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##Blair aimed the pistol, hands steady, eyes bright. "You don't deserve to live." His voice was a snarl, barely recognizable, even to himself. "For touching him, hurting him, I sentence you to death."
The panicked suspect was on the ground, hands raised to defend himself. "No, you can't! You're a cop!"
"Sorry, but I don't carry a badge." Blair aimed low, fired and watched his victim jerk and scream as his right kneecap blew apart. His lips pulled back in a vicious grin. "Did that hurt?" Blair chuckled. "I haven't even got started."
The man grabbed his leg. "No, don't! I'm sorry. I'll confess!, I'll spend the rest of my life in jail! Just don't shoot me again!"
"I don't believe you. You and your slime ball attorney will plea bargain what you did down to assault." Blair changed his aim, fired again and saw the other kneecap disintegrate. "I'm not that easy."
The large black man fell against the ground, howling in pain, begging now, tears flowing down his face. "I'm sorry, sorry. Please, forgive me!"
"Nope. Why don't you ask Jim?"
"Please, Jim. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me." He looked over at the detective who was lying on the ground, bleeding from multiple stab wounds, eyes black, blood pouring from his nose. The big cop's eyes were closed. "I'm sorry. I'll never meant to hurt you. Please, stop him."
"Sorry, he can't hear you. Maybe God will." And Blair calmly centered the pistol on the man's chest and pulled the trigger.##
The explosion of the gun jerked Blair from his sleep and he bolted upright. His hand was still in front of him, hand still gripping an imaginary gun, finger still on the trigger. He could almost smell the gunpowder.
The dream was playing in his mind, and he dropped his head into his hands, groaning. **Oh, my God! What have I done?**
"Blair? What's wrong?" The voice was sleep rough and the warm body next to his rolled over and pulled him down into the muscular arms. "You're sweating." The big hands slid around him, one hand coming to rest in the tangled curls. "What's wrong? Bad dream?" Jim blinked, finally focusing on his partner.
"Sssh. It's just a dream. Go back to sleep." Blair tried whispering to the warm face so close to his, knowing that Jim wasn't entirely awake. But his heart was thudding in his chest and he knew that Jim would focus on it any second now and really wake up if he didn't get himself under control.
Jim stirred, senses opening to his partner's distress. The painful breathing and pounding heart were like a shot of adrenaline and he was aware, all senses on red alert for the danger that threatened his mate. Eyes wide open he scanned the bedroom then settled on the smaller man that was lying on his back, eyes focused on the ceiling.
"Tell me." The Sentinel was on duty.
"Just a dream, Jim. Go back to sleep." Blair made a big deal of taking several deep breaths, mentally telling his body to calm down. His eyes found the shadow that was his partner, knowing that Jim's eyes were fully dilated in the dim light from the streets outside. "I'm okay, lover."
Jim settled back down, pulled the unresisting body into his arms, snuggled his nose into the dark hair. "Tell me anyway." he whispered.
"Somebody hurt you. I killed him. End of story."
"Details, Chief. You don't react like that to a run-of-the-mill dream."
Blair tried to make his voice light, even though he was horrified by the actions that his subconscious carried out. "You'd been stabbed. I shot him, three times."
"Sorry, babe. I know you don't like guns." Jim's hands were in his hair again, rubbing small circles through the tangles. "But I never doubted that you would protect me if you had to."
"Jim, I murdered him. He was begging me and I said no. I shot both knees out from under him, then point blank in the chest." Blair pulled away from the arms that wanted to comfort him. "What kind of monster does that make me, that I could torment someone, then kill in cold blood?"
Jim pulled him back, snuggled the younger man onto his chest. "Off hand, I'd say it makes you human. Your dreams were acting out your reactions to me being injured. But you don't have it in you to kill. I know that, you know that." His hands slid up and down the slender back, fingertips tracing each bone in the spine. "It was just a dream."
"But suppose I really would kill like that?"
