"Tomorrow...4:30."

"That's the third time you've reminded me, man. I'll be here. I'm not going to forget."

Jim Ellison fixed his guide with a stern gaze. "You had better not forget," he warned. He hoisted the duffel bag and turned toward the airport terminal.

"Jim?"

The detective turned to see Blair Sandburg looking at him, a question on his expressive face. Jim raised his eyebrows, feigning ignorance.

"The keys?" Blair was practically bouncing in his enthusiasm.

Jim shifted the bag to his left hand and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a ring of keys. The younger man held his hand out expectantly, but Jim paused dramatically.

Blair rolled his eyes. "What? You want me to recite the rules?"

Smiling, Jim held the keys up and rattled them.

"You're serious?! Aw, come on, man."

Jim rattled the keys again.

"You're going to miss your plane," Blair warned.

"I haven't heard a final boarding call, Chief. Don't you think I would hear that?"

Blair groaned. "All right!" He held up one hand and counted off on his fingers. "No joy riding...no hot-rodding...any gas I use I have to replace...and," his voice lowered in an attempted imitation of Jim's, "...'any scratches in the paint job come out of your hide, Chief.'"

Jim laughed at the sorry attempt and tossed the keys toward his roommate, who caught them one handed. Shifting the duffel bag again, Jim turned away. "4:30 -- tomorrow." He was half-way through the terminal when he heard Blair mutter under his breath, "Geez, Jim, the clue phone is ringing. Wanna pick up? I'm not a kid!"

"I'm coming! Hang on!" Blair yelled through the door at the ringing phone. He hurriedly unlocked the door and grabbed up the receiver. "Joe's Pool Hall...Joe speaking," he quipped, hoping it wasn't Simon on the other end.

"Blair?" came the hesitant reply.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Corrie. I was just going to call you."

"Guess I saved you the trouble. Look, I've got a problem. Do you think you could get here early, say in about an hour?"

"An hour?" Blair glanced at his watch. It was a good forty minute drive to where Corrie lived, and he still had to shower and change.

"I know that's probably pushing it, but Professor Chastain just called. He rescheduled our meeting for first thing tomorrow morning, so I thought maybe we could catch dinner before the lecture rather than after, and that way I could still get to bed at a decent hour-"

"Yeah, sure," Blair interrupted. "Shouldn't be a problem. I'll see you in an hour." He hung up the phone and headed for the bathroom. This was going to have to be the fastest shower in history. Twenty minutes later, Blair pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the south edge of town. He never noticed the truck that pulled into traffic behind him.

The airplane approached Meridian International, and the seat belt sign began to flash. Jim let his seat up and fastened the restraint, then glanced out the window beside him. The setting sun was slipping behind a bank of clouds. It looked like a frontal system was moving into the area. He made a mental mote to check the weather reports when he reached the hotel. Not that it made much difference. He'd be inside most of the day tomorrow, giving testimony in an extortion trial. If all went well, he'd be called to the stand early and be finished by early afternoon. He'd booked a return flight to Cascade at three. After the hassle he'd given Blair about not being late to pick him up, well...Jim smiled to himself. He did enjoy giving his Guide a hard time occasionally. He didn't really mind letting Blair use his truck while he was away. He knew the younger man was a careful driver, but he had to keep up the pretense. It wouldn't do for Blair to suspect he was actually beginning to get under Jim's skin.

The plane began its descent, and Jim automatically dialed down his hearing. A few more minutes, and they were on the ground. When the passengers began working their way toward the exit, he stood and reached for his bag in the overhead compartment. A sudden sense of foreboding washed over him, so strong it was almost like a physical punch. He dropped back into the seat and closed his eyes, forcing a few deep breathes in an effort to dispel the feeling. By the time his breathing was once again calm, it was gone.

Jim opened his eyes, realizing with a start that the plane was almost empty. He quickly retrieved his bag and headed for the exit. Once inside the airport, he found a seat and turned his inner focus back to the sense of impending doom that he had experienced on the plane. That's what it was, he decided, a strong sense that something was about to go terribly wrong. Was this some new aspect of his sentinel abilities? God, he hoped not. Every time he felt like he was beginning to get his life back under control, something new happened. He'd have to discuss it with Blair when he got back to Cascade.

Jim stood and picked up his bag, grimacing at the thought. He could just imagine what horrors Blair would cook up to test it.

Blair turned off of the main highway and onto what he had mentally dubbed the 'road time had forgotten'. It was a long, narrow road with more twists and turns than a soap opera. Navigation was difficult even in the daylight hours, which, Blair noted, were quickly waning. One side was flanked by a steer rock wall, the other dropped away in a sharp slope. The road served little purpose that he could determine other than to provide a route into the mountains for hunters. This time of year, it was scarcely used at all. Blair disliked traveling this road and would never have attempted it in his old car. But, thanks to the heavy traffic coming out of town, he was running really late, and this shortcut would save him fifteen minutes. He glance at his watch. "Oh, man, Corrie's going to kill me."

He looked back up and was surprised to see headlights in the rear view mirror. "Now, where did he come from?" he mused aloud. He was certain there had been no one behind him just a minute ago. The car's presence was odd; there were no houses on this road, just a ten mile stretch of trees and rocks. "Maybe someone else is running late."

He kept one eye on what he could now see was a truck as it pulled closer. A sharp turn ahead forced Blair to slow down. He navigated it carefully, then accelerated as the road straightened out before him.

The truck behind him swerved abruptly into the opposite lane and began to pass him. "Man, he must be in a hurry to pass on this road," he muttered under his breath. He watched in the side mirror as the truck came along side him. Suddenly, it veered sharply, crashing into the side of the Ford.

"What the--" Blair yanked hard on the wheel, attempting to regain control as he swerved dangerously close to the shoulder and its steep drop off. He slowed the vehicle automatically. The truck slowed also, matching his speed. Before he could react, it slammed into him again.

Blair cursed under his breath, as he looked up to see another sharp turn in the road ahead. He slammed down hard on the gas pedal, trying to pull away from the psycho beside him before they reached the turn.

The truck sped up and rammed him once more. Blair allowed himself a quick glance to the side, but could see little through the tint-darkened windows of the maniac's truck. He looked back to the rapidly approaching turn, and his stomach lurched painfully. He wasn't going to make it. He stood on the brakes and snatched the wheel hard to the left, skidding into the turn. He knew even as he did that it was hopeless.

Tires squealed, and the air filled with the stench of burning rubber. Blair tightened his grip on the wheel impulsively as the Ford crashed through the brush lining the shoulder and tumbled over the incline.

From the road, a lone figure watched until the vehicle settled in the twilight far below. The figure stared at the twisted wreckage for several long moments wondering if it would burst into flames. Disappointed when it didn't, the figure sighed. It didn't matter. Detective James Ellison could not have survived the crash. Satisfied, the figure turned and left.

As Blair gained awareness, he immediately became conscious of two things. The ground beneath him was wet, and he couldn't move. He opened his eyes, blinking at the darkness. He must have passed out; the sun had just been setting when...

With sudden clarity the memory of the wreck came back to him. God, the truck had deliberately run him off the road! What in the hell was going on?

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Blair took in the scene around him. Terror struck him as his situation unfolded. Somehow, as the vehicle had tumbled down the hill, he'd been thrown out and was now pinned beneath it. The bottom half of his body was hidden beneath the twisted metal wreck. One arm was free, and after a few minutes he managed to pull the other one loose. He was laying in thick mud, and somewhere in the not-too-distant vicinity, he could hear running water.

Turning his head to look up the embankment, he tried to figure the distance back to the road. Was he close enough for someone passing by to see the wreckage? It was too dark to see the road itself, and he couldn't remember anything beyond the first couple of flips of Jim's truck.

Blair closed his eyes and concentrated on inventorying his injuries. Places on his arms and face stung, and the back of his left hand felt raw, and his elbow was throbbing with more and more insistence. He reached up with his right hand and felt around his face. A few cuts, little bleeding, and a gash above his right eye, which felt like it was bleeding freely. Strangely, it didn't hurt at all. His thoughts seemed lucid enough. Did that mean there was no concussion?

Blair let his hand drop back to the ground and concentrated on the lower half of his body. Since there was no pain, he figured the mud was cushioning him to some degree.

"Okay, Sandburg, count your blessings." He hadn't realized he was speaking aloud, and the sound of his voice startled him. Great, he was spooking himself. He let his head fall back to the muddy ground. It was time to take stock and consider his options. He had no idea how long he had been out, but morning seemed to be a long way off still. Jim wouldn't miss him till late tomorrow afternoon, if even then. He would probably assume Blair had forgotten to pick him up at first. Man, was he going to be pissed!

Maybe Corrie would realize something was wrong when he didn't show up. Or maybe she would think he had stood her up. No, she knew how important this lecture was to Blair. She would have to know something was wrong when he didn't at least call.

There was always the chance someone would see the wreck from the road. He knew even as he considered the thought that it was unlikely. The cut off wasn't well traveled this time of year. It might be days before another car happened by. No, he would have to count on Corrie to realize something was wrong. She was his best chance. Or if not her, then Jim. He could wait that long if he had to. He wasn't hurt that bad. He could wait.

Blair awoke with a start. It was still dark; he must have only dozed. Above him the stars drifted in and out as gathering clouds rolled by. The breeze had kicked up to a gusty wind. He shivered against the dropping temperature. How cold was it going to get tonight? He shivered again and wished for his coat, which was lying somewhere in the wreckage.

His left hand and arm were throbbing still. Pulling it up to his chest, he gasped at the pain that shot up his arm from his elbow. When it had subsided, he gently examined it with his right hand. What he found sickened him. The skin had been scraped from the back of the hand and wrist, along with a good bit of flesh. When he touched exposed bone, he quickly pulled his fingers away. A brief examination of the area around his elbow confirmed what he had already suspected -- it was broken.

He reached up to gently touch the gash on his forehead and found that it had swollen to an egg-sized lump. The bleeding had stopped, he noted with relief. That was good, right? He moved on, continuing his examination. He didn't seem to have any broken ribs. At least, his chest didn't hurt much, and he was having no trouble breathing. Of course, he couldn't really get too deep a breath with the weight of the truck resting across his stomach.

His lower body still didn't hurt. He took that as a good sign. Couldn't be too much damage if it didn't hurt, right? Blair pushed his hand under the twisted metal as far down as he could reach, feeling for any sign of an injury. It was hard to tell. There was mud everywhere. He would have to wait for daylight to better assess the situation.

The wind gusted again, and Blair shivered against it. How long until morning? He knew without checking that his watch was gone, scraped away with his skin.

"God! How do I get myself into these things?" he shouted at the darkness. "Do I have a sign on my back that says 'Abuse Me'? What the in the hell was that guy doing?"

Did he know anyone deranged enough to want to play bumper cars on a narrow mountain road? No one from the university, that much was fairly certain. He may have made a few adversaries over failing grades or some such, but to want to kill him over it? Doubtful.

"Okay, maybe someone I've run into through Jim?" That was more likely, but how could he even begin to make a list? "So, what does that leave you?"

He paused as another thought occurred to him: What in the hell had happened to the seat belt? He knew for a fact he'd been wearing it, so how'd he end up being thrown from the truck? The whole purpose of those damned restraints was to keep things like this from happening, wasn't it?

A soft rain began to fall. Looking up at the now completely overcast sky, Blair let out a long sigh and wrapped his good arm around himself.

The clouds seemed to be taking on a lighter shade of gray, Blair noticed with a small sigh of relief. With the passing of the night, he felt the worst the battle was behind him. The rain had been coming and going for hours now, and he was soaked through and shivering uncontrollably. God, he was cold! Maybe, once the sun came up, the clouds would break. The thought of warm sunshine brought a small groan to his lips. Or better yet, a long hot bath. He closed his eyes to the imagined pleasure. He'd use every ounce of hot water in the tank, to hell with Jim's stupid house rules. Blair clenched his teeth to stop their chattering.

He wondered if anyone had noticed he was missing yet. It was unlikely, unless Corrie suspected something was wrong. But even if she did, there was no guarantee she would report it. Hopefully, when it got a bit lighter, he would be able to get a clearer picture of the situation and find a way out from under the wreckage. If not...well, Jim would find him soon. It never entered his mind to question how his sentinel friend would find him. He just knew Jim would, and then everything would be all right.

His arm and head were throbbing mercilessly, but there was little he could do about either one under the circumstances. At least, nothing else hurt. There was just the pressure of the vehicle on his lower chest and stomach, but it wasn't too bad. He could stand it until help came.

Blair dozed again, waking to a soft drizzle and a lighter sky. How long had he been asleep? Was it still morning? Why wasn't it any warmer? He pulled his head up and tried to assess the situation. The truck had settled on its side, facing away from him. The underside of the vehicle was across his stomach, pinning him against the muddy ground. Thank God for the mud, or he'd probably be in a whole lot more pain than he was.

He glanced down at his left arm, suppressing a sudden wave of nausea at the condition of the injured limb. His elbow was definitely broken; it was bent at an odd angle and had swollen tight against the sleeve of his shirt. His hand looked worse than it was, he knew, but that was little comfort. It was scraped raw and was still seeping blood.

