by Carol Roi
She crossed the small space between them, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Blair, I understand that, I really do, but I can see that whatever you're doing is killing you. You look like Hades, you haven't been eating, haven't been sleeping--"
"I'm afraid to go to sleep," Blair blurted out, then looked surprised at his words.
She pulled him into a hug then, feeling him shaking against her. "Why, Lobo, why are you afraid to go to sleep?" she whispered.
His hesitant words were muffled by her shoulder, "I'm afraid I'll see things I don't want to see. I'm afraid I'll see more people die."
Oh, goddess! What kind of hell was Blair going through?
***
Blair leaned into Diandra's embrace, soaking up her strength, her love. There was no doubt in his mind, in his heart, that she still loved him, that she would do anything to take away the pain he was going through. Vaguely he noted her turning off the stove and pulling him into the living room, sitting down with him on the sofa. She didn't ask him to explain. She didn't say a word, just held him, accepting him and his secrets.
Finally, he pulled away, straightening in his seat, and wiping at his eyes. When had he started crying? Blair looked up at her, seeing a million questions in her eyes, ones he knew she would never ask. "Dee, I..." How in the hell did he begin to explain? "I had a friend, a good friend from Rainier. She got into some trouble, fell in with the wrong people, but she thought she knew what she was doing. She had everything figured out. Two nights ago, she was...tortured and murdered...and I...I saw it, I felt it, in my mind."
Dee's eyes widened, but she didn't say anything, just clasped his hand between both of hers. He looked down at their entwined fingers, then finally explained further. "I was meditating, using this as a focus." He pulled the crystal Cyndi had given him from inside his shirt. "Cyndi, my friend, she gave it to me, told me it would help me. Give me clarity, she said."
Dee loosened her grip on his hand long enough to run her fingers over the gem's sharp planes. "She was right. It's a scrying crystal. Your friend, was she into this kind of thing? Crystals and so forth?"
Blair nodded. "Crystals, tarot, rune stones. I think she'd dabbled in every alternative religion and new age line of thinking there is."
She turned to face him, propping her arm on the back of the sofa. "Can you tell me what you saw?"
He bit his lip, then said, "It was black, but there was a line of light outlining a door. I had my hand on the knob, but I didn't want to open it. I could hear screams. Finally I opened the door. The room was covered in blood, and a body was in the middle of the room. It was Cyndi. Then I came out of the trance, and went to her apartment. I found her just like in my vision." He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory. "So now I'm afraid to meditate, afraid to sleep even. I'm afraid I'll see someone else die." Opening his eyes, Blair looked at the Immortal. "Can you help me?"
Dee's fingers stroked over his cheek. "I don't think what you saw can be called a vision, at least not the kind of vision you're used to. Cyndi was in trouble; she would be calling on her deities to help her, sending out a psychic distress call so to speak. You were meditating, and thus 'open' to her call. Plus, you were using the crystal, which only amplified the effect, kind of like a tuner on a stereo."
Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he said, "You know I don't like this mystical stuff. So what does this mean, in terms I can understand?"
She smiled at him. "It means you don't have to worry about going to sleep. The only dreams you'll be having are what your own mind conjures up. Are you okay with that?"
"Yeah, I'm okay with that."
"Good, because I'm getting hungry, and dinner isn't going to cook itself." Getting to her feet, Dee went back to the kitchen and went to work.
Blair sat on the sofa a few minutes longer, just watching her. God, he'd missed this, missed her. For six long weeks, he'd lived in this apartment, hating it, hating being away from the loft, from his home. But her simple presence had changed that; for the first time, this shoebox felt like a home, and he felt safe here, warm and loved. He scrubbed at his eyes with his hand. The moment she left was going to hurt like hell.
Sighing, he walked out to the kitchen to join her.
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Dee sat on the couch next to Blair once again. Dinner had been eaten, leftovers put away in the fridge, and dishes done. She'd made chamomile tea for the two of them, and they'd retired to the living room to drink it. Just one more step in her plan to ensure that tonight, at least, Blair would be well fed, and would get a healthy amount of sleep.
They'd talked quietly for nearly an hour. Dee had managed to keep her curiosity about what he was doing undercover in check, and the subject had stayed mostly on doings at the university. Which, as it turned out, was a blessing in disguise. Her description of the last history department staff meeting had put Blair right to sleep. Now she just watched him, waiting for him to get deeply enough asleep that she could rouse him, walk him down the hall to the bedroom, and get him in bed without too much protest.
Her elbow rested on the back of the cushion, and she leaned her head on her arm, blatantly staring, memorizing every angle, every curve of his beautiful face. She blinked, and was not surprised to feel a tear roll down her cheek. She still loved him. Goddess, she loved him. Time spent apart had done nothing to diminish her feelings for him, nor, she suspected, his for her. As Blair would have put it, "This sucked."
