Progression Series 17 Lying in Wait Page 4

  "Mitch," Blair began, his voice pitched low, "stop and think about what you're doing. Think about the consequences of this. Your family-"

  "My family was Tom Brayden!" he shouted, his voice overriding Blair's. "And believe me, Dr. Sandburg, he's all I've thought about since the day he died. Well, Tom...and you."

  And Blair knew...the anger and blame George Mitchell had displayed toward him at Tom's funeral hadn't diminished over time as he had expected it to. Instead, it had taken on a life of its own, controlling the man's thoughts and actions, driving him toward revenge. Driving him toward murder.

  Swallowing hard, Blair licked dried lips. "Mitch," he began, his voice low, calm, "Tom wouldn't want-"

  "Shut up! I don't want to hear a word from you about Tom!" He gestured toward the building behind him. "Move!"

  Blair did as he was told, walking stiffly toward the empty warehouse. As he moved, he tried to think of some way to get himself out of this. It was obvious Mitch couldn't be reasoned with. The man had taken a long time to plan all of this out.

  "You know what I keep seeing over and over again in my mind?" Mitch asked from behind Blair as they entered the abandoned warehouse. "Tom's death. I think I've watched that video tape of him dying at least two dozen times."

  Blair was shoved roughly toward the center area of the building. Quickly, he took in his surroundings-a large warehouse with stacks of pallets and debris littering the floor, high windows, no visible doors other than the one through which they had entered. He turned to face Mitch, his pack still clutched to his chest. "What do you plan to tell Jim?"

  "That you must have gotten a tip and come out here alone to check out it."

  "He won't believe you. He knows me too well. He knows I wouldn't do something that reckless."

  Mitch nodded smugly. "Yes, I'm sure Ellison will have his doubts and that he'll blame me for your death. He'll insist that I should have never involved you, that I should have done a better job at backing you up. But ultimately, he won't have any proof that your death was anything but a tragic circumstance of your involvement in this case. The true villain will be whoever is behind all this, a mysterious group that we'll just never be able to pinpoint." He gestured with his weapon. "Drop the pack."

  Blair did as he was told, letting his backpack fall at his feet. "Bullets can be traced," he reminded Mitchell, desperately trying to come up with anything that would stop this man from carrying out his crazy scheme. "You shoot me and eventually you'll be caught."

  Mitchell laughed. "Then I guess it's a good thing I don't plan to shoot you." With that, the older officer reached into his pocket and withdrew a syringe filled with a golden substance. "I remember a few years back you had a rather adverse reaction to a certain drug. A drug that was administered on a piece of pizza. Do you remember that, Sandburg?"

  Blair's eyes widened at the sight of the drug. He took an involuntary step backward, shaking his head.

  "I wonder how your body will react when injected directly with Golden."

  "Where did you get that?" he breathed out.

  "Doesn't really matter," Mitch answered as he held the needle up for Blair's inspection. "All that matters is that you die once it hits your bloodstream."

  Panic shot through Blair as Mitch stepped closer, brandishing the needle. Options limited, he did the only thing he could--he turned and fled into the shadows of the warehouse.

  As Blair slid behind a stack of rotting crates, laughter rang out, echoing through the large, empty building.

  "You're just postponing the inevitable," Mitch yelled when his laughter died down. "There's no place to go!"

  Blair pressed himself back against the crates and, closing his eyes, worked to get his breathing under control. He needed to think. Needed to find a way out of the building. As long as he stayed inside, he was a sitting duck. But outside...outside he could easily lose the older man among the docks, then find a phone and call his partner.

  Opening his eyes, he scanned the area around him. At the end of the row of stacked crates was a pile of debris. Blair moved cautiously toward it, trying to make as little noise as possible.

  "Saaaand-burg!" Mitchell called out in a juvenile, singsong taunt. "Where are you?"

  Blair crouched before the pile of scrap and began sifting through it. A single bead of sweat slid down between his shoulder blades, making him shiver.

  "Did you know I was in the parking garage the day you were dosed with Golden?" Mitchell's voice echoed through the large warehouse, making it impossible for Blair to tell just how close he was. "I had you in my sights at one point, ready to shoot you if you didn't give up the gun. I just needed the order."

