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Bait           
by Kikkimax

"Agent Reaves, I didn't say I didn't want to help you. I said I couldn't spare a lot of manpower for this thing. Can't the FBI help us out on this?" Simon asked, not really believing he actually said it. In his experience with the feds, his people usually did all the work, while they took all the credit.

"They sent me. I'm all the help you need. I've profiled Curtis Wright, and I feel that with your help I can get him. We need each other on this one," Agent Lorena Reaves stated. She crossed one long leg over the other and smiled what she hoped was an engaging smile at the police captain. Although quite attractive, she lacked the true charm to manipulate. Her style was a more no-nonsense, take no prisoners approach. In general, she bullied people into doing what she wanted. She tucked a short blonde strand of hair behind her ear while her captive audience made up his mind.

Simon groaned. "I suppose you have a game plan?"

"Yes I do. It will require some undercover work, though. Wright is well known for his bar hopping antics. It's one of the few constants with him. He just returned from Europe with a new face. Our source says he's here. Although we don't know what he looks like now, we think we know what name he's using. We need to dangle some bait, make a positive ID and then we just pick him up."

"How are you planning to ID him?"

"Finger prints."

"You say he changed his face. He could have just as easily changed his finger prints," Simon pointed out.

"True, but he had no reason to. He doesn't know we have a positive set of prints from him. We pulled it off a body last year. It was an unlikely source."

"How do you know he'll go for the bait we dangle?"

"I know this man. I know what he likes. What do you say?"

"I guess we're going to catch us a killer," Simon said.

"Did you see the FBI agent Simon was talking to this morning?" Detective Brown asked Ellison when he walked into the bull pen after lunch.

"Who could miss that. I'm just glad Sandburg wasn't here to see her. The poor kid would have blown a fuse," Jim laughed. "I understand she's the agency's new golden girl. And a real ice princess."

"That's a darn shame," Brown sighed. "I wonder what she wanted with Simon."

"I don't know, but I think we're going to find out." Jim nodded his head toward his approaching captain and said ice queen.

"Brown, where's your partner?" Banks asked.

"Uh, he had a lunch date. He'll be back any minute," Brown said.

Simon grunted. "He'd better be, or I'm sending you out to find him. You and Ellison, in my office." He guided the pretty woman into his office and stood at the door until the two detectives joined them. "This is Special Agent Lorena Reaves. Detectives Brown and Ellison." Simon closed the door and nodded in turn to each man as he introduced them. Everyone settled into a chair except the FBI agent who paced by the windows.

"Did you not hear anything I said at lunch?" the woman complained. "Neither of these men will do."

"Calm down, Reaves," Simon said with irritation palpable in his voice. "Both of these men's partners are on the list I made for you. You are going to need some logistical support for your little operation, you know. And keep in mind, this is strictly voluntary. Ellison's partner isn't even a cop."

Ellison frowned at the mention of his partner. Brown met his gaze with a similar expression. "What's going on?" Jim asked.

"Do you know who Curtis Wright is?" the agent asked.

"Yeah, I've heard of him," Jim answered. Brown nodded as well.

"We think he's in Cascade, but he has had facial reconstruction after an accident last year. A reliable source has tentatively identified him, but we need solid proof. If we can get a positive ID on him we can nail him on enough outstanding warrants to put him away for good. Including a cop killing a few years back."

"Why don't you just arrest him?" Brown asked.

"Because we only think it's him based on a profile of past and current activity. We need something solid to get a warrant on the guy," Simon explained.

"If it's him, we can catch him easy enough. He gets around. Can't seem to control his impulses," Reaves added.

"Sounds like Hairboy," Brown laughed. Jim shot him a wounded look, followed by a grin that he just couldn't suppress.

"Anyway, all we need is the right kind of bait. We get a fingerprint and we can close him down."

"And you must be our bait," Jim surmised.

"Nah, he likes brunettes. True, I could wear a wig, but I'd still not be his type," Reaves provided smugly.

"Simon, can I see that list?" Jim asked with a scowl, leaning forward to take the paper from his Captain's hand.

Jim studied the list briefly before handing it to Brown. The first name was Rafe, followed by Harris from Vice, Johanson from Homicide, and a couple of uniforms Jim recognized as well. The last name on the list was Sandburg. The people on the list were all young, dark headed, and most notably, good-looking men.

"We'll use two decoys. Ideally, I'd like to keep this detail within Major Crime," Banks said. "However, Agent Reaves wants to pick out the officers herself. Here comes our first contestant now."

Rafe knocked on the door as he pushed it open. "Rhonda said you wanted to see me, sir?" He inquired as he stepped into the room. Reaves advanced on him immediately.

"He's not bad. A little tall, maybe. I guess he'll do," Reaves said as she looked Detective Rafe up and down.

Rafe stared back with an apprehensive expression, turning as the agent walked around him to get the posterior view. "Do for what?" he asked.

"A little undercover job," Reaves said.

Simon chuckled lightly and eyed his nervous detective. "You have the opportunity to volunteer, Rafe. I'm not going to make you do anything," he said.

The meeting was long over when Blair bounced into the bull pen. "Hey, Jim, you're never gonna believe what just happened," he said.

"Coming from you? Probably not," Jim teased as his partner removed his jacket and stored his ever-present backpack under the desk.

"I saw Simon across the lobby with this gorgeous, long legged blonde. She followed me with her eyes, I swear she did. Her mouth even fell open. Then when I got into the elevator she came running over to me as the door was shutting. She was pounding on the door, man," Blair gushed, gesturing with both hands.

"Yeah, she's with the Bureau," Jim supplied. "Her and Simon went to check out some people for an undercover assignment. They are looking for a certain type I guess. You were on the list."

"Me? I'll do it," Blair exclaimed excitedly.

"You don't even know what it is yet," Jim pointed out. "Besides, I don't know if I want you involved. It could be dangerous."

"Aw, Jim. Did you see her legs?" Blair whined as he held his hand up to his neck and pleaded with his eyes.

"Chief, she's not going to give you the time of day, except to push you around."

"That's a bad thing?"

"You haven't met her yet."

"All I need is a little time to work that Sandburg magic," Blair said with a wink and a nod.

"Well tune up your magic wand, Houdini. It sounds like you're our man." Jim picked up the verbal assault on Banks before the elevator reached the floor. 

"He's perfect. He needs a little work, but he's definitely the one."

The woman rushed out of the elevator as soon as the doors began to open, Captain Banks in tow. "There you are!" she shouted, causing Blair to jump, along with most of the other occupants of the surrounding area.

"Quaint little thing, isn't she?" Jim asked his still startled partner.

"This is the one, Banks," Reaves blurted out, bounding over to her prize. "Not a cop?" she asked Jim, who shook his head and mouthed 'no'. "Not a problem. Sandburg, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi. Call me Blair."

"Whatever. Will you do it?" she asked as she ran her fingers through his hair then roughly turned him around and then back to examine the goods. She gripped him by the small cleft in his chin forcing his mouth open to get a look at his teeth.

"He's not a horse, Reaves," Jim said testily and moved around the desk to rescue his partner.

"Sandburg, let's go into my office and discuss this before you make any plans," Simon said.

"I'll do it," Blair offered. "It's undercover, right? What do I have to do?"

"You ever hang out in bars?" Reaves asked.

"Sometimes. Not as much as I used to," Blair said.

"All you have to do is sit in a bar and wait to be approached by our suspect."

"I can do that," Blair agreed, "Right, Jim?"

Blair paced nervously in Bank's office, while Jim sat brooding at the table drinking coffee. Reaves had sent Sandburg home earlier to rest for a few hours and change clothes. It was going to be a long night. Maybe a long string of nights. There was no guarantee that Wright would even show up.

"Where are we going tonight? 'Charlie's' really rocks on Friday night. That would be a good place to start," Blair said with barely contained fervor.