"Okay," he mused aloud, letting his head drop back down, "now what?" There had to be something he could do. "What would Jim do?" Jim wouldn't just lay here helplessly, waiting for a rescue that was probably still hours away. No, his partner was a man of action. He would assess the situation, formulate a plan, and execute it.

Blair turned his head in the mud, studying the area. The Ford was on the uphill side of him, blocking his view of the road, but he judged it to be at least a couple of hundred yards to the top. He was sure he could hear running water just below him, so he must be close to the bottom of the drop. The area was surrounded by small trees and underbrush. There was nothing within easy reach, though a long, sturdy looking limb a few feet away almost tempted him to try. He reluctantly abandoned the idea. It was on his left side, which would have meant either moving his injured left arm, or twisting around and trying to reach it with his right. Neither idea appealed to him. Besides, even if he could reach it, he would never be able to lever the vehicle up enough one handed to pull himself out from under it.

"What else? There has to be something else I can do." He lifted his head again and looked at the truck. Maybe he could dig away some of the mud around his lower body. Loosen it enough to pull himself out. It just might work, he thought excitedly. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He began scooping out the thick mud with his good hand. After several minutes of relentless digging, he leaned his head up to check his progress and froze. The mud he was now pulling out was tinged a dark red. Oh, God! There was blood in the mud. But how could that be possible? He wasn't hurt, there was no pain other than his arm and head. His legs were fine.

He reached back into the crevice he'd made and felt what he could reach of his lower body, but he couldn't find the source of the blood. It must be on his legs, farther down. His head dropped back heavily to the ground. The situation had just gone from bad to worse.

Though he tried to concentrate, Jim found his mind wandering as the lawyers argued some trivial point before the judge. He'd awakened early with the same feeling of dread that had assaulted him on the plane the day before. Not as strong nor as urgent, but present nonetheless. He had tried unsuccessfully to pinpoint the source of the feeling. That was Blair's purpose. He needed his guide. The young man had a way of helping him cut through distracting sensations to examine the bare facts.

With an effort, Jim pushed away the feeling and returned his attention to the present. If the lawyers could just get past these petty arguments and get on with the trial, he could get out of here by lunchtime. That would leave him just enough time to stop by the local precinct and visit a couple of old friends before time for his afternoon flight.

The lawyer at last called Jim's name, and he made his way to the witness stand. All thoughts of the nagging feeling of trouble were forgotten as he raised his hand and took the oath.

The sea swelled once again, waves crashing against the sides of the small boat and threatened to overturn it. He clawed frantically at the life jacket trying to secure it around himself, but a particularly large wave slapped the boat, and he was knocked off balance, losing his grip on the life jacket. He had one brief second of panic before plunging into the raging sea.

He fought his way to the surface, gasping for breath as he broke through. The life jacket floated off to his right, the boat to his left. Making a split second decision, he began fighting his way toward the boat. His muscles screamed in agony as they were exerted beyond their limits, but he continued struggling against the relentless waves. Finally, in exhaustion, he stopped to get his bearings. The waves continued to wash over him, stealing each breath before it could be completed.

Squinting against the rain of angry red water, he tried desperately to locate the boat. He repeatedly flung out his arms in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. A wave hit him hard in the face, forcing itself into his throat. He coughed and sputtered and managed to expel most of the thick, red water from his lungs. A strong metallic tang remained in his mouth. Panic transformed to terror as he suddenly realized the water had turned to blood! His exhausted muscles finally began to falter. In vain, he tried to force them to continue their struggle, but with no energy reserves to draw upon, he felt himself slip beneath the surface. The red liquid seeped into his mouth, his eyes, his lungs. He fought with hopeless desperation until darkness claimed him.

Blair roused slowly, trying to shake the terror of the dream. Had it been a dream? The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth. Waves splashed against his face. No...not waves, rain. The clouds had opened up and were now threatening to drown him where he lay. A sudden coughing fit squeezed the air from his chest, bringing him completely awake. He rolled his head to the side and spit weakly, knowing without looking there was blood in the sputum.

Bringing his uninjured arm over his face, he tried to block the worst of the rain. A sudden clap of thunder startled him, and he jumped. Calm down, Sandburg, he chided himself. Jim, where are you, man? Had enough time passed for Jim to have noticed he was missing? It was impossible to judge the time from the dim light filtering through the clouds. It could be midday or midnight.

But Jim would come. He would come and get him just as soon as he knew something was wrong. Jim was his Blessed Protector, wasn't he? It was his job to get him out of trouble. Yeah, Jim would be along any time now. Jim would know what to do.

Lightening flashed red through his protected eyes, and after a few seconds, thunder followed. This time he was ready for it, and it didn't startle him. Turn down your hearing, Jim. You know what thunder does to you, man. What would Jim do without him to remind him of these things? Jim needed him. That's why Jim would come for him; a sentinel needed his guide. That's what I am, his guide. He needs me. "Who am I kidding?" he mumbled into his arm. I'm the one who needs him. Blair couldn't seem to do anything right on his own. Jim was always having to pull him out of one scrape or another. Hell, he couldn't even drive down the road without running off into a ditch. Blair shook his head. No, that wasn't right, was it? He hadn't run into a ditch. Had he? He could open his eyes and see, but he was so damned tired all of a sudden.

Maybe he could sleep for a while. Just...a few...minutes...

I'm going to call in sick today, Jim. I don't feel so good.

Blair turned his head and tried to go back to sleep. He didn't have to go to the university today. Jim would call in for him. He could just go back to sleep. If only it wasn't so cold! He groped around blindly for the blanket, but couldn't find it. It must have fallen to the floor. How could he sleep when it was so cold in here?

Reluctantly, he forced his eyes open. "Why are there trees in my bedroom?" His voice sounded strange to his ears. Sort of empty, like nobody was home. He tried to laugh at the joke, but it turned into a coughing fit. When the fit finally passed, he was gasping painfully for breath. His head hurt bad. Man, he needed an aspirin! There were some in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Maybe Jim would get them for him. And some water, Jim. I've got a terrible taste in my mouth. Jim would take care of it. Jim always took care of things.

"That's right, Chief. Your 'Blessed Protector,' right?"

Blair turned his head sharply at the voice, instantly regretting it as pain and vertigo battled for prominence. The dizziness cleared after a minute, and he searched for the source of the voice. "Jim?"

"Right here, Chief."

He followed the sound and finally focused on the dark figure approaching through the thick fog. "Jim..." His voice was barely a whisper, but he knew the sentinel could easily hear it. "Man, I'm so glad to see you."

"I'll bet you are, Chief. Your Blessed Protector to the rescue again, huh? Seems like I do that a lot, you know? Always pulling your butt out of the fire." The figure stopped beside him and stared down at him.

"I know, man, believe me, I know better than anybody."

"It's getting old, you know that? Saving your butt, I mean. Seems like just once you could watch out for yourself. I need a break from this Superman business."

Blair blinked up at his friend. "I'm sorry, man. I'm really sorry. This wasn't my fault, Jim."

Jim squatted down beside him. "Wasn't it, Chief? I left you my truck to use so you wouldn't have to depend on that sorry excuse for a car you drive, and all I asked of you in return was to take care of it. Is this your idea of being careful? Look at it! Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my insurance rates?"

Blair blinked against another wave of dizziness. When his eyes focused again, Jim was gone. "Jim?" He heard a movement to the side of him and twisted his head to see find its source. Simon was sitting atop the overturned truck.

"Looks like you're really in it this time, Sandburg." Simon leaned forward and made a show of studying the situation. "Do you know you're bleeding?"

Blair swallowed hard to stave off another coughing fit. "Where's Jim?" he asked when the urge had passed.

"Doesn't look good from where I sit," Simon observed, ignoring the question. "I'd say you've already lost a lot of blood. That could make you delusional, I hear." He broke off as a coughing spell again seized Blair. "Coughing up blood, too. Nope, this does not look good, Sandburg."

"Simon, please," Blair murmured hoarsely, "where's Jim?"

The captain jumped down from the vehicle, landing softly in the mud. He paced away a few steps, and Blair strained to follow him with his eyes. "Jim is probably out looking for a new partner. Looks like he'll soon be needing one."

"God, no," Blair whispered. Jim wouldn't replace him. He wasn't dead! Jim was going to save him and everything would be all right.

Simon continued. "Maybe this time he can find someone he can count on. Someone who will be there for him, watch his back, instead of an incompetent kid who goes from one disaster to another, always in need of a rescue. Jim deserves better, Sandburg."

Blair closed his eyes. "I know that, Simon." His voice was barely a whisper now, and he doubted the man could hear him at all. "I never meant for it to be this way. I thought I could help Jim."

"But you haven't helped me, Chief."

Blair opened his eyes and saw Jim standing over him. He wanted to say something, anything, that would erase the look of contempt from Jim's face, but he couldn't find the right words.

"Nothing to say, Sandburg?" Blair turned his head to find Simon kneeling beside him in the mud. "I thought you always had something to say, whether anyone wanted to hear it or not. Is that it, then? You're just going to lay here in the mud and die without a fight?"

"I guess you were right, Simon," Jim said. "He doesn't have it in him. He's just not strong enough to be my partner."

Simon stood, and the two figures turned away. Blair finally found his voice. "Jim, please," he begged. "Don't leave me here to die!" The men kept walking. "Jim! Man, don't do this! You have to help me!"

The sentinel stopped and looked back over his shoulder, an expression of sadness on his face. "Too much blood loss. You're delirious, Chief."

"Jim, please, help me..." He broke off as the coughing started again. When it had subsided, the figures were gone. "Don't leave me..." Please...please, don't leave me...

I'm going to kill him! Jim glanced at his watch again, even though it had only been a couple of minutes since the last time he'd checked it. Where the hell was his roommate? The plane had landed thirty minutes ago and even then, had been twenty minutes late due to the storm. Jim had already called the loft and Blair's office twice with no luck. The wayward student could be anywhere. Anywhere but here, he quickly amended.

The detective paced for ten more minutes, then headed for the front entrance. God, he hated riding in cabs. He climbed into the closest empty taxi and gave the driver his address. The ride to the loft was plenty long enough for Jim's fury to build. A simple request, that's all it had been. Just pick me up at 4:30, Chief, and you can have my truck for two days. Just make sure you're there to pick me up on time.

Jim clenched his jaw as Blair's voice floated back to him. I'm not going to forget, man. Quit treating me like a kid. Then quit acting like a kid!

The taxi pulled up in front of his building, and Jim climbed out. This is coming out of Sandburg's hide, he decided as he handed the driver a few bills. Jim scanned the parking lot for his truck, finding Blair's rattletrap, but not his own truck. He muttered another curse and headed into the building.

The phone was ringing when he unlocked the door and he grabbed it up, expecting his roommate. Probably with some feeble excuse or a long-winded apology. He was in the mood for neither. "What?" he barked into the phone.

"Jim?" He was surprised to hear Simon's voice.

"Sorry, Simon, I thought you were Blair."

"Problems in paradise?" Jim could hear the smile in his captain's voice.

"He was supposed to pick me up at the airport, but he never showed. When I get my hands on him--"

"Wait, wait," Simon protested with a chuckle, "don't tell me. I'll have a legal duty to report it."

"So, what's up, Simon?"

There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line and Jim knew it wasn't good news that had the captain calling. His fears were confirmed when Simon finally spoke. "Philip Radney has been paroled. I've already notified the other officers that worked the case. You're the last one. I wanted to wait until you got back from Meridian."

Jim's foul mood took a gigantic leap forward at the news. Philip Radney. It was a sad testament to the judicial system that Radney had been turned loose, having only served four years.

"You still there, Jim?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, I'm here. When did he get out?" Jim shifted the phone to his other ear, noticing as he did the message light blinking on the answering machine.

"A few days ago. The Franklin police assure me they're keeping tabs on him for us. Guess that's the best we can do for now."

"Yeah, guess so." Jim's eyes strayed to the flashing light again. "Simon, have you heard from Blair today?"

"No, why? Should I have?"

"No, I was just wondering. Like I said, he was supposed to meet me at the airport at 4:30. I thought maybe he ran into some problems or something."

"More likely, he ran into some woman or something," Simon laughed. "Maybe I should alert the hospitals to be on the look out for him, in case you find him?" There was a pause, then, "Jim, I have to go. I'll let you know if I hear anything else on Radney."

Jim frowned as he hung up the phone. His anger was beginning to dissipate, replaced by the same ominous feeling that had nagged him since the day before. He glanced down at the answering machine with its steadily flashing light. Filled with an inexplicable sense of dread, he pushed the retrieve message button. Instantly, a woman's voice filled the air.

"Blair, its Corrie. Where the hell are you? There's no way we're going to make dinner first now. Maybe we'll have time to catch something after the lecture. You'd better not get this message before I see you, because you'd better be on your way here."

