Progression Series 17 Lying in Wait

by Beth Manz

  Simon nodded curtly. "So you'll see Sandburg and then we'll find Mitchell."

  "Okay," Jim said, not pushing the discussion any further. As the doors opened on the fourth floor, the detective was instantly aware of Blair's fast beating heart. What the hell is going on? Striding quickly down the hall toward his partner's room, he sent out his hearing...

  "Get away from him!" Eli's desperate voice came to him, accompanied by the sounds of a struggle.

  "Son of a bitch!" Jim broke into a run as he realized what must be happening in his partner's room. Just as he turned the corner of the hallway, Sandburg's door burst open. Two figures came out, locked in battle. Jim immediately recognized Eli...and George Mitchell.

  The elderly professor was barely managing to hold onto the man who had, in all likelihood, come back to the hospital to finish what he had started. To kill Blair.

  "Mitchell!" Jim yelled.

  Mitch looked up, eyes wide with surprise and fear. Then, drawing his arm forward, he elbowed Eli hard in the stomach. The professor let out a grunt of pain and fell against the wall behind him, losing his grip on Blair's assailant.

  Mitchell wasted no time. Turning, he sprinted toward the stairs at the end of the hallway.

  "Stay with Blair!" Jim ordered Eli before taking off at a run, following Mitchell.

  /

  /

  /

  Gritting his teeth, Blair pulled himself up and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Pain lanced through his shoulder and he gasped at the sharp, white-hot sensation. His vision wavered and shifted, the golden shapes dancing before him, making him nauseous. He closed his eyes against the images but they didn't go away. Instead, they seemed to intensify. They reached out for him, threatened him.

  "Not real," he ground out, shoving himself from the bed, relieved when his bare feet made contact with the solid floor.

  He'd heard a scuffle, some shouting, and he'd been sure one of the raised voices was Jim's. And he had to get to him.

  He groped blindly before him, hoping he was headed in the direction of the door. Before he could release his grip on the side of the bed, however, he heard the door to his hospital room opening.

  "Jim?" he called out hopefully.

  "Blair! What are you doing?" Professor Stoddard's concerned voice reached him. "You shouldn't be out of bed!"

  An arm encircled his waist, offering much needed support. But when Dr. Stoddard tried to pull him toward the bed, he resisted.

  "Where's Jim? I heard Jim's voice."

  "Jim is fine." The arm around his waist became more insistent, forcing him back toward the mattress. "You need to worry about yourself now."

  "Where is he? Did he go after Mitchell?"

  "Blair-"

  "Please Dr. Stoddard, I have to know!"

  "Yes, Jim went after Mitchell. Last I saw of them, they were headed toward the stairs...and the roof."

  "You have to take me to him."

  "I will do no such thing!"

  "Professor, please," Blair pleaded. "Please! Jim has been on his own for days now. He was on edge before this happened, so I know he's got to be worse by now. And the whole time I was unconscious, all I could focus on, all I could think about was Jim. I knew he needed me and that's what brought me back."

  "Blair, you can't-"

  "No!" Blair shouted, refusing to listen. "Jim's a sentinel. I'm his guide. Without me, he's unable to maintain control. Please, Dr. Stoddard, please! Take me to him before something terrible happens."

  /

  /

  /

  Jim slammed through the door leading to the roof, his gaze sweeping the immediate area. A shot rang out, pinging off the still open steel door to his left. Jim released the door and dove for cover just as a second shot rang out.

  "Mitchell!" he yelled, pulling his own weapon. "Gonna have to aim better than that!"

  At his taunt, several more shots rang out, glancing off the cooling unit Jim was crouched behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Simon step out onto the roof, using the gunfire directed at Jim to dash for cover. He ended up crouched several yards away from Jim, hidden behind another cooling unit.

  "Mitchell!" the captain called out. "Give yourself up! No one else has to get hurt!"

  More shots rang out, striking both cooling units. Then the sound of running footsteps reached Jim. He glanced out from behind his unit. Mitchell was making a dash for the edge of the roof, planning to jump to the building next door and sure escape.