"Blair." Jim sighed, rolled them both over on their sides, took the sad face into his hands. "If it was justified, if it was to defend me, or yourself, I have no doubt that you could kill. But only in extreme circumstances. And you would never murder, never."
"How do you know?" Blair's voice was very small against the firm chest of his friend.
"Because, you're Blair. A teacher, a guide, a Shaman. All of those things are positive, life giving, life loving things." His hands stroked down the lean sides, fingers threatening to tickle for a second. "I'm a warrior, you're a teacher. The two distinctions go back to the beginning of time. How many times have we seen that since we've been together?"
"Inchaca was a warrior."
"Inchaca was a teacher first and always. I never saw him kill, except to feed the tribe. I'm sure if the tribe needed defending and he had to pick up a weapon, he would. And he would also be the first to lay it down once the tribe was safe."
"Wish I'd known him better."
"He recognized your soul as a kindred spirit the instant he saw you. If he'd had a chance, he would have talked your ear off." Jim chuckled in the darkness. "I would have liked to have seen that." Jim's hands continued stroking the velvet skin until he felt Blair grow heavy against him and a soft snore drifted from the face pressed against his chest. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him. The Sentinel was not needed right now.
Blair dreamed.
##It was a jungle, hot and steamy, insects buzzing through the humid
air, sun beams filtering through the tall trees. Blair sat on a moss
covered log, looking around at the ruins of an ancient temple. Inchaca
stepped from the broken stone doorway. He motioned for Blair to follow
him then
disappeared into a vine covered trail. Blair lurched to his feet, running
to keep the Chopec Shaman in sight.
When Blair thought he would drop from exhaustion, Inchaca stopped. He waited for the younger man to catch up, then pointed.
They were on a hill, overlooking a camp that was too small for a village. The camp had been destroyed, temporary shelters burned or trampled, bodies draped around the remains of campfires, spears protruding from some, arrows from others. A small band of warriors, maybe 10 at the most, held a captive at spear point. The captive wore different face and body paint and was probably only a teenager.
"What's happening?"
"He was an advance scout and led the warriors to the camp. Now he is the only survivor and is responsible for the slaughter of the camp. Young one, do you let him go? He is one person, he is helpless."
"If you let him go, will he return to his tribe, warn the remaining warriors?"
"If he survives the jungle."
Blair looked at the scene that was playing out before him. He knew that Inchaca was trying to teach him something important. "Does the tribe have the resources to keep a prisoner?"
"No. His hungry mouth will take food from a child."
"There are different rules for a war, for spies."
"What about compassion? He is young, doing what he believes in. He has committed no crime, only his tribe has chosen to fight. To keep his place in the tribe, he must obey the chief."
"What are the chances that he could survive the jungle alone?"
"Would you risk the tribe on a chance that a threat will survive to return with the enemy?" The shaman studied the young man with weary, wise eyes. "Would you offer such council to your Sentinel?"
"Could he be brought into the tribe, be convinced to live with them, work with them, become a member of the tribe?"
"Perhaps. But he would have to be guarded and watched for a long time. He would have to prove his commitment to his new tribe many times over and there would always be the worry that he may slip away and return to the enemy, with more knowledge than before."
Blair watched the drama before him. The captive was tied, forced to his knees. His screams were loud in the early morning silence. Blair could not understand the language, but the terror translated clearly.
"What are you going to do?"
"It is not my decision. Watch, young one. And remember, that sometimes there are no answers to questions that wake you in the night. You must trust in yourself, in your beliefs, in your Sentinel and his spirit guide. Your tribe is different from this one, the answers are harder, more complex. The problems are different, the danger, more subtle. But it is real, and sometimes, a decision made in haste and anger will color all future decisions."
