Jack McCoy hated enigmas. Though he seldom achieved it, he liked a world in which things made sense and puzzles were solvable. The man sitting in front of him made no sense. He was a puzzle that was not solvable. The one thing that Jack was certain about was that this man stood in the way of finding a double murderer. Ultimately, if Jack couldn't solve a problem that stood in his way, he would shove the problem ruthlessly aside. He hoped he could convince the young man that his future and possibly his own life was at stake.

He met the level, determined stare of Blair Sandburg across the battered table in the visitor's room. Despite being in protective custody, the man was still bruised. The dark circle around his right eye made them both seem more blue. Jack regretted the bruises. The man had been a scholar and by all reports, was a really good cop. Sandburg sat awkwardly, as if his body hurt. He seemed emotionally battered as well. It was clear that he was afraid, but Jack sensed that the resolve was still there and as unshakeable as the day he was arrested.

"I hope your phone call is an indication of a new spirit of cooperation," Jack said.

Sandburg's gaze never wavered. "I didn't call this meeting," he said quietly. "My new counsel did."

As if cued from backstage, in walked Arthur Gold resplendent as always in a $3000 suit. He walked over and extended a hand to Blair.

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic was worse than usual," he said. "I'm Arthur Gold, Mr. Sandburg. Genevieve Arnaud retained me as your counsel. I hope you haven't said anything."

Blair shook his head. Gold looked at him with concern and a bit of anger.

"Really Jack, you railroad a cop in front of the bail judge, then you don't protect him?" Gold tisked. "I remember the days when interrogators liked to handle the rubber hose themselves."

"This happened during the transfer," Jack snapped. "He was in protective custody and he wasn't railroaded. The judge heard both sides."

"He shouldn't have been in the regular transfer, and you know it,"Gold retorted. "And the bail judge heard from a public defender who didn't even know Blair was a cop until Abby told the court."

Jack was rapidly losing his patience with Gold. Not that he had much where this lawyer was concerned. "None of this changes the fact that he is involved in a brutal double homicide. I suggest you advise him to start cooperating before this nightmare gets worse."

"No way, Jack," Gold smiled. He pulled a blue wrapped document out of his briefcase. "Tomorrow with Judge Perkins. Your evidence is fruit of a poisonous tree. Then, we will be visiting the issue of bail. Come on, Blair. I'm going to raise holy hell and get you seen by a doctor."

Jack was thus left alone in the visitor's room with a long commute ahead and the nagging and familiar feeling that, once again, Detectives Briscoe and Green hadn't told him everything. He called them for a meeting over take-out in his office. He did not want to get bushwhacked.

"I can't figure this kid out," Briscoe muttered over his lo mein. "He'd been working with cops for years before giving up academia to become a detective. He has commendations galore. There's even a letter of praise in his file from an FBI profiler."

"The only shaky thing in his history is the ongoing relationship with a dominatrix who is alleged to be well-connected to international crime," Green chimed in.

"That would be Genevieve Arnaud," Jack said over his egg drop soup.

"How did you know?" Briscoe asked.

"What else would an internationally connected dominatrix be named," Jack replied mirthlessly. "She hired Arthur Gold to represent the former scholar."

"Wow," Briscoe whistled. "Must of looked in the yellow pages under 'lawyers who get under Jack McCoy's skin.'"

Jack had to smile at that. "I'm sure someone advised her. That man is booked up six months in advance. Do you think he did it?"

"I don't know," Green replied. "He may have been pushed to the brink of desperation."

Jack grunted. "He minored in psyche and has acted as a hostage negotiator. What could push his buttons that drastically?"

"We're missing the one piece of the puzzle that by all reports about Sandburg should be there," Briscoe replied. "His partner, Jim Ellison. They're inseparable. They ride together. They live together."

"Some of my sources in Cascade think they may be more than that to each other," Green said. "But there's been no proof and it hasn't affected their standing."

"No one has seen Jim Ellison in weeks," Briscoe said. "Sandburg's been riding a desk for a month. Then ten days ago, he hot foots it to New York."

"Within 48 hours, he's found at the scene of two corpses with blood on his hands," Green said. "I've got a funny feeling about it."

"What's your gut tell you?" Jack asked.

"Ellison was working undercover here for the Feds or some other alphabet soup agency -- he was covert ops in the Army," Briscoe said.

"He may even be working for IA here," Green said.

"Why do you say that?" Jack asked. He knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

"There is no reason for a police officer with his record not to cooperate with us. I've had the feeling that his nervousness around New York cops has nothing to do with the murder," Briscoe said. "I think he believes he has reason to fear us."

"And the murders?" Jack asked.

"If he did it, I think it was because those people were keeping him from finding Ellison," Green said. "It was a torture killing. And our scholar knows his way around a dungeon. But that just doesn't fit with his rep."

"Okay, look at our victims again," Jack said. "Find out if they have any connection to the NYPD."

"We're on it," Briscoe said.

"Now, why don't you tell me why Arthur Gold is so certain that his client will walk tomorrow," Jack said grimly.

The detectives looked at each other. Already this was not a good sign.

"A closer look may find that our permission to search the bag might not be what it should," Briscoe said diplomatically.

Jack sighed letting his head drop forward. "Exactly how did you come to find the murder weapon?"

"We responded to the initial call to find Sandburg running into the hallway from upstairs. He identified himself and claimed to have seen someone run from the murder scene upstairs. He lost them when they jumped to another roof which was lower," Green began.

"Could that have happened?"

"Could have," Briscoe agreed with a shrug. "There was easy roof access from a door busted ages ago and the building next to this could be reached if you're adventuresome or really desperate."

"Sandburg identified himself and kept his hands visible while we looked at his ID. He had blood on his hands and on his t-shirt," Green said. "He claimed it was from checking the victims."

"Let's get to the bag," McCoy said.

Briscoe sighed. "He had a back pack which was on the floor near the entrance to the apartment. I asked if he had a pen. He was using his, so he said there was one in the front pocket of the back pack. I found the knife while looking for the pen."

"Please tell me it was in the front pocket," Jack groaned.

"Not exactly," Briscoe replied.

"Lenny! He's a cop and he was being cooperative. Why didn't you just ask to search him?" Jack sputtered. "That's it, Gold is going to toast us."

Briscoe shrugged. "It was a heat of the moment thing. You don't believe he did it, do you?"

"No… probably not… we're going to lose any pressure we may have put on him," McCoy said.

"Maybe not," Green offered. "We could try to help him find his partner. I think that's the only thing that will reach him."

Jack and the detectives planned some strategies. In the back of his mind though, he was trying to think of a way to make amends with the enigma.
 