  He pushed to his feet, giving chase. "Mitchell! Stop or I'll shoot!" he yelled, his gun up and aimed at the man's back.

  Mitchell swung around at the sound of Jim's voice. As his weapon came into view, Jim fired, striking his hand. The gun flew from his grip. Mitch let out a cry of pain, jerked his hand to his chest and cradled it as blood flowed from the bullet wound. He looked up as Jim approached him, his eyes dark with fury.

  "What now, Ellison? You read me my rights and we go downtown?"

  "You went after my partner," Jim ground out as he walked steadily toward the officer, anger stiffening his back as images of this man attacking Blair in that empty warehouse rushed through his mind. He'd shot Blair, beat him, injected him with drugs. Jim moved closer, his gun still raised and ready to fire. "I trusted you with his life and you tried to kill him!"

  "He deserved to die," Mitchell shot back. "If not for him, Tom would still be alive."

  "Tom was a police officer who knew the risks of his job! Sandburg is a civilian. How did it feel attacking an unarmed civilian?" Ellison stopped and raised his weapon, pointing it at Mitchell's face. "Did it feel like this?"

  /

  /

  /

  Blair leaned heavily on Eli. It hurt to breathe, the raw soreness in his throat made even more pronounced by his gasping breaths, each one sending searing pain through his throbbing shoulder, the ache there almost unbearable. Blair felt like he'd used every ounce of his energy just getting up to the roof. His body screamed at him to stop, to rest, but he pushed aside the pain and exhaustion.

  He had to find Jim.

  But he was still having problems seeing. He didn't know if Jim was nearby or not. The dim figures of blackened fire people flitted across his vision, coming and going, all of them distorted by that hauntingly familiar, shifting golden haze. Blair shook his head-an instinctual but totally ineffective attempt to clear his vision. Not now, he told himself, pushing back at the panic he felt rising within him. They aren't real...the golden fire people aren't real...

  "Where's Jim?" he asked Eli, surprised at the terror he heard in his own voice. He tightened his hold on Dr. Stoddard's arm. "Is he here?"

  "Yes, Blair. About thirty feet straight ahead."

  Sandburg stared ahead, squinted, tried to focus in on his partner. But all he saw was a dim image of a man-it could have been Jim or any one of a dozen other people. Blair had no way of knowing. And in the corner of his vision-the ever-threatening fire people....

  "What's happening?" he asked after several seconds. "Tell me everything."

  Eli paused for a moment then answered, "Jim has his gun aimed at that older officer who attacked you...."

  "George Mitchell?"

  "Yes, Mitchell," Eli confirmed. "It...it looks like Jim is about to shoot him. Your captain is here. It appears Simon is trying to talk Jim into giving him his gun."

  "Is Mitchell armed?"

  There was a long pause and fingers of fear closed around the young man's heart. This can't be good... "Professor, please! I need to know. Is Mitchell armed?"

  "No," the older man whispered at last. "He's not."

  Blair swallowed hard, his worst fear confirmed. He knew Jim was probably close to losing all control, his senses off the charts. And now he had George Mitchell in the sights of his gun. Between sensory overload and the feelings Jim probably had toward Mitchell at this point, it was impossible to predict what the detective would do.

  "I have to go to Jim," he told Eli firmly, releasin
g his hold on his mentor and stepping forward.

  "Blair, no!" Eli protested, grabbing at his arm. "Let your captain handle this!"

  "I have to go, Dr. Stoddard. He won't listen to anyone else!" Blair shook out of the professor's hold and shuffled straight ahead, trying to focus past the dim, shifting, golden shapes before him, trying to differentiate between what was real and what wasn't, moving toward the one figure he hoped was his partner. Each step sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder and after several steps, he had to pause, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. But he only paused long enough to try and breathe through the pain, then kept going.

  "Jim?" he called out as he moved slowly forward, "Jim, man, you here?" He kept his voice calm, using a tone similar to the one Jim had used when he'd talked him down from the police cruiser so long ago....

  "Sandburg, what are you doing up here?" Jim's concerned voice came to him. "Get back!" the detective demanded.

  "No, Jim," Blair insisted, using the same quiet voice. "I can't do that."