"Reaves has tracked the guy for a couple of weeks. She says he goes to the same place every Friday and Saturday night. It's called The Paradox," Jim offered waiting for his Guide's predicted response.

"The Paradox?" Blair echoed. "Jim, isn't that a gay bar?"

"Bingo."

Realization dawned on the usually perceptive observer. "Oh. That sort of explains things," he said as he sat down at the table with a stunned look on his face.

"You don't have to do this, Chief," Jim said earnestly.

"I can't back out now. Simon would kill me. Besides Lorena's scary. She would hurt me for sure." Blair shuddered at the thought of the demanding agent. He had changed his mind about her in the first ten minutes after he met her. She was easy on the eyes, but hard on the ear drums. Blair never thought he'd meet a woman who could turn him off just by talking.

"Next time you volunteer for anything get the facts first," Jim admonished gently. "Stop thinking with your..."

"Yeah, I get it Jim. Save the lecture. It's still for a good cause, right? This guy killed a cop, and a lot of other people, too. I really do want to help. I just hope I don't run into anybody I know there."

"Who would you know there?" Jim asked.

"I don't know. Could be anybody. It wouldn't look too good if it got back to the Dean, you know. They live in the archaic little world of academia."

"Don't ask, don't tell?" Jim ventured.

"No. Just don't," Blair replied.

Jim changed the subject before Blair could get too worked up. "Just remember our code words. If you need help I want to know it. I'll be right outside in the surveillance van. If you even suspect trouble you pull out. Got me?"

"You know it, big guy," Blair agreed.

Brown entered the office and patted Sandburg on the head. "I don't know who's prettier, you or my own sweet partner."

Rafe followed, dressed for a night on the town, looking GQ and rich. "He cleans up pretty good, I guess," Rafe agreed good naturedly taking the ribbing from Henri.

Reaves breezed in. "Time to go boys. It's getting late. I want you in position before Wright shows up." She glanced at Rafe briefly then turned to stare at Sandburg. "Okay, Ellison, you and Brown get the van in place and I'll take Precious home and get him ready," Reaves sighed, pulling at Blair's arm, leaving little doubt as to who Precious was. "I should have known better than to expect you to do it yourself."

"Wait a minute, what about Rafe?" Blair asked.

"He's fine. I told you to dress like you were going to a club."

"This is how I dress when I go clubbing," Blair stated firmly, pulling away from the woman's grasp.

Reaves took in the dress pants, button down shirt, and hair neatly pulled back into a pony tail. She shook her head. "Not this time. Tonight you're gonna take a walk on the wild side. The only things you got right are the earrings. Now move it."

Blair shot a glance at his partner who only shrugged sympathetically. "I'm going to regret this, I just know it," Blair said through his teeth as he followed the impatient FBI agent to the door.

"That'll teach him not to volunteer," Brown said with a grin.

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," Jim agreed.

Blair unlocked the loft door and was summarily pushed through it from behind. Reaves started issuing orders before the door was fully shut. "I want you to shower and shave. Oh, and wash your hair."

"You're kidding, right. I washed my hair this morning," Blair protested.

"Just do it. Where's your closet?" Reaves asked as she moved through the loft, taking in everything with a trained eye.

Blair pointed to his room reluctantly. He didn't really want the pushy broad going through his things. Mentally he tried to think if he had anything in there that she shouldn't see. Of course, living with Jim would preempt anything remotely illegal. Embarrassing would be more like it. There had been a bra left in the dryer down stairs that somehow ended up in Jim's laundry last week. They had been dumping it in each other's rooms for days now, sort of a running gag. Blair hoped it was still hanging over the rail upstairs where he had left it this morning. He could hear the woman trashing his closet as he shut the bathroom door.

He shaved first, then jumped into the shower to expeditiously wash his hair. Again. Grabbing Jim's robe off the back of the bathroom door, he slipped his boxers back on and joined Reaves in his room, wincing as he noted the C cup flag flying out the window.

"Towel off your hair, then put those on," she instructed without looking up from scavenging in her large handbag. She gestured with her chin at the clothes that she had placed on the bed.

"Yes ma'am," Blair mocked dryly as he complied with her first command, squeezing his hair gently with a towel.

"Today, Sandburg. They're waiting on us. I told them to go ahead and insert Rafe while you were lolly-gagging in the shower."

"Whoa! I can't wear these," Blair exclaimed as he held up the worn jeans Reaves had lain out for him. Both knees were out and the seat was thread bare. There were several more holes, the most notable of which was about four inches long running crosswise on the top of the left thigh, close to the inside of the leg. Blair remembered when he tore the jeans, sliding face first down a steep embankment in Mexico and catching his leg on a thorn as he fell. He assumed there was still a small scar on his leg, corresponding to the location of the tear on the pants. Mostly he remembered the tender love and care Rita Robins had dispensed on him and his thigh during his convalescence. "These are practically indecent. I haven't worn these since I was eighteen," he added.

"Why did you keep them if you can't wear them," quizzed the agent with barely disguised disgust.

"They've got sentimental value," Blair said defensively, his cheeks coloring at the memory of the bandage changes.

"Whatever. Put them on," Reaves insisted and turned her back, obviously not leaving so that Blair could dress. "And lose the boxers."

"What?"

"Wright will notice if your wearing them. Especially with all those holes. Look, if he thinks your some cherry little virgin he won't give you a second look."

"And that's bad?" Blair asked. "How do you know?" he added for good measure.

"I know Curtis Wright. I've been profiling him for close to three years. I know him better than I know my own brother. I know what he likes, and I'm going to make sure that he likes you."

"Yeah, right. You know everything about this guy except what he looks like," Blair scoffed. He started to slip the jeans on.

"I'm going to check you for underwear," Reaves warned.

Blair scowled and turned his back to the woman. He was really starting to dislike her. He stepped out of the boxers and into the jeans. With a great deal of finesse he finally managed to zip up. Sliding out of the robe he picked up the cobalt blue sweater on the bed. "Hey, where did you get this? It isn't mine," Blair said holding up the soft pullover.

"Upstairs."

"You went through Jim's closet?" Blair asked, appalled at the woman.

"Jim? As in Detective Ellison, Jim?"

"Yeah, he's my roommate. He's gonna be pissed when he finds out you were in his room."

"Hmm," Reaves muttered as she pushed Blair backwards with her hand on his chest, effectively seating him on the edge of the bed. She snatched the sweater from his hands and slipped the V neck over his head like he was a child. Blair easily poked an appendage into each armhole, as it was a couple of sizes too large. Yep, it was Jim's all right, although Blair had never seen him wear it.

"Perfect," she purred.

"It's too big," Blair pointed out.

"Yeah, see the way it hangs a little off one shoulder. He'll love that. Trust me. The color really brings out your eyes, too."

"Swell."

Reaves picked up a canister she had taken from her bag and squeezed a dab into her hand.

"Mousse?" Blair asked. "No way." He started to move, but she nailed him with a glare. She distributed the substance evenly and began to scrunch it through his hair with her fingers. After another dab, and then another, she was satisfied. The hair was still baby soft, but kept a 'wet' look with the curls slightly tighter.

She took out a spray bottle of cologne and spritzed his hair and then his neck. As an after thought she pulled out his sweater and squirted his chest.

"Stop! You're killing me," Blair ranted with a grimace.

"It's French and it's expensive. He wears it himself. And you smell great. It goes really well with your shampoo."

"Why are you trying to butter me up? You don't have to worry. I'm not going to back out now. Even though you are acting like a witch." He bent down and put on socks and then the hiking boots Reaves had picked out for him. She bent as well and tied one of the laces for him, giving Blair an accidental bird's eye view of her cleavage. He didn't fight the urge to look.

"I don't have to butter you up. I picked you because you are perfect for this," she said as she straightened up. "Now, one more thing. Close your eyes lightly. Don't blink."

Blair closed his eyes but jerked them open again when he felt the pressure against his eyelid. "Makeup! Forget it. I draw the line at makeup." This time Blair made it to his feet and pushed her hands away from his face.

