Back to Part 2 SVS-18: Collateral Damage by Corbeau, Part 3 The "Gang of Four," as Micki dubbed them, went back to their cabins. With the same care as before, the two police officers examined each carefully and pronounced it secure. All them were used to traveling light when necessary, and it didn't take long to pack up their belongings and head back to the Lodge. As promised, Ted provided them with a suite of two large bedrooms with a sitting room in between. Jim hoped it would serve as a sound buffer if his two women friends assuaged their fear and nervousness the same way he planned to. If not -- well, let them get an earful for a change. They felt constant tension, waiting for the next attack, not knowing when or where it would strike or what form it would take. If not for that, it would have been an enjoyable afternoon and evening. The guests had obviously decided to treat the whole thing as an adventure, a lark. The Lodge staff skillfully encouraged that attitude, joking with the guests and dispensing both food and alcohol generously. They brought out board games and playing cards. The music room had a piano, and the staff unearthed other musical instruments, including some of their own. People re-acquainted themselves with pre-electronic forms of entertainment, clustering around the scattered sources of light and warmth. Dinner was an informal buffet, amazing in both quantity and variety. After handing them their new room keys, Ted had rushed off. He explained that all the staff would be "working their tails off" cooking the most perishable food, and packing the rest into insulated containers. If too much time passed before either power was restored or the generator fixed, food in the large commercial freezers would spoil. Between the refunds he insisted giving his guests, and potential losses to the restaurant part of the business, Ted stood to take a substantial financial hit from all this. Because of that, and because Ted's physical responses told Jim the innkeeper was as angry and scared by all this as the rest of them, residual suspicion of him was fading fast. Much as he wanted to disappear with Blair into their room and particularly into their bed, Jim knew this was too good a chance to pass up. Micki's charm had no small impact, but Blair was in his element in a situation like this. After dinner, he became the life of the party. Digging into his vast store of folk tales, playing the guitar, or singing rude drinking songs with the botanists, he seemed to be everywhere. Between his partner's infectious love of life and the cumulative effects of alcohol, people became ever more relaxed and unguarded. In the wake of their more outgoing partners, Jim and Katrina moved among the other guests more subtly, engaging people in quiet conversation -- and in Jim's case, listening in on the conversations around them. Finally, the excitement of the day, not to mention the food and drink, caught up with everyone. People drifted off to their rooms, happily talking about what fun they'd had. The Gang of Four was the last to leave. "So, did you learn anything significant?" Blair asked as they finally got into bed. It was a smaller bed than the one in the cabin, which Jim didn't mind that much since it encouraged, even required, close proximity. "Not so much in talking to people, except that everyone seemed to be what they said they were. Either they're telling the truth or..." "Or they're sufficiently psychopathic that they don't exhibit the normal physiological responses when they lie." "Yeah. Comforting thought. One thing's kind of interesting though... not what happened, but what didn't happen." Blair insinuated himself into the hollow of his partner's shoulder, as the larger man's arm reflexively gathered him close. "You going all Sherlock Holmes on me here? The 'curious incident of the dog in the nighttime?'" Jim smiled. "'But the dog did nothing in the nighttime.'" Blair knew his lines. "'That was the curious incident.' What didn't happen that you expected to happen?" "We found the trap yesterday afternoon. Then the tires were slashed, the brakes tampered with, and the phone line cut this morning -- all within a few hours." Blair lifted himself on one elbow so he could get a better view of Jim, but he'd put on his poker-face cop expression. "OK, the guests were more concentrated this afternoon, easier to keep an eye on... but they weren't all in one place all the time. They kept going out for drinks, or to the bathroom. Closely related phenomena, of course. It would have been harder to pull something, but not impossible. So then what..." Jim started to answer, but Blair stopped him with a raised hand. "No wait... of course! The staff! They were all busy all afternoon, and under the eyes of Ted or Annie the whole time. Hey that's great, that narrows things down, right?" "Maybe. Unfortunately, there's one other possibility." Blair stared, as if trying to tease the answer out of Jim's brain by telekinesis. Watching Blair's face was a joy any time, but watching the light of understanding dawn -- which it did often, and usually quickly -- was almost as intense a pleasure as watching his face during sex, knowing that that look of erotic bliss was one he'd put there. "Got