by K Ryn
"Thanks," he said, sizing up the new confection appreciatively. "As usual, it looks like everything's well in hand. I take it it's been pretty quiet."
"It has, although you wouldn't know it from the pile of messages I've got for you," she answered, handing him a stack of pink slips.
"Damn, I'll be stuck on the phone all day," he grumbled, fanning the sheets of paper with a thumb. "Want to give me the highlights?"
"Brad Jenson's ranting about the kid's driving their ATVs across his property again. At least six of those are from him. Bottom of the stack. First one's from Bob. He left a message on the machine that he needed to run some personal errands this morning. Said he'd check in later."
Heller nodded, shifting the top sheet off the pile. "This looks like a number from out at the Integra reservation. Who's Nathaniel Spiritwalker?" he asked, staring at the second slip uncertainly.
"I don't know... I left the message on the machine. He asked specifically for you. Called in the middle of the night."
"Wonder if he's related to Joseph?" Dave murmured. "The old man's got a whole slew of kids and grandkids..."
The phone rang and Molly went back to her desk to answer it. Heller glanced at his watch and decided to hold off returning the call until a more reasonable hour. The surprise in Molly's voice made him look over to her curiously.
"Jake?... I don't think I've ever... yes... he's in... no... not this morning, he's... no... sure... I'll tell him..."
With a puzzled expression, Molly hung up the phone and walked back to Dave's office. "That was Jake Sanders. He's on his way over to see you."
"Can't be. That man never rises before the sun. What's he want?"
"He didn't say. Just asked if you and Bob were in."
"Well, we'll know when he gets here. Somebody probably tried to stiff him on a repair or something." He turned his attention back to the messages. "Anything else vitally important in this mess?"
"Third one's from Sherry Phillips," Molly answered with a frown. "Seems Connie didn't come home again last night."
Heller's eyes flickered to his deputy's empty desk, then back to Molly. They were both obviously thinking the same thing -- Bob needed personal time, Connie's mother was looking for her and Ben was the common link between it all.
"Hope Ben didn't do something foolish again," Molly muttered with a shake of her head. "And Connie... you'd think that girl would have more sense --" She broke off her comments as the outside door opened and Jake Sanders stepped inside. "Morning Jake," she greeted the new arrival pleasantly. "Want some coffee to wash the sleep dust out of your head?"
"Thanks, Molly, but I'll pass," Jake answered tersely, glancing past her to meet Heller's eyes.
"Go right ahead, then. Dave's expecting you." Connie ushered him into the Sheriff's office. Catching a small nod from Heller, she pulled the door shut and returned to her own desk.
Dave took a moment to study Jake carefully. The man was definitely uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot almost like an errant school boy.
"Have a seat, Jake," Heller offered, smiling in welcome. "What brings you here so early?"
Jake settled into a chair, his gaze meeting Heller's for a second, then dancing away. "We've got a problem, Dave."
"We have, or you have?" Heller asked curiously.
"We have. The town has."
"So tell me," Dave prodded.
"Yesterday morning I rented my car to a couple of guys from out of town."
"The Chevy?" Heller asked in surprise. Jake loved that car.
"They said they were headed out to the reservation. You know I wouldn't trust that old beater I use for a loaner for a trip like that."
Dave's gaze had strayed to the pink message slip at the side of his desk at the mention of the reservation, but it immediately slid back to meet Jake's encouragingly.
"They pay cash?"
"Nah, traveler's cheques."
"You worried that the cheques were stolen?"
"No... it's not that..." Jake broke off for a moment and cleared his throat nervously. He took a deep breath and met Dave's stare evenly. "I didn't have any concerns about renting them the car. The older guy was a cop, Dave. Detective. Gold shield and all. Claimed the younger man was his partner..."
"But you're not sure?"
"Pretty odd pairing on the surface," Jake answered, shaking his head. "But they seemed pretty tight."
"So what's the deal, then, Jake? You having regrets about loaning out your 'baby'?"
"I don't think they're still driving it."
Heller sat back in his chair, eyeing the other man speculatively. "What makes you think that?"
"I worked late last night. Finally finished that overhaul on Jim Peter's truck."
"Congratulations. I know he'll appreciate the fast turnaround."