"Blair," Reaves said irritably, "Please sit on the bed. You're making this too difficult. I could've put your eye out."

"I'm not wearing makeup."

"It's just a little eyeliner. You won't even be able to see it, especially not in a dark club. I won't use much and I'm going to smudge the line. No one will know, it just enhances a little." Reaves caught him by the arm and eased him back to the bed.

"If I don't like it, I'm going to wash it off," Blair informed her dourly.

"Deal. Just close your eyes." She touched his eyelids feather soft with the pencil first along the top, then along the bottom lashes. Then she leaned in close and rubbed with her finger tip. "It's not fair that a man should have such long eyelashes. I hate you."

"Mmm. I hate you, too," Blair sighed. He knew he was a sucker. He also knew that he would do whatever this crazy, but hot, FBI agent asked him to do. Even wear makeup. But the touch was worth it, and he could feel her warm breath against his face. He tried to smell her as she leaned close, but all he smelled was the expensive cologne. At least he didn't cough. Jim would have sneezed his head off, Blair thought with an inward laugh.

"Open," she commanded with a softer tone of voice. "My God," she exclaimed. "You're beautiful."

Blair moved to the small mirror on his dresser, but couldn't get the whole picture, so he went into the bathroom. He gasped. He really was beautiful. Shit.

They were parked in an empty lot next to an abandoned gas station half a block from the club and around one corner. Rafe had been in the club for almost an hour and still no sign of Sandburg and Reaves. Jim tried not to worry. He was sure there was a logical reason the two were so late. He had to wait on Sandburg most of the time, too, but how long did it take to change clothes? 

Blair was smooth, but would he have been able to derail the hell bent agent for a little slap and tickle? No, they hadn't gotten along at all. They reminded Jim of himself and Megan on a really bad day. Maybe they killed each other. Much more likely scenario. Just as his imagination kicked into high gear, he heard a car pull up and caught the tell tale heartbeat of his partner. Suddenly he sneezed. Somebody was wearing a lot of aftershave. Ellison opened the back door and stepped out of the van. Blair was already leaning against the car talking to Reaves.

Although tight, and they were tight, Blair's favorite old jeans remembered every curve of his body. They were comfortable in a well worn sort of way. The sleeves of the sweater covered the backs of his hands, giving him a little boy quality, and the neck exposed one shoulder ever so slightly. His hair danced around his face with the faint breeze, but his eyes... They were bluer than Jim had ever seen them, and they had a strange, wild quality to them. When he saw Jim come out of the van Blair stopped talking and fixed his gaze on his partner.

Jim did a double take. "Brown, come here a minute," he called back to the van.

Brown poked his head out. He gaped at the sight of the observer. "What?" he asked Ellison, not taking his eyes off of Sandburg.

"I just wanted to get your reaction," Jim chuckled, nodding at Reaves' living dress up doll.

"I'd do him," Brown teased, before ducking back into the van.

Jim vaguely recognized the sweater his Guide wore. Caroline had given it to him their last Christmas together. They had separated shortly after and Jim hadn't ever worn it because it reminded him of her. The color really looked good on Blair though. He focused in on the eyes, then broke into a grin and trotted the several feet across the lot to where Blair stood.

"Are you wearing eye makeup, Sandburg?" he blurted out ducking his head to get a better look.

Blair shot a deadly look at Reaves, who stood open mouthed in surprise. "No way did he see that across a dark parking lot," she declared.

"You don't know my partner," Blair grimaced. "Drop it, Jim," he warned quietly.

"That's my sweater," Jim said.

"Yeah, sorry." Blair indicated it was all Reaves' fault with his eyes.

"It's okay, it looks better on you anyway. I'm going to walk a perimeter, I'll be right back. Your toys are in the van, Reaves," Jim said. He sneezed as he passed a still bristling anthropologist. "Damn, Chief, did you bath in that stuff?"

"All you have to do is get a fingerprint," Reaves instructed.

"Yeah, you already said that. Several times. How do I do it?"

"Where's your jacket? Oh, here it is. I'm going to shake some of this powder into your pocket here. I'd put it in your pants pocket, but there's not enough room for you to get your hand in there," Reaves said as she popped the top off of a bottle and sprinkled a generous amount into the right hand pocket of the jacket.

"There's not enough room for what he's already got in there either," Brown snickered as he glanced over his shoulder for a second before turning back to monitoring his own partner in the bar.

"Bite me, H," Blair sneered.

Reaves ignored the interruption and kept talking. "When he approaches you, slip your hand in the pocket and coat it with the resin. It's invisible until we activate it later with a spray. All you have to do is shake his hand. Everything he touches for the next four or five minutes will be covered with it. It will lock the fingerprint onto whatever he touches. It can be anything. A napkin, a glass. We can lift it off the table after closing if we have to."

"Ok, sounds easy enough," Blair nodded.

"Now, open your pants. I need to put on your wire."

"Why can't we put it on my chest?"

"Because I can see all the way to your naval in that sweater and the wire will show."

"You picked out the sweater," Blair pointed out. "I'll just leave my jacket on."

"No, you won't. You'll put the jacket on the back of the chair so that you can easily reach it. The sweater needs to show. I picked it for a reason," Reaves countered. "Unbutton your pants right now, or I'll do it for you."

Ellison entered the van and flashed a grin at his aggrieved roommate that let Blair know he had been following the conversation. "Should I come back later?" he asked as Blair began to unbutton his jeans. Blair rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You're hairy," Agent Reaves commented as she examined Blair's exposed belly.

"I suppose Wright doesn't like body hair and you want me to do an all over shave," Blair huffed.

"Don't push me, pretty boy," Reaves threatened as she laid out her listening device, not sparing a glance at the petulant volunteer.

"Hitler," Blair muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Reaves looked up with a raised eyebrow.

"I said, have at it," Blair smiled sweetly and unzipped his pants marginally.

Jim sneezed. "Uh, Chief? It's easier to wear a wire if you're wearing underwear."

"Tell that to Attila the Hag," Blair said Sentinel soft.

"We'll just tape it in place," Reaves said matter-of-factly. She pulled out a roll of surgical tape and proceeded to stick the wire in place with long pieces of it. Blair stared at Jim forlornly. It was gonna hurt coming off. Jim returned the look with heart felt sympathy and sneezed again.

"Testing. Testing. One, two, three..." Reaves spoke into Blair's microphone.

"While you're down there..." Blair whispered quietly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Jim barely suppressed his laughter and had to excuse himself from the van under the guise of another sneezing fit. When Reaves looked up into Blair's face, it showed not a trace of mischief.

She turned to Brown who gave her the thumbs up for the sound check. "All done," she said and started to button the pants.

"I can handle it from here," Blair informed her and made minute adjustments before sucking in his breath and fastening his pants. He slipped his jacket on and Reaves sprayed him once more with cologne. She pulled his hair out from under his collar and fluffed it with her fingers.

Brown watched the scene with a grin, holding one set of earphones to his ear and switching Blair's wire to the speaker.

"I feel like a show dog," Blair complained.

"You look like a show dog," Brown agreed.

Jim opened the door and sneezed. "You smell like a French whore. Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

"How come Rafe didn't have to go through all this?" Blair asked as he stepped down out of the van.

"Because he's not primary, you are. He's more or less a safety net," Reaves explained, not taking the hand Jim offered to help her out of the van. "Besides, he's not as mouthy as you are," she added. She pulled out a tube of lipstick and Blair flinched. She shot him a dirty look and expertly applied it to her own lips without a mirror.

"Next time I get to be the safety net," Blair declared. Reaves kissed him ever so lightly on the lips. The shocked observer accepted the keys from Reaves and slid behind the wheel of her rental.

"Watch your backside," Jim said with an evil grin as the car started.

Blair grimaced. "Nice image, buddy. Real nice."