The Chopec Shaman fell silent. The two men watched as a tall figure stepped from the jungle, followed softly by someone smaller. Blair knew that this man was this tribe's Sentinel; his stance and carriage spoke of great power. The smaller man stayed in the Sentinel's shadow, only stepping out when he was spoken to. He leaned against a slender spear, listened to the story of the battle that had taken place, the impassioned pleas from the captive. The Guide spoke softly, his voice not heard in the silence surrounding him. Blair knew that he was speaking to the Sentinel, for his ears only. Sandburg often spoke as softly to his Sentinel, words for him only. The Sentinel nodded, spoke to the warriors.
They pulled their captive to his feet, pushed him forward. He staggered a few steps, then turned to look at the Sentinel. The Sentinel spoke louder.
"What did he say?"
"He has offered the captive a choice. He can accompany the warriors to the village and face the judgment of the tribal council. Or he can take his chances and try to escape, knowing that the warriors will pursue." Inchaca fell silent as they watched as the teenager was pushed toward a path that would lead the group back to the village. The Sentinel watched, his guide standing at his side. Then they faded back into the trees.
The captive took several steps away from the warriors that were following him, then made a dash off the path into the jungle. War whoops and yells broke out, followed by a scream.
Blair flinched and the shaman looked at him, eyes sad.
"The boy chose his destiny, his course of action. His death is the result."
"You can only be responsible for your own decisions in life, good or bad."
"Exactly. Your Sentinel chose to be a sentinel. You became a Shaman with my death. It was a choice that was forced on you, but you have dealt with it. Now you are accepting it, and your dreams show you the power you have over other lives. Never abuse that power. Your Sentinel must always trust your decisions, and never consider the motive behind them. This is especially true in battle. He must not be distracted with your self-doubts."
Blair sighed. "I'm so afraid sometimes. What happens if I can't protect him?"
"A Shaman teaches, and protects. Sometimes, he must step aside and let the Sentinel decide for himself what path he takes. When the Sentinel takes the wrong path, the Shaman must show him his errors. For the good of the tribe, the Shaman must be strong. Sometimes a Shaman's spirit must be stronger than the Sentinel's."
"And when the Sentinel takes the right path?"
"Then the Shaman will stand with him, sometimes in the shadows, guiding his decisions, other times, in front of him, protecting from those who do not understand the role he plays."
"I have so much to learn."
"Yes, young one. But you are learning. Your Sentinel was strong before you found him, before I found him. But now he is stronger, and his greatest strength is you. Always remember that."##
Blair rolled over and stretched. The warm body next to him didn't move and he took the time to study the sculptured form in an unguarded moment. Jim slept mostly on his back, one hand tucked under his pillow, and usually the other curled around his partner. The hand tucked under the pillow was only inches from the gun that lived there, loaded and safed. Blair had seen that gun in his lover's hand, aiming and ready to fire before Jim's eyes were fully open. Fortunately, circumstances seemed to have settled down since they had recognized what they were to each other and the gun remained under the pillow more as a precaution than a necessity.
The comforter had slipped below Jim's chest and Blair's eyes traced the hard muscles that were so well defined. He let one finger trace across the planes, barely touching the nipples that reacted to the slight touch, hardening immediately, demanding that they be kissed. Blair obliged, lips gently sucking, teeth nipping, tongue tickling. The sleeping body moved, and one arm came around his back, pulling him closer.
"Morning," Jim whispered, eyes still shut, enjoying the sensations coursing up his nerves.
Blair slid up the hard body, raining kisses, nips and licks along the long collarbone, up the neck, under the stubbled chin, finally settling on the waiting lips for a long kiss. He pulled away when he ran out of air.
"Morning. lover mine." He went back to his kisses, covering closed eyes, nose, probing ears, nipping earlobes.
"If you keep that up, we'll be late for whatever we're supposed to be doing."
"It's Saturday. I don't have anything going at the University and you don't have to be at the station-" he peered at the clock on the nightstand, "for another three hours."
"Good. Prepare to be ravished." Crystal blue eyes popped open, followed with a lusty grin.
"I love it when you talk dirty."