"Yeah... anyway, I stopped at Sid's for a beer to celebrate. Tim Rudolph was there."
"His home away from home," Heller sighed. Rudolph was a regular in his 'cooling off' cell on practically a weekly basis.
"He'd had a few, like always," Jake continued. "Funny thing was, he came up to me, all pissed off. Said he didn't understand why I'd let Ben Holland drive my car when I wouldn't let him borrow it. I told him he'd better check his alcohol levels -- that I had rented the Chevy out, but not to Ben. But he insisted. Said he'd caught sight of it headed out of town only an hour earlier. Claimed Ben was behind the wheel. And that his buddies were in the back."
The hairs on the back of Heller's neck had begun to prickle as soon as Jake had mentioned Ben Holland's name. He reached for a notebook and pen.
"I need a description on the two men you rented the car to," he said, suddenly all business. He jotted down the descriptions that Jake offered, keeping his own thoughts and comments in reserve. "The detective... you catch his name?"
"Ellison... can't remember his first name, but he said he was from Washington. Cascade, Washington."
"And the younger man?"
Jake reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Blair Sandburg. He's the one who paid for the car. Signature's on this." He handed Heller the traveler's cheque.
"Molly!" She was standing in the doorway seconds later. "See if you can find that National Police Association directory. I need you to check out a couple names and get me a number if you can." He scribbled on the bottom of a piece of notebook paper and tore it off, handing it to her.
"Right away, Dave."
Heller waited until the door had closed behind her again before turning his attention back to Jake. "You say these two were headed out to the reservation?"
"Yeah, something about the dig site there. The younger man... Sandburg. He seemed pretty excited about it."
"What time did they take off?" Dave fingered the message from Nathaniel Spiritwalker absently.
"Late morning. The car was completely gassed up and loaded with an emergency kit in the back. Look, Dave, I'm not sure about this Sandburg kid, but the older guy was ex-military. Looked like he could handle just about anything. Something serious must have happened --"
"Don't go jumping to any conclusions here, Jake. All we've got is Rudolph's word that someone besides Ellison and Sandburg were driving your car. You've got to admit he's not the most reliable of witnesses. There's nothing that ties these two men to Ben Holland."
"Rumor has it Sandburg had a run in at the bus station with Zeke Weston about an hour before they came to see me," Jake said softly.
Heller snorted in disgust. "From the description you gave me, I could almost expect it. Zeke can be a real asshole. They were at the bus station? Must not have known about the bridge repairs. How'd they know to come looking for you?"
"Sandburg mentioned Connie Phillips when they introduced themselves. Said he'd met her at the park."
"Still doesn't tie Ben to them," Heller cautioned, eyeing another pink slip worriedly.
"You know what Ben's like around Connie. He acts like he owns her. If he caught her and Sandburg togethe
r... well the kid's just the type that Ben would take a shot at anyway, just for his version of fun. Open your eyes, Dave. Something's wrong here and you know it. Ben's been seen driving a car he had no business in and Bob's conveniently not here?"
"Jake, I know Ben's been in and out of trouble, but it's always been pretty petty stuff."
"Maybe..."
"You know something I don't?" Heller asked quietly.
"No... it's just a feeling. The kid's bad news, Dave. The only reason things haven't gotten out of hand up until now is Bob's intervention. You know that."
"I only know what I can prove, Jake. That's how the law works."
"Dave --"
"Just hold on... all right?" Heller held up a hand and Jake subsided in his chair.
Picking up the phone, Dave punched in the number for the reservation. After only two rings a still sleepy voice answered. Identifying himself, he asked for Nathaniel Spiritwalker. A few moments later, a young man picked up the phone.
"This is Sheriff Heller, you called me last night. What can I do for you?" Dave listened to the caller for a minute. "Pardon me, Nate, is it? Can you hold on for a moment?" Heller put his hand over the mouthpiece and glanced at Jake. "Give me a few minutes here, will you?" He waited just long enough for Jake to exit the office, then returned to the call, his face growing grimmer by the second.
"Damn it!"
