouth.

"No sprints, junior. Just taken each step nice and slow," Jim said as they began the long exodus towards Buck's bathroom. "Your muscles got a thorough workout; they're going to be sore for a few days. You know, you have time for a long bath, if you want. It could help."

After getting the younger man squared away on the toilet seat, Jim retrieved some towels from the same closet he'd taken the extra blanket and picked up Blair's travel-sized shaving kit. He gave a short report to Buck on his way back to the bathroom. Blair was finished and attempting to remove his oversized sweats when Jim returned to dump the towels and kit on the closed lid of the toilet. He leaned over to start the bath water. Buck's new bathroom had an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. A large window opened up to the back yard, displaying the kitchen garden with the desert cliffs in the distance. The setting sun lit the tops of the cliffs with a reddish hue that reminded Jim of an Ansel Adams' photograph.

Blair gave the window a nervous glance before stepping out of his drawstring pants.

"You want me to drop the blinds?" Jim asked. It was very unlikely anyone could see in. The area was too remote and there were no visible roads in that direction. Still, Blair nodded. "Okay, that's no problem," Jim told him.

The deep tub was filling fast. Blair began his laborious climb over the side, with Jim's hands supporting him, and sank into the warmth with a look of sheer bliss. A fresh bar of soap and a nylon scrubber sat within easy reach.

"Okay, you're on your own. If you need anything, just grunt. I'm listening," Jim said lightly, then gave his friend a stern look. "Don't - under any circumstances - attempt to get out on your own."

Blair nodded, distracted by slowly splashing the warm water up his arms.

"Sandburg, look at me," Jim ordered, squatting down. "I'm serious. Don't try to get up. Promise or I'll get a book and camp out in here."

Placing his right hand over his heart, Blair went through the actions of a witness placing his left hand on an imaginary bible.

"Cute," Jim said, secretly pleased to see any humor at all coming from his best friend. "Just remember, I can hear you. What do you want Buck to fix for dinner? Oatmeal or eggs?"

Back in the kitchen, Buck poured Jim a fresh cup of coffee. "You sure he should be alone in there?"

"Yeah, I'm listening and he promised not to stand," Jim assured him, picking up the mug. "We'll give him twenty before coaxing him out. He asked for oatmeal, by the way."

Easing down to let the warm water soak his shoulders, Blair closed his eyes and relaxed. He could hear Jim and Buck in the kitchen; their murmuring voices a major comfort. He was not alone. He was safe again. The past twenty-four hours had been hell, but it was over.

Well, except for the little fact his tongue felt three sizes too big and his body was a candidate for road kill.

He spent the first ten minutes letting the heat soak into his abused muscles and trying not to spit out the stitches on his tongue. They felt so weird in his mouth. When the water began to lose some of its heat, he washed his hair, moving like a ninety-year-old man. He applied the cream rinse and let it set while he scrubbed his arms and legs, checking his skin for damage. It was amazing how much pain he was experiencing without any visible signs of damage to his body. Part of him couldn't believe he was even alive. Towards the end, he had just wanted it to end. Even death had been preferable over the pain.

God, he was such a coward.

"Ready to get out?"

The sudden noise startled him, sending water splashing onto the floor.

Jim set the clean clothes down on the closed toilet lid. "Sorry, Chief... didn't mean to startle you," Jim said using an extra towel to mop up the water.

Blair nodded, more than a little embarrassed. At least he was saved from having to explain, after all, he was under orders not to talk, not that he clearly remembered much of what the doctor had said.

Normally, Blair preferred to use the shower to rinse his hair. But the way his body felt right now, standing under the shower spray was going to take more strength then he possessed at the moment. Finishing his final rinse by dipping his head back into the bathwater, he let Jim pull him out of the tub and accepted the towel. He wasn't surprised when Jim stood close by as Blair slowly dried off.

The pain was better now, probably a combination of the bath and the pill he'd let Jim give him. Still, he lost his balance trying to step into the boxers and Jim was quick to grab his arms. There was a time he'd have died with embarrassment. He was naked, with another man - a cop, for crying out loud - helping him dress. He hadn't needed help dressing since he was five.

But the last year of living with Jim had changed him, taught him about friendship. No, more than friendship, Blair decided as Jim steadied him again as he maneuvered into a pair of sweatpants, this time they looked like Buck's - Blair knew he hadn't packed any. Maybe it was the unique `give and take' of their relationship, but Jim had taken a position in Blair's life that had never been filled before. Hell, Blair didn't have a name for it.

The sweatpants were too big and they didn't have a drawstring. Jim took a large safety pen out of his jeans and pinched in the waistband. Now Blair could wear them without fear of them falling off his hips. The sweatshirt covered the impromptu tailor job adequately. Blair rolled the sleeves back two folds while Jim gathered up the wet towels.

"You want to shave? You have time," Jim commented.

After making sure he was fine to stand on his own, Jim left with the towels. Blair blinked at his reflection in the mirror, fuzzy with fog. The shave helped his mood some. Blair repacked his things back into the zippered bag and left it on the counter. Wearing a pair of slippers, he shuffled out into the kitchen. A cushion was waiting for him in his regular chair.

"Hey, runt," Buck said setting a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. "You warm enough?"

Blair nodded, picking up the spoon and stirring the oatmeal slowly, keeping his eyes down. He sampled the oatmeal; it slid across his injured tongue without any discomfort, but remained tasteless. Before he could finish, Jim joined them at the table.

"Okay, I got a hold of Simon, he'll be here tomorrow," Jim reported, eyeing Blair's bowl.

Blair looked up in surprise, why was Simon coming?

"Jim has a plan," Buck said.

After Jim outlined his idea, Blair shook his head. Jim's idea sounded ludicrous. How could a man plot to kill his brother, a brother he'd never seen, just to keep control of a business?

Jim must have seen the disbelief on Blair's face. "Sandburg, it's the only reason that makes any sense."

The sound of a car approaching reached the kitchen.

Blair felt his heart hit the roof of his mouth. He twitched as Jim gave him an understanding pat on the arm.