it! We could have a perp among the guests who's smart enough to hold off on purpose, knowing it would throw suspicion on the staff." "See, I told you you're a helluva cop, even without a badge." That earned him the kind of look from Blair that could turn big tough sworn officers to jelly. It also earned him a quick kiss. He would have preferred a longer one, but Blair's blood wasn't quite ready to leave his brain for points south. "So that pretty much leaves us where we were." "Pretty much. It's hard with so little physical evidence. Everybody around here smells like trees, flannel and wood smoke. A lot of these nature types don't wear perfume or aftershave, and besides, everything's been done outside. Any distinctive scents would dissipate fast, even without the rain to wash them away. It's cool enough outdoors that wearing gloves is common, which our perp probably did." "What about the brake fluid? Wouldn't that leave traces?" "Not necessarily, if you were careful. I went sniffing around earlier-literally -- and I didn't detect the scent of brake fluid anywhere indoors. I hate to say it, but there's not much we can do but wait for something else to happen. Something inside, where we're more likely to catch the guy, or at least collect some decent evidence. Now can we stop being cop and consultant for awhile?" Blair apparently took the hint, because this kiss was a lot longer and deeper. In fact, it turned into a full-body kiss, a Sandburg specialty. Jim felt kissed not just on the lips, but all over, as Blair's body covered him. Blairskin slid sensuously over his, everywhere it touched; Blairhair of all lengths and textures set his nerves dancing almost from head to toe. Best of all, Blaircock was rubbing against his own in a tantalizing, not-quite-predictable pattern. He could feel the change in temperature as the blood filled it, the change in the texture of the skin as it stretched and hardened. His arms held his lover close to him, but it wasn't close enough. Blair's voice was soft in his ear, his breath a caress against his skin. "What do you want, love? What do you need?" Jim groaned, a shiver of pleasure moving down his body. He could easily come from the sound of that voice alone... "You. Inside me." Blair rose up above him, a creature of mysterious shadows, hair like a living thing in the ever-changing light of the fire. Its glow limned the movement of muscle under skin as this lascivious wood-elf reached for the drawer of the nightstand, finding what was needed. Jim let his senses drift again, letting them savor the gentle but knowing touch of fingers inside him, careful despite Jim's clear hunger for more. His sight seemed content to remain normal, enjoying the way Blair's hands emerged into light and fell back into shadow, preparing himself as if for some secret ritual, some working of magic. Not so far from the truth, after all. Blair tried to enter his partner slowly, gradually, but Jim would have none of it. He needed Blair enclosed, protected. Hips pushing up, arms and legs pulling down, he wanted to pull his lover inside himself, make of his own body a suit of armor, a fortress wall, a cave protecting a treasure-hoard. He was torn between that body's traitorous drive toward orgasm and an overwhelming desire to make this last, never let this man go... separate was not safe. It was no real contest, though. Blair's strokes were becoming faster and deeper, angling skillfully to give Jim one jolt of pleasure after another. As if that weren't enough, he felt Blair's hand, still slick with gel, wrap around his cock, pumping in time with each thrust. The end was inevitable, and Jim soon felt himself falling over the precipice that told him the point of no return had passed. He gave himself up to the waves of pleasure. After a few deep, hard thrusts his partner followed, giving Jim the added pleasure of watching his face as he came. Hours later, Jim woke, pulled out of a sound sleep by a sudden sense of danger. This time, he wasn't the only one. Blair stirred beside him, reaching out. Jim leaned close, whispering. "I heard a noise downstairs. I need to check it out." He slid out of bed, quickly pulling on sweats. Blair was close behind him. "We need to check it out." "Look, babe, I don't want --" A soft knock on the door interrupted him. It wasn't the door to the hall, but the one to the sitting room that linked their room to Micki and Katrina's. Checking first for the now-familiar scent of the two Russians, he opened the door. They looked like they had dressed just as quickly. Micki wore a long, oversized T-shirt and tights, Katrina a sweater and knit pants. The sound of cloth against flesh told Jim their clothing, too, had been tossed quickly over naked skin. Although Micki politely averted her eyes, Katrina cast a cool glance over the tousled bed and the equally tousled men who had obviously just left it. Blair was still shirtless, although he quickly rectified the situation under that cool, appraising gaze. "You are hearing something downstairs as well? I am thinking no one should be walking around in middle of night, nyet? We should see what is there." "I agree." Jim turned to Blair. "I don't want anyone down there right now who doesn't have a