Disclaimer: This is an amateur effort written purely for the fun of it, and no money has exchanged hands. It is not intended to breach the copyright of Paramount/Pet Fly Productions or CBS Productions/Studios USA. Thanks to Connie for beta reading this story. Warning: Adult language and situations.
The Reflection in the Mirror Series: Part 6 (July 13, 2003)
DESTINY WHICH MAKES US BROTHERS
Blair was thrown into the room and hit the floor in an explosion of pain.
The sentinel was there, moving to pace around him. When Blair tried to move, the sentinel snarled. Before Blair could move away, the sentinel grabbed him, forcing him onto his stomach.
Blair struggled, and his head was pulled back painfully. “NO!” he screamed, but it was useless. With a quick movement, the larger man had Blair pinned to the floor, immobilizing his arms and paralyzing him with his weight.
“PLEASE!” Blair screamed hoarsely, his heart rate at panic level. There was no spirit animal here to protect and calm. The sentinel wasn’t letting Blair yield to the inevitable – he was claiming his guide.
Blair was barely able to breathe from the weight on his back. Then it came -- the brush of an another mind against his, overpowering him. Terror worse than anything Blair had experienced from Alex or the GDP overwhelmed him: the sentinel was going to force him to bond.
Blair was beyond verbal comprehension as the sentinel tried to settle him down. The fear kept him fighting, but after long minutes of futile struggling, Blair eventually slowed down, his injuries preventing him from keeping up the fight.
Blair went still and shook uncontrollably as the sentinel ran his hands over him, imprinting and creating the connection that would last their lifetimes and beyond.
The touch against his mind wasn’t violent or brutal, but Blair’s neural pathways flared with pain as he fought the link. He held out for as long as he could, but the sentinel just waited until his guide couldn’t fight it anymore.
Blair exhaled a long breath that sounded more like a sob as he finally yielded. The connection sealed, easing the pain, but it was too late. Blair was now irreversibly connected to the man who held him powerless.
I don’t want this. The futile thought echoed in Blair’s head as he was pulled up to lean against the man who now owned him. Shivering, he sat on the cold floor while the sentinel rumbled something dark and possessive. This isn’t what was supposed to happen!
The door opened cautiously, and a unfamiliar face peered in. “Captain Hunter? You okay?”
Looking up at the man who held him, Blair froze.
The sentinel growled a warning to the man at the door, then pinned his guide more securely to him. “Mine,” he rumbled.
“NOOOOOOO!” Blair screamed in anguish, even though the sentinel was shaking him, ordering him to stop it.
“Damn it to hell, Blair. Wake up!” Jim shook the younger man until he opened his eyes. For a moment, Jim saw terror – hopeless fear – then Blair seemed to recognize where he was and sat up, heart pounding triple time.
“Jim?”
“Yeah, buddy. It’s me.” Jim reached out and pulled his guide to him. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I dreamt....” Blair trailed off, trying to make sense of the nightmare.
“What about, Chief?” Jim soothed, hiding his worry at the magnitude of Blair’s reaction. His guide was covered with bruises and cuts. He didn’t need a flashback on top of those injuries.
Blair cleared his throat a few times before he answered. “I...I relived the bonding, only it was a bit more...intense...than what actually happened.”
“I knew this would happen,” Jim growled. “With Gross beating the shit out of you and then the Slater senior showing up, no wonder.” He tucked Blair closer to him, trying to absorb the tremors that racked his guide yet carefully avoiding the sore spots. “It’s okay, Chief. Just a bad dream.”
Blair clung to Jim. Was this some sort of premonition? Or just a reflection of his subconscious fears?
Jim rocked his guide, sensing Blair’s deep level of distress. Blair had grown much stronger, but there were still times when his past experiences reared up and knocked him for a loop.
Blair felt Jim’s heart beat under his ear like a soothing metronome, slowing down his own breathing and heart rate until he reached a center calm and could focus on the meaning of the dream. Why Hunter instead of Jim? Or, looking at it from another angle, why wasn’t it Jim?
“So what scared you like that, Chief?”
Losing you. “The sentinel...he took my choice away.”
Jim winced. “Damn. It figures that I’d be a bastard in your nightmare.” He patted Blair’s back in apology.
“It wasn’t you in my dream, Jim,” Blair admitted.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jim’s eyes narrowed.
“The sentinel who claimed me was Hunter.” Blair braced for the inevitable reaction.
“What?!” Jim roared. “Did Hunter hurt you?”
“No!” Blair said quickly, sending soothing vibes through their link. “Come on, man, you know he hasn’t.” Blair’s headache was back full force, and his pain was immediately transmitted to his sentinel,
Jim moved to lean back against the headboard. “Are you still scared of him? Is that what this is about?”
Blair carefully moved his aching body down to rest his head against Jim. There was nowhere else in the world that felt safer than leaning on his sentinel. “No, I guess...maybe the dream was just an expression of my subconscious.”
“You’re losin’ me, Chief. Why would you dream about Hunter forcing you to bond if you weren’t still afraid of him on some level?” Jim refused to give up, convinced that his half brother had somehow, some way, adversely affected his guide.
“It’s not that Hunter was bonding with me, it’s that you weren’t.”
“Huh?”
Blair relaxed slightly as he sorted out his emotions. Dreaming about being bonded to Hunter was a major reality curve ball, but the freak out factor had come from the prospect of a world without Jim Ellison in it. “The first time I dreamt Leo Kessler killed you, but this time...this time you weren’t even there.”
“I don’t understand, Chief.” Jim patted Blair’s back. “Care to translate that into plain English?”
“The only sentinel there was Hunter. You weren’t there.” Blair raised his head to look Jim in the eye. “You weren’t there.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Chief,” Jim soothed, finally understanding what Blair meant.
“You don’t know that, Jim.” Blair’s anxious expression was clearly visible to the sentinel despite the gloom. “No one can promise that.”
“I know, but I’ve never had the feeling that one of us would go on alone.” He ran a gentle hand over Blair’s head. Just his touch alone dimmed Blair’s pain to a bearable level.
“But what if....”
“We’ve always been together, lifetime after lifetime. No reason that should change now.”
Blair stared. “Wow, Jim. I didn’t think you believed in reincarnation.”
“I’m not that narrow-minded,” Jim sounded slightly irritated. “How else do you explain the Dark Guide and Sentinel?”
“Sorry,” Blair said sheepishly.
Jim pulled Blair even closer. “You’re my guide, Chief. Nobody else’s – mine. It’s fate, karma, kismet, whatever, but we’re always gonna be together.”
“Destiny,” Blair whispered, his head settling back down against Jim’s chest. He relaxed, comforted by Jim’s conviction.
“Yeah, destiny sounds right.” Jim strengthened their link, letting Blair feel his protection. “But as to Hunter bonding with you – there’s no way in hell that could have happened.”
“I don’t know. Maybe in some weird parallel universe, it did.”
“You know, Chief, sometimes a nightmare is just a nightmare. It doesn’t always have to be a harbinger of doom.”
“But you don’t dream....” Blair tried to sit up again, but didn’t get very far.
Jim pulled his guide back down to him. “Sure I do. I’m just not doing the psychic channeling thing you seem to do.”
“But you could.” Blair’s quiet statement made Jim pause. “If you wanted to.” If you accepted.
Jim deliberately side-stepped the issue. “Look, I know the Shield is connected to you and that he looks out for you – that’s a given – but maybe this is getting a little too much for you to handle, dealing with Hunter on top of everything else. You’ve got a concussion, Chief, remember?”
“This isn’t about me and Hunter.”