  The eagerness in Mitchell's voice sent a chill through Blair. "Come on, come on," he breathed, moving garbage aside, fishing deeper. Just as his hands connected with a large piece of wood, he heard the floor creak behind him.

  Blair gripped the wood, pushed to his feet, swung around...and found himself face to face with Mitchell.

  "Surprise," the man bit out.

  "Surprise yourself." Blair swung hard and low, catching Mitch in the stomach. The older man let out a grunt of pain, doubling over. Blair hit him again, this time square in the back, knocking him to the ground. He didn't wait to see if the man would get up again. Instead, he dropped his makeshift weapon, turned and sprinted toward the exit. Scooping up his backpack as he ran past it, he dug inside, searching for his cell phone. But just as he pulled it from his pack and clicked it on, a shot rang out.

  Blair pitched forward, the bullet tearing through his left shoulder, searing pain rippling down his back. His backpack and phone flew from his hands, sliding away in the darkness as he hit the hard cement floor. Warm blood wet his shirt as he tried to drag himself forward. He'd barely managed to move a few inches when rough hands grabbed at him, turned him over onto his back. Blair cried out as a new wave of pain washed through him.

  "Shut up!" Mitchell screamed, his face distorted with rage. Crouching down beside Blair, he grabbed the front of his shirt and ripped it away from his shoulder, exposing the bullet wound. "Good. It went all the way through. Makes this simple."

  Blair tried to push him away but his movements were weak, slow. "Please...." he breathed. "Don't...."

  Mitch stared down at him, his eyes devoid of compassion. "Tom didn't even have time to beg." With that, he grabbed the front of Blair's shirt, pulled him up slightly off the floor, and struck him hard across the face with his weapon.

  Pain exploded inside Blair's head...then everything went black.

  /

  /

  /

  Mitch released his hold on Sandburg's shirt. The anthropologist fell back against the cement floor with a dull thud, his body slack with unconsciousness. Standing, he stared down at the man at his feet. Gingerly, he touched at his ribs. Bruised for sure, maybe even cracked. Damn! He hadn't expected Sandburg to put up a fight.

  "The man's a professor," he muttered as he crossed the dimly lit warehouse to retrieve the syringe that he'd dropped in the struggle. "Professors are supposed to be soft." Crossing back to Blair, he crouched down beside him.

  The kid's face was turned to one side, his features obscured by his long hair. Just as well. Mitch didn't like to look at his face. So young. Just a few years older than Tom, really. But he couldn't let Sandburg's age stop him from doing what he knew was right. Blair Sandburg was not a cop. The fact that he was allowed to "play" police officer had led to Tom Brayden's death. Mitch had to make sure the same thing didn't happen to any more of his cadets.

  "It's been a pleasure, Dr. Sandburg," he intoned flatly as he lifted Blair's arm. Without hesitation, he jabbed the needle into Sandburg's flesh, emptying the syringe into the unconscious man's body.

  Part Five

  Jim glanced once again at the clock on the far wall of the bullpen. Three hours until lunch. He let out a long sigh, ready to take a break now. Looking back down at the stack of work before him, he debated doing just that-taking a break.
He could even run over to the academy and sit in on one of Sandburg's classes, watch the kid in action. Jim tapped his pen on the papers in front of him as the idea took shape in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He'd sit in, maybe see if Sandburg wanted him to give some kind of impromptu presentation, and then they could grab some lunch afterward.

  "Where's Sandburg?"

  Jim looked up, drawn away from his thoughts by the abrupt question. George Mitchell stood before his desk, his gaze shifting around the bullpen as if searching for someone. No, not someone. Sandburg. "What do you mean, 'where's Sandburg'? He's in class."

  Mitch was shaking his head even before Jim finished speaking. "He didn't show up this morning."

  Cold tendrils of unease slithered down Jim's back and settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd left before Blair but his partner had made a point of mentioning his first class. If Blair wasn't teaching, then.... "Where the hell is he?"

