Blair yawned mightily, and tried to focus on the road. They'd been driving steadily southward since dawn, stopping only for gas and to use the restroom. That had been . . . humiliating was the word that came to mind, that and degrading. The gas station had one unisex bathroom, and Alex hadn't wanted to let him out of her sight. At least she'd turned her back while he'd taken care of business.

Another four hours had passed in silence, save for her telling him which interchange to take. He'd tried thinking of an escape plan, but hadn't been able to come up with much besides crashing the car, yeah, right, just release that nerve gas over half of Washington state, Blair, and getting pulled over by the police for speeding. That scenario led to a high-speed chase, crashing the car, and spreading nerve gas all over the state again. Driving while handcuffed had taken some getting used to, but he'd managed. Only now his lack of sleep was catching up with him. The tires on the passenger side rumbled as they slipped off the edge of the road again.

Alex grabbed for the dashboard. "Jesus, Blair, watch where you're going!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I'm having a hard time staying awake. Can't we pull over at a rest stop or something so I can sleep a little? Or you can drive if you want to keep going, but I'm probably going to get us killed if I go on much longer."

She took a good look at him, noting the dark circles under his eyes, and the exhaustion on his face. She wasn't feeling too wonderful herself. They were hundreds of miles from Cascade, and no one, not even her partner, Carl, knew just how she was getting to their rendezvous. Some food, a good night's rest, and an early start in the morning would keep them on schedule. "Okay, next exit you see with a hotel, you pull off."

Three miles later, Blair turned off the interstate, and after driving for a couple miles on a side road, came to a small town. He pulled into the parking lot of another Friendship Inn, too tired to even chuckle over the irony that was his life. Once again they did their little getting out of the car dance, and he stood quietly by her side as she checked them in as Mr. and Mrs. Brian Brown, paying cash for one night's lodging.

Once inside the room, Alex checked it out thoroughly, pleased that there were no windows in the bathroom. Turning back to Blair, she said, "Lie down on the bed and get comfortable, then put your hands over your head."

It took him a moment, but he figured out where she was going with this, so he removed his jacket and shoes and complied. She leaned over him, the muzzle of the gun resting against his chest as she handcuffed him to the headboard. That done, she sat down next to him on the edge of the bed, sticking the gun in the waistband of her jeans. She looked at him for a long time, wondering why it bothered her so to see him so helpless, why it felt wrong to her.

"Alex," he said softly, "are you going to stare at me all night, or do you have some definite plan in mind?" Uh, oh, Sandburg, do you really want her to have a definite plan?

Giving him a pat on the stomach, she rose and walked into the bathroom, talking as she went. "I'm going to go to the Italian place across the street and get us something to eat. What would you like?" she asked, as she returned carrying a washrag and a hand towel.

He eyed the articles in her hand suspiciously. "Just spaghetti, and a salad, low fat dressing, ranch, if they have it." He didn't think he'd be able to eat much, but he knew he needed to keep his strength up.

She sat down on the bed again. "Drink?"

"Bottled water's fine."

"Okay. Now, open up," she said, grasping his chin firmly and stuffing the washcloth in his mouth, despite his struggles. When she was done, he was rasping loudly through his nose, and his wrists were red from twisting in the handcuffs. He closed his eyes to try and calm himself, feeling tears slip out from under his lashes.

He felt her hand rest lightly on his heaving chest, and her voice was almost soothing in his ear. "Easy, babe, easy. I'm sorry I had to do this, but I don't want you screaming for the cops while I'm gone, okay?"

Blinking away the liquid in his eyes, he nodded slowly. Alex wiped his face gently with the towel, then tied it around his head to hold the gag in place. "I'll be back in 15 minutes, tops. Just stay cool, okay?" Again, Blair nodded, and she pressed her hand to his cheek for a moment before she grabbed her purse and left the hotel room.

Simon hung up the phone and turned his attention to the man pacing his office like a caged animal. "Jim, would you please sit down, you're giving me a headache."