“No? From where I’m sitting it damn sure looks like it is.” Jim groused.
Blair sighed. “I understand that my own fears tend to come out whenever things get wacky, but there’s more to this dream than my phobias.” He frowned in the darkness. “In fact, I think it’s more of a problem with not enough connection, rather than too much.”
Jim snorted. “Yeah, right. Hunter’s always hanging around. I’d say the two of you have enough connection to last a few millennia.”
Blair stared at Jim for a long, intense moment. “It’s not my connection to the Shield. It’s your relationship with Hunter.” Blair now sounded certain of that.
Jim cleared his throat, uncomfortable.
“You and he spirit walked together.”
“I know, but Hunter....”
“He needs you. He’ll never admit it, but he does. He never had a father, never had his brothers, and he lost his wife, his best friend and his first guide. I’d say that makes for a pretty lonely guy, wouldn’t you?”
“Blair, I can’t force him to reconcile with my father.”
“Yeah, I know that, but you could make him more a part of your life. Not just police issues, or sentinel duties, but family stuff.”
“Adopt a kitty?” Jim almost smiled at the thought. “You seem to think that Hunter wants to be included in my life.”
“He’s your brother, Jim. I know you accept that now, but it’s easier to think of him as that over-achiever IA captain or the Shield than as the man himself.”
“Why is it that you always stick up for him?” Jim was genuinely mystified. “He’s a jerk.”
“We bonded,” Blair said logically. “I’ve seen inside him. He’s not a jerk – well, not all the time, anyway.”
“Yeah, and the three of us bonded last night, but it still doesn’t make Hunter my best friend.”
“That’s the problem,” Blair said earnestly. “Both of you are holding back from each other. You’re both willing to open up to me, well, at least Hunter is getting there, but you’re not connecting to each other on a personal level.”
Jim hesitated. “Trust takes time, Chief.”
Blair settled down in the link, fatigue and his aching head catching up with him. “Just try, Jim. Just give it a try.”
~~~~~~~~
Hunter unlocked the door, letting himself in the house quietly. It was after eleven, and the Slater business had been settled for now. When Ellison had called that he was going after Larry Slater, Hunter had hesitated in leaving Sarah alone.
Sarah had urged him to go when she heard that they had to deal with Larry Slater, a man Sarah knew had allowed Blair to be abused. She insisted she could just rest, and Hunter finally, reluctantly, had settled her on the couch with some juice and a sandwich. She hadn’t called, so he had presumed everything was okay.
The juice glass sat on the coffee table half empty, but the sandwich hadn’t even been touched. Sarah was curled up on the couch asleep, her brow knit slightly and her heart rate a bit erratic.
Hunter cursed under his breath; his guide had been alone all evening – alone and in pain – while he had attended to sentinel business. He walked over to the couch and looked down at his sleeping guide. The bruises on her face were stark against her pale skin. He ran a hand over her head, and she made a soft noise before settling down. He registered her pain and nausea when he opened the link.
Sarah turned to him and her eyes opened moments later. She blinked several times before she recognized him. “Hunter?”
“How are you doing, Tiger?”
“Dizzy,” she said, the room spinning slightly as she tried to sit up.
“Stay put,” Hunter ordered as he took off his jacket and sat down next to her.
He laid down, pulling her to rest against him. He would settle for a partial bond – grounding him and maybe settling her headache. A full bonding would have shredded her already tenuous barriers, and Hunter wouldn’t inflict that on a hurting guide.
“Blair?” she asked, already drowsy.
“He’s fine. Slater’s retiring from the GDP. Hopefully that’ll be the end of it.” Hunter stroked her hair, disturbed that she hadn’t called him if she had felt so bad all evening.
“Guide Prime...you have to keep him safe,” she yawned.
And what about you? His Shield duties to Sandburg were ingrained, but his own guide came first. She would always come first.
“Sarah....” he trailed off when he noticed she was asleep again. He strengthened the link, wrapping his senses around her, standing watch.
A little after midnight, he tried to get up so he could carry her up to her bed, but she tightened her grip on him.
“Sarah, you should be in bed. It’s late.”
Sarah opened her eyes. “Please...can I stay here a little bit longer?” With you, she meant, but didn’t quite dare say it out loud.
Hunter brushed his hand over her face, breathing in her cinnamon scent. The sentinel was satisfied that his guide needed him and wanted him near her. And the man...the man wasn’t exactly sure how he felt.
“Sure, we can stay a little longer.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Jim untangled himself from his Blair cocoon and settled his guide back to sleep. It was still early and the nightmares had prevented them from getting much sleep. With any luck, Blair would snooze for a few more hours.
Jim showered quickly, then threw on some jeans and a T-shirt and rummaged in the kitchen for the coffee. A familiar scent preceded a soft knock on the door. Jim opened the door, knowing who would be there.
“Hi Naomi.”
“Jim - is Blair still asleep?” Naomi looked bright-eyed and full of purpose. “I’m leaving on a trip to India tomorrow and I’ll be gone a couple of weeks. I wanted to say goodbye to Blair before I headed home to pack.”
Jim beckoned her in. “He had a nightmare last night, so I’m letting him sleep in a bit.”
He was getting more comfortable being around her, but she still had a unpredictable tendency to swerve into left field. He supposed it was just a Sandburg thing. “Care for some coffee?”
“I’d love some tea,” Naomi declared, following Jim into the kitchen.
“Blair has all kinds of stuff stashed up here.” Jim rummaged and pulled out several containers. “See any kind you like?”
Naomi glanced at them, then picked up the blue one that Jim knew was Blair’s special morning mix. One day, on a whim, he had tried to guess how many ingredients were in it, and had stopped counting after fifteen and a near zone. Jim poured himself some coffee and the two of them sat down at the table, each sipping and enjoying their respective brews.
“I’ll just stay until he wakes up. Is that okay?”
“Sure, Naomi.” Jim wondered what they’d talk about for the next few hours, but they shared the paper and some bagels, and Jim was almost completely relaxed when Naomi suddenly swerved.
“Jim, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” He didn’t even look up from the sports page.
“I mean, a personal question.”
“Uh...sure.” Jim looked up and eyed her warily.
“Jim, how do you seduce a sentinel?”
Jim spewed coffee over his paper. “What?”
“How do I lure one in? Taste, smell, touch?” Naomi smiled as warmed to her topic. “I really want to approach this with the right ammo.”
Jim looked like a deer in the headlights. “Uh, Naomi, I’m flattered, but....”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “Poor thing. I didn’t mean you. Not that you aren’t sexy as all get out, but it’d be like nepotism. No, I have another sentinel in mind.”
Jim knew where this one was heading. “I really don’t think....”
“He is a hunk,” Naomi sighed. “Strong and mysterious with all that macho sex appeal.”
“Naomi, he’s not very fond of the female gender right now. He’s been badly burned.”
Naomi reached out to cover Jim’s nervously tapping fingers. “Oh, honey, I know that. He’s been wounded to the soul -- you can tell. I’m not looking for romance or lasting relationships. In fact, I don’t think I’m cut out for commitment. I haven’t been a major success in any long-term relationships -- just ask Blair. All I want is the chance for a hot little affair. My libido kicks in every couple of years, and your brother is just the thing for my poor deprived hormones to take a bubble bath in.”
Jim cleared his throat. He tried to think of a tactful way to deflect her interest in Hunter. “I wouldn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire when he gets angry.”
Naomi’s eyes gleamed. “Well, the whole plan is to get him to think it’s his idea.”
“Huh?” Jim leaned back, totally at sea.
“I just want some insight into how sentinels view sex. What are major turn ons and turn offs. Then I go after him, but make him think it’s his idea.”