"Easy, Chief. It's the FBI team, they're here to get our statements," Jim said softly before going out to meet the men.

Blair tucked his head down, unable to look at Buck. He knew Jim was right, how could he not be right? He was a sentinel. If Jim said it was the two guys from the FBI, then it was.

But still.

Pushing away from the table, Blair slowly stood.

Buck was at his side instantly. "You okay, Blair?"

With a nod, Blair started towards his room. Moving faster than his body would have liked, he made it into the room in time to miss meeting the federal agents as they came into the house. Thankfully Buck hadn't followed. Blair leaned heavily on the closed door, willing his heart to slow.

What was wrong with him?

"You guys want some coffee?" Buck asked as the two agents entered, escorted by Jim.

"Thanks, that sounds good," Dirk said.

Buck watched Jim search the kitchen for Blair, then, discreetly tilted his head.

He's listening for something, Buck realized, but what?

Jim met Buck's glance questioningly. With a slight shrug and headshake, Buck went to the cupboard to retrieve two more mugs. Blair just wasn't up to visitors right now and Buck was going to make sure they respected his wishes.

"We finished with the Wanapum house this morning," the younger agent, Pete said. "The owners were in Walla Walla for the week, visiting grandchildren. The two Durangos showed up at a small dirt airstrip just south of the house."

"Forensics come up with anything?" Jim asked returning to his seat at the table. He nodded his thanks as Buck refilled his coffee.

"No prints in either of the cars. Whoever they were, they know enough to be careful. It'll take longer to process the entire house; we have a lot of prints that need to be matched. We did find evidence of someone being sick and the nasty business in the garage, of course," Pete commented sadly, looking around. "Where's Blair?"

"He's lying down," Buck answered.

"You guys said on the phone that you tracked Blair down by that leaf?" Dirk asked incredulously.

"We got lucky," Jim said with a shrug. "It was a rare tree."

"Damn, don't take this wrong - I know how much you city cops love working with us Feds - but if you ever want to step up to federal investigations, I've got some people that would love to meet you," Dirk said with a wry smile.

"In accordance with our fragile working relationship, I'm going to remain quiet," Jim answered, his eyes showing a slight trace of humor in an otherwise expressionless face. He continued, "Blair told us they only asked him about McVey's last words, nothing else...nothing to give us a lead on what they're searching for. But I have a theory that may interest you."

For the third time, Buck listened to Jim's plan. He had to admit to himself; the plan sounded like it might work. The agents were favorably receptive to the idea. By the time they had worked out all the issues, the coffee pot was empty and the burner turned off.

"Frankly, as much as I want to personally throttle their necks and watch them die," Jim said, "I'm more interested in getting to the person that hired them. Those men were professionals; they could have easily killed us on that road. They could have killed Sandburg, but they didn't. For that, I'm grateful. But the person responsible for sending them is going down."

"Your captain's aware of the situation?" Dirk asked.

"Yeah, he's willing to play along. We need to set this up somewhere else though," Jim said with a glance at Buck. "I'm not willing to risk this place."

Buck sighed and rubbed his forehead, thank God for small favors. His insurance company would go broke if he had to start over... again.

It was after nine when the agents drove off.

Jim was amazed with their willingness. They seemed like decent men, for Feds. And they hadn't batted an eye when told Blair was not up to giving his statement. Jim had promised to set up another meeting, as soon as Blair was able.

Finding Buck cleaning up in the kitchen, Jim lent a hand before bidding the man goodnight. They needed to get their bodies back in a normal sleep cycle. Stepping softly, he entered their room. Blair was back in bed, on his side, the covers up to his ear.

The younger man's heart rate gave him away.

"They've left," Jim said.

Blair remained motionless. As Jim started undressing for bed, he worried about his roommate's withdrawn behavior. Blair was normally the last person to keep his feelings bottled up inside, preferring to verbalize, analyze and criticize openly. Was it more than emotional? Was Blair coming down with a virus on top of everything else? Blair's thick hair was mostly dry. Buck had cranked up the pellet stove, keeping the house warm all afternoon. Blair should sleep fine.

"You okay?"

Rolling over, Blair answered Jim's question without speaking. He looked miserable.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked in alarm. If they left right now, they could be at the hospital before eleven.

But Blair shook his head. "Coward..." The word sounded ugly, even without the gravely voice.

Jim was taken back, confused for a moment. Then he realized Blair was referring to himself.

It was time to set things straight.

"No, you're not, Sandburg," Jim said fiercely, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together as he sat on the edge of his bed. "You just need time."

The look on Blair's face remained unchanged.

Jim scrubbed his face. What could he say that didn't sound like psychiatric mumbo-jumbo? Jim thought back over his military career. Blair wasn't the first person he'd known abused to the point of wanting to run every time there was a knock on the door. Hell, those had been soldiers, men and women that had the benefit of training to prepare them.

Blair was a university teaching assistant.

"Listen," Jim started again. "I once worked with a man - hell of a guy. More ribbons and crap on his uniform than you've got jars of dried herbs. He spent a month as a guest of the Viet Cong. Now, by the time I met him, that was history for him. But every time he saw a certain face, he ran - sometimes in tears. And I'm here to tell you, no one gave him shit about it. Understand?"

He had Blair's attention now, so he pressed forward. "You're brain is still working in survival mode, junior. You just need some time. I swear to you, it's going to get better."

Blair's eyes had become wet, but he nodded. "Yeah...'tanks, man."

"Go to sleep. It'll get better tomorrow, I promise," Jim repeated with confidence.

The next morning, Jim woke to the unhappy voice of Simon Banks in the living room. From the sounds of it, Buck was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to soothe his feathers. Jim rolled out of bed with a groan. When they had spoken yesterday on the phone, Simon hadn't said much. Apparently he planned to let Jim have it with both barrels, in person.

Dressing silently and checking to make sure Blair was still sound asleep, Jim slipped out to take his punishment.

"Jim... how nice to see you," Simon deadpanned. He was standing rigid in his vest, casual corduroys and his French-style beret. His `you-just-crossed-the-line-mister' glare was firmly in place on his dark face.