weapon. Katrina can watch my back." Blair's look clearly said not as well as I can, but he said nothing. "Blair," Katrina said, in a gentler tone than usual, "I would feel better if you and Micki were together. You watch her back, she watches yours, yes? Pozhaluysta?" "It's a good idea, Chief," Jim added. Somewhat to his surprise, Blair nodded. It was probably that last word of Katrina's that did it. One of the few Russian words Jim knew was the one for "please" and he doubted it was one that often crossed Inspector Major Vaslova's lips in any language. "You know the drill. Lock the door, and don't open it unless you're sure it's me or Katrina." "Yeah. Just try not to get thrown out of any windows this time, OK?" The look in his eyes belied the light tone, as did the quick, caressing touch on his arm. "Right. We'll be careful." He included Micki in his promise, even though her eyes were still fixed only on Katrina. Jim and Katrina slipped quickly into the corridor, shutting the door quietly and quickly behind them. Blair reluctantly put back the chain, then wedged a chair beneath the doorknob for good measure. Micki did the same with the outside door to her room, and the two settled in the sitting room, leaving the connecting doors open so they could hear any attempt to break into either room. Micki sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her; Blair paced as quietly as he could manage. Both were tense, listening for sounds from downstairs. The heard nothing now, but both Jim and Katrina were trained to move as soundlessly as was humanly possible. Micki finally flung herself out of her chair, uttering a harsh whisper. "This waiting, worrying -- I hate it!" Blair stopped his pacing and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Welcome to the wonderful world of loving a cop." At first Micki looked everywhere else but at Blair. Finally meeting his eyes, she gave a very Russian little shrug. "Katrina and I began writing to each other when she went back to Russia after the Gordievsky case. It is so easy now, with email. We would talk on the phone sometimes, she would visit. We became close over the years, closer than I would have dreamed. But this last... step... this is new." She gave Blair a wry little smile. "It was very big surprise." Blair smiled back. "I know the feeling." "When this is over, when we get back home, we must have long talk, yes?" "It's a deal." Silence settled again, like an oppressive fog. Just sitting around waiting was torture, but they were reluctant to say much, afraid they would miss something important. Just when Blair had concluded he'd go stark raving nuts if something didn't happen soon, there was a crash, and almost simultaneously, a sharp cry. "That is Katrina!" Before Blair realized what was happening, Micki was on her feet. She ran into the bedroom, pulled the chair from under the knob, and flung open the door. "Micki! Wait!" he hissed, making a grab for her but missing by inches. She flew down the corridor toward the stairs, Blair right behind her. As she reached the top step, Micki gave a little cry of alarm as her foot went out from under her. As she fell backward towards him, Blair grabbed her tightly and they both went down. They slid down the stairs together, each step sending shock waves up Blair's backbone as he did what he could to slow and control their fall. They hit the landing awkwardly. Micki was making small sounds of pain through gritted teeth but Blair just lay there on his back, unable to make a sound. Jim was there in a flash, kneeling beside his partner, touching gently, caressing. "Blair, are you all right? No, don't move your head." Blair reached out to grasp Jim's arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "S'OK," he forced out through cramping muscles. "Wind knocked out." Micki was sitting up now, held by Katrina. "I fell against Blair when my foot slipped. We slid down very hard, but I do not think either of us hit our heads." Jim didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked like a man whose worst nightmare was coming true. Blair forced himself to sit up, using his partner as a support. He wiggled his feet and hands. "See? Everything works." "I think Micki has sprained her ankle," Katrina said. "We should get her to bed." "What about..." Micki began. "Not now," Jim cautioned. "We're starting to cause a stir. Blair, can you make it on your own?" "Sure." Wincing a little, he stood up with the help of the wooden railing. His muscles were starting to loosen a bit, as his body recovered from the shock of impact. Jim picked up Micki and started up the stairs, looking over his shoulder to check on the progress of Blair and Katrina. He had almost reached the top when he stopped abruptly. Then he turned sideways, close to the wall. "Be careful. There's oil on the top step." Blair and Katrina didn't need any encouragement to be careful, as they copied Jim in keeping to the wall, stepping carefully over the spot. "It's all right, everyone," Jim assured the few sleepy heads that were emerging slowly from some of the doors. "Just a little spill. Please stay away from the stairs until we can get it cleaned up." Katrina moved into Jim and Blair's room first, drawing her gun as