The Two Hearted Path --------------- SVS-06: The Two Hearted Path by Maggie, Part 3 Charlie's apartment turned out to be a one-room hovel with a couch, a table, two metal folding chairs and an army of roaches. After an initial sensory sweep of the place, Jim dialed down his sense of smell to zero. The aftershave didn't linger here. Jim guessed that Charlie did not invite people into this room. He felt a burst of sadness for the kid. Something about him always seemed special, somehow noble despite the bluster of personality that allowed him to survive on the street. Jim looked at Blair. He was standing by the couch, examining photos tacked to the wall. "I'm not finding anything useful here, Chief. Why don't we move on?" Blair seemed to not hear him. He stared at one photograph as if mesmerized. Jim walked to him and looked over his shoulder. The picture was a stained, color Polaroid of Charlie and an older man. Judging by the features, he was Indian. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Charlie. The kid looked scared. That was one thing about Charlie, he always seemed scared and uncomfortable as if he wanted to climb out of his own skin. "What's so fascinating, Chief?" "Jim." Blair sucked in a breath and shook his head. "I had a dream this morning. I saw this man." "A dream?" Jim frowned. "Yes." Blair smiled. "Very cool." "Cool?" Jim felt his eyebrows creep into the stratosphere. "You lecture me to death over not sharing my dreams with you and now when the shoe is on the other foot, all you have to say is 'Cool'?" "No. It's not like that, Jim. It was a great dream where I was the wolf and I followed the sound of a drum and I jumped into the light and then I was in the library and this old guy was smiling at me. Nothing weird, really." He at least had the grace to lower his eyes on that last statement. "Riiight," Jim said. He began to ask another question when the door to the apartment suddenly opened. Jim knocked Blair to the couch with one arm, pulled his gun with the other and caught the intruder in his sights. "Freeze. Police." The man stood frozen in the doorway. Light from the hallway formed a halo around him for a moment and Jim adjusted his vision to scan the face. What he saw made him pause mid-breath. "Jim," the man said, "been a long time." ------------------ 1986 Retén de Catia prison break: Venezuela The distant scatter of gunfire carried across the steep valley where Jim scanned the cliffside. He looked for any sign of a weak link in the chain of rope and human limbs above him. The bodies moved like spiders up the steep cliff. The four prisoners who were their mission moved with sloppy desperation, assisted from above and below by a strong body dressed in camouflage. The timetable pushed them all forward at a fast pace. "Ellison, move your ass." Jim adjusted his rifle, tightened the strap, and then returned to the climb. He was exhausted. Despite the chill breeze in the air at this elevation, sweat rolled down his face. Almost there, they were almost there. Pete disappeared in a roll onto the top of the cliff then his face came back into view along with an outstretched hand. He reached for the last of the prisoners they had been sent for. The man seemed to have reached the end of his endurance. He leaned against the wall of the cliff and sobbed, wailing a prayer in a stream of Spanish. Jim was the end of their line. He tried to offer support from below by holding the rope steady and bracing himself against the cliff wall. "Come on, man. Give me your goddamned hand." Pete patted the wall of the cliff for emphasis. "A few more feet and you're home free. I can hear the choppers. We're going home as soon as you get your ass up here." The man was beyond hearing. Jim saw his body sag and braced himself just in time to catch the added weight against the rope as he lost consciousness and slumped into the harness. Jim pulled himself toward the limp figure, grunting with the effort. He could see Pete's face above them, straining as he pulled. "Goddammit." Pete spoke through gritted teeth. "He's dead weight." Jim reached the man and began to work them up the last few inches. The rope jerked suddenly. "Pete, the harness, something's wrong." The rock gave way under Jim's right foot and he felt himself slipping. Pete lunged, caught the rope and their glances met in the instant the harness gave way. "Grab him, Pete." "No." Falling. He was falling and reaching for the man, the man who was their mission, now a black blur tumbling away from him, down into the endless valley. The rope twirled like a cat's tail around his wrist and he grabbed it, held on, bounced against the wall of the cliff and the air left his lungs. He looked up and saw Pete, dragging him up. Jim grabbed the rope with both hands, went into motions born of training and began the climb until he was there, at the top, in Pete's face, dragged onto solid ground where he lay panting. "You should have grabbed him, Pete, not me. I lost him." The words tumbled from his mouth as Pete pulled him up. "I lost him." "My decision." Pete shook him with each sentence and his face held command. "Mine. My call. End of discussion, soldier." Then they were running toward the choppers, back to a world of light where success would be measured in a live body count of three and questions would be asked and answered. ------------------ "Pete?" Jim's heart pounded as he kept his arm straight, gun aimed at a memory. "What the hell are you doing here?" "You aren't going to shoot me, are you?" Pete entered the room and closed the door. "I'm sure you're not." "Answer my question." "I'm Bowen's inside man." Pete's eyes flashed. "The last one he's got." Jim blinked. "You're with the Bureau." "Eight years." Pete nodded. "The last one has been spent on this case. I'm in Kennet's circle of trust. It's a small circle, a