She was a beautiful woman, but when intense, she practically sparkled. Any other man would go down without a fight -- even Jim wasn’t immune to her charm -- but Hunter...he’d tear her to shreds.
“Look, you have no idea what his background is. He wasn’t just hurt -- he was betrayed.”
Naomi nodded. “I thought so. And he refuses to trust. I can see how poor little Sarah has her work cut out for her. But I’m not looking for true love, or for the key to his soul. Shallow as it sounds, I just want his body.”
The humor in her eyes reassured Jim. She was too sensitive a soul to be deliberately callous about sex, but she certainly had an uncomplicated viewpoint.
“Well, that’s...uh....”
“Pretty straightforward. Hot tiger sex with a man - a sentinel - who makes my ovaries melt.”
Jim coughed when the coffee assaulted his windpipe.
“You know, Jim, perhaps you shouldn’t be drinking all this coffee if it makes you choke.” Naomi gestured concernedly with her tea mug. “Tea really is better for you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jim gasped and finally cleared his lungs. “So you’re planning to seduce Hunter no matter what.”
“Uh-huh.” Naomi sipped serenely, contemplating the possibilities.
“He doesn’t play nice, or fair. He’s pretty protective of Blair, so he probably won’t mutilate you, but he can get pretty damn nasty.”
“I imagine.”
Lady, you don’t know the half of it. Hunter had turned misogyny into an art form.
“He’s dangerous,” Jim said bluntly.
Naomi felt a delicious shiver. “Oh, I like a dangerous man.”
Not when he’s homicidal, Jim thought, but Naomi wasn’t hearing a word he was saying.
“He won’t go down without a fight,” Jim said, resigned to the fact that the woman was going to commit emotional suicide. “And he could hurt you badly.”
“No risk, no reward,” Naomi said, stretching cat-like in her chair. “I can handle myself.”
“I’ll remind you of that when you come back bleeding,” Jim said cynically.
Naomi smiled sweetly. “I’ll win, in the end.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small notebook. “Now, let’s just start with some basics about your brother: favorite foods, music, hobbies. We can get to general sentinel preferences on sex positions and kinks later.”
When Jim choked for the second time, Naomi decided she’d better switch him to tea.
Two hours later, Blair stumbled into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Mom? Didn’t know you were here.”
Naomi hugged her son, deciding that he looked a little better. “I’m off to India for a retreat. I’ll back to visit in a few weeks, but I wanted to say goodbye.”
Blair yawned again, but hugged his mother as hard as his injuries allowed. “Travel safe, okay?”
“Try not to get beat up, okay?” Naomi teased, but Jim could see the light of worry in her eyes.
Naomi gathered her purse and coat and Jim walked her to the door. “Thanks for the information, Jim.” She was sure after a couple of weeks of cleansing and meditation, she’d be ready to tackle her goal.
“Be careful. I really think this is a bad idea.”
Naomi waved off his concern, hugged Blair one last time and whirled out the door.
Blair made his way back to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of orange juice out of the refrigerator. Never one on ceremony, he chugged several mouthfuls directly from the container. He didn’t even think about the first time he’d tried to get something to drink from Jim’s refrigerator.
“Great - Blair germs in my orange juice.”
Although it was said with a growl, Blair recognized the affectionate teasing and didn’t get alarmed. “I’ve had my shots.”
“You need caffeine, Chief. Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee,” Blair yawned, and snagged a bagel. “What were you and Mom talking about?”
Jim set out some cream cheese and a butter knife. His guide needed to eat more - he was still underweight after eight months. It worried Jim a little, but Blair was slowly regaining his appetite for food and life in general.
“Sex.”
Blair woke up. He met Jim’s eyes with stunned amazement. “Say what?”
“She asked me how to seduce a sentinel.”
Blair was speechless. Then, “No -- no way. This is so not happening!” He ran his hands through his hair in agitation. “This is my MOM!”
Jim let him hang for several seconds, then grinned. “Relax, Chief. She’s not after me.”
Blair sighed in relief; then the other penny dropped.
“Oh no, I thought she was just kidding about that. She’s really going after Hunter? No, no, no, no, no....”
“Chief, as charming as your mother is, I don’t think Hunter is going to let her get to first base, much less start a raging affair.”
Blair put his head on the table and groaned. “She said she wants an affair? God!”
“Well, actually, I think the term was ‘hot tiger sex,’ but you get the general drift.” Jim was enjoying this far too much.
Blair moaned pitifully. “Hunter’s gonna flip out, and then - wham! - meta-pyrotechnics.”
Jim laid a friendly hand on his guide’s shoulder. “Chief, your mom’s all grown up. I warned her, but she said she can handle it.”
Blair threaded his fingers through his hair. “Jim, to tell you the truth, it’s not my mom I’m worried about.”
Jim grinned suddenly. “Personally, I think it’ll be fun to watch. From a safe distance, of course.”
Blair sipped his coffee and sighed. “Our life just get stranger and stranger.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Sarah woke to find her sentinel standing over her. “Hunter?” she yawned, her eyes opening.
“I’m going to go run. I don’t think your head is up to bouncing along the sidewalk just yet.” Hunter smoothed a hand over her hair, checking on her condition.
“I’ll get up,” she mumbled sleepily. She sat up, relieved that she no longer felt light-headed while changing positions.
“Dizzy? Sick?” Hunter growled, carefully monitoring her vitals.
“Nuh-uh,” she said as she stood up slowly. This was their first day back to work together after her head injury.
“We have to stop by the hospital, and then I have an interview.” Hunter mentally ticked off the tasks for the morning.
“Okay,” she yawned again. She headed for the bathroom while her sentinel observed her gait - steady - and satisfied that she would be okay, he loped down the steps to go on his run.
Sarah showered and washed her hair, gingerly soaping around the goose egg. It was still sore.After drying off and pulling on her bathrobe she stared into the mirror. The bruises were awful, so she put on some foundation but it couldn’t quite mask the purple discoloration. Well, at least now I know how Blair feels. She combed her damp hair and winced when she hit a snarl on her sore scalp.
The last week had been surreal. Between her disastrous family reunion and being kidnaped by the GDP, not to mention William Ellison being shot, life was one continuous run of chaos. She’d been too busy and distracted to focus on her own life, but that wonderful time of the month was approaching again, and with it, the usual bit of depression.
I want to see my family again. Maybe Hunter would consider another meeting when the dust had settled a bit. And maybe I’ll stop being scared to ask for it, she thought glumly. Dream on, little lemon, dream on.
She hung up the towels just as Hunter came through the door downstairs. She headed for her room, nearly colliding with Hunter.
“Whoa,” Hunter grabbed her arms to keep her from losing her balance. “You okay?” He was sweaty and on an adrenaline high from his run. Running was one of the few things that seemed to make Hunter happy.
“Uh huh,” Sarah said, just the thought of running making her feel queasy. “I’ll fix breakfast.”
Hunter headed for the shower. He came down fifteen minutes later, shaved and dressed in what Sarah privately thought of as one of his ‘power suits’, a conservatively cut dark blue outfit that made him look even more intimidating than usual. She felt sorry for whomever he was interviewing today.
He ate his muffin and drank his coffee while Sarah went through her bowl of cereal and some toast. Without saying anything, she handed him the headlines and the sports pages of the newspaper, while she looked at the funnies. Hunter grunted his thanks when she poured him another cup of coffee and he pushed the orange juice container over to her.
“I want to talk to the pathologist who did the autopsy on Farley. He’s working at the hospital today, so we’ll swing by there. My military contacts are still looking for any other connections he may have had, but his official record is squeaky clean, so that makes it harder to track.”
