Inevitable Series 06 The Unavoidable Page 2

  "Which leaves us with the impossible task of trying to figure out who this person is." Blair leaned his head back against the couch cushion and stared up at the ceiling, his brow creased in concentration. "Maybe if we could figure out why you don't have a folder. Not that I want you in trouble too. But man, why would I be singled out? There has to be a reason and that reason might just give us the missing piece of the puzzle. Give us the who."

  "We're not going to figure it out tonight," Jim said, closing the folders as Blair leaned forward, ready to begin his slow study of each page again. "It's getting late. Let's eat and then get some sleep."

  Blair nodded and picked up his sandwich but he did not take a bite out of it. Instead, he stared down at the food, his brow furrowed. "So you think whoever it is will try again?" he asked, a slight edge of worry in his voice.

  Jim let out a long breath, slanting a watchful gaze at his partner. "Yeah, I do."

  Blair looked at Jim, his eyes troubled. "So do I."

  ####

  A sound awakened him. Blair blinked open his eyes but before he could register anything, a rough piece of cloth was forced into his mouth and cold steel pressed against his temple.

  "Don't make a sound," a voice whispered close to his ear as the gag was tied at the back of his head. "I'm not supposed to kill you but I will if you force me."

  Blair shifted his gaze to the side. A man crouched beside his bed. As the moonlight fell across his face, Blair recognized him -- the man from the alley. The man who had shot him with the tranquilizer gun. He glared down at Blair, his eyes seeming to glow with a feral hatred.

  "Sit up," he rasped out as he pulled the blankets back.

  Blair did as he was told, his heart hammering heavily in his chest. As soon as his feet touched the floor, the man grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and yanked him to his feet. Blair grunted with surprise.

  He was shoved to the wall and his arms forced behind his back. A moment later, he felt plastic riot cuffs encircle his wrists and pull tight. That done, the man grabbed his left arm and pulled him from his room. His captor's gaze tracked upstairs as Blair stumbled beside him in the dark loft.

  {He knows Jim is here. He knows and he's still willing to do this!}

  The thought sped up his heart. Blair strained to hear his partner, hoping for some sign that Jim realized what was happening. Silence echoed all around him. Jim's asleep. The certainty of the thought and the idea that he would receive no help churned through him. His mind raced, trying to come up with something, anything that would get him away from this man. Because he knew, if he left the loft with him, he was dead.

  The man pulled him through the kitchen, taking the fastest route possible to the front door. He kept the gun he held jammed into Blair's ribs - extra protection to ensure his silence and compliance.

  They had just rounded the counter of the kitchen when Blair caught movement out of the corner of his eye, near the kitchen table. His captor must have caught the movement too because he suddenly swung around, moving Blair in front of him, using him as a shield.

  Jim stepped from the shadows, his gun trained on the kidnapper's head. "Let him go," he ordered.

  The gun remained pressed into Blair's side. "This doesn't concern you."

  "Wrong," Jim ground out. His gaze shifted momentarily to Blair. In those few seconds that their eyes locked, Blair saw fear and worry behind his sentinel's gaze. Then Jim's attention shifted away, back to the man who had invaded their home. Fury burned within the pale blue gaze. "Just let him go."

  The gun dug deeper into Blair's ribs. "I pull this trigger and his guts spill out on your nice clean floor."

  "And two seconds later, your brains decorate my wall."

  The man licked his lips. Shifted from foot to foot. But did not loosen his grip on his arm or move the gun from where it jammed painfully into Blair's ribs.

  {Standoff.}

  The word flashed through Blair's mind, freezing his blood. A single bead of sweat slid down his back. His heart pounded heavily in his chest. His own harsh breathing filled his mind. He twisted his hands uselessly behind his back.

  And still neither man moved.

  "I would rather not have to paint again," Jim growled.

  The hand on Blair's arm loosened ever so slightly. "You want him? Take him!" Shifting his hand to Blair's back, the gunman shoved him savagely toward Jim.