"I can explain, Sim---"

"Jim, don't even go there!"

"Gentlemen!" Buck interrupted. "Let's take this to the kitchen, I'll make some coffee. We'll sit down and talk about this without waking Blair." He led the way, expecting full compliance from both the cops.

Jim hid a smile. He'd hate to see which man would come out on top if push came to shove. It was nice having the ex-navy Seal on his side.

Ten minutes later, he rethought that idea. Buck had jumped the fence. Now he had two men glaring at him.

"Guys! I didn't have a lot of time to make phone calls," Jim repeated, trying to keep from squirming.

"You had over an hour in the hospital while I was being stitched up, Ellison," Buck stated. He turned to Simon to add, "And he nearly left me behind."

"Okay, yeah... maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. After all," Jim said, playing his last card. "I was recovering from a blow to the head, remember?"

Simon raised both hands. "Enough. Let's move forward here. I'm going to end this by saying - Jim, if you ever find yourself in a similar circumstance and forget to call me again, I'll kick your sentinel butt from here to Peru and back. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Simon turned to Buck with a pleasant look. "How you doing, Buck?"

"Not bad considering. You?"

Jim scowled into his coffee and stood up. "I'm going to check on Sandburg."

Blair was awake and already dressing when Jim walked in.

"You look like you're moving around better," Jim commented, snagging the second sleeve of Blair's flannel shirt and helping him put it on.

"Yeah," Blair admitted, his voice still rough but on the mend.

"How's the throat?"

"Bettah... I'm gonna see if Uncle Buck has some ga'lic or gingah, that'll help," Blair finished tying back his hair. It had dried while he was asleep and looked wilder than usual. "Simon's heah? He yelling at you?"

"We're fine," Jim said, avoiding the question. "Don't overdo it today."

When they reached the kitchen, Simon paused in his conversation. Standing from the table, he approached Blair, looking him over carefully. "Sandburg, are you okay? Should you be moving around?"

"I'm fine... tanks," Blair answered quietly. "I'm sawey `bout this."

Simon looked at the other two men in confusion. "Sorry? Am I missing something? What did Sandburg do to be sorry about?"

"Nothing, Simon," Jim answered quickly, a hand on Blair's shoulder. "He's just taking on the sins of the world a little this morning."

"Blair, you're the victim. You've got nothing to be sorry about," Simon insisted sternly. "Now that that's settled, lets get this plan hashed out. I got a few ideas driving over."

Jim gave his boss a grateful look, his earlier irritation at the man gone. "Okay, sounds good. Buck, you sit. I'll make breakfast this morning."

Buck gave Blair a mock look of horror. "This is a good thing, right, runt?"

Blair smiled, taking a seat. "He's good, when he wants ta be."

Two days later, Blair shifted nervously in his seat. Jim sat next to him, behind the wheel of Buck's rental. Buck sat on Blair's right. The two FBI agents were parked three blocks away. Blair felt almost normal again, physically at least. He was speaking normal, his lisp completely gone. After long meetings with the Feds, the plan was in place. It turned out the will left sixty-five percent of the business to the kidnapped son, being the first born; in the event he was ever located.

Now Blair, Jim, and Buck sat - waiting.

Their attention was on a small hotel, at the north end of the large city of Spokane, Washington. Simon Banks had rented a room, under the name S. G. Banks, recently from Seattle. It was a stretch, but he had driven through Seattle after he became aware of Blair's kidnapping.

The plan was simple. Simon called Newel Adams three days before, telling the man he wanted to talk about Maude McVey and hinting they had some unfinished business to discuss. Adams had sounded wary and suspicious, but Simon had acted cool, keeping his tone neutral. Finally he agreed to meet in person and see what Simon had to say.

The meet was set up for two PM. It was fifteen minutes past and Blair was getting restless.

What if the guy didn't show?

"Stop squirming, Blair," Buck said.

"Why hasn't he shown yet?" Blair asked.

Just then, Dirk's voice came over the radio in Blair's lap. "Heads up, folks. White BMW may be our guy."

"There," Jim said, pointing to a small, expensive car turning into the parking lot and parking in front of the office for the single story `L' shape motel.

They watched a short, rotund man exit the driver's door and walk towards the office. Blair could see a thick mane of white hair above an expensive looking black leather jacket. The man emerged from the motel office and headed towards Simon's room, about half way down the long building.

"I'm moving in," Jim said, opening the truck door. "You stay with Buck, Chief."

Before Blair could answer, Jim was gone.

"Well, that's a change from `stay in the truck, Chief'," Blair joked nervously. He slid towards Jim's vacated seat to give Buck some room. "At least he left the radio."

"It's not like he needs it," Buck answered. "I just wish we had access to Simon's wire. I'd love to be a fly on the wall in that motel room when Adams sees Simon acting as his long, lost brother."

Blair smiled as he watched Jim casually stroll down the sidewalk towards the motel. "Yeah, I gotta feeling Newel's gonna be in for a big surprise."

"All units, Ellison's making his move," Dirk's voice said. "Standby for my signal."

Jim was about even with the BMW. Acting like a man admiring a fine vehicle, he paused to look the car over. Then a split second before the sharp report of the shot reached Blair and Buck's location, Jim was running for the door, gun in hand.

"Oh my God!" Blair blurted out, reaching for the handle of the door.

"Blair, no!" Buck shouted, but his left hand was still in a sling. Before Buck could reach him, Blair was out of the truck and jogging towards the motel in an unsteady gait. A second shot sounded from Simon's room. FBI agents were appearing, guns drawn.

Blair wasn't even half a block away before a strong hand clamped over his wrist; bring him to a clumsy halt in the street.

"Blair Sandburg, I said stop!" Buck growled, towing him back to the sidewalk and towards the truck.

"Uncle Buck! Let me go!"

"No," Buck said. "You had clear orders to stay put and out of the way. I'm going to make sure that happens. What's done is done, they'll let us know as soon as they can."

Fighting the older man was useless. Even one handed, Buck had the determination of a pit bull. In a few seconds they were back at the truck. Blair's attention was on the motel, watching the parking lot to catch sight of a familiar face.

