No Center Line

by Lois RH Balzer

  “We’re fine. I should be okay in a few minutes, and then I’ll help him rinse this off.”

  “Call if you need help. Come on, Nash, let’s go to the other room. Jim can finish up here.” Simon touched the top of Blair’s head as he passed him, but no words were exchanged.

  Nash followed him through the bedroom and back into the main room of the suite. Feeling an uncharacteristic weakness, the SIU captain dropped onto a chair at the table, rubbing one hand across his brow. He felt frayed, shaky. “Tuesday. I’ve got till Tuesday, then.”

  “That still gives us two days. Blair will be able to answer more questions in the morning, once all the drugs are out of his system. His memories are just beginning to come back, and from the signs of physical and sexual abuse, he’s going to have a lot to deal with.”

  Nash looked across the table to Simon. “Will he be okay?”

  Sitting across from him, Simon nodded, yawning. “Yes.”

  No hesitancy. No ‘maybe’. No mention of therapists and counselors. Just ‘yes’.

  Then you can, too, Evan ��� Just stay alive. For now, just stay alive.

  *

  Jim dug into the large duffle bag, searching for a pair of Blair’s boxers and a T-shirt. The pain tablets were on the night stand, and he snagged the prescribed ointment as he headed back to the bathroom. Blair was still resting on the floor, groggy from his five-minute nap, his head tilted back to let the vinegar rinse drip from his hair into the tub. “How are you doing, Chief?”

  Blair opened bleary eyes and looked up at him. “Uh, thanks, Jim.” He coughed and his left arm moved closer to his ribs, guarding them.

  “You’re welcome,” Jim said, smiling gently as he crouched beside him. “How are you doing?” he repeated, sliding touch-sensitive fingers along his partner’s left side, to trace the bottom two ribs. “Everything okay here?”

  Blair nodded, slowly moving his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “I think so. I’m just so tired, I can’t think.”

  “Well, let’s get you rinsed off and into bed.” Ellison helped him to his feet and back into the tub. He steadied him with one hand, while checking the flow of water with the other. Satisfied the temperature was okay, he tugged on the shower valve, then maneuvered his partner under the spray. “That’s it. You’re doing good.” He risked his sense of smell, monitoring the sharp vinegar scent. “Let’s get some of your own shampoo on your hair now. It’ll get rid of that salad smell.”

  “Okay. Whatever.” Sandburg was barely awake, no longer even trying to follow what was happening.

  Ellison turned Sandburg to face the shower nozzle as he massaged shampoo through the long hair, his eyes checking out his partner’s back, shoulders and legs. As Dr Morrison had stated, Sandburg had come away from his experience with relatively few injuries. It could have been worse. Much worse. But Blair was alive, and that’s what ultimately counted. The drugs they used seemed to cause the disorientation and compliancy. He had gone without food and water for perhaps the last two days of his absence, which, coupled with the drugs, had left him dehydrated. The IV in the hospital had helped, as had the water and soup.

  His thumb paused over the lump on the back of Sandburg’s head. The swelling was going down already, a good sign. “How does this feel?”

  “Hurts. Just a little,” Blair added, his eyes closed again, as Jim put him under the spray. The soap bubbles gathered around their feet. “Hey, got a razor?”

  “You want to shave now?”

  “Yeah.” Blair yawned, then mumbled, “Why not? I always shave ��� in the shower. And I don’t ��� want to rub vinegar ��� in my beard to get the smell out. It makes me feel sick.”

  “Stay put. I’ll get a razor from my bag.” Jim stepped out of the tub onto the wet floor, then moved quickly into the bedroom to get his shaving kit. If Sandburg wanted to shave, so be it. As long as he didn’t cut his neck doing it.

  Blair plucked the razor from his hand, when he got back in the shower. “Thanks.” He grabbed the bar of soap, lathered up, and, eyes closed, slowly shaved, while Jim watched anxiously, waiting for the first sign of blood. Blue eyes opened to smile at him. “I’m not going to ��� cut myself. I do this ��� every morning,” he yawned, “not even as awake as I am now.”