  Jim dodged to the side, keeping his gun trained on the man. Blair stumbled, lost his footing and fell forward. The table loomed up before him. His hands, still trapped behind his back, prevented him from stopping what was inevitable. He cracked his head against the edge of the table, fell into the chairs and hit the floor. He lay on his stomach, panting through the cloth in his mouth.

  He could hear fighting behind him. Tried to get his knees beneath him. {Jim might need me. He might--} The room spun around him. He collapsed on his side. Warm blood trickled down his face. He groaned. Struggled to rise again. Hands clutched his shoulders. He gasped, pulling back. But it was Jim, staring at him with concern.

  "God, Chief, are you all right?"

  He pulled the gag from Blair's mouth. "Man, I thought you were still upstairs sleeping."

  "The minute your heart started racing, I was up." Jim checked his head, frowning at the cut there. "I'm sorry. I knew if I grabbed for you, he'd have us both."

  "I know, man. Don't worry about it. I'm fine." He flinched as Jim's probing fingers sent a stab of pain through his head. "Jim, this is getting really old, really fast."

  "Tell me about it." Jim's gaze shifted to his face. Worry etched lines around his eyes. "But at least we got him this time."

  Blair's gaze shifted to the side. The man lay only a foot or so away, his face turned toward the door . "That's good."

  Jim nodded. "That's definitely good." He checked the plastic cuffs around Blair's wrists. "I'm going to need scissors for those, Chief." He shifted Blair back slightly so he could lean against the support pole before standing and crossing into the kitchen. "I'm going to call this in, too."

  Blair nodded absently, his gaze still on the man. Who the hell was this guy? Who was he working for? And why did they want him? He heard Jim snatch up the phone and hit the speed dial. Then the sound of drawers being opened reached him as the sentinel looked for the scissors. Blair leaned back against the support pole and closed his eyes. His head pounded, his wrists were beginning to ache and his throat was dry from the cloth that the man had used to gag him. {I just want to go back to bed.}

  A low moan reached his ears. His eyes snapped open. He turned toward the man who had tried to take him from the loft. Jim hadn't taken the time to cuff him before going to the kitchen. The man lay sprawled just a foot from him, his right hand stretched out, his fingers just a few inches from Blair's leg. As he watched, the fingers of that hand....twitched. Blair jerked his legs up, tucking them tightly against his chest.

  "Jim?" he said softly. He turned, trying to see his partner over the counter. Another low moan escaped the man. Blair twisted his hands behind his back. The man was not cuffed. Blair still was. A sense of helplessness raced through him. "Jim?" he called again, trying like hell to keep the desperation from his voice.

  "One second, Chief," he called back.

  The man shifted again, lifting his head slightly, his eyes blinking slowly.

  "Now Jim." Blair pushed himself away from the support beam, scooting backward on the floor, away from the kidnapper. "Right now, Jim! The guy's waking up. He's waking up!" He tried to push himself to his feet. Was halfway up when the dizziness swept back in. He would have fallen but then Jim was there, grabbing him by the shoulders, steadying him.

  "Take it easy. Everything's fine." He eased him back to the floor and then reaching behind Blair, cut his hands free. "Sorry, Chief. Didn't mean to leave you like that for so long."

  Blair rubbed his wrists. "It's okay. I just got creeped out." He watched as Jim went to the man and cuffed him. The sentinel then leaned down and said some
thing in his ear, so quietly that Blair could not hear it. But the man no longer moved, just lay there, his face turned away.

  Jim moved back to him. "Help's on the way."

  Blair nodded, his gaze never leaving the man. "I don't know this guy, Jim. I don't know who he's working for and why someone wants me. And that scares me." He licked his lips, shifted his gaze to Jim and said softly, "But you know what scares me more? They had a file on me. They knew my roommate was a cop. And I saw him look up to your room. He knew you were here. He knew you were here and he came anyway."

  #######

  Simon watched as Jim paced from one end of the small loft kitchen to the other. The Captain rubbed his eyes, still weary from being dragged out of his bed at this hour. His gaze tracked over to Blair. The grad student sat on the couch, a flannel shirt over the T-shirt he wore. A paramedic sat beside him, cleaning out the cut on his head. "How's the kid doing?"