nasty circle. I'm liable to get my head blown off if I get caught talking with you. I'm the one taking the chance here so put the fucking gun away, Jim." Jim paused for another instant, almost dizzy from the feel of shifting realities. He looked at Pete's face, the same but for a few extra lines, a new scar above the left eyebrow, but the eyes had changed. They seemed darker, still blue but somehow different. "Did you follow us here?" Jim holstered his gun. Pete moved to the table and pulled one of the metal chairs over to face the couch. He sank onto it and released a sigh. "I've been staking out the place. I figured you would show sooner or later." Jim sat beside Blair on the couch. "What made you think that we'd come here?" "Charlie was your snitch." Pete paused as if waiting for Jim to react. "No point in protecting him now, Jim." Pete leaned his elbows on his knees. "I know he's dead. And I know you figure he was murdered. You're here to find out why he was trying to contact you the night he died. Let me clear that up. I asked him to give you a message. The bust on the wharf was a set-up." Pete pressed his thumb to the spot between his eyebrows. "I know it was Bowen. I don't know his angle yet or why he hasn't brought me down, but he will. It's a matter of time. I would either be dead by now or would have heard if he had something going with Kennet. It has to be bigger. He wants to keep Kennet in business for some reason." "Bowen?" Blair spoke up from beside him. "You're saying the agent in charge of your whole investigation is dirty?" "That's what I'm saying, Mr. Sandburg." "You know who I am?" "Kennet has me tracking Jim's movements and associations." "Why?" Jim asked. "You've been scaring off business in the neighborhoods with your murder investigation. Johhny Warner was a two-bit drug dealer, a little blip of nothing who was skimming off the top. He fucked with Kennet and got his due. I'm Kennet's point man for this area. He was happy with me until you came along and began stomping all over this territory, making noise, flashing your badge. Now he's not so happy. He doesn't like you much." "Sounds like you don't either." Jim reacted to an odd timbre of irritation in Pete's voice. "You expecting an apology?" Blair blew out a harsh laugh, shifted beside him and his foot hit something under the couch. He leaned over to pull it out. His eyes grew wide and he looked at Jim. "Drum." Blair whispered the word and pulled the instrument into his lap, caressed it like a holy find. "Fuck you, Ellison." Pete drew his attention back. "It's easy for you to sit there and be an asshole when you're not the one hanging by your fingernails. I'm a dead man if I don't get your help." He dropped his head. "I'm asking, Jim." The words punched his gut. "Easy, Pete. You've got it. Of course I'm going to help." He leaned forward and grasped Pete's arm. "Now start from the beginning. Give me something other than a hunch to finger Bowen in this." Pete lifted a grateful face. He nodded and blew out a breath. "Franklin is one of the bodies you saw under the wharf this morning. He had something solid on Bowen, but didn't get the chance to share it with me. All I've got is his word and my 'hunch'. I'm playing for my life here so you can damn well believe I have faith in both. Bowen's dirty, Jim. I'm telling you." "Then it's time to pull you out. You're unprotected. We bring Bowen in for questioning and see what shakes loose." "No way, Jim. I've put a year into this. I'm not pulling out now." Jim shook his head, aware of the unease creeping along his spine. "I understand where you're coming from, but I don't like it. How am I supposed to stay close enough to give you back up? How do we stay in contact?" "I've thought it through. We use me as bait to set Bowen up," Pete said. "I arrange a meet between him and me. Give him the opportunity to take me out. Once it's set, I call you with the when and where. You're my witness." "Pete," Jim sighed. "Think about it. We may take down Bowen, but who's in this with him? You need to realize the risk. Your cover could get blown from another source." "I get that." Pete nodded. "I do. We can deal with the rest after we get Bowen. For now, let's focus on him. One step at a time." Jim rubbed one hand down his face. "All right. We play it your way. What are your ideas for the meet?" "Let me work it out." Pete's eyes glowed. "I knew I could count on you. Knew it." Something buzzed, light flared then dimmed and for an instant Jim sat across from himself. Pete spoke from Jim's face and the eyes were black. Boundaries gave and Jim saw his own life, spilling toward him, seeping bits of his past into the room, filling this moment with regret. "Jim? You okay?" Pete asked. Jim blinked and found Pete staring as the room settled back into the pale light of late afternoon. "Fine." His voice held steady. Pete stood. "Okay. I'll reach you when I've got things set. Watch your back, Ellison." Jim walked with him to the door and pulled him into a brief hug. "Watch your own back, Torrino." Jim closed the door behind Pete then turned to the couch. Blair still sat with the drum on his lap. His arms were curled around it, his head bowed. He swayed the slightest bit back and forth. Curls slid forward, sheltering his face and his lips moved. Jim focused on the whisper: one word repeated over and over. "Koyaanisquatsi." Jim strode to the couch, sat next to Blair and pulled him backward. Blair fell heavily against him. Jim pushed the curls from his face and grasped his chin. He tilted his face up and met a blank gaze. Blair's eyes were open and empty, the pupils small. "Blair." Jim shook him gently. "Come on, Chief. Don't do this to me." Jim slid his palm against the cool cheek, rubbed his thumb across the soft circle of skin beneath Blair's eye. "Come on." Jim pressed his mouth