Jim rolled his young lover on his back and settled his larger weight on top of Blair, locking their mouths together. Their tongues danced against each other until Jim pulled away and looked down at the flushed face. Then he licked down the slender neck until he found the Adam's apple and sucked gently. Blair groaned, arched his neck at the sensation, hands gripping Jim's back, nails raking gently. Jim pulled back, looked at the strawberry mark he'd left behind.
"I marked you." Jim grinned, kissed the jeweled ear.
"Oh, well. Guess I'll have to return the favor." Blair chuckled, remembering the last time Jim had shown up at the station sporting a love bite. Simon had groaned, then walked away, shaking his head. Henri had given Blair a thumbs up. Jim's kisses brought his attention back to what his partner was doing to his chest, warm wet tongue sliding over his thick chest hair, swirling it around his nipples. "What have you got in mind, lover?"
Jim looked up from the nipple he'd been torturing, blew a stream of cool air across the wet skin, then grinned at his pinned bedmate. "Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that." One hand slid between them, found Blair's erection and stroked upward with a single finger. "You're happy to see me this morning."
Blair gasped, pulled air between clenched teeth, then moaned. "Jim, you have no idea."
"Really? Then I guess I'll have to find out." Jim slid further down the slender body, wet tongue tasting as he went.
Blair arched into the wet touch when it finally settled on his rigid shaft. "Jim!"
Jim stretched, finishing his morning run leaning against the wall of the garage and doing a cool down. He hated running, but it was one of the things he did to stay in shape, like lifting weights and practicing hand-to- hand combat. Funny, it was easier to run now that he always envisioned the panther at his side. Some days the big cat loafed along beside him, other days it chased him, demanding that he push harder, stretch out his stride and run. On days like that, the pavement under his feet disappeared and he was running through a jungle, feet flying over the soft earth. It was the closest to flying he'd come except for free-fall.
He trotted up the stairs, looking forward to a shower and a quick breakfast before going into the station and catching up on a pile of reports. He'd promised Simon that he would give the police captain a few hours today, in return for a long weekend in two weeks. He was looking forward to a camping trip, high in the mountains with a stream nearby for a little fishing and no interruptions.
The music wasn't very loud as he charged through the door and bacon and biscuit smells filled the loft. Blair was at the stove-top, pouring him a cup of coffee, handing it to him as he made for the s33hower, no words needed. Ten minutes later he swooped his lover into a kiss, setting the empty mug on the table so he had both arms to snuggle Blair to his damp chest.
"I take it you had a good run." Blair pushed away, breathless from the kiss, feeling large hands on his boxer covered ass.
"Uh huh. Didn't even get chased by a dog."
"That's good." He looked up into the sparkling ice blue eyes. "I promise, I'll get into the physical stuff before too long, as long as you don't pretend I'm in the Army."
"I won't. I just wish you'd join me occasionally. You might find that you enjoy it." Jim kissed his partner again, then dashed up the stairs to dress.
Ten minutes later he was back again, in worn jeans and sweater. Blair was nestled on the couch, laptop on the coffee table, glasses on his nose as he worked. He'd promised Jim two chapters on his dissertation before the end of the weekend. He had everything indexed and organized, all he needed now was to write.
Jim reached over, ruffled the dark curls and dropped a quick kiss on the bowed head. "See ya in about three hours. Then we'll grab some lunch and maybe catch a movie. How's that sound?"
"Sounds like I'd better start typing. Love you."
"You too, Chief." Jim grabbed two biscuits filled with bacon and folded egg, took his keys out of the basket, pulled his jacket off the hook and was gone.
Jim looked up at the computer screen, shook his head at the gibberish that he'd typed in and deleted everything. His fingers were definitely thinking it was Saturday and were on strike. Weren't they supposed to type without any guidance from his brain? Time for a break. He leaned back, stretched his back against his chair, arms high over his head. The bones in his spine cracked, echoing in the quiet bullpen. The room was deserted, the other detectives either off for Saturday, or out on the streets. The silence was nice and Jim let his hearing expand for a moment, taking the time to let the control he usually maintained in a crowded room slip away. The building noises filtered through; steam in the pipes, water running, humming lights, fans, a few voices scattered in other offices, the elevator.