"Roll up your window!" Reaves shouted as he drove away. "I don't want you to mess up your hair!"

"That was a good move," Jim said to the gloating agent. "He never would have agreed to wear the lipstick."

Blair scrubbed at his lips with a napkin he found in the car. He examined them in the rearview mirror. "Damn it," he said. "Don't think I don't know what you were up to, Reaves." Now his lips were slightly swollen as well as slightly red. It was a sensual look. Reaves would have been very happy if she could see it. He stepped out of the car, slamming the door harder than necessary, and walked toward the club. Several men stood around out front. Some of them cast an appreciative glance his way as he passed. "I feel like a sacrificial lamb here," he muttered.

There was an immense bouncer at the door who checked his ID and took his money. He didn't give Blair a second look, much to the smaller man's relief. The music hit him full in the face as soon as he opened the door. "Man, I hope you can hear me in here," he said.

The club was crowded and it was just after eleven o'clock. The dance floor was full and Blair found himself bouncing a little in time to the music. Anywhere else he would be searching for a dance partner already. Most of the patrons were men, but there were a few women as well. Couples held hands and danced, but most people stood in groups around the dance floor. Sandburg made a slow circuit of the room to make sure that everyone saw him, just as Reaves had harped on him to do all the way from the loft.

Rafe sat at the bar talking to the bartender. If he was nervous about his surroundings it didn't show. He glanced up and caught Blair's eye. He mouthed 'Wow' and Blair flashed him a shy grin. Anyone who caught the exchange would have assumed it was flirting, given the setting. They could cover more territory if they were separate so Blair headed off in the opposite direction. He spotted an empty table on the outer rim of the club, up a level and away from the dance floor. Stopping at the bar for a beer, he made his way to the dark corner to wait. Reaves wouldn't like the location. She would much rather him stand naked on a table in the middle of the room. She doesn't know everything, Blair mused. He decided to play hard to get. If Wright wanted him, he would have to come looking for him.

"What is he doing?" Reaves complained. "We haven't heard a peep out of him in ten minutes."

"You don't wait well, do you Reaves?" Ellison asked patiently. He had spent the last half hour airing out the van so he could breath.

"Can you say Attention Deficit Disorder?" Brown chimed in.

"He's hiding in the corner somewhere. Listen to the music. He's further away from the action than Rafe. Damn it. Ellison, go in and put him somewhere where he can be seen."

"Hold on a minute. The men that Wright picks up aren't necessarily the life of the party. He may prefer the wallflower type. Blair knows what he's doing. Leave him alone for a while."

"If he blows this operation, I'll kill him."

"He's not going to do anything to blow this," Jim argued. "If Wright doesn't hit on him it's not his fault."

"He'll hit on him. All he has to do is see him. Did you see him? He looks great."

"So you're telling me that your type is the same as Wright's?" Jim teased.

"Could be," Reaves said reluctantly and pulled the headphones over her ears to tune out the cat calls and whistles from the other two occupants of the van.

"Mr. Sandburg, I didn't know." The tall redhead approached the table hesitantly. "Don't worry I won't say anything. I know it could effect your standing at the University. We have to stick together on these things."

"Have a seat, Kenny." Blair pushed out the chair next to him with his foot. He hadn't even tried to hide when he saw his student coming over. That would have only made things look worse. When the young man took the offered seat Blair leaned in close to speak to him. "I need you to not tell anyone here that you know me," he said.

"Oh. I get it. It's a police thing," Kenny grinned. "I knew it was too good to be true," he added wistfully.

"Don't say anything, okay?"

"Hey, I won't blow your cover. Your tall, good-looking partner's not around anywhere is he?" Kenny asked with a gleam in his eye as he searched the room for Ellison.

"He's close by," Blair confirmed with a smile, knowing that Jim was listening. The thought of Jim squirming in the surveillance van was somehow comforting. The fact that Brown was listening as well was priceless. "Listen, there's a guy who comes in here a lot. He's around thirty five. Maybe six foot, muscular. Black hair, brown eyes. He may be using the name Eric. Sound familiar?"

"Yeah, he's here now."

"Where?"

"Near the pay phone, I saw him a while ago. He might still be there. He likes to watch the door and the restrooms. You know, see who comes and goes."

"Do me a favor. Keep my table while I go to the bathroom."

"Mr. Sandburg, be careful. Rumor has it that this guy is bad news."

"Don't worry, Kenny. I've got lots of backup. I'll be back in a minute."

Blair excused himself and threaded his way to the men's room. As he passed the pay phone he was 'accidentally' bumped by a man who fit the general description of his target for the evening. 

"Sorry," Blair said and continued on his way. Unfortunately, he had left his jacket at the table with Kenny. He ducked into the restroom and after checking for other occupants, he peed, careful to keep the hem of the sweater over the wire. No need to waste a trip. As he moved to the sink to wash his hands the door opened and Blair glanced up apprehensively. To his relief, Rafe stepped through it.

"We're alone," Sandburg said when the detective started to check the room.

"You okay?" Rafe asked.

"Yeah, I think I spotted our man. He's right outside."

"What are you going to do?"

Blair wiped his hands dry and threw away the paper towel. "I guess I'll go back to my table and see if he follows me."

"I've got your back, Sandburg," Rafe assured with a nod.

"Thanks, man. Here we go."

Jim tensed a little. Not only had Sandburg run into somebody he knew, and apparently knew Jim too, he had spotted the perp. "Show time," he said, wishing that he was inside with his partner, thankful that Rafe was.

"Come on, kid. I'm counting on you." Reaves crossed her fingers. "Make me proud."

When he came out of the men's room, Blair didn't see the man who had brushed up against him. He headed straight back to his table and was almost to the stairs before he saw the man coming in his direction from the bar. As he reached his table and turned to sit he realized he had been followed as far as the steps. Patting Kenny on the knee he smiled and said "Thanks a lot, Kenny. Now make yourself scarce."

"Right. See you Monday, Mr. Sandburg. Be careful."

Kenny passed the dark haired man on the steps and gave him the once over. The handsome man didn't even acknowledge him. Instead he stared intently at Blair, who returned his gaze evenly. Although Blair's heart rate had risen considerably, he maintained an outward appearance of calm. This was it. Blair slipped his hand behind him into the pocket of his jacket. The powder felt cool on his hand, silky like corn starch. As the man approached Blair removed his hand and rested it in his lap. The man dropped casually into the chair Kenny had just vacated.

"Hi. I'm Eric," he said over the music.

Blair extended his carefully prepared hand. "I'm Blair."

Eric shook his hand, but didn't release it. Instead he used it to pull Blair closer to him. "Blair. I like that. Tell me, Blair, what do you do?"

"I teach," came the honest reply.

"You teach? This must be dangerous for you to be here. Do you like danger, Blair?"

"Sometimes," Blair said thoughtfully, pulling his hand away and leaning back in his chair. Something about Eric gave him cold chills, almost as if he could feel the murderer within him. He suppressed a shudder.

Eric reached past him and picked up the now warm, almost full beer. "You're not drinking much," he said. "Let me buy you another one. This one's hot."

"It's fine," Blair replied and gently took it back from the other man's hand. "Nice place. I haven't been here before."

"That's our signal," Jim exclaimed. "'Nice place' means he got the prints. Let's get him out of there."

"Not so fast," Reaves insisted. "We've got the wire, let's see if Wright will implicate himself on something."

"You said we'd get the fingerprints and then nail him. You said we don't need anything else," Jim argued.

"Look, Ellison, Sandburg is a big boy. Rafe is in there with him. What could go wrong?"

Rafe tracked Sandburg with his eyes. As Blair approached the table where he had been seated, Rafe noticed a man had indeed followed him. "Looks like Wright took the bait," he whispered into his jacket. Someone jostled his elbow, causing him to spill a small amount of tonic water.

"I'm so sorry. Clumsy of me," an older man said.