 

Blair Sandburg was in hell. It had nothing to do with Riker's Island. As an anthropologists, Blair found the place fascinating to watch. And were it not for the fact that his profession endangered him gravely, he would have been interested in observing the general population more closely. Being isolated wasn't anything new either. He had been keeping to himself even at work for weeks. Hell began when Jim Ellison was taken away from him.

He took little comfort in the fact that they fought the assignment this time. They fought ferociously against Simon and the Chief against what was as dangerous an undercover assignment as Blair thought it would be. But it was a prestige thing for the Chief and worse, it was a personal thing for Simon that Jim do it. They might as well been tilting at windmills.

Simon had met the Captain of the 16th Precinct, which was somewhere between Chelsea and Greenwich Village in Manhattan, at a Conference of African American Police Captains several weeks before he and Jim were approached about the assignment. Captain Ralph Gray was newly appointed to his precinct. He quickly suspected that some of his officers were involved with the thriving vice-related businesses in the area. Rumors were rampant that these men had more money than they should. There were disappearances reported of some shadier individuals and talk of extortion. He'd gotten one man to go undercover from a precinct way in another borough. Two weeks later, the man was nearly killed in a hit and run accident. Gray had nothing to bring IA on, but he was certain something was there. Banks had proudly shared the records of his most unique and successful detectives. The next thing Banks knew, he was receiving a formal request via the Chief.

They wanted Jim to play a pornographer who specialized in the really kinky. It would be someone that was ripe for extortion by the precinct. And they only wanted Jim. Partners, Banks and Gray maintained, could be spotted miles away. He would keep in contact via e-mail, but that was about it. He was only to stay in the area plying his trade and observing, but Blair didn't like it at all. Jim was very apprehensive as well. He even took Simon out to dinner alone so they could talk this out friend to friend.

Blair had every reason to be optimistic. Jim and Simon were very close. Though the pair owed the Captain for getting Blair into the force as Jim's partner, he felt that they had more than repaid the debt with a phenomenal arrest record. Simon would have to realize that it was very important to them. To turn down a favor from him was rare. Blair had been certain that that would be taken into account.

All that reasoning went out the window as soon as Jim walked in the door. His shoulders were sagging. His face was grim. A panic had risen in Blair at that point fed by all of his deeply rooted fears over Jim's safety. He remembered shaking his head over and over. Then he found himself clutched against Jim's chest. Those strong arms had been the only thing holding him up, holding him together at that moment.

"I tried, Blair… I really pushed hard," Jim whispered.

"He has to know how important this is," Blair groaned. His voice was hoarse and muffled against Jim's rain scented coat.

"He does… he's sorry. Once the Chief got involved, it was out of his hands," Jim said. He began stroking Blair's back making comforting circles along his spine.

It wasn't helping. Blair couldn't get his pounding heart to calm. His breathing became labored. "Then, they have to let me go."

He could feel Jim shake his head. "They feel it would look too obvious… that I'd be in more danger."

Blair felt his knees buckle. He was watching a train wreck and was powerless to stop it. Jim lifted him then sat on the sofa with Blair in his lap. The Guide pressed his face against Jim's shoulder. He shuddered with tension.

"Bad things happen when we're apart," Blair whispered. "Death happens."

Jim rocked him pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I know it looks very bad right now, but they swear that all I'll be doing is running my alleged business and observing. I let them come to me. I let them do the talking. I won't even be in on the final bust."

Blair had heard the words, but even as he allowed Jim's voice to soothe him, he didn't believe them. Once Jim was out there, the assignment would take over. All they would care about is the bust. He knew it, and he was certain that Jim knew it as well. But he also knew somehow that Jim needed for Blair to stop fighting They needed to reconnect. They needed to prepare.

"When?" Blair had asked quietly.

"Day after tomorrow," he murmured. "Simon thought and I agreed that we should get it over with, so I can get back sooner."

Blair nodded. It gave them so little time to prepare, but it also gave them little time to agonize over the separation. After a while, Jim's comforting caress became more heated. Despite his apprehension, Blair found himself responding that touch.

"Blair," Jim murmured into his curls nuzzling him. "I need you. I need you so much right now."

Blair needed him, too. He needed him desperately. Jim gently tightened his embrace cocooning Blair in his warmth and strength. The Guide began to truly relax tilting his head to one side offering his neck to Jim's questing mouth while resting his head against the strong shoulder.

"He feels so good… smelled so good," Blair remembered thinking.

He had never experienced an embrace like Jim's. It never failed to make him feel possessed and loved and wanted and needed. Once in those arms, it was only a matter of time before his love could make him forget everything that was on his mind and focus on the pleasure of that moment. By the time the Sentinel had finished petting and nuzzling his worried Guide, Blair was more than ready for his kiss. He could barely remember his own name let alone anything else.

Then Jim had him on his side against the back of the sofa. He used his big body to overwhelm his lover as his mouth laid claim. Blair moaned into the kiss surrendering the last of his will to its heat and hunger. Jim growled sensing his mate's complete submission.

For his part, Blair was in a daze. He knew he was being moved then stripped, yet he was still mildly surprised to find himself naked in their bed. Jim was happily tonguing every inch of the Guide heedless to the panting pleas above him to give a suffering man release. Jim chuckled into the sensitized flesh continuing his leisurely journey. Blair had been convinced that he could be driven mad from not coming. He'd been thrashing on the bed moaning in pleasure and distress when Jim finally took pity on him. First, he nuzzled at the overheated flesh humming appreciatively. Then, he took the painfully hard erection into his mouth to the root.

Blair gasped at the sensation it was so intensely pleasurable. But the Sentinel was just beginning. He worked the shaft slowly with relish and infinite patience. All his considerable knowledge of Blair's body were employed to slowly build wave upon wave of intense sensation. Suddenly, Jim changed angles and pressure and it was enough with his overly sensitized member to send Blair into oblivion. He came calling out Jim's name.

Somewhere in the fuzzy, cottony recesses of Blair's orgasm addled head, he knew that he was being turned onto his side. His legs were being maneuvered leaving him open and vulnerable to slickened fingers.

"I love seeing you like this," Jim whispered hotly in his ear. "I love hearing my name when you come. I love how you're still begging for my touch."

"Jim…" Blair gasped as those fingers gently invaded him. To his utter surprise, he got hard again.

"Yes, you want more… don't you, love?"

Blair remembered moaning. He kept moaning as Jim took him slowly pumping in long, steady stokes until he thought he was going to lose his mind entirely. He had no breath to scream when he came again. Jim's name was a sigh at the end. Then he was in that embrace once more drifting toward sleep.