Neither man saw the large man, automatic in hand; appear from the doorway of the empty adjacent brick building. The man spoke with an east coast accent.

"Hello, again, Mr. Sandburg."

Blair felt his blood freeze in his veins.

He knew that voice.

Jim entered the room to find Simon down. Adams spun to face him, bringing his gun up to point at Jim. Barely having time to shout out his identity, Jim was forced to fire when he saw Adams' finger begin to tighten on the trigger. Jim fired on instinct, without thought, shooting to make sure the bullet would do the most damage.

Adams dropped to the carpet.

Switching his attention from the dead man to Simon, Jim knelt down by his boss. "You okay?"

Simon's hand clutched his chest painfully, each breath made the man grimace. "This little twit... made a disparaging comment... about my family tree... and pulled a gun."

"You hit?" Jim asked, looking for evidence of a bullet hole in the taller man's shirt.

"No... I'm fine. Vest did its job," Simon replied as FBI agents poured through the open door.

"Johnson, set up a perimeter and notify SPD we'll need their coroner," Dirk ordered to one of his men as he squatted next to the dead body, checking for a pulse. Satisfied the man was dead, he joined Jim and Simon. "We got a clear recording. You did good, Captain."

Simon looked pleased. "Can't let Jim... have all the fun."

"Jim? Jim? Is everything okay? Is Gus okay?"

The men stared at the radio in Dirk's hand, Blair's sudden transmission a surprise to them both.

"What the..." Simon muttered, confused.

Jim reached for the radio, taking it from Dirk's offering hand. "Sandburg?"

"Jim! What happened? We heard a shot, is Gus okay?"

Jim and Simon exchanged puzzled looks, then, as if a light bulb clicked on, they got it.

"Oh, shit," Simon whispered.

"Blair, everything's okay in here," Jim answered carefully. "I'm going to let you talk to Gus." He tossed the radio to Simon as he headed for the door.

"Jim! Where are you going?" Simon asked.

"Sandburg and Buck are in trouble, I'll work my way behind them. Keep him talking." Jim slipped out the door, hoping the doorway was out of sight from whoever was threatening his friends.

A nearby breezeway allowed the motel guests to access a back parking lot. Jim ran for the back and down an alley. Extending his hearing, he picked up Blair's voice.

He sounded scared.

Blair swallowed hard. Buck was on his knees in the side alley. The man had his gun, equipped with a silencer, pointed squarely at Buck's temple, threatening to shoot if Blair didn't follow orders. Blair stood at the corner of the brick building, holding the FBI's radio. He looked back at the gunman. It was strange matching a face to the voice that had caused so much pain. He reminded Blair a little of Brackett, only older. Brown hair and eyes, the gunman could pass for an executive on Wall Street.

"Did you hear that?" Blair asked.

"Yeah," the man answered

"Give it up," Buck said, keeping his eyes on the brick wall in front of his face. "All you're doing is increasing your odds of getting caught."

The man eyed Buck coolly, not looking the least bit alarmed. "You know, I only need one hostage. I'd stay quiet if I were you."

Blair felt his knees start to collapse, causing him to grab the corner of the building and close his eyes.

Oh, God! He said hostage!

Fighting to keep from throwing up, Blair pushed back the panic that pressed in. He couldn't let himself fall apart. Buck needed him. Jim was coming; he'd understood his signal. All Blair had to do was keep this monster... no, this man - just a normal man, in the alley a little longer.

"Mr. Sandburg, I'm talking to you," the man repeated, beginning to sound angry.

"Sorry... what did you say?" Blair asked, unable to keep his voice steady. He decided to use his fear to his advantage. Let the man think he was too terrified to fight back.

"If you can keep from wetting yourself again, look and tell me if Adams is being transferred to a car yet."

Blair felt his face burn as he did was he was told. "Uh... no, I don't see anyone coming out yet."

"Damn, I'm going to have to scrap this assignment," the man said to himself. He looked down at Buck. "Stand up. Mr. Sandburg, join us please."

Blair ordered his feet to move. He knew he was shaking and avoided looking at his uncle, afraid of the disappointment he expected to see in the older man's eyes. It was like approaching a snake, knowing any minute it could strike out and bite.

"Sometime today, if you'd be so kind," the gunman quipped, seeming to enjoy the terror he was causing. When Blair neared, he grabbed an arm and pulled him close, using Blair as a shield. Pointing the gun to indicate the direction he wanted, he ordered Buck to walk ahead. "I never did like working with Adams. He was an idiot."

"We're not armed, we can't stop you. Just go," Buck said, walking a few feet in front of them.

A blue Jeep Cherokee was parked on the side street at the other end of the alley. The rundown neighborhood was mostly empty buildings and RV storage lots. The streets were empty of people and passing cars.

"You just don't know how to shut up, do you?" the man said as they neared the jeep.

Blair watched as the gun was redirected, taking aim for the back of Buck's head. The move was so casual, for a split second Blair didn't realize the significance. A sudden truth brought it all to crystal clarity. This man was a professional, and both he and Buck could identify him now.

They were dead men.

Blair dropped the radio and grabbed the end of the gun, clasping the silencer with his right hand and pushing upwards, but the man's finger had already tightened on the trigger. "Run, Uncle Buck!" he yelled just as the gun discharged. A flash of heat seared Blair's palm and fingers, causing him to scream in pain.

Buck fell to the sidewalk.

"FREEZE! Cascade Police!" Jim shouted from behind.

Adjusting his hold by snaking a thick arm around Blair's neck, the man spun them both around. Now Blair was facing Jim and shielding the gunman. Blair gasped, cradling his burnt hand to his chest, barely able to make out Jim's form on the sidewalk.

"Let him go, its over!" Jim shouted, his right elbow locked straight in a classic two handed shooter's stance as he aimed for the man holding his partner.

"I don't think so; I'm driving out of here. You stop me and he's dead," the gunman answered. "Now, put it down!"

"Jim, don't!" Blair called out, certain the man planned on shooting Jim.

"You're not taking him again," Jim insisted coolly.