"No problem," Rafe said, turning slightly to the man for a minute. He didn't see the man on the other side of him drop a small blue pill into his drink.

"Dance with me," Eric said as the music changed to a more sedate rhythm.

Blair shook his head. "Not in the mood." He fingered the lip of the beer, careful not to touch the body of the bottle, as his prints would lock as well since he also had the resin on his hand. He prepared to excuse himself.

"What are you in the mood for?" Eric asked seductively as he placed his hands on Blair's knees and began to massage the bare skin through the holes in the jeans. He ran his hands up along Blair's thighs, sliding his thumb into the hole at the top, squeezing and caressing the skin underneath. Blair captured the man's hands with his own and pushed them away forcibly.

"Stop it," he said calmly, not letting his voice carry the unease he felt back to the surveillance van. But his eyes spoke loudly of his displeasure.

"What's wrong?" Eric asked.

"Slow down, okay?"

"Funny, you don't look like a prude," Eric teased as he put a hand on Blair's face and eased closer to his lips.

"Eric, I'm waiting for someone," Blair said easily as he pulled away again. "He won't be too happy if he sees you putting your hands on me. He's kind of jealous."

"I see. I'll wait with you," Eric plucked the beer bottle from under Blair's hand and placed it on a waitress's tray as she passed. "Two more," he told her.

Blair watched in muted horror as his trophy was carried away. Jim hadn't thought of a code to signify that Blair had lost the fingerprints. Neither of them had even considered that a possibility. He was sure the five minute window had passed, in fact it seemed like hours that Eric had been sitting with him. And there was no way to dust his hand again with Eric all over him every minute. Blair looked over to the bar for help, but Rafe was no where in sight.

"Rafe's in trouble," Brown announced suddenly. "It sounds like he's been drugged. At least two people are leading him out the back of the club." He dropped his headphones and pulled his gun as he leapt from the van.

"You listen closely to my partner. If he gets in trouble call me on the radio," Jim nearly shouted to Reaves as he followed Brown out the door grabbing a hand held radio unit as he went.

Ellison marveled at how fast Brown could move when properly motivated. Brown covered the half block to the club in no time, and rounded the building to the back alley in time to see Rafe on the ground while two men went through his pockets.

"Freeze, police," Brown yelled. One of the men put up his hands, the other ran in the opposite direction, only to be clothes-lined by Ellison as he stepped out of the shadows.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Eric purred into Blair's ear. "I'm just used to getting what I want. You're my living fantasy, like you walked straight out of my dreams. You wouldn't have come here dressed like that if you weren't looking for something, too. Come home with me. I've got cocaine, I've got ecstasy. Anything you want."

"I don't do drugs," Blair said, pushing the persistent man away again. "and I resent the implication that I do."

Eric raised his voice, starting to get irrational, "Don't you like me? Do you see anyone here as handsome as I am? I paid a lot of money for this face and you don't like it?"

"I told you I'm waiting for someone. He's late, but he'll be here soon, I'm sure," Blair said losing his impassive tone. He was starting to get very concerned.

Eric grabbed Blair by the wrist and roughly dragged him closer. "I like your sweater," he breathed. "It's my favorite color. It matches your eyes, I really like your eyes."

Blair tried to twist his arm free, but Eric only held on tighter. His breathing became rapid and he slid his other hand into Blair's hair and grabbed a handful of it next to his skull.

"You gonna fuck me right here?" Blair asked brusquely, his eyes blazing and fists clenched.

"Maybe."

"Get your hands off him," came a familiar, and very welcome voice.

"Jim," Blair exclaimed. He pulled away rapidly as Eric dropped his grip.

"Sorry I'm late. Who's your friend?" Jim asked, glaring at the other man.

"Nobody," Blair spat out, rising to his feet. "Let's get out of here."

As Jim grabbed Blair's jacket off the back of the chair he faced off with Wright, "Don't ever touch my partner again," he warned dangerously. The sentiment was real. Wright could take it any way he wanted to. The Sentinel ushered his Guide away to safety.

"Brown took the rental to take Rafe to the hospital," Jim explained as they stepped out of the club. "He wasn't hurt, but blood needs to be drawn to document that he was dosed. Uniforms picked up the two men who tried to rob him. We'll have to walk back to the van."

"That's cool," Blair said. "I need some air anyway."

Jim led the way down the dark street. If he had looked back, he would have easily seen the man following in the shadows. If he hadn't turned his hearing down to enter the club, he would have heard the footsteps.

Blair stopped on the corner and unbuttoned his pants. He ripped out the wire with a grimace and a good bit of hair as well. Turning it off he asked, "How did you know to come get me?"

"I don't know. I just had a feeling that you were in trouble," the big cop shrugged self consciously.

"So you didn't hear anything?"

"No, that place was too loud. I didn't want to risk a zone trying to hear in there without your help. But everything will be on the tape. I'll listen to it later," Jim said and then thought for a minute before adding "What don't you want me to hear?"

"I don't know. It's just a little embarrassing. The whole thing."

Reaves came flying out of the van as they approached. "Where is it? You got his prints on a bottle, right?"

"Yeah, I did..." Blair began as he climbed into the van.

"Well where is it?" she demanded close on his heels.

"I don't know, I guess it's with a couple hundred other empties in the trash somewhere," Blair snorted.

"I can't believe you came back empty handed!" Reaves exploded.

Jim stood at the door, prepared to defend his partner.

"Lorena, shut up," Blair said tiredly, surprising the agent and the detective. "Get your spray out. He had his hands all over me. I'm sure we've got a print here somewhere."

As the spray dried, the resin became a dark gray color. Jim blanched when he realized that Blair's left thigh was covered in it from knee to upper thigh. He imagined that had Wright's left hand been chemically treated as well, Blair's right thigh would have matching markings. Although most of the area was one big smudge, Lorena was able to separate out and lift several prints from the jeans. She also isolated a perfect thumb print from Blair's thigh where Eric had squeezed him, which she lifted with a piece of tape.

"We'll need to keep these pants as evidence," Reaves said. She hummed to herself as she finished scanning the prints into her computer.

"Well since you didn't see fit to let me wear underwear, I guess you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to get them, won't you?"

"Temper, temper, Precious."

"Enough with the name calling, Reaves. Sandburg got you what you wanted. And I haven't heard the words 'thank you' come out of your mouth yet," Ellison scolded lightly.

"Thank you, Blair," Reaves said sincerely.

"You're welcome. Just don't ask me to do it again. I don't ever want to cross paths with that psychopath again."

"Are you coming to the station, Chief?" Jim asked as he poked his head through the French doors into Blair's room. "This might be your last chance to make time with Agent Reaves," he teased.

Blair glared first at Jim, then at the clock sitting next to the bed which read 7:20. Since they hadn't been home for much more than four hours, and he had showered to get the smoky 'bar smell' out of his hair before he even tried to go to sleep, he had no intention of getting up at this ungodly hour. "Give her my regards," he replied gruffly and pulled the cover back over his head.

"They should have picked up Wright by now. I'll call later and let you know how that went down." Jim reached down and picked up the discarded jeans from the floor. "I'll take her your pants as a parting gift," he said shoving them into a large evidence bag. He moved to pick up his sweater from the floor but sneezed as he reached for it. "I'll have to burn that thing. I'll never get the cologne out of it. Unless you want it?"

"Whatever, Jim. Burn it." Blair grunted and rolled over. He listened as the detective puttered in the kitchen briefly and then left. After several minutes, and just as sleep returned to his tired body, he was thrust back into the waking world by a persistent rap on the door.

"What's the matter, Jim? Forget your keys?" Blair stumbled groggily through the kitchen, still in his boxers and T shirt, and rubbed his eyes as he opened the front door. "Kenny! Oh my God, are you all right?" he exclaimed, coming fully awake with a jolt of adrenaline.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sandburg," mumbled the student through bloodied lips as he slumped to the floor.