“Is it government?” Sarah asked.
Hunter’s eyes narrowed in interest. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, if somebody cleaned his record, or planted a false one, he’d have to hack into multiple databases. Either there’s a fantastic hacker who helped him, or he got clearance from a higher source.”
Hunter smiled. The kid was sharp. “I agree.”
Sarah gaped. “You do?”
“Yeah, somewhere along the line, somebody up there either helped out or turned a blind eye to what was going on.”
“And you’ll find out who,” Sarah said, feeling an odd shiver of foreboding.
“Eventually. And then....” Hunter mentally flexed his claws at the thought.
Sarah got up to rinse out her bowl and glass while Hunter drained the last of his coffee. Sarah walked upstairs to brush her teeth, moving more slowly than she normally did.
“You sure you’re okay?” Hunter frowned.
“I can handle it,” Sarah said determinedly, not wanting her sentinel to think her spineless.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” Hunter guessed with frightening accuracy. “A concussion is a concussion. I’ve had my share.”
“I can handle it,” she repeated, a stubborn look on her face that had Hunter smiling inwardly. His little guide was learning to stand her ground, and he approved – to a point.
She came back downstairs and looked reasonably steady. When she walked past him, Hunter didn’t catch her hand, just allowed it to brush over his own, creating a fleeting connection that resonated like a bass note, more feeling than actual sound.
“If you get sick, you let me know,” Hunter lectured as he backed the car out of the driveway. “You can take a nap at lunch time.”
Sarah stifled a sigh. He was in BP mode already. “Okay.” She settled back, determined not to look out the window because that truly would make her feel sick.
They pulled into the hospital parking lot and Sarah’s heart rate spiked slightly. She looked calm outwardly, but Hunter could sense her unease.
“Just visiting. Remember that.”
Sarah clutched his jacket as they walked inside. Heading down a long hall, the antiseptic smell was overpowering.
“Dial it down,” she said softly when Hunter grimaced.
“I can, but what about you?” She was looking a little pale.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, carefully avoiding any contact with the people crowding down the hall.
They reached the pathology wing tucked in the west end of the building. It was a nearly deserted with pieces of equipment leaning against the walls. There were more smells here: formalin and...blood. Sarah swallowed against the rising nausea.
“I have to actually view the body, Sarah. I don’t know if you should come in with me.” Hunter’s look of concern took the sting out of the words. “Formaldehyde and upset stomachs don’t mix well.”
“But...what if you zone?” Going by the smells, it was highly likely.
“Better me zoning than you losing your breakfast.” Hunter tipped her head up, noting the slight greenish tinge to her face. “Just have a seat here, and I’ll be out soon.”
“No,” Sarah insisted. “I’ll come with you.”
Hunter watched Sarah bite her lip. She was bound and determined to accompany her sentinel; Hunter couldn’t fault her guide instincts, but he didn’t want his guide throwing up because of good intentions.
“Okay,” he said, and tucked her close to him. “But just one gag, and I’m hauling your little butt back out here -- capisce?”
Sarah walked with him through the double doors. There were residual emotions here - like pale ghosts. Just little wisps of feelings, as opposed to the clamor of the rest of the hospital.
“Dr. Kellerman,” Hunter stated when a young man at the desk asked how he could help them. “Captain Hunter, Cascade Police.”
“I’ll page him for you,” the young man said. “He’s down here somewhere.”
Dr. Kellerman was a tall gangly redhead with copious freckles - another Doogie Howser. Hunter sighed. This was sure to be a waste of time.
“Dr. Kellerman? Captain Hunter, Cascade PD. I’m here on the Farley autopsy.”
Kellerman shook Hunter’s hand, looking a bit distracted. “Farley...Farley...oh, yes. The sniper. Man, that was not a good thing.”
He sounds like Sandburg, and he probably isn’t much older. Hunter felt his misgivings rise exponentially.
“Dr. Kellerman, did you do the autopsy?”
“I did.” Kellerman looked up, caught Hunter’s dubious expression and grinned. “Yeah, I know, I get it all the time. Way too young to be a doctor, can’t know squat about anything, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
Hunter didn’t even blink.
“If it’ll set your mind at ease, Captain, I’m actually Vice Chair of Pathology, I teach at Rainier’s School of Medicine, and I was 42 my last birthday. I know what I’m doing.”
Hunter waited without replying.
Kellerman didn’t look perturbed in the least. “You’re a cautious man, Captain. I like that in a police officer.”
The doctor motioned for Hunter to follow him. “I have the body laid out. I can give you a run down, but since you’re a sentinel, maybe you’ll sense something I can’t.”
Kellerman paused to peek at the girl standing half-way behind her sentinel. “Is this your guide?”
“Yes,” Hunter said shortly. “Can we get on with this?”
Kellerman just shrugged at sentinel idiosyncrasies and smiled at the girl, who nodded but didn’t speak.
The body lay on the steel table, hips draped with a sheet, waxen and cold.
Sarah swallowed convulsively. Her sentinel heard it.
“Sarah....”
“I’m okay,” she said in a muffled voice.
“First time seeing a dead body?” Kellerman asked her sympathetically.
“Actually, it’s her second,” Hunter interjected impatiently, “but I’d like to get her out of here as soon as possible.”
“Hey, no problem,” Kellerman waved his hand. “Have a good look.”
Hunter walked over, vision and smell piggybacking themselves as Sarah grounded him. She carefully avoided looking at the body.
“One shot kill. Tore his trachea and partially severed the internal and external carotid arteries, leading to rapid exsanguination. Hell of a shot.”
“Thanks,” Hunter muttered as he concentrated on sensing the body.
“You shot him?” Kellerman looked surprised. “I thought captains stayed behind their desks.”
“Not me,” Hunter growled, then traced his fingers over the skin of the left upper arm. “There’s something here.”
“Probably was a tattoo,” Kellerman said. “Laser removal, would be my guess. Hard to tell what the pattern might have been. It’s the only identifying mark I could find.”
Hunter’s fingers traced over the area. “A circle with cross hatches.”
“You can tell that just by touch?” Kellerman looked impressed. “The toxicology tests were negative. Missing his appendix, but nothing else earth-shattering.”
“What about the DNA testing?”
“I’m actually expecting those results back today,” Kellerman said as he opened a file folder up. “You’ll have the full report by tomorrow.”
Hunter walked over to wash his hands at the steel sink. Nothing else on the body would give them any further clues.
They walked out, Sarah looking a little green but still holding it together.
“Would your guide like some 7-Up? Might settle her stomach.”
Hunter was about to refuse, but Sarah looked hopeful, so he nodded. A few sips of the carbonated beverage actually brought her color back.
“If I can help with anything else, just let me know,” Kellerman said. “This guy was bad news.”
“Thanks,” Hunter said shortly. Then he paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know a Blair Sandburg, would you?”
“Blair - Anthropology Wunderkind of Rainier? Known him since he was an undergrad.” Kellerman grinned. “He took a couple of my classes in forensic anthropology way back when I first started teaching there a few years ago.”
“Figures,” Hunter muttered. Two peas in a pod. The doctor even bounced like Sandburg.
“Hey, you know him, then. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years.” Suddenly Kellerman looked anxious. “He’s okay, isn’t he?”
“He’s fine. He’s bonded.”
“Blair’s a guide?” Kellerman let out a long whistle. “Never knew he was an empath. Oh, man, that must have been rough. The poor kid - damn GDP probably got him, right? Bastards. All Blair wanted to do was get his PhD and teach.”