The rest of their time together was spent that way. Jim took every opportunity in that short while they had left to gently overwhelm Blair then invade him physically or give him pleasure. Jim made sure that no time was spent being sad or apprehensive. Their last physical encounter was different. Jim offered himself for ravishment. He looked so sweet and vulnerable that Blair was almost moved to tears. The delights of that hard body soon moved him in a different direction. The encounter had been explosive. His body still reverberated from the memory weeks later.

Blair's memory of that night and the day that followed kept him sane during the past weeks.

Jim left on a red-eye flight to New York that night. His cover -- a cop looking to get into the world of bdsm porn had been established. He was on vacation to try to get a distributor. Genevieve had been furious about the position her pets were put in. Blair had never seen her so angry especially at the fact that she couldn't even say goodbye. But she managed to push it aside long enough to provide Jim with some realistic filler to what Blair believed was a very thin cover. More importantly to Blair, she provided him with an address of a safe place to go if things got hot. No one would think of looking for a cop on the run at the Carlisle Hotel.

All of that and Jim's brief but sweet e-mails made Blair feel marginally better about the outcome of the case. He wasn't in a state of pure panic anymore, but the unease did not abate. Nor did the painful, gnawing loneliness. The days were bad enough without his partner. Everyone remarked on how strange it was to see Blair alone. Work helped. Simon had the Chief's office give Blair some research on the impact of community policing on crime rates. That allowed him to pour all over the sorts of records and statistics that could only fascinate an anthropologist. It was easier to focus on that than it would be trying to back up another detective. Besides, the research allowed Blair to isolate himself. He couldn't deal with people but didn't want to be rude.

The days were passable. The nights were almost unbearable. The only reason Blair went home at a reasonable hour was the hope that Jim might call. Eating was of little interest to him except when he really got hungry.

Sleep was something he did when he fell over and it was never in their bed. He had tried to sleep there once. But even though he was exhausted, Blair could still feel Jim there. That was too much to bear waking alone. When he fell over, it was on the couch. The gang at Major Crimes tried to intervene at first, but Blair politely kept them away.

Four weeks passed like this. Jim was getting some useful information. His office had barely been open a week when he was approached by officers of the 1-6. A Detective Bill Maxwell dropped by to take him to lunch. It was a welcome wagon of sorts. To reciprocate, Jim took him to one of the parties where Genevieve had given him entre. This impressed the detective. There were more visits.

Each time, the detective probed more into what kind of film Jim was interested in making. Jim was non-committal. He wanted to do basic bdsm -- the kind vanilla couples might like. The detective threw some contacts his way for distribution. Jim reciprocated by being a great host in the clubs, but wouldn't really bite when it was implied that he could make more money by shifting his interest a little. He actually enjoyed hanging out with Detective Maxwell. They were both subs and had a lot in common being that and cops. It was interesting, but he was missing Blair more with each conversation he had with the man.

Captain Gray was pleased with what Jim was finding, but wanted more. Jim asked the detective what he was really into. To his surprise, it was a live sex web site featuring the women who plied their wares within the precincts borders. He had set them up in a warehouse/studio. Jim interested him as a source of fresh talent or streaming video. It wasn't a good idea for a cop to be doing, but none of it was really illegal. IA might have a problem with the arrests the man wasn't making or the time he and a few other detectives spent at the warehouse when they should be working. There was enough for IA to move on without him. He relaxed knowing that he would be going home soon. He decided to hang out with Bill once last night. This time it was at a club of Maxwell's choosing. The night passed pleasantly enough, but Jim told Blair in an e-mail that he was uneasy. The club owners reminded him of Siegfried and Roy and gave him the willies. And he was certain that he was being watched ever since he met them.

Blair didn't like the e-mails, but Gray and Banks weren't inclined to pull him out immediately. Jim admitted that nothing had changed between him and Maxwell. They remained cordial. No one was willing to risk ruining the undercover work by having Jim bug out suddenly. And then, the e-mails just stopped. Jim didn't call that night. Gray wasn't concerned, but Blair had Genevieve's people look for him. When it was reported that no one had seen Jim in forty eight hours, she and Blair were on a plane to New York. Simon was notified just before boarding. Blair was too upset with him to even talk on the phone.

The rest was a blur. He got to Jim's room and went through his computer files. There was nothing to say where he'd gone. There was a note from Maxwell to meet him at Siegfried and Roy's club two nights earlier. Blair left the place intact and was careful to wear gloves. However, he could not resist the impulse to snag one of Jim's worn sweatshirts from a hook in the bathroom. It had been strange to be in a place where Jim was living without him. He was touched to discover how many little mementoes of him were there. A small candid photo of Blair looking out the balcony window was posted to the monitor of his PC. Blair imagined that Jim must have been looking at it when writing all those e-mails. A tiny wolf fetish stood guard on a table by the bed. A paperback next to the fetish had one of his favorite leather bookmarks peeking out of it. Blair had to push down his sorrow over the lonely little place and move on.

Captain Gray had made the Detective off limits and tried to corral Blair, but he would have none of it. After some considerable pressure from Genevieve, the club owners, whose real names where Hugo Schmidt and Franz Gottlieb, agreed to meet with Blair at their toney upper westside apartment.

He'd known better than to enter when the door was ajar. His inner Guide was screaming at him to call for assistance. All he could think about was saving Jim. He dropped his backpack when he saw the bloody footprint in the hallway on the white rug. He'd never seen so much blood. There were two dead bodies, of that Blair was sure. But they were face down and contorted. The part of him connected to the Sentinel knew that Jim wasn't there, but a nagging, tiny voice wondered if he wasn't in denial. He couldn't tell physically whether one was his partner. So he turned them one at a time to glimpse the face. Blood was on his hands and shirt, but he didn't care. Neither one was Jim. Then there were footsteps running from the living room. He followed but never saw who he was chasing.

Detectives Briscoe and Green seemed up front at first. That may have been the relief of having someone take charge of that grisly scene other than the shell shocked patrolman who had him keep his hands raised for what seemed like an eternity. But when they magically pulled that knife out of his back pack, Blair remembered with a jolt that Jim's disappearance and those murders were very likely the handiwork of some NYPD. And since he didn't know who to trust anymore, he shut down. His lawyer was good. The Guide trusted him to get him out. Actually he was certain the man could get him off even if he had done it. The Mistress wanted to leave nothing to chance. He wasn't sure about McCoy yet. That zealot would have a ways to go to make up for caging him when he could be out looking for Jim. Other than Genevieve giving the New York City bdsm community the shaking it never had before, no one was looking. That was why he was in hell.
 
