by Beth Manz
She came toward him, her eyes wide. "Don't apologize, Blair. You were just protecting yourself...and me. You're a hero."
"Yeah? Well, this hero needs help getting to his feet." He looked at Jim again. "Do you mind?"
The detective stood and, reaching down, grasped Blair's raised hand and pulled him up.
"Oh man," Sandburg groaned, clutching his stomach again.
Jim laid a gentle hand on his back. "You sure you're okay, Chief?"
"Hurts, but nothing's broken. Believe me, I'd know."
Jim turned back to Hannah. "Why don't you go and get your things together, Hannah? I need to talk with Sandburg for a few minutes."
She nodded, but didn't leave immediately. Instead, she moved closer to Blair and reached out to place a visibly shaking hand against his arm. "Thank you."
He patted the hand on his arm, smiling gently. "You're more than welcome."
As soon as she was gone, Jim turned back to his partner. "What happened?"
"The guy caught us totally off guard," Blair said, moving to lean against the side of Hannah's car. "I didn't even hear him."
Jim fingered the dent in the wall by the door; the mark was at the same height as Blair's head. "Well, you must have had some warning or he'd have nailed you with this first shot."
"I ducked," Blair said dryly. "A valuable skill I've honed to perfection during my many years of working with you." He looked at the wall, his eyes widening slightly as he took it in--just now realizing how much damage that first blow would have done to him. "Oh man, that's nasty."
"Yeah," Jim breathed. "Would have damaged even your thick skull." He grinned at his partner before visually sweeping the garage. "He got in over here." Crossing to the side door, the detective indicated one of the small panes of glass in its center. "Smashed the glass, reached in and opened the door, then waited until Hannah came home."
"This guy is beyond dangerous, Jim. He's a certifiable nut case. I hate to think what could have happened to Hannah if we hadn't been here."
Jim ran a hand across his hair as his guide's words settled over him. "I want to bring in Forensics, get this place dusted." He nodded toward the discarded crowbar. "That thing should-"
"He had gloves on," Blair interrupted, giving Jim an apologetic grimace.
Disappointment rippled through the detective. "Damn," he muttered. "The man's obviously not stupid."
"No, I'd say he had this pretty well planned out."
"I'm still going to bring in Forensics," Jim announced firmly as he stared down at the crowbar that had been used against his partner--a weapon that could have very easily ended Blair's life and Hannah's before Jim was able to get anywhere near them. "I want this guy, Sandburg," he ground out, looking up at Blair. "Before anyone else gets hurt, I want this guy."
"We'll get him, Jim. We will." Crossing to his partner, Blair laid a hand against his arm. The simple touch brought a sense of calmness to the sentinel. His guide was all right, Hannah had not been hurt, and it was possible they'd get lucky and find some usable prints somewhere in the garage.
"You call the station," Blair said. "Get the techs out here. I'll help Hannah get ready to leave." They started toward the door to the house when Blair added, "Did I mention that she volunteered to make us dinner tonight?" A smile brightened his features and he waggled his eyebrows. "Beef stroganoff... Candlelight maybe... A little soft music on the stereo."
Jim pointed down at Blair, narrowing his eyes and fixing him with a good-natured glare. "I know where this is going, Sandburg, and believe me, if you know what's good for you, you'll behave yourself and resist playing matchmaker."
"Hey, I'm just trying to help, man. I could, you know--get lost for a few hours. Leave you two alone..."
"Thanks, but no thanks. This is a professional arrangement, nothing more. But Sandburg..." Jim smiled at him, noting that his tension had lessened even more as he exchanged the light banter with his partner, "you sure you can eat? That guy hit you pretty hard in the stomach. I wouldn't want-"
"Oh, I'll eat," Blair cut in, smiling up at Jim. "Don't worry about that. I'll eat just fine."
Part Two
Blair sat at his desk in the bullpen, glasses on, flipping through mug books, hoping to get lucky and locate the face--and thereby the name--of the man stalking Hannah. He rubbed absently at the back of his neck, trying to get rid of the stiffness he'd awakened with that morning--the stiffness that was a direct result of spending the night on the couch.
