Sentinel - Progressions Series 01 With Deadly Intent Page 3

  Jim didn't answer. Pulling up to the next intersection, he turned the corner. Blair looked out the window in confusion, then back over at his partner. "And why are we turning left? The station's the other way."

  "That was Quinn on the phone, Chief," Jim replied curtly, pulling over to the curb. "He has Simon and he wants me to follow him out to the interstate."

  Stunned disbelief washed through Blair. "He has Simon?" he repeated, incredulous. He looked around. "So why are we stopping? Go after them!"

  Jim shook his head. Fishing his wallet from his hip pocket, he pulled out a $20 bill. "Here," he said, grabbing Blair's hand and pressing the bill into it. "I want you get a cab and go back to the loft. I don't want you along on this one, Chief." Jim's eyes bore into Blair, conveying the seriousness of his command.

  Blair pulled his hand out of Jim's and shook his head vigorously, rejecting the money and Jim's suggestion outright. "Not a chance, man. I'm your partner and I'm going with you."

  "Chief," Jim petitioned. "Please don't fight me on this. You know how dangerous Quinn is--"

  "Which is all the more reason for me to be there as your backup."

  "Blair, listen to me. I want you out of danger. I'm going to have to get close to Quinn, and I don't want you to be anywhere nearby when that happens."

  "Jim, for all we know, Quinn has an accomplice who is watching us right now, hoping that you'll dump me off. Then he'll move in, pick me up, and Quinn with have both me and Simon."

  Jim ran a hand over his face, his frustration clear. "Chief-"

  "You know I'm right, man," Blair interrupted. "Face it, Jim. Until this is over, you're stuck with me."

  "Fine," Jim ground out. "Then that's what you are, Sandburg, stuck to me. Like glue. You stay at my side and do what I say."

  "And how is that different from any other day?"

  "I'm not kidding around here. Like glue, Sandburg."

  "I understand. Now come on! I don't think Quinn is going to wait all day."

  Sighing, Jim turned to check the side view mirror. No traffic was coming. Pulling the big truck away from the curb, he headed toward the interstate.

  /

  /

  How could I let this happen?

  Simon Banks sat in the passenger seat of his own car staring through the windshield. He twisted his hands, searching for leeway from the cuffs that held his wrists together behind his back. My own cuffs. He used my own damn handcuffs on me. He slanted a glance at the man behind the wheel of his car.

  Dawson Quinn pressed the accelerator to the floor, the sun glinting off the badge attached to the front of his shirt.

  A policeman's uniform. The bastard dressed like one of us and then blended in.

  Simon had been so preoccupied thinking about Gilbert Brody and what Quinn's next move might be that he hadn't even realized anyone was behind him until he felt a gun jam into his back. Quinn had managed to take him hostage in full view of at least a dozen police officers.

  But as well executed as his plan had been, Quinn had made one fatal error...

  "You made a mistake when you let Ellison know you plan to go after Sandburg," Simon said, his voice confident, smug. "He won't let you get near him."

  "You're under the mistaken impression that Ellison is smarter than me," Quinn replied sarcastically. "So is Ellison. That's going to be his downfall." He glanced at Simon, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

  "Why Brody?" Simon ground out. "You took his son from him. That wasn't enough pain to inflict on one man in his lifetime?"

  Quinn shook his head in exasperation. "Don't you see? This isn't about Brody. Or Sandburg. Or even you. It's about Ellison. About the pain each death will cause him."

  Simon tensed at the words. Each death. The air in the car suddenly felt thick, stale. His heart beat a heavy rhythm in his ears.

  "You should be grateful," Quinn continued. "I'm going to make your death quick. Painful but quick."

  "And Sandburg?"

  Quinn fell silent. Simon was just beginning to think he wasn't going to respond when the man spoke, his voice low with menace. "I'm going to play with Sandburg." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You see, I realized something in prison. Realized I took the wrong man that day out on the road three years ago." He slanted a cold glare at Simon. "But I'm going to rectify that mistake."