soon as she was out of sight of the other guests. She had managed to find an industrial strength flashlight downstairs, and took pains to make sure no one had entered the rooms while they'd been left unattended. Blair hung back, waiting to hear Katrina's "all clear," then shut and locked the door to the corridor. He hurried into the other bedroom, as Katrina pulled back the covers and Jim deposited Micki gently on the bed. Blair added wood to the fire, warming up the room. "You need some ice for that," Jim said, "and you could use some too, Katrina." "Vozlyublennaya -- you are hurt!' Micki cried. "It is nothing," the other woman reassured her. "Just my shoulder a little." "For now, keep quiet and keep this foot elevated." He handed Katrina the extra pillows from the closet and Katrina slid them carefully under her friend's ankle. "Blair and I will see if we can find some ice and get that oil off the stairs. Katrina, I've got an Ace bandage in my bag. That should help." "You bring such a thing on vacation? You are always prepared, like Boy Scout." "I don't think the Boy Scouts would thank you for that comparison," Jim answered. "I took a bullet just below the knee last year. It was just a graze, but the knee bothers me sometimes if I do a lot of walking." "Which we were planning to do," Blair grumbled. "Long quiet walks in the woods. Best laid plans gang aft agley." At the Russian women's blank looks he translated. "Scottish dialect for 'get knocked into the toilet.'" Blair was surprised when Jim took his hand as they made their way gingerly down the stairs and toward the kitchens. He could hear, rather than see, the other man's smile as he explained. "Just for safety, Chief. Don't want you tripping over something in the dark." "Right. Is that what happened to Katrina?" "Not exactly." Jim slowed down, searching the floor. He bent down and picked up something. When he straightened up, he placed a hard object in Blair's free hand. "Wow, this sucker is heavy," Blair exclaimed. "What is it?" "It's a bookend, one of those heavy stone ones. Somebody threw it at us." Blair dropped the object onto a nearby chair like a hot potato, then threw his arms around his partner. "If that had hit your head, it could have killed you." Jim's arms went around him, holding him close, whispering reassurances in his ear. "I don't think anyone meant to kill us, at least not that time. It was another crime of opportunity. It was Katrina's shoulder that got hit, remember, and I'm taller than she is. Either our perp's got lousy aim, or he had no intention of doing us permanent damage." Blair released Jim, wishing he could see his face better. "So what's going on? Clearly, there was somebody down here. And how did he booby-trap the stairs? They were all right when you and Katrina went down, obviously -- or one of you would have gone ass-over-Adidas if you hadn't smelled it." Jim took his hand again, talking quietly as they walked toward the kitchen. "There's a small plastic bag with a hole in it in the corner of the top stair. Our perp's an ingenious little shit, I'll give him that. I noticed those stairs aren't quite level, and anybody familiar with the building probably knows it too. All he had to do was drop the bag and let gravity do his work for him. He'd be far away when the damage got done." "That's probably what woke you, having somebody moving around that close to our room." "He must have miscalculated how long the oil would take to spread, or Katrina and I got after him faster than he expected." "There you go again, assuming you're the target. Has anybody ever told you that you have a guilt complex? Maybe he hit Katrina on purpose, hoping that would draw Micki out -- which is exactly what happened. With her political activity, Micki's made plenty of enemies." "I'm sure that's what Katrina thinks. Except she's convinced anyone attacking Micki is ultimately after herself." "Are you sure the two of you weren't separated at birth? I guess the military/cop thing transcends cultural differences. You're worried about the same thing, I can tell." They were at the door of the kitchen. Jim stopped, took a deep breath. "Chief, when I think of all you've been through because of me, all the times you were hurt, or almost killed -- hell, you were killed! It terrifies me that one of those people who have it in for me might decide the best way to make me suffer is to go after you. If you'd never met me, you'd have a lot safer life." Blair reached out a hand, trailing his fingers along the planes of his partner's face, now rigid with control. "But I wouldn't have you to love." Jim closed his eyes tightly. "Is loving me worth your life?" "Yes." Their hands still clasped, Blair pulled Jim's head down, coaxing the taller man's tightly compressed lips to relax, then open. With a groan, Jim pulled to him in a crushing embrace. After a moment, Blair pulled away. "Come on, we're on a mission of mercy here. Poor Micki's up there hurting." Jim winced as he opened his eyes the next morning. What the hell? He slid out of bed and went to the window, pulling open the drapes just a little. If anyone happened to be looking into their window they'd get an eyeful, but too bad. "Jim?" came a sleepy voice from the