 

Jack McCoy was pretty good at eating crow. By the end of his dinner with the detectives, he knew he would be having a big heaping of it. He decided that a little generosity could go a long way with redeeming himself in Blair Sandburg's eyes. Thus, he had the young man transported to the courthouse. He was taken with only one deputy and though cuffed, was not shackled. He also had his office notify Sandburg's lawyer so that a change of clothing could be arranged for the court appearance. The gesture was hardly enough in the face of two nights at Riker's and the beating the man endured, but he hoped Sandburg would see it as the olive branch he'd intended it to be.

The prosecutor had expected Blair Sandburg to look more like the educated detective that he was at their next encounter. What he hadn't counted on was that he would look so sensual. That was the word for it. He had struggled for a term while organizing his papers and his thoughts. He wore a charcoal gray wool suit and a dark blue shirt, but that seemed an inadequate description for the affect the elegantly simple apparel accomplished. The cut was precise thus it laid and moved perfectly. And the materials looked like they felt good to the touch. The clothes somehow released something in the man's personality. He was at ease with himself and very relaxed. McCoy noticed just how big and innocent his eyes were.

Once clean shaven and unbruised, he almost looked angelic. Almost. There was something essentially carnal about Blair Sandburg that saved him from that description. It sparkled in his eyes along with the intelligence. There were a lot of things in Sandburg's eyes. That was at key to the enigma. And the affect was not lost on the women fluttering in the room on behalf of the judge. He didn't recall ever getting those kinds of openly admiring stares.

The proceeding was mercifully short. The judge listened to the evidence against the young detective which was presented succinctly without the impassioned indignation that was his hallmark. Then he heard about how the evidence was obtained. As Jack feared, a look of incredulity crept over the judge's features over the details that led to the search of the backpack.

"Mr. McCoy, if your officers had placed Mr. Sandburg face first on the ground immediately, the knife might have had a chance at being considered. As it is, they treated him like a witness. And since he was cooperating in that capacity, there was no reason for the detectives not to ask him if they could look into the bag. On those grounds the search is deemed illegal," the judge intoned in irritation. And since that was the only credible evidence against Sandburg, the charges were dismissed.

The young man smiled at his lawyer and shook her hand with both of his. It was his first real reaction to any of the proceedings. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. He turned to leave and met McCoy's gaze.

"Thank you, Mr. McCoy," Blair said. That was unexpected. "I know that you could have put up a more tenacious fight if you chose."

Jack nodded. "It was in the interest of the people to move on and find the real murderers. I was hoping to gain your trust and perhaps your cooperation."

"Trust is a commodity that I don't have much of these days," Blair replied solemnly. "I can't afford it."

"Maybe I can earn it," Jack said. He walked Blair into the corridor then took him slightly aside so no passers by could easily hear them. "I know about your partner," he said quietly.

Blair looked startled and agitated. "Then you know that I can't have anyone connected to the NYPD involved in this no matter how well intentioned. Cops have too good a grapevine and any leak could get Jim killed."

"I understand your difficulty, Mr. Sandburg. I really do, and you have my apologies for adding to it," Jack said urgently. He leaned into the young man's personal space. "But I have a double homicide and it looks like at least one cop is involved. Are the only people your sworn to protect in Cascade Washington?"

Sandburg glared at him.

"Is there something, anything I can do to help you trust me?" Jack asked.

The young man sighed. He looked very tired. "Get me past Captain Gray. I need to talk to Detective Maxwell at the 1-6."

"I'll set up an interview tomorrow," Jack said.

"Not at any precinct and not at your office. He won't talk there," Blair said. "I need him on a turf where he'll be lucid and where I can exert some leverage."

"Leverage?"

The young man smiled. "Leverage of the most persuasive kind for him."

"I want to be there," McCoy said.

Blair laughed. "Aside from the fact that he will so not talk with you there, I don't think you'll want to go where I'm meeting him."

"Try me, Mr. Sandburg. I've walked on some dark streets in my life," Jack said. "I still remember how."

Sandburg raised a brow at him.

"Blair, darling!" A melodious voice called from behind them.

Jack turned to see a stunning woman with Asian accents in a leather suit hurrying down the hall. "I'm sorry to be late. Traffic was beastly and my new driver is an idiot. Are you alright?"

He was in her arms being petted and hugged before he could reply. She stroked his face noting the bruises with annoyance.

"Oh, pet," she murmured.

"I'm fine, Genevieve… really. I'd like you to meet ADA Jack McCoy."

The woman fixed a withering stare on him. Jack figured out that she must be the leverage. He'd be afraid of her. He actually was starting to be.

"Are you still interrogating Blair?"

"He's apologized and generously offered to get me to the officer who last spoke to Jim," Blair said.

"It's the least I can do."

"Indeed,"she replied archly. "Blair, I need to get you back to the apartment. You need food and rest. Mr. McCoy, you can call him at the Carlisle when you want to set up this meeting."

There was no room to argue. They were gone seconds later. Jack wondered what sort of arena he was stepping into.

Briscoe and Green were waiting in Jack's office when he returned. Lenny had the expression of a man who was very pleased with himself. Jack put down his briefcase with a sidelong glance.

"You found him?"

Briscoe shook his head. "No, but we may have a strong lead. A month ago the 3-3 got a report from a woman who claimed to have been kidnaped and just escaped being held as a sex slave. She named our two vics as the ones who slipped her the mickey."

"What's the status of the case?"

"Closed," Green replied. "She was a pretty shaky witness… history of drugs and prostitution. There were inconsistencies in her statement and Schmidt & Gottlieb had strong alibis."

"How does this help us?"

"The woman claimed to have been bought by a wealthy patron of the club," Lenny explained. "Ellison went there the night he disappeared. We talked to his Captain in Cascade who corroborates that. What if he saw something shady there and got whacked for his troubles? Or maybe someone took a fancy to him…"

Jack felt his brows go up.

"Detectives Ellison and Sandburg are very much into that scene. Maybe someone wanted him as a replacement playmate," Lenny said.

"Could he be missing of his own volition?" Jack asked.

"Doubtful. The man is known for being anal retentive in his habits. By all accounts, he wouldn't have let this much time pass without contacting someone especially his partner," Green said.

"Can we find the first alleged victim?"

"We've got the word out, but it seems like she disappeared after the investigation went nowhere," Green replied.

"I've got a call in to Kragen at SVU. He may know something about this club or it's members. Seems they play pretty rough. Something may have crossed his desk about them," Briscoe said.