to Blair's. The lips were warm and soft, so still. "Come back." He slapped one cheek. "Goddammit Sandburg!" Blair blinked once then again until his eyes seemed to focus on Jim's face. "Chaos," he said. It took time, but Jim finally roused Blair enough to lead him out of the apartment and into the truck. On the drive home, Blair dozed in the seat. Jim threw glances at the peaceful face and felt bursts of affection and anger. What the hell was going to happen next? Blair clung fiercely to the drum and frowned when Jim attempted to pull it away from him. When they arrived at the loft, Jim reached for it and Blair immediately stirred. "Chief?" Blair stretched with a satisfied moan and rolled his face toward Jim. Blue eyes opened and warmed with recognition. "We have to quit meeting like this." Jim huffed out a breath. "Funny, Rip Van Winkle." He moved out of the truck and around to help Blair. "I'm fine." Blair waved his hand away. "Now you, on the other hand, don't look so hot. Maybe next time, you'll get the nap and I'll do the wake the slug routine." Blair swayed a bit and Jim drew him close with an arm around his shoulders. "I don't accept that there will be a 'next time'," Jim said as he led them through the front door then into the elevator. "Ooh, now there's a surprise." Blair grinned and rolled his face against Jim's chest. The intimate gesture warmed Jim. The drum got in the way of a proper hug so he settled for threading his hand through long curls and holding Blair's head still as he kissed him. The lips were soft. They yielded to his tongue and he pushed in, for a moment, just a taste, to remind him of pure things and memories without camouflage. They spent the evening close to each other, ignoring the television as it played a background noise to foreplay. For now, Jim wanted to focus on Blair and nothing else. He told Blair the basics about Pete Torrino then quieted his stream of questions with a series of what he felt to be quite masterful kisses, followed by removal of shirts and a session of lewd maneuvers with his tongue. Blair made the best sounds. Jim stretched back across the couch, pulling Blair on top of him. He opened his senses, let them play. Blair rubbed against him, restless as a live wire. "God, you taste good." Blair marked Jim's neck and shoulder with hot, open-mouthed kisses. He trailed down Jim's chest, circled his tongue around one nipple and bit. Jim bucked and gritted his teeth in an effort not to come in his pants. "Stealing my lines now, Chief?" He panted. "Would have thought a scholar like you could come up with some fresh stuff." Blair straddled him, pulled Jim's arms above his head and held them down. Hair fell in a curtain around his face and he looked at Jim with a fierce light in his eyes, lawless and shimmering. "You want fresh?" Such a soft voice from a face like that. It made Jim's cock ache. "I want my pants off. I want your pants off." Jim tried to gather his thoughts. "Why the hell do we still have our pants on?" Blair chuckled. The sound was an old motor, humming low, swirling in a dirty rumble within his throat. "Want me naked?" he asked. "What else do you want?" He ground his crotch against Jim's and they both moaned. Blair's lips parted on a soft pant and they were red and wet. "Shit. Chief. Slow it down." His breath hitched and his thoughts tumbled together. "I'm not staining these pants." Blair's laughter started small then bloomed into a proper roar. Jim joined in, helpless against it. It took over his belly, making it jump, which set Blair off even more and soon it was all over but the snorting. With a gasp, Blair slumped against him and buried his face in Jim's neck. Jim let his own laughter die down into soft little "hees" as he carded the tangles out of Blair's hair. Blair pulled back and circled his arms around Jim's head. He lay one palm on top of Jim's hair and stroked. Face flushed, eyes moist from laughter, he looked down at Jim and smiled. Jim drank his fill of the sight and his bones melted. "What do you want, Jim? I'll give it to you. Whatever you want." Blair's glance was a door wide open. Jim looked inside and lost his breath. Everything was there. Everything. "I want to come inside you." The words tumbled from him, low like a secret wish. Heat flared in Blair's eyes and he pulled back, stood up and held his hand out to Jim. Jim swallowed and gripped the warm palm. He stumbled and Blair caught him. They stood together in an embrace and Blair chuckled. "Think you're going to make it up the stairs?" "Oh yeah." Jim took off running. He beat Blair to the top by three strides. "Better get those pants off, Jim." Blair grinned. "Think wrinkles, think busted zippers." Jim quirked an eyebrow, ran his tongue along his lips in an effort to look sexy then lowered the zipper, slowly, one thrust of hips tossed in for good measure. Must have worked; Blair rushed forward like a freight train. They were naked, somehow they were naked and God it felt good. Blair's skin against his, their cocks sliding together. He brought his knees up around Blair's hips and caged them as they pumped and ground in little circles. Blair was shaking. His hands were everywhere, skimming and swirling across Jim's body like birds afraid to land. "I want to give you..." Blair's words trailed off into a swallow. He rested his forehead against Jim's chest and fisted the sheets until the muscles in his arms quivered. "Shh." Jim ran one hand in a long sweep down his spine, spreading his fingers wide along the smooth back. Blair looked up. His eyes were wide and suddenly young. "What, Chief?" Jim cupped his cheek. "What is it?" "I want to be what you need." Blair's voice sounded husky and raw. He dove down and muscled his tongue into Jim's mouth. Jim moaned at the sensation of slick warmth across his lips. Blair took his time with the kiss