  “That’s not too reassuring, Chief.” Ellison reclaimed the razor handed to him and put it on the shower shelf. “Anything else?”

  “Conditioner?” the younger man asked, yawning again and stumbling forward.

  “I’ve got it right here. I have no plans to spend all night getting the knots out of your hair.”

  “Good. Hate knots.” Blair leaned against the wall as Jim released him to get the bottle of conditioner.

  “Not a problem I’ve had to worry about,” Jim murmured, then he smiled when Blair let out a guffaw of laughter, steadying him as he gasped from the sharp pain in his ribs. “Easy.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Blair joked, tossing off the long-standing joke between them. A shadow crossed his face and he sobered again. “Fuck.”

  “It’s okay,” Jim said, quickly. “We’ll deal with it. Let’s get the conditioner on.”

  It took a few more minutes to work it through Blair’s hair, then rinse it off again and get his partner safely out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around Blair’s hair, then helped the uncertain hands dry himself off. Through it all, Sandburg stayed quiet, face downcast.

  “It’s over, Chief,” Jim whispered, helping him on with his T-shirt.

  “Maybe for me. But Evan’s out there.”

  *

  Simon Banks stretched, trying not to be too obvious about monitoring the man sitting across from him at the table in their motel room, his face buried in his hands.

  The San Francisco captain looked drained, his eyes red from exhaustion. For the last twenty minutes, Bridges had stood at the doorway of the bathroom and watched them clean Sandburg up, and the few times Simon had looked over at him, it was clear that the SIU chief was hurting emotionally.

  And why shouldn’t he? We have Blair back, which must be a constant reminder that Evan is still out there. And now, more than ever, under a time limit to get him back.

  “We’ll do whatever it takes to find your man,” Simon said, softly.

  “Yeah.” Bridges nodded, unable to say more.

  “So what did you decide about Woodward?”

  Again the shell-shocked look, then the slow blink as his words became clear. “Woodward? Right. I guess I better make up my mind about that.” He let out a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. They had all been going on little sleep, little food, and too much caffeine over the last week. For Nash Bridges, it had been a month since Evan was kidnaped. Finding a link between the abductions, then the Internet site, the four deaths, Blair’s recovery, it all added up to a hell of a lot of input for one person.

  Simon shook his head. I have Jim to go through this with. To talk to. Who does this guy have? “Why are you here alone?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Why did you come alone?”

  Nash shrugged. “It was my decision. I figured I could send for someone if I needed help. It was supposed to be just an information session, and I couldn’t spare the manpower. I’m already missing one man.”

  Simon nodded, understanding the reasoning of another captain. There were other cases to be worked on — crime didn’t come to a halt because one man disappeared. Although his Major Crimes department had come to a halt. Rafe in the hospital, Brown at his side. Jim focused on searching for his partner, and Simon watching him in case he zoned again. That basically left Joel and Megan to handle all the cases — the two rookies to the department.

  “About Woodward,” Nash said finally. “I’ll call him now, before it gets much later, but I’ll ask him to wait until mid-morning before sending someone to open it. Maybe set up a stakeout in the interim to watch the trailer in case anyone approaches it. Easy enough to do with a surveillance van.
”

  Simon handed him his cell phone. “Make the call then. Tell him where we were on the highway. I marked down the rest stop. The last one heading north before reaching Everett.”

  It was after one in the morning, but Woodward was still in his office, saying little when Nash gave his report.

  “That’s right, Harold. Four bodies ��� We don’t know who they are ��� That’s a possibility, but we don’t know for sure yet.” Nash leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand over his eyes. “He wasn’t one of the men whose picture was on the website, but that doesn’t mean ��� We don’t know that for sure yet. It’s only a ���” Nash glanced across to Simon, his frustration clear. “Yeah ��� I hear you, Harold. Just wait until you know for sure ��� Yeah, we’ll get these bastards.”

  “I’m with you on that one,” Simon added softly.

  *

  “You okay?”

