Out of Harm's Way Page 3

  "Ugghhh. Smells as bad as it tastes. I didn't really drink a whole pot of this without noticing, did I?"

  Eyeing his computer and the stack of notes that he'd obviously plowed through already, he managed a tentative grin.

  Man, I must have been really focused not to have noticed how awful this stuff is. Guess Jim's got a right to all that ribbing he gives me about my concentration level. Wonder how he's doing? I'm surprised he didn't call.

  Blair glanced over at the phone and saw the blinking light on the answering machine. He groaned out loud, realizing that he'd missed a call some time during the night.

  Probably Jim. Just my luck. He's probably in "Blessed Protector" overdrive right now.

  He crossed over to the machine and rewound the tape, crossing his arms over his stomach when a sharp pain reminded him to take it slow.

  //"... or you're asleep, which is probably just wishful thinking on my part, since it's not even ten o'clock yet. My guess is that you've got the stereo cranked and you're oblivious to the world. Turn down the jungle music for a minute and answer the phone, Chief."// Despite his discomfort, a smile spread across Blair's face as the Sentinel's voice filled the room. He hit the rewind button again to catch the beginning and played the entire message. The smile changed to a grimace. It was too late to return the call. He'd have to wait until morning. Out of habit, he hit the save button, storing the call automatically, and crossed back to the kitchen.

  "Good thing I didn't go along," he muttered. "The last thing Jim would have needed was me chasing to the bathroom every five minutes. That would have certainly turned the trip into something less than 'simple'."

  He picked up the still steaming mug of tea and studied it warily. He'd bought this particular blend on the recommendation of a student who claimed that it was the herbal answer to practically every ill on the face of the earth. He knew her well enough to respect her judgment, but he was definitely going to deduct points for taste.

  Raising the cup to his lips he took a quick sniff and turned his head away. He thought longingly of the honey-lemon Chamomile blend that was one of his favorites, but he pushed that temptation aside. The cupboards were bare of anything except this. He'd just have to swallow it and try to ignore the taste. If it settled his stomach, and did anything to relieve the burning in his throat, it would be worth it. He made a mental note to never try this particular variety out on his Sentinel and gulped down the contents of the cup.

  Grabbing the pot and a stack of folders, he settled himself on the couch. Wrapping himself in the afghan, he poured himself a second cup, determined to at least organize his notes so that he could begin again fresh in the morning.

  Two hours later another attack of nausea struck from out of nowhere. Curled up in agonizing pain, he rolled off the couch. This time he didn't make it to the bathroom before passing out.

  Denver

  Saturday

  11:00 a.m.

  "Hey, Ellison... you all right?"

  Jim blinked and looked up in surprise to see Brown studying him from across the desk. "What?"

  "I asked if you were all right, Jim," Henri murmured softly. "You've been staring at the same report for the past half-hour."

  The Sentinel shifted in his chair and glanced down at the open file he held in his hands. "Yeah... I'm fine. Just didn't sleep too well last night."

  "Jet lag, huh? Glad that never affects me. I slept like a baby."

  "Thanks a lot, H. Kick a man when he's down. Just for that, I think I'll let you handle the next round of paperwork."

  Brown grinned and rose to his feet. "I'll go down to holding and see if they've got the transfer orders filled out yet. You take it easy. Hair Boy will never forgive me if I don't bring you back in half-way decent shape." He laughed at the scowl that Ellison flashed in his direction and made his way out of the bullpen.

  Jim set the folder down on the desk and rubbed at his eyes. The previous day's headache was still with him, his throat still felt scratchy and now his stomach was acting up.

  Aggravated no doubt by the barely edible hotel food and coffee that could corrode even Simon's intestinal tract, the Sentinel thought sourly. And my elusive partner.

  A fragment of the dream that had plagued him during the early hours of the morning surfaced in his mind. He'd sworn that he'd heard someone knocking on his door. He'd ignored it at first, but the pounding had become insistent. He'd finally crawled out of bed and checked it out. There had been no one there, but for a moment he'd been certain that he'd heard his Guide's heartbeat in the corridor -- so sure that he'd automatically called out the younger man's name before he'd opened the door. The feeling that something was wrong had prodded him to call the desk, checking for messages. All he'd succeeded in doing was annoying the drowsy attendant.