Enough of this feeling sorry for herself. Dee shook Blair gently. "Come on, sleepyhead, time to go to bed."
"Um..." he mumbled, but didn't fight when she took his hand and pulled him up from the couch. She guided him to the bedroom, where he managed to get undressed and under the covers with a minimum of stumbling. She'd just tucked the covers around him when he said, "Dee?"
"Right here, baby."
Rolling onto his back, Blair swiped ineffectively at the hair spilling into his eyes. "Hmm...I had a...dream."
Dee perched on the edge of the bed. "You did? What was it about?"
Sleepy blue eyes peered up at her, and she knew he wasn't fully awake. "I dreamed you came back...and you still loved me..." The anguish in his voice was unmistakable.
She bent over him, stroking his hair lightly. "Wasn't a dream, Lobo. I'm right here, and I do love you..."
His hand caught hers, and he rolled onto his side, clutching it against his chest. "S'nice...love you, too." A mighty yawn split his face, and his eyes drooped shut again.
Dee sat with him until she was sure he was deeply asleep, trying, and failing, to hold back her tears. Nothing had changed, not a damn thing. She had hoped he would be able to move on, as would she. But that didn't appear to be happening. This was a mistake. She should have just dropped him off in front of his building and headed back to Seacouver. It would have saved both of them a lot of heartache. She wiped her eyes with her free hand, then gently disentangled her left one from his grasp.
Getting to her feet, she headed back to the living room, and was just slipping into her coat, when Blair's faint mumbles reached her, along with the sound of bedsprings creaking. Nightmare. She paused in front of the door, her hands clenched, her nails digging into her palms. She should just go; staying was only going to make things worse, make the pain they would feel come morning more intense. His mutterings coalesced into a sharp cry of fear, hurt or anger. She really couldn't tell which, nor could she explain how she was suddenly at his side again, when she had been determined to leave.
She watched him tossing on the mattress for a few seconds, then shed her duster and shoes and crawled onto the bed next to him. She wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. His jerky movements stilled; his vocal ramblings ceased. Dee felt a small smile cross her face. Yeah, she still had it.
Spooning up behind the anthropologist, she closed her eyes, inhaling his warm Blair scent, letting the sound and feel of his heartbeat lull her
to sleep.
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The rumble of thunder woke Blair. He lay still in the bed, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, taking in the familiar, yet unfamiliar room. Once again he had to remind himself of where he was, and who he was supposed to be. Something was off, though, not right. The pillowcase was scratchy against his cheek, and--the damn pillow was moving! A bolt of lightning illuminated the room just as he raised up on his elbow in a panic.
Diandra lay asleep on her back beside him on the bed, still dressed in her sweater and jeans. Blair had been sleeping with his head on her shoulder. He lay back down, noticing the symbolism in her being on top of the blanket, and him underneath it. She was willing to stay with him, but only as a friend, not as a lover.
What else had he expected, really? He rested his head on his arm, watching her sleep. They'd never really had a chance. He'd known her what, five months total? Three of those had been spent becoming friends, slowly working toward the night their feelings for each other had spilled over into love. And three weeks later, their romance had been over. She had chosen to leave, rather than come between himself and Jim. He understood her choice; it was one he would have made if the situation had been reversed, but it still hurt. Not so much for what they had had, but for what might have been.
So many things he'd wanted to share with her. Like snuggling in the back of a theater, or eating popcorn together while watching some old movie on TV. Listening to her version of the events surrounding the latest exhibit at the history museum. Holding hands in the rain, walking on the beach. Kissing just because. He'd been looking forward to spending a fortune on roses on Valentine's Day and fighting the crowd at the most romantic restaurant in town. Blair had even been thinking of what to get her for Christmas, and making plans as far ahead as her birthday. Now he would never give her a present for any occasion.
He let out a long sigh. Instead he had this, a life that was a lie. Had it started being a lie when he agreed to become a drug dealer? Or had it started before then, when he let her walk out without putting up more than a token fight? In so many ways, in so many areas, Blair's life was no longer under his control, and hadn't been for a while. And there was no guarantee he would ever get that control back. The longer he was under, the longer this lie went on, the harder it became to remember what was real. He still had trouble believing Cyndi was dead. Everything was so mixed up, so screwed, and there was no end in sight.
He ran his fingertips lightly over Dee's cheek, reassuring himself that she, at least, was real. He moved closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, her dark hair silky against his skin. He remembered her words when they had parted two months ago, "Never forget you are loved." Blair closed his eyes, losing himself in the memory of their love.
When he awoke in the morning, all that remained of her presence was a warm spot next to him and a Tupperware container of leftover manicotti in the refrigerator.
