Progression Series 17 Lying in Wait Page 6

  Again the image of Blair struggling against an attacker raced through his mind. And again, he pushed it away. He couldn't dwell on what had happened. He needed to concentrate on what had to be done, needed to help in the only way he could.

  Tightening his hold on Blair's hand, Eli leaned forward and whispered to the young man who was so dear to his heart. "Blair, I know you're very far away right now, but if you can hear me, please listen carefully. You need to wake up, my boy. And you need to wake soon-your sentinel needs you."

  /

  /

  /

  He fought against the fear that rose in his chest, pushed against the terror.

  Your sentinel needs you....

  The words reached into his heart, into his very soul, lending him a strength he hadn't seemed to have before. The mists still swirled about him, the golden specters haunting his every move, but they didn't seem to be as powerful as they had been before...

  Your sentinel needs you....

  He wasn't sure what a sentinel was, or who that sentinel might be. But something in the deepest part of his soul told him that the sentinel had something to do with the man who had touched him and spoken to him so gently. The man who had told him he was needed.

  Your sentinel needs you...

  He clung to the words, to the truth behind them-the truth he could not yet fully understand. I won't let him down, he thought to himself with renewed determination. No matter what it takes, I won't let him down.

  Part Six

  Simon Banks looked out across the bullpen, his gaze coming to rest on Jim's desk. Ellison's chair was pushed up flush against the desk, the computer turned off, the in-box overflowing with paperwork. He shifted his gaze left. Sandburg's desk matched that of his partner's.

  The captain bit worriedly at his lower lip. He knew why Sandburg's desk was empty. The kid was still in the hospital, still unconscious. But Jim...the detective seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. He hadn't heard from the sentinel since they parted ways in Blair's hospital room yesterday morning. This morning, when he'd phoned Blair's room, he'd expected to find Jim there. Instead, he'd gotten Professor Stoddard. Eli had informed Simon that he had yet to see Jim.

  In other words, Jim Ellison had not been back to check on his partner since Blair was first admitted. And that worried Simon more than anything else.

  His gaze traveled to the small clock on the edge of his desk. Nearly three p.m. He'd asked Eli to phone him if Jim showed up, but thus far he'd heard nothing. Jim Ellison was not at work, he was not at home and he was not at the hospital with his partner.

  "So where are you, Jim?" he muttered as he stared out at the detective's desk. "And what the hell are you doing?"

  /

  /

  /

  The bar was noisy, crowded, and filled with the fowl stench of cigarette smoke. Just the kind of place he hated.

  Jim sat in a back booth and stared at the three people sitting on the other side of the room. He'd followed the three cadets here, hoping to finally find the answer to the only question in his mind - who attacked my partner?

  He'd spent all last night and today searching for the answer to that question, following cadet after cadet, watching their actions, looking for anything that might lead him to the person who put Blair in the hospital.

  So far, he'd come up empty. But he wasn't about to give up.

  Head cocked slightly to one side, Jim concentrated hard, barely managing to separate the words of the cadets from the relentless din all around him. A headache throbbed against his temple and he massaged the area almost constantly as he worked to listen in on the conversation.

  "Come on, Coop," the tall, blonde cadet named Anderson was saying. "You can't believe that it's every cop's right to search a vehicle based only on instinct. You have to have some probable cause."

  "You search the car, find what you need, then come up with probable cause," the young cadet answered without hesitation.

  The only woman at the table spoke up. "That's why you'll never get out of uniform, Cooper. You don't follow the rules."

  "What are you talking about, Wainwright?" Cooper countered, his hand snaking out to cover hers. "You've managed to get me out of uniform already."

  She swatted at his hand as the two men laughed heartily.

  Jim frowned. The three cadets had been drinking and talking for nearly two hours, but they had yet to mention a word about Sandburg. He took a quick swig of the beer in front of him. These three were his best bet. Blair had noted several times that they seemed to hang out together more than any of the other cadets. And the stocky redhead--Cooper--was listed in Blair's attendance book as "cocky."

  "In your dreams, cadet," Wainwright was saying, rolling her eyes.