He zoomed in on the sound of the elevator as the car rose up the shaft. After a moment, he identified the heartbeat that almost echoed in the empty car. Simon. What was he doing here? The doors opened and the big black man emerged, sweat soaked workout clothes glued to his skin. Jim watched as his boss flopped down at his desk, still breathing fast.
"Didn't expect to see you today, Simon. Besides the obvious, what brings you in?"
"The obvious. I knew you were up here working and I was wondering if you'd like to take a break and maybe go down to the range. I need to brush up on my marksmanship."
"Oh, that's right. The Gangster Alley contest is coming up next week. How many points does Major Crimes have to score to hang on to the trophy from last year?"
"Probably at least 700 out of a 1000. I heard that Vice has been putting together a top team and been out on the range everyday for the last month."
"Sounds serious." Jim started shutting down his computer. A hour on the range would wake him up again.
"Yeah, well if you hadn't blown everybody away last year with a perfect score, we wouldn't be sweating it this year."
"That wasn't my fault, Simon. You said we needed it, so I gave it to you." He went to get his jacket, followed by his captain.
"I wasn't expecting Sandburg to be with you. I never realized the edge he gave you with your senses. Didn't seem all that fair." Simon snorted with a grin, eyes twinkling at the memory. The kid had glued himself to Ellison's back, staying low and out of the way. But with him there, Jim had let his senses have free range, knowing that his Guide would pull him out of any difficulty. They'd finished the course in record setting time, with no errors.
"Are you suggesting that he stay out of it this year?" Jim pushed the button for the elevator.
"Can you do as well without him?"
Jim shrugged, stepped into the car. "I've had a lot more practice, and I'm a lot more focused. Why don't we run the gauntlet at speed and see how I do? If I zone out on it, I'll run it again with Blair and see how I do."
The elevator door closed on the two cops.
The phone rang, startling Blair from his concentration. "Yeah." He glanced up at the clock. Three hours had passed without him being aware of it.
"Hey Chief. How's it going?"
"Great, Jim." He leaned back against the couch, dropped his head on the back of the cushions and stretched his neck, one hand pulling his glasses off his face and dropping them on the coffee table. "How's the paperwork load?"
"I surrendered without a shot fired. Simon showed up and dragged me out to the firing range. Gangster's Alley is next week."
"How'd you do?"
"Good. Feel like running it with me? Simon needs to defend Major Crimes' record."
"Ask Simon what's in it for me." Blair was already moving across the room, reaching for shoes and keys. He listened as Jim relayed the message and Simon's growled answer.
"He says if I score 100 on the first try, he'll buy us dinner at the restaurant of our choice."
"Tell him he's on. I'm on my way." Blair hung up the phone and locked the door behind him on his way out.
Gangster's Alley was a firing range set up like a city street. Fake buildings and store fronts, cars and streetlights gave it a semblance of a busy street. The idea was for the cop to walk the street and shoot the bad guys that jumped out, without touching a pedestrian. The simulation was computer controlled with one of a hundred scenarios programmed in. The bad guys could pop up from behind a car, in a doorway, holding a hostage or a gun. The cop's job was to instantly determine who was the target and take the bad guy out. With the addition of a computer controlling the scenario, the targets moved, shouted, fired blanks, started smoky fires, whatever that could be imagined in a real life firefight. Sometimes a car would explode, or a dog would charge the cop, or a sniper would pop up on the roof.
During Cascade Police Department's annual contest, the programmers spent days adding to the scenarios, changing the layout of the streets, making it harder and more complex for the cop who was trying to find the bad guys. Each division within the department competed for bragging rights for the best marksman, a trophy and the right to defend their division the following year. The only rule; if you hit a pedestrian, you were instantly disqualified. A cop never harmed a civilian while pursuing a bad guy. At least that was the theory.
