by Beth Manz
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Blair looked up at his bound hands. He'd been struggling to free himself since Hannah left, but so far all he'd managed to do was scrape and bruise his wrists and cause a steady pain to shoot downward through his arms and shoulders.
He twisted and pulled again, sweat standing out on his brow. "Dammit!" The rope was not going to break and he sure as hell couldn't get it untied in his current state. But he had to find a way out of here. Find a way of helping Jim. I need to find a way of getting my hands across the top of this hook.
Taking a deep breath, using just the tips of his shoes, Blair maneuvered himself around, searching the shadow-filled interior of the barn for something he might be able to use to give himself a bit more height. Slowly, working hard to keep himself steady, he managed to drag himself in a circle. As he turned he searched the darkness around him, desperate for anything that might help him. He was just about to give up when his gaze locked on several old bales of hay. They lay stacked in a corner, half of them falling apart, spilling across the floor, the smell of mold and decay rising from them. Blair narrowed his eyes, trying to judge the distance of the hay from where he was currently located.
Could he reach it? And if he did, would it fall apart before he could pull it closer?
"Only one way to find out," he muttered. Gritting his teeth, preparing himself for the pain he knew he'd feel, he moved himself as far back as he could before swinging forward, reaching with his feet for the hay.
He cried out as the rope around his wrists dug into his flesh, pulled hard by the dead weight of his swinging body.
But the tip of his sneaker touched the top bale of hay before he swung backward again.
Panting hard, he readied himself...and swung forward again. Over and over, he moved back and forth, inching closer with each try. Pain burned through his arms and shoulders. Sweat lined his brow and ran down into his eyes. His hands went numb. But finally, just when he thought he couldn't keep trying anymore, he managed to pull the top bale of hay over. It tumbled down the side of the other bales and landed on its side...closer to him.
Blair blinked the sweat from his eyes as he stared at the now reachable object. Hope surged through him as he maneuvered the hay closer and closer, using his feet to roll it toward himself. Biting his lower lip, the hay now directly beneath him, he stepped on top of it. The bundle of hay held. Blair let out a breath of disbelief and, shifting his gaze upward, lifted his sore wrists from the hook. But before he could move clear of the hook, the side of the hay crumbled. Blair lost his footing. His wrists jerked downward, pulling hard as the rope hit the iron hook again. He cried out as pain jolted through his wrists and arms.
Eyes closed, Blair hung limply from the hook, his breath coming in labored gasps, his wrists throbbing, his arms and shoulders aching with white hot pain.
Breathe through it, he told himself. Push past the pain and just get the hell out of here.
Opening his eyes, he looked up at his still-trapped wrists. Bruising stood out against his skin but as he moved each hand, there was no pain. He hadn't broken anything. He shifted his gaze down to the hay beneath him. The side he'd stood on was a crumbled mess but the other side still held together, looked solid....
Moving more slowly, more carefully, Blair stepped up on the hay again, this time testing each step, pushing down hard before progressing further. The bundle sagged but didn't crumble. He stretched his hands up, holding his breath as he moved, and unlatched them from the hook. As his arms came free, the hay shifted and fell apart beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, landing hard on his back.
Blair lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath, cradling his aching wrists to his chest.
Get moving, Sandburg. Jim needs you.
The words pushed him into action again. Sitting up, Blair struggled to retrieve his Swiss army knife from his front jeans pocket. He dropped it twice before getting the blade open and positioned against the ropes binding his wrists together. Working steadily, the blade pressed hard against the sturdy twine, he managed cut through the rope. He let out a small cry of relief as his wrists finally came free.
Rubbing the damaged skin, trying to bring full circulation back to his hands, Blair pushed to his feet and ran to the barn door. But as he shoved against the weathered old wood, he realized the doors were blocked from the other side. A scream of rage and frustration slipped past his lips. He was still trapped.