  Cooper leaned back in his chair, sizing her up. "I know who you're saving it for. Professor Sandburg." He glanced at Anderson. "She thought he had beautiful blue eyes," he mocked.

  "He does have beautiful blue eyes," Wainwright said. "And I don't think it's appropriate to talk about him when he's in the hospital."

  Cooper shrugged one shoulder. "Guy shouldn't be playing cop if he can't handle himself."

  "Come on, Coop," Anderson said, his tone one of annoyance now. "You know his reputation. He works hard in Major Crimes. Been in the line of fire with those guys more than once."

  "Still doesn't make him a cop."

  Jim's jaw clenched tight as he stared at the young cadet. Was this the break he'd been waiting for? Was this the kid who had shot Sandburg? Had he gone after the civilian consultant out of some warped sense of duty? Or perhaps it was jealousy... jealousy over Wainwright's remark about Blair's eyes?

  As he watched, Cooper stood and headed for the men's room. Jim stood, threw a few dollars down on the table, then followed the young cadet.

  /

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  /

  Rick Cooper stood before the bathroom sink washing his hands, whistling an indistinguishable tune just under his breath. The night was going well. He was sure he'd scored a few points with Wainwright. Too bad she's got a thing for blue eyes.

  He chuckled slightly as he shifted his gaze to the mirror before him and stared into his own hazel eyes. "What's wrong with hazel?" He chuckled again, but the sound died on his lips as his gaze shifted to the reflection of the man standing behind him. The man was staring at him, his gaze cold and hard, a bitter expression pulling down the corners of his mouth. Coop spun around and faced him, ready to defend himself against the obvious threat. Trying not to show his unease, he glanced quickly around the bathroom. He was alone.

  His attention jerked back to the man before him. Quickly, he sized him up. The man was taller than Coop, but Coop had beaten men taller than himself plenty of times. Short, stocky, he could hold his own in a fight. But there was something about this man, something about the cold blue eyes that scared him. Even as a chill passed through him, he was flooded with sudden recognition. "Detective Ellison?" he breathed out.

  "That's right," Ellison growled, advancing toward him. "What do you know about the attack on my partner?"

  "Your...your partner?" Coop sputtered, taken off guard by the unexpected question. Instinctively, he backed up until he was pressed flat against the wall, a sink on either side of him. He'd managed to lock himself into place...and Ellison was still moving toward him. "I don't know-"

  "Listen, punk!" The detective grabbed the front of his shirt and, pulling him forward slightly, slammed him into the wall at his back. "I want to know who attacked my partner! Was it your idea? Did you want to show the professor that he's not cut out to be a cop? Did you do it alone? Or did you gang up on him?" He yanked him forward again before slamming him back against the wall. "Tell me!"

  "I didn't touch him!"

  "Who did? Tell me! Tell me!" With each demand, Ellison pulled him forward and slammed him back again and again.

  "I don't know!" Cooper shouted, his back and neck beginning to ache from the detective's assault. "I swear, I don't
know!"

  "I don't believe you!"

  "I swear," Coop cried out, desperate to make Ellison believe him. "I liked your partner. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him!"

  Something in his voice must have registered with the older man because all at once Ellison stopped. His hands dropped away and he backed up several steps. As Coop watched, he closed his eyes and reached up to rub at his temples. He kept his eyes squeezed closed for several seconds, then he dropped his hands to his side and opened his eyes. Gone was the cold determination of only moments before, the sparking anger. Now there was only fear...and regret.

  "I...I'm sorry," Ellison breathed, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I didn't mean...." His voice trailed off as he ran a hand back over his short hair.

  Cooper watched him, his breath coming in short gasps, uncertain if he should trust this reprieve. He'd heard rumors about Ellison's temper. But the man had been out of control. Enraged. Now...now he just looked confused, almost afraid.

  This is about Sandburg. About his partner. And partnership was something Rick Cooper knew and understood. He came from a long line of cops. His father had been a cop for over thirty years as was his father before him. He knew what it meant to have a partner. More importantly, he knew what it meant to lose one.