bed. "Whassamatter?" "Storm's over. There's actually sun out there. Remember sun?" Blair burrowed under the covers, muffling his voice. "Think I read about it in a book once." Jim leaned over, pulled down the covers, and gave his beloved a noisy, slurpy kiss on the shoulder, since his face was buried in the pillow. "I'll shower first, let you sleep a little more." "Why are you so damn cheerful all of a sudden?" Blair yanked the covers back over his head. "With the storm over, somebody's sure to come soon and get that tree out of the road. We can get out of here, contact Simon and the Sheriff, either get some closure on this fucking case or dump it in someone else's lap. Then maybe we can get back to vacating." When Jim was through, Blair stumbled sleepily out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Jim finished dressing, then listened for signs of activity next door. Katrina and Micki seemed to be waking up and preparing for the day as well. When everyone one was ready at last, they commandeered the small staff elevator. Micki's ankle, though much improved, wasn't ready to tackle stairs. They met Ted as they emerged, and Jim took him aside to relate the events of the night, while the others moved on to the dining room. Ted was chagrined that he, and apparently the rest of the staff -- with the possible exception of the perpetrator -- had slept right through it. Jim pointed out that the events of the night, while certainly intense for the participants, hadn't actually created that much noise. Given the amount of alcohol his fellow guests had consumed, he was surprised any of them had been alert enough to even poke their heads out last night -- and they were near the action. The staff slept in a different wing, and were tired out from their unusually busy day, so it wasn't surprising they'd missed it. When Jim found the others in the dining room, Sue was putting an algae shake in front of Blair and asking the others for their orders. "All right, Chief... I know Annie's a wizard in the kitchen, but how can she make one of those things without an electric blender?" Blair directed a smug little grin toward his partner. "She had some left over from yesterday, and when the lights went out she made sure it got saved in a cooler for me. See what charm can do for you, Jim? You should try it." "Oh, very funny. Like I'd want to charm anybody into giving me something that smelled like that. Besides, I have plenty of charm. It's just more... subtle than yours." "Yeah, so subtle most people miss it." He raised the glass. "Here's to the Ellison charm." Blair had just raised the glass to his lips when realization hit Jim like a blow. With a shout of "No!" his hand shot out, knocking the glass away. Everyone jumped up as the contents splattered over the table, the floor, and an astonished Sue. The other diners stared. Jim grabbed one of the cloth napkins and used it to pick up the glass from where it had fallen, some of the thick green stuff still clinging to it. When he stood up, the hand that held the glass was visibly shaking, and his face was a mask of cold fury. There were rebels and terrorists who'd seen that face, but it had been the last thing they'd ever seen. Sue quailed visibly when it was directed toward her. "Into the kitchen. I want to see everyone on the staff. Now." He turned back to the table. "Blair, Katrina, with me. Micki -- don't touch that stuff, and make sure no one else does either." No one challenged or even questioned them as they marched through the dining room. If any thought of it, one look at Jim would have quickly changed their minds. He shoved open the swinging door with a crash that brought a little scream from the already-traumatized Sue and a glare from the usually placid Annie. "What is going --" "Attempted murder." Jim set the napkin-wrapped glass on the counter. All eyes in the kitchen were drawn to it despite themselves, like some scene of carnage at the side of the road. "My God," Annie whispered. "Ted's gone to get the rest of the staff. I had no idea..." She lapsed into silence. Jim listened to the booming of pounding hearts around him. They were all afraid, guilty or not, but he didn't care. All he could think about was the one heartbeat he knew as well as own, and how close it had just come to being stopped forever. He stared at the confused group of people huddled in the kitchen. He could feel the touch of Blair's hand on his back. It was the only thing keeping him from exploding. Katrina stood beside him, her own cold stare disturbingly similar to his. It seemed like an eternity, but it was only a minute or two before Ted came in with the few additional members of the staff who'd expected the luxury of sleeping in. His gait was dejected; his face sad but resigned. "This is everybody." Jim was silent another long, excruciating minute, looking hard at each face in turn. "One of you already knows this, but for the rest of you... I'm a detective with the Cascade Police." He held up his shield. "I know this isn't my jurisdiction, but since the Sheriff can't get through, I'm the closest thing to the law you've got right now -- and I refuse to risk letting anyone else get hurt. We can't afford to wait." Ted looked at the motley group