  Blaming his hyperactive senses, he'd dropped back into bed hoping to find sleep once more. His mind had other plans. After an hour of restless turning and tossing he'd succumbed to the nagging need to investigate the disturbance further. He'd pulled on his jeans and a sweatshirt, slid his gun into the waistband of his pants and pocketed the room card before slipping out. After thirty minutes of roaming the empty hotel hallways, he had returned to his room. Disgusted, he'd flopped onto the bed. When sleep had come it was fitful and filled with odd images of Blair and the snarls of his spirit guide.

  The insistent ringing of the phone and a far too cheerful voice delivering his requested wake-up call had woken him -- an hour late -- at 7:00 a.m. He'd managed a quick shower and after tossing on his clothes, he'd tried calling Blair again. The answering machine had picked up after the fourth ring.

  Feeling less than human and distinctly annoyed with his younger partner, he'd hurried downstairs to meet Brown. They'd wolfed down a fast breakfast before heading to the station to begin the paperwork on the extradition. They'd been immersed in the anticipated piles of forms all morning.

  The desire for some fresh air pushed the Sentinel to his feet. He scribbled a quick note for Brown and headed to the elevators. Once outside in the sunshine he began to relax. Denver's air was crisp and with only a faint hint of moisture. A far cry from what was probably a rainy Saturday in Cascade. Jim began to walk, letting his mind wander as well.

  Had he zoned staring at the report? He didn't think he had. He'd been conscious of time passing, of people talking and moving around him in the bullpen. Those weren't the symptoms of a normal zone-out. He did remember feeling the same odd, disconnected sensation that he'd felt the previous night at the hotel, but he'd pulled out of it when Brown's words had reached him.

  If he concentrated, he knew he could find the sensation again. It was waiting, lurking in a corner of his mind. Dangerous. Threatening.

  The Sentinel shook his head in irritation. Divining the messages behind the mystical aspects of his gifts was Sandburg's domain. He'd have to be careful and keep a tight reign on his senses until he could talk to his Guide face to face. From here on out, he'd be just Detective Jim Ellison. After all, he'd assured Blair that this detail wouldn't require his unique talents. Dialing everything back, he retraced his steps to the station.

  Cascade

  Saturday

  4:00 p.m.

  Cold water spilled into his face, reviving Blair enough to fumble for the knob and stop the flow. Shivering, he leaned against the tile wall, trying to figure out what had happened. He didn't have any clue as to how he'd ended up in the shower, fully clothed, but the spottiness of his memory was the least of his immediate worries.

  His entire body pulsed like one exposed, tortured nerve ending. His skin felt as though the entire epidermal layer had been removed with a blow torch. His eyes, nose and throat burned every time he blinked or drew a breath. The pains in his stomach had diminished to a throbbing ache, but he remembered vividly how much agony he had been in only a short while ago -- how the pain had driven him off the couch and onto the floor where he'd lost consciousness.

  At least he thought he had only been out for a few hour
s this time. He'd dreamed again, he knew that. Several times, or maybe it had been one continuous nightmare. About that damn hallway. Searching his sketchy memory, he remembered that something had been different. Each time he'd found himself in the weird corridor, there had been fewer voices and sounds. And fewer doors.

  He trembled as the screams from the nightmare echoed in his mind . They'd led him to the same door, the voice calling his name. He'd tried to force his way inside only to fall into the abyss once more.

  Cold.

  A small voice deep inside his head nagged that he had to get out of the shower and into dry clothes. Somehow he managed it, moving slowly through air that felt as coarse as sandpaper. Peeling off his wet shirt and jeans was like removing another layer of skin. He stared down at his bare torso, expecting to see blood and was relieved when he saw only an angry red rash and bruises.

  Pain flared from his stomach, doubling him over. Clutching fingers closed on something soft and he pulled the fabric closer. The pile beneath his wrinkled fingers felt like velvet and he wrapped it around his body, snuggling into the warmth and comfort of Jim's robe.

