Kith, or Kin? 4/7 (gen)
Back to Part 3


When Blair woke hours later, at what appeared to be dawn of the next day, it was to the sound of raucous snores from somewhere below. Peering over the edge of the bed, he was treated to the sight of Simon lying on the floor in a sleeping bag, mouth open wide enough to catch cicadas.

If it wasn’t for the bandages on Blair’s wrists, and the pervading stink of the filthy clothes he was still, unfortunately, wearing; he could easily imagine that the three of them were on vacation, taking a long weekend to hike and fish at Simon’s cabin retreat, just as they had many times in the past. Putting his head back down on the pillow, he lost himself for a moment in the fantasy.

Until Naomi’s face, tear streaked and fearful, rose in his mind’s eye.

A quiet voice to his right disturbed the vision. “Hey.” Jim, he could sense, was lying next to him, on top of the covers. How the hell he could stand to be so close to Blair with his heightened sense of smell, Blair had no idea. He could hardly stand it himself. “You awake?” Jim asked.

There was no point trying to feign sleep to a sentinel. It was, in any case, time to face the music. “Uh huh,” he answered, his eyes still closed.

A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking it a little. “Get up,” Jim said quietly, obviously trying to avoid waking Simon. “Get showered while I make breakfast.” The same hand tapped him on the wrist. “I’ll have a look at these and your ankle afterwards.” Blair felt the bed tip and sway as Jim got up.

Swallowing back the peevish retort that automatically came to mind at Jim’s order, Blair waited until he heard the other man leave the room. Then he got up and went to the bathroom, trying hard, as he stripped off and started the water, not to think about how he had totally cracked in front of Jim and Simon last night; the memory a stone in his empty gut. He eyed the window, the avenue of his aborted escape, shamefacedly.

It was good to be able to shower, after days of miserable existence on the streets. He luxuriated in the moment, the delicious warmth pounding on aching muscles and raw skin; and he sighed as some of his residual tension drained away along with the water. Wishing he had the means with which to shave, he settled at soaping up the unfamiliar growth of hair.

Finished finally, he emerged dripping, and eyed his discarded clothes with distaste, lamenting that he had nothing else to put on besides the stinking rags. Wiping an arm across the steamed-up mirror, he peered through the remaining droplets of condensation at the bloodshot, disreputable-looking individual who was looking back at him, as he tried to finger-comb his tangled hair into submission.

Then he stopped, breathing hard, when what he had done hit him suddenly, hard. He had broken the rules. He had let himself be caught, and worse – had told the very people he had been ordered not to tell, everything that had been going on. And he had told them willingly, in a moment of weakness, wanting desperately, like a child, that they make it all better.

Blair had never loathed himself more than he did at that moment.

He was reluctantly reaching out to pick up the grimy pants he’d been wearing when a knock sounded at the door. “Sandburg,” called Jim. “I’m leaving clean clothes just outside the door. Okay?” A familiar sense of annoyance broke into Blair’s self-pity, as he realized that the sentinel had been listening in and waiting for him to finish. Then it dissipated just as quickly, when he reminded himself that he had totally lost the right to privacy when he had aided and abetted a criminal and turned on his friends.

Blair opened the door a crack, retrieving the pile which was outside. Sweats, at least a size too big, and thick socks - the change of clothes Jim kept in his gym bag in the truck for emergencies. But clean, and infinitely more palatable than the clothes he had been wearing.

Now, clean at last and dressed, Blair went out into the main room of the cabin, with its kitchen at one end. Jim was at the stove, cooking bacon, which he had presumably found in the freezer Simon kept stocked for his frequent trips out here. “Have a seat,” Jim said in a reasonable tone, without turning. “It’s almost done.”

The utter strangeness of the situation struck Blair suddenly, forcefully, even as the delicious smell caused his empty belly to rumble. Only last night he had been this man’s prisoner, handcuffed and locked in the trunk of a car. Unable to stop the words, he challenged, “Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden, man? I mean, what is this? What, are you playing good-cop, bad-cop all by yourself?”