  "I didn't hurt your partner," Cooper offered softly, holding his hands out in entreaty. "Why would you think I did?"

  Ellison shifted his gaze, locking it on Coop. The young cadet could tell he was being sized up, judged. "Sandburg was sent to teach at the academy because we were told something illegal was going on there," the detective said at last. "He was working undercover."

  Coop's eyes widened at the news. "Something illegal?" Not that he'd heard of...in fact, it was ridiculous. "No way," he finally breathed out. "That place is so damn clean it practically sparkles."

  "How can you be so sure?" Ellison challenged.

  Feeling more confident now, his instincts assuring him that this man was no longer a threat, Coop pushed away from the wall and stepped forward. "Listen, Detective," he began, moving closer to Ellison, "I know the cadets in the academy. We've been together since the beginning and I am telling you right now, nothing illegal is going on. If there were, believe me...I'd know."

  "The news came from a reputable source," Ellison pressed.

  Cooper shook his head. "No, Detective," he countered. "If someone told you we were up to something illegal, then the news came from a liar."

  /

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  /

  A sound awakened him and slowly he blinked open his eyes, his gaze immediately drawn to the young man in the bed. Was he waking? Was that the sound that pulled him up from sleep?

  But as Eli's gaze came to rest on Blair, he realized the young man was still unconscious, still unmoving. He glanced down at his watch. Two a.m. Even as the lateness of the hour registered in his mind, the sound reached him again, a restless tapping noise.

  He looked up, toward the only window in the room, and found himself staring at Jim. The sentinel stood with his back to Eli, gazing out at the dark night beyond the glass. His hand fidgeted at his side, tapping against the windowsill.

  It was the first time Eli had seen Jim since Blair was admitted two days ago. Worry churned in his stomach as he stared at the sentinel's back. He could almost feel the anxiety rolling off him, sense the tension within.

  "Jim?" he called out softly. No response. Just the same rigid posture and constant tapping. Eli pushed to his feet and crossed to the sentinel. "Jim, are you all right?" He touched his shoulder.

  Instantly, Jim spun to face him, the hand that had been tapping on the sill instinctively reaching for the weapon at his back. Recognition flooded his gaze and he dropped his hand to his side without pulling his weapon. Contrition darkened the tired eyes. "Eli, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't hear you."

  "Yes, I guessed that." Eli studied the dark circles under Jim's eyes, the haggard expression on his face, the growth of stubble darkening the set jaw. The man was clearly running himself ragged. Indicating the chair he had just vacated, he said, "Why don't you sit down? Spend some time with Blair. I think it would do you both some good."

  Jim's haunted gaze shifted past Eli to the young man in the bed behind them. But he didn't move toward him. Instead, he remained where he was, his gaze distant, uncertain. "How's he doing?" he asked so softly Eli had to strain to hear him.

  "He's better, Jim. Much better, actually." His brow creased. "Didn't you notice when you came in that he's off the respirator?" Eli had thought that the sight of Blair breathing on his own would have given the detective an immense amount of comfort. He knew it had for himself. But he saw no relief in Jim's eyes...only pain and uncertainty.

  "When did that happen?" the detective asked.

  "A few hours ago. I tried to call you but couldn't get through on your cell phone."

  "I haven't been home to charge it and the battery died," he mumbled, his gaze never leaving Blair.

  "The doctor said he's improving at a remarkable rate," Eli said when the silence in the room went on too long. "He believes if this continues that Blair could wake as soon as tomorrow."

  Tentatively, Jim moved around Eli and walked toward the bed. He stopped beside it, staring down at Blair. And the worried lines in his face smoothed out just a bit, the hard blue eyes softened a fraction. Placing his hand on Blair's head, Jim turned back to Eli, who still stood near the window.

  "He seems to resting comfortably. Don't you think?"

  Eli could hear the need in Jim's voice, the need to have him confirm for the sentinel what he was afraid his overwrought senses were not correctly perceiving. Eli moved to the detective. "He's resting very comfortably, Jim."