As Blair knelt to catch the younger man a hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist. A gun was shoved into his face, forcing him back into the loft. "Eric," Blair said quietly. "Or should I call you Curtis?"

"Get up, punk," the fugitive rumbled at Kenny, who managed to get to his knees long enough to crawl into the loft.

"What did you do to him?" Blair asked as he broke out of Wright's hold and dropped down beside the battered body on the floor.

"Nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you," Wright promised.

Blair pulled Kenny to his feet and helped him into his bedroom. Wright followed with his gun leveled at them. Easing the injured student to the bed, Blair kept a concerned eye on the gunman. Kenny groaned once as he made contact with the futon before passing out. Blair lifted his legs onto the bed as he examined the myriad of wounds covering the young man. Blood oozed from various sources onto the bedcovers.

Wright took in the eclectic bedroom with a sweeping glance. His eyes came to rest on the blue sweater laying in the floor. He motioned to it with the muzzle of the gun. "Put it on," he said sourly.

Blair picked up the sweater and held it loosely in his hands. "My roommate will be right back," he lied, praying that for some reason Jim was returning. Knowing he wasn't.

"The big guy from the club last night? Yeah, I watched him leave about five minutes ago," Wright laughed. "I don't think he's coming right back."

"He is, man. He just went to drop off some evidence. He's a detective, you know."

"Figured he was a cop. How convenient," Wright snarled. "Put it on," he said again, this time cocking the gun and pointing it toward Kenny's unconscious form.

Blair swallowed and pulled on the sweater over his white T-shirt.

"Now where are the jeans you had on last night?"

"Gone," Blair said. "That was the evidence. Had your fingerprints all over them."

"Liar. Doesn't matter. We'll find another pair." Wright nodded towards the closet. "Move over there."

Blair inched his way to the closet door, never turning his back to Wright. Shifting through the clothes he quickly located another old pair of jeans, although they weren't as tight, and didn't have as many holes. He yanked them off the hanger and held them up for approval.

"Those will work. Put them on."

Blair stepped into the pants, happy to cover his boxers, and easily zipped them. "Hmm," Wright said. "They're not quite right." He slipped his gun into the back of his pants. Just as Blair mentally prepared himself to make a move on him, Wright drew a large hunting knife from a leather sheath under his coat. He held the knife so the light gleamed off the razor sharp edge. Blair caught his breath and backed closer to the wall as Wright gently rested the knife tip on his upper left thigh. "There was a tear here I think." Wright dug the blade into the worn denim, skimming the soft flesh beneath.

Blair cursed under his breath and flinched at the burn of the superficial laceration, but he didn't dare move away. He felt the warm wetness of his blood spread across the denim and run down his leg on the inside of the jeans.

"How careless of me," Wright exclaimed. He moved the knife to rest the bloody blade against Blair's throat and pushed his left hand awkwardly into the hole he had created, ripping it as he went. Blair gritted his teeth to keep from crying out as Wright roughly investigated the wound with his fingers. He held up the now crimson hand for Blair's inspection, then pressed his palm against the wall next to his head. The resulting image looked like a twisted version of a child's finger-painted hand print.

"That's for your cop friend. He might need more fingerprints. I don't want him to doubt for a minute it was me who took his boy. Let's go."

Blair tilted his chin obstinately. "I'm not leaving here with you. You'll have to kill me here," he said and swallowed hard.

"I'm not going to kill you. Not for a while anyway. But if you don't come with me willingly, I'll finish off young Kenny over there before we go. Either way, you are coming with me. Put your shoes on."

"Where is Wright?" Ellison asked as he entered the bull pen. "Interrogation?"

Reaves looked up with a scowl. "We didn't get him. By the time we got a match on the fingerprints he had left the Paradox. I don't know how. His car is still parked outside of the club. He hasn't been back to his apartment either."

"That's just great. All that work down the drain," Ellison complained. "Blair's gonna freak when he finds out he was mauled by that creep for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing," Reaves argued. "We've got the positive ID, now we know exactly who we're looking for. Where is Blair, by the way?"

"At home asleep," Jim said with a trace of worry in his voice. "Why?"

Reaves shifted in her chair and her eyes grew dark. "Well, I don't want to cause any undue panic here, and I really thought you two would come in together...."

"Spit it out, Agent Reaves," Jim prompted curtly, knowing already what she was going to say.

"Wright obviously knows by now that he was set up or he wouldn't have run. I know him.  I strongly believe he will go after Blair."

Jim grabbed the phone off the nearest desk and dialed the loft. It rang once, twice, three times, then the answering machine picked up. "Blair, pick up. Come on, Chief, answer me."

Wright wiped his knife on the bedspread he had pulled up over Kenny's face as Blair put on a pair of sneakers. "I think Kenny will be glad that you decided to cooperate," Wright said.

Blair shot a dirty look at him and hobbled toward the French doors. Wright smiled and followed, returning the knife to it's sheath. "What's the matter, Blair? I thought you'd be happy I didn't kill your little friend."

"Let's just get out of here," Blair answered crossly as he limped to the front door, hoping Kenny would be able to tell Jim enough to help him find them. He put on his jacket and pushed in the lock on the door. Wright ushered him out into the hall and drew it shut, showing Blair the gun in his pocket. Blair fought the sense of terror spreading through his chest. He knew if Wright got him somewhere private he would end up in a lot of pain before he died. He had certainly done a number on Kenny. Poor kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A situation Blair could certainly identify with.

Other unpleasant thoughts of being alone with Wright surfaced as well, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. Thinking back to his original idea, Blair decided he would rather die quickly here in the hallway where he could be found, than off somewhere where Wright could torture and abuse him for God knows how long. Maybe Jim would be the one to find him, here outside their home, but wouldn't that be better than looking for days or even weeks before his body turned up?

Kenny was now safely locked inside the loft. Blair had made it a point not to pick up his key so that if Wright changed his mind about going after Kenny, he wouldn't be able to get back in. Blair knew if he went with Wright that he would die. At least here on the steps he had a meager glimmer of hope. If he could catch the bigger man off balance, maybe he could get away.

Pausing briefly at the top of the stairs Blair took a few cleansing breaths and sent out a mental farewell to the people he loved. Especially Naomi. And Jim. When Wright stepped up behind him, Blair turned and grabbed his jacket and twisted the man over his leg. Wright let out a surprised grunt as he stumbled toward the stairs. He let go of the gun and latched onto Blair with both hands as he fell. Wright hit first with Blair landing on top of him, but he used the momentum to throw Blair over as they tumbled down the staircase. Blair's head and right shoulder struck the landing with force, taking the brunt of the combined weight of the men. He remained conscious long enough to hear Wright promise his death in vivid detail. He didn't hear the phone ringing up in the loft above him before he passed into the darkness.

The smells of blood, Blair, and the cologne he had learned to detest assaulted Jim's nose as they entered the building. He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Reaves far in his wake. He picked up a single heartbeat in the same second it took to unlock the door, but to his dismay, it wasn't Blair's. Reaves caught up just in time to see him disappear into Blair's room.

"Is he alive?" she panted.

"He is," Jim said pulling back the bedspread "But it's not Sandburg. Call an ambulance."

"Who is it?" she asked as she flicked open her cell phone and punched in 911.

"I think it's Kenny."

Jim registered the call as background noise as he checked over the bloodied body with great care. He had been methodically tortured, probably to obtain information about Blair. It was obvious the information had not come easily. There was barely an inch of skin that wasn't bruised or cut. Ground meat pretty well summed up his condition.

Reaves made a startled noise in her throat and Jim looked up to see what the problem was. Wright's morbid calling card turned Jim's stomach. It was signed in blood. Blair's blood. The grisly hand print next to the closet spoke eloquently of the killer's state of mind. He was out for revenge, and he wanted everyone to know it.