  Blair closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the cool sheets, the sheer nirvana of lying on the soft mattress. Safe. “Yeah, Jim. Thanks.” He could feel the bed move slightly as his partner sat beside him, but his eyes wouldn’t open.

  “I’ll go get your tea when I’m done here.”

  “Thanks.” He succeeded in prying one eye open. “Are you going to ��� have a ��� shower?” The words were hard to form his mouth around, but he was able to do it if he concentrated.

  “In case you don’t remember, kid, I already had a shower,” Jim said, rifling through his duffle bag. “And don’t let it get around at the station that we’re having showers together.”

  “I won’t ��� believe me, Jim ��� Thanks for helping me.” He managed to get his eyes open for a moment and reached out and snagged Jim’s arm. “But I had a shower ��� you just helped. You need one? ��� I’m okay.” His partner looked and sounded exhausted.

  Ellison stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Maybe a quick one, then. I’ll be right back.” Ellison took a pair of boxers with him, then paused at the doorway to the other room. “Simon, keep an eye on him. He’s in bed. I’m just going to clean up.”

  Blair smiled as he disappeared into the bathroom. “Old ‘Mother Hen’ Ellison strikes again.” He shivered, his eyes closing. Okay, maybe this time I want someone around. His emotions kept bending on him. He’d be fine, then suddenly a wave of terror would grab at his throat, shaking his limbs. Then he’d get himself under control until the next batch hit. Right now, he felt sleepy. Safe. The blankets were keeping him warm and protected. The bed was so different than the one—

  No.

  “Sandburg?” Jim’s voice rang out from the bathroom.

  “I’m okay, Jim,” he said, softly. Just took a detour in my thoughts and found something I didn’t want to think about. He rolled over onto his side, curling around a pillow.

  Simon came into the room and sat beside him. “Jim’s just having a quick shower.”

  “Yeah. I told him to.”

  “Good. He needs to unwind a bit.”

  Blair rolled onto his back, then lay still until the dizziness passed. “How was he?” he asked, wishing his eyes would open to see the captain’s face.

  Simon rested his hand on Blair’s shoulder. “Jim handled it okay. He was scared — hell, we all were. But he was convinced you were alive. I think he ‘felt’ your presence or something a few times.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure. He didn’t know.”

  “Wow.” Blair could feel himself closing down, the struggle to stay awake ending abruptly. “Jim?” he whispered.

  The shower abruptly cut off, the shower curtain pushed aside. Jim’s voice came out of the steam. “I’ll be right there. Just wait.” He appeared a moment later in a T-shirt and boxers, dragging a towel across his short hair as he stumbled from the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” He let the towel rest over his shoulders as he sat on the bed beside his unresponsive partner. “Chief?”

  “Jim, I think he just wanted to know you were here.”

  Ellison tugged the blanket up further, then buried his face in his hands, too exhausted to move or think. “We’ve got to ���” his voice trailed off. “Something.”

  Simon went around the bed and took the towel from Jim’s neck. “You’re almost asleep, but too stubborn to lie down. Get in and scoot down,” he said softly, nudging the detective between the sheets, then covering them both with blankets. “There’s nothing else we can do tonight. Just rest. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Now you’re the mother hen,” Ellison murmured, his eyes closed

  “If I am, it’s because you both have driven me to it. Now don’t make me make it an order.”

  Ellison nodded briefly as he drifted to sleep.

  Nash was standing at the entranceway, and Simon took him by the elbow, steering him from the room and turning out the light as they passed through the doorway. “We need to get to sleep, as well.”

  “Someone bought one of my men. I’m supposed to sleep?”

  “If you want to help him, you will. We’re all in desperate need of sleep. Running on gas fumes. We’ve got to get to sleep or we’ll be useless tomorrow. “

  Nash nodded as he moved mechanically over to his small suitcase, put it on one of the beds, and opened it. He couldn’t remember what he wanted from it; he stared at the neatly folded clothing blankly. “I’m as bad as Jim. My brain’s fried,” he said finally, reaching in for his bed clothes.