gathered in the kitchen. "I'm asking you to cooperate with Detective Ellison as a favor to me. You could all be in danger, as well as the future of the business." "In the past forty-eight hours," Jim continued, "there has been a series of incidents designed to hurt, or at least frighten. A steel trap left, concealed, in the middle of a trail. Tires slashed. Brake and phone lines cut." He began walking closer to the line of people spread along the wall of the kitchen. "Last night, the stairs were rigged so that someone coming down them was sure to fall. Whoever is behind these incidents didn't seem to care who got hurt, or how badly. This made it difficult to determine whether this violence was random, or directed toward someone in particular." Jim walked back to the counter, staring at the glass. "Somebody has just upped the ante. This drink was being saved for a particular person. It was poisoned -- it's full of a mixture of poisonous plants and mushrooms." He felt Blair's hand go still at his back, felt his strong fingers dig in as they gripped his sweater. "Up until now, this person has been impossible to identify, because there was no physical evidence tying him -- or her -- to the incidents, and the traps could have been set by almost anyone. But now..." Jim raised his head again. "This poison cocktail was freshly prepared. Like many of the other incidents, this was a crime of opportunity, taking advantage of the fact that this drink was sitting in the cooler, waiting for my partner to drink it. So our perpetrator has made two major mistakes at last. He's done something that had to leave physical evidence. Without a working blender, the stuff had to be reduced to a paste by hand. There's no way someone could have removed all the organic residue from an operation like this, even if he wore gloves. It'll still be obvious to someone trained to detect it." He turned slightly, touching Blair on the shoulder. "Biggest mistake of all -- this person tried to hurt someone who's very important to me." Jim walked up to Sue, nostrils twitching. He stood close to her as she stood wide-eyed, still as a statue. "Give me your hands, please." She raised her hands as if hypnotized, and he held them to his nose. "Good thing for you I'm not the Sheriff, or I'd run you in for smoking that stuff." Sue snatched her hand away, going red as a boiled lobster. "Nothing else, though. Go ahead, you can leave if you want to." The young woman fled like a rabbit, no doubt to get rid of her stash as soon as possible. Looks of amazement and nervousness were exchanged. Clearly they were aware of Sue's habit, and that little demonstration was a revelation to any who might have thought this big-city detective was just bluffing. Ted and Annie insisted on being next, and Jim complied. He didn't seriously suspect them any more, but he wasn't going to leave anybody out. Next to be cleared was Brooke, whom Jim hadn't even met yet, and Luis. As he stepped in front another staff member he didn't know, the same scent he had encountered in the dining room was suddenly there. He swiveled his head to the left, meeting eyes so filled with rage and pain he couldn't imagine how such feelings had been hidden until now. With an animal cry, Topher broke from the line and lunged for Blair, hands stretched before him to grab his victim's throat. Too surprised to dodge at first, Blair threw up his hands in front of his neck as Katrina slammed into Topher, knocking him to the floor. Jim was right behind her, wrestling with the frustrated attacker. Everyone in the kitchen stared as their friend and easygoing fellow worker turned into a deranged monster before their eyes, screaming obscenities, trying to get to Blair despite the two police officers who had him pinned. "Motherfucking bastard! Damn right I tried to kill you! You deserve to die for what you did to me!" Blair stared down at Topher, dumbfounded. "Did to you? I don't even know you, man!" "You took her from me. She was everything to me, and you took her away. It's your fault my Janet's dead!" The fight seemed to go out of the young man all at once, and he lay sobbing on the kitchen floor. "Damn you, Sandburg... damn you to hell..." "Janet? Your fiancee died... Janet Myers? Oh my God..." Jim looked up to see Blair staring down. He looked like a man who'd been gut-shot. Worse... shooting him might have been kinder. Jim suddenly remembered who Janet Myers was. He remembered how his partner had reacted when they'd found the young woman, Blair's friend, lying in the Cyclops garage with an arrow in her back. The sharp realization of how his lover must be hurting brought an ache to his own heart, sharp as any arrow. "Blair..." "Jesus! Looks like I arrived not a moment too soon." A muscular man in a Sheriff's uniform stood in the doorway, Micki behind him. He looked down at the tangle on the floor. "You Ellison?" Jim reluctantly looked away from Blair and nodded. "Yeah... and this man just confessed to attempted murder." "I heard him. So did everybody in the dining room, and probably the next county." He pulled handcuffs off his belt and knelt down, cuffing the now unresisting Topher and hauling him to his feet. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have believed it. He grew up around here; I've known him since he was a baby." Shaking his head, he turned to Ted. "Have you got someplace secure we can put him until we can get a cruiser through? Something sturdy we can cuff him to?" "Yes," Ted replied sadly. "But if the road's still blocked, how did you get here, and why? You didn't know about anything besides the trap." "Got a phone call from some Cascade cop called Simon Banks." He turned to Jim, who was now off in a corner in the kitchen, talking quietly to Blair. "He's a persuasive sumbitch when he's riled, ain't he? Says they found a connection between Topher here and some old case of yours, had him worried. Hard to make out the details, there was some woman with a funny accent yelling in the background. So Fred and me hauled our asses over here in the cruiser, far as we could. Then we climbed over the damn tree and hiked in." He turned to Katrina. "Ma'am, you don't look like a cop but you sure act like one, so I'm assuming you got yourself a permit for that artillery I saw." Katrina nodded. "I am Russian police officer." "Turned out to be a real busman's holiday for you, didn't it?" At Katrina's blank look, he continued. "Never mind. Could you please step into the lobby and ask my deputy to come back here?" "Of course." Katrina left, taking a limping Micki with her. "I'll need statements from the lot of you, but that shouldn't take too long. Looks open-and-shut now." Jim lifted his head from where it was bowed next to Blair's ear. "Is that a chainsaw?" The Sheriff looked impressed. "You have damn good ears for a city guy. Yeah, after my little chat with Captain Banks I put you guys at the top of the queue, just in case. We have a lot of fallen trees, so they're just cutting enough today for a single vehicle to get through. They'll be back later to finish the job." The Deputy arrived and removed Topher, who seemed barely aware of his surroundings. "Annie, I'll save you and your wait staff for last, so you get on with feeding the folks out there. Mr. Sandburg, I'll start with you. Sounds like you'll have the most to tell me." The sun reached the soft forest floor in countless narrow lances of light. The wind barely moved the faraway tops of the trees. The only sounds to be heard were the cries of birds, the rushing of rain-swollen streams, and the occasional skitter of a foraging squirrel. The carpet of needles and wet leaves was so thick that any animals traveling through it did so soundlessly to normal ears. Had the sound of their passage been louder, the two men walking side by side still wouldn't have noticed. They reached a spot where the trees grew less thickly. The sunlight spread in a ragged circle to warm a flat boulder that lay at the side of the trail. The taller of the two veered over to sit down on the rock, patting the space next to him with one hand. "Come on, Chief. My knee needs a rest, and we could both use a water break." Blair sat down and pulled out his water bottle, drinking it down like it brought him no more pleasure than some familiar and necessary medicine. They sat for a long time in silence, Blair staring with no apparent reaction to the natural beauty that surrounded them; Jim with eyes only for Blair. Finally the younger man spoke. "It's ironic, you know. You and Katrina were so sure it was one of you, what with your deep dark pasts -- and it turned out I was the one who fired the missile that took out the orphanage. I still feel kinda guilty about what happened to Maya, and here comes something else from my checkered past to bite me on the ass." "Chief, you're not responsible for what happened to Maya. Yeah, you weren't honest with her, but finding out the ugly truth about her father was a lot bigger blow, and that would have happened eventually. You can't blame yourself for the unforeseen consequences of every action you take. If you do that, you'll go catatonic -- afraid to take any action at all." "I never should have asked Janet to help us. I knew it could be dangerous." "I was there, you know. I've thought about it a lot since yesterday. As I recall, all you asked her to do was 'pay a little attention' to what Cyclops was doing in Peru. Going after those documents, downloading files, making copies -- that was all her own idea." "But she never would have started it if I hadn't asked her what I did. She did it because she was my friend." "No she did it because she cared about something, something more important than herself." Jim slipped an arm around his partner and pulled him close. "How do you think I felt when you went off with Alex?" Blair turned to stare at Jim. "What? What does that...?" "Come on, how do you think I felt?" "Like hell, I guess. Scared, worried... I'm sorry I put you through that, but it was just..." "Something you had to do? Something more important than your own safety?" Blair relaxed slightly, leaning against his partner's side. "Point taken." "Thank God. I was trying to tell you that yesterday, but you just weren't in a mood to hear it. You scare the hell out me when you go off and do something dangerous, but when you're quiet--then I'm really terrified." "Fear-based responses. Told you." "Yeah, especially around you. My life would be a lot simpler if