Jim didn’t turn, but glanced his way briefly, an unreadable expression on his face. “Why shouldn’t I be nice to you?” he asked.

“Oh, come on!” This was too weird for words. “You know why. You said you and me were finished, and I accept that. It’s no more than I deserve after what I’ve done, man. So how can you just stand there and cook breakfast, and tell me to sit down, as though nothing happened? Is this some kind of revenge thing? Are you getting me all nice and comfortable so you can get back at me when I don’t expect it?”

Jim turned; looked at him steadily. “Is that what your dad used to do?” he asked.

The words cut Blair to the quick. A vivid memory - every bit as potent as the other memories of humiliation and terror which had recently resurfaced - flashed before his eyes. His mother - little more than a girl herself - and he, being impotently forced to observe her pain, at the mercy of one who professed kinship to him. He found his voice. “Don’t… just… don’t, all right? You have no idea what he used to do! No fucking idea!”

Jim took a step towards him. “Sandburg…” he began.

But Blair cut him off, shaking his head in rebuttal and glaring anger. And, half daring Jim to stop him, he tore open the cabin door and fled down the steps. Breathing hard, overwhelmed almost more by Jim’s baffling and sudden solicitude than his own turbulent emotions, he ended up sitting on a fallen log several yards from the house, shivering in the morning breeze.

He was a mess. He knew it. Jim knew it, and so did Simon. His mom was back there, back with him; and Blair was as impotent now as he had been as a child to stop her pain. And all he could think, watching Jim casually cooking, was how much he wanted to hide in the other man’s shadow until all was right with the world again.

Which, of course, was not an option. Because Jim, he was certain, despised him now.

But not nearly so much as he despised himself.

Jim found him a short while later, after allowing him a little time to compose himself; apparently not worried any more that Blair would try to escape. As Blair heard Jim come to stand beside him, he said miserably, without lifting his head from his hands, “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, man.”

“I know.”

“I know you won’t believe me,” Blair carried on, “and I don’t blame you for that. But I never wanted to hurt you, Jim. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But I knew you’d survive it. You’d hate me for it, but you’d still be alive. But my mom…” He faltered. “My mom could die if I don’t do what he tells me. And she doesn’t deserve to die.”

There was silence a moment. Then, finally needing to know how much shit he was in, Blair looked up and asked, “Are you going to arrest me?”

“I don’t know,” Jim admitted, not looking at Blair. “Not yet. Maybe later, when we get your mom back.”

Blair nodded, resigned. He had known as soon as he had given in to Buchanan’s demands that it was only a matter of time before it would all be over for him. But saving Naomi was all he could think about. The only thing that mattered.

“Look,” Jim broke into his thoughts. “You made some bad choices, Chief. You did the wrong thing. You broke the law, and you know there has to be repercussions from that.” Blair didn’t look up as Jim came to sit down beside him, close but not touching. “I won’t lie to you,” Jim carried on, “and this shouldn’t come as any surprise. I’m not sure I can ever completely get past this.”

Blair nodded, his throat tight. It was what he expected.

Jim ploughed into Blair’s continued silence. “That you could do what you did… well, Chief, I’m telling you, it hurts a lot. I’m not just talking about the mace thing, or you using my senses against me, although god knows that’s bad enough. It’s not even that you chose to put Naomi first, because I can understand why you did that. I’m talking about trust. You lied to me, Blair, from the first minute he got you involved in the robberies. It makes me wonder what else you lied about.”

“I… I don’t expect you to believe this, man,” Blair stuttered. “But I swear to god. I didn’t lie about anything else.”

Jim exhaled, a sardonic puff of air. “Right. Well, you’ll understand if I reserve judgment on that for now, Chief.” His voice was even, without expression, but Blair knew him well, and could hear the emotion hidden underneath. “What scares me,” Jim went on, “is how good at it you are. I never guessed you were involved, not for a minute, even though I knew someone was fucking with my senses. I knew it was someone who knew I was a sentinel. All the time, I was living with the sentinel expert, and I never got it. I trusted you that much.”