  Simon dropped his duffle bag to the floor, then quickly stripped and put on his nightshirt. “Nash, you shouldn’t be doing this alone. Your SIU functions as a unit. I’ve already asked you this, but why did you come alone? Almost every city sent two representatives.”

  Nash closed the suitcase, then wiped one hand over his face. “I thought I could do this.”

  “This isn’t about you. It’s about Evan. What are you going to do when you get him back?” Simon dragged the bedspread to the bottom of his bed. “Are you close enough to him to do for Evan what Jim is doing for Blair? Can you hold him, offer him love and support until he is able to stand on his own?” he asked, getting into his bed. “Because that’s what he’s going to need.”

  Nash was still standing in the middle of the room, his bed clothes tucked under one arm. When Simon clicked off the night lamp, he shook himself awake and tried to answer the question. “No. Not like that. I can’t do that. Not to the extent he’s going to need.” Nash retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket and touched the first speed dial. “Joe? It’s Nash. One last request for the night. Make arrangements for Harvey to fly up to Seattle tomorrow. I’m going to need help on this one after all���. I know you’re willing to come, but I think I’m going to need Harvey for this one.”

  *

  Saturday, June 20

  3:45 a.m.

  “Jim?”

  Ellison turned over quickly, dragged instantly from a sound sleep. “Yes?” He glanced beyond his partner to the clock and the time, then moved closer to rest his hand on Blair’s shoulder.

  “Where are we?” Sandburg’s eyes blinked, sightless in the darkness as he shivered. “Not Mexico?”

  “Not Mexico,” Jim said softly. “We’re in Bellevue. In a motel.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Is who here?” Blair was already falling back asleep, and Jim pulled him closer, letting him settle against him.

  “Crawford.”

  “No.” Crawford? Daniel Crawford had kidnaped Sandburg half a year before. It had been several months since Crawford’s trial had ended, and his partner had never mentioned the man since. “He’s not here.”

  “Good.”

  “Get some sleep. Don’t worry about him.”

  “I won’t. Jim, why are we here? I can’t remember why.”

  “I do,” he whispered, laying his head back on the pillow.

  *

  6:30 a.m.

  Blair woke up slowly, feeling groggy, disoriented. Cobwebs, he tho
ught. My brain is full of cobwebs.

  He finally found a command to open his eyes and stared out at a room he hadn’t seen before ��� maybe. He turned his head and found Jim, tracking him as he moved around the room. Jim was already dressed, cleaning up, folding clothes and packing his duffle bag.

  He lay still, not wanting to move from his warm cocoon. For some reason, he knew they were in Bellevue. Doing ��� something. In Bellevue. Something had happened ���

  For a moment, it was there, then it flittered away, out of his reach. He closed his eyes, still not moving. In fact, not moving was very high on his list of things to do. Moving would mean pain. Why, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t willing to check it out, either. The sound of the duffle bag’s zipper. A chair being moved slightly. The drapes opening.

  Through closed lids, he could see the sunshine, feel it on his face. It felt good. Warm.

  Then he opened his eyes and his world tilted. A man’s outline. Bright light blinding him. The man coming closer. “No!” he yelled. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Chief? Easy.”

  The voice was Jim’s, not ��� not whoever he thought it was.

  But the bright lights.

  Hot lights.

  A man’s outline.

  A bed — no. Not a bed. A table. An examination table. He was on an examination table.

  “No,” he whispered, feeling hands on him, touching him.

  These hands were different, though. Not intrusive. Not painful or rough like— Or seductive like—

  *

  Two days previous

  “Don’t!” he had whispered.

  “He’s gone now. He’s finished with you.” The camera man came closer, stepping out of the light, holding one of his ever-present, styrofoam 7-Eleven coffee cups. “What are you doing awake already?”

  “Please,” he murmured, repeating the useless request. “Don’t.”

  “I won’t hurt you, luv,” the man said. “Don’t mind him. He just doesn’t like your type.”

  Smooth hands touched him, rolling him onto his side and releasing his handcuffs. He couldn’t move; any commands his brain sent were completely ignored by his body.