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Jim's mind raced as Hannah steered the Escort into the garage at her family's cabin and closed the door behind them, locking them inside. He'd spent the entire ride trying to convince her that this was not a good idea, that killing them both was not necessary, that it was murder. She'd simply smiled over at him, her expression one of infinite patience, and explained that this lifetime was a mistake, one she planned on correcting.
Now, as she shut down the engine of the car, Jim knew this was his last chance to stop her.
"Hannah," he began, twisting around until he could look directly at her. His hands, still trapped behind his back by his own handcuffs, pulled uselessly against the cool steel. "You already killed one man this way. You were wrong back then. You're wrong now. Let me-"
"Jim," she cut in softly, "you just don't understand." Reaching out, she cupped the side of his face, her thumb tracing lightly over his lips. "You're flawed, my darling. It's as simple as that. It doesn't make me love you less. It just makes me want to help you."
Jim jerked his head backward, out of her grip, and turned so he was facing forward again. "You want me dead for one reason," he ground out, realizing there would be no changing her mind. "I don't love you and I never will and you can't accept that." He glared at her out of the corner of his eye. "But I'll tell you this, lady. If there is another life after this one, you'd better hope we never meet."
Hannah blinked several times, her skin blanching beneath the onslaught of Jim's venomous words. Without saying another word, she pushed out her door and stepped into the garage. As Jim watched, she grabbed a length of rubber piping and a role of duct tape from a shelf and headed to the back of the garage. He lost sight of her as she crouched down behind the car, but he didn't need to see her to know what she was doing--taping the piping to the tailpipe, making a hose that she would then run into the car....
She wants this to happen fast, is going to make sure the fumes reach us as efficiently as possible. She doesn't want one of us to live, like she did so many years ago.
Jim closed his eyes, trying to calm his fast beating heart, and his thoughts turned to Blair.
"You shouldn't have gotten in that car."
Jim had heard the fear behind those words, knew Sandburg understood what Hannah had planned for him. But I had no choice. I hope you understand that, Chief. He knew Blair would. He just hoped that his understanding would not be coupled with a sense of guilt. Guilt for not being able to stop what was now happening.
I just wanted you to be safe, Chief.
Opening his eyes, he stared blindly ahead. Cold fear washed through him as he pictured his guide in that barn--trapped in an isolated place with almost no chance at rescue.
"Blair's clever. I'm sure he'll find a way of getting out."
And as Hannah's word came back to him, he prayed she was right.
"I think we're almost ready, my love."
Jim looked over as Hannah slid back into the driver's seat. She'd wound the plastic piping around her side of the car before pulling it in through her window. Rolling the glass up, she locked the pipe in place just above her head. Then, pulling off more duct tape, she sealed what little opening there was between the glass of the window and the interior frame of the car. Job completed, she tossed the rest of the tape in the back seat and turned to Jim, beaming.
"It's time," she announced brightly, her eyes searching his. "Isn't this exciting?"
Jim licked his lips, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Han
nah," he breathed out, "you have to stop this. You can't-"
But his protest was cut off abruptly as Hannah leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. Jim pulled away from the unexpected kiss, repugnance at the intimate touch winding through him.
Hannah only giggled and settled herself more comfortably in her own seat. "So shy," she muttered. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned the key and started the engine of the car.
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Blair looked around the interior of the barn, rubbing absently at his sore shoulder as he studied his surroundings. He'd wasted several minutes throwing himself against the heavy wooden doors but had only managed to bruise himself in the process.
Face it, Sandburg, you're just not the 'breaking down the door' type.
"So I need to find another way out," he mumbled as his gaze continued its slow search. The wind continued to howl outside, battering the outside of the old barn, snaking inside to kick up dust and hay. Blair looked up toward the loft, at the flickering of light that jumped and danced across the old boards. At the far end of the structure, he could just barely see a pair of double doors, light shining through the small openings between the slats. His gaze shifted to the rickety ladder that led up to the second floor.