Part Five
Megan Connor followed Blair Sandburg into the warehouse. Once inside, they split up, Blair going to check out the day's inventory while she headed to the office. When Sandy had first proposed the situation to her, she had assumed she would be partnered with him, the way he had been partnered with Cyndi. But once Cristo had set eyes on her, he hadn't wanted to let her out of his sight, and now she worked closely with him. She likened her position to that of a personal assistant: she kept track of Cristo's appointments, screened his phone calls, and oversaw the legitimate side of his business. She hadn't complained too much at the change in plans; being in the office all day gave her access to Cristo's files and, she hoped, to the date and time of the drug shipment.
Two weeks had passed since Blair had brought her on board, and as of yet, she'd found out nothing. Or at least nothing relating to the shipment. She had discovered that Sandy hadn't been kidding when he'd told her Cristo trusted him. The guy treated him like a brother. They always had their heads together, discussing business or the latest progress in the hunt for Cyndi's murderer.
It scared her. She wasn't sure she knew him anymore. He had changed from the man she had first met a little over a year ago. They had all changed, but it seemed to her he had lost some of his sparkle, his life. Maybe she was reading too much into it. His friend had been brutally murdered, and he hadn't been able to prevent it. A shiver went through her. She could only imagine what he had felt, was feeling, but she knew if she had been in his place, she would have lost some of her spirit, too.
Or maybe he was just doing his job. She looked out the window onto the main floor of the warehouse, watching as Blair and Rico checked over the supply of drugs they had on hand. If they didn't get that shipment soon, the street dealers would be up in arms. She watched as Blair's hands moved along with his mouth, punctuating whatever it was he was telling the foreman. When he finished the story, Rico was doubled over with laughter. Sandy had sure improved his acting from the last time they'd been undercover together, posing as an Australian socialite and her artist lover, Andrew.
The sound of her phone ringing interrupted her reminiscing. Putting the receiver to her ear, she said cheerfully, "Cristo Imports."
The accented voice on the other end of the line said, "You're new."
"I just started. I'm Meg. Can I help you?"
"Si, si, forgive my manners, Senorita Meg. Is my brother, Jesus, there? Tell him it's Juan."
Juan was the head of the supply end of the Cristo drug empire. Maybe he was calling about the shipment! "I'm sorry, Mr. Cristo is out of the office at the moment. Can I take a message?"
"Tell him the delivery is tonight, 11 PM, at the warehouse. And please apologize to him for the delay. We had a little problem with customs on our end."
"I'll give him the message, sir." Megan hung up the phone and tapped her pencil on the desk. Eleven tonight, that was just six hours from now. She had to get in touch with Simon and the DEA, get things moving. They were going to be cutting it close on getting a warrant. Damn it, and she didn't dare call from the office in case it was a false alarm. A phone call to the police would blow their covers. Pushing back from her desk, she headed into the warehouse in search of Blair.
She found him packing cocaine into a backpack. "Sandy, tonight's the night. Cristo's brother just called to confirm the delivery here at 11. I need to get hold of Cristo and let him know."
"Man, we have to get word to Simon, too." He glanced at his watch. "I hope that gives them enough time. Look, I'll notify Cristo, and you take care of letting Simon know."
Megan shifted uncomfortably on her high heels. "I need a reason to go off site."
"Leave that to me." Grinning, Blair headed over to Rico and Manuel. "Anyone for a latte? Rico, you look like you could use a double espresso. Meg's gonna make a Starbucks run."
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DEA agents Manning and Collier sat on the couch in Simon Banks' office, waiting for him to show up for their weekly meeting. "I'm telling you, we should have pulled the plug on this guy. One little tip from us, and Sandburg would be another notch in Cristo's gun, and we'd be the ones on the inside. We wouldn't need him."
Collier was about to reply when the private phone line on Simon's desk rang. The two men looked at each other as it continued to ring, then Manning walked over to the desk and picked it up. "Captain Banks' office."
"I need to speak to the captain. This is Megan Connor." Her voice was hushed, and other people could be heard talking in the background.
"Ah, Inspector Connor, this is Agent Manning. Captain Banks is out of the office at the moment. I would be more than happy to take a message for him."
"Okay, you fellows need to know about this too. The shipment is coming in tonight, to the warehouse by the docks, at 11 PM."
"Got it. I'll be sure to tell him as soon as he comes back. Thanks so much, Inspector." The dark-haired man hung up the phone
and turned to his partner, a dangerous grin crossing his face. "It's tonight. Let's go get ready."
The two men exited the office, not bothering to leave a note.
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Jim was coming back into the bullpen when he passed the two DEA agents leaving. "What's your hurry?" he asked. "The captain back from his meeting so soon?"
"Uh, no," Collier stammered. "Something came up, and we can't wait for him any longer." The agents headed down the hall toward the elevator.
The sentinel stood in the middle of the corridor, frowning. The blonde agent's heart had been racing; he'd been afraid or excited. Something was up with those two. He had been suspicious of them from the start, and his misgivings had only increased with Cyndi's murder. As far as he was concerned, they fit the qualifications for suspects. Ducking into the bullpen, Jim grabbed his jacket and headed after them.