"Put it down, or Mr. Sandburg is dead right now." The silencer, still warm was pressed against Blair's ear.

Blair watched in horror as Jim began to set his gun down, flexing his knees and slowing reaching for the sidewalk. It was a nightmare! Jim would be shot just like Buck.

"No!" Blair yelled. He wasn't going to let this happen. The arm around his neck squeezed hard, cutting off his air.

"Shut up," the gunman whispered calmly.

"Blair! Stay still," Jim called out, his gun on the broken concrete at his feet.

Oh, God. Blair felt the muzzle of the silencer shift away, catching sight of the barrel as it pointed towards Jim. Time seemed to slow down and black spots danced across Blair's vision. He continued to claw at the arm circling his neck with his left hand. He really needed a lungful of air. Blair's eyes flicked back to Jim.

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen playing tricks, but Jim looked almost smug.

Three things happed at once.

Blair heard a nearby thud.

Jim leaped to the side, just as the gunman's gun spit another deadly round, missing him and chipping at the sidewalk.

Finally, the crushing arm around Blair's neck released him.

Blair pulled away, falling gracelessly to his knees before rolling to one side and looking back.

The gunman was down. Uncle Buck stood over him like an ancient knight who had just killed the dragon, holding something slender and long in his right hand. Jim scooped up his own gun and sprinted over just as Buck kicked the automatic its silencer several feet away from the unconscious man's reach.

"Uncle Buck! You're not shot?"

"Nope, bullet nicked my best coat though," Buck answered, setting his weapon down to help Jim roll the gunman over on his stomach. Jim handcuffed the man's hands behind his back.

"Sandburg, you okay?" Jim asked, reaching for the dropped radio and checking it for damage.

"Oh, sure," Blair said, glancing down at the blisters on the red palm of his right hand, amazed a silencer could cause so much damage. Not that he would have done anything different had he known.

Buck appeared at his side, carefully taking Blair's wrist to examine the burns. "Sorry about that, runt. Thanks for saving my life, by the way."

Blair took a shaky breath; still unable to believe they were all alive and well. "I'll heal. Where did you find that... whatever it was you hit him with?"

"It's a section of cable, wrapped in plastic coated insulation. I've been keeping it in my arm sling for a few days now. I've learned to be prepared around you two." Buck retrieved the cable and let Blair get a close look.

Finished with his radio communication, Jim joined them, taking Blair's injured hand as Buck had while Blair studied the cable. It was heavy. Blair hefted it with a surprised look. "Wow, I need to get one of these."

Jim grunted as he gently turned Blair's hand to see the damage, his face grim as he studied the hand. "Can you flex your fingers?"

Blair moved the digits in question. "I'm fine, Jim."

"No, these are second degree. You need to be treated, Chief."

Jim watched the ambulance crew load the gunman into the back of their vehicle, accompanied by two armed FBI agents with orders not to let him out of their sight. Still unconscious, the gunman's vitals were steady. Buck's blow to the head didn't look fatal. Jim had mixed feelings on the issue.

"Come on, guys," Blair moaned from his position several feet away. "I'm fine!"

"Sandburg."

"Blair."

Jim watched as both Buck and Simon tried to intimidate the younger man into going to the hospital. Blair was standing strong, or rather, sitting strong. He glared back at the two men from his perch on the back bumper of a City of Spokane police car. His hand had been cleaned by the medics and was wrapped in sterile gauze. Blair tucked his hair behind an ear as he searched the group of Federal agents and city cops, his eyes finding Jim's and conveying a complete story in one look.

Blair was at the end of his rope.

Jim excused himself from the FBI team. Dirk and Pete had wanted the full story behind the `Gus' signal that had alerted Jim and Simon to the danger. Shouldering his way through the crowd, he laid a hand on his friend's neck.

"Ready to head back, Chief?"

Blair stood with a sigh. "More than ready, Jim. Can we really get out of here?"

"Jim! What about that hand?" Simon demanded.

"So? We'll watch it. He's an adult, if he doesn't want further treatment, he's entitled," Jim explained stepping in front of Blair and addressing the medics. "Thanks, guys."

A slight pressure of Blair's forehead resting between his shoulder blades told Jim of his roommate's exhaustion, followed by a soft, "Thanks, man. I owe you."

Jim, Buck and Blair said their good-byes to Simon who had decided to remain a few days in Spokane to visit with a cousin that lived there. The two FBI agents promised to call with updates on the case.

Jim wasn't surprised when the drive back to Dry Falls was made in silence. They were tired, even conversation was too much of an effort. Blair had nodded off before they reached Moses Lake. A quiet discussion between the two older men about the options of stopping for dinner or just pushing on to the orchard ensued. In the end, they drove through until they were home.

The next afternoon, during the routine chores of everyday life, Jim realized Blair was missing.

"Buck, did Blair tell you where he was going?" Jim asked, locating the older man in the small utility room off the kitchen.

"He's gone somewhere? I told him to bring me his dirty laundry," Buck replied with a raised eyebrow as he filled a washing machine with dirty clothes. The dryer was running on high and a pile of clean jeans sat in a basket ready to be folded.

"His coat's missing, and his hat. He's probably taking a walk," Jim mused, chewing his lower lip.

"He's still not acting normal."

"You noticed, huh?"

Jim snagged his coat and a watch cap before heading outside. The day had started out clear and cool, beginning a dry, cold snap that promised to continue through the weekend. Blair's gloves were on the small table by the door and Jim stuffed the left one into his pocket before heading out. It didn't take long for Jim to track down his best friend. The walk took him north, towards the panoramic view of Dry Falls and the small desert lakes at the foot of the high cliffs.

Blair was sitting on the ground, his back against a house-size boulder, protected from the wind. His knees were tucked in tightly against his chest, his eyes fixed on the distant falls with a pensive expression. Jim paused for a minute, unnoticed. Blair's voice had sounded normal this morning and he seemed to move with little residual pain from his earlier torture.

But some injuries ran deeper then skin and muscle.