They parted company. Lenny was right to feel good. They had more pieces of the puzzle. It could be enough to convince Sandburg that they really are on the right side. Maybe he could open up with what he knew. Captain Gray had been almost as uncooperative as Detective Sandburg. But when Jack laid his cards on the table about the possible kidnaping and the b&d club and how that would look compared to an inquiry about crooked cops, he gave permission to question the officer. But rather than set up the meeting himself, he called Sandburg and gave him the man's home and work numbers.

After a moment of silence on the line, Sandburg spoke. "Meet me at the Carlisle at nine. We'll leave from here. Wear something black."

Jack chuckled to himself. He'd have to consult Abby about that. He wondered what she would think of the whole business. It was hard for him to say. Claire would have gone with him with a wry twinkle in her dark eyes wearing a very cute black mini skirt. Jamie would have went in full Dominatrix attire without giving it a second thought. She's also have him collared and leashed for the duration. He could easily picture her enjoying yanking the leash until he was on his knees. Claire was playful. Jamie had a streak that scared him. Abby was more serious minded. She probably would advise him to take Briscoe, Green and Van Buren with him. And even then she wouldn't think it a wise plan. But his curiosity was peaked.

Detective Stabler gave him more reason to be hopeful for cooperation from his prime witness. The big detective ambled into his office on the way from a visit to an ADA who specialized in sex crimes. The name Issac Bottene had come across his desk a few time. There were complaints filed against him for assault and illegal restraint stemming from incidents at his home following visits to the club.

Stabler sounded disgusted. "I knew this guy was a perv and capable of doing what he was accused of, but the complainants all withdrew the charges before we could get anything going."

"Do you think they were coerced?"

"Maybe… they were usually people in positions with a lot to lose… a teacher, a therapist," Stabler replied. "He may have bribed them. The man has deep pockets. He's some sort of Wall Street wiz with big connections."

"Why didn't he just pay for his playmates, then?" I wondered aloud.

Stabler shrugged. "I think he liked the idea of taking someone against their will. He is a real creepy character even in the $1000 suit. I get a very bad feeling about him… it's like he's bored with torturing small animals and is about to go after the real thing."

"Doesn't sound like the type though to take on someone as big or bigger than he is," Jack commented with a frown. He looked at Stabler. Ellison was built like him -- sleek, muscular and powerful.

"One of the elements common to all the complaints were roofies. Drugs can equalize the situation," Stabler said. "I'll work my sources to try to find some of the vics."

Jack got a chill at that. He thanked the detective praying that his prosecution of Sandburg hadn't delayed them too long in finding Ellison.
 
 

Despite the Mistress' considerable influence, Blair only slept for three hours. He ate a small meal after his nap. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep. He was exhausted, but he couldn't get his mind to rest long enough to sleep deeply. There were some long, deeply contrite messages from Simon waiting for him. The last one was from the day before. Blair sighed as he listened to them. The Captain was in a lot of pain as well. Blair understood and appreciated that. But he couldn't deal with that at the moment. Somewhere along the way, he had forgiven Simon. But he still couldn't talk to him. He didn't want to be questioned even by a friend right then. Jim was alive and in a lot of pain. He knew that. He felt it quite strongly, but hadn't told anyone. That was the sole focus of his concentration.

Jack McCoy arrived at the appointed hour in elegant black. He wore wool pleated pants and a black turtleneck of fine knit all topped with an impressive black leather jacket. His silver hair was wind tossed. Blair eyed him appreciatively as he crossed the room. The prosecutor was an attractive man. The passion with which he pursued his work was probably the same in more intimate relations. And he had an innate curiosity... It was a pity that he was as straight and vanilla as they come. The Mistress would enjoy playing with someone so interesting. Blair sensed that the man wanted to know him. Something about him peaked his curiosity. Blair was also sure that he really wanted to help. He just prayed that trusting this stranger wouldn't cost Jim.

They sat on the wonderfully soft beige leather sofa and had a drink. Blair had a beer. He felt good with Jim's huge sweatshirt hugging him. McCoy went for a fine single malt scotch.

"Genevieve is making final arrangements for the evening. We've been invited to the club you called me about. I contacted Bill Maxwell to meet us there," Blair said.

"Good," McCoy replied. "Since we talked, I've found out some additional information.

Blair was then told the sordid story of Isaac Bettone. A coldness stole over his heart. He was certain that this individual had Jim. McCoy seemed to read his thoughts.

"We don't have anything definitive," he said in a reassuring tone.

"You don't need to," Blair said. "Jim thought someone was watching him since the first night at that club. We both assumed it was the crooked cops. I've seen this type before."

"As have I," Genevieve said from the door. "They give the lifestyle a very bad name. If Jim gave any indication around this man that he is a sub, I have no doubt where he is. And we have to get to him before he is irreparably damaged."

"We need a warrant," McCoy said gently. "If he has your partner, I want to prosecute him. Maybe we can even reinstate the other victim's charges. But if we go in there with only a hunch, he walks. If Detective Maxwell can place Bettone with Jim on the night he disappeared, we can connect the dots from the other cases."

"I won't give you long after we talk to that detective," Blair said resolutely.

McCoy looked at him levelly then nodded his head. "I understand. I'll have Briscoe and Green standing by with a judge. May I use your phone?"

Genevieve indicated it with a sweep of her hand toward an adjoining room. She gave him a long look over as he passed by.

"My, he is a tasty one when he's not in his DA suit," she purred moving to sit beside Blair. "It's a shame I'll never get him to play."

The Guide chuckled to himself. Then, he noticed the Mistress' sly smile.

"What are you up to?" He asked.

"I'm thinking that there are still ways to rattle our prosecutor. And it'll make the visit all the more authentic," she said. "Excuse me, Dear. There are a few items I'll need to bring."

Blair watched her go wondering if he should warn Jack McCoy. Then, he decided that the DA needed a little shaking up of his world view. He went to change his clothes.

When he returned, McCoy was back finishing his scotch. Genevieve was beside him sipping champagne. Blair joined them with a brow raised to the Mistress. She definitely had the look of the cat who ate the canary.

"I was just about to explain to Mr. McCoy how things must be at this Club for the evening to be a success," she said. "This isn't a fund raising soiree. Certain behaviors are expected and must be exhibited. Your presence could be especially jarring, so you must adhere to the protocols most closely of all."

"What are these protocols?" McCoy asked.

"There are no observers. You either own or are owned or are about to own or be owned," she replied. "I don't think you want to be up for grabs there and you aren't prepared to own anyone, so you will belong to Blair for the evening."