I could just lock you in the loft and make a househusband of you, but I don't think you'd like that much." "Neither would you, when I kicked you in the balls and grabbed the key." Jim squirmed. "Ouch. But that's what Topher was doing to Janet, in his head at least. Taking away her right to make her own choices, take her own risks. Make her own decisions on what was worth dying for." Blair made patterns in the pine needles with the toe of his boot. "Maybe. Still, it's kinda hard for me to blame the guy for what he did. If anybody had done something that ultimately caused your death, no matter how fucking noble the cause..." "You wouldn't have tried to kill them, with reckless disregard for the safety of others." "I'm not so sure. And I'm not sure Topher was trying to kill me, either. It won't be easy to prosecute. Except for death-cap mushrooms, which don't fruit in the spring, I don't know of anything that grows around here that you could reasonably count on being fatal." "Yeah, maybe it would have just destroyed your liver and we'd be waiting for a transplant. Or messed up your brain, or --" "OK, OK. I'm not saying the guy is a saint. But it's almost like the medieval Trial by Ordeal... maybe he was leaving it up to God to decide if I was guilty or not." "Well, you're here and Topher's in the slammer, so I guess that answers the question." "Yeah, I guess. Of course, he didn't know I have a live-in Guardian Angel. Topher -- I still can't believe "Topher" is the same as the "Chris" everybody kept talking about at Janet's funeral." "Yeah. Just our luck he was out of the country and couldn't be reached in time. Missing her funeral that way probably made him even angrier. Where was he anyway? I wasn't paying that much attention at the time." "You, Cop of the Year, not paying attention?" Jim pulled his partner tighter against his side. "Not long before, a certain anthropologist-in-training had just dropped a bombshell on me. Something about already having enough material for ten dissertations. Making me wonder what was the real reason he stuck around." "The excitement of police work versus academia, remember?" "Oh, I remember all right. If I'd had the guts then to recognize that as grade A bullshit, we could have saved ourselves a lot of time and heartache." "Maybe. Maybe not. Things happen in their own time, if they're really meant to be. I couldn't admit it to myself it was bullshit, and I was the one shoveling it out." "And maybe what happened to Janet was meant to be; maybe that was her purpose in life. What if she'd found out on her own later, without us being involved? She'd still be dead, and Cyclops might have gotten away with everything. The way it turned out, her death -- and Incacha's, for that matter -- accomplished something." "I guess you're right. It's just so hard, you know?" "Yeah, I know. What's that saying... 'Life is hard, and then you die.' Just give me at least fifty years with you first." Jim kissed the top of Blair's head. "How about leaving here a little early, like tomorrow morning -- now that the road's cleared and we've got four nice new tires. Maybe we could go a little farther north and try some fishing, or go find a bed and breakfast, accent on the bed." "I hate to run out on Ted, but getting away from here sounds great. Too many bad memories right now, a little too fresh." "I don't think Ted would mind, considering. Besides, Katrina and Micki are staying longer than they'd planned, while Micki's ankle heals. Ready to head back?" "Yeah. If we're going to leave tomorrow, we need to get our money's worth out of that room." "Uh-huh. Especially that bed." "Now that sounds like a great plan. Maybe on the way back you can tell me all about the special training you've had in detection of organic poisons. You should tell Joel, he'll want to take the course." "Very funny, Darwin. You jealous because I've been taking obfuscation lessons?" "Hardly. It was pretty lame, actually. If Ted hadn't been there to ask them nicely, some of the staff would have probably told you to buzz off, no matter how scary you looked. You were hoping to bluff a confession out of somebody." "It worked, didn't it? I'd pretty much run out of options, and you were in danger. End of story." Rising from their rocky seat, they turned back they way they had come. As if of their own volition, their hands met and twined together. As they walked slowly back, Jim felt hopeful as his partner seemed to at least notice the beauty around him for the first time that day. Much as he might wish it otherwise now, life for Sentinel and Guide seemed to be one long war against an enemy whose face kept changing, but whose motivation was the same deep down -- threaten the peace and safety of the tribe. No war could be fought without collateral damage, but he hated the times it touched the man walking beside him. Both he and Blair had chosen freely to fight that battle, and difficult as it was, he had to honor his Guide's choice as well as his own. At least -- thank whatever power brought Sentinel and Guide together -- he'd never have to fight alone again.

Send Feedback: FiveSenses@egroups.com Author's E-mail: Corbeau47@aol.com Author's Webpage: None

SVS-18: Collateral Damage by Corbeau, Part 3