"Hey, Darwin. What's with you running off when chores need to be done?" Jim asked lightly as he settled down next to his friend. The ground was littered with rocks. Jim brushed a few of the larger ones aside before he settled in. He leaned against the large bolder, knowing the cold weather sent the snakes into hibernation this time of year.

Blair accepted the single glove with a nod, slipping it over his hand. "Thanks, I forgot to grab it."

"You okay?" Jim let the real concern he felt color his question.

Blair avoided Jim's gaze and looked back at the cliffs with a shrug.

Okay, this was going to be harder that he thought. It felt strange having to pry information from Blair, definitely a new experience.

"Dirk called," Jim continued casually. "The guy that snatched you and Buck yesterday is awake and talking. His name is Frank Snipes; his fingerprints matched a file the Feds have on a Chicago based organized crime family. He's one of their enforcers. Apparently Adams was connected with organized crime, one of the reasons his business is so successful."

Blair sighed. "So, Adams is dirty. Why didn't Dirk and Pete tell us that to begin with?"

"I don't think they knew at the time, who knows how the Fed's think?"

"Maybe... maybe when Stella kidnapped that baby, she was doing the child a favor," Blair said.

They fell into an easy silence.

Jim snuck a peek at his friend's profile; Blair was still staring at the cliffs.

"So, what is it about these cliffs that intrigue you so much?" Jim asked, opting for a new subject.

"Other than their beauty, you mean?" Blair asked.

"Well, they're nice, but the place could use a few more trees," Jim teased.

"Jim, this is a shrub-steppe habitat. This land provides the complete food chain for the animals that live here," Blair said automatically before glancing up and seeing Jim's grin. He shook his head with a wry grin. "Okay... I'm just amazed at the spirit of the geologist that figured out how they were formed. I told you about him, William Bretz. He refused to believe the party line about how this was all created. I mean, everyone said he was nuts, man, with his idea of massive floods forming the land. Yet he lived to prove them all wrong." Blair's voice trailed off.

"You're a lot like that, Sandburg," Jim told him gently.

Blair dropped his forehead to his knees and sighed, a picture of misery.

"No, Jim. I'm nothing like Bretz."

"What's eating you, kid?"

Blair took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and silently handed it over. Jim opened the page and started reading, the message was written in old-fashioned style handwriting. Jim's eyes jumped to the bottom, it was signed by Stella.

Blair and Jim,

If you're reading this, my indigestion must be worst than I thought. Forgive me for slipping this into your luggage. But I feel I must tell someone in case I don't arrive in Chicago.

My true name is Maude McVey. I was the nanny that kidnapped the child from the Adams' couple in Chicago back in the twenties. Call the police; I'm sure the case is still open. I was going back to speak to the younger brother, Newel and confess. I pray he did not follow in his father's footsteps.

The baby is alive and well. I placed him with the neighbors of a girlfriend that had moved to Olympia, Washington. They're both still alive and will verify the true identity of child; Fred and Susan Victor. I've kept my eye on him for sixty years, he's a good man.

Thank you for a pleasurable dinner, you two are very special.

Please forgive me.

Stella.

Jim read the letter through a second time. The mystery of the missing child was solved.

"Huh... she must have slipped this into your carry-on when I went down to the bathroom. You were sleeping," Jim said, refolding the paper.

"I guess," Blair replied glumly. "Good thing I didn't find it before Snipes played `light-up-Sandburg', I'm sure I would have spilled my guts."

A glimmer of Blair's real problem taunted Jim. This was still about Blair's experience in that Wanapum house. Jim tapped the folded paper in his palm as he thought. "Sandburg, you wouldn't have talked," Jim said.

Blair snorted, his face still hidden behind a curtain of hair.

"You wouldn't have," Jim pressed; nudging his friend with his shoulder.

Lifting his head, Blair turned and eyed Jim carefully. The pain in the younger man's eyes stole Jim's breath.

"You don't know that, man," Blair whispered sadly.

"I do know that," Jim answered evenly. "There are a lot of things in life I don't know, but I think I can consider myself an expert on this subject. You would never knowingly do harm."

Blair's eyes grew moist with tears. "Jim... I... it hurt... bad. I think... I would have."

Jim cursed Snipes, wishing the worst possible death imaginable to fall upon him. Taking a cleansing breath to try and shake his fierce anger, Jim draped an arm around Blair's shoulders and tucked him close to his side. He switched his gaze back to the cliffs, feeling Blair raise a hand to swipe his nose.

Tomorrow he was going to call Dirk back and make sure the Feds refused to cut a deal with Snipes, if it wasn't too late. He wanted to see the man get every charge possible thrown at him, even if he had to camp out in the prosecutor's office to make sure.

"Blair, just like Bretz knew he was right about the falls, I know I'm right about you, okay? So, when you start to doubt yourself... trust me."

He felt Blair lean into his side.

Buck laid the paper down on the table and picked up his coffee. "Well, that's that. You two going to look up this Olympia couple?"

Jim shrugged. "What's the point?"

"Jim! We've gotta find this guy. He deserves to know about his real family," Blair said.

The three men were enjoying a late lunch. Just as Buck had considered starting his own search, the two roommates had wandered back in. Blair seemed relaxed. Although his eyes were a little red, the younger man's smile was genuine and he confessed to being famished. Buck had a pot of homemade chili and cornbread ready.

"Chief, how are we going to make his life any better when we explain he was kidnapped from a father who was involved in Chicago's organized crime and his only brother was looking to kill him for the controlling rights to a transport company that is probably infiltrated with that same organized criminal element?" Jim asked gently before taking a large bite of honey-covered cornbread.

Blair rolled his eyes. "Okay, maybe we're not going to blurt all of that out in the first second...but, we've got to tell him. He has a right to know the truth."

"I'm sure he'll like to hear it from the man that shot and killed his brother," Jim said frankly.

"Guys... let's table this discussion for now, okay?" Buck said, not wanting to see a real argument begin. It continued to amaze him how these two men had become such close friends. They had very little in common. "You two only have a few days of your vacation left, how do you want to spend it?"

Jim shrugged as he chewed.

Buck turned to his nephew. "Blair?"