Sandburg slammed the door on his Volvo, glancing around for Jim and Simon as he shrugged into his jacket. On his way to the range he was running all types of tests in his head, tying Jim's Sentinel abilities into the game they were about to play. Last year, there had only been three detective teams in the competition, which was how Simon justified his presence. As far as he knew, the rules were the same this year. But in case the rules changed, he needed a way to stay in touch with the Sentinel and still not be in the area. He carried tiny receivers in one pocket, clip on mikes in another, along with small binoculars. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the idea of being perched on a rooftop, observing his friend as he made his way through the course. After Jim won them dinner, of course. He found his lover and captain on the hood of Jim's truck, stretched out in the sun, eyes closed.
Before Blair spoke, Jim turned his head and opened one eye. "Hi." He held his finger to his lips, pointed at Simon.
"Hi, yourself." Blair whispered, leaning over to kiss the larger man quickly, before catching him as he slid off the truck and into his arms. Jim swept him into a hug, kissing him soundly. Together they turned to wake the police captain.
"I'm awake." Simon grumbled. "I was just waiting until you stopped making kissy faces at each other." Simon slid off the truck and started off to the control room that handled the hardware for Gangster's Alley.
A hour and a half later and completely exhausted, Jim and Blair sprawled on the ground next to the Volvo and waited for Simon to shut down the simulation. Blair sported a large scrape along the right cheek, the knees on Jim's jeans were destroyed and the right one was tinged with blood from pavement burn. Jim looked at the position of the sun and groaned as he sat up.
"I wasn't planning on spending my day this way." He looked at his jeans in disgust and tried knocking the worst of the dust off his shirt. "What possessed Simon to want me to try the last 100 yards blindfolded?"
Blair blushed, then rolled to his knees. Jim saw the expression on his partner's face, grabbed the nearest arm and pulled the younger man against him.
"You didn't?" Blair ducked his head and Jim heard the hearbeat speed up. "Chief, that was totally uncalled for."
"I thought it was a good idea. When was the last time you were completely in the dark during a bust? It made you stretch out your hearing and find Simon as he tried to ambush you."
"Well, at least we weren't shooting at each other." He cuffed the dark curls with a blow that didn't touch, then latched his fingers into the long hair and shook the bowed head. "But next time, tell me your idea. I might go along with it."
"I doubt it." Blair looked up and read the planed face, realized that Jim wasn't too upset at being set up. "You hate my tests. So sometimes the only way that I can think of to make you stretch your senses is to play your games against you. You gotta admit, Simon was impressed."
"Until he caught on that I was using my hearing. That clanging trash can lid hurt."
"And just re-emphasized how important it is that I be there to back you up. Someone could get the drop on you while you're trying to recover from an overload."
"Which is what Simon did. He wasn't expecting me to smell him coming and anticipate his move though."
"And that proves that even with one sense overloaded, another one can function enough to hopefully get you out of trouble. Unless you zone out on the one that's overloaded."
"You owe me a pair of jeans, Chief. And Simon will demand something for that ratty sweatshirt that I ripped up."
"Cheap lesson, man." Blair settled against the sweaty chest that held him and offered his face for a kiss, which Jim gladly gave.
Simon's growl from across the parking lot didn't interrupt the embrace. "You know, I should keep a bucket of water around for you two."
"You're just jealous." Blair mumbled as he came up for air. "And I'm hungry."
Jim let the younger man go, climbed to his feet and pulled Blair up next to him. "You promised us dinner, Simon. What do you think, Chief, seafood or Italian?"
"Lobster."
"Lobster it is. Simon, my Guide wants lobster. Think you can handle that?"
Simon groaned again. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. He wandered past his detective, to his car and pulled out his cell phone. He asked the operator for a phone number, made a call and hung up. Then he rejoined his detective leaning on Sandburg's car.
"6 pm, Whale's Tail, on the waterfront. Reservations are in my name. Can I go get cleaned up now?" He made a dramatic effort at being a tired old man, holding his back and rubbing his neck.