and Jim began to feel the dizziness of high altitude. He pulled back, panting as Blair suckled down his neck, moaning as if it weren't enough, not nearly enough. "Easy, easy," Jim said. He rolled them over and pinned Blair down, held his face in a firm grip. Blair moaned, spread his legs wide and thrust up in a helpless rhythm. "Let me..." Blair's breath hitched. "Look at me." Jim struggled to hold him still. "Blair. Listen." Blair stared up at him with bright eyes. "You are what I need." Jim brushed a kiss against his temple, swallowed around a sudden ache in his throat. "You have to know that, Blair. You have to know. You're everything." Blair sank into the mattress below him, suddenly quiet and focused. "Yeah?" he said and shrugged in one of the sorriest attempts Jim had ever seen to look casual. "Yeah." Jim grinned. "Just don't expect to hear that too often. I'm no pushover." Blair's lips twitched then spread into a grin. "Bet I can make you roll over," he said. "Oh yeah?" Jim dropped his full weight onto the warm body beneath him. "I want to ride your cock." Blair looked at him in a way that said you-are-my-roller-coaster. Heat flashed through Jim's belly. He moaned and the sound vibrated through him. In a blatant display of pride, he waited a full three seconds before rolling off Blair and onto his back. Before rolling over, so to speak. Jim trembled with the effort it took to release Blair and allow him control over the pace. Blair controlled most things, he decided. When you really looked at the events in his days now, the outcome of moments, you found Blair. The thought lifted him into a space of joy he could not remember visiting. A grin took his face as he watched Blair lunge toward the nightstand, pull out condom and lube. He returned to Jim, straddled him and looked down. "You like this idea." Blair was breathless and smiling. "You know what you're doing here, Darwin?" "I've been reading. Doing some research." Jim chortled and Blair made a face. "You'd rather I had practiced?" Jim growled and pulled Blair down into an impressively possessive kiss. "No practicing. No one else gets to help you rehearse. Big rule to remember there, Chief." "Got it, got it." Blair chuckled and pulled back. His eyebrows danced as he tore the condom packet open with his teeth. "Performing live tonight, Blair Sandburg, attempting for the first time in the history of his sexual life: 'The Ride'." He pumped the air with his fists. "The crowd goes wild." Jim shook his head and chuckled. "Where's your helmet?" Blair pulled the condom from the packet and gripped Jim's cock. Thus it began, the slow torture of preparation. "Shit. Ah, shit." Jim clutched the sheets in desperate fists as Blair finally began to sink onto his cock. "Move slow." He panted. "Take it easy... Don't hurt yourself." Jim nearly came as the head of his cock slipped past the ring of muscle. He grunted with the effort of holding back. "Easy, damnit, slow it down," Jim gripped Blair's waist and lifted. Blair pushed down with stubborn force. "Sandburg!" "Ellison!" Blair tried to glare but the grin spoiled it. "Damn backseat driver." Jim snorted and struggled against the urge to buck and thrust up into that tight, warm space. "Here we go." Blair squeezed his forearms and moved his ass in a slow circle. "Give it up, Detective." Jim caved in to that deep voice, the soft rumble of Sandburg rolling in. He eased his grip, felt the slow slide of his cock into heat and gave in to the thrill. He watched Blair's face, saw the instant when pleasure took over, nearly lost himself to Blair's small huffs of breath. "Jim." Blair rolled his hips in a tight circle, spread his fingers across Jim's chest and slid up then down. Jim abandoned thought. "Yes" became his mantra and he spoke it in different tones, pulled all variety of inflections and finally shouted it and came, pulsing over and over, rolling with the wave. When he came back down, he found Blair still riding him, movements jerky, almost frantic. Jim watched Blair toss his head back, reveal a long expanse of neck; curls tumbled down. He took Blair's cock in a firm grip and pumped once, twice. Blair came with a shout then sagged forward in an exhausted heap on Jim's chest. As they lay together, Jim reveled in the moment, held the warm armful close, mourned the slide of his cock from Blair's body. Blair rested his face against Jim's neck, his breath a moist stream. Jim slid his fingers into the curls, massaged his scalp and smiled at the boneless slump and the contented hum against his neck. "Smooth driving, Chief." Jim heard the smile in his own voice. Blair's laugh was a beautiful sound. "How did I get so lucky, huh?" Jim kissed the closest patch of curls. "I'm not such a prize, you know?" Blair pulled back then and looked at him, gaze soft but tenacious. "You are a good man, Jim Ellison," he said. "The best man I've ever known." He lay back down then, tangled their limbs, settled in. Jim held on, rode out the moment as his eyes stung and the lump swelled then faded in his throat. A good man. He fell asleep with this thought rolling about in his mind, planting itself in a once barren place. He slept the night through without dreams and woke in the morning to a shared space of pillow and a smile sent his way from sleepy, blue eyes. ------------------ Blair loved mornings, especially the ones with Jim in the mood for slow sex. This morning, Jim moved in a steady pace, covering him, touching, tasting every inch until they both came from the friction of their bodies. Afterwards Jim dozed off with a goofy smile on his face while Blair lay awake and thought of mysteries and visions and what it all meant. It was early; too early to get up, but the drum waited. He itched to study it and comb his notes for references about Hopi culture. On the edge of the drum were symbols, some