Inevitable Series 04 The Unrelenting Page 6

  "Relax. Right." Blair closed his eyes, tried to find a place of peace within himself. Tried not to think about his unconscious partner. Or his own unknown destination. Or how closely the sensation of being chloroformed might feel like drowning.

  Shake it off, Sandburg. What difference does it really make?

  But it made a hell of a lot of difference and he knew it. Yet he also knew that he had lost his chance to say no the minute he let Brackett put him in the car. Besides, if he wanted this nightmare to end, he had no choice but to go along.

  So just calm down and get this over with.

  Within seconds, he felt his heartbeat return to normal. He opened his eyes.

  "You ready?" Brackett asked.

  Blair nodded once.

  "Just breathe normally. Okay?"

  "Okay," he managed, his throat tight.

  Brackett held the cloth over Blair's mouth and nose. Blair tried not to struggle. Tried to remain calm. But an instinctual part of him took over and he jerked his face away.

  "Don't struggle," Brackett snapped and his free hand came up and gripped the back of Blair's neck, holding his head in place.

  As darkness claimed him, Blair hoped he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  ######

  Brackett held the cloth over Sandburg's face for another few seconds, just to be sure, then lowered his hand. "Sandburg?" There was no response. He touched the side of his neck. The young man's pulse beat strongly against his fingers.

  Brackett stood, slamming the door shut. He walked around the front of the car, his gaze drifting to Ellison. The detective lay in the dirt just a few feet away. Dammit! He had been so close to getting Ellison to agree to the deal. So close to getting his bonus. He shook his head. Who was he kidding. The detective would have never agreed. Never willing let his partner go off with him. "He's too cynical to trust me," he muttered.

  Brackett slid into the car and glanced at the unconscious man in the passenger seat beside him.

  So young.

  Those were the first two words that had popped into Brackett's head three years ago when he had first seen the grad student who had become Ellison's partner. He hadn't believed with Ellison's hard-ass reputation that the kid would last three days much less three years. But even during their first encounter, Brackett had been surprised when Ellison deferred to the kid time after time. It had been obvious to Brackett that the kid was flying by the seat of his pants but Ellison had trusted him with every decision. And Sandburg had been right at every turn.

  A part of Brackett had hoped that Sandburg would have changed over the last three years. Would have lost that trust and exuberance that had been so evident the first time they met. Because that's what got him into trouble time and again.

  Just like today.

  It was Sandburg's faith in human nature that had made him believe Brackett. That had convinced him that he could trust him. Had allowed him to put himself into such a vulnerable position.

  I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.

  "Well, I've broken bigger promises than that," he muttered. But something twisted in his gut.

  How long had it been since someone trusted him? Trusted him enough to literally put his life into his hands? He glanced once more at his helpless passenger.

  "You put your faith in the wrong man, kid."

  Jim tapped his pen on the report open on his desk. It was Blair's missing person's report. He'd gone over it a hundred times, reading the information he himself had filled out. Trying to decide if he was doing the right thing.

  He had to treat Blair's disappearance like any other missing person. Couldn't investigate the two men he now knew had his partner. If he tipped his hand, let on that he knew they were behind his partner's abduction, then Brackett would be found out...and they could lose their edge.

  But what if Brackett had been lying?

  Four days. It had been four days since he woke in that ambulance. Woke to the knowledge that Blair had gone with Brackett. He'd told only Simon the truth. The rest of the men in Major Crimes believed that whoever had been stalking Blair had finally managed to get at him.

  "Jim, I got some food for you while I was out." Rafe set a foil wrapped sandwich on the desk before him. "I went to that place that Sandburg..." His voice trailed off and he fidgeted where he stood. "Sorry, Jim," he muttered.

  Jim turned a hard glare on the young detective. Then pushing up from his desk, he trailed his gaze across the entire room. "Can I have everyone's attention!" His voice boomed through the bullpen. Every head turned toward him. He could see the sympathy on their faces. The pity in their eyes. "My partner is not dead," he announced, his voice rising in anger with each word. "So I don't need anymore of your pity or your sympathy or your food!" He tossed the sandwich Rafe had given him into garbage. "What I need is help in finding him. So instead of gaping at me all day, why don't you get your asses out on the streets and find him!"

  "Ellison!"

  Jim turned at the sound of Simon's voice.

  "My office. Now!"

  Jim slammed his chair under his desk and stalked into Simon's office.

  "What the hell was that?" Simon asked as soon as the door shut.

  Jim spun to face him. "I'm tired of everyone acting like Blair is dead."

  "After four days, they know the odds."

  "This is not a regular missing person's case and you know it."

  "Yeah, I know it but they don't," Simon said, indicating the men on the other side of his door. "So why don't you give them a break."

  "Because I don't have time to worry about their feelings right now," he snapped.

  "Jim, they all feel just as responsible for losing Sandburg as you do."

  The anger left Jim all at once swallowed up by an overwhelming sense of guilt. "I'm responsible," he said softly. "No one else."

  "Try telling that to Brown or Rafe or Taggert. Or even me for that matter." Simon crossed to his desk and fell into his chair. "Sandburg was with me when Brackett first grabbed him."