McCoy's eyes darted back and fourth between them. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Don't look so worried. We won't jeopardize your standing in the community," Genevieve smiled. "You will wear Blair's collar and possibly a leash. You will stay by his side and you will let him take the lead in all conversations there."

Before McCoy could reply, Blair caught his gaze solemnly. "When you find yourself feeling humiliated, think about how much fun a full cavity search is on Riker's Island."

Jack McCoy closed his eyes against Sandburg's gaze. He nodded shortly. "I want you to promise me in turn that you won't do anything that can come back and bite me on the ass in court later."

"Maxwell will be handled in such a way that his cooperation will be willing and he will never renege on it," Blair said confidently. "You have my word. I won't risk your case. And I will get Jim back."
 

They traveled in Arnaud's limousine. Jack sat beside Sandburg. Arnaud sat opposite them sipping champagne. Her gaze often played upon him playfully as he fumbled with the leather collar.

"You seem to be having some difficulty," Sandburg observed. There was humor in his voice.

"I am," Jack admitted. "I think it's psychological."

"Understandable," he replied. "Allow me."

Jack let his hands drop when he felt the young man's hands slide along his throat. Somehow he managed not to flinch as the collar was deftly buckled in place. Sandburg then smoothed the back of his hair in place. The gesture was more comforting than provocative. Jack found himself gazing into the enigma's blue eyes.

"I will not make this difficult for you, Jack. Can I call you Jack?"

The prosecutor chuckled. "I suppose so. I'm wearing your collar."

"You call me Blair, then," he continued. "Jack, we know who we're after and we are certainly not there to play. I want answers as quickly and cleanly as possible. Stay close to me and keep your eyes down. Don't interfere. What you may seem might look harsh, but it won't be anything Detective Maxwell isn't expecting. Can you do that?"

Jack inhaled then exhaled slowly. "I'll do my best."

The club was everything Jack expected. It was a night club with a full dungeon motif. There were posts with shackles dangling from them. A couple of what he thought were St. Andrew's crosses and even a rack. Music pulsed through with a persistent beat. It was hard to really hear anything without shouting. He had the distinct impression that his 'captors' didn't approve of the decor. They frowned with distaste then continued grimly into the room. The collar weighed heavily around his neck though it was made of light supple leather. Blair held the leash lightly and hardly looked at him as though he were a thing that he wouldn't care about losing. For some reason, that made Jack stay all the closer to him. He reasoned that he didn't want to make a mistake and blow their chance at Maxwell. But somewhere in the back of his head, he fretted about losing himself amongst the angry spike and leather covered people who didn't seemed as inclined to protect his dignity.

Genevieve Arnaud was the one to approach Maxwell first. She easily lured him into a quiet alcove complete with a post to shackle a subject. But that was not what the Mistress had in mind. McCoy was amazed at what he could see with his eyes lowered. The woman only had to walk over to him with that air of authority in that leather dress and tell him she wanted to play with a policeman. The next thing the prosecutor knew, the detective was naked and bound in the most intricate ways with a supple rope. She had it wound through his legs and arms. He was in effect, hogtied. His penis and testicles are nearly encased. What delicate flesh was showing looked sore and painful.

McCoy almost started out of his skin when something soft brushed against his face. Sandburg had the rope in his hand. "It's made of a soft cotton. In and of itself, it won't hurt him," he said softly.

Jack nodded. That helped a little. Genevieve petted the hair of the man lying on his side panting. His lean body was sheened with sweat.

"You are very well trained," she observed. "Let's see how honest you can be. To save time, we all know about your little side business. We don't care. We want to know if the late owners aided Isaac Bettone in connecting with Jim Ellison."

Maxwell moaned but it was not from pain.

"And before you think of lying," she continued. "Be assured that my friends and I will take you out of here and deposit you, as is, on the doorstep of your precinct. If you survive that humiliation, be assured that you will never play again in a club worth visiting anywhere ever."

She let the words sink in. McCoy felt like that might be too much, but before he could speak, Blair put two fingers to lips firmly. The ADA stilled. Maxwell seemed to collapse into himself.

"Bettone was here. He and Ellison had a drink together. I saw them leave a while later," he said in such hushed tones that it was barely audible over the din of the club. "He seemed fine."

"You did not see him when he left," Genevieve said in a soothing voice. "You were busy slaking your own needs, weren't you?"

More moments of silence. Finally, he nodded his head. "I did see them leave, but Jim seemed to be drunk. I thought... big guy like him could take care of himself. He was more than a match for Bettone."

Blair gently tugged at the leash and took him to another deserted corner. "Make your call."

McCoy complied telling Briscoe succinctly what he would need with the judge. Blair looked satisfied. Genevieve joined them a moment later.

"I've left him as he is. I'll call and have him turned loose later," she said. "It will be a start toward his penance."

"Let's go," Blair said.

Jack was relieved to be out of the club. He really did not like being that much out of his own personal control. Blair was kind enough to him. He didn't force him to respond verbally to every direction he gave. In fact, their presence was so brief and unobtrusive that McCoy doubted anyone really recognized him. What activities he saw was the way he'd expected. However, it was clear from the reactions of Sandburg and Arnaud that the scenes before him were not the real thing to them. For a brief moment, McCoy wondered about the lifestyle that bound Sandburg to Ellison and the pair to Arnaud. They were dangerous, and he was glad to be free of that collar.
 
 

Blair's heart was threatening to pound through his chest by the time they reached the opulent upper west side digs of Isaac Bettone. The two cops who'd arrested Blair were in the hall warrant in hand along with some uniformed officers. McCoy had recovered himself enough to be in front of him and Genevieve.

"Do it," McCoy said.

Briscoe did the hard knock on the door and it swung gently open. Inside of the spectacularly furnished room with the amazing view of Central Park on the white leather sofa was Isaac Bettone in a pool of blood. There was blood everywhere on the furniture and the rugs. And in the middle of the carnage, was a small dark haired woman wearing a short leather dress. She was sitting on the floor hugging her knees. The straight razor was still in her hand.

"There's our missing victim," Briscoe said. "And the likely killer of the club owners."

The cops approached the woman cautiously. Blair knew that here was no fight left in her. She'd done what she needed to do. Thus, he waited until she was in custody before he barreled in heading for the second floor. Genevieve was at his heels and surprisingly, so was McCoy. Blair headed toward what he was certain was the master bedroom. He barely noticed the room. The only thing in his head was... where would he be?

There was a huge heavy four poster bed made of mahogany in the center of the room. It sat high off the floor, but he couldn't see under the bed . There was some sort of drawer there. It had to be a foot deep and as long as the bed. There was a handle on the side of the drawer.