“He’s still doing that,” Hunter growled defensively. “His sentinel let him continue his education.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Kellerman said fervently. “I didn’t think sentinels generally were that understanding about higher education. So who’d he end up with, anyway?”
Hunter, fast growing annoyed by the chatter, stared at the doctor levelly and said tersely. “My brother.”
Kellerman stood mute in shock as the sentinel and guide walked through the doors.
Hunter tugged his guide along. “Let’s get out of here.”
They walked down the hallway as the freight elevator ahead of them began to rumble. The doors opened and several men in black blazers stepped out.
Sarah froze at their military bearing. GDP?
The men moved out into the hall and spotted them.
“Contain and secure,” one man barked as two other men moved toward them.
Sarah gazed frantically for an exit, but the men were in front of them before she could even think of moving. Her heart sped up as they approached, but Hunter just tucked her to his side.
“Problem?” Hunter drawled, neither impressed nor interested.
“I’m sorry, sir. We’ll have to ask you to clear the hallway.”
Hunter waited a beat as he tilted his head and stared cooly at the Joe Friday clone standing in front of him. “Don’t think so.”
“Sir,” the man began more determinedly, “I’m afraid you’ll have to-”
“I don’t ‘have’ to do anything. Get out of my way,” Hunter ordered, jaw clenched.
The first man was about to do something stupid – like challenge Hunter – when a voice interrupted. “Jim!” A young man rushed up to him. “I didn’t think you’d be able to make it today. Thanks for coming. Where’s Blair?” He laid a friendly hand on Jim’s arm,
The two security guards stepped back at their boss’s signal. This must be the famous James Ellison and they hadn’t known. Merriman would chew their butts for sure on this one.
Hunter looked at the man, eyes cold. “Who are you?”
Oh, shit. Steven tried not to panic when he realized what he’d done. This isn’t Jim – it’s Vincent Hunter. Oh, shit, shit, SHIT!
“Steven Ellison,” the man said, his heart rate accelerating.
“I’m Captain Hunter,” Hunter drawled, a slight sneer punctuating the words. “Step out of the way before I start arresting people for interfering with an official police investigation.”
Steven was about to explain, when an ambulance cot rolled out of the elevator with two paramedics, a nurse and several more Joe Friday types.
Hunter looked over and caught William Ellison’s gaze. The man looked smaller, lying there with an oxygen cannula in his nose and various other medical devices hooked up to him. William’s eyes widened with surprise, then with tentative hope, but Hunter ground his teeth as he deliberately turned away from the man.
William’s face fell at the rejection.
“We’re...we’re just transporting him home and needed extra security,” Steven said hesitantly, more than intimidated by this cold look-alike of his brother. “Jim said you’re investigating the shooting?”
Hunter gave Steven a measuring look. “When the Cascade Police deems it appropriate, you will be informed about relevant aspects of our investigation. Until then, this case is confidential.”
It was a deliberate snub, and Steven knew it. “Fine. Sorry I even asked.” He turned to follow the ambulance crew.
“Mr. Ellison.”
Steven froze. The hair on the back of his neck went up at the predatory purr.
“One of my men will be interviewing both you and your father for the investigation in the next few days. Don’t leave town.”
Steven gritted his teeth and kept walking, trying not to betray his emotional state, but he knew that the sentinel could hear and smell his fear.
Hunter waited until the hallway cleared, then looked back down at his guide. The look in her eyes was...disquieting.
“Why did you do that?” Sarah asked softly.
“Do what?” Hunter grunted, his mind already back on the investigation.
“Why were you so mean to him?”
Hunter was about to snap at her, but checked himself. “It’s old business.”
“He wasn’t the one who hurt you.” Sarah had felt Steven Ellison’s emotions strongly -- he might be part empathic himself -- and they had been a broil of apprehension and anger. “Why would you want to hurt him?”
Hunter just grunted and ignored the question, leading his guide out of the hospital.
Sarah didn’t say anything more, but Hunter could feel her disappointment in him the entire ride over to the precinct.
And it gnawed at him.
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey, isn’t that Captain Hunter?” One of the nurses frowned as she watched the tall figure crossing the parking lot below the nurses station window.
“Looks like it. Did you hear what happened at the gala a few weeks ago? Monica got shot down big time.”
“Really?” The first nurse commented almost gleefully. “And she was so sure she’d land him, too.”
“Kinda convenient that she went on family leave the next week, wasn’t it? I still don’t buy that her mother is that sick.” The disdain in the second nurse’s voice reflected most of the floor staff’s attitude toward the unit secretary.
“Well, she supposedly left town, but I’m thinking she’s just lying low - rumor has it the Sentinel Prime claimed vendetta against her.”
“What the heck does that mean?” A third nurse chimed in.
“Well, according to Sentinel 101....”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Larry Slater opened the bottle of whiskey he had been saving for a celebration. Pouring some into a glass, he gulped it down, then poured another. How in the hell had the situation gotten out of control?
His son had dragged him over to meet with Blair Sandburg, then the Sentinel Prime had shown up and nearly had him executed. Larry hadn’t truly known what terror was until Captain Hunter had placed a gun at the back of his head and told him how much he was going to suffer before he died.
Dan had dropped him off after his stay of execution, unwilling to talk about what had happened. Dan had admonished his father to call Dr. Claydove immediately. Of course, Larry had put it off, but apparently Jim Ellison had already called, because Claydove had called and after a verbal bashing, accepted Larry’s resignation.
He wouldn’t lose any of his pension or retirement benefits, thank God, but the humiliation of it burned him. He’d been exiled, and his son wasn’t doing anything to stop it. He had never meant that Blair Sandburg to be hurt in the way he had been, but couldn’t they see that it wasn’t his fault?
Larry rationalized things more and more as he drained the bottle, shifting blame to Wilson, the lack of GDP resources and the supernatural influence the Guide Prime had on the Sentinel Prime and his clan. It was all their fault. He drifted off in a haze of alcohol and self pity.
He made it into work the next day much worse for the wear. Mumbling a greeting to Margaret, he stepped into his office and looked around. Per Dr. Claydove’s orders, Larry Slater would hand over all files to Lt. Brougher, who would take over for him, and relinquish all passwords and keys to GDP headquarters. His office would be cleared by noon.
“Larry?” Margaret asked. “What’s wrong?” He looked pale.
“Taking early retirement,” Larry said, trying to smile. “Orders.”
“Is it your heart? Did the doctor tell you something?” Margaret’s brown eyes were full of concern.
“Yes, I was told something,” Larry said, not quite meeting her eyes. He was embarrassed to be in this position, and didn’t know how to tell her what had happened the night before.
“But...” Margaret stopped when Larry turned away to start clearing his desk. “Can I help?”
He loved her, but not even she could help with this. “It’ll be okay. Just sort of a shock to be told that I can’t work anymore. Still had some things I wanted to do before I retired.”
“Larry....”
“I won’t be your boss after today, Margaret.”
His wistful expression tugged at her maternal instincts. She laid her hand over his in a promise of solidarity. “No matter what, I’ll still stand by you.”
Larry’s eyes filled with tears, shocking both of them, and he mumbled an excuse and busied himself at his desk. “Please excuse me, Margaret. I have to get packed before Lt. Brougher gets here this afternoon.”
Margaret reluctantly walked out of his office, troubled by what Larry wouldn’t say. Just what had happened? Was he critically ill? Dying? She’d get the full story - even if she had to find Dan and ask him.
Larry filled file boxes mechanically. Personal papers, photos, mementos, everything from a nearly thirty year career compressed into six small boxes. The furniture was GDP issue, and the majority of the files GDP property. Brougher would take over this office and make it his as they had planned, but it was months sooner than expected.