Blair’s vision blurred, as guilt overwhelmed him. He knew how hard won Jim’s trust had been. And Blair had destroyed it, throwing that trust back in Jim’s face, wounding a good man in the process, by hitting him where it hurt the most.

The best friend he had ever had.

A fresh wave of self disgust and shame overwhelmed Blair. “I’m sorry,” he offered again miserably, inadequately, knowing in his heart it wasn’t enough; it would most likely never be enough.

Jim took a deep breath, and let it out. Then, his gaze still fixed into the distance - not on Blair; emphatically not on Blair - he said, “We have to put this to one side, what you did, what happened between you and me. It’s time to get on track. You’re finished playing this by his rules. We have a job to do - we have to find your mom and get her out of there. We’ll deal with everything else once she’s safe.”

“We?” Blair queried without thinking, and he winced at the wretched hope in his own voice.

In answer, Jim clapped him on the shoulder as he rose. “Come inside,” he said, and Blair hoped pathetically that the rough edge of compassion in his voice wasn’t imagined. “We’ll decide what to do after breakfast.”

Blair watched through a mist as Jim strode back to the cabin, allowing himself at long last to wonder if he shouldn’t just have asked for Jim’s help in the beginning. Instead, he’d destroyed the most significant friendship he had ever had, only to end up at the same place.

Finally, he realized just how much he had messed up.

~oO0Oo~

It was a surreal breakfast that Simon entered into a little while later. As the three of them consumed coffee, bacon and waffles, Sandburg spent the entire time avoiding looking at either of his companions.

It was obvious that Blair hadn’t been eating much while on the run, as helping after helping disappeared. At least, Simon mused, watching him surreptitiously, none of this had ruined the kid’s appetite. Reaching for the bottle of antacids he kept in his jacket pocket, he felt mildly resentful that he could not say the same about himself.

It was clear to Simon’s observant eyes that Sandburg’s obsessive drive to get back to Cascade, and do Buchanan’s bidding, had abated this morning. Blair had an air of defeat about him, which was totally unlike the lively individual Simon knew. And it certainly didn’t help ease the tight feeling in his gut.

In classic Ellison style, the utensils were washed and cleared away before they got down to discussing business. “Chief,” Jim began, taking charge, and seeming, much to Simon’s relief, far less antagonistic toward Sandburg than he’d been. “Come over here. Sit down. We need to talk.”

Blair turned from stacking plates in the cupboard – he had waded into the post-breakfast cleanup quite obviously as a means of avoiding interaction with the two of them. Now, looking like he was going to his own execution, he moved to the table, his face tense and unhappy.

The three of them now seated, Jim got the ball rolling. “Okay,” he said, “We have…” he glanced at his watch. “A little over thirty-two hours before showtime. We need to get back to Cascade and get started on finding out where Buchanan is holding Naomi. Sandburg, you stick with me. We’ll find somewhere in town to use as a base until this is all over.”

“Look,” Sandburg protested. “I can’t be seen with you, all right? If he even suspects I’ve spoken to you, he’ll kill her.”

“You’re not thinking very clearly, Chief,” Jim replied, shaking his head. “He obviously has no tail on you or I right now, because he had no idea last night that we’d met up or that you’d left town. As long as we don’t go back to the loft, and keep our heads down, everything should be fine.”

“Jim,” Simon interjected. “The guy indicated he had ‘sources’ of information about your movements, and he knew that you didn’t go home last night, at least up to midnight. We need to find out where he’s getting his information – if he learns that Blair is with us, it could have consequences.”

Ellison was nodding. “Right.” He looked at Blair, who was staring fixedly at the table, his worry for his mother once again brought into stark focus by Simon’s words. “Sandburg,” Jim said, a little sharply. “Stay with the program here, all right? Who is his contact?”

Blair looked up. “I don’t know,” he said miserably.

“You’re the one who’s been in touch with this guy. Make an educated guess. Come on, Chief. What has he said that might give us a clue about where he’s getting his information?”