"Well... there is this girl I met at that fishing store. She sort of invited me to call her. Why don't we pick up your interior designer friend and go to that steakhouse you told us about? We just need to find a woman for Jim... he prefers redheads, but I figure we'll have to make do with whatever we can find on such short notice."

"What?" Jim choked, spraying cornbread across the table.

"Sounds good to me," Buck said. "I know a nice lady that lives in Soap Lake. She's a good dancer, has most of her original teeth. We can call her."

"Great! It's a date, then," Blair replied happily, ignoring the sputtering from Jim. "I'll call the fly shop after lunch and see if she wants to go."

"I'm not agreeing to this!" Jim insisted loudly.

"One thing, though," Blair asked, "What's it mean when a woman says she's into catch and release? That's a good thing, right?"

Epilogue

Jim watched Blair walk across the campus towards his truck, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck with his bandaged hand. Zooming in on the white dressing, Jim saw the gauze had come loose again. He shook his head. Although the hand was healing nicely, Blair was too casual about keeping it clean and covered. Jim sighed; repeated lectures and threats to go to the campus clinic whenever the bandage needed fixing were always laughed away. Blair stated he didn't have the time.

All in all, Jim thought Blair was getting better. Although he was staying in the loft more than normal for his active, social lifestyle, he was making plans to attend the Christmas parties on campus and at the station. But late at night, when he was tired, Jim could see traces of fear in his eyes, usually when Blair thought Jim wasn't looking.

Jim was very careful to keep appearances casual, but in fact, he was always looking.

By the time Blair opened the passenger door and climbed in, Jim was ready.

"Hey, Jim! Did you have to wait long?" Blair asked as he set his backpack on the floor.

"Just got here," Jim said, turning sideways in the seat towards Blair. "Give me your hand."

Blair held it out without protest. "Guess what? Your Christmas present came in today. There is no way you're going to figure it out, man. It's hidden. You'll never get to hold it or shake it... ouch... or even sniff it. And I'm not going to let you either, until Christmas morning."

Jim examined the pink, healing flesh carefully, holding Blair's wrist with his left hand as he finished unwrapping the less than sterile gauze and removed the medicated square protective dressings. "That's nice... are you sure you're not playing in the sandbox during recess with this hand, Chief? I've seen cleaner bandages after week long field maneuvers."

"I had to help unpack some artifacts that arrived. It's fine," Blair said. "So, aren't you going to ask about the present?"

Jim resisted the temptation to say, `you mean the fly-tying clamp?' He had inadvertently overheard Blair and his date from the fishing shop conspiring together last week. Secretly, he was pleased with the gift; even though it was more money than Blair should be spending on his limited budget. Jim glanced up, if you looked up the term `unrestrained excitement,' it could be illustrated with the exact expression on Blair's face.

"Not a tie organizer that needs batteries?" Jim asked, ripping the plastic cover off a fresh roll of sterile gauze and wrapping Blair's hand with familiar ease.

"Nope, not even close," Blair grinned, "And that was for Simon, remember?"

"Then I'm clueless, Mr. Kringle. I'm forced to wait a few days, I guess." He finished with two pieces of white tape and released the hand. "Ready for lunch?"

"Sure, where?" Blair asked, flexing his hand and looking pleased about his holiday secret.

"Taco Mamas." Jim turned the key and checked his side mirror before pulling out from the curb. The university was empty as most of the students and teachers were off for the holidays. "By the way, I got an answer back from my friend on the Victor couple."

Blair was instantly alert. "Really? What'd he say? Are they alive? Do we know where the kidnapped child... I mean `man' is?"

Jim nodded, holding up a palm to stay the rapid-fire questions. The argument that had started at Buck's table had been placed on hold, with the agreed understanding to wait. If and when they learned what had become of Adams' oldest son, whey would discuss it again. Jim's opinion was still the same; let sleeping dogs lie.

"Well? Come on, Jim! Stop with the dramatic pause and spill!"

"Nicholas W. Victor."

Blair studied the roof of the cab. "Why do I know that name?"

"You heard it in the news this week, the hearings on the Casino Corruption."

A perfect `O' was formed by Blair's mouth, his eyes wide with surprise. "No... no way! Too freaking weird, Jim."

"Yep, Hershel Adams is the Washington State Deputy Prosecutor for the Organized Crime Unit out of Olympia."

The End

(Well sorta, I added this part later...)

Fall Out
by LKY

Blair Sandburg sat contemplating the front door to the loft, imagining the hallway beyond.

The microwave's digital clock taunted him.

Eight Twenty.

If he picked up his backpack and coat, and walked out that door right now and got in his car, skipped the drive-through espresso - the cost was exorbitant anyway - and took the cut-off through the business section, he'd be on time.

Blair stood, resolved.

And felt a pebble in his left tennis shoe. Quickly sitting, he meticulously untied the shoe in question and removed it. A single finger rooting around proved the small stone to be a master at hide-and-seek. Somewhere they had a flashlight, a small little one Jim used when camping. Slightly limping to the closet, Blair hoped this wouldn't involve a trek to the basement where the bulk of the camping gear was stored.

He would if he needed too, though, because feet were important. And stone bruises hurt.

Jim had purchased a new fishing tackle box a few months ago, converting the old one into a receptacle for those odds and ends which could save a weekend camping trip from disaster. Waterproof matches, batteries, strong spools of waxed cord, and an impressive industrial sewing kit complete with an awl rested within. The mini-flashlight lay tucked inside the top tray slot. Blair couldn't help himself. He inventoried the box's contents, a fond smile on his face.

Jim was so... Jim.

Oh, yeah, the pebble.

Returning to the sofa, Blair sat and picked up the tennis shoe with his good left hand. The flashlight was the perfect size. He pulled back the shoe's tongue. "Say `ahh'." Snickering, he clamped the size eight and a half between his knees and looked. Where was it? He even lifted the corners of the padded cushion. Nothing. No stone.

Maybe it had been a crease in his sock.

He'd change socks.

Fifteen minutes later, Blair wore a new pair of socks, carefully smoothed out over both feet. He slowly slipped into his tennis shoes, standing for a minute to check for any sign of discomfort.