As anger and self pity warred it out, Larry thought of Sandburg. The guide was over the edge - couldn’t anyone see that? No guide should be able to bond to two sentinels - a guide didn’t have that kind of power, and it was surely a perversion, a sickness. Yes, the guide had been horribly abused, but Larry had seen the guide’s head come up, a dangerous light in his eyes, and knew there was madness there.
Of course, the Sentinel Prime and his brother didn’t see it.
The Sentinel Prime shouldn’t have an unstable guide, but they were bonded, and the only way to break the bond, short of death, would be to flat line the guide....Larry stopped the thought abruptly. Ellison would kill anyone who attempted to harm his guide, and Larry had already come too close to death.
The phone rang, jolting him back to reality. “Hello?”
“Larry Slater, you old hound dog! What’s this I hear about you retiring?” It was Mick Eastwood, another GDP career officer who had retired two years ago and started, with remarkable financial success, his own consulting business.
Larry sighed. The word was already out: nothing stayed secret in the GDP for long. Hopefully, not everything had come to light.
Mick had always been an entrepreneur, moving up the GDP ladder until he reached his glass ceiling, then moving out into the private sector where his acquired skills paid much, much better. Mick would have made a good corporate shark, with his cunning tactics and ambiguous morality.
“Health problem,” Larry said shortly, slightly uneasy and unable to say why. Even though he and Eastwood went way back, they’d never been especially close. “Had to retire a few months earlier than expected.”
“So they say,” Mick said agreeably, and Larry tensed. What did Eastwood know?
“Well, I didn’t have a choice,” Larry mumbled.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mick sympathized. “Those sentinels and guides can be a pain, can’t they?”
“What do you want, Eastwood?” Larry rubbed his aching head, trying to clear the fog of hangover.
“Why, to offer you a job, Larry. I can always use a good man in my organization. That is -- if your doctor will let you.”
Damn him! He knew. He knew what the Sentinel Prime had done. “Mick, please.” Larry sat down in his desk chair. On top of everything else, he was being mocked.
“Take it easy, Larry. I’m serious. Do you want a job or not?”
It was tempting. It certainly would mean more money than his retirement funds would provide, and it would give him a chance to tie up loose ends.
“I have to think about it,” Larry hedged.
“How about we meet at Pronto’s for lunch? I can give you the whole spiel.”
“Well....”
“Come on, Larry. We’ve known each other a long time. You don’t think I’d let a buddy of mine down, do you?” Mick sounded sincere, but under the concern was something dark and oily.
“Okay, I’ll meet you.” Larry confirmed the time, then looked around his office one last time. Maybe this is a new door opening, he thought, and suppressed the vague feeling of unease.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Mick Eastwood got up and shook hands with Larry with the slick ease of a politician. His close-cropped silver hair contrasted with a surprisingly unlined face, though Larry knew for a fact that Eastwood was in his mid-fifties. Facelift? Good genes? It almost gave him the creeps.
“Hi Larry. You look good. Too good to be retiring early.”
Larry shrugged and dropped the man’s hand. “You know how it goes.”
“Yeah, I do. I know you aren’t all that keen on private sector work, but it pays well, and there’s plenty of upward mobility.” Mick sat down and signaled the waiter who came over immediately and got their drink orders, then discreetly disappeared.
Don Eastwood, Larry thought with a flash of morbid humor. Just like some sort of syndicate.
“What kind of job do you have in mind?” Larry asked, pausing when the waiter returned with their beers. He never felt completely comfortable in civilian clothes - like he lost part of himself without the uniform.
“Some background work. I’m mainly working in corporate brokerage - some technology, some security, a little of this and that.”
“And they pay you for this kind of stuff?”
“You wouldn’t believe how much people pay for certain things. It’s all marketing - getting your buyers and sellers connected.”
Larry suppressed a shiver. Something felt...off.
Mick leaned forward, his face earnest. “I think we’d work well together, and I can always use a good man on my team. You’re the best paper shuffler I ever met - and I mean that as a compliment. The IRS would do handstands to get you.”
“What kind of salary are we talking?” Larry was weakening.
“Here’s my proposal,” Mick said, shoving a few papers across the table. “Of course, this doesn’t even include the corporate benefits you’d receive: health, dental, vision, health club, time-shares.”
“My God!” Larry stared at the figure in front of him. “That’s twice what I’m making...was making.”
“Yeah, I know,” Mick leaned back to assess his man. He was this close to saying yes.
“What about stock?”
“Options after a year. So what do you think?”
“Well, I guess I’m in.” Larry cleared his throat and took another sip of beer. He’d be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this. But as he watched Mick Eastwood place his lunch order, he had a niggling feeling that he had just stepped into an abyss.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Jim turned onto the quiet street that led into the exclusive neighborhood William Ellison called home.
“I just wish we coulda been there when he got home from the hospital,” Blair fretted.
“Chief, I think Simon’s exact words were: clean up all other open cases or else.”
“He knows you’ve been concentrating on finding the sniper.”
“Yeah, and I’ve had over a week and a half with no solid leads. He said if we don’t get moving on our other cases, he’ll get creative.”
Blair’s lips quirked at Jim’s exasperated but indulgent tone. Jim cared for Simon Banks, and the feeling was obviously mutual, but in usual cop-like fashion, they expressed their friendship with a combination of insults and rough physicality.
Then Blair replayed what Jim had just said. Our cases. As in: yours and mine. “Our cases?” Blair gave his a sentinel a pleased grin.
“You don’t see any other partner in this truck, do you?” Jim reached over to ruffle his guide’s hair. “You’ve got all the right instincts. Here we are, Chief.” Jim turned into the driveway. Through the rolled down windows, Jim surveyed the house. “And right on cue: the Keystone Kops.”
Two unfamiliar men materialized on either side of the truck, each holding a weapon on its two occupants.
“Step out of the vehicle, please.” The man was in his early thirties, but his eyes were watchful, and too experienced for his age.
“I’m Jim Ellison, William’s son.” Jim said calmly, leaving his hands in view on the steering wheel.
The gaze didn’t falter. “We’ll have to verify your identify. Step out of the vehicle.”
“I have my ID,” Jim answered, reaching slowly for his badge.
“Stop. Get out of the vehicle -- now.” The man’s voice hardened.
The second man reached for Blair and found his wrist encircled by a crushing grip.
“I’m only going to play your Danger Mouse games so far. You touch him, and I’ll kill you.” Jim’s feral growl immediately put both guards on alert.
“Step out now!” the first man ordered. Jim smoldered as he got out, suffering the man’s impersonal touch as he was frisked and his ID was pulled out and inspected.
“All right, Detective Ellison. You’re cleared to go in.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jim drawled sarcastically.
“I won’t apologize for doing my job,” the first guard said calmly. His eyes never wavered from the sentinel’s face.
Jim stared him down. “Just as I wouldn’t regret killing you if you had laid a hand on my guide.”
The only recognition of a sentinel was a brief flicker in the guard’s eyes. “Fair enough.”
Jim headed up the walkway, then turned to look back. “What’s your name?”
“Reed, Timothy,” the man said, his nervous-looking partner keeping a more respectful distance. They had just insulted a Sentinel Prime who happened to be the boss’s son.
“I think we’re in trouble,” the second man whispered to Reed.
“No, not yet. This guy’s the type who’d tell you to your face if you screwed up,” Reed sighed fatalistically. “Besides, he’s a cop.”
“Got any outstanding traffic tickets, Reed?” Jim asked wolfishly, and despite himself, Reed nearly smiled.