Blair recognized as part of the medicine circle. But others were less clear and he wanted to know their message. He wanted to know how Charlie came to own a shaman's drum. He left Jim and padded downstairs to his old room. An hour later, he started as a warm hand cupped his neck. He peered over his glasses and found Jim standing beside him, chest peeking out from his blue robe, a wild case of bed-head making him look like a fluffed up blue jay. "Hey," Jim said. He glanced at the desk Blair had scattered his papers and books across. "Hey." Blair grinned. "You snuck up on me." "You were pretty engrossed in whatever you're reading there." Jim leaned down, dropped a kiss on his nose then his lips. Jim released his neck and perched on the edge of the desk. He ran his hand along the drum. "This thing seems to have quite the hold over you." Jim frowned a bit. "Should I be worried?" "It's just interesting. I've been trying to figure out what all of the symbols around its edge mean. A couple are really unique. I think they may be specific to Charlie's tribe, maybe Charlie himself." Blair shook his head. "Wish I'd gotten closer to him. Maybe it would have helped him to talk about where he came from, why he left." "Chief, it's not like we didn't try. And I always got the feeling he was running away from himself. Charlie was lost and I'm not sure he was ready to find his way yet. In time, he might have been. But we'll never know." Jim's face grew hard. "What're you thinking about?" Blair asked. "Bowen." "Yeah." Blair shook his head. "I never would have pegged him as dirty. He just seems too driven, too... I don't know, he kind of reminds me of you." "You don't think I could be dirty, Chief?" Blair began to joke but stopped when he caught the cautious glint of purpose in Jim's eyes. "No, Jim. I don't think you ever could." Blair stood and moved in close to Jim, curled his hands around his waist and shook him gently. "Where'd that question come from?" Jim ran his hands up Blair's arms and across his shoulders. He pushed a curl behind Blair's ear and smiled, all the while not meeting Blair's gaze. "I'm not thinking deep thoughts here, Chief. Just reminding you that people can surprise you. You don't know everything about me or my past. If you did..." "I would still be right here." Blair snared Jim's gaze and held it. "The only person expecting perfection from you is you, Jim. People make mistakes, sometimes they do things they don't want to do and their reasons vary. Being a sentinel doesn't exempt you from the human race, man." Blair grinned. "Neither does being a detective. As a matter of fact, I remember a bedtime story Naomi used to read to me. It had something to do with pigs and tyranny..." "I'll show you tyranny." Jim's eyes danced despite the stern tone. "Just remember who owns the handcuffs around here." "Ooh." Blair wiggled his eyebrows. "Naomi never got to that chapter." Jim tried for an evil grin but the little tufts of hair sticking out at odd angles around his head spoiled the effect. He reached down to cup Blair's ass and squeezed. Blair made an appreciative sound. "Like that?" Jim leaned in for a kiss, which grew into a full-blown exploration of Blair's mouth. He kneaded Blair's ass and sucked his tongue. Kneading and sucking and Jim, oh man. In the span of three seconds, Blair switched from amused to aroused, just in time to get a final lick across his lips and a swat on his ass. "Breakfast, Chief. It's your turn." Jim pulled away and headed toward the bathroom. Blair stared after him and moaned. He reached down, adjusted the now painful bulge in his boxers and planned a breakfast menu based on tofu and kiwi. After making plans for the day, they headed out. Blair would go to the university for a while in the morning to check out the library's information on Hopi symbols. Jim would head to the station to do some background checking on Bowen and would bring Simon up to speed. Blair arrived at Rainier at an opportune time to catch a parking space not far from the entrance to the library. He pulled his backpack from the passenger seat of the Volvo and tucked the drum under his arm. He caught the reflection of blue sky in the glass doors as he opened them then stepped inside the dim entrance. A fluorescent light fell on the bulletin board where slips of paper flapped in the brief breeze stirred by his entrance. He scanned them out of habit, finding nothing new beyond a notice about a new Narcotics Anonymous meeting to be held on Thursday evenings. He wondered how Charlie would have fared after rehab, if he would have stayed clean and sober. It seemed to Blair that he would have. Odd to have such an intimate feeling for someone he barely knew, to carry a sense of knowledge about his soul. Blair shook his head and strode down the hallway to the information desk. He paused to ask about the expanded hours. A pretty young woman with chocolate eyes and a very pregnant belly confirmed the information for him. He moved on then to the main room of the library. He stood still for a moment, enjoying the small thrill this quiet place still gave him. After all the years and time spent in this library, it still felt large and limitless, full of answers to questions he wanted to someday have asked himself. He settled at a table near the Native American studies section. A few students were spread out near him, but for the moment, he had the table to himself. He took advantage and spread his notes out, dropped his backpack in a chair and rested the drum on top of it. He then took off in search of one of the books he needed. He scanned the shelves, running his fingers along the edges of bound volumes, enjoying the solid feel of leather mixed with the crinkle of plastic and slick covers. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. He crouched in the aisle and skimmed to a page on the Hopi Life Plan. All the symbols on the drum were there, all but the two he thought were specific to Charlie and his tribe. Blair sighed and moved his fingers restlessly across the page, eventually settling on one symbol, The Spiral. This was the most prominent symbol on the drum, repeated in several spots. Blair knew its meaning, respected it. He believed in the idea that all living things leave something behind when they move beyond the physical world. The spiral in essence represented birth from one plane of existence to another, a perpetual cycle with everything connecting. Something pricked at the skin along Blair's neck. He looked up to find a man standing at the end of the row of books. It was him, the man from his dream, the man in Charlie's photograph. Blair stood and smiled. He walked toward the man, dropped his book, bent to pick it up then stood again to find the man gone, vanished. "Hey." Blair ran to the end of the row, scanned right to left then caught a flash of silver braid turning the corner. Blair followed but once again came to an empty row. He walked to the end and found himself back near his table. The man was nowhere to be seen, but a young woman stood at his table, the pregnant woman from the information desk. She held the drum, caressing it like a long lost friend. She looked up as he approached. "This is Charlie's," she said. "Why do you have Charlie's drum?" Suspicion flared from dark brown eyes and black ringlets spilled down her back as she tossed her chin up and glared at him. Her name was Rosalita. She would not leave the library with Blair to talk privately. So he told her of Charlie's death in this quiet place and learned in that moment she had loved him. She cried in a hush, hand pressed to her mouth, breath sliding in quiet puffs around her fingers. Blair rested his hand on her shoulder, felt inadequate and raw, wanted words to come to him, something wise and true, but there was nothing, just a tight ache in his throat and the need to do what he could not do. Charlie would not be coming back. "I'm so sorry," he said over and over, "I'm so sorry." They sat and the tears finally ended as Blair rummaged through his backpack for the package of Kleenex he knew would be crushed near the bottom. "Thank you," she said as he handed her the pack. "Ah, Charlie." She spoke again, something whispered in Spanish which Blair did not quite catch, then shook her head and leaned back in her chair, resting one hand on her stomach, moving it in circles, spirals of comfort to herself. "Your baby." Blair cleared his throat. "Is Charlie the father?" "Yes, but he never knew he was to be a father." Dark emotion flashed across her face, leaving a shadow of anger and pain. "We met here. We were both students, but he left months ago before I knew I was pregnant. The drugs and that man took him over. There was no room for me. And I was not going to allow him to know of his son until he chose me, until he came back." Tears rolled like prisoners down her cheeks, escaping despite efforts to hold her eyes wide and keep them hidden. Blair rolled her words over in his head. "You said 'that man'." Blair rubbed his hand along the table. "Can you tell me about him? Describe him?" She looked at him with a sudden resignation. "Charlie was murdered, wasn't he?" Blair looked down at the table, balled his hand into a fist and pressed against the cool wood. "I think he was," he said. "The man calls himself Rock." She pulled the drum close and fingered the edge. "He wore a cowboy hat. Liked to tease Charlie about it. He got off on the power he had over Charlie, kept him strung out so Charlie would do things." Her face crumpled and her voice grew strained. "Once, he told Charlie I had to join them or he wouldn't get his fix. Charlie said no. It was the only time he ever said no to Rock." "What happened?" "Charlie left with him. The next time I saw him, he had bruises and he was high." Her voice shook. "He took his stuff from our apartment, said he was moving in with Rock. I told him to get off the drugs and get rid of that man or not to come back." "He never came back, did he?" Blair kept his voice soft. "No," she said. "He never did." ------------------ Jim leaned against the table in Simon's office. He squeezed the edge in symphony with each drum of Simon's fingers against his desk. "So." Simon's voice dipped into the dangerous zone of low calm. "You're telling me that you want me to approve you acting as backup for this sting operation. And the goal of this operation is to take down Luke Bowen?" "Simon, the goal is to uncover the truth." Jim rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "At this point, the only thing I'm sure about is the fact that if we don't step in, one or both of these men could end up dead." "Tell me something, Jim." Simon stood, paced to the window and looked out. "Do you have any other old friends we might be running into here? Maybe someone who knows the mayor is actually a serial killer?" "Simon, what do you want from me? Why are you so hacked over this?" "I'm hacked, Jim, because it rubs against my grain to take the word of some man I have never met against an agent I happen to respect." Simon turned to him and his voice rose by degrees until Jim flinched. "It feels damned uncomfortable to me." "I'm not exactly comfortable here, Captain, but what are our choices?" Simon came to stand in front of Jim, folded his arms and frowned. He paused as if considering his answer then blew out a breath and seemed to deflate. "You're right, Jim." He shook his head. "I don't like the way this is going down, but it does sound like we don't have much choice other than to see what plays out between these two. Let me know when you hear the details of the meet." "Thank you, sir." Jim felt a wave of gratitude. "I appreciate your understanding." "Out." Simon