Corrie...Jim thought for a minute. Blair had been dating Corrie for a few weeks, though Jim had yet to meet the young woman. The lecture she'd mentioned must be the one Blair had mentioned last week. An anthropologist he'd once worked with was returning from an extended expedition to New Caledonia for a special lecture. Blair must have made plans to attend the lecture with Corrie.

The machine beeped, and another message started. "Blair, what's going on?" It was Corrie again. "There's no way we're going to make the lecture if you don't get here in the next few minutes. Are you having car problems? The least you could do is call me. I could have made other plans to get there."

Jim could hear the irritation in the woman's voice. Again the machine beeped, and Corrie's voice spoke, "Great, Blair! Thanks a lot! Even if we left now, we'd miss the lecture. You knew how important this was to me. I thought it was important to you, too. You'd better have a damned good excuse. If you ever get home, call me. If you're lucky, I might just listen to whatever story you cook up."

There was silence for a long moment before the machine clicked off. The lecture was important to Blair. He wouldn't have missed it if he could've helped it. The ominous feeling was growing now, and Jim had to deliberately push it aside so he could think logically. He picked up the phone and made a few phone calls, talking to the few friends of Blair's he could remember by name. No one had seen him since the day before. A call to the university only deepened Jim's unease. Blair had missed a morning class.

Jim hung up the phone, his mind reeling with possibilities, none of them good. Blair wouldn't have missed the lecture last night or the class this morning unless something had happened to keep him away. He would have called if at all possible, which meant it wasn't possible. He could have had car trouble, but it was unlikely. Jim kept the Ford in top running condition, and even so, Blair would have been able to get to a phone by now. Jim shook his head. There had to be another explanation.

Philip Radney has been paroled. Simon's voice drifted back to him. Radney, who had been generous with his threats four years ago, and Jim had been on the receiving end of most of them. And Blair was driving Jim's truck...

Jim shook his head angrily. He didn't like the trek his thoughts were taking, but it was too big a coincidence for his liking. He grabbed up the phone again and punched in a familiar number. After a minute, Simon answered.

"Simon, I need you to tell me I'm overreacting here."

The captain must have heard something in Jim's voice. "What's wrong, Jim?"

"Blair's missing. I found out he never showed up for an important date last night or for class this morning. None of his friends have seen him since yesterday morning." Jim stopped and took a deep breath. "Simon, he was driving my truck."

The was a long moment of silence on the end of the line. Then, "You think Radney has something to do with Sandburg's disappearance?"

"Tell me I'm wrong," Jim said hopefully.

There was another pause. "There are a lot of things I would call Sandburg, Jim, but irresponsible is not one of them."

It was getting dark again, wasn't it? Blair squinted his eyes and tried to focus on the sky. Yeah, it was getting dark. Maybe he should turn on a light. He tried to muster the energy to get up, but he couldn't. It doesn't matter. Jim will turn on the lights when he gets home.

No...that wasn't right. Blair suppressed a cough and looked around. He wasn't in the loft. Where was he? He should remember...he should know this. He closed his eyes against a stomach-churning wave of pain. He couldn't tell where the pain was coming from. Was he injured? Yeah, that was it. He had fallen, right? And hit his head. He reached up and touched the tender area over his eye. Must have hit hard, too. It really hurt. But it was okay, Jim was coming to get him.

Panic suddenly seized him, and his eyes jerked open. Hadn't Jim been here earlier? No...no, Jim would never have left him here to die alone. It must have been a dream. Yeah, just a dream. Jim hadn't been here, but he was coming. He'd be here soon. Jim was coming...

Blair let his eyes drift closed on the thought, satisfied that everything would be all right.

Jim opened the door and waved Simon in, cradling the phone against his ear with his shoulder. "Okay," he said into the phone. "Thanks." He turned to Simon as he set down the receiver. "What did you find out, sir?"

"Right this minute, Radney is at a hotel in Franklin. He's being questioned about his whereabouts yesterday afternoon, but the local authorities assure me he hasn't been to Cascade."

Jim shot him a look of disbelief. "You know as well as I do that if he wanted to leave town, he could have done it and been back in his bed before anyone missed him. It's only a 90 mile trip from Franklin to Cascade."

Simon nodded. "The thought crossed my mind, too."

Jim picked up a piece of paper from the table beside the phone. "I managed to track down the name and address of the woman Blair was supposed to meet last night. She lives south of town off the main highway. I tried calling her, but the phones out that way are out due to the storm. As far as I know, she was the last person to talk to Blair yesterday. I think we should talk to her."

"Let's go."

Simon turned his car back onto the highway and pointed it toward town. Jim hadn't said a word since they'd left Corena Sheridan's house. The woman hadn't really been much help, but they'd been able to make a few assumptions based on her last conversation with Blair. Sandburg had obviously left the loft around 5:30 with the intention of driving to Ms. Sheridan's house to pick her up. He'd never arrived. Somewhere between the loft and her house something had happened.

"Would Blair have stayed on the main highway, Jim?" Simon asked, stirring the detective from his thoughts. Jim was entirely too quiet, and Simon didn't like it. He and Jim had been friends for a while, and he liked to think he knew the man, but when it came to Sandburg...well, everything Simon thought he knew just flew right out the window.

"I don't know, Simon. If he was driving his car, yeah, he would have. But in my truck...I don't know." Jim was still staring out the window at the darkness.

Simon thought for a minute, then sighed. "Well, I've got an APB out on both him and your truck, so driving the highway seems a bit redundant." He pointed to the glove compartment. "There's a map in there. Check and see what other possible routes he might have taken."

Jim did as instructed, but turned to Simon as he unfolded the map. "There's no guarantee he's somewhere on the road, you know."

"You got a better place to start?"

Voices were urging him awake. "No...lemme 'lone...tired." But the voices wouldn't go away. They continued yelling at him, trying to get him to open his eyes. He moaned in protest and rolled his head away from the noise. It didn't help; they just got louder.

Against his will, his eyes opened. "'kay," he shouted at the darkness, though it came out as a choked whisper. "I'm 'wake."

"Blair, you have to stay awake."

He looked around for the source of the voice. It sounded like his mom, but he couldn't see anyone. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here, Blair." The voice was close now. He could almost see her. "You have to stay awake. You've lost a lot of blood, and you hit your head. You need to stay focused, okay?"

Blair's eyes drifted closed.

"No, Blair, stay awake."

Blair jerked his eyes open. Naomi was now standing over him; he could just make out her form in the darkness. "I'm so tired..."

"I know, but you have to stay awake. You know that, sweetie. It's basic first aid, remember?"

He remembered. It was important to stay awake. But I've already been asleep.

Naomi knelt down beside him. "You're worse now, Blair. You've lost a lot of blood, and you've probably got internal injuries..." She stopped for a minute. "You're delirious, Blair."

Blair stared at her. What was that supposed to mean? That's the same thing Jim had said to him earlier. He wasn't delirious; his mind was completely clear. He closed his eyes as a spasm shook his body, lighting fires of pain as it went. God, it hurts so bad!

"Blair! Wake up!" his mother shouted in his ear.

His eyes jerked open, sending a wave of vertigo crashing over him. He moaned softly and rolled his head to the side, afraid he was going to throw up. After a long minute, it passed.

"You have to focus, Blair," Naomi said. "Give your mind something to work on so it won't drift off again. Think about your work, your thesis."

"Where's Jim?" Blair whispered hoarsely.

"He'll be here. He always comes for you, doesn't he? Just hang on until he gets here."

Blair tried to shake his head, but it wasn't worth the effort. "He was here. Before."

"No, Blair, that wasn't Jim. I told you, you're delirious."

Jim wasn't here? That had to be right, because Jim wouldn't have left without him. He wouldn't leave him here to die alone. "You're not here either?"

There was no answer. He searched the darkness but couldn't find Naomi. It didn't matter. His eyes drifted closed. He was so tired and so cold. Okay, Jim, I've learned my lesson. You can come get me now.

Jim's sentinel vision was focused narrowly on the shoulder of the road, searching for...what? Tracks? He shook his head. Too much rain for that. But there had to be some clue as what had happened to Blair. Radney was back in Franklin, and, from witnesses' reports, had been since early morning. But what about last night? Franklin police were still checking his alibi. Radney could have easily have driven to Cascade, done whatever he had set out to do, and driven back to Franklin, with no one the wiser. But what had he done, Jim asked himself for the thousandth time. He was no closer to an answer now than when he'd first asked the question.

"Jim? Are you still with me?" Simon's hand gently touched his shoulder. "I've got to remember to ask Sandburg about these little zone outs you have. I wouldn't know what to do if you started fading out on me."

"I'm all right," Jim answered, not taking his eyes from the shoulder. "It's getting colder, Simon."

He heard the captain sigh deeply. "I know. I think the rain is starting up again." There was a long pause. "Jim...if Sandburg's out there somewhere, chances are--"

"Don't say it Simon," Jim interrupted. "Blair's not dead." He stopped when his voice threatened to betray his emotions. After a minute, he said, "If he was, I'd know it." He felt Simon's eyes on him, but he didn't explain. How could he when he didn't even understand it himself? But he knew he would know it; somehow he would feel it if his guide was gone. Just as he had felt, yesterday on the airplane and again today in the courtroom, that something was wrong. If only he'd paid more attention to the feeling. At the very least, he should called and made sure everything was all right. Maybe, somehow, this could have been avoided. Maybe...Jim pushed away the thoughts. There would be time to worry with the guilt later. He had to concentrate his energy now on finding Blair.

They rode on in silence for long time. Jim appreciated the silence. He didn't want to be distracted. If there was a clue, he didn't want to miss it. He couldn't miss it, because Blair would be counting on him.

They reached the end of the logging road they had been searching and turned back onto the main highway. Jim switched on the map light and examined the map again. "There's another road up ahead about five miles," he told Simon. "It winds back through the woods about ten miles, then cuts back over to the highway. It would have cut a few miles off the trip. He might have used it for a shortcut."

Simon grunted his agreement, and they fell back into silence. When they reached the road, Simon turned onto it and slowed to give Jim a better view. After a couple of miles, the captain broke the silence. "This is the last road, isn't it?"

Jim chewed the inside of his lip, but didn't answer.

Simon took that as an affirmative. "Maybe we missed something. The storm would have washed away any tracks." He paused. "It's only a few hours until daylight. Just as soon as the sun breaks, I'll get a couple of teams back out here to search again."

"I'm not leaving until we find him, Simon," Jim said firmly.

"I wasn't suggesting it," Simon replied. "You know I want to be out here as much as you do, Jim. I'm not giving up."

"Thanks, Simon."

"Don't mention it. And I mean that, don't mention it. I can't have Sandburg getting the wrong idea, now, can I?"

Jim chuckled. "I think it's too late for that. I think he has you pegged already."

"God save us all," Simon muttered under his breath.

"Simon! Stop the car!" Jim yelled suddenly.

Simon slammed on the brakes almost sending the vehicle into a spin. Before he could question the detective, Jim jumped out the door and ran ahead of the car to examine the pavement in the headlights. The captain climbed out quickly and followed. "What is it?"

"Skid marks," he pointed as he spoke. "Someone slammed on brakes hard right here." His eyes followed the tracks ahead about a quarter of a mile into a hard turn. The tracks didn't turn. "Something went over." Taking off at a dead run, he reached the edge of the turn and skidded to a stop, peering down the slope anxiously. What he saw made his heart stop.

"What do you see, Jim?" Simon asked from his elbow. He hadn't even heard the captain come up.

"It's my truck." The horror he felt was evident in his voice. "God, Simon, he couldn't have survived that!" The truck had evidently flipped. The crushed pile of twisted metal rested a couple of hundred yards down the steep slope.

"I'll call it in and get some flashlights," Simon said grimly. "Wait here; you'll never make it down that slope in the dark."

Simon's warning was unnecessary. Jim was rooted to the spot, unable to face what he was sure he would find down there. No one could have survived that crash. The truck had stopped on its side, the cab crushed flat. If Blair was in there...

Simon appeared again at his side with two flashlights. He offered one to Jim and gestured down the slope. "Anything?"

Jim knew what he was asking. The man wanted to know if he had picked up a heartbeat, but he hadn't tried, afraid of what he'd find. Or wouldn't find. He shook his head. "I don't know."

Simon seemed to understand and didn't question him further about it. "Why don't you stay here, and let me check it out first?"

Jim shook himself. "No, I have to do this." Without another word, he started down the slope, not bothering to turn on the flashlight in his hand. The recent rain had left the ground slick, and he had to fight to maintain his balance. Twice he slipped, sliding several feet before he could get back to his feet. As he approached the truck, his apprehension grew. With a silent prayer, he peered into the wreckage. "He's not in there!" He let out the breath he had been holding. "He's not in there, Simon!"

Jim finally allowed a small glimmer of hope to nudge its way into his thoughts. He closed his eyes and focused all of his concentration on his hearing, searching wildly for a heartbeat. He tuned out first his own, then Simon's, and then...there it was! Weak, barely audible, but it was there. He opened his eyes and began searching frantically around the wrecked truck.

He rounded the front of the truck and flipped on his flashlight, playing it across the underside of the vehicle. "Oh, my God!" He ran to the figure on the ground beneath the truck and fell to his knees. "Simon!"