Blair thought for a minute. Then shook his head. “All he said to me was what you heard last night; that he knew you’d disappeared, and he thought you were out looking for me. Oh,” his eyes widened as he remembered, “and the other day he warned me that you knew about me…” he faltered, but rallied. “About me helping him, when you found the evidence he planted. So he must have found that out before you confronted me.”

Jim was frowning, as something he hadn’t even thought to question, so fixated as he’d been on Blair’s betrayal, finally clicked into place. “That doesn’t make any sense. No one else knew about my suspicions. I didn’t say anything about the evidence I found until after you’d gone missing, and even then, I only told Simon.”

“Could he have used surveillance equipment?” Simon asked Jim. “Bugged your car, or something, and somehow you let something slip while you were doing your stakeout of Blair at Rainier?”

Jim shook his head. “I didn’t use my own vehicle after I left the PD that day. I requisitioned one from the fleet. I wanted to keep tabs on Sandburg without him seeing my truck and getting suspicious. Unless someone saw me drive out of the PD in that car and followed me, they wouldn’t have known I was on my way to put Blair under observation.”

“So,” Simon speculated, “his contact found out that you’d changed cars somehow, and got on your tail?”

“And whoever his contact is,” Jim thought aloud, “he watched my movements that day, because Buchanan hoped I’d found the evidence that Sandburg was involved. His inside man followed me down to the car pool, saw which car I took, and followed me to Rainier, where he saw me waiting round the back of Hargrove Hall. Then when Buchanan heard about it, he put two and two together and called Blair to warn him.”

“Jim,” Simon objected, not liking the obvious conclusion that someone from their own department was in league with Buchanan. “Anybody could have followed you. Someone waiting outside the PD for you to drive off, even, or someone who was keeping tabs on Blair at Rainier. It may not be a cop.”

Jim shook his head. “No. I requisitioned the car, and left right away from the station garage. It has to be someone from the PD, because unless they saw me change vehicle, anyone else would have been thrown off my tail. And as much as we don’t want to believe it, a cop is most likely, given the fact that I wasn’t even aware I was being watched.”

Not at all happy about the likelihood of a viper in their midst, Simon changed the subject, broaching the question which had been bugging him the most. “Sandburg,” he said. “There is something about this whole thing that makes no sense. Your father…” Blair winced, so Simon amended it to, “Buchanan, has pulled off five successful heists. If you weren’t at the last robbery, as you claim, it looks like he tried to frame you for it. Why the hell, then, isn’t he hightailing it out of town with the proceeds, now he’s put the heat on you? What is he hoping to prove, still holding onto Naomi, and making you run about Cascade keeping out of sight, and living on the streets?”

Blair raised bitter eyes to Simon. “He thinks he owns Naomi,” he said bluntly. “As far as he’s concerned, man, she’s his, bought and paid for. He told me he’d let her go eventually if I did what he said, but as time goes on, man, I… I realize how unlikely that is. But the rest of it?” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Jim leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the younger man. “I think you do know, Chief.”

Blair shook his head again, anguish in his eyes.

Jim carried on, his voice soft. “It’s revenge, isn’t it? Because you dropped the dime on him all those years ago. He’s trying to make you suffer, doing it to punish you. It never was about the robberies at all. You said it yourself – he thinks he owns Naomi. He’s not gonna let her go, no matter how many hoops he makes you jump through, and he’s just making you pay for turning him in.”

Blair bowed his head. His reply was scarcely audible. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

Jim was watching Blair carefully. “Chief, there’s no way you can win. No way you could ever have gotten Naomi out of there on your own, by playing his game. He’s set you up to lose, and when he’s done, he’ll let you take the heat for the robberies he did. He wants to destroy your life, and when he’s done that, and you’re in jail, he’ll take Naomi and get out of town. You follow me, Chief? Can you see that now, huh?”

Blair nodded miserably, as though he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Simon addressed Blair next. “Sandburg,” he asked, his no-nonsense tone breaking through Blair’s silent grief and self recrimination, “Have you any idea where he’s holding Naomi?”

Blair swallowed a couple of times, then shook his head. “No. I don’t. I, uh, I used to have to meet him, before each robbery, to go over his equipment. He’d rented space in the warehouse district. Close to where I used to live, actually. But I’m pretty sure he isn’t staying there. And wherever he is, Naomi is with him.”