He smiled, though, as he thought back over the previous evening. The night had gone well. The three of them had gone back to the loft and, as promised, Hannah had made them dinner, a meal of beef stroganoff that Blair would not soon forget. After that they'd spent nearly two hours talking over coffee. He couldn't be sure, but he thought Jim had smiled a bit more at Hannah than usual, had perhaps watched her with a growing fondness in his eyes as she cleaned up the dinner dishes.
Maybe something good will come of all this, he thought wryly.
"We got lucky."
Blair looked up as Jim's voice reached him. "What are you talking about?"
"Forensics picked up a print in Hannah's garage and we got a match." The detective dropped a file on the desk in front of Blair. "Philip Kaage."
Blair opened the file. The face of the man who had attacked him in Hannah's garage stared up at him. "Oh, yeah," he breathed out. "That's the guy all right. Only...I remember his complexion having a bit more of a bluish tint."
Jim chuckled and reached out to cuff him on the side of the head. "Come on, Picasso, let's take a ride."
Together, the two men made their way down to the parking garage and to Jim's truck. Blair pulled his seat belt across his lap as Jim cranked the engine to life. "You think Hannah will be okay here?"
Jim nodded as he steered the Ford out onto the street. "Everyone at the station is on alert. No one's going to get near her."
As they drove toward the address listed on Philip Kaage's rap sheet, Blair adjusted his glasses on his face, flipped open the file and read down through the information inside. "Did you read any of this?" he asked Jim after a few minutes.
"No." Jim glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "What's it say?"
"According to this, Philip Kaage was arrested for burglary earlier this year. His trial was supposed to take place two months ago, but the charges were suddenly dismissed because the evidence in the case was misplaced. Can you believe that?"
"Mistakes happen, Chief."
"Yeah? Well, it sucks, Jim." He tossed the file on the seat beside him. "This joker should have been in jail three weeks ago, not in the park meeting Hannah. But because of some stupid clerical error, now she's being terrorized by him."
"Just calm down, Chief. I know it's not fair that Kaage got off, but we've got to keep our heads here. Agreed?"
Blair glanced at him briefly. "Yeah, agreed."
"Good. Now...you have a minor in psychology. What do you think can we expect from Kaage?"
Blair pulled off his glasses and shoved them into his jacket pocket. Rubbing at his eyes, he mulled over Jim's question. "Well, he's obviously an obsessive personality. He probably believes that if Hannah would just talk to him, get to know him, she'd realize how perfect they are for each other. He doesn't see himself as anything but the perfect man for her. She's actually the one with the problem as far as he's concerned."
"And if she sits down and talks to him? Tells him she's not interested?"
"Won't help. From everything I've read, there are only two ways to end a stalking obsession. The stalker either becomes obsessed with someone else...or he destroys the object of his obsession."
"Doesn't leave us a lot of options."
Blair shook his head. "No options, man. This guy will not stop. We have to stop him."
Jim pulled the truck up in front of a ramshackle hotel in one of the worst areas in Cascade. Blair pushed out his door, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind his ears as he stared at the building in
front them. "Why am I not surprised," he noted dryly.
The two men entered the hotel, taking a moment for Jim to recover from a sudden sneezing fit that Blair was sure was brought on by the dank, musty smell of the place. The building had no elevator so they took the stairs to the second floor, Jim doing his best to block out the multitude of unpleasant odors that assaulted him.
The detective glanced back at his partner as they approached the door to room twenty-three. "I want you to stay behind me, Chief."
"Hey, man," Blair whispered, holding up both hands, "You don't have to tell me twice."
Jim hesitated outside the door, cocking his head to one side, listening. "I'm getting no heartbeat or sounds of breathing," he informed Blair.
"What do you want to do?"
Jim checked the door. Locked. "Chief, do me a favor and go get the manager up here. And have him bring a master key."
Blair did as he was asked and within minutes he was approaching his partner again, the scruffy-looking hotel manager in tow. The man let them into the room without even glancing at Jim's badge.