  He kept walking, Jim's voice having helped him determine his partner's location. He was only a few steps away from the detective now-close enough to hear Jim's breathing, to almost feel the rage and tension that radiated from the older man. He took another step, then suddenly Jim's hand latched onto his arm and drew him near. "Go back!" the sentinel hissed in his ear. "Now!"

  "You know I can't do that," Blair said, biting back a gasp of pain as Jim's hand tightened on his arm. Fighting against the demands of his weakened body and the demons that danced at the periphery of his vision, he managed to extricate himself from his sentinel. Then slowly, carefully, he moved around Jim, around to the right side of the detective where he held his revolver on Mitchell. Touching Jim now, Blair could feel the tenseness in the older man's body, the solid rigidity in the arm that was extended toward George Mitchell, the arm that had the gun aimed for the kill. "Jim," he breathed out, bringing his hand to rest at the small of his partner's back, "don't do this, man. It isn't worth it. He isn't worth it."

  "Chief...."

  "Jim, listen to me...." Blair paused, blinked against the dizziness that assailed him, leaned in closer to Jim for support. "I know everything must be out of control right now," he continued, keeping his voice low so only Jim could hear him. "I know you're angry and I know your senses are probably causing you all sorts of problems. But you have to get past those things." He reached up and touched lightly at Jim's arm. "You do this, Jim, and you lose everything. I lose everything. Please, Jim."

  "He tried to kill you."

  "But he failed. I'm here." Blair leaned in even closer, brought his good arm around the detective's waist. "Jim," he whispered, finding every word to be a struggle now, "you remember how you felt after Murphy killed his partner in Little Havana? You remember? You told me then that a cop could stoop no lower than to kill another cop."

  "Yeah?" Jim questioned, clearly unconvinced. "Well, I was wrong. A cop who goes after another cop's partner is lower."

  Blair tightened his hold on his friend; he was finding it harder and harder to stand on his own and the shifting golden haze through which he viewed everything was making him nauseous. "Jim, I'm not doin' so well, man. You need to give me the gun now because I'm not sure how much longer I'm gonna be able to stand here and discuss this with you."

  "Blair, please. Go back to Eli. Go back downstairs."

  "Already told you...can't do that, buddy. I'm not leaving until you give me the gun." He touched at Jim's arm again, felt Jim's muscles relax a bit then flex, clearly a sign of the older man trying to decide which action to take. "Please." He ran his hand slowly down the length of Jim's extended arm. "Trust me," he whispered as his fingers closed around his partner's hand. "Remember, Jim? You asked me to trust you the last time I was dosed with Golden. Now it's your turn. Your turn to trust me."

  "Chief...."

  "Please, Jim. Just trust me."

  It was as though the older man virtually melted. With a heavy sigh, Jim lowered his right arm to his side, offering no resistance whatsoever as Blair gently extracted the gun from his hand. The detective slouched, then sat down hard on the roof, Blair tumbling to the ground with him.

  Around the two men, activity erupted. From what seemed to be a great distance, though in reality was only a few feet away, Blair heard Simon shouting for backup to cuff Mitchell. Seconds later, he felt someone gently pry Jim's gun from his fingers. But through it all, his main focus was on his friend. The older man sat quietly, unmoving, totally spent. Blair reached around Jim with his good arm and pulled him close. "You did great," he encouraged his partner. "You did great."

  Jim moved away from Blair just enough so he could reach up and touch softly at his face. "I'm sorry, buddy," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

  But Blair shook his head, swallowing against the emotion and exhaustion that pulled at him. "Hey, it's okay," he managed. He offered Jim a weary smile. "But you owe me, man," he huffed out. "At least I didn't make you do that stupid bat echo trick."

  Jim laughed at that, though it sounded more like a sob. "You're right, Chief," he agreed softly. "I definitely owe you. For that and a whole lot more."

  A hand touched Blair's shoulder and he flinched instinctively, the sudden movement sending another jolt of pain down his back. Through the golden haze, he was barely able to make out the shape of Simon Banks, leaning over and holding what appeared to be a weapon in his hand. His guess was confirmed as the captain handed the object down to Ellison.