The captain was at his side almost instantly. "Is he alive?"

Jim choked back his relief and listened again for the heartbeat. "Barely." He pulled off his jacket and slid it under Blair's head. The movement brought a soft moan from the younger man. "Blair? Can you hear me?" Jim touched the side of his partner's face. The skin was icy beneath his fingertips.

Blair moaned again, his eyelids fluttering. After a minute, they opened, though he didn't seem to focus on anything. "Jim?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Chief." Jim's voice was deep with emotion.

"Knew you'd come back," Blair whispered, closing his eyes again. "Knew you'd give me...'nother chance." A shudder racked the muddy body, and he grimaced against it. "I'm so cold, Jim. Think you could turn the heat up?"

"He's out of it," Simon observed unnecessarily. He stood and pulled his coat off, draping it across the younger man's chest. "I'm going to go see if I can light a fire under the rescue team."

Jim nodded and tucked the coat around Blair. "It's all right, Chief. Help is on the way. Just hang in there, okay?"

There was no answer. Jim's fingers sought the pulse in his partner's neck. Weak, but still there. "Come on, Blair, stay with me."

"I won't...let you down again, Jim. You...can trust me." His voice was so hoarse, Jim could barely make the words out.

"I do trust you, Chief. You didn't let me down."

A sudden coughing fit seized Blair, and Jim held him until it passed, alarmed to see blood gather in corners of Blair's mouth. Once the fit had passed, Jim grabbed the flashlight from where he'd dropped it and played it across the young man, horrified at what he found. There were bloody patches on his face where the skin had been scrapped away. Dark bruising stood out in sharp contrast to the paleness of his face. There was a deep gash above his right eye that was dark and swollen, and dried blood ran back into his hair.

Jim pulled back Simon's coat and examined his friend as gently as he could. There didn't seem to be any broken ribs, which was a good sign. Then Jim's gaze fell on the injured hand and his stomach twisted. It was a raw, bloody mess, and he caught a glimpse of exposed bone. Blair's elbow appeared broken, laying at an unnatural angle and swollen tight against his muddy shirt. A sharp intake of breath behind him told him Simon had returned.

"That doesn't look good," the captain observed needlessly. "How is he?"

Jim turned helpless eyes to the man. "He's coughing up blood."

Simon muttered a soft curse under his breath. "Help is still another twenty minutes away. The closest place they can land the Life Flight helicopter is a truck stop back up the main highway a few miles, but it'll be waiting for us there."

Jim tucked the coat back around the young man and laid his hand on his forehead. "Blair, are you still with me?"

For a long moment there was no answer, then, "Where would I go?" He opened his eyes again and turned his head until he found Jim. The older man was relieved to find a focus there this time. "I knew you'd find me...sooner or later." Blair coughed again. "Was hoping for sooner, though."

Jim pushed aside a rush of guilt. He swallowed hard as tears threatened.

"Sandburg, can you tell us what happened?" Simon asked.

Blair closed his eyes as another shudder racked his body. When he opened them again, he turned his gaze to Simon. "...'nother truck, I think..." He stopped and seemed to be thinking. "Not sure..."

"Did you see anyone?"

Blair closed his eyes again and didn't answer. He was shivering so hard his teeth were rattling together. Jim pulled the coat closer around his shoulders. "Blair? Come on, stay awake. Hang in there."

Blair forced his eyes open and smiled. "Tha's what Naomi kept saying...but she left."

Jim frowned. Blair was drifting out again.

"She wouldn't let me sleep," he continued, "but I was so tired." The talking brought on another coughing fit. Jim helped him lift his head to get a better breath. When it passed, Blair turned tortured eyes to him. "Wasn't too bad 'til the mud turned red."

"What?" Jim was confused by the odd statement.

"The mud turned red. Wasn't really worried 'til then. Scared me." He pulled his right hand out from under the coat, his fist clenched around a handful of mud. When he opened his fist, Jim could see the mud was indeed red. A vise tightened around Jim's heart.

"Sweet Jesus," Simon whispered.

Jim pulled the coat away and saw a small mound of mud next to Blair. He'd evidently attempted to dig his way out from under the truck. Jim reached into the hole Blair had excavated and pulled out a handful of mud. It was tinged bright red with blood.

"'s all right, Jim," Blair slurred, his eyes drifting closed. "Doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts anymore." His voice faded away, and Jim listened for his heartbeat. It was growing fainter.

Jim switched focus, listening for the sound of approaching sirens. "They're coming, Simon. I can hear them."

The captain nodded and left to flag them down. Jim turned back to Blair. "Still with me, buddy?" There was no answer. "Blair?"

The sound of sirens grew closer and after a few minutes, Jim could hear voices coming from the road. Light suddenly flooded the area as the rescue squad turned their floodlights on the wreck. Jim breathed a prayer of relief. "Hurry!" he shouted up the hill.

The surgical waiting room was twelve paces long and eight paces wide; Jim knew it for a fact. He'd paced it relentlessly for over three hours. He reached a wall and turned to retrace his steps. He couldn't stop, couldn't sit down, because if he did, the memories of the past six hours would overwhelm him. He didn't want to remember the helplessness of waiting an eternity for the rescue team to extricate Blair from beneath the wreckage, listening in fear as the young man's heart fought valiantly to pump what little blood he had left in an effort to survive.

He didn't want to remember the horror he had felt when they finally pulled him free, only to find his partner's leg had been nearly sliced in two. Jim shuddered at the image still burned into his mind. He knew he would relive that moment in his nightmares for years to come. The paramedics had battled to preserve the tiny spark of life remaining in his friend. By some miracle, some grace of God, Blair had survived the trip to the hospital and was now in surgery.

Jim turned and paced faster, anger spilling over to his feet. No one had been able to tell him anything substantial since their arrival, and it was the not knowing that was wearing on him. All he'd been told was that Blair had lost too much blood and surgery was a risk in his weakened condition, but there was no choice. Simon had stayed with him until Blair was taken in to surgery, only leaving then to jump start an investigation into the wreck.

As Jim made a circuit of the empty room again, he glanced at the large clock over the door. Almost 6:30 A.M. He desperately wanted some coffee, but he was afraid to leave the waiting room. He'd been warned the surgery would be long, but if something happened...

So he stayed. And paced.

Twenty minutes later, the door opened, and Jim spun around. Simon entered carrying two steaming cups of coffee, followed by Joel Taggart. "Thought you could probably use this," the captain said, handing one of the cups to Jim. "Any word yet?"

Jim shook his head as he gratefully accepted the coffee and took a sip. "Nothing. Not one word, and it's driving me crazy."

Simon sat in the closest chair, motioning for Jim and Taggart to do the same. After a minute Jim relented, sitting across from the two men.

"That's probably good news in itself, Jim," Taggart said. "If something was wrong, you'd have heard by now."

Jim nodded grimly, fixing his gaze on the steam rising from the foam cup in his hands.

Simon cleared his throat. "There's a team going over your truck now, but the preliminary report indicates that the seat belt had been tampered with. Whoever did this was determined to leave no survivor."

"Whoever?" Jim exclaimed angrily. "We know damned well who did this."

Simon shook his head. "No, Jim, we don't know that. There's no evidence to indicate Radney. Not yet. He's managed to turn up witnesses who put him in Franklin all day on the day of the wreck."

"You can't believe that," Jim shouted in shocked surprise.

"I didn't say I believed it," the captain interrupted. "Jim, if Radney is behind this, we'll get him, I swear it. But we have to be careful how we approach this. This is personal, an attack against one of our own, but we can't let that interfere with proper procedure. I won't risk letting him get away with it because we let our emotions color our judgment."

Jim clamped his mouth shut, wanting to say more but knowing Simon was right.

"We'll get him, Jim," Taggart said. "And when we do, he'll pay the price for what he did to the kid, I promise you."

The words flowed warmly through Jim. It was gratifying to know his friends fully accepted Blair. One of our own, Simon had said. Trying to fit into Jim's world had been an uphill battle from the start for the free spirited grad student. He'd gotten much more than he could possibly have bargained for when he'd offered to assist Jim with learning to control his senses in return for a chance to study the special abilities. He'd been shot, kidnapped, threatened, drugged, and for some reason that Jim had been unable to determine, he just kept coming back for more. But would this be the final straw? Blair had almost died under that truck. He might still die. Would he finally say 'enough'? A fist of tension tightened in Jim's chest at the thought, but he couldn't expect Blair to come back. Not this time. How could he?

Jim stood and walked to a window which offered a view of the slowly rising sun. Could he survive without a guide? Had he learned enough to control his senses without Blair's help? God help him if he had to find out.

"Jim..." Simon had moved up behind him, meeting his eyes in the reflection of the window "How about some breakfast? Joel's treat."

"I can't leave until I know something, one way or another."

Simon nodded. "Then how about some more coffee?" At Jim's nod, he took the now empty cup from the detective and left the room.

Jim stared out the window another minute, then walked back to where Taggart still sat watching him. Dropping into the chair, he leaned tiredly back. "God, Joel, what if he loses his leg?"

Taggart looked surprised at the comment. "Is that a possibility?"

"I don't know," Jim said, trying to rub the weariness from his face. "No one said as much, but you didn't see it. It was bad, Joel. I don't know what could happen."

"You have to think good thoughts, Jim," Taggart said. "It doesn't do you or Sandburg any good to sit here and imagine the worse. Doctors work miracles everyday, and if anybody deserves one now, it's that boy."

Jim nodded without looking up. Simon returned with Jim's coffee and the three men lapsed into silence. The next two hours passed slowly. Jim dozed once for a little while, lulled to sleep by the soft conversation of his two friends beside him.

At last the door opened, and a grim-faced doctor, still dressed in surgical scrubs, entered. He approached the three men as they stood to face him. Jim's heart plunged at the look on the surgeon's face.

"You're with Mr. Sandburg?" At Jim's affirmation, he continued. "I'm Doctor Charles Guthrie, his surgeon. It was touch and go for a while, but he made it through the surgery. He'll be in recovery for a few hours, then we'll be moving him to ICU." He stopped and sighed. "I wish I could give you better news, but the truth is, he has suffered serious injuries. On the plus side, though there was extensive damage to the muscles and nerves of his left leg, we were able to save it. Given proper treatment and extensive rehabilitation, I see no reason why he shouldn't regain full use of it."

Jim bowed his head and blew out a noisy breath. He wanted to cry with relief. Blair wasn't going to lose his leg! "Thank God," he whispered.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, well, someone was definitely looking out for him. A wound like that should have killed him, but it looks like the weight of the vehicle on his leg slowed the bleeding enough to keep him alive. But that's just the good news, gentlemen. Mr. Sandburg sustained what we call spinal shock. Think of it as a concussion to the spinal cord." Seeing the look on Jim's face, he paused and motioned to the chairs. Once everyone was seated, he continued. "Usually, this involves a 24-72 hour period of paralysis below the level of injury, which in this case is in the lumbar region, the lower back. It rarely lasts beyond 48 hours. Once the spinal shock has passed, we'll be better able to determine the extent of injury to the spinal cord, but from what we're seeing at this point, I have no reason to believe there's any permanent damage."

He waited for that to sink in before going on. "Additionally, there was internal bleeding, his left arm is broken in two places, and he has a concussion, not to mention the numerous contusions and lacerations. He will have a long road of recovery ahead of him. I won't tell you it will be easy, because it won't." He paused again. "We can talk about that later. Right now, we need to concentrate on the next 24 hours or so."

"When can I see him?" Jim asked.

"He's going to be heavily sedated for a while. He wouldn't even know you were here."

"I need to see him," Jim protested firmly.

The doctor considered him for a long moment. Then, "Go home, get some rest. You look like you could use it. Come back this afternoon, and I'll let you in for a few minutes."

Once the doctor had gone, Jim dropped his head into his hands. After a minute, he felt Simon's hand on his back.

"Jim, he's going to be okay."

Jim nodded, not trusting his voice. He sighed deeply and swallowed hard. Finally, he said, "I know, Simon, but it was too close." His voice caught. "I thought...I thought..." He couldn't say it.

"I know. Me, too." Simon cleared his throat. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Jim stood in the doorway of the Intensive Care Unit, willing himself to move across the short space to his partner's bed. He was having trouble making his feet obey the command. Finally, when the nurse smiled encouragingly at him on her way out the door, he was able to make the brief trek. He stood looking down at Blair's battered face, peaceful in a drug-induced sleep. He had to swallow hard to hold back the emotions that assaulted him. The curtained off area was silent, save for the incessant beeping of numerous monitors and the hiss and click of a respirator as it forced air into his guide's weakened lungs. Multiple IV lines ran into veins in his right arm; his left was a swathed in thick bandages and a cast. Most heartbreaking of all was the metal and plastic frame that held his sleeping body immobile.

Jim took a deep breath and laid his hand gently on Blair's forehead, the only part of his friend's body he felt safe touching. "God, Chief, how could something like this happen?" His voice was low and soft, even though he knew Blair was held in the relative comfort of sleep by the drugs pumping continuously into his veins through the IV. "I was supposed to keep you safe. That's the role of a Blessed Protector, isn't it? I let you down, Chief. I wasn't there when you needed me.