  "Could have been a lot worse," Jim muttered.

  Simon turned back to him. Jim's face was pale, his hands shaking. "How you doing?"

  "I'm not good." His gaze shifted to Blair before coming to rest on Simon again. When he spoke, his voice was low, confidential. "That bastard came right into our home in the middle of the night and tried to take him out of ere. That takes balls, Simon. Whoever's behind this....they are not amateurs. And they are not done."

  "You still think it has to do with Therman and Grahm?"

  Jim shrugged one shoulder. "I can't be sure but I think it's our best bet."

  Simon nodded. "Just tread carefully, Jim. I don't think I have to remind you how much was left out of that original report and what might happen should the true facts of that case ever be brought to light."

  "Do you regret your decision?" Jim bit out.

  Simon narrowed his eyes as he looked at his best detective. He could hear the accusation behind the words. Knew what Jim was thinking. "If you're asking if I'm worried that my career and yours will be over if our cover-up were ever discovered. Yes, I am. But if you're asking if I would do things differently, go back and change that report to reflect the truth if given the chance than the answer is no." His gaze shifted to Blair. The kid looked tired, scared. Just as he had looked that day at the lumber mill. "We had no real choice." He returned his attention to Jim. "We did what had to be done. I just hope it doesn't come back and bite us all in the butt."

  "It won't, sir. I promise."

  Simon rubbed a hand across his forehead, trying to ease the tension there. "At least you got the guy this time. We'll find our answers."

  "Yeah," he said quietly. "But Blair could have just as easily been killed tonight. I won't let them get that close to him again." He looked at his partner, his jaw tightening. "Whoever this guy is working for, one way or another, he's going to tell me."

  #########

  Blair wrapped his arms around himself and stared through the one-way mirror. Jim sat in the interrogation room questioning the man who had come into the loft last night. It had been nearly an hour and the man had yet to say a word.

  Blair rubbed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him. Simon and the forensics team hadn't left until after three a.m., Simon posting two uniforms outside the loft door for the rest of the night. But Blair had not been able to sleep. Instead, he had lain awake the rest of the night, his mind turning over the possibilities of what could have happened had Jim not awakened.

  Slipping on his glasses, he looked down at the files stacked on the table before him. The files on Therman and Grahm. Before today, he had never looked at the files. Never wanted to read the official report that Simon and Jim had…prepared. Now as he picked up the folders and skimmed through the reports, he realized just how little of the information inside was true. Realized how much Jim and Simon had risked to protect him. He ran his fingers slowly over the words on the paper, giving silent thanks for his friends.

  Behind the official reports, he found a list of companies the two men had owned. Hundreds of companies. With hundreds of employees. {Could it be one of them? And if it is, how the hell are we supposed to narrow this down?} He tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear and turned to the list of relatives, close and distant. {Had one of them been unhappy with his inheritance? So wrought with grief that they were now seeking revenge?}

  But as he thought of the two men who had calmly and coldly ordered his execution, he could not imagine anyone grieving for them. He closed the file and put it back on the table without looking at the photos of their corpses.

  His hands shook as he picked up the next file and opened it. He's dead, Sandburg. Relax. But as he stared down at the photo of Ken Walsh, remembering how the man had held him under the water, trying to drown him, he couldn't help the shudder that ran through him. If Brackett hadn't come along...

  "Tell me who hired you!"

  He looked up as Jim's angry voice drew his attention. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood. He needed to be in there with his partner, keeping him centered. Keeping him calm. But Jim had adamantly refused to allow him to be in the same room as the man who had tried twice to abduct him. Blair's gaze shifted to the man. {Who are you? What do you want?}

  As if aware of Blair's scrutiny, the man turned his head and stared at the mirror. A cold child slid down Blair's spine. He swallowed hard. { He can't see me. He can't--} A hand fell on his shoulder. He jumped, jerking away from the touch.

  "Sorry, Blair." Simon took a step back, holding his hands up and away.