“Why are you sure?” Jim asked.

Blair looked up. “It’s just not his style, man. He has money stashed. He’ll be renting something up-market.”

Jim kept pushing. “Okay, you know the guy; what he’d be likely to do. I accept that. But what makes you think he’s keeping Naomi with him, instead of locked up somewhere else?”

He had obviously hit a sore spot. “Because she’s his wife, man!” Blair exploded. “Because he said he wanted her to resume her spousal duties, okay? Are you satisfied? Are you happy now?”

Jim shook his head. “Chief, if you think anything about what has happened to Naomi makes me even slightly happy, then you don’t know me at all.”

The quiet words cut through Sandburg’s outburst like a hot knife through butter. “I’m sorry,” Blair said, all belligerence dissipated.

But Jim waved the apology off. “Forget it. The important thing is working out where he is, and how to get her out of there. Let’s try and keep on track here, huh?”

“Okay,” said Simon, backtracking. “So he had surveillance on you,” he addressed Jim, “and possibly on me, since Buchanan has forbidden Blair to talk to me too, through whoever is on his payroll at the PD. I’ll do a little digging there, when I get back. I’ll find out who the bastard is that’s working for him.”

Jim nodded his approval. “Good. If we know who Buchanan’s source is, we could feed a little disinformation back. I assume he knows about the missing person’s report. If it gets upgraded to an APB, and Buchanan thinks Sandburg is now officially a suspect in the case, he might change the rules. Chief,” he said, and Sandburg’s head shot up. “You need to call him tomorrow at the rendezvous time. Simon already checked out the number you called last night, but it’s diverted through some kind of router, so we can’t get a location. So the next time you call him, I’ll be listening in, see if I can’t find out something about where he is. Other than that, if he thinks we’re close to arresting you, he may arrange to meet up with you. In fact, I want you to persuade him to do just that. Tell him you’re desperate. Make him think you’ll spill your guts about him if you’re caught.”

Blair looked horrified. “I can’t do that, man. He’ll kill Naomi!”

“Sandburg,” Jim said forcefully, “he’ll kill her anyway, if we don’t do this! This is a game to him, remember? You can’t save her playing by his rules. Come on, you convinced me. You can convince him. You’re the most convincing liar I’ve ever met. Use your powers for good instead of evil!”

Blair had winced in shame at Jim’s words. Then he nodded, looking desperately unhappy, and avoiding Jim’s eyes. “Okay,” he agreed. “I have no choice. I’ll try.”

Jim leaned closer, trying to get Sandburg’s attention. “We’re going to do everything we can to save her, Chief.” Jim softened his voice, his hand reaching out to grasp Blair’s shoulder briefly. “Use your head. You can do this. We can all do this. And it’s gonna work.”

Blair just nodded, looking more vulnerable than Simon had ever seen him. But watching Jim’s small overture of reassurance, something in Simon’s gut eased, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

~oO0Oo~

The motel Jim chose was cheap and clean; which was about all that could be said for it. Ellison booked one room for the two of them to share, the other man being nominally in his custody. Sandburg didn’t bat an eyelid, following Ellison’s lead without question. It was as though all the fight had gone out of him.

The rest of the morning leached by, oozing turgidly into the afternoon. Sandburg lay on one of the room’s twin beds, dressed in Jim’s oversized sweats, staring listlessly and without interest at the room’s tiny television with its meager choice of channels. With his uncombed hair tied back loosely, and the haunted expression on his bearded face, Blair looked every bit the penniless street bum he’d been forced to become.

That Sandburg was afraid for his mother’s safety was a given. His frequent, longing glances toward the door eloquently demonstrated that his thoughts were largely elsewhere. And during the times he glanced Ellison’s way, never looking at him directly or making eye contact, Jim could clearly sense the sour tang of misery rolling off of him, as his features creased in apparent shame.