waved toward the door and returned to his desk. Jim walked to the door of the office. His cell phone rang as he reached for the knob and he traded startled looks with Simon as he answered it. "Ellison." "We're set, Jim." Pete sounded out of breath. "I'm meeting Bowen at noon. Third floor of the old Baker building downtown." Jim checked his watch. "What? Am I supposed to fly? There's no way in hell I can get there in fifteen minutes. We call this off." "I am not calling this off. Just move your ass. This is my show, Jim. Remember that." The line went dead and Jim turned an astonished face to Simon. "The Baker Building." "Shit." Simon grabbed his coat and followed Jim. As they strode from the bullpen, Pete's words swirled in his head, "my show... my show." Jim felt a sudden shift in the air. It crackled around him. ...My show boy, remember that... Jim paused in the hallway, heart pounding as puzzle pieces fell together. Simon was speaking to him, but his words were muffled by a growl. Jim turned in time to see the twitch of a tail and the flash of clear, blue eyes before the elevator opened and the panther slid inside. Blair stepped off in the next instant. "Blair!" Jim called to him. Blair rushed over. "Jim, I met..." He paused and searched Jim's face. "What is it? What's happened?" "It was Pete's voice in the loft yesterday. Blair, it was Pete." Simon herded them into the elevator. "Do you think he's the one?" Blair asked. "Do you think he killed Charlie?" "My gut tells me yes, but we have to gather evidence not instinct." Jim pressed the button for the garage level. "The meet is going down. We have to move it." "Nice of you to mention the word 'evidence', Jim." Simon glared at him. "Care to explain to me why your gut suddenly thinks Pete Torrino is a killer?" "It involves visions, Simon." Simon held up one hand, rolled his eyes then turned face forward to watch the floors flashing one by one down to ground level. "Shit," he said. Jim nodded and kept his mouth shut. They sped toward the meet with Simon following in his own car. Jim filled Blair in on the details of the last ten minutes. They cut the lights and sirens a few blocks from the factory district where the Baker Building squatted like a tomb. Brick crumbled from the sides of the four story building and windows gaped in spots where boards had been pulled back. They met at the front entrance to the building. Boards had been pried away from the door. Jim pushed and it swayed open. "Can you hear them, Jim?" Blair touched his back with a warm palm. Jim extended his hearing and filtered through the sounds of the old building until he heard voices. "Put the gun down, Pete. You don't want to do this." Bowen spoke slowly. "Look at me, Pete. We're on the same team. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on." "Team? You think this is about teams, Luke? Here's what's going on. I'm about to kill you." Pete's laugh was wild and low. "In self defense." Jim pulled his focus back to the street. "They're on the third floor. No one else is in the building. We have to hurry." He ran into the building, toward the stairwell, took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripped on the second story landing. "Careful, Jim." Blair's voice floated up to him. Jim cursed. They weren't going to make it. "Pete, drop your gun." Jim yelled as he reached the third floor, bellowed so Torrino would hear him. "I know you set this up, Pete. Drop your gun now!" The sound of a scuffle reached him then a shot echoed down the corridor. Jim froze and tried to target the source. Doors stretched before him, a wing of dark, empty rooms. Then he had it. The last room on the right. Jim took off running with Simon and Blair on his heels. He paused just outside the door of the room, pressed Blair back against the wall then motioned a count of three to Simon. Simon nodded and on three they burst in. "Police. Drop your weapons." Simon's voice echoed around them. Bowen lay unconscious in the center of the room, blood trailing from a bullet wound to his leg. Pete was nowhere to be seen. Jim extended his senses and caught the scent; the aftershave from the wharf and the hotel now wafted out the open window of this room. Jim rushed forward and saw the flash of black jeans above him on the fire escape. He turned back to the room. Simon was beside Bowen, applying pressure to the wound. "He's heading to the roof." "Go after him." Simon ordered then turned to Blair who now stood in the doorway. "Sandburg, call for backup and an ambulance. Officer down." Jim listened for clues to Pete's location and heard him moving away from the ledge, boots scuffing against the roof. Jim climbed the fire escape then paused before pulling himself over the ledge. He spotted Pete at the door leading back into the building, tugging then cursing when the door wouldn't open. Pete pointed his gun at the door handle. "Freeze!" Jim shouted. "Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air." Pete paused for a moment, kept his gun trained on the door then turned slowly, dropping his arms to his sides. His gun dangled from one finger. "Jim. You really know how to fuck things up, don't you?" "I said drop your gun." Jim kept his weapon trained on Pete and slipped over the ledge to stand on the roof. "Now!" "All you had to do was show up a minute too late. But you distracted me." Pete cocked his head. "Why couldn't you just do your part? Why did you have to go and think about it?" Jim shivered as the breeze picked up. "What was Kennet cutting you in for?" Jim asked. "How much did he pay you to sell out your own team?" Pete laughed. "I didn't sell them out, Jim. I just killed them. I passed the word to the three of them that we were to meet on the wharf at midnight. Then I hired some muscle, showed up and took them out. Kennet had nothing to do with