"Small favors," Jim muttered.

  Behind him, he heard the sound of soft footsteps. Blair stepped up beside him, standing so close that their arms touched briefly.

  "You okay?" Sandburg whispered.

  Jim looked down at the smaller man beside him. Blair had not bothered to put on his robe. Instead, he stood in his T-shirt and sweatpants, his arms wrapped around himself for warmth. His hair, mussed up from sleep, stuck out at odd angles. He reached up and tucked it behind his ears.

  He looked so young to Jim standing beside him in the darkness, staring up at him with his wide, blue eyes.

  "I'm fine, Chief," he managed, his throat tight.

  "Nothing happened, did it? No one called about Simon?"

  "No, Chief. No one called. Simon's fine."

  "Then what... " But his words trailed off as his gaze fell on the evidence bag Jim still held. Reaching out, he took the note from Jim's hand. He stood for several moments, just staring at it. Then slowly, he began to trace the lettering, his fingers trembling slightly.

  "You know you're next." It was not a question but a statement of fact. Something they both knew the moment Simon was taken. A fact neither of them had spoken of aloud... until now.

  Blair shuddered visibly. "Yes," he breathed. "I know."

  Jim put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Chief."

  Blair looked up at him, his gaze intense. "Jim," he began, his voice low, almost inaudible in the stillness of the loft. "No matter what happens, it won't be your fault."

  "Don't go there, Chief. Nothing is going to happen to you."

  "I know all these years later, you still blame yourself for what happened to Brody. I don't want you to blame yourself over me."

  Jim squeezed his shoulder. "I couldn't save Brody but I'll be damned if I'm going to let Quinn get anywhere near you. I promise, Blair. Quinn will not touch you."

  /

  /

  As Jim steered his truck toward the hospital, he tried to suppress a yawn. They had only spent a short amount of time talking last night before each of them retreated to his respective room. They needed to remain alert, Jim had said as he watched Blair disappear beyond the French doors. But despite his words and his belief in them, Jim had lain awake until just before dawn, when he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

  Now as he glanced at his partner in the passenger seat beside him, he couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes. He wondered if Blair had gotten even less sleep than he had. "You're awfully quiet this morning, Chief."

  "Just thinking."

  "About Quinn?" he asked when Blair didn't continue.

  "What else is there?" he muttered.

  Jim's jaw tightened. He hated this. Hated that Quinn had been able to infect their life so completely. To take away their sense of security and peace. "I meant what I said last night, Blair. He's not going to get anywhere near you."

  "That's not what I'm thinking about," Blair said, his brow furrowed. "It occurred to me this morning that Quinn could be setting us up here."

  "Setting us up how?"

  "He's made us believe that I'm his next target. What if I'm not a target at all? What if it's just you and he's trying to throw you off by threatening me? Make you think it's me so you let your guard down."

  "Believe me, Chief, my guard is up and it's staying up."

  "Good. That's good, Jim. But I want you to know that as much as you'll be watching my back... I'll be watching yours too."

  Jim slanted a glance at his partner. "So how is that different from any other day, Sandburg?"

  Blair smiled. "You know what I mean."

  "Yeah, I do, Chief. But listen, the only way Quinn could get near either one of us is if we separated, and that's not going to happen."

  Blair nodded, his expression turning suddenly serious. "So this 'not separating' thing, Jim? Does that include the hospital cafeteria?"

  Jim reached out and cuffed him on the side of the head. "Don't give me a hard time, Junior. We're going to check on Simon and then go grab some breakfast in the cafeteria. It's convenient."

  "Yeah, convenient that we can check in after we finish eating."

  Jim chuckled. "Don't worry, Chief. I'm sure they'll have bagels."

  "Stale bagels," he grumbled. "Just stop at a donut shop on the way. I'll run in and run out in two seconds. Get some nice fresh bagels."

  "We're not stopping."