  "I don't know," Mitch bit out. "He's your partner."

  "Dammit, Mitchell!" Jim moved around his desk, closing in on the older cop. "You're supposed to be watching his back!"

  "How can I watch his back if he disappears!"

  Before Jim could reply, the phone on his desk rang. He snatched up the receiver. "Ellison," he barked.

  "Detective Jim Ellison?"

  "Yes. Who is this?"

  "Detective, this is Cascade General. We've just admitted Blair Sandburg and your name was listed in our computer as his emergency contact."

  Fear clutched at Jim's gut. "Admitted him? What happened? Is he okay?"

  "All I know is that Mr. Sandburg was found in a warehouse near the marina this morning. He's suffered a gunshot wound to the shoulder, but the wound isn't life threatening. If you come to the hospital, you can talk to his doctor and--"

  "Is my partner all right!"

  "He hasn't regained consciousness. Detective, I work in Admitting. That's really all I know--"

  Jim slammed down the phone. Rage burned through him-rage directed at George Mitchell.

  "What's going on, Ellison?" Mitch bit out, nodding toward the phone.

  Grabbing Mitch by the front of his shirt, Jim slammed him into the wall. "You son of a bitch! You were supposed to be his backup!"

  "Jim!"

  Hands pulled at him. He shrugged them off, slamming Mitchell against the wall again. "He needed you!" he yelled, yanking him forward and slamming him back again. "Where were you? Where the hell were you!"

  "Jim! Stop!"

  Another set of hands grabbed at him, this time managing to pull him away from the older officer. "Detective!" Simon shouted as Jim fought against the grip the captain and Taggert had on him. "That's enough!"

  Jim stopped struggling, his jaw clenched tight as he glared at Mitchell. "Where the hell were you?" he rasped out.

  "I don't know what you're talking about!" Mitch shouted back.

  "Blair was found at the marina this morning. He's been shot!"

  Mitchell's eyes widened, then he held up his hands and shook his head, his expression one of concerned innocence. "If that kid went off on his own-"

  "Blair would never do that." Jim pulled out of the grip that Joel and Simon had on him and, pointing a finger at Mitch's chest, said, "You got him involved in this little scheme of yours. You said you'd watch his back. Now he's in the hospital!" He lunged at him again.

  "Jim!" Simon shifted in front of Jim, putting himself between the two men, somehow managing to keep the sentinel back. "If Sandburg is in the hospital," he said, keeping his tone calm, even, "then you don't have time for this. Your partner needs you, Detective."

  /

  /

  /

  Simon watched Jim out of the corner of his eye as they rode down the elevator to the parking garage. The detective stood stiffly beside him, his gaze locked on the numbers above the doors, his hands fisting and unfisting at his sides.

  "Did the hospital tell you anything about Sandburg's condition?" Simon asked, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence.

  "He's been shot in the shoulder and he's unconscious."

  Simon waited but Jim offered no additional information. "So what do you think happened?"

  "I think Mitchell involved my partner in something dangerous, didn't watch his back, and now he's been hurt." Jim pushed the words out, anger emphasizing each one.

  "Jim, maybe the kid just happened upon something. We don't know that this has anything to do with Mitchell or his suspicions about those cadets...."

  "It does."

  "You don't--"

  "Yes, I do!" Jim turned and glared at Simon. "Something was wrong with this case from the beginning. Sandburg told me just this morning that he had a bad feeling about it. Now he's been hurt. He was found near the marina, Simon. That's miles away from the academy. You do the math."

  Reaching the parking garage, the elevator doors slid open. Jim marched out. "I'll drive."

  "I don't think so." Simon pulled out his own keys. "I'd like to get there in one piece and with the mood you're in...."

  ----------

  Simon turned left at the intersection of Hamlin and Crooks, heading toward Cascade General.

  "Jim, back in the garage, you said Sandburg was uncomfortable about this case. Why?"

  Several moments passed in silence. Simon was just beginning to wonder if Jim would answer when he finally spoke....

  "Blair didn't think any of the cadets he has in his classes could be involved in anything illegal. He was uncomfortable spying on them."