"We need to talk, partner. Just as soon as you are back on your feet, we're going to sit down and have a nice long talk. Maybe we'll take a little trip, to the mountains or maybe the lake and do some fishing. The fresh air will be good for the both of us. Simon and Joel were both here earlier. The doctor would only let me in to see you, so they went back to the station. Several of the guys came by or called to check on you, too. Bet that surprises you. Oh, yeah, and Corrie and someone named Alaina called the loft. You're a popular guy all of a sudden. I called the university and explained the situation, so don't worry. Everything is covered there."

Jim glanced at his watch and saw that the few short minutes Doctor Guthrie had allotted him were up. He moved his hand from Blair's forehead to his right hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I have to go now, Blair. They won't let me back in to see you for a while, but I'll be close by, I promise. Take it easy, buddy. Get well." He gave the hand another squeeze and turned away.

Consciousness once more teased Blair. He'd drifted toward it several times, only to have it slip quickly away when he reached for it. This time, he was determined to grasp it. The soft voice that had been there each of the previous times was there again. He focused on it, somehow knowing that it would anchor his drifting senses. The concentration it took to focus on the voice all of his energy, but he forced back the advancing darkness and latched more firmly onto the sound, straining for the words.

"...and I guess that was more than Simon could take. He just up and quit, right in the middle of the game. I couldn't convince him that I would never take advantage of a friend like that. He just didn't want to admit I'm a better player than he is even without my sentinel senses. You should have seen the other guys trying to figure out what Simon was getting so worked up about."

The voice stopped and after a minute, Blair felt a touch on his arm. Then, the voice continued, "I'll be glad when they get you into a real room, Chief. ICU has such strict rules. I've already overstayed my welcome; they'll be coming in any minute to throw me out. I don't think they'll let me in again tonight, but I'll try. If not, I'll be here first thing tomorrow morning. You hang in there, Blair, you hear me?" The hand squeezed his arm, then moved away.

Wait, please! He wanted to call the voice back, but something in his throat prevented it, something that didn't belong. He started to panic. He wanted it out! Something was wrong! His body was heavy and felt strangely disconnected. Without the voice to focus on the darkness crept closer, and he was powerless to avoid it.

"How is Sandburg, Jim?" Simon asked. He tossed his coat across the back of the couch and sat down.

Jim came into the living room carrying two beers. Handing one to the captain, he sat down in a chair across from the couch. He took a long swig before answering. "There's been little change. He still hasn't regained consciousness. The doctor doesn't seem concerned, though. He says it's to be expected under the circumstances."

"It's only been a few days, Jim," Simon reminded him needlessly. "I'm sure he knows what he's talking about. You have to trust him."

Jim sighed. "I do, Simon. It's just..."

"It's just that you feel helpless, and that's not you at your best," Simon supplied.

"Damn it, Simon, this never should have happened!"

"No, it shouldn't have. " Simon studied him for a minute. "I know you, Jim, and I know you are trying to carry all of this on your own shoulders, but it's not your fault. Much as I hate to say it, these things go with the territory."

"Blair's not a cop!" Jim stopped and checked his temper. He wasn't angry at Simon. He wasn't sure who he was really angry at. "He's not a cop. He's just a student, attempting to study these damned senses. He shouldn't be put into dangerous situations like that."

"Jim, all we know is that Sandburg was run off the road by a truck, according to what he said, and a black one judging from the paint we found on your truck."

"And that the seat belt had been tampered with," Jim added.

Simon nodded, conceding the point. "We don't know that it was because of his association with you."

"Don't give me that crap, Simon! You don't believe it any more than I do. We both know Radney was behind this."

"No, we don't, and to tell you the truth, Jim, I'm beginning to have my doubts." He cut off Jim's protest before it started with a raised hand. "Radney has an airtight alibi, witnesses that put him in Franklin all day the day of the accident."

Jim stood and paced away a few steps. "I don't buy that, and frankly, I'm surprised you do."

"Jim, these are reputable witnesses. His employer, his landlord, even his parole officer, for Christ's sake!"

An uneasy silence grew between the two as each considered the implications of the statement. Jim didn't want to hear Simon's arguments. He wanted to blame Radney, he had to blame Radney, because if he lost that, what would be left? Someone was responsible for what had happened to his partner, and it made it easier to put a face, a name, to that someone. No, Jim angrily shook his head, it was Radney; he knew it in his gut, and Jim had learned to trust his instincts. It was Radney, if not directly, then indirectly, and it was up to him to prove it.

But how? There were no clues at the scene. He had been there twice, trying desperately to find something to go on. He had used every sentinel sense he had, searched every inch of the area. Jim closed his eyes, fighting back the emotional landslide that came with the memory of that place. Standing in the artificial clearing created by the truck when it had settled on Sandburg, he had been overwhelmed by his imagination. Images of his guide laying there under the truck had almost drowned out his senses. Blair had been trapped there for almost thirty hours -- trapped and hurt, alone, afraid, and slowly bleeding to death. Something burned deep in Jim's chest; a desire -- no, a need -- for revenge against whomever had done this to his friend.

"Jim?"

Realizing that Simon had been speaking to him, Jim glanced up. "Sorry, I was somewhere else. What did you say?"

"I was asking if you've had any luck locating Naomi yet?"

Jim shook his head. "I've tried every place I've heard Blair mention. No luck. One guy I called mentioned that he thought she might have been planning to leave the country for a while."

"Guess we'll have to wait for Sandburg to wake up and tell us where she is," Simon offered.

Jim grunted, but didn't answer. He felt Simon's eyes on him, studying him. He knew the captain was concerned about him, but he couldn't bring himself to reassure his friend. How could he tell the man he was all right? He wasn't, and wouldn't be until he had some guarantees that Blair would recover fully from this nightmare.

"You look exhausted, Jim," Simon said, standing and retrieving his coat. "Get some sleep. I assume you'll be at the hospital tomorrow morning?"

Jim stood and walked with him to the door. "They're letting me in for a few minutes every two hours. It's not much, so I don't want to miss even one visit. Doctor Guthrie says it's important, even while he's unconscious, to hear a familiar voice."

"I understand. Take as much time as you need." Simon reached for the door knob. "Let me know if there's any change."

Jim shut the door behind Simon and locked it. He felt drained suddenly, too tired to even climb the stairs to his room. Shuffling tiredly back to the couch, he stretched out and was asleep within seconds.

"We removed the respirator this morning. He's breathing on his own, and he seems to be stabilizing."

Blair had heard that voice before, though it wasn't the soothingly familiar one that had been his anchor. He wanted desperately to open his eyes and see who the voice belonged to, who it was talking to, but his body stubbornly refused to obey him.

"What about the paralysis?"

There, that was the voice Blair had been listening for. He immediately relaxed. His anchor was here.

"I've ordered another MRI for this afternoon. I'll know more then, but things look good right now. I'm seeing the beginnings of the return of reflexive response. Once Mr. Sandburg regains consciousness, we'll be moving him into a room."

Regains consciousness? Blair was confused. He was conscious. He could hear everything the two voices were saying. Of course, they were drifting in and out, but that was because they were moving around as they were talking, wasn't it?

"Once the swelling goes down, he will begin to regain the feeling in his lower back and legs. I have to tell you, Detective Ellison, it's not going to be pleasant. He'll be in considerable pain. We can administer painkillers, of course, but I prefer to stay away from anything too strong. I don't want to mask symptoms that we need to be aware of."

Blair let his mind drift away from the conversation. He didn't need to hear this, they were obviously talking about someone else. He was definitely conscious, and he certainly wasn't in any pain. In fact, he felt nothing. It was if his body wasn't even connected, and he had to admit it was an almost pleasant feeling. Slowly, the sound of the voices in the background faded and darkness returned once more.

Jim listened solemnly as Doctor Guthrie described the pain and difficulties that Blair would be facing once he regained consciousness. His tightly clenched jaw was the only outward sign of his emotions. He had to force himself to concentrate on the man's words.

"Once we get him into a room, I want to restrict his visitors to one or two at a time. He's going to be a bit confused and easily stressed at first. That's perfectly normal in cases of head trauma. He may also experience memory lapses for awhile. I'll have one of the nurses get you some information on what to expect. It's important that you understand what he will be going through. Emotional support is crucial to a patient's recovery efforts. In absence of family, Detective, he's going to have to depend a great deal on his friends."

Guthrie left, and Jim moved closer to Blair's bed. His friend looked very peaceful, as though merely sleeping. With the respirator gone, the room was strangely quiet. Only the ceaseless beep of the monitors remained. Jim reached for Blair's hand out of habit and began talking.

"Good news, Chief. I know you're glad to have that tube out of your throat. It's got to feel much better. And the doctor says the prognosis is good. The chances of full recovery look pretty good." He had to stop and swallow the lump in his throat before he could continue. "Recovery will be slow and probably not very pleasant, but you will walk again, and that's what's important. That's what you have to hang on to." That's what I'll be hanging on to, Jim added silently.

"Just as soon as you wake up, they'll be moving you into a room," he continued. "I, for one, will be very glad. This ten minutes at a time stuff sucks. Besides, I'm getting tired of telling everyone who wants to come see you that they'll have to wait 'til you decide to grace us with your presence." He chuckled. "I had no idea you had so many friends, Sandburg. The phone rings constantly at the loft. I have to turn off the ringer and let the machine answer just to get any sleep. And the nurses tell me they are being bombarded by calls. It's not just people from the university either. The guys at the station are just as bad." He tightened his grip on Blair's hand and lowered his voice. "You have a lot of people who care about you, Chief. They want you to get well. You can't disappoint them. I want you to concentrate on waking up, do you hear me?"

He glanced at his watch. "My time's almost up, but I'll be back in a couple of hours. You think about what I said, okay, Blair? Just focus on getting better." He set the hand down reluctantly and left.

"It's been four days, Simon," Jim said. "There has to be something we can go with, some lead."

The captain solemnly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jim. We're at a standstill here. Radney's story is still holding tight. Until Sandburg is able to tell us what happened, we're at a dead end." He paused, considering his words carefully. "I think it's time we considered other angles, Jim."

The detective stood and paced around the captain's office. "I know it was Radney, Simon. You'll never convince me otherwise." He stopped and met his captain's eyes. "But, to be honest, I've already started going through old case files. I don't really know what to look for, but I have to do something."

"It's a start," Simon said. "We'll just have to hope Sandburg saw something useful."

Jim glanced at his watch. "I have to go. It's almost time for my ten minutes." His cell phone rang before he could get to the door. He flipped it open and acknowledged the call.

A female voice answered, identifying herself as an ICU nurse from the hospital. Jim's heart stopped in fear until he heard her next words: "Mr. Sandburg is awake."

Jim didn't remember ending the call. He hoped he hadn't merely hung up on the woman. He didn't remember telling Simon the news, but he must have, because the next thing he knew, the two of them were in Simon's car, on their way to the hospital.

They arrived at ICU to find Doctor Guthrie in with Blair. They had to wait by the nurses' desk for what seemed an eternity for the examination to end. Finally, the neurologist brought them his report.

"Mr. Sandburg is conscious and responsive. We'll keep him here a couple of more hours, just to be safe, then move him to a room. I'm basically pleased with what I see. The signs are good so far. I'm going to let you in to see him, but only for a few minutes. He's very tired and needs his rest. I don't want him to try to talk for a day or so. And remember what I said earlier, he may be confused and easily stressed. Just take it slow."

Jim moved cautiously into the room, followed by Simon. A nurse was spooning ice chips slowly into Blair's mouth. Jim waited until she finished and left them alone before moving closer to the bed. "Hey, Chief." He placed his gently hand on Blair's arm.

Slowly, Blair found Jim with his eyes -- eyes that seemed dull and slightly glazed. Was that the drugs?

"The doc says no talking, Chief, so just lay there and relax. Simon's here." He turned to the captain who had remained at the door. At Jim's words, the man stepped closer, and Blair turned his head slightly toward him.

There was no indication that the younger man recognized either of them. He continued to stare blankly at them. Jim fought back a surge of panic, reminding himself that the doctor had warned him there could be memory lapses at first.

"I don't know what the doctor told you, Blair," Jim said into the awkward silence, "but he sounded very encouraged when he spoke to us. I guess I don't have to tell you how scared you had us."

The blue eyes blinked a couple of times very slowly, but never changed expression. Jim could find no indication that the younger man even heard his words. He made himself continue despite the ache in his chest. "I tried to find Naomi. I called everywhere I could think of, but I think she may be out of the country. We're just going to have to wait until you can tell us where she is. She'll probably be mad at us for not getting the message to her, but I'll wait and let you deal with that," he finished with a smile.

Blair's only response was the closing of his eyes

"We'll go, Chief, and let you get some rest. I'll be back later, when they move you into a room."

"Hang in there, Sandburg," Simon said softly. "We're holding a good thought for you."