"Shut the door," Blair muttered. "Keep the cops out for ten minutes. Please."

Blair had to use all his strength and some leverage to pull the drawer out. Jim was there shackled to the four corners with iron restraints naked in a leather hood. His body was covered in black and blue bruises and red welts. He was stock still. Blair knew that Jim should have known he was there by his scent or heart beat. This was not good. The blood. Jim had zoned on the blood. Blair placed a hand on his chest careful not to touch his wounds.

"I'm here," Blair said firmly and clearly. "Here my voice. Come back, Jim."

The Sentinel inhaled sharply. Then he began to struggle against the restraints.

"No, Jim. Stay still," Blair commanded. "Mistress."

The Guide ignored Jack McCoy's astonished stare as Genevieve pulled items out of her bag to unlock the shackles. His wrists were deeply bruised. They both had to work to sit the big man up. It was clear that the man's whole body hurt.

"I don't know how long you've had the hood on, Jim. Keep your eyes closed when I pull it off. Do you understand?" Blair asked.

There was a slight nod. Blair could feel him trembling under his hands. He was fighting for control. "Just a little longer, babe," Blair whispered. "You'll be safe."

Blair worked the hood off. He fought the gasp at the gag tied tightly around Jim's head. He removed that as well. His flesh was bruised along the gag as well. It was good that Bettone was dead, Blair thought.

"I hear Briscoe and Green," McCoy said.

"A few more minutes," Blair said. "Mistress, the clothes."

Genevieve produced some soft, drawstring pants and matching pullover. Jim accepted being maneuvered about to help him out of the drawer and into the clothes.

"Open your eyes," Blair said in a trembling voice. "Look at me, Jim."

Jim squinted and blinked. He locked onto Blair then reached for him.

"I swear, I'll never complain about cowls or capes or super villains again," Blair whispered.

The battered man tried to smile. His voice was raspy from lack of use of from screaming. "I'll remember that, Chief."

When the door was finally opened, they were in such a tight embrace, a crowbar couldn't pry them apart. And he wouldn't answer questions either. His eyes were shut tight. He was trembling and his breath was barely under control.

"Chief..."

Jack McCoy knew the man was in pain, probably humiliated. But there was something about the tone of his voice and his appearance that made it seem like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"I have to get him away from here, Mr. McCoy," Blair said with quiet urgency. "The noise and the blood are too much for him now... it's a form of post traumatic stress from his days in the Army."

"Mr. Sandburg... Blair... there are questions... he's a witness..."

"From this box?" Genevieve sputtered. "He couldn't have seen or heard anything."

"Still..."

"He'll be available at the apartment," Blair said. "Please, he's about to lose it, and I don't want to see him restrained in an ER. You wouldn't get anything out of him under sedation. Genevieve can get him any care he needs from her home."

Again, those dark blue eyes reached something in Jack McCoy. Blair Sandburg had a way of finding his way through his cynicism and damned if he knew how. He found himself vouching for Ellison and even helping them get him into the car. The last image he had of them was the big man wrapped around Blair for dear life and Blair gazing at him with gratitude.

McCoy did not see Sandburg or Ellison in the days that followed the grisly discovery. Much was focused on the victim and her motive. She had suffered horribly under Bettone's control. Other victims came forward. The press focused on them. Ellison's ordeal got lost in the other tales of horror. And that was just as well. Ellison was able to give details and even a deposition out of the glare of the press. He didn't know anything about the murder, but he had been an audio witness to two roofie related rapes. He also exonerated Maxwell in his kidnaping. He had overheard a heated discussion at the apartment while he was shackled under the bed. Maxwell had tried to find him, but Bettone did a great job of convincing the man that Jim had returned to the West Coast for business after a night of fun.

Jack McCoy should have been satisfied. He had his murderer who had enough left of her faculties to plead out. That saved him a trail in which the victims were more heinous than the accused and the witnesses were excellent candidates for suspects. Bettone was connected to the death of two prostitutes. His untimely demise almost certainly prevented more rapes and torture and probably averted one last murder. Even from the little time he spent with Ellison, it was clear that his captor would have had to kill the man rather than have him the way he'd planned.

Everyone including his new DA was pleased with the clean disposition of a potentially messy case. Yet Jack remained dissatisfied. He realized it was because he had never solved the enigma. Blair Sandburg remained as elusive to him as he did when they first met. The prosecutor finally understood why the man interested him so much -- they were very similar in their passions and beliefs. Perhaps that's what continued to gnaw at him. How could they be so similar in some ways and vastly different in others? Their lifestyle in particular puzzled him. How could a man with such a brilliant mind and such social passions be involved practices that were trivial at best and very dangerous at worst?

The last meeting with Sandburg did not provide him with any answers though Jack was sure that he was finally getting a complete picture of the enigma. Briscoe had been right, Ellison was a big part of who the young detective was. The man was visibly different with his partner by his side. He was animated and less guarded. Jack could see the charm that had endeared him to his Captain and others back in Cascade. He smiled readily when Jack entered the living room of the Carlisle apartment. Mirth sparkled in those expressive eyes which were much less guarded than even the day before.

There was still the sensuality. That was underscored by a general dreaminess about him. His hair was tossled and his lips a little swollen. They looked like a couple who'd just been making out. Sandburg sat next to Ellison on the big leather sofa. Actually, he was glued to Ellison's side. The older man had his arm draped partially across the sofa and partially on Sandburg's shoulders. It was a protective and possessive posture that the younger man didn't even notice. Jim noted that Jack noticed and set his jaw defying comment. But Jack wasn't there to pass judgements. He wanted to fill them in on the final fall out from the case and to wish them well before they departed.

"The Department accepted Maxwell's request for retirement with his pension," Jack said. "That will save them an embarrassing investigation. He has asked me if he could contact you."

"He's tried," Blair said. There was a flash of anger in his eyes. Jim gently squeezed his shoulder.

"I wish him well," Jim said. His eyes were less wary for the moment. "I don't hold him responsible. Bettone was obsessed. He would have found a way to me eventually. I think he would have even followed me to Cascade. But I agree with Blair. It's best to make a clean break."

"Captain Gray is being credited for the investigation even though the focus was misplaced. It seems that Maxwell was unwittingly a central element to the disappearances and the murders. But it was coincidence. Had he not sent Jim in, they might not have put all these cases to rest," McCoy said. "I doubt that helps with your pain right now, but for what it's worth."

"It helps to know it wasn't for nothing," Blair said thoughtfully.

"This has been an interesting experience for me, Detective," McCoy said to Sandburg. "It's been an education."