  Simon shuddered as he stared into Quinn's eyes. Because he saw pleasure in those eyes. Whatever this man had planned for Blair, he was going to enjoy every painful moment of it. "Quinn, Sandburg has nothing to do with any of this. He's not even a cop. Just an observer working on his doctorate."

  "Really? Well, I just feel awful. This changes everything. I think I'll just let you go and call the whole thing off." He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that reverberated through Simon, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I'm not stupid, Banks," Quinn said when his laughter died away. "I know exactly what Sandburg is. But better than that... I know what he means to Ellison." One side of his mouth quirked up. "I just didn't realize you had a soft spot for him, too."

  Simon looked away. His gaze locked on the windshield once again. Dammit! He had said too much.

  "Actually Banks, now that I know how you feel, I'm going to enjoy this even more."

  They rode the next several miles in silence, Simon trying desperately to come up with a way to get out of this situation. To escape this man. But the seat belt cutting across his chest and the handcuffs encircling his wrists ensured his capture. He felt out of control, helpless. And he hated it. If only he could figure out his plan. Figure out...

  Where he's taking me.

  But even as the thought ran through his head, he realized that he recognized the surroundings. They had left the outskirts of Cascade behind several minutes ago, and they were now on the road that ran through part of the Cascade National Forest. It was the same stretch of road where Quinn had staged his escape three years ago. Where Simon had first been taken hostage. Simon swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment as cold fear washed over him.

  "Quinn," he breathed, opening his eyes. "Why are we here?"

  "I was wondering when you'd recognize the area."

  "Why are we here?" he asked again.

  He leered at him. "You can't guess?"

  Understanding settled in the pit of Simon's stomach. There was only one reason Quinn would bring him back to this spot. "This is where you're going to kill me."

  "Give that man a cigar." Quinn reached out and patted the front of Simon's shirt. As his hand connected with the cigar case in the front pocket, he laughed. Reaching into the pocket, he withdrew the small, black case there and tossed it on the dashboard. "Now, I must admit that I wasn't talking literally but then again, you really won't need them anymore. And I did enjoy them so much last time."

  Simon's gaze locked on the small cigar case. The case Darryl had given him. He closed his eyes again as he thought of his son. Over the last few years, he and Darryl had grown closer than he had ever thought possible.

  To lose that now...

  No! He would not let this man kill him. Not miss out on seeing his son become the fine man he was destined to be. Squaring back his shoulders, he opened his eyes and turned to face the man beside him. "Quinn, every cop in the city is looking for you. Give yourself up now before things get any worse."

  "Do you see the significance of this place?" Quinn said as if Simon had not even spoken. And in that moment, Simon knew there was nothing he could say that would change his fate. "Do you understand the message I'm trying to send?" Quinn continued, his voice almost wistful. "I want each place of death to have a special meaning to the victim. Brody in the dumpster. You here. And Sandburg.... well, let's just say I'm saving the best for last."

  And Simon knew exactly where Quinn meant to take Blair. To end his life. He also knew there was nothing he could say that would stop what was going to happen to him. He could only hope that Quinn would not get the chance to carry out his plans for Blair. That Jim would manage to keep him safe.

  "Well! Look who's decided to join the fun," Quinn drawled, glancing in the rear view mirror of the sedan. A satisfied smile crossed his face. He pulled Simon's cell phone from his pocket and, flipping it open, pressed the speed dial. "So predictable," he taunted Simon. "I didn't even have to ask which one was Ellison. I knew it would be the first one." He put the phone to his ear and smiled. "Ellison, long time, no see."

  Simon turned and looked over his shoulder. Jim's blue truck was right behind them. He could see both Jim and Blair inside. His gaze lingered on Blair as memories of his ordeal as Quinn's prisoner three years ago flashed through his mind.

  Blair will be fine. Jim will make sure of that.

  But the reassurances did not alleviate the fear tightening his gut. Because he had not thought Quinn could get to him. Had been sure that because they were forewarned, they would be safe.

  And he had been wrong.

  "What do I want?" Quinn's amused voice drew his attention. He looked at his captor, who smiled widely as he spoke into the small phone.