Ellison paused in front of his captain's desk. "Damn it, Simon, I feel so helpless. Sandburg is out there somewhere with that . . . that bitch, and I have no idea of where to begin to look for him!"

Leaning back in his chair, the older man removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I know how you feel, but we're doing everything we can. The Feds are looking for her, and we have an APB out with a description of the SUV they were driving. We'll find them, Jim, it'll just take time."

Clenching his jaw, Jim inhaled sharply, then said, "I don't know if Sandburg has that much time left." He was turning to leave when Simon's phone rang again.

"Banks. What? Damn it, yes, we'll be right down." Replacing the receiver, he stood up. "That was the harbor patrol. They just fished a body out of the water. They think it might be Sandburg." Moving swiftly around his desk, he caught his friend's arm as he sagged against the door jam. "Jim, damn it, pull it together. Let's not jump to any conclusions. The body's on its way to the morgue now. Come on, I'll drive you." Grabbing his coat, he maneuvered the detective across the bullpen and out the door, ignoring the curious glances they received.

Blair lay quietly on the bed, his arms stretched over his head, the handcuffs connecting his wrists threaded around the slat in the headboard. He'd tried rubbing his face against his arm to get the gag off, but Alex had known what she was doing. Think calm thoughts, he told himself, just let this go. You're not going to suffocate . . . whoops, shouldn't have gone there. His breathing and heartrate began to speed up again. Okay, what's the worst thing that could happen? She could just leave you here, and the maid would find you in the morningÖor she could come back, shoot you, and then the maid would find you in the morning. Stop it, stop it, stop it! What is wrong with you, man?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think. What am I going to do? How am I going to get out of this? If she unlocks these cuffs when she comes back, I could rush her . . . And get shot. But what if you got away? What would you do then? Run, find a phone, tell someone . . . and have her follow you and shoot whomever you went to for help? Damn it, why couldn't he come up with a plan? Oh, and let's not forget the nerve gas . . . she could just stand there in the parking lot and threaten to open it if he didn't come crawling back to her.

God, Jim, if there ever was a time I would kiss your ugly puss, it would be right after you break the door down and untie me.  Jim . . . damn, do you even know I'm missing? Do you even care? Oh, fuck, now he was tearing up again, and couldn't breathe. Calm, stay calm . . . his heart was pounding so loudly he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and all he could see were black spots in front of his eyes.

The door to the room opened and closed swiftly, and he heard something hit the floor. Hands tore the towel away from his face, and yanked the gag out of his mouth. He gulped in great swallows of air, feeling his wrists being released from the cuffs. Someone helped him into a sitting position, and he leaned forward, feeling the blood rush to his head. Jim, oh Jim, thank god, thank god . . .

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . " That wasn't Jim's voice. Opening his eyes, Blair looked up to find Alex bending over him, her hands on his shoulders, her expression . . . frightened? "I'm sorry, Blair, I'm sorry. I thought you would be okay for a few minutes, and then I heard your heart pounding from all the way across the street and . . . and . . . I had to get back here . . . ." Her hands dropped to her sides and she took a step back, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe what she'd just said.

Blair couldn't believe it either. She'd heard his distress and come running? That didn't make any sense, this whole thing didn't make any sense. Scooting back against the headboard, he pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his forehead against his knees. What in the hell was going on with him? With her for that matter?

Alex stared down at him for a long moment, wanting to touch him, wanting to reassure herself he was okay. She reached her hand out tentatively, then paused it in midair, her fingers inches from his tangled curls. Slowly she tightened them into a fist, digging her nails into her palm, trying to break the grip of whatever this was that had come over her. She finally succeeded by turning away and going to pick up the food she'd dropped to the floor in her haste to get to him.

Placing the styrofoam carton, bottle of water, and plastic fork on the table beside the bed, she retreated to the small desk on the other side of the room to eat her dinner.