Blair woke to the white hot pain in his shoulder. He groaned deep in his chest as he opened his eyes to the distinct lack of light. He was laying on his side with his knees pulled up slightly. Thankfully he didn't seem to be tied anywhere. In spite of the impressive heat, shivers racked his body, setting off an avalanche of pain throughout his entire being. Unable to think past the throbbing in his head he closed his eyes and gave himself up to the forgiving blackness within.

"Kenny's roommate said he borrowed a car from someone Friday night, but she doesn't know from who, or what make or model." Jim listened to Brown's disembodied voice come out of Reaves' cell phone as he sat across the room next to Kenny's hospital bed.

"Thank you, Detective. Let us know if you find out anything else." Reaves closed the phone and studied Ellison briefly. "No luck on the car, yet," she said. "Maybe we should try Wright's apartment again."

"Brown has already been there with a team. Besides, he wouldn't go back there," Jim said rubbing his face wearily. "He knows we're looking for him. He has Sandburg somewhere isolated. The car's the key. Kenny's our best shot on that front. When he wakes up maybe he can tell us something. I'm not leaving until he does."

"He might not wake up," Reaves pointed out. "I hate to say it, but Blair may already be dead."

"He's not dead!" Jim boomed. "I'd know," he added a little lower, aware of his surroundings. He stared defiantly at the FBI agent for a minute before turning his attention back to the unconscious student. "Come on, Kenny. Wake up. Blair needs you." It took all of his strength not to run from the room and search every square inch of Cascade himself, but something told him to be patient. A little voice said to wait it out, so he did.

In his troubled sleep Blair rolled over onto his back. The resulting spasms in his shoulder brought him abruptly and unwillingly to wakefulness. He gasped and panted through the pain, his wet hair clinging to his face. After an eternity, the spasms eased leaving a foreboding burn in their absence. Blair reached out tentatively with his left hand and bumped into the top of his prison a mere eighteen inches above his head. The roof was metal, the floor carpet. How poetic, the trunk of a car. 

The air was heavy and hot in his lungs, made wet by the sweat rolling off his body. At least he wasn't wearing his jacket anymore. Wright must have taken it for some reason. Each tiny movement sent shock waves into his right arm so he clutched it tightly against his chest. Dried blood covered his left thigh, leaving the denim stiff against his skin. The cut stung and various other body parts ached, including his head. But all in all, he was alive He began to shout and bang on the trunk. He didn't know how long he could keep it up, but he gave it all he had.

Wright hung up the phone in the flea bag hotel and replaced the ice pack on his forehead. He was furious that he had broken his new nose in the fall, but all in all, it would make him more difficult to spot. The discoloration and the swelling distorted his whole face. Every bone in his body ached. He had hastily planned what he was going to do to Blair while he had been conferring with Kenny, but now it would have to wait until he recovered from the fall. Making the decision not to kill Blair yet had been easy. Now that he had had time to think out his revenge and make preparations, he was a little more at ease. All he needed was a little down time to recuperate and he could do that on the way to Mexico.

Blair had been in the trunk for around ten hours, Wright supposed he could make it another ten or twelve before he had to have water. But it had been unseasonably hot today, and Blair might not make it that long. It wouldn't do to have him die before the fun started. He hoped no one stumbled on the car parked behind the deserted building across the street. It would be time to go soon and he still needed the car.

"That's right, a 1979 Ford Fairmont, red with a white roof. Oregon plate number NP447, registered to a Marion Haire. Yeah, it's Kenny's grandmother. He says there is minor damage on the right rear bumper. Can you get that out right away? Thanks." Ellison hung up the phone. "Thank you, Kenny. Now we have something to go on. I owe you," Jim said, gently touching the student on the top of the head. It seemed to be the only place that the kid wasn't bandaged.

"I'm so sorry, Detective. I never should have taken Eric to him. If he dies, it's my fault."

"Listen, Blair knew this might be dangerous. I don't blame you for anything, and I know that Blair doesn't either," Jim soothed. "I've got to go now. I want to be there when they find your grandmother's car."

Kenny lay back and closed his eyes. "I hope you find him."

"Don't worry, I will."

Blair had lost track of the time, his throat burned and his mouth was too dry to swallow. He wasn't sweating anymore at least, but he took that as a bad sign. He couldn't afford to lose any more fluid from his body. When he heard the key in the lock, he started, but didn't have the strength or inclination to move. His right shoulder was still out of the socket, even though he had tried for a while to slip it back in, passing out more than once from the effort. Now every movement was a study in pain. Suddenly the trunk was flooded with light and cooler air. He closed his eyes tightly against the onslaught, throwing his left arm across his face.

"Hello, Blair," Wright said, waving a flash light in his face. "You look like shit." He sat down a bag and rummaged through it. "I brought you something." Wright slipped a hand under Blair's neck and sat him up slightly. Blair winced at the pain, but the tepid water Wright poured into his mouth was worth it. 

"Easy," Wright intoned as Blair greedily drank from the bottle, reaching up to hold it with his left hand, afraid Wright would take it away. "That's enough for now."

"Wait," Blair begged as Wright lowered him to his back.

"Don't worry, I'll leave it with you," Wright said as he recapped the bottle. He placed four more bottles into the trunk within easy reach. Blair tried to uncap the first bottle, but couldn't grip it tightly enough to hold on to it. "I put something in the water to help you rest. In your condition, it won't take long to hit you. We're going on a trip, and I want you to behave yourself. Don't worry, you'll love it when we get there." Wright laughed as he closed the trunk.

"Okay, Jim. Time for the cavalry," Blair thought hopelessly. He managed to stay awake long enough to hear the motor start and to feel the car begin to move.

Unable to sit still anywhere, Jim drove around looking for the red Ford. Up and down, back and forth, searching in a grid pattern. He picked a neighborhood at random and began his search, knowing every police officer on duty in the city, and truth be told several who were off duty as well, and every state trooper beyond was looking for the same vehicle in the course of their duties. Sandburg was close though, he felt it. The mystic bond they had forged somewhere in their time together was strong and it pulled at Jim like magnetic north. Sentinel to Guide. Blair was alive, but hurt. The extent and nature of his injuries unknown.

Jim shuddered to think what those injuries might be. He had seen the way Wright had looked at Blair. Damn it, Reaves had known just how to make Wright notice his partner. Then she let the bastard get away. Jim had let down his defenses before he found out if Wright had been taken into custody, so as much as he blamed Reaves for Blair's abduction, he took a share in the blame himself. And to top it off, he was mad as hell at the kid for volunteering in the first place. He hadn't protested too much in the beginning because he had foolishly thought that as soon as Blair found out he was going into a gay bar he would back out. Unfortunately, Blair had proved to be harder than ever to figure out.

Wright pulled out of the funeral home parking lot and turned toward the waterfront. He laughed at the reaction from the poor old undertaker when he made his request. A few not so veiled threats, a lot of money and presto, the deal was done, complete with official enough looking paper work to get his package out of the country. He watched the hearse in the rearview mirror as it followed closely behind.

Finally the call came in. Red and white Fairmont parked at a loading dock on the waterfront. Jim hit the lights and the gas at the same time. He could be at there in ten minutes if he followed all the laws of the road. He made it there in four.

Two black and whites were already at the car when Jim arrived. "Pop the trunk," he shouted as he bolted from the truck.

A heavy set black officer Jim recognized complied with his command and had the trunk opened with a crow bar, just as Jim reached it. Empty. Damn it to hell. "He was here," he reported as Simon arrived at his heels.

"Are you sure, Jim?" Simon asked, looking around to make sure no one was listening too closely.

"I can smell him. He was in the trunk for a while. I know his scent. I know the smell of his blood."

"You do?" Simon asked, "Sorry, I guess you do," he said at the glower turned on him.

Jim opened up his senses in an ever widening circle around the car. There were drops of dried blood in the trunk, as well as tiny threads of cobalt blue, but none on the ground. Forensics arrived and began to work on the car as Jim walked around it in the dark. Simon followed closely, knowing Jim was tired and stressed, and primed for a zone. Within minutes Brown and Reaves arrived, with Rafe along for the ride, even though, technically he hadn't been cleared for duty yet.