"All right!" Blair pumped his fist in the air. "I haven't been in there in years."
"Well, don't get used to it, Junior. My wallet can't afford it." Jim pushed away from the Volvo. He brushed a kiss against the sweaty ponytail of his partner and headed for his truck calling over his shoulder. "See you at home."
Simon and Blair watched him go. "He doesn't believe in 'thank yous', does he?" The police captain mumbled.
Blair shrugged. "You get used to it. I don't think it's because he means to forget to say it, it just never enters his mind. I wonder if Stephen is the same way?"
"I doubt it. The few times I've talked to him, he strikes me as the professional business man, always minding his 'p's and 'q's." The police captain tapped Blair on the shoulder. "See you at six." Then he ambled toward his Taurus.
Dinner had been superb. The 'Whale's Tail' overlooked one of the harbors and its menu contained every seafood dish that could be concocted. The three men lingered over their meal, enjoying after dinner drinks and coffee, before finally giving up and paying the bill. Simon settled the bill and then found his detective and partner on the boardwalk leading down to the harbor. They were leaning on the handrails, watching the reflections of the city lights in the water.
"What do you hear?" Blair was whispering to his lover as the police captain joined them. He had slipped his arm through Jim' s and was leaning his head on the taller man's shoulder.
Jim tipped his head as he often did when he was concentrating. "Besides the obvious? Water lapping against hulls, pumps kicking on and off, small generators, singing, talking, a woman screaming."
Blair grabbed the arm he'd been leaning against. "Jim, a woman screaming? Where? How far?"
Jim seemed to shake himself, then his eyes dilated in the dim light. "Come on!" He charged along the boardwalk until he found a ramp that led them down to the floating docks. Blair followed closely, Simon yelling at them as he tried to catch up, completely in the dark as to why they were running down the docks between some of the most expensive yachts berthed in Cascade.
They were close enough now for Blair to hear the screams that were mixed with pleas for mercy. Jim was a missile, totally focused on his target as he pounded down the concrete floats, dodging bowspits, anchors and piles of gear stacked in front of various vessels. His long legs out distanced Sandburg quickly. Blair shook his head at his partner, as he raced behind him, just trying to keep Jim in sight. Jim was in dress clothes, his backup weapon secured on his ankle, but useless unless he stopped to retrieve it. He was sure that that little fact had slipped the detective's mind completely.
Jim dashed up the gang-plank on a large motor yacht, Sandburg 50 feet behind him. He paused, waiting for Simon to see where they were before following Jim up the stairs, ignoring the open water that the narrow ladder spanned. Another shriek split the air and lights came on in the neighboring yachts.
"POLICE! FREEZE!" Jim's bellow echoed over the deck and Sandburg was barely on deck before he saw his partner in the pilothouse, mid-flight in a flying tackle, aimed at a huge dark man holding a dripping knife. They disappeared behind an overturned couch.
The woman that had been screaming was crumpled on the carpet, blood pouring from her nose, and cuts on her arms and hands. She was trying to push herself away from the two men that were bouncing from one end of the plushly decorated room to another. Sandburg was at her side, pulling her out of harms way. He could hear Simon on the stairs behind him.
Sandburg handed the injured woman off to Simon as soon as the police captain cleared the door. His eyes were intent on his partner. Jim was on the floor, the assailant wailing away with both fists, one still containing what looked like a butcher's knife. One of Jim's coat sleeves was already ripped, the tan fabric dark with blood. Jim was on the defensive, trying to shake the knife free, at the same time trying to get his feet under him enough to kick the man away from him. Blair looked frantically around him for a weapon, then froze.
It was his dream!
He shook off the realization. Jim was on the floor, a man with a knife on top of him. He had to do something! There had to be something he could use to help his partner. Something he could throw, bludgeon with, distract with, anything! The decision was taken out of his hands when Simon lunged forward and tackled Jim's assailant, adding his considerable bulk to the struggle and finally subdued the knife-welding man.