  "That's a good question, Ellison. Cuts right to the point. Well, put simply, I want you all to die. Is that plain enough for you?" He held the phone away from his ear. Simon could hear Jim's angry voice pouring out. Quinn rolled his eyes. "Such a hot head," he muttered. He glanced at Simon. "Bet you're wishing you would have let him dump me down that well after all, aren't you?'

  In a flash, the memories of that moment three years ago went through Simon's mind. Jim holding Dawson Quinn over the lip of that abandoned well, angry enough to dump him over the side. Simon had understood his rage. After all, Quinn had abducted and beaten Simon and nearly suffocated them all trying to smoke them out of that mine they'd hidden in. Hell, Sandburg would never have been shot if it hadn't been for Quinn. But it would have been murder. And as angry as both he and Jim were, neither one of them were cold-blooded killers.

  "Ellison," Quinn said into the phone, his voice drawing Simon back from his thoughts, "This portion of our program is going to be about choice." He winked at Simon. "Do you care more about catching me or helping your captain?"

  "You catch this bastard!" Simon shouted. "You hear me, Jim! You catch him!"

  Quinn slapped the phone shut and slammed the hard edge into Simon's left temple. "Did I ask for an editorial from you?"

  Simon grunted, momentarily stunned by the unexpected blow.

  Quinn tossed the phone in the back seat, tucked a piece of paper into Simon's top pocket, then released the seatbelt holding him in place.

  "Ride's over," he growled.

  Realization pulsed through Simon even as Quinn reached past him, opened his door and shoved him out of the speeding car.

  /

  /

  "Jim, look out!" Blair yelled, his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest. Jim swerved to the left, barely avoiding Simon as he bumped and rolled across the pavement. The truck skidded sideways. Blair slid left, then right, slamming into his door.

  Jim jerked the truck to a stop. Blair was flung forward. His seatbelt pulled tight against his shoulder. He grabbed for the dash, trying to brace himself. A strong arm came across his chest and pressed him back against his seat. And then it was over. The truck sat sideways on the road. Simon's body lay on his side less than fifteen feet away.

  Blair stared out the windshield at the still form, his breath coming in short gasps.

  "You okay, Chief?"

  He nodded but couldn't find his voice.

  "Get help out here." The detective shoved open his door and raced from the truck's cab. Blair fumbled for his phone, managed to call for an ambulance and backup, running on automatic.

  Slapping the phone closed, he pushed open his door and rushed to Jim's side. "How bad?" he asked, crouching down beside his partner, his gaze falling on Simon. "Oh God." He looked away as the captain's torn flesh came into view. He kept his gaze on Jim instead, not liking the hard set of his jaw, the cold anger in his eyes. "Jim, how bad?" he asked again, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

  "Pretty bad," Jim bit out. "His left shoulder looks dislocated. Can't tell what's broken." He shook his head. "I don't know. His whole left side... " His voice trailed off as he shifted his gaze up to Blair. "I'm afraid to even remove the cuffs," he admitted.

  Blair looked down again, drawing in a sharp breath as his gaze traveled over Simon's torn and battered body. "But he's going to be okay?"

  "I don't know, Chief. I just... I don't know."

  Pulling off his jacket, Blair bunched it up then reached toward Simon's head.

  "No, Chief." Jim's hand on his arm stopped him.

  He looked up at the sentinel. "He just looks so... uncomfortable."

  "I know," Jim whispered. "But I don't think we should move him."

  "Sorry." He shook his head. "Stupid. I wasn't thinking."

  Jim's hand squeezed his arm where he still held him. "It's okay." Pulling off his coat, he draped it over the captain. Blair followed suit, adding his own. At least they could keep him warm.

  Blair's gaze drifted down to Simon again. He could see dirt and small rocks embedded in the many cuts along his face. Smell the blood that was slowly darkening his jacket where it lay over him. Hear his labored, uneven breathing. Blair reached toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim tense. "I won't move him," he promised as he laid a gentle hand against his cheek. "I just want him to know we're here."

  "That's good, Chief," Jim said softly. His head cocked to one side, obviously listening to something in the distance.