Jim moved closer to the departure lounge where passengers waited for various ships. Simon followed closely, trying all the while to remember what Blair had told him to do in case of a zone. Although it was late now, there were several people waiting around inside. The intercom announced that the ship leaving for Mexico was now boarding passengers as Jim and Simon entered the room. Jim sniffed the air, and sneezed.

"You smell him?" Simon asked.

"No, something else. Cologne. That expensive stuff Reaves bathed Blair in before he went into the Paradox." Jim followed the scent out the door and to a gangway that led up to the nearest ship. He narrowed his vision, scanning the handful of people climbing it. At last he spotted Blair's leather jacket moving along near the front of the line, although he knew immediately it wasn't his partner who wore it. He broke into a sprint, rocking the narrow metal ramp as he went, leaving Simon to guard the bottom and call for backup.

Wright turned at the commotion and glimpsed the big cop pushing past people, closing on him fast. He knew there would be no escape once he reached the top, except over the side into the water, and frankly, he was a whole lot closer to the water now than he would be at the top. Flinging his legs over the rail, he judged the water deep enough he might not break his neck, and jumped.

Jim turned and shouted to Simon to get someone to fish the killer out of the water, and continued to climb towards the top. Blair was on this ship, he knew it, and he was going to find him, if it took him all the way to Mexico to do it.

Blair woke in a different place. It was very dark, but he lay on his back on a cushion of some sort. It was soft and strangely comfortable. The air was still stuffy, but not as hot as say, the trunk of a car after sitting in the sun all day. Although his legs were stretched out, he had no real room on either side of him and the roof of his enclosure was less than a foot above his face. There were two dime sized holes down by his feet that he could see only because there was a dim light coming from outside through them. Next to his left hand was a bottle of water, wedged between cushions so as not to tip over, and the lid was already off. After finding the other bottles nearby he drank what was left of the first one.

After pissing off every officer on the ship, all the way up to and including the Captain, Jim was granted access to the cargo hold. Reaves had pulled some strings and quickly got a federal restraining order that prevented the ship's departure. After they determined Sandburg had not come aboard the ship as a passenger, Jim presumed he had been brought on as cargo.

"You'll never find him even if he is down there," Reaves complained. "If he was still alive, someone would have heard him. Surely he has the sense to make some noise."

"He's probably drugged or unconscious," Jim said roughly as he moved through the aisle of crate after large crate.

"I can't believe you didn't go after Wright," she huffed. "I swear, if they don't find him soon, I'll take it out of your hide."

Jim stopped and turned an ominous stare on the woman. "If we don't find Blair soon, Wright will be the last of your worries," he threatened seriously.

Reaves had the good sense to shut her mouth, at least for a while, and turned down another row of cargo. Jim went back to his sensory sweep, aisle by aisle, tuning out the heartbeats of the rest of the search party. A sudden urgency propelled him along, moving him faster and faster until he was running up the aisle, his direction unwavering as he neared the bow of the ship. At last he picked up the slow but steady heart beat of his Guide. "Simon, this way," he shouted and rushed to the row of pallets that held an assortment of smaller crates and other various objects.

Cutting the rope that bound it to the pallet, Jim opened the lid of the simple wooden box, pausing only to allow the shock of seeing Blair pale and still, resting in a coffin to pass. He gathered his partner into his arms and hugged him with overwhelming relief. Realizing quickly that Blair's right shoulder didn't feel quite right, he examined it gingerly. With a deft jerk, he slid the ball back into the joint. Blair never made a sound. Lifting the bottle from his hand, Jim sniffed it tentatively. It had a distinct chemical odor. Jim lifted his friend and laid him on the deck, even though it was cold and hard. He didn't want Blair to wake up in a coffin.

"Is he alive?" Simon asked anxiously as he dropped down beside the observer.

"How did you find him?" Reaves asked as she joined them.

"He's drugged," Jim answered Simon, ignoring the annoying agent. "It was in the water."

"Clever," Reaves said as she knelt beside Simon and brushed Blair's hair out of his face, disregarding the cautionary look Banks shot her way. "Every time he woke up, he drank a little more water and it put him back to sleep. That would keep him quiet."

"Yeah," Banks agreed. "Unless he drank too much and overdosed." Banks rummaged through the coffin and pulled out the other bottles of water. These all have the seal broken. Wright must have planned on leaving him down here until the ship reached it's destination."

"Four days from now," Reaves furnished.

"I warned him about touching my partner," Jim murmured. "I hope he's not dead. I want to talk to him one more time." He delicately eased his arms under Blair, lifting him once again, and started back the way they had come. There would be time to deal with Wright later. Right now he needed to get Blair off of the damned ship and to a hospital. Simon followed, but Reaves stayed behind to work up the scene.

"Come on, Chief, one more bite," Jim coaxed, trying to feed his stubborn partner who had one arm in a sling, strapped tightly to his body, and an IV in the crook of his other elbow that didn't want to run when he bent his arm. Which didn't particularly bother Blair, but the nurses were tired of running into the room every time the alarm sounded on the pump.

Blair eyed the jiggling green gob on the spoon. "I don't want any more," he said turning his head away.

Jim followed his movement with the spoon. "The nurse said that you needed to eat all of your lunch if you want to go home today."

"Jello is not lunch," Blair challenged. "You eat it. Please, Jim, she'll never know the difference." He had already begged, threatened, and tried puppy dog eyes, but the persistent detective keep forcing the concoction into his mouth.

"There are only two bites left," Jim exclaimed with exaggerated patience. "If you don't eat all of it, I'm going to replace your sling with the nice one I brought for you from home," he threatened, motioning to the bra that hung from the IV pole.

"It's the principle of the thing," Blair said. "I'm not eating any more of that crap."

"Is he always this bad?" Reaves asked from the door.

Jim snorted. "You don't know the half of it."

"You look a lot better than the last time I saw you," Reaves said as she settled on the foot of the bed. "How's Kenny?"

"Not bad," Blair said. "At least they're not force feeding him jello. He gets to go home today, too."

"Too? You're not going home if you don't eat this. Now open your damn mouth." Blair glowered at his nursemaid, but opened his mouth anyway. Jim quickly spooned all of the remaining jello in at once. "There, was that so hard?"

Making a face, Blair swallowed and promptly turned his back on his over zealous friend. "Did you catch him," he asked Reaves.

"He's presumed dead," Reaves explained gently. "Coast Guard found your jacket though, out to sea."

"I don't know that I want it back."

"Uh, Chief, it's evidence," Jim provided for the agent.

"Great. Good thing this case is over or I wouldn't have any clothes left," Blair sighed.

"Blair, I've been in your closet. You didn't have any clothes to start with," Reaves laughed as she got up and moved closer. She bent down and kissed Blair solidly on the lips. "You did good, kid," she commended. "You'd make a great FBI agent." She nodded at Jim as she strode out the door, her three year endeavor to catch a killer over.

"Did she put lipstick on me again?" Blair asked jokingly.

"Yeah, but it's really a good color for you," Jim mocked with a laugh.

Blair sat pensive for a minute. "Do you think he's really dead?" he asked at last, searching his Blessed Protector's eyes for confirmation.

"He is," Jim assured as he grasped his Guide by the hand. "He hit the water hard. I saw him fall."

"Okay," Blair said returning the squeeze on his hand, accepting his Sentinel's word without pause. "I believe you."

"Good, I'm going to go find a nurse and see about getting you sprung from here."

"Don't bother," Blair said with a grin, "I got it." He bent his elbow and looked at the IV pump by the bed. Within thirty seconds the alarm went off.
                                                                

The End

Disclaimer - Images, characters, and settings taken from various television shows are the property of their respective owners, producers, etc.  No copyright infringement intended, I'm just having a little fun.