“Nope, just a couple of less than stellar incidents from my Ranger days.”
This time, it was Jim who almost smiled. Rangers were a breed apart.
“Go, Army,” Blair muttered facetiously. “If this turns into one of those macho military bonding things, I’ll go join Merriman and root for the other team come time for the Army-Navy game.”
Both men spared Blair a pitying look and Jim grabbed his guide in an affectionate headlock. “Basketball’s your sport, Chief. Leave football to the heathen masses.”
“You said it, not me,” Blair grunted, elbowing his sentinel in the ribs and extricating himself as Merriman walked up and greeted them.
“Gonna be outnumbered soon, Merriman.” Jim gently jibed the head of Ellison Security. “You navy boys were sailors, while the rest of us were soldiers.”
Merriman, to his credit, didn’t rise to the bait, though his lips quirked at the joke. “Your father’s settled in. Ate a light dinner. The nurse is in there now.”
“Thanks,” Jim said, and towed Blair behind him as they climbed the stairs.
A soft knock and the door was opened by a familiar face. Thalia smiled and held open the door, her necklace openly hanging over her floral scrub top.
“He’s dozing right now. I just gave him some pain medicine.”
Jim walked in and stopped by William’s bed. “No hospital bed?” Jim frowned at the oversight.
“No way I’m sleeping in a hospital bed,” William slurred as he opened his eyes.
“Bumpy mattress, synthetic pillows,” Blair agreed as he expertly fluffed one of William’s down pillows and helped the older man sit up a bit. “This is much better.”
William chuckled, then winced at the movement. He was still wearing oxygen, but he looked better.
Thalia excused herself and William focused on Jim. “Jimmy, about Hunter....”
“Dad,” Jim interrupted, “It’s okay. Blair told me what you told him the morning after the gala.”
William almost mentioned seeing Hunter at the hospital that morning, but instead reached for his son’s hand. “There’s so much about that I want to tell you -- things I need to explain.”
Jim eased his father back as he tried to sit up completely. “I know, Dad, but it’ll keep for now. You’re still recovering, and we first have to find out who came after you and why.”
“But,” William protested, only to find himself back down and tucked under the covers. “Damn it, Jimmy, I’m not some helpless old geezer!”
“No, you’re a middle aged business barracuda, slightly wounded but still trying to kick my ass,” Jim smiled. “Just work on getting well, and I promise we’ll hash out the other stuff when the time is right.”
William grumbled, but the pain medication was kicking in again. “There’s never enough time -- sometimes it’s too late,” he mumbled as he fell into a narcotic doze.
Blair helped Jim settle William, then followed him to the door.
“You know, Jim, he has a point. This stuff is going to have to be discussed sometime.”
“I know, Chief. It’s just -- I’d rather him have a fighting chance when we have the great showdown at the OK corral.”
“What about Hunter?”
“Him, too.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Hunter and Sarah entered the bullpen to hear a short frustrated female scream. Samantha pounded the keyboard of her computer and pushed away from her desk.
Hunter raised an eyebrow at his normally unflappable secretary. “Problem?”
“I hate this computer. It’s a piece of junk. I hate the software. And I really, really hate tech support -- condescending, whiny little teenage snots.”
Hunter had never heard an outburst quite like that from her, so he wisely decided to ignore it.
Sarah hid her smile and slid into Samantha’s seat to try to fix the latest glitch. The computer was outdated, but the biggest problem was the long, slow process of database conversion that locked up the system on a regular basis.
Hunter sighed. His guide would be needed here more than with her sentinel. “I’ll let Sarah help you with this, but I have a meeting in an hour.”
“If Sarah can sort this out, I’m buying her lunch,” Samantha declared.
“Okay,” Hunter decided and strode into his office, where even more paperwork waited on his desk. He slogged through the most important stuff, keeping half an ear on Sarah as she coaxed the reluctant computer back into some semblance of order. And right on cue, Len Miller came over with a doughnut. It was becoming routine. Sarah was finding her niche, and the department was functioning well, one or two people notwithstanding.
Hunter gathered his briefcase and locked his file drawers. “Sarah, I have to run over to the university. Can you handle this until I get back?”
Sarah nodded, eyes intent on the screen. “Uh huh.”
“Keep an eye on her,” Hunter ordered, catching both Miller and Clark’s eyes. The two men nodded gravely.
Hunter’s hand smoothed over Sarah’s hair, and for a moment, she leaned into his touch. It was a gesture that kept the men watching them wondering how the guide managed to tap into the IA captain’s human side. It was a curious connection: intimate, but not loving. And despite most of them having refreshed their memories with their Sentinel 101 texts from school, they still wondered what it was all about.
“He treating you okay, kid?” Barney Clark asked after Hunter had exited the floor.
Sarah looked up blankly, her concentration on the computer.
“Sarah?” Clark prompted, wanting to make sure. Hunter had looked fairly livid the other day when they had come from the morgue, and Sarah had all but tiptoed around him the entire day.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Sarah answered politely.
And you wouldn’t tell us a thing, even if he were beating you daily, Clark thought. But she wasn’t cringing away from Hunter, and seemed to take comfort in his touch. Hunter might shred his men, verbally or physically, but he hadn’t been seen abusing his guide. He wouldn’t need to -- one look was enough to send grown men scurrying for cover, much less a kid like her.
Clark settled down at his desk, watching Sarah out of the corner of his eye. Miller had actually made her smile with one of his lousy jokes. She was still so quiet and wary of contact, even without her sentinel around.
Snow watched Hunter exit the bullpen, but dropped his gaze when Hunter turned around and chilled him with just a look.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Walking into Hargrove Hall, Hunter watched the students stream out of classrooms, laughing and joking. Making his way to the small office in the corner, Hunter could see Sandburg sitting on the floor, sorting though papers. His hair was a wild mass of curls and his glasses were perched on his forehead as he mumbled to himself.
When a shadow moved over him, Blair jumped.
“Sandburg.”
Blair looked up to see Hunter in the doorway. “Oh, hey. What’s up, Hunter?”
“I have a little problem I think you can help me with.”
For just a second, a dark memory flitted through Sandburg’s eyes, but then it was gone. Not quite a flashback, but enough to make Hunter shift uncomfortably at the reminder of his last visit here with Sandburg.
Blair stood up and brushed off his pants. “What kind of problem?” He walked toward his desk, and felt Hunter’s hand brush over his neck. Blair went still, letting Hunter affirm he was safe. The Shield was on watch, and it soothed away the brief recall of another not-so pleasant encounter.
“Our sniper had a tattoo -- the only distinguishing mark on him, and it looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“Do you have a photo?” Blair asked.
“It was ablated by laser, but I could still feel the design.” Hunter picked up a pen and a blank piece of paper from the desk and drew the design.
Blair stared down at it. “Man, it does look familiar. It’s not a modern design. I’ve seen this before.”
Hunter leaned against a bookshelf while Blair studied the drawing.
“Hmmm,” Blair mused, then went to the bookshelf and pulled down several reference texts. “South American, I think. This might take a while.”
Hunter paced the office leisurely, scanning the contents with sentinel eyes. “I’ve got a bit of time.”
“So where’s Sarah?” Blair thumbed through the first book.
“Preventing my secretary from committing computer assault and battery.”
Blair chuckled. “The Cascade PD needs to upgrade before the whole system dies.” He picked up the second book and flipped pages. “Hang on - here it is. See?”
Hunter got up and took the book, staring at the ancient symbol. “Yeah, that’s it. What exactly is it?”
“It’s a specialized warrior tribal marking -- an assassin, for lack of a better term.”