By the time they had reached the door, Jim's sentinel hearing had already assured him that his friend was sleeping.

Blair's left leg throbbed, and he was sure it was from laying in one position for too long. He thought about rolling over, he really wanted to, but he felt so heavy and tired. Maybe later. He relaxed into the bed and tried to go back to sleep. Instead, his hearing tuned into the sounds from the room around him. He heard a soft noise that surprised him and convincing him to open his eyes. It took more effort than he'd expected, but he eventually succeeded.

Something was different about this place, but he wasn't entirely certain what it was. It wasn't his bedroom at the loft, that much he knew. Slowly he turned his head and located the source of the sound that had drawn his attention. Someone was sitting in a chair beside the bed, head back, eyes closed, and snoring softly. He concentrated on the face. It was a little blurry, but he was sure it was familiar. He should know it, but his head hurt too bad to give it much thought.

The throbbing in his leg was increasing. He had to make himself roll over. Gathering all of the strength he could muster, he tensed his muscles in preparation for making the move. The pain that shot through him brought a moan to his lips. He squeezed his eyes tight against the agony.

A gentle touch on his arm made him open his eyes, and he saw that the man in the chair had risen and was standing over him.

"It's okay, Chief," the man said. "Just relax. Try not to move."

I think I just figured that out, thanks.

"How about some water?" The man moved out of his line of sight, returning shortly carrying a cup. A straw touched his lips, and Blair took it into his mouth and attempted to draw water through it. After two tries, he managed a few drops. Swallowing hurt so bad, he refused another try, turning his head away.

"That's okay, we'll try again later."

Blair turned back toward the man, willing his eyes to focus. This was the voice that he had been hearing in his sleep. The anchor he had clung to in the darkness. With the pain increasing throughout his body, he needed the voice now. He needed to cling to it. With his eyes, he begged the man to speak, hoping the message would somehow come across.

The man smiled down at him and touched his arm. After a minute, he pulled the chair closer and sat down. Blair followed his every movement with his eyes. When the man began to speak, Blair sighed softly and tried to relax in spite of the pain.

"Doctor Hargrave was here a little while ago. He's the doctor that did the surgery on your arm. You slept right through his visit. They had to put a few pins in your elbow, but the doc says it looks good. Considering how long it was before it could be set, you were really lucky. Might take a bit of rehab, but it should be fine."

His arm was broken? Funny, it didn't feel broken. Maybe that's because everything else hurt so much, he couldn't differentiate between the pains. He thought about lifting his head for a look but quickly abandoned the idea.

Blair suddenly realized that he was in the hospital. There must have been an accident. Oh, God, not his car again! He had just managed to get the damned thing running again. Was it bad? Must be if he was in the hospital. Well, that explained the pain, anyhow. What else was wrong besides his arm being broken? He looked up and realized the man was still talking.

"...don't know if you remember yesterday much, but I still haven't found Naomi. Do you know where she is?"

Blair continued to stare at the man. He knew he had been asked a question, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was. Didn't really matter. All that mattered was for the man to keep talking.

"Blair? Do you know where Naomi is? I know you can't talk, but if you know where she is, give me some kind of sign, okay, buddy?"

I can talk if I want to, Blair argued silently. My throat just hurts too bad to try. The man gave up the questions and leaned back in the chair, letting his hand remain on Blair's arm. Blair kept his eyes glued to the man, pleading silently for him to resume talking. Finally, he did.

"It's all right, Chief. We can figure it out later. Let me tell you about some of the phone calls I've been getting..."

Blair relaxed and let his eyes drift closed as the man talked on. The words didn't matter, just the sound. Slowly, he felt the pain float away, and he surrendered to sleep.

Jim kept talking until he was sure sleep had claimed his partner. The talking seemed to calm Blair's racing heart. The younger man had drifted in and out of sleep all day, each time the pain appeared worse. And each time, he had responded only to the sound of Jim's voice.

The neurologist had been in earlier, and Jim had expressed concern to him that Blair didn't seem to recognize anyone. The doctor had assured him that this was normal for his condition, and that it would pass with time. Somehow, knowing it was normal did little to ease Jim's mind. It was torture to see his friend so helpless and in so much pain. Blair couldn't seem to stay awake for more than a few minutes either, but again, Guthrie assured him it was normal and would pass.

Jim stood and stretched. He'd been in that chair for hours, and his body was feeling it. A glance at his watch told him visiting hours were almost over. He hated to leave, afraid Blair would awaken and need him, but he couldn't stay at the hospital around the clock, much as he wanted to.

With one last look at his sleeping partner, Jim turned toward the door and left.

When Jim arrived at the hospital the next morning, Blair was awake and staring out the window. He apparently didn't hear the door open and jumped when Jim touched his arm, wincing immediately at the pain.

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. The nurses tell me you've been awake for a while. That's good. You look better, too. Your color is better."

Blair swallowed and licked his lips a couple of times, then, "Jim?"

The single word was barely croaked out, but Jim clearly heard it. His face broke into a wide grin. Blair recognized him! "Yeah, Chief, it's me."

Blair nodded, watching him closely. After a minute, he swallowed again and said, "Talk."

Still grinning, Jim pulled up the chair and sat down. "Sure, Chief." He reached for his friend's hand and was rewarded by a slight pressure on his own. His grin broadened, and he began speaking. "Let me update you on what's been going on at the station..."

Simon stepped up to Blair's room cautiously. He had not been to see him since that day, almost a week ago now, when the young man had awakened in ICU, kept away by the doctor's fear of over stressing his patient. Now that Blair was alert and responsive, Jim had suggested a visit. Simon pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Both Jim and Blair turned to face him, the younger man's face breaking into a smile.

"Simon, come on in," Jim said, rising. He pulled a second chair close to the one he had been using and sat back down.

Simon took the offered seat and looked at the patient. Sandburg actually looked better than the captain had expected from Jim's reports. The head of the bed had been elevated slightly, and the traction frame had been replaced by a brace that wrapped around his torso and extended up his back, almost to his neck. The IV was still in place, but the monitors were gone. Sandburg looked a lot better, but there were tight lines of pain around his mouth and eyes.

"You're looking almost human, Sandburg," the captain commented.

For a moment there was no response, and Simon had to remind himself that Jim had warned him about the delayed response time. The detective had given him a long list of things to expect, almost scaring him away from visiting.

Blair finally swallowed and answered. "I almost feel human, Simon."

"Daryl's been nagging me to death about coming to see you," Simon said. "I told him I would let him know when you were up to it."

Another short pause, then Blair's smile grew a bit. "Bring him. I like Daryl, and I'm getting tired of only Jim's face."

Simon smiled back, pleased to hear a bit of the old Sandburg. He'd been worried by Jim's reports that maybe Blair wouldn't be the same.

"Don't let him fool you, Simon," Jim said matching their grins with one of his own. "There is no shortage of pretty faces around here. There's one nurse in particular -- who is it? Melanie? -- that always seems to show up in time for his sponge bath."

Simon glanced at the younger man, noticing he'd turned a subtle shade of pink. "Something you want to tell us, Sandburg?"

Blair only smiled sheepishly and turned his head. After a minute, he closed his eyes.

"Maybe I should go and let you rest," Simon suggested, standing.

Without opening his eyes, Blair said, "No, please stay. I'm all right. The medicine makes me groggy."

Simon looked to Jim for confirmation. The detective nodded, and Simon sat back down.

"He just likes to listen to me talk," Jim said, glancing at his partner.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Blair said, sounding a bit frustrated. "I'm brain injured, not brain dead."

Jim laughed out loud, and Simon threw him a startled look, thinking that Sandburg was really irritated. Jim saw the look. "I've always contended he was brain damaged. Why treat him any differently now that I've gotten a professional opinion?" Jim chuckled again. "Just ignore him, he gets testy when it gets close to bath time."

Blair opened his eyes briefly, shooting Jim a dirty look. This time, Simon joined the laughter. The young man settled back again, eyes closed, and Jim changed the subject, asking Simon about a case the department was currently involved with. The two men talked softly for a time. Occasionally, Blair would make a comment, usually long after the subject had moved on, but at least he was attentive. Simon felt it was a positive sign.

Before long, the door opened, and a nurse entered. Simon's eyes went instantly to the woman's name tag. So this was Melanie. No wonder Blair had blushed. Jim hadn't exaggerated on the nurse's attractiveness. She greeted the two men with a smile as she walked around the bed and checked the IV line. The woman produced a syringe and prepared to inject it into one of the lines. Blair opened his eyes then, and she smiled down at him. "Time for a morphine fix," she said, keeping her voice light. "Helen will be here shortly."

Melanie glanced up at Jim and Simon. "It'll be a few minutes, gentlemen, but when his PT arrives, you'll have to wait outside."

Simon saw Jim's jaw clench, but the detective merely nodded to the nurse. "Thanks, Melanie, I know the drill." When she left, he stood and moved closer to the bed. "I think I'll leave this time before Helen has a chance to throw me out, Chief. I'm going to go back to the station with Simon for a while. I'll be back soon. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Rather than answer, Blair turned to Simon. The captain could see a sudden weariness in his expression. "Tell Jim to go home, Captain. I don't need to be entertained."

"You're in no position to argue, Junior, in case you haven't noticed," Jim said, squeezing the young man's shoulder. "Don't give Helen too hard a time, okay? I'll see you this afternoon."

Simon said a quick good-bye and followed Jim out the door. He waited until they reached the elevator before asking, "Who's Helen?"

The car arrived, and Jim stepped inside before answering. "Helen Brewster. She's Blair's physical therapist. They've started with some basic movements of his legs and lower body." He paused for a long minute, and Simon waited, certain the man wanted to say more. Finally, "I waited outside the room the first few times she came." He stopped and shook his head. Before he could continue, the elevator stopped in the lobby, and they headed for the parking lot.

"I take it that wasn't a pleasant experience?" Simon prompted when Jim showed no signs of continuing. Again with the damned jaw clenching. Simon wondered sometimes if Jim had to go home at night and rub Ben Gay into the joint.

"The fact that they have to dope him up with morphine before she starts should tell you something," Jim snapped. He stopped and took a deep breath. "When they finally get finished, he'll be so tired and in so much pain, he'll sleep for hours."

They reached the rental car Jim's insurance had provided and stopped to lean against it. Simon studied the detective's grim face. It was obvious there was something else Jim wanted to say. "You know all that's a necessary evil, Jim. That's not what's really bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?"

Jim stared at the ground for a long moment, then looked up to meet Simon's gaze. "All of this is bothering me. Everything! Simon, Blair didn't sign on for this abuse. He was just suppose to hang around for a while, get some information to help him with his studies, not present a ready target for every maniac that has a vendetta against me."

Simon opened his mouth to argue, and Jim held up his hand. "I know what you're going to say, Simon. Just save it, okay? I know in my gut this was Radney's doing. The only way you'll convince me otherwise is if you find someone else to confess to it." He stopped and ran a hand over his short hair. "I've been thinking about this nonstop for a little more than a week now, Simon, and I want to run something by you."

Simon frowned, not sure where this was headed. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigar. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Jim waited until the cigar was lit, then continued. "I think Radney had an accomplice. It's the only explanation that makes sense."

"You're reaching here, and you know it," Simon said calmly. "Radney's always been a loner, Jim. Why would he change his MO now? Do you really think if he were looking to make good on his threats he would trust it to anyone else?"

"I don't know, but it's the only explanation."

"Jim..." Simon pause for a long minute, choosing his words carefully. "You want to pin this on Radney so badly you're starting to make up rationalizations. I know how you feel about Sandburg. Everyone at the station is feeling this one, believe me. I've got men voluntarily giving up their days off to work on it, even with no leads to go on. But, other than the threats Radney so generously shared with us all four years ago, there is no reason to even suspect him. Hell, if we lined up everybody that had ever threatened you, the line would reach half way to the east coast. We're just going to have to wait until Sandburg can remember the wreck and hope he can tell us something."

Jim angrily kicked at a loose rock on the pavement. "You know as well as I do that Guthrie said he may never remember what happened."

"Then we'll have to find a clue or two on our own. It happens all the time, Jim. That's why we get the big bucks."

There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, Jim pushed off the car and stood up straight, meeting the captain's gaze. "I'm going to Franklin, Simon."

"Oh, no, you're not," Simon threw back firmly. "That is not an option."

"I'm not asking." Jim crossed his arms on his chest. "I'm still officially on leave, remember? Look, Simon, all I want to do is check out these so called witnesses, ask a few questions. I want to investigate this accomplice angle."

"Franklin has its own police force. They've already checked out Radney's alibi, and they are perfectly capable of investigating another angle if we request it." Simon knew even as he made the argument that he was fighting a losing battle.

Jim shook his head, his gaze hardening. "I'm going, Simon."

The captain took a long drag off of the cigar, weighing his options. Didn't really seem to be many, he reflected. "I know this is important to you, Jim, and I know I can't stop you. I just want you to consider your actions very carefully. Radney has to be handled with kid gloves. If, and that's a big if right now, he had anything whatsoever to do with what happened to Sandburg, I don't want to take a chance on blowing any future action. You take one step out of line, make one remark even slightly intimidating to him or the witnesses, and I'll have your butt up on disciplinary charges so fast you won't know what hit you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Jim replied.