  Blair rolled his eyes. "You are the only person I know who likes hospital food."

  "Sandburg, you should trust my sentinel senses. I have more enhanced taste buds than you do. If I say it's good..." His words died in his throat as his gaze locked on the rearview mirror. Simon's car was behind them. "I'll be damned," he muttered, his grip increasing on the wheel.

  "What is it?" Blair asked.

  "Quinn," he ground out. "He's behind us."

  Instantly, Blair's heart rate doubled. "What!" Even as he turned to look, Quinn sped up until he was driving beside them.

  "Hey, Sandburg!" Quinn yelled out the open passenger window. "You need a ride?" His cackling laughter trailed off as he raced past them.

  Jim pushed the accelerator to the floor, matching Quinn's speed. "Hang on, Chief!" He steered the truck through the streets of Cascade, easily able to keep Quinn in sight. "Call it in, Sandburg. See if we can get some black and whites out here."

  But Blair never got the chance to make the call. As Jim swerved around the next corner, he saw Quinn's car jump a curb and smash into the side of an old apartment building. Jim slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt even as Quinn pushed out his door and stumbled inside.

  Jim shoved open his door and headed toward the apartment building. "Stay with me, Sandburg!"

  "I'm right on your heels, man."

  Jim reached the lobby and skidded to a halt. The place was rundown, the lobby deserted, the floor covered with debris. Smells assaulted him--mold, rotting wood, urine. He coughed, choking on the rancid odors.

  "Turn it down, man." Blair's hand found a place in the center of his back, anchoring him, giving him a focus. "Turn down your sense of smell. Concentrate on hearing."

  Jim nodded, doing as his guide instructed. Within seconds, he regained control. Cocking his head left then right, he strained to hear.... yes, there it was... pounding footsteps, panting breath.

  "This way, Chief!" He ran to the stairwell, slammed through the door and started up the steps, Blair right behind him. As they pounded up flight after flight, the echoing sound within the stairwell pulsed through Jim's mind, each heavy footfall playing over and over until Jim wasn't sure which were his, which were Quinn's, which were Blair's. The sound just went on and on. Jim dialed back his sense of hearing as the noise threatened to overwhelm him.

  Finally, another sound reached him as a door opened and closed above. "He's on the roof," Jim panted. Seconds later, they reached the door to the roof. He looked back at Blair. His partner stood behind him, panting heavily from the hard run, beads of sweat standing out on his brow. "I'm going through first. Wait ten seconds and follow."

  Blair nodded, still struggling to catch his breath.

  "Ten seconds, Chief. No longer."

  "I got it, Jim."

  Jim pulled his weapon and slammed through the door, scanning the area. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure disappearing around the corner of the building next door.

  Dammit!

  Quinn had jumped the short distance between this building and the one right next to it and now he was getting away. The gap was two feet, maybe less. An easy jump. Jim glanced over his shoulder as Blair came through the door behind him.

  "Come on, Chief." Jim tucked his weapon into its holster, ran to the edge of the building and jumped the short distance between them. He landed hard, letting out a soft grunt, but managed to remain upright. He'd taken three steps more when he realized Blair was no longer behind him. In that same instant, his mind registered the sound of two heartbeats coming from the rooftop he'd just left. Both of them were racing. In one fluent motion, he pulled his weapon and spun back toward the other building.

  Quinn stood with Blair, his guide's left arm twisted behind his back, pulled painfully high. Quinn held a gun to his right temple. "Did you forget about his fear of heights?" he taunted. "I didn't. I counted on it. I counted on that hesitation. Knew even if it was just a few seconds, it would be long enough for me to make my move."

  Jim's grip increased on his weapon. "Let him go, Quinn."

  Quinn leered at him. "You think I went to all this trouble just to let him go once I caught him?"

  Jim repositioned his weapon so it was clearly aimed at Quinn's head. "Let him go or I drop you."