The silence that seemed to surround them was broken. Somebody must have called the cops because approaching sirens filled the air and people were gathering at the bottom of stairs leading to the yacht's upper decks.
The injured woman was conscious, sobbing, as she lay where Simon had propped her. He knelt next to her. "Shh, shh, it's all right. We're the police. It's over." Blair's eyes were still on his partner, who was rolling to his feet, one hand holding his bleeding arm. "Jim, you okay?"
Ellison groaned at the pain in his arm, at the blazer that was destroyed and at the bruises that covered his torso. "Yeah, Chief. I'm okay. Simon?"
Simon was sitting on the assailant. Neither cop was carrying handcuffs and Simon was pulling off his tie, using it to tie the man's hands behind his back. He growled at Ellison and Sandburg. "How come nothing can be simple with you two? Can't even go out to dinner without getting into something."
"Just karma, man." Blair was peeling the ruined jacket off his partner, frowning at the sleeve of the black turtleneck that was soaked in blood. "You're bleeding pretty badly. I think you'd better sit down while I take a look at it. Simon, can you find me a towel or something?: He had his hands under his partner's elbows, easing him down on the floor, next to the woman, who seemed to be looking at her rescuers in shock.
Before Simon could return with a towel from the closest head, cops with drawn guns were charging up the gangplank, demanding nobody move and explanations. Blair was busy with his injured partner and ignored the milling uniforms as Simon tried to explain what they had stumbled into and climbed off the assailant.
Jim hissed as Blair tore the bloody sleeve off of the muscular arm and revealed the slashed bicep. Voices rumbled around him and he tuned them all out except for the soothing words of his partner.
"It's okay, Jim. Turn it down a little while I clean this up." Blair accepted the towel that was handed over his shoulder and ripped it in half, using part of it as a pad and tying the remainder as a bandage. "It's going to need a few stitches, but it's not too bad." Sandburg lifted his focus from his lover and glanced around him.
The cops were hustling the assailant out of the yacht and down the gangplank. A paramedic was beside the injured woman, placing gauze on a few of the cuts and talking to her softly. Simon was talking to another uniform who was writing furiously in his notebook. He turned back to his partner.
"Think you can make it on your own to the truck? Or do you want to ride in with the paramedics?"
"I'm not an invalid, Chief. Just help me up." Jim offered his good arm and Blair tugged the cop to his feet. Jim wobbled for a second and Blair held onto him until he was steady. Jim acknowledged the concern in his partner's eyes and nodded that he was okay.
"Simon, I'm taking Jim down to the ER to have his arm looked after." Blair turned to the police captain, briefly getting the big man's attention before he followed his friend out of the yacht. Simon waved him on, still occupied with the uniform that was taking his statement.
Jim handed his partner the keys to his truck as they walked across the hospital parking lot. Six stitches and a sling to support Jim's arm had cost them two more hours and it was after midnight when the tired pair finally left the Emergency Room. The woman had been brought in, patched up and then admitted for observation. Simon had shown up, checked on them briefly and then left for home. Everyone agreed that paperwork could wait until sometime tomorrow. The assailant was in jail, the victim in the hospital and the only injuries to the three friends had been superficial.
Blair unlocked the truck and made sure that Jim was safely in the passenger seat, stealing a kiss from the big cop before closing the door. He hurried around to the driver's side and got in. He fired the big V8, then hazarded a glance at his partner.
"So much for a quiet Saturday."
"I was thinking the same thing." Jim leaned his head back against the rear window. "And Simon will probably want us in there tomorrow to fill out our version of the assault report and also to add assaulting a cop to the guy's charges."
"So there goes Sunday."
"Not all of it, Chief. Why don't we sleep late, have brunch at a nice restaurant somewhere, do the paperwork then take a long drive into the mountains, without the cell phone."
"Sounds like a plan." Blair put the truck in gear and they rolled out onto the almost deserted city street.
The End