A large part of Jim wanted to reassure, to give comfort; but that urge was still at war with his shameful inner fantasy of beating Sandburg senseless, and the result was a stalemate. The tension in the air between them was such that neither man spoke to the other beyond a necessary minimum. But finally the charged silence of the dingy room was interrupted by the ringing of Jim’s cell phone. “Ellison,” he said.

“Jim, it’s me,” Simon announced. “I have some information.”

Jim sat up straighter, and Sandburg flicked off the television, sitting up to watch Jim expectantly.

“Go on,” Jim prompted.

“No matter which way I looked at it, I couldn’t see any of our people being Buchanan’s mole. But then it hit me - we have someone new in the department.”

“Who?”

The Captain sounded like the cat who’d got the cream. “I should have thought of it before. The Major Crime annual report is due in soon, so Rhonda applied to Secretarial Services for some help. She has a temporary administrative assistant working with her. Robyn Ratner, on loan from Homicide. I did a bit of checking, and guess who Ms. Ratner is related to? And who she’s dating?”

The name sounded familiar, but Jim couldn’t bring the connection to mind. “Who?” he asked.

“Well put it this way. Who was conveniently on hand when Sandburg was spotted just after the missing person’s report went out?”

Jim blinked. Then remembered the patrol officers who had come so close to apprehending Sandburg. “Ratner and Dante!”

“Got it in one, Detective. Officer Ratner is her brother. Dante is her fiancé.”

Jim glanced at Sandburg, who was watching him avidly, obviously frustrated at being unable to hear the other end of the conversation. Thinking back, Jim remembered now that an unfamiliar young woman, who’d been sitting at Rhonda’s desk, had keyed in his initial request to requisition a car, just before he’d gone down to the car pool to pick it up. Presumably she had alerted her boyfriend and brother to his movements. “So,” Jim asked, certain that Simon’s deductions were correct, “what do you want to do?”

“Well, I trust Rhonda implicitly. I’ve asked her to keep a careful eye on our Ms Ratner, and to let a few bits of confidential information slip - the kind that suggests I am about to issue an APB for Sandburg, followed by a warrant for his arrest on suspicion of robbery.”

“And the others?”

“Their trail is cold since we apprehended Blair. If their brief was to keep tabs on Sandburg, they’ve failed. Seems his little trick with the strobe yesterday had the effect of forcing them off his tail, as well as off ours.”

“Good.”

“That’s not to say I’m not keeping an eye on them. I am. In fact, I’ve got Brown and Rafe tailing them at the moment. We have to do this in-house. Until this thing is finished, I can’t involve I.A.”

Jim could see the logic in that. They had no idea how much the two rogue officers knew, either about Blair’s complicity in the crimes or about his senses. Until they untangled this mess, and decided how to handle the inevitable fallout, it was better to keep it to themselves. “What did you tell them, sir? Rafe and Brown, I mean.”

“I’m the Captain, Jim. I don’t need to give a reason.” Simon chuckled, eliciting an answering smile from Ellison at Simon’s characteristic posturing. “Their brief is to follow, report if the two of them are seen meeting anyone or talking on the phone. Who, where, when. That kind of thing. If they’re challenged, to improvise some plausible reason for being there. The detail is up to them.”

“Right.”

“How you doing, Jim? And how’s Sandburg?”

“Fine, sir. We’re both fine.”

“Good. Keep it that way. I’ll be over in an hour or two, just as soon as I send Ratner and Dante on a wild goose chase to get them off my back. I have a file I want you to take a look at.”

“Very good, sir.”

The Captain rang off, and Jim updated Sandburg on the situation. Predictably, he was not very happy about the identity of his father’s spies. “Shit,” he said. “Dave Ratner. I though he was my friend, man!”

Jim gave him a hard look, anger, for the moment, uppermost in the mix of emotions which churned within him. “A taste of your own medicine, huh?”

But instead of the retort Ellison half expected, Sandburg just winced in shame. And instead of feeling satisfaction at winning a point, Ellison felt something a little like shame himself at having caused a reappearance of the defeated expression on Sandburg’s face.