  "And I drop him." The weapon at Blair's temple pressed harder, making the grad student flinch.

  "Neither one of us can win here," Jim said, not liking the unstable look in Quinn's eye. Would he pull the trigger? End Blair's life in a single beat of his heart? Jim didn't want to find out. "We'll both put our weapons down," he said finally, seeing no other way out of this. "We'll put them down and then you can walk away for now. Just let him go and walk away."

  "Jim, no!" Blair blurted out.

  Quinn drew Blair's arm up higher. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

  Blair gritted his teeth against the added pressure but did not cry out. Jim knew the arm had to be close to breaking, the angle just too damn high. "What do you say, Quinn?" he said, hoping to draw attention back to himself, away from his partner. "Do we have a deal?"

  Quinn laughed. A high-pitched, gleeful sound. There was something in that laugh. In the way he now looked at Jim with a sense of triumph that sent a chill through the sentinel.

  "What's so funny, Quinn?"

  "You're getting careless, Ellison," he said softly, shaking his head as if scolding a young child. "You had to know I had an accomplice. You saw him run around the side of the building. I timed this so you would. But you forgot about him."

  Just as Blair yelled out a warning, Jim felt the muzzle of a gun at the back of his head. "A pleasure to meet you, Detective," a voice sneered from behind him.

  "Put down your weapon," Quinn ordered. "Or watch him die." He released some of the pressure on Blair's arm and leaning in, pressed his face right next to Blair's, virtually cheek to cheek. Blair grimaced at the intimate contact. "If you do as I say," Quinn continued, a smile lighting his face, "you could still have a chance at saving his life. Now that's what I call a deal."

  Jim licked his lips. Considered his chances of taking out both of these men without getting Blair killed in the process. But as he felt the cold steel of the gun press harder against the back of his skull, he knew he had no choice.

  Jim tossed his weapon away.

  Quinn's smile increased. "Good." He straightened up, moving the gun from Blair's head but keeping his guide's arm twisted high behind his back.

  "What now, Quinn?" Jim asked.

  "Now you toss me your cuffs."

  Jim stiffened. Made no move to do as he was asked. Quinn's accomplice pulled the handcuffs from Jim's belt.

  "Carlo!" Quinn snapped before the man could throw the cuffs the short distance across the roof. "Hand them to Ellison. I want him to toss them to me."

  Carlo let out an exasperated sigh. "Quinn, we're wasting time."

  "Do it!" he barked.

  And Jim realized in one sickening moment that this was all about control. About Quinn controlling him. His stomach roiled. His knees felt suddenly weak. Because as long as Quinn had Blair, he had complete control of Jim.

  And Quinn knew it.

  Jim took the cuffs. The metal rings felt cold, heavy against his palm. He closed his hand over them. "You don't need these."

  "I want them," Quinn insisted.

  Jim stared down at the cuffs. How many people had he used these on? He had no idea. He saw them as a tool. Something that aided him in his job. But the idea that they would now be used to restrain Blair... to make his already precarious situation worse.... His hand trembled. A single bead of sweat slid down the side of his face. He looked up again. "Quinn, you have the gun. You don't need these."

  "Do it!" He pulled again on Blair's arm, yanking it impossibly high behind his back. Blair cried out, his eyes going wide with pain.

  Jim tossed the cuffs. They landed at Quinn's feet with a soft clang of metal on metal.

  Quinn stuffed his gun into the waistband of his pants and scooped them up. "Was that so hard?" He grabbed Blair's other arm, pulled it roughly behind his back and locked the cuffs around each wrist. "Hope those aren't too snug," he whispered in his ear.

  Blair didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. Just stood stiffly, staring straight ahead.

  Quinn returned his attention to Jim. "He's quiet now. But by the time I'm done with him, he'll be screaming."