  His outer needs met, he staggered out of the bathroom and collapsed on the couch. His hand knocked against something cool and hard. With trembling fingers he unearthed the mug he'd been using earlier from among the pillows. He fumbled with the lid of the teapot and sloshed the remaining liquid into the cup. With one long gulp he swallowed the tepid tea, grimacing at the effort that it took. It helped, but it wasn't hot enough to do the trick.

  The thought of something warm soothing his throat became obsessive and he pushed himself off of the sofa. Papers and books scattered in all directions. The phone was another casualty, dropping unnoticed to the floor as he lurched toward the kitchen. His hands seemed to move of their own volition and he felt like he'd stepped outside of his body as he watched himself go through the necessary preparations.

  When the water had reached a boil he grabbed a handful of the teabags and dropped them into the kettle. He watched the contents darken to a dull brown and scooped up a mugful. He drank quickly, the searing heat of the liquid burning with a matching vengeance to the fire that already ravaged his throat.

  A roll of thunder pulled his gaze to the balcony. Wind and rain beat against the glass doors, sending sheets of water coursing down the panes. The dark clouds boiled and thunder rumbled ominously. Mother Nature released the full fury of her power with a sonic boom of thunder and jagged streaks of lightning that lit the sky to diamond-white brilliance. The force of the assault rattled the glass doors and sent an answering tremble vibrating through his aching muscles.

  Another volley of violent thunder and an ear-piercing strike of lightning nearly rocked him off his feet. The power went out and the loft joined the rest of the universe in an instantaneous plunge into darkness. Blinded by the afterimage of the flash that danced madly across his retinas, Blair stared out into unending night, swamped by an overwhelming wave of terror.

  Alone.

  His vision returned at the same time the lights and the CD player came back on. Blurred, the world shifted into a foggy version of the real one. He stared at his ghostly reflection in the glass doors, too dazed to question how or when he had moved from the kitchen. The rivulets of water cascading down the panes mirrored the tears that streaked down his cheeks.

  Lightning flashed again and the thunder rolled in a counter point beat to the drums in the music. His focus shifted outward, following the swirling masses of clouds. Pain flared behind his eyes and the sensation of being physically removed from his body grew stronger. Suddenly he was in the dream again. The hallway still stretched before him, doorless this time except for two green rectangles at the far end.

  He knew he needed to reach them. Something was terribly wrong, his mind screamed. He needed help. He moved forward, but the corridor began to fill with mist. Drifting tendrils clung to his legs, changing into heavy ropes that wrapped around his aching torso. Holding him back...

  "No... I have to reach them... him... I need..."

  Lightning flashed at the same time the pain exploded in his stomach. The screams in his dream echoed those ripped from his own throat.

  Denver

  Saturday

  7:00 p.m.

  Pulling the last of the forms from the printer with an irritated tug, Jim stalked back to the desk he'd claimed earlier and dropped the papers on top of the rest of the completed pages. He pounded on the keyboard, closing down the files and hit the escape key with a viscious stab.

  "Now I know why Simon's so keen on Hair Boy doing your paperwork, Jim," Henri laughed. "You're too hard on the office equipment."

  Ellison turned a baleful stare on his substitute partner. Brown flinched at the animosity that was directed toward him.

  "Take it easy, Ellison," he said quietly. "I was just joking. Didn't mean to bring up a sore subject."

  Jim straightened, abruptly aware of the rigid set of his jaw. Forcing himself to relax, he managed a weak smile.

  "Sorry, H. Guess its just been a long day."

  "Yeah, it has. I don't enjoy this red-tape any more than you do. I'm glad we're done. You want to hang around and check out some of the sights at the department's expense or head back tomorrow?"

  I'd like to head back right now, Jim thought grimly. I'd like to get my hands on that stubborn partner of mine. Why the hell hasn't he picked up the phone all day?

  "Jim?"

  "I'd rather fly home tomorrow, if you don't mind, H," the Sentinel answered slowly.

  "No problem. I know you're worried about Sandburg."

  Jim glanced up in surprise, one eyebrow raising quizzically.