"Good," Simon smiled defeat. "See that you don't forget it." He puffed the cigar for a minute. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Jim shook his head. "No, thanks, I can handle it. I promise to be a good boy." He got into the car before Simon could push the issue.

Simon watched the detective drive away. Sighing deeply, he headed for his own car, pulling out his cell phone as he walked. He had no doubts Jim would try to keep his promise, but it couldn't hurt to let the local boys know their turf was about to be invaded.

Jim glanced at his watch as he climbed back into his car. He'd been in Franklin for two hours already and had made almost no headway. He'd managed to track down two of the witnesses and question them. After their initial irritation at being questioned yet again and by an out-of-town cop, they'd given him the same story they had the Franklin police. Jim had been unable to find a flaw in either account. There was still one more witness to talk to, but no doubt he'd get the same results. It was time to try a different tact.

Pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket, Jim checked the address before pulling into traffic and heading across town. He arrived at the hotel Radney had given as his address and parked across the street. It wasn't exactly skid row, but Jim had been in better neighborhoods. It was just the kind of place he'd have expected the man to gravitate to. He knew Radney wasn't here. The man's location had been the first thing he had established upon arriving in town. Radney had managed to secure a job at a local factory, and a short talk with his supervisor proved the man had shown up at work on time. Jim checked his watch again. He had almost two hours before Radney would get home.

He climbed out of the car and, crossing the street, entered the building. Radney's room was on the second floor. He took the stairs and was there in minutes. Pausing outside the door, he listened for sounds from the room. He heard nothing. The lock was a cheap one, easily picked. Within seconds, he was inside the room, cringing at the thought of Simon finding out what he was doing.

Jim moved into the center of the small room and concentrated on his sense of sight, taking in every detail of his surroundings. His first scan revealed nothing. Disappointed, he tried again. This time, his gaze landed on an ash try partially concealed beneath the double bed across the room. He crossed the room and picked it up, poking around in the butts with his finger, easily locating what had caught his eye. He used his handkerchief to pick up a butt that was ringed in bright red lipstick. Might be a decent print on it. He wrapped the butt in the handkerchief and slid it into his pocket. Then, closing his eyes, he concentrated on his sense of smell. It took only a few minutes for him to isolate what he was looking for. Perfume. Strong enough to have taken more than one visit to permeate the furnishings. Jim finally allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.

He put the ash tray back beneath the bed, exactly as he had found it and left the room, locking the door behind himself. Once in the car again, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. His call was answered almost immediately.

"Simon, it's Jim. I need a favor."

"Tell me nothing is wrong..." Simon's voice was cautious.

Jim laughed, allowing the optimism he felt to enter his voice. "Relax, I've kept my promise. I'm just going to be held up here a little longer than I expected. Actually, I was hoping you would go sit with Blair for a while tonight."

"No problem. Do you think he's up to Daryl tagging along? The kid really has been bugging me to come visit."

"I think he'd like that."

"So, you want to tell me what's got you held up?"

Jim stretched as best he could in the cramped confines of the rental car. He'd been watching the hotel for almost four hours. Radney had returned about two hours ago. Jim's blood ran cold at the sight of the man. He'd changed little in the four years spent in prison, except maybe his eyes. The eyes were colder.

In the two hours since, only three women had entered the building. Jim reached out with his sense of smell, focusing on each of the women in turn, though for various reasons he'd already ruled them out. He proved his instincts right each time.

As twilight grew into darkness, he automatically adjusted his vision to compensate, and continued to stare relentlessly at the dilapidated building. He knew his hunch was right, and nothing would convince him otherwise. He would sit here until hell froze over if he had to, but he was going to follow this through to the end.

Twenty minutes later, his diligence was rewarded. A young woman, dressed casually in tight-fitting jeans and a tee shirt cut off at the midriff, approached the building. Jim sat up, rolled down the window, and reached out with his sense of smell. He easily identified the same cheap perfume he had smelled in Radney's room.

Jim waited until the woman had disappeared into the building, then gave her five extra minutes. Unwinding his long frame from the agonizing position it had frozen into, he crossed the street and headed up the stairs to the fourth floor. By the time he reached the landing, his sentinel ears had already sorted through the plethora of sound and picked out Radney's distinctive gravely voice.

"...sure it's gone?"

Jim frowned, wondering what he had missed.

"I told you I took care of it, Phil. Why can't you just trust me?" questioned a female voice.

"It's not a matter of trust, Seline," Radney replied after a long moment. "I just prefer to do things myself, that way I always know exactly what's going on."

Come on, Jim silently pleaded, give me something to go on here. He stood in the hallway for another ten minutes, listening as the two argued about trust and commitment, hoping no one would come along and question his presence. When the argument moved to the making up stage, Jim backed away from the door, pushing away the visual imagery that sprang to mind. He was tempted to stay, listen some more. There was always the chance that the two would say something he could use. But logic warred with emotion and won. He could stand there all night -- assuming one of the neighbors didn't call the police on him first -- and still not hear anything helpful. Even if he did, he knew it wouldn't be admissible in court. The one piece of useful information he had picked up in his ease dropping was the woman's first name. Not much, but if they could match it with a fingerprint from the cigarette butt in his pocket, it would be a starting point.

Jim headed back to his car, glad to see it was still intact in this neighborhood. He was going to have to be very careful in how he proceeded. This was too important to screw up. He would follow the book from here on out. When Radney got to court this time, there would be no technical inaccuracies to keep that bastard from getting what he deserved. And if he did get off... Jim cranked the car and pulled away from the curb. If he did get off...well, Jim had his own justice system to fall back on.

Blair shifted his weight slowly, careful not to jostle his left leg. Helen hadn't been gone long, and the pain was still strong. He considered requesting another pain shot, but rejected the idea. He was tired of being doped up all the time, and besides, he was suppose to be learning to deal with a certain amount of pain. Isn't that what the pain management sessions were for? Might as well start practicing now.

Blair looked up at the television anchored high on the far wall and considered turning the thing on. No point, he decided. His attention span was limited to barely enough time to follow the commercials, and the noise was irritating. He couldn't concentrate well enough to read. So he stared out the window for lack of anything better to do.

What time was it? Maybe Jim would come by. His roommate had been spending less and less time at the hospital in the past few days, coming by in the mornings for a few minutes on his way to the station, sometimes on his lunch break, and in the evenings, after work. Blair had been the one to insist Jim return to work, so he had no right complaining because he was bored and lonely now.

The first few days after Doctor Guthrie had given the go ahead, Blair had had an almost constant stream of visitors. It had been tiring and sometimes confusing. He was still having trouble sorting his thoughts out sometimes, although it was getting better. But the visits had slowly tapered off, and he could guess why. People were uncomfortable around him. Awkward silences inevitably grew after the initial greetings petered out. He knew his memory had been pretty bad those first few days and would continue to be a problem for a while yet, and he was having trouble carrying on an intelligent conversation. It would get better with help, but that was little comfort now. At least, Simon and Taggart still came by occasionally, and Daryl had visited a couple of times. Blair really looked forward to those visits. The rest of his day was filled with medical tests, the torture of physical therapy, and endless hours staring out the window.

The memory problems were really bothering Blair, almost as much as the thoughts of months of therapy before he could resume a normal life. It frustrated him that he had to ask the same questions over and over again, and he could tell it frustrated Jim, too. Sometimes he even detected anger in his friend's eyes. Hell, Blair got angry himself. Especially about the wreck. Simon and Jim were constantly questioning him about what he remembered of the cause of the wreck, which was a big, fat nothing. Sometimes he dreamed of laying under the truck, but all he really remembered was the rain. Jim told him that he'd mentioned another truck, but he couldn't really remember it. From what he could gather between Jim and Simon, he'd been run off the road, and they were assuming it was by someone with a vendetta against Jim. At least, Jim believed that. Simon was harder to read.

Blair turned his head and stared at the door, mentally willing it to open and admit a visitor. Anybody. He didn't care who. Just someone to break the agonizing monotony. He'd even welcome a doctor with another stupid test, or one of the many counselors or therapists he was forced to see. He almost found himself wishing Helen would return.

Simon threw a file on Jim's desk. "Seline Fanchier. She has a couple of priors, minor stuff. Her last known address is in there, along with a picture."

Jim opened the file and pulled out the mug shot. This was definitely the woman he had seen go into Radney's hotel room. "I want to question her, Simon."

"Unh uh, no way. This is in the hands of the Franklin PD. Trust them, Jim. They can handle this."

"That's not at issue, sir. I just want to be there when they question her."

Simon chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, I'll let them know you're coming, but I don't want to have to listen to them complaining about interference from you, you hear me? You are to be strictly an observer."

Jim glanced at his watch as he drove, muttering a curse when he realized he wasn't going to make it back to Cascade before the end of visiting hours. Seline Fanchier had been difficult to find, and when they'd finally questioned her, they'd learned only that she had been involved with Radney since before he'd gone to prison. Jim pushed away his disappointment. She'd presented an alibi for the day of the wreck, and the Franklin police were checking it out.

Jim again checked the time, then slowed the vehicle. No sense pushing it now. He definitely wasn't going to get in to see Blair tonight. He pulled out his cell phone and considered calling his partner to explain why he hadn't made it by to see him at all that day, but abandoned the idea. Chances were Blair was sleeping, and Jim didn't want to wake him. He would have to wait and explain tomorrow. Besides, there was certainly no shortage of visitors to the young man's room. He'd probably had more than his limit of visitors already today, leaving him exhausted.

Blair waited until the nurse finished checking his blood pressure before asking, "What time is it?"

The large, middle-aged woman glanced at her watch. "Almost nine. Why? Hot date tonight?"

Blair's heart sank a little. Visiting hours were over. He forced himself to return her smile. "Depends. What time do you get off?"

The nurse laughed. "Honey, you are definitely not in any kind of physical shape to show me a good time. Now, when you finish with your recovery, you look me up, and I might just take you up on that offer." She scribbled something on the chart in her hand, then looked back up at him. "Do you need anything else while I'm here? Some juice maybe?"

Blair shook his head. "No, thanks. Could you move the phone a little closer? I need to make a call."

"Sure thing, darlin'." The woman slid the phone closer to the edge of the bedside table, where he could reach it easily with his uninjured hand. She smiled at him again and patted his arm. "If you need anything, honey, you press that button and call me, you hear? I'll be close by."

Blair waited until the door swung shut behind her, then reached for the phone. He pulled it onto the bed and, cradling the receiver between his head and his shoulder, punched in the number for the loft. After a few rings, the answering machine picked up. Blair hung up with a frown. Jim wasn't home. Maybe he was on a case, a stake out or something. Blair had a sudden moment of panic. What if Jim had a sensory spike or zoned out somewhere? Who would be there to watch his back?

Calm down, Sandburg, he mentally chastised himself. Jim's a big boy. He can handle himself just fine without you. You've snowed Jim into believing you're invaluable, but you can't start believing it yourself.

Blair tapped his fingers on the phone, thinking. He could try Jim's cell phone. He dismissed the idea quickly. If Jim was busy on a case, he wouldn't appreciate the interruption. Besides, that would be really pathetic, tracking him down like a scorned wife. Just because Jim hadn't come by today didn't mean anything was wrong. It just meant he was busy with more important things. There was no law that said Jim had to come by every day. Or Simon, or Joel, or anybody for that matter, but it sure made the day drag by when no one came to visit.

He reached for the phone again and dialed a number, hoping his sketchy memory didn't betray him. But even a wrong number would be a human voice, and he was lonely enough to take what he could get. The phone rang a number of times. He was just about to give up, when a female voice answered.

"Corrie?"

There was a long pause. "Blair, is that you?"

"Yeah, how are you?" How are you? Man, that was lame, but better than what he really wanted to ask. So, Corrie, where the hell you been? I thought we were in a relationship here. Couldn't you at least have come by once to see if I was still alive. He knew as he thought it, that was unfair. Jim had said Corrie had called the loft a number of times to check on him.

"I'm fine, Blair. How are you? I hear you're making remarkable progress in your recovery."

"I'm okay. It's just slow going, you know?" He paused to regroup his thoughts, unsure what to say. Corrie spoke before he could decide.

"Blair, listen, I'm sorry I haven't been by to see you. I know it's not much of an excuse, but I've been really busy at the university." Blair could hear a slight hesitation in her voice. "A lot of the students have been asking about you. You've had everybody worried, you know? But I've been in touch with Jim. Has he told you? I've been keeping up with your progress through him. I just didn't realize you were up to a phone call yet."

Blair recognized that she was rambling, and wondered why she sounded so nervous. A male voice in the background spoke, then grew muffled, as though Corrie had placed her hand over the phone. Suddenly, Blair knew why Corrie was nervous; she wasn't alone. It became crystal clear in that instant why she hadn't come to visit. He swallowed hard against the tightness in his chest.

"Listen, Corrie, someone just came in," he lied. "I have to go."