"If you're still curious, Genevieve tells me that she has nothing pressing in Cascade at the moment," Blair said with a twinkle in his eyes. "She's expressed an interest in showing you more."

McCoy shook his head. "I'm flattered… I really am. I think she could make a lot of things seem reasonable. Which is why I must decline."

They rose and shook hands. Blair's was a warm, two handed clasp. Jim's was firm and professional. They parted company with pleasantries. McCoy was a little sad. He might never know how the scholar became so attached to the seemingly rigid cop. Or why that cop was his submissive. He had a feeling that only a rare few people who were special in their lives knew the whole story. Somehow, Jack knew he was missing out.
 
 

Blair was in heaven. Or at least, he was close to it. He was on their sofa in the loft being kissed senseless and on his way to being naked. Jim had been very cuddly since being freed, but they'd gone no further than kissing and holding each other. Blair wasn't complaining about that. Jim was a world class kisser and cuddler. He could survive on that if he had to. Fortune had smiled upon him bring Jim back with the few physical injuries he had suffered. He was grateful for everything. But the return of his love's libido meant that he was on his way to putting the whole ordeal behind him. Jim had yet to tell his Guide about the experience beyond the basic facts. That would come in time. For the moment, Blair was glad he was healing.

Then the phone rang. Both men groaned, but Jim answered it thinking it was the Mistress. She had said that she might check up on them. But the mild surprise on Jim's face told him that it wasn't Genevieve.

"Yes, sir. We'll see you then," Jim said. He hung up the phone then met his partner's inquisitive gaze.

"That was Simon," Jim explained. "He wants to take us out for steaks so we can talk."

Blair wasn't sure whether to lament the uncomfortable evening to come or the loss in carnal momentum. Jim read his thoughts easily.

"We need to clear the air with him before we return to work," Jim said quietly. "Besides, if we don't cook, we don't have to clean up. That will leave time for other activities."

Those beautiful blue eyes captured his and he was once again being kissed. Whatever was left of Blair's doubts or protests melted under the heat of that kiss.

"What do we wear?" He sighed.

Simon was early. He was pacing in front of the steakhouse as Jim and Blair pulled up. While Jim gave the valet the evil eye and an earful of precautions, Blair was left with Simon.

"Thank you for coming," Banks said.

Blair nodded his head.

"I hope that you really wanted to come," he continued.

"I wanted to come," Blair replied. "Besides, it's not like me to turn down free food."

Simon chuckled, but the moment remained almost painfully awkward. Once inside, they spoke about Cascade PD happenings and got filled in on the latest gossip and rumors. Beer helped them relax, but they limited intake. Jim and Simon because they were driving. Blair because he wanted to be clear headed enough to refrain from blurting out something he couldn't take back. Not that he was talking. The younger man would have been content just eating the wonderful meal. He was afraid to fight with Simon. He really didn't want to lose the friendship or the support. It was Jim who took the unusual position as a facilitator of dialogue.

"First off, Captain," he said. "I don't want you to blame yourself for what happened to me. Bettone was a loon. He's a factor that couldn't have been predicted."

Simon shook his head. "But that's the point I'm finally getting. You both warned me that something would happen that none of us could foresee. If you weren't on the assignment, Jim, Bettone would never have met you. Or if Sandburg was there, he couldn't have taken you."

He paused to gather his thoughts. "You two know what's best for your partnership. I should have known this especially with all I've seen happen over the years. Weird crap seems to find you where ever you go, but you know how to handle that."

"When we're together," Blair said. "I spent all this time ignoring my own research. We're hardwired to need each other."

"I understand, and I apologize for volunteering you without asking," Banks said. "It's just that I was so proud of you guys that I was bragging. Then, it all got away from me. Trust me, guys. I'll never let this happen again. I never want to go through hearing about all that happened to you both in New York while being unable to help you and being partially responsible."

Jim and Blair looked at each other then at Simon who was gazing at them earnestly. They nodded. All three men let out a sigh then started enjoying their meals.

"Now this and maybe some Jags tickets squares things with us," Blair said. "But Genevieve is another matter."

"Jags tickets… and what about Genevieve? How would I ever square things with her?" Simon demanded.

"Unless you want to become acquainted with some really big and painful dildos, I'd just steer clear of her," Blair said. "She'll become civil in a few months. Maybe six."

"Great." Banks sighed.

Later that night, Blair found himself in heaven. This time it was in their big, cozy bed where he had a full tummy and a very naked and amorous Sentinel covering him.

He was enjoying the weight and heat of his sated, sleepy lover. "I missed this so much. I didn't realize how hard it would be just to sleep without you."

Jim turned over so that Blair was partially on top of him. "I missed you too. I've never felt so bad during a separation before. And to not be able to sense you. I don't ever want to go through that again."

Blair squeezed him a little. "It's okay now. You're safe and no one is going to separate us again... Jim, do you want to talk about what happened while Bettone held you?"

Jim hugged Blair to him. "Chief, I was being honest with the New York detectives. Whatever he gave me, put me under for days apparently. You know my sensitivities. And since Bettone got off on the struggles and screams of his victims, he wanted me fully awake and functioning. When I was aware of things again, he couldn't handle me physically, so he drugged me again then put me in the box until I was too weak to fight him. You saw the doctor's report - no rape, some bruising from the beatings but nothing I couldn't endure. You got there in time."

"Weren't you afraid?"

"I was pissed off," Jim chuckled. "At me for letting myself get drugged, but mostly at that psycho. He hadn't seen what I'd seen in Special Forces. He wasn't as scary as my trainers. I planned to wait him out, pretend to be more docile, then snap his little neck."

"Jim!"

"Okay, I wasn't going to kill him," Jim said. "But he would have wished I had and no jury would convict me."

"True. I think that's why McCoy pleaded out his killer."

"I knew you were coming. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I came to. 'Blair is on his way,'" Jim said softly.

"Aw, man. That was the worst part about being arrested. I knew you were alive, but I couldn't get anyone from the city to look," Blair said. "It's a good thing that Jack McCoy found some reason to take an interest in me."

Blair found himself on his back staring at his looming Sentinel.

"Ah, yes. Your groupie. I'd say he was interested in these beautiful eyes and this amazing mouth," Jim murmured tracing the features of his love's face.

"You are so off track there, man," Blair laughed. "McCoy is as straight and vanilla as they come."

"Good," Jim said just above Blair's lips. "I don't want him even thinking about what he's missing."

Jim kissed him with fierce possession sending Blair back to heaven once more.

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Siren Saga 18: Over the Rainbow