Breathe, just breathe, Ellison. He leaned against the wall of the parking garage, relief flooding his body. It hadn't been Blair, it hadn't been Blair. He ran a shaking hand over his face, then bent over, resting his hands on his knees.

"Jim, you okay?"

"No, no, Simon, I'm not okay. That was too close, too close." He closed his eyes, still seeing the pale features of the young man lying on the stainless steel table. Same build, same age, same dark hair, but not Sandburg, thank god, not Sandburg.

Simon approached the sentinel, laying a comforting hand on his back. "Jim, it's late. Go on home, get some rest. We'll start fresh in the morning."

Turning his head, Jim opened his mouth to say something, when the rug was suddenly pulled out from under him. Sounds assaulted his ears, and he clutched his hands to his head, dropping to his knees on the concrete. He scrambled for the dials, trying to turn his hearing down, succeeding only after several excruciating moments of effort. He felt Simon's hands on his arms, and Jim looked up into his worried eyes. "It's okay, sir. I'm fine, just fine." He shrugged off the other man's help and got to his feet.

"You . . . are . . . not . . . fine, Jim," he said, punctuating his words with a forefinger in Jim's chest. "What in the hell was that?"

Jim shook his head slowly, feeling a headache building. "Sensory spike. I haven't had one of those since . . . " His next words caught in this throat, choking him. "Since I met Sandburg . . ."

"Come on, Jim, let me take you home," Simon said, thinking if he got the sentinel safely tucked in for the night, he could head back down to the station, and burn up the phone lines, searching for any trace of the man that had wormed his way into both their hearts.

Blair put the half-empty carton down on his lap, tossing the fork inside, then closing the lid and setting it aside. He turned his gaze to Alex, as she crossed the small room toward him. "All done?" He nodded. Picking up the carton, she threw it in the trashcan by the door. "Ready for some sleep?"

"I guess so," he replied, wondering how they were going to accomplish that with one bed, and her need to keep him from escaping while she slept. Maybe he could talk to her now, convince her that if she let him go, he wouldn't turn her in. "Alex." She quit digging in her overnight bag and gave him her full attention. Blair gave her his best smile, and said, "Why don't you just let me go? I mean, I must be seriously cramping your style. You're used to working alone, and I'm just getting in the way . . ." Aw, Sandburg, that was stupid, stupid. Just give her a reason to kill you . . .

She shook her head. "I can't do that." She went back to what she had been doing.

Puzzled at her response, or rather her lack there of, he asked, "Why?"

Shrugging, she replied, "I don't know." She glanced at him. "You wanna take a shower tonight?"

He felt like they were speaking two different languages, but a shower? That sounded like heaven. "Um, yeah, okay." He got up off the bed slowly, careful not to make any threatening moves, since her gun was still tucked in the back of her jeans, within easy reach. Grabbing his toiletry case, a T-shirt and some sweats, he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

Man, this was too weird, like he was living in some kind of nightmare. She couldn't let him go, or, he was beginning to suspect, kill him, but she didn't know why. And her reaction when she'd come in earlier, and found him having a panic attack . . . that was so . . . so . . . Jim. His head shot up from where he'd been bent over the sink, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Oh, fuck. How could he have been so stupid? Alex was a Sentinel; he was a guide. But how much influence did that have on the dynamic between them and how much was their own personalities? He hadn't come up with any answers by the time he'd finished his shower.

He re-entered the bedroom to find her already under the covers, leaning with her back against the headboard, the gun across her lap. She was playing with the handcuffs. An irrational surge of fear shot through him, and she glanced at him sharply, her senses picking up on his uneasiness. "It's okay," she said softly, "I'm not going to hurt you, or hook you to the bed again. I'm not a monster, I know you're afraid."

"Alex, please, I just want to go home . . ." When had he started shaking? She patted the space next to her, and when he didn't take his place quickly enough, her hand closed over the butt of her gun. He climbed on to the bed, holding out his hands obediently as she snapped the cuffs closed around his wrists. Lying down on his side with his back to her, he closed his eyes as she turned out the light.