  "That wasn't your fault."

  "But it was yours?" Simon countered. "Brackett knocked you out. If you don't blame me, then you can't blame yourself."

  "I knew he was there. You didn't." Jim dropped into one of the chairs that flanked Simon's desk. "I should have been more careful. Shouldn't have turned my back on him."

  "Jim, do you think Brackett was telling the truth?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. "I hope to God he was." He let out a long breath, going over in his mind again that conversation on that road. Could still hear Blair's words. Don't trust him. Trust me. "Blair said I should trust Brackett. What if my mistrust is the reason that Brackett hasn't called?"

  "You thought you were watching out for him. You thought you were doing what's best."

  Jim's gaze fell on the empty chair beside him. The chair that Blair usually occupied. "I just couldn't make that kind of life and death decision out on that road. I couldn't be pressured by Brackett into doing something I thought was wrong."

  "You made the only choice you could. Blair knows that."

  "A lot of good that does him now."

  "Jim, anyone who knows you knows the last thing you would want is for something to happen to Blair. No one wants a repeat of that day at the fountain," he finished softly.

  Jim closed his eyes against the sudden wash of memories. Against the echoes of his own denials as the EMT pronounced his Guide dead. "I promised myself that I would never again let Blair be put into a situation like the one with Alex. That he'd never have to deal with something like this alone."

  "This time is different."

  "How?"

  "He's not alone and he knows it."

  Jim knew what Simon meant. When Alex came for Blair, he had believed that Jim was no longer his friend. That he was no longer welcome at the station. That no one would care if something happened to him. Now he knew that that was not true. That everyone in Major Crimes would be doing everythin
g they could to make sure he came home safely.

  "I just don't know what to do, Simon. It was supposed to be a day, two at the most. It's been four. Why hasn't Brackett contacted me? I can't move forward on this until I know what's going on. If I begin an investigation into Grahm and Therman, I could blow the whole thing. But I'm telling you right now that I'm not going to hang around and do nothing for much longer."

  "Jim," Simon began his voice hesitant. "Why Blair?"

  Jim looked up, startled by the question. "Simon, I'm not sure--"

  "Don't tell me you don't know what I mean." His hard gaze bore down on him. "And don't tell me that it's up to Sandburg to explain it to me because I'm done waiting. I want to know why everyone's suddenly so interested in him."

  Jim ran a hand over his face. Blair had asked him specifically not to tell Simon what they now believed to be true about him. But what if keeping the captain in the dark was somehow putting Blair in more jeopardy? Besides, Jim trusted Simon. Was confident that the captain would see the truth behind what he was about to tell him.

  "Blair and I have been talking about his role in all this," Jim began.

  "His role as Guide?"

  "Yes. And we both believe that he's as important as I am in the whole scheme of things. That as much as I was meant to be a Sentinel, he was meant to be a Guide." My Guide specifically. But Jim didn't tell Simon that. That was private, between him and Blair. "Neither one of us believes that our meeting was just by chance." He looked at Simon, trying to gauge his reaction so far. And he had 'the look'. The look Blair had described to him. The look that made his partner reluctant to share this information. "You don't believe me."

  "Jim," Simon began in his most placating tone of voice. "I know you want to find a reason to keep the kid around. Hell, we all do. We all like Blair. But to assign him this.... position?"

  Jim stood suddenly, glaring down at Simon. "Is it so impossible for you to see his importance?"

  "I see his importance to you," Simon shot back, his gaze unwavering. "Jim, I know Blair is bright and he's necessary to the whole Sentinel thing but beyond that..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head.

  "What Blair does for me is instinctual for him. He always knows exactly what I need--"

  "He's quick on his feet. I'll give you that. But it doesn't make him unique. He was in the right place at the right time and he's well read on the subject and that's all."

  Jim's mouth clamped shut. He had planned to tell Simon everything, including what Frank Croft had told them. But now...now he wouldn't say another word.

  ####

  Blair lay on the hard cot staring up at the ceiling. There were six hundred and twenty-two tiles in the ceiling. Three hundred and forty on each wall. He let his gaze drift to the far wall. He'd studied the tiny symmetrical squares for hours looking for imperfections, cracks. Counted each tile at least two dozen times. Because he needed to do something...anything to occupy his mind. To not think about the fact that he hadn't seen another human being since waking in this small, dimly lit room.

  He let out a sigh and began counting…again. But as his gaze traveled from one tile to the next, his vision blurred slightly and he lost count. It seemed harder and harder to keep track of them. To count them all the way through in one sitting.

  Got to keep my concentration. Keep myself grounded.

  He pushed himself up and began pacing. He could cross the room in four strides in either direction. Four strides, he reached a wall. Four more strides in the other direction, he came face to face with the solid oak door. A door that he could not open. No handle. No hinges on the inside. No way of escaping.

  Jim will come any day now just like Brackett promised.

  He repeated those words over and over in his mind like a mantra. They settled him, gave him peace. How long had he been here? Three days at least, maybe longer. It was hard to tell but his beard growth seemed right for that length of time. He turned and paced back to the other side of the room, past the toilet and sink.

  Guess it could have been worse. At least I have water.