The small, dirty room consisted of a twin bed with a stained coverlet, one wobbly end table and a lamp with no shade. But there was no sign of Philip Kaage. Even the garbage can had been emptied.
Both men glanced around the room and shook their heads in disgust. Their best lead had netted them absolutely nothing.
--------
They spent the rest of the day following up on the other information in the file--talking to Philip Kaage's friends, co-workers, ex-girlfriends, anyone they could find who had some prior connection to the missing man. But no one had seen Kaage in over a month. And with each new disappointment, Blair felt Jim's frustration rise.
As they pulled back into the parking garage at the police station, the sun was just beginning to set, dusk already embracing the city.
"You go collect Hannah," Blair said as Jim shut off the engine of the truck. "I'm going to take the Volvo and head home. Get dinner started for the three of us."
"Sounds good, Chief."
"Jim," Blair said before his partner could exit the truck. "We still have some leads to follow up tomorrow. We could get lucky and--"
"I know," Ellison said, his voice overriding Blair's. "I was just hoping to have some good news for Hannah tonight."
Blair shrugged one shoulder. "It's the first day, man. She'll understand."
"Right," Jim drawled out. Stepping from the cab of the truck, he moved slowly toward the elevators.
Blair watched his partner go, then--exhaling a long, frustrated breath--fished his keys from his pocket and headed toward his car.
/
/
/
Jim pushed the Records Department door open and crossed to the counter. Hannah sat at her desk behind the counter, typing at her computer. "Hannah?"
She turned toward Jim, her gaze hopeful. "Jim!" Standing, she crossed to him. "Did you catch him? Is it over?"
"No. I'm sorry," he apologized softly. "I came to take you back to the loft for the night."
"Oh. Okay."
Jim had to give Hannah credit. Any disappointment she may have felt over the failure to find Philip Kaage, she managed to keep hidden. Jim knew it was probably in deference to his feelings and he was grateful to her for the show of courage. "Let me shut down my computer and we can go," she told him. She glanced around Jim, back toward the door. "Isn't Blair with you?"
"He's already headed home." Jim gave her a lopsided smile. "And I have to warn you, he said he was going to cook dinner."
She laughed. "It can't be that bad."
Jim held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "All I'll say is that I'm officially calling 'dibs' on the leftover Stroganoff."
She giggled, blushing slightly as she moved back to her workstation. It took her only a few minutes before she was ready to go.
As they drove to the loft, Jim filled her in on what he and Blair had managed to find out during the day...which wasn't much. They had a name and a record, but the man himself was still a phantom.
"I know you're doing everything you can," Hannah told the detective as they stepped from the elevator and walked toward the loft door. "And staying with you and Blair..." Her voice trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. She shook her head. "Never mind."
"What?" he asked, stopping outside the door, his keys jingling in his hand.
"It's just...it's been kind of fun." She looked up at him, her gaze uncertain--and he knew from the expression on her face that she was worried she'd said too much.
He smiled down at her. "For us, too," he assured the petite woman. "But...you might change your mind after tonight's dinner."
Inserting the key into the door, he pushed it open then stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened as he took in the destruction beyond. The kitchen table lay on its side. Smashed dishes and glasses littered the floor. The glass in one of the French doors to Blair's room was cracked and the curtain had been ripped away from the rod.
"Sandburg!"
Motioning Hannah to stay where she was, Jim pulled his weapon and stepped inside the apartment, fear clutching at his heart.
"Sandburg!" he called again.
"I'm okay, Jim." Blair came out of his room carrying two shredded shirts. "But I can't say the same for my clothes or my bed." He exhaled a long sigh. "It was like this when I got home. Seems like most of the destruction was aimed at my room and the kitchen."
"I can't believe this!" Hannah stumbled into the loft, her eyes wide, frightened. "Did he do this?" Her gaze shifted from Jim to Blair and back again. "I'm sorry. I...I don't know what to say."
Jim holstered his weapon and crossed to her, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. Everything can be fixed."