"Figures," he muttered, making his way across the barn. Moving as quickly as the broken down ladder would allow, he made his way up to the loft area. To his great relief, the doors he'd spotted opened easily, the wind driving them back against the outside of the barn with a resounding clatter. The wind pushed its way inside the barn, knocking Sandburg back slightly. Regaining his balance, he moved to the edge and looked down. His stomach clenched tight. There was no ladder on the outside of the barn; it was a straight drop down to the muddy ground below.
"How the hell am I supposed to get down there?" His hands rubbed absently at the front of his jean-clad legs as he studied the area outside. The drop wasn't that far. He could jump. And the mud below would probably work in his favor, helping to cushion the fall. He glanced behind him, back to the doors below, but knew that just wasn't an option. He had no choice but to jump.
Decision made, Blair licked his lips and searched for the best landing area. His hair flew wildly around his head in the strong wind, impeding his efforts to survey the ground below. To his left were some broken down pens, the wooden fencing scattered across the ground in a haphazard pattern. He shifted his attention to the right. The mud seemed deeper there, the ground more pliable.
"Okay, Sandburg," he said, moving as far right as he could on the lip of the opening, "just tuck and roll, man. Tuck and roll." And with that...Blair jumped.
He hit the ground hard, a grunt of surprise escaping him as he pulled his legs in tight and rolled head first through the deep mud. He came to an abrupt stop, lying on his back, his hair and clothes caked in muck.
"Oh, man!" he complained as a sour, rancid smell assailed him. "What the hell did I roll in?" He sat up, mud dripping from his jacket sleeves and collar, and eyed the broken down pens behind him. "I would have been better off getting skewered."
Pushing to his feet, he surveyed himself briefly before making a dash for Jim's truck, pulling out his set of keys as he ran. He slipped inside the Ford, cranked the engine to life, and raced wildly from the farmhouse.
As he drove, he reached over the passenger side of the truck and dragged his backpack toward him. Digging inside, he found his cell phone and punched in the number for an operator. Quickly, he asked to be connected to the Berne City Sheriff's Office.
"Sheriff, it's Blair Sandburg," he bit out as soon as the phone was answered at the small station. "I need your help." He pushed the accelerator of the truck to the floor, moving well beyond the speed limit, and the old Ford barreled dauntlessly down the road. "Hannah managed to get to Jim and-shit!" Blair dropped the phone and grabbed the wheel with both hands as he skidded around a turn too fast and nearly lost control of the truck. Struggling with the wheel, the back end fishtailing on the wet dirt road, Blair gritted his teeth and held on. Somehow, he managed to get the truck back on the road and avoid the deep ditch that ran parallel to it.
Heart pounding heavily in his chest, Blair exhaled a long breath and tried to relax his vise-like grip on the wheel. Okay, Sandburg, crashing will not help Jim. He lifted his foot ever so slightly from the gas pedal, slowing the truck to a more manageable speed.
Snatching up the phone from where he'd dropped it, he brought the receiver to his ear again. "Sheriff?"
"I'm still here," Dryer answered immediately. "Is everything all right?
"No, it's not. Listen to me, Sheriff. Hannah managed to get the drop on us. She took Jim...I think to her cabin...so she can do to him what she tried to do to Mark O'Keefe."
"You think she's going to try and asphyxiate him?"
"That's exactly what I think." Blair navigated a turn with ease, now in complete control of the big truck. "I'm on my way to the cabin now. I need you to get out there and bring an ambulance with you."
"Can do."
With that the phone went dead. Blair tossed it onto the seat beside him and concentrated fully on driving. Minutes later, he screeched to a halt outside Hannah's cabin. And even as he pushed from the cab, he saw the sheriff's cruiser approaching, siren blaring, lights flashing.
Blair ran to the garage, grabbed the handle, and pulled. The door didn't budge. He could hear the sound of a car running inside. "Jim!" he yelled, pounding his fists against the unyielding door. "Jim! Can you hear me!" Blair held his breath, straining to listen, praying he was not too late. But there was no answer from inside, just the steady, low-pitched rumble of the idling car engine.
Dryer skidded to a stop beside Blair. Sandburg turned to him, desperation gnawing at his stomach. "They're inside. I can hear the car running but the door's locked!"