~oO0Oo~

The file that Simon brought with him, when he arrived in the early evening was, predictably, not a pleasant read. Jim went out to sit in Simon’s car while he perused it, leaving Blair back in the motel room in the Captain’s capable hands.

Simon’s contact in the San Francisco Police Department had faxed him a copy of Buchanan’s police record, as well as the initial witness statement given by Thomas Buchanan – now known as Blair Sandburg. And what he read turned Jim’s stomach.

According to his statement, young Thomas had been illicitly messing around in his father’s car, when Buchanan had gotten in and taken off, unaware that his son was in the back. Afraid of his father’s wrath if he was discovered, the boy had kept his head down and remained quiet. They’d driven for approximately twenty minutes, into an unlit area. Buchanan had exited the car, and Thomas had finally taken a look at his surroundings, to find that the car was parked outside a deserted warehouse, into which his father disappeared. Thomas had crept out of the car and approached the building. Peering through a grimy window, he’d seen a man in the dim interior, chained by his arms from the high ceiling, and his father stalking around him like a cat toying with its prey.

What followed was the eyewitness account that the traumatized youth had related, of the torture and death of Samuel Gregory. In shockingly sterile language, clinically documenting what he’d told the cop who’d transcribed his statement, a picture was painted of screaming, blood, abuse and horror, all of it witnessed through a window that the appalled child had been unable to tear himself away from. And once it was over, Buchanan had driven away with the bloody and broken body of his victim in the trunk of his car, obliviously leaving his terrified son to make his own way home.

Unable to read further, Jim fumbled open the door of the car, and barely made it to the bushes in time to lose everything he’d eaten that day. And all he could see, as he heaved, was the look on Blair’s face yesterday as they’d pulled his vomit-sodden figure out of the trunk of Simon’s car - when they’d unwittingly forced him to relive part of his nightmare.

~oO0Oo~

Unable to deal with Sandburg just yet, Jim stood in the doorway of the motel room, and beckoned Simon out to join him. Glancing at Blair, who was still sitting inside, Jim saw him turn his face away, as Simon got up to leave the room.

Once the door was closed, effectively isolating them from Blair, Jim handed the file back to Simon, his silence speaking volumes. Simon’s face was equally grim as he received it into his hand. “Did you read it?” he asked.

Jim nodded, staring off into the distance, jaw grinding audibly.

It seems Simon had been similarly affected. “Poor kid,” he said. “No wonder he’s screwed up over this. He thinks that’s what’s going to happen to Naomi.” He frowned at Jim’s continued silence. “Jim? You okay?”

“I…” Jim tried to find the words. “Simon, it’s not just what’s in that file, though god knows, that’s a terrible thing for a child to see. It’s… I just can’t believe I got it so wrong. That I was so blind to what was going on with him. He’s been going through hell, dealing with all of this on his own, and all I could see was my own damned suspicion.”

“Well,” Simon countered, “If it’s any consolation, Jim, I didn’t see it either. And let’s face it, Sandburg is a master at subterfuge.” He shrugged. “From what Jack Medina - the Federal agent I spoke to - told me, Blair learned to keep things hidden at his mother’s knee. This,” he tapped the report, “is the tip of the iceberg of what Blair went through as a kid. According to Medina, Buchanan systematically abused both Blair and Naomi during all the years they lived together, physically and psychologically. He played them off against each other – when one transgressed, the other got punished. To protect each other, they both had to learn to lie convincingly.”

“Jesus.” Jim wiped his face with a shaky hand. He could certainly empathize with that scenario, although in comparison he’d had it more than easy. “What,” he asked pointedly, needing to know how he could help turn this around, “are the chances that Blair will get prosecuted for his part in all of this?”

Simon shrugged. “There are mitigating circumstances, Jim, no doubt about it. His mom was kidnapped, and he’s been going along with the demands of her kidnapper as part of the ransom. But you and I both know that duress will only partially exonerate him in the eyes of a judge and jury. He should have come to us in the beginning. Instead, he chose to break the law. ”

Jim sighed. “That’s what I thought.” The fact that Blair felt he’d had no choice wouldn’t excuse his complicity with Buchanan in the planning of the robberies. No matter what, he was an accessory. No way would he get off without sanction, even if he managed to avoid jail.