"And I need a new wardrobe anyway," Blair added lamely.
"He really does," Jim agreed.
Blair narrowed his eyes as he looked at his partner. "Don't help me out here, Jim."
"I'll pay for it, Blair," Hannah said quickly. "The clothes...and the bed." Her arms swept the room around her. "And all this."
"It's all right, Hannah," Blair said softly. "It's not your fault. Besides, you didn't get off scot-free. He ripped through the bag you left in my room." He grimaced. "He pretty much destroyed everything in it."
She bit her trembling lower lip, a single tear escaping her eye. "Why is he doing this?"
Jim gently squeezed her shoulder. "Why don't you see what you can salvage from your bag," he suggested. "We won't be staying here tonight. I'm moving us to a safe house."
She nodded, wiping at her cheek as a second tear escaped. Without saying a word, she turned and disappeared into Blair's room.
"The door was open when I got here," Blair told Jim as soon as they were alone. "Almost didn't come inside."
"You shouldn't have come inside," Jim lectured. "He could have still been here, waiting for us."
"I know, but once I opened the door and saw all this..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head. His blue eyes held a combination of fear and anger. "This thing just got very personal, Jim."
"Sandburg, this thing became personal the second that maniac came after you with a crowbar." He moved to his partner and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "But I know what you mean, Chief. To know that bastard was in our home, that he did this..."
Blair nodded toward the wall behind Jim. "Did you see the message he left for us?"
Jim turned. Scrawled in huge letters with royal blue spray paint were two words: She's mine.
"Guess I managed to tick him off with the blue paint, huh?"
"You think?" Jim asked dryly. Turning back to his partner, he smiled encouragingly. "Listen, Chief, I'm going to call Simon and fill him in on what's happened here. You throw some stuff into your backpack. I want us out of here in the next half hour."
/
/
/
Jim lay on the twin bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling of the motel room an
d listening to the even pattern of Blair's soft breathing. His partner lay just a few feet away, tucked beneath a mound of cheap blankets, sound asleep.
Simon had taken charge at the loft, bringing in Serena and her Forensics crew, sealing off the kitchen and Blair's bedroom. Jim hadn't waited for the team to complete its job. Leaving his home in Simon's capable hands, the detective had ushered Blair and Hannah out of the loft and to the motel that had been chosen to serve as a temporary safe house.
It bothered the detective that Hannah's assailant had focused so specifically on Blair's possessions. The destruction of Blair's room and his personal belongings had sent a very obvious--and chilling--message. Evidently, having seen Blair with Hannah on two separate occasions, Philip Kaage was targeting Sandburg, thinking he was Hannah's boyfriend. And that assumption on Kaage's part put his partner in a very dangerous position.
Turning onto his side, Jim punched at his pillow before settling his head back down again. The fabric of the pillowcase was rough and scratchy against the side of his face and it smelled of bleach and harsh, industrial detergent. Closing his eyes, Jim dialed back his sense of smell and tried to push aside his worry over the case so he could concentrate on a plan of action for the following day.
The first order of business would be to arrange for a new mattress for Blair's room. He'd do that tomorrow morning--he knew of a futon dealer close to the loft that offered free delivery. Then it would be a matter of getting Hannah safely to work and arranging for another safe house for the following evening. Unless he and Sandburg were able to locate Philip Kaage tomorrow, that is.
Opening his eyes, he glanced across to the door that stood open between the room he was sharing with Sandburg and Hannah Merrick's adjoining room. They'd chosen the connecting rooms for safety and privacy reasons, purposely leaving the door ajar. Jim frowned as he realized that soft sounds were coming from Hannah's room. Extending his hearing, he heard the unmistakable sounds of muffled crying.
He lay quietly, unsure of what to do. He couldn't begin to imagine how the young woman must be feeling at this point--displaced from her home, hiding from a man intent on possessing her, unsure of when or if her attacker would be found in time, or at all. To have all feelings of safety and security ripped away... Jim listened to her soft weeping, his heart going out to her.