  "What is it?" Blair asked.

  "Help's coming."

  Seconds later, Blair could hear the sirens of the approaching ambulance. Leaning down, he whispered, "Hang on, Simon. Help's on the way. Just hang on."

  Part Two

  Jim stood in the alley, staring at the dumpster that loomed before him. Blood dripped down the side. Pooled on the ground around it. He licked his lips. Swallowed against the dryness in his throat. And knew he had to look inside.

  Reaching out with trembling fingers, he lifted the lid. The body came into view instantly. The cause of death obvious--a single bullet to the side of the head. My fault. Brody is dead and it's my fault. But as he stared at the body, the details were... wrong. Flannel shirt. Jeans. Chestnut curls.

  Blair!

  Jim jerked upright in bed, his partner's name echoing through his mind. Blair! Blair is hurt! He threw back his blankets, pounded across his room, was halfway down the stairs when he realized...

  It was just a dream.

  He sank down on the steps, running a hand over his face and through his hair. A fine sheen of sweat covered his body. As the chill of the night air touched his bare skin, he shivered. Leaning back against the railing behind him, he let his gaze drift around the darkened loft. Everything was in its place. Undisturbed. He sent out his sense of hearing. Instantly, Blair's deep even breathing and slowed heart rate washed through him, calmed him.

  He's asleep in his room. Safe.

  Letting out a long breath, he dropped his chin to his chest in relief. But as his eyes slipped shut, the image of Blair's corpse flashed through his mind in vivid detail. His head jerked up. His eyes blinked open. "Dammit," he muttered.

  Maybe seeing Blair would help get rid of the image. Retrieving his robe, he padded quietly down the steps and crossed to his guide's room. For a moment, he hesitated outside the French doors, listening again to the deep even breaths. As much as he could identify his guide by his heartbeat, there was also a certain cadence to his breathing. Especially when he was asleep. It brought a sense of peace to Jim. A sense of... home.

  He would not let Quinn take that from him.

  Pushing the door open, he stepped quietly inside. Blair lay on his back, his face turned slightly away from Jim. His right arm rested across his chest, his left bent upward, near his chin. His hair, fanned out against the pillow, seemed to almost frame his face. Jim crossed to the bed and stood over him, looking down. A chill stole over him as he realized that the way his guide lay in his bed very nearly mirrored the way his body had lain in that dumpster of his dream.

  He's fine.

  But the two words did not dispel the anxiety that twisted through his stomach and tightened the muscles of his back. Reaching down, he laid a gentle finger against his guide's throat, feeling the steady beat of his pulse against his finger. That more than anything helped to settle Jim's fears. He straightened up and retreated from the room before he woke his partner.

  As he stepped into the living room, his gaze fell on the files he'd left out on the coffee table. The files on Quinn. He dropped down on the couch and scooped them up. As he shuffled through what little information they had, he couldn't help but come back to the same piece of evidence over and over. The piece of paper they'd found tucked into Simon's front pocket. He picked up the plastic evidence bag, the words easily readable through the clear lining.

  Ellison. Two down. Two to go. Who will be next?

  Jim shuddered. Quinn was coming for Blair.

  Standing, he crossed to the window and stared out at the lights of Cascade, burning softly in the distance. His fingers tightened around the plastic evidence bag he still held.

  I'm going to catch you, you bastard. I'm going to catch you before you get anywhere near Blair.

  His jaw tightened at the thought. He would not let that happen. Would not let Blair out of his sight until Quinn was safely behind bars again. Because he would not spend another tense afternoon waiting in a hospital lounge to hear whether someone he cared about would live or die.

  He rubbed his tired eyes. Simon is going to be okay, he reminded himself. He'd be unconscious for several days, more from the medication the doctors were pumping into him than the injuries he'd received. His body needed time to heal, they'd explained. It would be easier on the captain, less painful, if he spent the first few days in the soft arms of unconsciousness. Because when he woke, Simon would spend several weeks in the hospital first recovering from the deep cuts and lacerations then in physical therapy for the damage done to his left leg. But the injuries would not be permanent. He would recover fully.