  Blair shook his head, embarrassed. "It's okay. I didn't hear you come in." Pulling off his glasses, he nodded toward the glass before them. "I don't think Jim's going to get anywhere with this guy."

  "I agree."

  Blair looked back down at the file he still held. At the photo of Ken Walsh. "I have an idea, Simon." He turned his attention back to the tall captain beside him. "I think we should talk to Jack Kelso."

  "Kelso?"

  He hooked a thumb toward the room beyond the glass. "This guy seems just like Walsh and Brackett to me. No prints. No background. I'd peg him as a mercenary or rogue agent. If we take a picture of him to Jack, he might be able to pull him up in his data base. Give us an I.D. on this guy."

  "Good thinking." Simon taped on the glass before him and Jim looked over. Both men knew the sentinel had not listened to their conversation, too intensely focused on the man before him.

  "Hey Jim," Blair said, knowing the sentinel could hear him. "I've got an idea. Let this guy cool his heels for a while. Let's go talk to Jack Kelso. See if he can help us."

  Jim nodded his approval of the idea.

  #####

  Rick Timmons watched as the cops led Wayne Lantry out of interrogation room and back to his holding cell.

  The fool.

  Lantry always took too many unnecessary risks. He liked the thrill of the challenge. Liked to think he could get away with just about anything. Well, not this time. This time he had been caught. But he wouldn't say a word, Timmons was sure of that. The man might be sloppy but he was not stupid. Or suicidal.

  Timmons lowered his chin, the policeman's cap he wore shielding his face from the two men who now approached him. He tensed. But the duo walked right by without giving him so much as a second glance. Ellison's deep voice reached him seconds later.

  "Chief, I'm going to run down to booking and grab this guy's mugs. Then we can take-off."

  The kid, his intended target, nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

  Ellison stepped into the elevator and was gone. Sandburg moved through the doors of Major Crimes and disappeared from sight.

  Timmons smiled. The perfect opportunity. He had spent most of the morning inside the police station, the cop's uniform he wore allowing him to move about freely, finding out everything he needed to know to help him accomplish his task. The left corner of Timmons mouth pulled up. He'd been through the bullpen twice already, checking out the layout...and the other detectives. One in particular stood out in his mind.

  Detective H. Brown the namepl
ate had read. Brown had not moved from his desk all morning. Instead, he'd sat, head down, pen in hand, plowing through a large stack of files before him. He'd looked haggard, exhausted. As if he hadn't slept in days. He was the weak link Timmons needed.

  Slipping into a side office, Timmons waited five minutes, picked up a phone and asked to be connected to Brown. The phone picked up after two rings.

  "Brown. Major Crimes." The man sounded distracted. Frustrated.

  "Yeah, I'm done in booking," Timmons said, keeping his voice low. "Tell Sandburg to meet me in the garage."

  "Sure, Jim." The line disconnected. Timmons slipped out the door and waited. Moments later, Sandburg walked out of the bullpen, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He stepped on the elevator and pushed the down button. Timmons moved to the stairwell. As he pounded down the stairs, he smiled.

  This would be easy.

  ######

  Jim stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the bullpen. He flipped through the file on their current guest, glaring down at the face that had stared back at him all morning in silence. He'd been close to the breaking point when Blair suggested Kelso. Close to grabbing the guy and choking the information he wanted out of him. {Had Blair sensed that somehow?} He reached Major Crimes and stopped cold. His head jerked up. Blair's heartbeat was...missing. He scanned the room but his partner was no where in sight. The desk empty, even his backpack gone.

  {What the hell?}

  His gaze darted to Simon's office but his partner was not there either. Men's room? He wouldn't need his backpack there. "Hey, Brown. Do you know where Sandburg is?"

  Henri nodded, setting another file aside. His current case involved bank fraud and he had spent the last week and a half pouring over bank records, checking them against each individual account, searching for inconsistencies. He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, his gaze never leaving the open folder before him. "I sent him down the to garage like you asked me to."

  "Like I….? Henri, what are you talking about?" His pulse tripped and began beating hard and fast.