Simon, it seemed, had more to say. “The thing that worries me the most is the stuff about your senses. I’ll be totally honest with you, Jim. I don’t know if we can keep your abilities under wraps, and get Blair off the hook. Going by the assumption that Buchanan has orchestrated this whole scenario to punish Blair, I’m guessing he’s gonna be more than ready to finger the kid as his accomplice, and there’s very little real evidence to suggest otherwise. What Blair did – helping with the robberies and evading capture in Cascade – it all makes him look guilty, and no amount of protest that Buchanan forced him to participate will completely clear him.” Simon swallowed, as though worried about Jim’s reaction. “Unless, that is,” he carried on, “we can point to the fact that Blair has specialist knowledge about your senses, and that Buchanan recruited him specifically to put you off the scent, as part of his plan to destroy Blair’s life, and not as a partner in crime. Unless the whole truth comes out, it’s going to be hard to defend what he did.”

There was no decision to make. “I’ll do whatever I have to do, Simon,” Jim said. “He’s been through enough.”

Simon, to Jim's relief, didn’t look surprised at that. Accepting Jim’s assurance without question, he instead remarked bitterly, “Whatever happens, Jim, the bastard wins. Naomi and Blair have been through hell, Blair’s life will never be the same again, and if you go public, your career and privacy are as good as destroyed. And Buchanan will end up back in jail, no worse off than he was before.”

Jim smiled coldly. “That’s assuming he gets out of this alive.”

Simon held up a hand. “I didn’t hear you say that.”

Simon went on to update Jim further about what had been going on that day. He had, it seemed, been engaging in a little subterfuge of his own. The case had shifted from robbery to kidnapping and, by rights, the FBI should have been called in. The federal contacts Simon had spoken to about Buchanan were already suspicious about the reason for his enquiry, and a couple of agents from DC were due to arrive within the week to discuss the matter further. But for now, the captain had chosen to keep quiet about Naomi’s kidnapping, allowing Jim the time and space to put his plan into operation first.

The captain related all this to Jim before turning to leave. “But Jim,” he added, “I’m worried about the kid. He’s in a bad way, but he’s still going to have to go through with making the call tomorrow. If it goes down how we want, he’s most likely going to end up face-to-face with Buchanan. Are you sure he can pull this off? That he’s up to it? Because if the answer is no, I’m calling this off right now, and getting the Feds involved.”

Jim took a deep breath. He had his own doubts – Blair was certainly under immense strain, and wasn’t operating even close to his usual speed. But Jim’s partner was highly motivated by the danger to Naomi, nevertheless, and Jim had seen him handle himself well under pressure in the past. “I think he’ll be okay, Simon,” he answered. “If I have any doubts in the next few hours, I’ll let you know. But I think he can do this.”

“You’d better be right, detective,” Simon warned in reply. “Naomi’s life is at stake, and I’m taking an enormous risk by backing you on this.” But he was apparently prepared to trust Jim’s judgment, because he let the matter lie at that.

After Simon left, Jim went back into the room to find Blair crashed out on his bed, eyes closed. A cursory sensory sweep confirmed that he wasn’t sleeping, but Jim decided to leave him alone for now. Later, they would need to talk. But for the time being, he would allow the other man the space his body language asserted that he needed.

Jim felt too wound up to get any rest himself. There was still tonight and nearly the whole of the next day for them to get through before Blair had to call Buchanan, and even though Jim was used to tedious waits, after years of stakeouts and fingernail biting preludes to missions, the personal nature of this particular situation wasn’t making it easy for him to bide his time. Instead, Jim silently prowled the claustrophobic room, his mind similarly traversing in circles, part of his awareness monitoring Blair until the other man’s breathing evened out into uneasy sleep.

Eventually, fatigue overtook Jim too and, lying on his own bed in the darkness, the sound of a sudden shower of rain drumming on the windows, the echo of distant thunder and Blair’s even breathing finally lulled him into a doze.


Continued in Part 5



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