  His stomach growled and he shifted his gaze to his meager food supply. Four pieces of bread, two apples and a half jar of peanut butter. Whoever had placed him here had left the pile of food by the sink. When he awoke that first day, he'd been starving and had dug right in. Then he had believed that someone would be coming and hadn't worried about saving food for later. Now he regretted that.

  I've been sitting in a dark room for the last month as punishment for my failure with Alex. Brackett's words came back to haunt him.

  A month. Blair ran a shaking hand through his hair. I don't have enough food for a month.

  Did they find out what Brackett had done and kill him? Did they get bored and rush off for some deal leaving him here? Had they planned it this way all along? Planned to just leave him here to see if he could survive?

  It doesn't matter. Even if Brackett had been lying, even if no one was ever coming back, Jim would still find him. Jim always managed to find him.

  But this is different.

  He closed his eyes, wishing he could deny the words. But he couldn't because this time he did not feel the surety that Jim would find him the way he had with Alex or even Lash. Yet it wasn't the same kind of disconnection he'd felt when he was with the Lowry's. There was just a lingering feeling of uncertainty that Blair could not shake.

  Do something, Sandburg. Don't just sit in here and wait to die.

  The words pressed against him, demanding action. But what could he do?

  Jarred has the ability to separate his life force from his body and project it to wherever he chooses. It's a kind of astral projection. Many that practice Shamanism can attain this ability. Jarred used it to find you.

  Frank's words played through his mind, taunting him. Enticing him. Was it possible?

  Blair had been so curious after his nightly encounters with Jarred Lowry that he had read up on the technique the man had used. According to his books, the technique was physically hard on the body but seemed to just involve a deeper form of meditation, visualizations and focused concentration. Could he do it? He had been planning to ask Frank...

  His thoughts trailed off as an image of Frank's corpse flashed through his mind. He's dead because of me. Because I went to see him.

  He ran a hand over his face. Fell back against the wall. Slid to the floor. Dammit, why did I have to go and see him that day? He dropped his forehead against his knees going over all the mistakes he had made, correcting each one as they came until he was no longer in this place and Frank Croft was once again alive.

  This isn't helping.

  He lifted his head, determination burning through him. I'm a Shaman, dammit, I can do this. I have to do this.

  Sitting on the floor cross-legged, his hand resting palms up on his knees, Blair closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. He cleared his mind, concentrating on nothing but his breathing and slipped easily into a deep mediation. Using the techniques he had read about, he created a detailed image of a tunnel in his mind and then passed inside, swallowed instantly by the darkness. He traveled slowly forward but began picking up speed as a light appeared ahead. He moved into the light and beyond it. Suddenly he was drifting above himself. Hovering.

  His thoughts turned to Jim. He concentrated on just Jim. And he was moving again. Drifting slowly as before but then with increased speed. Images flashed by. Trees, a river, the city and then he was there. In the bullpen. And he could see Jim. He was in the break room, getting coffee.

  Am I dreaming? Hallucinating?

  He reached toward him and...

  ###

  Jim stared down at the cup shattered at his feet. His hands shook. Sweat stood out on his brow.

  "Jim? You okay?" Brown stood beside him. "Jim?" He grabbed his arm.

  Jim turned toward him. What could he say? That he'd felt Blair's presence for an instant? "I burned myself, H. I'm fine." His gaze returned to the cup. He started to b
end toward the fragments but the hand still on his arm stopped him.

  "I'll get that," Brown offered.

  "Thanks." Jim crossed to his desk and sat down. What are you doing, Blair? Jim knew that Blair had spent some time reading about how Jarred Lowry had found him. He also knew that Blair believed part of the reason Jarred Lowry was so ill was because of his continued use of that ability.

  Was Blair using that technique now to try and contact him?

  "You better not be doing what I think you're doing, Chief." Gathering up his folders, Jim headed for the door. He needed to get back to the loft. Needed to look through Blair's books.

  ###

  Blair slammed back into his body. He gasped, his chest tight. His stomach roiled. He scrambled across the floor and barely made it to the toilet before his stomach emptied itself.

  The door behind him opened. He glanced over his shoulder, unwilling to move too far from the toilet at this point. The muscular frame of a man filled the doorway of his room.

  "Finally," he said, his voice deep. "They've been waiting days for you to do something."

  "I'm glad for them," Blair said wearily.

  The large man came forward. Anger burned behind his dark eyes. Reaching down, he grabbed Blair by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Stand up when you talk to me." The hands holding him released him, shoving him away.

  Blair hit the wall behind him, stunned by the sudden violence. "Hey, man, take it easy." He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his stomach settled. He did not recognize this man. But knew he was neither Spenser Therman nor Caleb Grahm. There was a roughness to him that didn't fit the pictures of those two men he had seen.

  But who is he? And where the hell is Brackett?

  "You smell," the man said, his nose wrinkling slightly.

  "Yeah, well, that can happen when you don't shower for several days," Blair muttered.

  His head snapped to the side as he was backhanded hard across the face. Then rough hands grabbed at him and yanked him forward until he found himself face to face with his captor.

  "You will show me respect, punk," he sneered.