“Is this some kind of cult?”
“None that I’ve heard of. I’m thinking it might be a group symbol - you know, like special forces have snake tattoos? Maybe he was military.”
“I can’t find any record of him in the armed forces database.”
“Maybe he was covert ops, like you and Jim?” Blair suggested as he sat down on the couch and stared at the design.
“My source would have been able to trace that.” Hunter took the book back from Sandburg and stared intently at the symbol.
“Maybe he just wasn’t US military.”
Hunter nodded. “Possibly. Or maybe he was a mercenary - no ties, no trace. That’s gonna be a bitch to try to track down.”
“I’d start with any forces with military operations in South America. He was Caucasian, so that narrows things down a bit.”
“Can you get me any more information about this symbol? I need something a bit more in depth than your standard google search.”
“Yeah, I have access to some pretty specialized archives here at Rainier.” Blair stood up. “I’ll do a little research after my lecture.”
“If anybody can track down academic trivia, it’s you, Sandburg,” Hunter grunted
“Is that a compliment?” Blair asked, tongue in cheek.
Hunter ran a hand over the empath’s head. “Don’t let this go to your head, Dr. Livingston. I take my sources where I can.”
Blair smiled and carefully refiled the books as Hunter exited his office. The Shield wouldn’t say it, but he appreciated the help.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Sarah sat on her bed and reached for the picture of her mother. It was raining, a perfect accompaniment to her mood, and she traced her mother’s face lightly with a finger tip. She missed so many things about her mother - her scent, her voice, but mostly being able to hold onto her, absorbing the very essence of her. Sarah cleared her throat. She’d have to get the photo glass replaced soon. It was getting a bit blurry.
“Sarah!” Hunter was yelling from downstairs. Another work day, and Sarah didn’t feel like going in.
“Coming,” she called back as she got her jacket and purse.
“What’s on your mind?” Hunter asked idly as they pulled out of the driveway. “You’re more quiet than usual.”
“I...I need to go somewhere today. Alone.”
“No,” Hunter said flatly. “After Gross, you’re not going anywhere alone. I’m not too sure you and Sandburg should be out together, given what happened.”
“I just need to....” Her explanation was cut off abruptly.
“No.” Hunter’s tone indicated that there was no room for negotiation.
Sarah sat there, her face turned away from him. He just wouldn’t listen.
The bullpen was busy, which Hunter liked to see. The department review last week indicated things were going well, and Chief Towson was pleased. Of course, some of his men were still being brought up to snuff, but for the most part, Len Miller was keeping them in line. Hunter’s opinion of Miller had risen quite a bit as he watched his deputy balance the needs of the men and his boss.
Hunter walked by several desks, and caught the edge of something not quite right. A slightly acrid scent, a slightly rapid heartbeat. He focused, and his eyes eventually rested on Snow. The man had been doing his job but was filled with bitter resentment after being read the riot act by Hunter.
Snow looked up, not quite hiding a smirk, but it faded when pale blue eyes bored into him.
“Something funny, Snow?” Hunter drawled.
“No, sir.”
“I expect the Dobson report on my desk by the end of the day.” Hunter watched Snow’s face tighten up. It was grunt work, and would require extra effort to complete.
“Sir, I....”
“By five, Snow, or I’ll have to reassess your position here.” Hunter had no hesitation about keeping his department in line. If Snow couldn’t make the grade, he’d be out on his ass. His last two investigations had been sloppy, and Miller had already warned Snow that another written reprimand would go into his file if he didn’t straighten up.
Sarah dipped her barriers slightly, almost recoiling from Snow’s animosity. “He hates you,” she whispered, sentinel soft.
“I know.” Hunter just walked to his office and settled at his desk while Samantha greeted them and dumped a small mountain of paper on their desks.
“Aren’t you worried?” Sarah asked, still shivering.
“No. He starts anything, and I’ll finish it.”
The rest of the day was a busy blur. Hunter excused himself to meet with Miller after getting Snow’s report, and the bullpen was emptying out. Sarah peeked out of the office door. Samantha had already left. Grabbing her purse, Sarah walked out the door.
A couple of the men gave her strange looks, but didn’t say anything. If Captain Hunter’s guide was going anywhere, it must be under his orders.
Sarah walked out of the building, hoping Hunter wouldn’t notice. She walked down the busy sidewalk to the bus stop, glancing at her watch. The number 11 transit should be here any minute. She got on the bus and paid her fare, finding an empty seat and watched for the downtown stop she needed to catch the Grayhill bus. Mercifully, people ignored her. She got off fifteen minutes later. Stopping in a flower shop, she bought an arrangement and waited for the next bus.
Grayhill was at the north end of town, where suburbia met rural, and when she reached her destination, it was after six. It was a three block walk, but she made good time, stopping in front of the gates of Grayhill Cemetery. They were locked.
Sarah bit her lip and looked around. She contemplated the high wrought iron fence for several minutes before making her decision. Passing the flowers through the narrow bars, she began to climb.
Hunter was furious. He had come out of his meeting at 5:30 to find his guide missing. When one of his men reported she had walked out, he immediately called the one person who might know where she was.
“Sandburg!”
“Hunter?” Blair’s voice could barely be heard over the rock and roll favored by the Campus Brew House, where the Anthropology TAs were celebrating Dr. Woodward’s birthday. Glancing at the bar, Blair saw that the grad students were cheering the good doctor on. The professor could sure hold his own on tequila shots.
“Sarah’s missing!”
“Whoa, say that again?” Blair tried to move to the door to escape the music volume.
“She’s gone.”
“Kidnapped?” Blair was horrified.
“No, she walked out,” Hunter growled. “Said she wanted to go somewhere today, but I told her no.”
“That’s not like her,” Blair said slowly. “Wait...hang on. What’s the date today?”
“September 6,” Hunter said impatiently. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Blair moved outside where the noise level was manageable. “Aw, man, didn’t you read her file? Sarah’s mother’s birthday is in September.”
Hunter’s mouth tightened. “So where would she be, Sandburg? You knowing everything about her, down to the last bit of trivia.”
Blair winced. That had been a direct swipe. “Ouch, man, retract the claws. She just confides some things in me, you know, guide to guide.”
“Where, Sandburg?”
“Grayhill Cemetery,” Blair said, not surprised when Hunter abruptly cut off the call. The Shield was in BP mode, and this was one time that the Guide Prime should stay completely out of it.
Blair walked back inside the bar. His fellow TAs were well on their way to getting totally smashed. They laughed and jostled each other as Blair found his seat at the large table.
“Everything okay, Blair?” Carol asked.
“Fine. Just some sentinel business.” Blair sipped gingerly at his beer. Even now, he didn’t trust himself when it came to alcohol. Dark Guide was hard enough to control when he wasn’t under the influence of a mind-altering substance.
“Sentinel business,” Tony burped drunkenly -- too sloshed to censor his words. “Hear you’ve got two of ‘em now. You goin’ for some kind of record?”
“Tony, shut up!” Carol warned. Tony was a jerk when he was sober. Drunk, he was an asshole.
“Twin sentinels. Must be a rush. They take turns on you?”
The conversation at the table halted as everyone stared. Blair’s face burned, first with shame, then with slow-growing anger. “You’re drunk, Tony. Drop it.”
Tony just laughed. “Everybody knows what guides do for their sentinels.”
“You don’t know anything, Tony,” Carol hissed. “Shut up before I make you.”
Tony laughed again, as if finding this hysterically funny. “C’mon, Sandburg, I know you guides are perverse. Hell, there’s even a web site dedicated to guide porn made right here on campus. Ever think of a movie career?”