  Brown shrugged. "You've tried to reach him a half-dozen times since lunch. What's up? I thought he was camped out at the loft working on some paper?"

  "He's supposed to be," Jim answered, his tone tinged with annoyance.

  "Maybe he decided to work in his office instead," Brown offered.

  "It's possible..." Jim acknowledged. "It's also possible that he's sulking. He wasn't too pleased when I left."

  "Thought you needed minding, and didn't trust me to do it, huh?" Henri grinned at the startled look on the Sentinel's face. "Don't worry. I'm not offended. I've never met a cop who was satisfied with someone else watching his partner's back."

  "He's not..."

  "He's your PARTNER, Ellison. Cop or not, he's got all the right instincts when it comes to the important stuff."

  Jim grinned at the accuracy of Brown's statement.

  "You don't know the half of it, H."

  "So, give him another try. If he answers, make nice," Henri ordered with a mock growl.

  "Yes, Dad," Jim answered sarcastically. "I'll call and leave a message for Simon. Let him know that we're heading back early. You want to check on the flight schedule for tomorrow?"

  "Yeah, the earlier the better, I suppose?"

  Jim nodded and almost laughed at the expression of distaste on the other man's face when he turned away. Brown didn't like early mornings any better than Sandburg did.

  Jim reached for the phone and punched in the number for the loft. The annoying tones of a busy signal pulsed through the ear piece.

  Damn it, Sandburg. First you're not there or not answering, now you're either tying up the lines with your computer or you've taken the phone off the hook.

  The Sentinel pushed the cancel button with more force than necessary. He took a deep breath to get his anger in check before dialing the captain's direct line. He was surprised when he got Simon instead of his voice-mail.

  //"Banks."//

  Jim winced at the familiar growl. Simon was NOT happy. Good thing they HADN'T decided to take advantage of the department's travel budget.

  "Simon, it's Jim. Just wanted to let you know that we managed to wrap things up faster than we thought. We'll be headed back in the morning." //"I could use the two of you right now,"// the captain grumbled.

  The Sentinel tensed as the hair on the ba
ck of his neck prickled in warning. Instinctively, he dialed up his hearing. He could hear the sounds of a storm raging in the background. His premonition of danger grew even stronger.

  "What is it, sir?" he asked tersely.

  //"We're sitting in the middle of a major storm front. Half the city's dark. The emergency crews are swamped with reports of downed power and phone lines..."//

  Maybe that's why Sandburg's not answering, the Sentinel mused. "Sounds like a mess," he responded, his jaw clenching in frustration. His city was in trouble and he wasn't there.

  //"It is. I've got every available man out just trying to keep a lid on things."//

  "Brown's checking on flights right now. You want us to try to come in yet tonight?"

  //"Better stay with tomorrow. The airport's been threatening to close if the storm gets any worse. They've been rerouting most of the flights to Seattle as it is."//

  Jim heard the low roll of thunder in the background, sounding far too much like the unhappy rumble of his spirit guide. He heard the crash of a lightning strike and the blurred image of his Guide's face appeared in his mind. He blinked and the vision was gone, but the feeling of undefined danger remained.

  "Understood. Look, Simon, I know things are pretty chaotic there, but..."

  //"That's an understatement, Ellison,"// Simon growled. //"Hold on a minute..."//

  The solid thunk of plastic hitting wood carried through the ear piece. The Sentinel gritted his teeth in frustration, waiting for Simon to pick up the phone again. The police captain sounded even more harried when he finally returned to the line.

  //"Jim? I've got to go. There's a huge accident on the bridge."//

  "But, Simon..."

  //"Call me when you have the flight schedule. I'll have some uniforms meet you at the airport if I can."//

  "Simon, wait!"

  The dial tone was the only reply he got to his outcry. Shaking his head, Jim set down the phone. He scrubbed at his face. Damn. He'd hoped to convince Simon to send someone by the loft to check on Blair. He didn't know how or why, but all his instincts were telling him that something was wrong. His Guide was in danger. Not an unusual occurance considering the younger man's ability to attract trouble, but this time the Sentinel wasn't there to protect him.