He felt her moving around on the mattress, then nearly jumped out of his skin as her arm went around his waist. "Take it easy," her voice said in his ear, "I just want some advance warning if you decide to get up in the middle of the night." She hadn't come right out and said it, but the threat was there. Blair closed his eyes again, trying to relax in this strange and frightening situation. Exhaustion finally overpowered his fears, and he slept.

Jim drove aimlessly through the night. Simon had dropped him off at the loft, and he had tried to get some rest, honestly he had, but he'd had the dream again, the one where he'd shot the wolf with the arrow, only there was a new twist to it this time. The injured wolf had morphed into Blair, and the spotted jaguar had slunk out of the jungle to crouch beside him. She had touched her muzzle to his face, and Blair had become the wolf again, getting to his feet and trotting off into the jungle at the jag's side.

He shook himself out of the memory, and took a look around. Somehow he'd ended up outside Alex's apartment. Pulling the truck over to the curb, he switched off the ignition. He stared at the building for a while, finally going with the urge to visit her home again.

Ducking under the crime scene tape, he entered the blasted remains of the other sentinel's territory. He wandered around for a few minutes, carefully extending his senses, trying to figure out what had drawn him here. A chair caught his eye, and he slowly laid his hands on the smoke damaged back. Immediately he got a vision of a man in the apartment with Alex, a man with a distinctive pockmarked face. The image dissolved to Alex standing in a doorway, through which could be glimpsed a beach. As the scene unfolded, Blair entered the frame, his hand going to her shoulder, supporting her as she utilized her senses. Jim snatched his hands back as though they'd been burned.

He felt himself trembling, and he recognized the emotion as rage. How dare he, how dare he help her! A low growl escaped his lips, and he stalked out of the apartment. The sentinel managed to calm down somewhat by the time he reached the Ford. No matter what he thought he saw in the vision, it at least it confirmed that Sandburg was still alive. Swinging up into the cab, he started the engine and headed for the station. If he had to, he would get a sketch artist out of bed; he was certain the man he'd seen in the vision was the key to finding Alex and Blair.

The sounds of someone in extreme distress woke Blair from a dreamless sleep. He was disoriented for a moment, then he moved his arm, and the weight of the handcuffs on his wrists brought his situation rushing back to him. The noise reached his ears again, and Blair rolled over to find Alex in the throes of a nightmare. She was tangled in the sheets, her face and hair soaked with sweat, her body trembling.

This was his chance! His chance to escape! Blair knew from living with Jim that nothing short of a train wreck or a guide's interference would bring the sentinel out of whatever vision lay behind her closed eyes. Slipping off the bed, he padded silently across the room, trying to remember where she'd put the keys to the truck. If he could find the keys, he could take the truck and the nerve gas it contained and drive to the nearest police station.

His fingers had just closed around the precious pieces of metal when Alex's indistinct mumblings became words. "No, don't . . . you can't hurt him . . . no . . . " Blair paused in front of the door. Come on man, open the door, get out, run! Her words became heart-wrenching screams. "Nooo! Blair!"

Somehow he found himself on the bed next to her, his bound hands gripping her shoulder gently, his voice dropping into the soothing guide timbre. "Alex, Alex, it's okay. You're having a dream . . . it's time to wake up now . . . come back, follow my voice back . . ." She came out of it swinging, and he wasn't quick enough. Her clenched fist caught him in the right eye, and Blair tumbled off the end of the mattress, hitting the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

He lay there, dazed, trying to draw a full breath, hearing another thud, and what sounded like muffled sobs coming from the other side of the bed. Slowly, Blair sat up, his head ringing. "Alex? Alex, you okay?"

More crying sounds and then a pleading "Blair . . . help me . . . please . . . make it stop . . ."

Crawling around the end of the bed, he found her lying on the floor, curled into a tight, shaking ball. "It's all right, it's gonna be all right," he whispered, his hands going to her shoulder once again, feeling her trembling ease under his light touch. "Take a deep breath, then let it out really slowly, let all the bad things go." He sat there, talking to her, helping her get her senses, her panic, under control.