Heller's explosion drew both Jake and Molly back to his office. "Nathaniel Spiritwalker is Joseph's grandson," he explained, staring up at Jake. "Seems he was expecting a Blair Sandburg and his friend -- Jim Ellison -- last night. Sandburg called yesterday, late morning, to let them know that they'd be arriving around nightfall. They never made it. Joseph's concerned enough that he's ready to send out a search party from their end. Apparently he knows the younger man pretty well. He's confident that Sandburg wouldn't have done anything stupid out there. Says he understands the desert." Dave shifted his attention to Molly. "Any luck tracking down that directory?"
"Right here," she murmured, flattening the booklet on the desk. "There's a James Ellison listed. Detective, Major Crime, Cascade PD, Central Precinct. No Sandburg listed among the rest of the officers, but his name does show up as a Civilian Observer. Ellison's also listed with a whole series of commendations -- Including Officer of the Year."
"Guess that settles any questions about their identities," Jake said softly. "Nice to know I was a good judge of character."
"There's a Captain Simon Banks listed as head of Major Crime --"
"Already placed the call, Dave," Molly interrupted him. "He's due in the office about 9:00. They're going to try to track him down before that."
Heller glanced at his watch. It was 7:15. He rose to his feet and slid open the desk drawer, pulling out his backup weapon. Giving it a quick 'once-over' he slid it across the desk to Jake, along with a deputy's badge.
"You're being drafted, Jake," he told the stunned man. "I need you to stay here and keep a lid on things. I told the Spiritwalkers that we'd keep them informed with any news that we had. Molly, I want you to try to reach Bob. Tell him I want him in my office. Now."
"You want him to bring Ben in as well?"
"Don't even mention the kid's name," Dave warned. "Just tell Bob I want to see him. If he tries to stall you, call me right away. Once he gets here, Jake, I want you to take his car and head out west on the highway. See if you can find anything. If Bob gives you any trouble, lock him in one of the cells. Just keep him here. I don't want him in the middle of this."
Heller slipped around the desk and stalked past them, stopping at the door to retrieve his hat. "I'm going to have a few words with Tim Rudolph and Sherry Phillips. If this Simon Banks calls before I get back, patch him through to the unit. If Ellison's as important a detective as he seems to be, I have a feeling I'm not going to enjoy that conversation one bit."
Jim's head snapped up and he blinked, groggily. Despite his resolve, he'd dozed off. He glanced down at his sleeping partner, gratified that he hadn't woken the younger man. Shaking his head cautiously to clear the last dregs of haziness from his mind, he took a quick look around. His first glimpse of the brightening sky was heartening. His vision was still fuzzy, and he was still a far cry from being back to Sentinel-normal, but any improvement was a relief.
The night trek had turned into a new version of the same nightmare. Walking had become stumbling. Jim's own growing exhaustion had worked against his ability to focus his concentration, and his vision had faded in and out. More worrisome to the Sentinel, however, his Guide's fever had continued to climb, draining him of the strength to keep going for more than a few minutes at a time. The rest breaks had become longer and longer, until finally they'd collapsed where they were now. With Blair's head pillowed on his leg, the Sentinel had sheltered his Guide, wrapping long arms around the shivering body. The day's heat would almost be a welcome relief from the chilling cold of the last four hours.
Carefully resting one hand on Blair's sunburned shoulder to ground himself, he began to dial up his other senses. When he had them 'balanced', he extended his hearing, letting it range outward across the awakening landscape. At any other time he would have appreciated the natural harmonies that washed across his consciousness: the furtive movements of a myriad of small animals scrabbling into their holes; the triumphant cry of an airborne hunter as it captured its prey and beat strong wings into the pale blue morning sky; the soft drip of dew -- precious moisture formed by the drastic temperature shift from cold night to rapidly warming day -- falling to irrigate the arid ground in a kiss of benediction; the scrape of metal on metal...
With a quick shift he eased Blair aside and rose to his feet. Stretching his hearing to the limit, he sought to pinpoint the obviously man-made sounds.
"Jim...?" Blair murmured blearily, struggling to raise himself into a sitting position. The rude awakening had left him feeling dazed and the shift from horizontal to vertical immediately aggravated his pounding head.
When the Sentinel didn't answer, Blair scrubbed at his eyes, trying to force the fuzziness away. His first thought was that Jim was caught in a zone-out, but studying the older man closely, he realized that his partner had more than one sense active. Jim's head was cocked slightly to the side and his nostrils were flaring as he piggybacked his sense of smell to his hearing.