it." "Then why?" "The whole investigation was cutting too close. And I couldn't have that. I couldn't have them ending things. Bowen was supposed to take the rap." He frowned. "What the hell tipped you off? Did you figure something out while you were stomping all over my territory because of Johnny, that fucking little dealer?" "If it's not Kennet then who are you working for? Who's lining your pockets?" "It's not about money, Jim." Pete shook his head like a disappointed schoolteacher. "It's about power. You never did grasp the potential within yourself. Not as a soldier, certainly not as a cop." He smiled. "I bet you've never tasted it, have you? That sweet moment when they cave to you because they're so fucking afraid of what you'll do to them if they don't? The little business men living off the skim from Kennet all know to cut me in." He laughed. "And the beauty part is they think I'm Kennet's up and comer. Hell, the whores want to marry me. I have them lining up to suck my cock." "You call that power?" Jim said. "I call it pathetic." The smile died and replaced itself with a cold look. "You wouldn't know. You've never had your own kingdom. You never had the guts to take what you wanted." "What about Charlie?" Jim felt the warm metal of the trigger, caressed it with a slide of his finger back and forth. "Why did you kill him?" Pete shrugged. "He knew too much about my operation. It was a night to tie up loose ends. It turned out he had your name and number by the bed. I knew he snitched to someone, just never realized it was you. It was my lucky night. I tied everything up and planted your card at the wharf so you would get pulled in. Charlie was just luck, a little bonus I could use to get to you." Rage flooded him. "You son of a bitch." "Now you're getting it. Let yourself go." Something flashed in Pete's eyes. "You want to kill me, don't you, Jim? And you know you can do it. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Squeeze. It's right there. The power over life and death." He smiled and nodded, gently encouraging. "See? We're not so different." The breeze picked up. It swirled around them, lifting dust and bits of trash into spirals. Jim tried to breathe past the knot in his throat, swallowed and tasted bile. He heard sirens in the distance, rolling close then fading back. He clenched his teeth against the urge to squeeze the trigger, to wipe the smile off the face of a man who once saved him, and his mind felt hot and dark and the world grew jumbled and in the instant before chaos took hold he remembered Blair's words. ...You're a good man... Jim eased his finger back from the trigger and the smile left Pete's face. He suddenly looked burdened. Jim caught the movement as Pete tightened his grip, lifted the gun and pointed. "Drop it, Pete." He smiled. Jim fired. Pete fell back, arms stretched wide, gun skittering away. Jim ran forward and stared at the dark bloom across Pete's chest. "Lie still." Jim pressed his hand against the wound and caught the fading light in Pete's eyes. "It's okay, Jim." Blood swelled in the spaces between his teeth. "Didn't really think you could do it. Figured I'd have to help things along. My decision..." The light faded then died and Jim brushed his palm over Pete's face, pushing the eyelids closed. He caught movement to his right and looked up to see a black hat, caught in the spiral of a sudden breeze, tossed over the roof, beyond the edge of Jim's world. ------------------ Jim entered the loft and tossed his keys in the basket. He immediately searched for Blair and found him on the balcony, leaning on the railing, looking skyward. It was a mild day, cool but not cold and the sun ruled despite clouds rolling in clumps from the bay. He wore an old sweatshirt, faded jeans and mismatched socks. The light bounced off the jumble of curls, catching shades of gold. Jim took a moment to enjoy the view before glancing at the mess currently spread across the table. The laptop hummed beside papers and journals, which were piled up on top of each other. "We have a study now, Chief." He muttered then smiled at the thought. The journal on top of the heap lay open. He glanced at the title of the article, "Ethics and Corruption: Law Enforcement within Urban Culture." He fingered the page and felt a flutter in his gut as he thought of Pete's kingdom and thin moments of decision when the only guidance Jim had felt came from the barrel of a gun. He left the table and wandered toward the balcony, anxious to touch Blair. "Hey." He walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around Blair, pulling him against his chest. Blair smiled and rolled his head back on Jim's shoulder. "Hey." Jim dropped a kiss on his temple then nuzzled a path from his ear to his neck. "Did you get a chance to see Bowen?" Blair asked. "Yeah." Jim moved his nose up and buried it in soft curls. "He's doing well. Has some physical therapy facing him, but I'm sure he's up to the challenge. He's pissed that Kennet's still in business." "Like some other cop I know." Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's and squeezed. "I wonder how things are going in Arizona," Blair said. "Rosalita's flight should have arrived by now. She's probably met Charlie's grandfather." "Hard to say." Jim rested his chin on Blair's shoulder. "I imagine it's awkward, but she seemed pretty determined to get to know him." Blair smiled. "I have a feeling they're going to hit it off." They stood quietly for a moment and Jim shed the day like a heavy coat. "You know, Chief. We've got a whole evening ahead of us." "Something you want to do?" Blair quirked his eyebrow. "I was thinking we could take a ride." Jim grinned and bumped his hips forward. "Yeah?" Blair's skin grew warmer. "Yeah. And it's my turn to drive." ********
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