  Ellison closed his eyes briefly, his lower lip trembling slightly, and Eli's concern grew. Not since Blair's funeral had he seen this stoic man so openly emotional.

  He's losing control. Without Blair, he can't manage to keep himself on-line and functioning.

  "Jim, I think we need to talk, maybe try and do a few of the exercises that Blair taught me. I think-"

  "No," Jim whispered, but even as softly as he had spoken, Eli still heard the unmistakable finality in his voice. "There's no time for that."

  "One hour is all I'm asking," Eli pressed. "You need to do this."

  "The only thing I need to do is find out who attacked my partner," the detective bit out. "And that's the only thing I'm going to do."

  "Jim, it's the middle of the night. What can you do in the middle of the night?" He stepped up to him, placed a hand on his arm, gripping tightly. "It's been almost two days since you spent any time with Blair. You need to do that, to sit with him for a while, be with him for a while."

  Jim backed away, pulling out of the grip Eli had on him. "I can't help him here."

  "You can-"

  "Just watch over him while I'm gone," Jim cut in, his voice overriding the professor's. "That's all I need you to do. Watch over him." He glanced down one last time at Blair. Moving closer, he brushed back the hair on Sandburg's forehead before leaning close and whispering.... "I have to go, Chief. I have to find out who did this to you." Once again his lip trembled. He swallowed hard, working to regain control, then said thickly, "Don't leave me alone too much longer."

  Eli watched the exchange, his own emotions welling to the surface. And he knew...there was nothing he could do for Jim Ellison. The only thing that would calm him, that would help him regain control...was Blair.

  /

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  /

  The touch and the voice had come again, briefly. Too briefly. It felt as if an eternity had passed since he'd last felt that soothing touch, heard that caring voice. If only they would remain longer he was almost positive he could follow them and find his way out of this dark place.

  "Don't leave me alone too much longer," the voice had said. And he'd known...it was the voice of his sentinel calling out to him, needing his help.

  He'd tried to cry out, to tell the
sentinel that he didn't want to be alone anymore either, that more than anything he wanted to escape from the golden demons that danced all around him. But the words wouldn't come. He'd tried again and again, but was met only with failure...failure that spiraled into despair. He couldn't escape the dark prison that held him so tightly, couldn't find his way back to...

  Jim.

  The name flashed through his fleeting awareness and with it came a memory of warmth and safety, of laughter and tears. Jim. Jim is my sentinel. A deep sense of need washed over him-the need to get to Jim. He still didn't understand how he could know that, or how he could make it come about. But one thing he did know...if he didn't reach Jim soon, it would be too late.

  Part Seven

  Simon stepped through the doors of the bullpen carrying a bag full of Big Apple Bagels. He glanced around the large room and stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead he could see Jim Ellison slumped over his desk, head down on his crossed arms, asleep.

  As much of a relief as it was to see Jim after worrying about him for nearly two days, the sight of him asleep at his desk was still disturbing. Never in all the years Simon had known him had he seen Jim do anything like this. But as he took in the detective's disheveled appearance, he realized there was a time when Jim had looked this way. In the days just before he met Sandburg, before he'd gained control of his sentinel senses.

  Simon pushed the troubling thoughts to the back of his mind and, crossing to the detective, shook his shoulder. "Come on, Jim," he coaxed as the sentinel moaned slightly, shifting his head where it lay on the desk but not waking. "Time to go home."

  Slowly, Jim's eyes blinked open. He sat up, his tired gaze sweeping the bullpen. "Sandburg?" he muttered, confusion knitting his brow. "What...?" But as his gaze came to rest on Simon the confusion quickly disappeared. In its place was the angry scowl he'd worn since first hearing about the attack on his partner.

  "You been here all night?" Simon asked pointedly.

  Jim rubbed at his eyes, shaking his head. "Checked in on Sandburg once."

  Simon exhaled a frustrated breath. "In other words, you didn't go home at all. Jim, you cannot keep up this pace. Look at you!" He gestured angrily at the detective. "You've had the same clothes on for two days, you haven't shaved since this all began, and if the bags under your eyes get any darker, people are going to think you've been in a fight."