"Take it easy..." Blair warned softly. There was a barely perceptible nod from the Sentinel and his Guide fell silent, waiting and watching anxiously. Finally, after several minutes, a slow smile crept across the older man's face. "Jim... what is it?"
"Breakfast."
"Breakfast?" Blair stared at Jim in disbelief, certain he hadn't heard correctly.
"Bacon and eggs... and coffee," the Sentinel answered, still scanning the horizon.
The mention of food made Blair's tight, queasy stomach do a slow roll. "Oh, man. That is not a good joke right now. You may have gotten lunch before all this started, but my last real meal goes back a few days before that. Not that I'm really interested in eating right now, but still..."
The roughness in his Guide's voice made the Sentinel turn. Looking down at Blair, Jim could see the younger man's flushed face and caught the slightly feverish glaze in the intense blue eyes.
"I'm not joking," Jim said quietly, crouching down next to his friend and helping him shift into a slightly more comfortable position. He could feel the shiver of chills running through the younger man's body.
"You gotta be. There's no way we're close enough to Harold's place. We couldn't have made more than fifteen miles last night," Blair protested through chattering teeth. He hugged himself tightly, both to ease stiff and aching muscles as well as to hold in as much body heat as he could.
Jim gently rubbed Blair's arms. "You'll be warm again, soon."
"Yeah... that's what I'm worried about," Blair whispered. "Save an iced version of that coffee for later, okay?"
"Blair, I'm not kidding about this," Jim responded firmly. "I heard the rattle of meta
l pans and I can smell the food. Gas, too. Someone's cooking breakfast over a portable stove. And it's close."
Blair turned his head and gazed out across the broken terrain, staring in the direction that the Sentinel had been focused earlier. There was a flicker of hope in his eyes for a moment, but then his face contorted in a grimace of despair.
"There's nothing out there, Jim. It's a hallucination. It's this damn desert, man... it plays tricks on your mind."
"Chief --"
Blair shuddered almost violently and shook his head. "It's not real. Nothing's real out here but sand and wind and death."
Jim tightened his grip on the younger man's arms and gave him a gentle shake. "Listen to me, Chief. It's real. I can't tell if they're camping or if there's some kind of permanent shelter, but there's someone not too far away. All we need to do is find them."
"Jim, I'm telling you there's nothing there!" Blair argued hoarsely.
"Sandburg, who's the Sentinel here? You or me?"
Blair opened his mouth to respond and then shook his head. His animated expression shifted from anger to fear.
"It doesn't matter," he whispered. "We can't go out there."
"Blair, it's not far --"
"We can't leave the road."
Jim was stunned by the flat, lifeless tone in his Guide's voice. Still holding Blair with one hand, he cupped the younger man's chin and lifted his head. The feverishly dull eyes that stared back at him were wide and filled with an old terror.
"Why not?" he asked softly.
"If you leave the road, you die."
Startled by the conviction in those simple words, Jim's vision blurred. He took a deep breath, fighting to hold on to the connection he'd been nurturing, while his mind searched for some way to understand what had upset his Guide so badly. A fragment of something Blair had said during the night teased at him.
"Blair, what else happened on your first trip out here?" Jim asked abruptly.
The younger man shifted in his hold and turned his face to the desert again.
"Everything... I was feeling pretty cocky by the time I got to the reservation," Blair whispered after a moment's silence. "Nate and I... we were laughing about my little adventure on the road... All the sudden Nate just stopped. He was staring over my shoulder... When I turned around I saw one of the tribal elders watching us... me... it was Nate's grandfather... the look he gave me... his face was blank... unreadable... but his eyes... I felt like I'd been dissected... that he knew everything about me... there was this sense... of disappointment there... like I'd been tested and found wanting... I figured I was going to get another lecture, like Harold had given me... but Grandfather just stared until I thought I was going to break apart... his words were soft when he finally spoke... he said , 'Respect is the line between life and death. You are destined to walk the edge. No one is invulnerable. You must learn this if you are to maintain your balance and survive.' Part of me thought it was a joke... and the rest of me was scared shitless..."