Without hesitation, Dryer pulled his weapon, aimed it at the handle of the garage, and fired. Seconds later, the two men heaved the door open. The exhaust fumes hit them like a brick wall, staggering them backward.
Covering his mouth with his hand, Blair rushed into the garage. "Jim!" he choked out.
Still, the sentinel did not answer. Blair staggered to the passenger door and looked inside. Jim's head rested against the window, his eyes closed, his skin gray in color. Hannah sat in the driver's seat, her head resting against Jim's shoulder.
Blair couldn't tell if either one of them was breathing.
"Jim!" he yelled, pulling frantically at the car door. It was locked. "Dammit!" He swept the area around him, spotted a gardening shovel hanging on the wall behind him, snatched it up and smashed the glass of the back door window. On the other side of the car Sheriff Dryer did the same thing, using the butt of his weapon to break the window behind Hannah's.
Reaching past the broken glass, Blair popped the lock on Jim's door and pulled it wide. Jim's body fell sideways, prevented from falling out of the car by the belt holding him in place. Blair released the seat belt and, locking his hands under Jim's shoulders, pulled his partner from the vehicle before dragging him from the garage.
The sound of sirens blanketed the air as the ambulance and another police car approached the scene. Panting, his lungs aching from the short time he'd spent in the garage, Blair managed to pull Jim clear before collapsing beside him.
"Jim," he breathed, leaning over his partner, his gaze searching, trying to see if.... "You're alive!" Blair shouted as he took in the slow rise and fall of his partner's chest.
"Man, Jim, you're alive!" Relief washed over him and he smiled down brightly at the sentinel.
Before his thoughts could move beyond that one simple fact, the paramedics were there, pulling Blair away, situating an oxygen mask over Jim's face, trying to find a key to remove the cuffs from his wrists.
Blair stumbled back from the chaotic scene, his gaze never leaving his partner, the smile still plastered on his face. But as Jim was transferred to a stretcher and moved toward the back of the ambulance, Blair re
alized there was no commotion coming from the small group of people surrounding Hannah.
He glanced toward her prone figure and blinked several times. Hannah lay beneath a white sheet, the cover pulled completely over her body. And it was clear...Hannah Merrick was dead.
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Jim wrinkled his nose and squeezed his eyes shut tight. His head felt like it had been packed with cotton and an unpleasant feeling of nausea churned in his stomach. And what is that disgusting smell?
"Hey, man. You with me?" His partner's voice broke through the gauzy film in his mind and he partially opened one eye to find Blair staring down at him, worry and relief traced across his expressive face.
"Hey, Chief," he croaked out before clearing his scratchy throat. "Looks like you managed to find me in time, huh?"
"Yeah," Blair said, smiling broadly now. He placed a hand on Jim's shoulder. "You breathed in a lot of exhaust fumes, but Doctor Olsen said you'll make a full recovery. You'll probably feel sick to your stomach for a while, though, and your energy level's going to be down for a few days."
Jim closed his partially opened eye and reached up to rub hard at his throbbing temples. "Did she happen to mention I'd have a killer headache, too?"
Blair snorted. "Yeah, that was on the list."
Jim dropped his hands and opened his eyes fully, blinking momentarily against the bright fluorescent lighting in the small exam room. His eyes widened in surprise, however, when he took in his partner's condition. Sandburg was covered with dried mud. It was in his hair, streaked across his neck and one side of his face, caked on his clothing. "What happened to you? You're a mess."
Blair looked down and studied his own appearance for a moment, then he lifted his chin and gave Jim another broad smile. "Let's just say I had to take some rather innovative measures in order to save your life."
"I guess." Suddenly Jim's nose wrinkled and his eyes began to tear as the aroma he'd smelled before assaulted his now fully alert sinuses. "Oh, man, Chief!" he sputtered out, bringing up one hand to plug his nose. He gave Blair an offended look and waved at him with his free hand. "Stand back a bit, will you? You stink!"