"Blair, wait. Why did you call? Do you need something?"

How about honesty? "No, just bored, I guess. Sorry I disturbed you." He hung up the phone before she could protest and set it back onto the table beside the bed. He reached over and pulled the string that turned off the light and settled back against the pillows.

He was angry at himself for being surprised. It wasn't like he and Corrie were really that close. They had only been dating for a few months, off and on, seriously for only a couple of weeks. He should have known something was up when she didn't even come to see him after the wreck.

"It's not her fault," he whispered into the darkness. Who could blame her for not wanting to be involved with a physical and mental cripple. "Hell, I can't even remember how to get in touch with my own mother!"

The thought of Naomi made his stomach knot painfully. Naomi would be here if she knew. She wouldn't leave him to sit here alone no matter how busy she was. "Oh, way to go, Sandburg," he said wiping angrily at the stray tear that worked its way down his face. "Way to throw a pity party."

"Are you sure I can't get you something before I leave, Chief?" Jim asked for the third time. Blair had been almost uncommunicative since he'd arrived early that morning, barely acknowledging the detective's presence at all. Jim had apologized straight away for not being able to get to the hospital the day before, explaining that he'd gotten hung up on a case. Blair hadn't seemed to mind much, brushing off the apology and turning back to stare out the window. Just the normal depression the counselors had warned about, Jim assured himself. It was inevitable, they'd said. Jim really wanted to stay and try to get Blair to talk, but he was due in court on an old case in less than an hour.

Blair turned his head and caught Jim checking his watch. "If you have some place to be, don't let me stop you, man."

Jim detected a note of bitterness in his partner's tone and raised an eyebrow. "Is something bothering you, Chief?"

Blair started to answer, then turned back to the window. Jim watched him, unsure what to say. After a minute, Blair turned back, his expression softer. "I meant that, Jim. I know you have things pressing at work. Go ahead. I'll be fine." The anger was gone from his voice.

Jim hesitated, but Blair seemed to be sincere. He glanced at his watch again and stood. "I wish I didn't have to leave, Chief, but I'm due in court. I'll stop back at lunch time, okay?"

"Sure," Blair said with a smile Jim could tell was forced.

"You want me to bring you anything? Books? Magazines?"

Blair shook his head. "No, I'm fine, thanks. Go on before you're late, and Simon blames me for it."

Lunch came with no sign of Jim. Blair picked at his food, not really eating. Helen had come and gone long ago, and the residual pain from the session was beginning to abate. He was almost sorry. At least, the pain gave him something to concentrate on besides his depression. He hadn't even been cheered by Helen's announcement that, starting tomorrow, he would be taken down to the therapy room for some real exercises.

The door pushed open, and Blair looked up, expecting to see Jim. To his surprise, Corrie stood there. The two stared at one another for an awkward moment, before she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

"You look good, Blair," she said, moving over to stand beside the bed. "Much better than I expected."

"You must not have expected much," Blair said by way of a joke. He knew he looked like hell. The cuts on his face were healing fine, but there was still an angry pink scar above his right eye, and he knew he had lost too much weight.

"No, I mean it, you look good. From the way Jim and the nurses were talking, I expected much worse." Corrie glanced down at her hands. She seemed uncomfortable, but Blair bit his tongue, determined to wait her out. When she looked up again, her expression was unreadable. "I was surprised when you called last night. If I had known you were up to it, I would have called you already."

"I have to admit, I've wondered where you were." Blair hated himself for the admission. He'd planned to not let Corrie know she'd hurt him.

"I know I should have come to see you, Blair, but I was afraid you weren't up to company. Jim said you tired easily and were having some memory problems."

Oh, great, Jim! Tell the world I'm unbalanced, why don't you?

"Blair, I know you heard...last night..." Corrie stopped.

"It's okay," Blair felt a sudden urge to get this over with. He knew what was coming, and he didn't want it put into words. He just wanted her to leave. "I don't need an explanation."

"No, I owe you that," Corrie insisted. "I want you to know my seeing someone else has nothing to do with your...with the accident. I was already having doubts about our relationship."

"Corrie, don't-"

"No, let me say this. I practiced all the way up here. These last few weeks, I've had a chance to think things through. I realized that where we were heading was not where I wanted to go."

Blair waited, but she seemed to be finished. "It's okay, really. I understand." He pushed the untouched lunch tray away and settled back against the pillows. "Look, Corrie, I'm really tired."

The woman looked relieved to have an excuse to leave. She smiled down at him. "Blair, I hope we can still be friends. We've had some really great times, and I would hate to lose that."

"Sure, no problem," Blair agreed, pretending to stifle a yawn. He just wanted her gone. Take the hint, Corrie. Leave.

She turned toward the door, and without looking back, left.

Blair closed his eyes, trying not to give in to the despair that was descending like a shroud. He hated feeling sorry for himself. It wasn't in his nature to let circumstances dictate his emotions like this. But this was just too much. He felt totally abandoned.

The door opened, and Blair opened his eyes and turned toward it. Melanie smiled at him as she collected the lunch tray. "You didn't eat much. You want me to leave this for a little while?"

Blair shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. The nurse seemed to sense something was wrong. She set the tray down and moved closer to the bed. "Is something wrong, Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair shook his head again and turned away. After a minute, he felt Melanie take his hand in hers. "Does it have something to do with the young lady who just left?" When he didn't answer, she said, "I have connections in the Mafia, you know. Say the word, and I'll put a contract out on her like that." She snapped her fingers to demonstrate.

Blair felt himself smiling in spite of his mood.

"That's better," Melanie announced. "Now, do you want to talk about it?"

"Don't you have rounds to make?"

"Nope, I'm all yours." To make her point, she pulled a chair close and sat down, her face level with his and very close. "You'll find that I'm a very good listener, Mr. Sandburg."

Blair stared at her in quiet surprise for a minute. "Please, it's Blair."

"Okay, Blair," Melanie smiled. "Start talking."

Jim was just stepping out the door when the phone rang. He started to ignore it, let the machine get it, but changed his mind. It could be Blair, wanting him to bring him something on his way up to the hospital. To his surprise, it was Simon.

"Jim, I just talked to Detective Wilkes over in Franklin. Fanchier's alibi didn't hold up for long. When faced with the threat of a couple of possible violations and their accompanying fines, her boss admitted she didn't show up for work the day of Sandburg's wreck."

Jim felt his heart skip a beat. Finally, he had it, a chink in Radney's armor. "That's it, Simon. We've got the connection now."

"No, Jim. All we have is opportunity. But coupled with the already established motive, we're starting to get somewhere. What we need is something concrete to tie Fanchier to the truck that ran Sandburg off the road. He still doesn't remember anything helpful?"

Jim frowned. It was frustrating as hell. The evidence they needed was locked in his partner's brain, and there seemed to be no way to get to it. As bad as he felt, he knew it was much worse for Blair.

"I don't think so, Simon," Jim finally said. "I'm on my way up to see him now. I'll talk to him again."

"Hey, there," Melanie called from the door. "You up for a little company?"

Blair smiled at the woman, then noticed she was not dressed in her nurse's uniform, but in jeans and a sweater. "What's up? I thought you got off hours ago."

She moved into the room and plopped into the chair, one leg curled under her. "Thought you could use some company. And seeing as how everything on television tonight is a rerun, I had nothing better to do."

Blair smiled at her. Melanie was so relaxed around him that he found himself relaxing with her. And it was good to have company. Jim had called earlier, explaining that he had not been able to get away for lunch. Blair had been able to convince Jim he was all right, thanks to Melanie coaxing him out of the funk he'd been in after Corrie's visit.

"So, think you can manage cards with one hand?" Melanie produced a deck of cards from her purse, pulling the rolling table up between them and adjusting the height.

Blair raised his eyebrows. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know," she said lightly. She began shuffling the cards. "So what's it going to be?"

Blair watched her for a minute, not quite sure how to take her. Finally, he said, "Anything that doesn't require a lot of brain power."

Melanie looked up and grinned. "Know how to play Battle?"

Jim was surprised to find Blair and Melanie playing cards when he got to the hospital. Blair was actually laughing as he enter the room. After the obvious depression his partner had been in earlier, he wasn't sure what to expect tonight.

Blair looked up with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Melanie's greeting was a bit warmer.

"Hey, partner, how's it going?" Jim pulled another chair close to the bed and sat down.

"I'm okay," Blair said, continuing with the card game. After a minute, he asked, "How did it go in court?"

Jim frowned at the disinterest in his friend's voice. "It was fine. I think it's an easy conviction."

"Blair, tell Jim what Helen said this morning," Melanie prompted into the silence that followed.

Blair laid down a card and waited for Melanie to play on it before speaking. "It's no big deal. They're going let me start getting out of bed tomorrow."

"It is too a big deal," Melanie protested. "They are taking him down to the exercise room tomorrow for a real workout. Helen hopes to have him up on his feet a bit in the next day or so."

"That's great, Chief," Jim said, genuinely pleased. "At this rate you'll be out of here in no time."

Blair ignored the comment and turned up another card.

Jim shot a look to Melanie, who shrugged and motioned to the door with her head. She set her cards down and stood. "I've got the early shift tomorrow, Blair, and if I don't get home and feed my cats they're liable to start eating the drapes."

Blair nodded, and handed her the cards. She gathered them and put them back into the box, then set it on the bedside table. "In case you get to hankering for some solitaire," she explained.

"Thanks for coming by, Melanie," Blair said, granting her a small smile.

"Hey, no problem," Melanie laughed. "Just get some rest. I'll see you bright and early in the morning for your sponge bath."

Jim smiled at the blush that crept up his partner's neck. Once Melanie had gone, Jim stood and stretched nonchalantly. "I'm going to go see if I can round up a cup of coffee, Chief. You want anything? Maybe some juice or tea?"

Blair shook his head and leaned back into the pillows.

Melanie was waiting just outside Blair's door when Jim stepped into the corridor. "What's wrong with him?" Jim demanded, keeping his voice soft enough for Blair not to hear.

"He's had a rough couple of days, Detective." She looked up at Jim. "Does Blair have any family?"

The question caught Jim off guard. "Just his mother, but we've been unable to locate her. Why?"

"It just would help with his recovery if he had a network of support. A certain amount of depression is normal in all cases involving extensive injury and rehabilitation. I'm sure the counselors have given you information about that." At Jim's nod, she continued. "Blair is having a few problems in addition to that. How close are you two, Detective?"

Jim stared at her for a moment, wondering where she was going with the question. Finally, he said, "We're roommates, partners..." He thought for a minute. "Blair is my best friend." The admission didn't come easy in front of a virtual stranger.

"Then I suggest you talk to him. Ask him what's wrong."

"Do you know?"

Melanie nodded. "We had a nice long talk this morning."

Jim was surprised. "Why would Blair open up to you and not to me?"

"Because I was here, and you weren't. That simple."

That sent a flush of guilt through Jim. He hadn't been there for Blair as much as he wanted lately, and now obviously, he hadn't been around when Blair had needed him. He remembered his promise to come by at lunch, his broken promise.

"Just ask him, Detective Ellison. And if he doesn't want to talk about it right now, don't push him. He'll talk when he's ready."

Blair was staring out the window again when Jim returned to the room. He seemed lost in thought. As Jim approached the bed, Blair turned to face him, a light in his expressive eyes. "Naomi's in Mexico."

Jim stopped, surprised. "You remember?"

"Yeah," Blair smiled. "Yeah, I do." His smile broadened. "I remember she called me and told me she was going to Mexico, to a ranch with some friends. I don't remember the name, though."

"That's okay, Chief. Would you have written it down anywhere? Somewhere at the loft or maybe your office?"

Blair thought for a moment. "Maybe on my laptop."

"Okay, great. I'll bring it up for you first thing tomorrow. You can search for it." Jim sat in the chair Melanie had been using. "This is great, Chief. It's a positive step forward."

Blair turned back to the window. "I would really like to see my mom," he said softly, his voice catching slightly.

"I know," Jim said guiltily. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to find her for you."

"It's not your fault, Jim. I'm the one that can't hold a thought for more than a few minutes." Jim could hear the frustration in his partner's voice.

"Chief," Jim began hesitantly, "Melanie says the past couple of days have been rough on you. Is it something you want to talk about?"

Blair looked at him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jim. I'm fine."

"No, you're not, but that's okay. You know, it's normal to get depressed under the circumstances. It might help to talk about it."

"No, really, I'm fine," Blair said turning away again. "I'll admit I've been feeling a little sorry for myself, but I'm all over that now. Melanie talked to me about it, helped me sort through some things. She was great."

Jim felt a stab of...what? Jealousy? It bothered him to think that Blair could talk to an almost stranger easier than he could his own partner and friend, even though he knew the feeling was unfair. Like the nurse had said, she was here when Blair needed someone to talk to, and Jim wasn't. Besides, the important thing was that Blair had talked to someone.

He decided to change the subject. "Chief, I know you're sick of me asking this, but with this breakthrough about Naomi, I have to ask. Do you remember anything else about the wreck?"

For a long time there was no answer. Then, Blair shook h