  "I think you misplaced this, Detective," he said knowingly.

  Blair was able to discern Jim looking up at the captain, his hand reaching for the gun. "Thank you, sir," he said softly.

  "You okay?"

  Jim sighed, looked in Blair's direction then up again. "I'm okay. But we need to get Blair back downstairs."

  "I'll get a doctor."

  Blair leaned against Jim and swallowed again, his control quickly slipping away. Charred, misshapen fire people swept across his vision, beckoning, menacing. He closed his eyes to shut out the dizzying figures but they were still there as well, taunting him. The nausea churned in his stomach and he began to tremble, his nerves and his exhausted body protesting his actions of the past several minutes. "Jim? I'm sorry, man, but I'm feeling pretty lousy here."

  He felt Jim shift beside him, then the older man's arms were around him and he was gathered close to his partner's chest. "Shhhh, just rest, Blair," Jim soothed, the detective's voice a low thrumming against his ear. "The doctor will be here in a minute. Everything's going to be just fine."

  /

  /

  /

  Jim tucked the blankets more snugly against Blair's body, knowing that if the young man were awake he'd be loudly protesting Jim's fussing. The detective smiled at the thought before dropping wearily into the chair at Sandburg's bedside. Reaching out, he folded his fingers around Blair's hand and studied his friend.

  Blair had lost consciousness in Jim's arms as the two men sat waiting for the doctor and stretcher to arrive. The doctor had been furious with Eli for bringing the young man up to the roof-until an equally furious Simon Banks had stepped in and told the doctor in no uncertain terms that Blair had very likely prevented the death of a police officer. The doctor hadn't asked for details and Simon hadn't offered to give them-much to Jim's relief -- but the physician had calmed beneath Simon's uncompromising glare and had even managed to mutter a somewhat sincere apology to Eli.

  It was difficult for Jim to even imagine now that he'd been so close to killing George Mitchell. The almost uncontrolled rage he'd been feeling had leveled out into a manageable anger, and his senses seemed to be on-line and working again. Sighing, he stroked his thumb along the side of the hand he was holding. Because you were there, Chief.

  He didn't know exactly what had convinced him to lower his weapon-whether it had been Blair's presence alone, the young man's quiet pleading, or the fact that Blair was growing weaker and needed him. Any one of those r
easons or all three, it didn't matter. All that was important was that his friend was safe again, sleeping, healing.

  The door to Blair's hospital room opened behind him and the familiar aroma of expensive imported cigars wafted across to him. "Hello, Simon," he greeted the captain without turning around.

  "Jim." Simon walked up slowly and studied Blair for a long moment, then lowered himself to the side of the bed. "How's he doing?" the captain asked.

  "The doctor doesn't seem to think his little excursion to the roof did any permanent damage. But it did exhaust him completely. He thinks Sandburg will probably be out until tomorrow morning. We'll know more about how the drug is affecting him once he wakes again."

  "So all we can do is wait?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "You don't plan to stay here all day, I hope. You look like you could use some sleep yourself."

  Jim scrubbed his hand across his unshaven face. "Yeah, the last day or so is catching up with me." He looked at Sandburg. "I just want to sit with him for a while, then I'll go home. Grab a shower, some dinner...and then I think I'll be out until tomorrow too."

  Simon smiled. "By the way, I have some good news for you." When Jim looked up at him, the captain continued, "George Mitchell confessed everything, including manipulating Sandburg into a position at the academy. The chief called me after he talked with Collier-he's reversed his decision."

  Jim sat up straighter. "So Blair can work as my partner again?"

  "Effective immediately."

  The detective huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "What made Collier change his mind?"

  A smug grin spread its way across Simon's face. "Well, Mitchell's confession helped. The chief seemed to think that our esteemed commissioner was so embarrassed at being snowed by a former beat cop that it didn't take much persuading to get him to reconsider his feelings about Blair serving as your partner."

  "So the man realizes he's fallible after all," Jim noted dryly.

  "Seems so. But even without Mitchell's confession I don't see how he had any choice. I told the chief that without Sandburg I'd just have to keep assigning you to desk duty and paperwork. I'm sure he passed that along to Collier."