Finally, she sat up, leaning back against the mattress, staring at him. He scooted away until he felt the wall at his back, and returned her startled gaze. What had he just done? He could have escaped; he could have gotten away . . . He buried his face in his hands. He heard her get to her feet, cross the room, and return, but didn't lift his head to look.

There was a soft click, and the handcuffs fell away from his wrists. Her fingers wrapped around his, pulling his hands away from his face. "Oh, shit, did I do that to you?" Fingertips traced the rapidly swelling skin under his eye. "Ice . . . we need some ice . . ." Standing swiftly, she grabbed the plastic ice bucket off the dresser, and left the room.

Alone, Blair shoved both hands in his hair. What was happening to him? Why hadn't he run? Why was he just sitting here now? What was this overwhelming need he felt to stay here, with her? Oh, man, Jim, if you were here, you'd be telling me I'd finally slipped off the deep end . . .

The door opened, and a few seconds later, Alex was on her knees beside him, towel-wrapped ice being pressed gently to his eye. Her hand under his chin supported his head, and Blair felt himself getting lost in that touch, in the power of her presence. He closed his eyes for just a second, and when he opened them, he was no longer in a ratty hotel room in a nameless town somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. A tropical rainforest rose around him and right in front of him stood the towering remains of an ancient temple, its stones crumbling, the foliage overrunning it, but it was the most magnificent sight he'd ever seen. He blinked once in amazement, and it was gone.

Startled, he gasped and jerked, smacking the back of his head against the wall. "Ow!"

Fingers ran lightly through his hair, checking for bruises. "Relax, babe, I'm trying to fix it, not make it worse."

He realized she was picking up on his suddenly racing heart, thinking it was from fear. "Alex, Alex, I saw it! I saw it!" She stopped her fussing and met his excited eyes. "I saw the temple, the temple of the Sentinel!"

"Carl Hettinger?" Simon was seated on the edge of the conference table in his office, staring at the mug shot and police record of said man. He raised his eyes to look at the unnaturally subdued sentinel, well, subdued after last night's frantic worry.

Seated on the windowsill, Jim peered out the glass, not meeting Simon's eyes as he spoke. "I had seen him, and then had an artist's rendering run through the Feds database and it spit out a name."

Simon read from the file. "Hettinger . . . international weapons trafficking, known to have contact with South American drug lords Carlos Arguillo, Zaqua Caesaro . . . And you saw this man with Alex Barnes?"

Jim's reply was matter of fact. "Yeah, at her apartment."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Simon glared at his friend.

The detective avoided answering the question. "Simon, this guy is known to have traveled to Sierra Verde twice in the last three months. Now, Arguillo operates out of the same region. I think that's where we're going to find Alex and the nerve toxin."

"And Sandburg?"

Again the sentinel skirted around the question. "My senses are doing weird things, Simon. I'm . . . seeing things . . ." He finally met his superior's eyes, trying to convey with a look what he couldn't verbalize.

Simon blinked in astonishment. "You got all this from a vision?"

"Yeah, I got a clear mental image of her talking to him." He gestured at the file in Simon's hands. "Then I saw a beach . . ."

"A beach in Sierra Verde?" Simon's tone was sarcastic.

Jim turned haunted eyes to his friend. "That's exactly what I'm saying, Simon. And there's more."

"What do you mean, there's more?" And do I really want to know?

Sighing, Jim looked back out at the steadily pouring rain. He finally said, "I saw Alex . . . and Blair."

"That's great news, Jim! That means he's alive!" Setting the file down on the table, he approached the other man, who should have been more excited by the news. "Okay, what is it you're not telling me?"

Jim pressed his palm to the cold glass, and his next words were almost a whisper. "He's working with her, Simon."

Stunned, unable to find any words to comfort his friend, Simon simply laid a hand on his shoulder and hoped that would be enough.

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