  Simon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "So you're saying he trusted them?"

  "I know where you're going with this, Simon, and you're wrong."

  "I'm wrong in thinking that Blair might have trusted one of those cadets enough to go somewhere with him?"

  "Yes, you are."

  "Jim--"

  "He would have called me!" Jim's voice reverberated within the confines of the car. "Blair is not reckless and he's not stupid! If someone approached him, he would have called me!"

  "Unless he didn't think anything was wrong," Simon offered, knowing he was probably inviting more anger but needing to get through to his detective. "You know how Blair is. He likes to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. If he thought those cadets were clean...." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

  Jim let out a long breath, rubbing at his eyes. "That bastard, Mitchell," he said softly. "He was supposed watch Sandburg's back." He ran a hand over his hair, shaking his head.

  "Jim, you need to calm down." The captain glanced over at his detective. "I know you're angry but like I told you before, you don't even know if this had anything to do with Mitchell or the academy. You start pointing fingers at other police officers and you could find yourself brought up on some pretty serious charges."

  "I'm don't care, Simon," Jim responded bitterly. "This half-baked scheme of Mitchell's is behind this, I'm sure of it." The detective inhaled a deep breath. "I swear, sir, if Sandburg doesn't make it...."

  Simon glanced at him. "What are you talking about?" the captain asked in surprise. "Jim, the kid was shot in the shoulder. He'll be all right."

  But Jim stared out the window, unconvinced. "He hasn't regained consciousness yet," he murmured. "If it's just a shoulder wound, why hasn't he regained consciousness?"

  /

  /

  /

  Jim pushed through the emergency room doors and strode directly to the nurse's station. "Blair Sandburg was admitted this morning," he announced. "Where can I find him?"

  "Detective Ellison?"

  Jim turned toward the sound of the voice behind him. A nurse stood just a few feet away, a large plastic bag in her arms. She looked familiar to the detective but he couldn't quite place her.

  "I'm Leah Albright, the nurse who took care of your partner the last time he was admitted," she explained, obviously picking up on Jim's confused expression. "When he had that nasty knife wound."

  And sud
denly Jim remembered her. The nurse who had taken such good care of Sandburg after Hannah Merrick had stabbed him. The one Blair had shamelessly flirted with upon his release.

  "You know where my partner is?" he asked.

  "They just moved him upstairs. I came down to collect his personal things." She held up the plastic bag. "Did you just get here?"

  Jim closed the gap between them in two long strides. "Just now, yes. How is he? What happened?"

  "You really should talk to his doctor."

  "I'm talking to you! What happened to my partner!"

  The nurse backed up a bit, taken aback by the detective's rudeness. Her face colored and she stammered out, "He...he was brought in about an hour ago. He had a gunshot wound--"

  "In the shoulder," Jim finished for her. "I know that. Is he okay?"

  "The gunshot wound was superficial."

  "Has he regained consciousness yet? Did he say who shot him?"

  The nurse shifted uncomfortably where she stood and Jim knew that there was more, that something else was wrong with Blair. "What? What else?"

  "Mr. Sandburg is still unconscious, Detective Ellison."

  "Still?" Jim asked, surprised. "But he's been here over an hour...."

  "I know. We were concerned about that, too. So the doctor ordered a tox screen."

  "And?" Jim demanded when she didn't continue.

  "We...we found drugs in his blood."

  "Drugs! What kind of drugs?"

  The nurse paused, her expression clearly indicating that she was struggling with just how much to tell the detective. "Have you ever heard of a drug by the name of Golden?" she asked after several moments.

  Golden... Jim's heart seemed to sink in his chest as a sickening sense of déjà vu swept over him. No...not again... "Golden?" he managed at last. "How the hell would Sandburg get Golden in his bloodstream?"

  "Detective, his face was bruised, as if someone had struck him. We think...we think someone shot him, then held him down and injected him. The drug wasn't injected gently."

  Jim closed his eyes and wiped a hand across his face. He fought against a sudden, nearly overwhelming sense of dizziness. Opening his eyes, he looked at the nurse. "Take me to him," he ordered. "Now."