Perfect.

He sat and re-laced his shoes, clumsily working the lace ends into the eyelets with his bandage swathed right hand. When the final bow was tied to his satisfaction, Blair smiled, enjoying a moment of accomplishment.

See, he mentally argued with those who had patently told him the road back would be arduous, Blair Sandburg is fine.

Nine thirty-five.

"What?" Blair stared in disbelief. There was no way, no freaking way.

A sudden jingle of keys startled him out of his stunned daze. Blair retreated three steps, his eyes frantic for a weapon, anything within reach. Oh God, the lock was turning! They had keys to the loft! Just as he thought his heart had gathered enough momentum to self destruct like a stick of dynamite on a short fuse, Jim walked into his home.

"Blair?"

"Jim!" Blair collapsed sideways into the sofa, his left hand over his chest. "Give me a heart attack, man."

Jim wore his heavy coat, protection from the December weather. He casually lobbed his keys, not looking to see he'd bulls eyed the basket. "Forgot my wallet. What are you still doing here? Class canceled?" Tugging off his leather gloves, he looked around the loft, eyes pausing on the open closet door, the tackle box still resting on the floor.

"I... had a crease in my..." Blair faltered, his face suddenly hot. He closed his eyes, turned his head and hid his face against the sofa's back. Time to get out the human-sized trashcan. He was so pathetic, he stunk, an empty husk, worthless.

"Hey," Jim said, his tone soft as he sat beside him.

Blair flinched when Jim's hand cupped the back of his head, sliding down until cool fingers massaged his neck, finding each tight knot and diligently working them out. Blair knew they didn't have time for this. It was time for classes, lectures and office hours. Time to help Jim at the station and do all the stuff he did before...

Back before he had been strapped to that damn chair. Before he felt those jolts of pain rip through his body and shred his sense of security, his strength, the very core of his spine.

After a few minutes, Jim stood, the movement leaving a huge vacuum. Blair lifted his head to wearily track Jim's path to the cordless phone. The cop punched two buttons and lifted it to his ear, still red-tipped from the brisk weather. Blair let his head fall back, eyes closing again in despair. Two numbers, that meant Jim was calling the station, because it was too early for lunch and other than his office at Rainier and all their favorite takeout places, that only left the station.

"Hey, Simon, something's come up. Can I cash in some of that comp time you're always demanding I use?"

They'd been home for twelve hours, staying late yesterday at Dry Falls with Buck Stevens. Blair hadn't wanted to leave, but Jim had work and Blair had classes. Simon had driven them home on his way back from Spokane so they wouldn't have to return by train. Most of the trip had been a blur. Blair had commandeered the backseat and spent the entire time asleep. Once home, Blair entered the loft dubiously, afraid its comforting familiarity would be gone. It wasn't. His room was as he'd left it. His books, his bed, his desk, his pictures greeted him from their exact same location.

The loft was still safe. And feeling safe had become Blair's most favorite thing at the moment. He sank even further into the cushions, toeing off his sneakers and drawing both knees up to curl into a protective ball.

"Yeah, okay, then. Thanks... sure, I'll tell him."

Rustling sounds of a coat being removed and the clunk of a heavy handgun being set down on the side table precluded the sofa being jostled again and the warmth returned, this time behind him. Jim was so close he could hear the air rushing in and out of his lungs. Blair let his head fall forward, bumping his forehead against bony knees.

"It takes time," Jim offered reasonably.

Yeah, whatever.

"I promise, Chief, it gets better," Jim said after another moment of quiet.

No. It was too much. They took it all from him. A dismal future of hiding in the loft obsessed his thoughts. It wasn't reasonable, but he couldn't make the image go away. Who was he kidding? He wasn't strong like the man setting behind him.

Fiery tears bubbled up against his eyelids. A muscle in his chest shuddered, releasing a gust of air that sounded treacherously like a sob. He shoved the heel of his good palm into his mouth, forgetting for a minute that his roommate was a sentinel, a man who could smell tears and hear silent cries.

Another sob escaped just as Jim reached around, easily turning Blair one-eighty on the cushion with strength that never stopped amazing the younger man. Blair didn't know he was shivering until he felt the warmth offered. Curled next to his friend, socked feet resting on Docker-covered thighs, Blair felt stupid. He wanted to ask if the door was locked. He didn't want anyone to know how much he wanted this, how much resting his temple on Jim's shoulder helped to push back the fear.

Jim was speaking again, but Blair couldn't make out any of the words. It was weird, like the two of them had stopped communicating on one level, finding a more basic way to relate. Still biting his palm, hot tears christening both cheeks, torso twitching to fight back emotion, Blair wondered at the steady thudding of Jim's powerful heart against his ribs. Blair's shoulder exactly fit under Jim's armpit and the weight of Jim's left arm draped over his back was a solid anchor against the fierce winds of unknown.

Jim gently tugged on Blair's wrist, removing the makeshift gag and filling the loft with gasping noises. Blair tried to form words from the outpouring confusion, hoping Jim would understand him, but it was useless. He wasn't making any sense. Frustrated, he clutched his damaged fingers into a fist and pounded his leg.

Jim captured the bandaged hand and held it fast. The fierce pain of his burn injury dissolved the odd language barricade between them, allowing Blair to clearly hear Jim's words again.

"... to me, Partner. One step at a time, okay? There's no rushing some things. It's like this burn. You have to allow time for all the injuries to heal. You need this. You need to let your brain heal. You can't just jump back into the game like nothing happened. I'm not going to let you. No one's going to push, okay? You catching any of this yet, Sandburg?"

"Jim," Blair gasped with supreme effort between the wretched gasps.

"Hey... hey, enough." Jim tightened his arm, gently squeezing Blair closer. "Just relax, let go and relax. We'll talk when you calm down."

And Blair did.

Like a rubber plug pulled, the pent up emotions flowed. The tears fell. He didn't try and stop them. He might as well attempt halting the earth's rotation around the sun. Blair leaned on his sentinel and gave into the rollercoaster feelings within.

If Jim said this was important, then it must be.

Now it's really 'The End' (for now)

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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