  For a moment, Jim was sure his heart had stopped in his chest. Then as quickly as it had stopped, it began pounding again, hard and fast... almost as fast as Blair's. He's afraid. Jim knew it. Could see it in Blair's eyes. Hear it in the pounding of his heart. Almost smell it. But none of that fear reflected on his face. Blair kept his expression neutral, calm. Jim wasn't sure if it was for his benefit or Quinn's.

  He shifted his focus back to the man who held his partner's life in his hands. What the hell does Quinn have planned? The thought flooded Jim's mind, threatening to overwhelm him. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he knew what Quinn planned--to hurt Blair. No, not just hurt. He wants to kill Blair. Kill him and dump his body somewhere for me to find. Jim shuddered as the images from his dream flashed through his mind in vivid detail. "Quinn, just listen-"

  "Do you know what moment is burned into my mind, Ellison?" Quinn asked, cutting off Jim's plea before he could make it. "What moment I will never forget? What moment drove me to this building? To this roof?" He paused briefly. "The moment when you held me over that well and you made me beg for my life." His voice dropped to a low growl. "No one makes me beg." Grabbing Blair by the arm, he dragged him to the edge of the building.

  Jim's heart lodged in his throat. No. Oh God! No! "Quinn!" he blurted out, taking a lurching step forward. A hand on his arm restrained him. The gun to his back stopped him.

  For the first time, Jim saw fear on Blair's face.

  Quinn looked at Jim, satisfaction burning behind his eyes. "I know you'd never beg for your own life, Ellison. But will you beg for his?" Turning Blair around, he gripped him by the front of his shirt and forced him backward until the back half of his sneakers hung out over nothing. "Beg, Ellison. Convince me not to let go of his shirt and dump him over the side of this building."

  "Quinn, listen to me," Jim began, the sound of Blair's racing heart pounding against his temples. "You can still walk away-"

  "Beg!" Quinn screamed, tipping Blair back even further.

  Jim's gaze locked on Blair. His partner's eyes were squeezed shut. His breath came in shallow gasps. His hands were pulled into tight fists behind his back. "Please," Jim whispered, his gaze remaining on Blair, "Don't hurt him."

  "What's that?" Quinn said, putting one hand to his ear and cocking his head to the side. "I didn't hear you."

  Jim shifted his gaze to Quinn. Rage burned through him. If he could reach him right now, he would kill him. Twist his neck until he heard the satisfying snap of his bones beneath his fingers. "Please don't hurt him," he said more forcefully.

  Quinn leered at him. "Say pretty please."

  "Jim, don't--"

  "Shut up!" Quinn backhanded Blair across the face. "Did I give you permission to talk?" He looked up at Jim again. "He shouldn't annoy me. Don't you think it's foolish of him to annoy me?"

  "Quinn," Jim began, trying and failing miserably to keep the desperation from his voice, "Just let him go."

  "You still haven't said it!" he shouted. Pulling his gun, he pressed it beneath Blair's chin, forcing his head back. Blair's eyes slipped closed again. He bit his trembling lip. "Say it!" Quinn bellowed.

  "Pretty please," Jim rasped out.

  Laughter poured from Quinn. "'Pretty please'," he repeated, mocking Jim's tone. "Did you hear that, Carlo? He said 'pretty please'."

  "I heard," Carlo answered dryly.

  "You know Ellison, since you asked me so nice, I don't think I will drop him over the side." He pulled Blair back up and, turning him around to face Jim, placed a hand over his shoulder and across his chest, holding him close. "I think I'll just take him with me instead."

  "Quinn, I did what you asked." Jim's gaze shifted from Quinn's satisfied grin to Blair's frightened gaze and back again. He could not let this man leave with his guide. If he did, Blair was dead. Jim knew it. Could feel it deep in his soul. And from the haunted look in Blair's eyes, Jim knew his partner had come to the same conclusion. "Please, Quinn, I'll do whatever you want. Just let him go."

  "Ellison, the begging portion of this little episode is over." He leaned closer to Blair, until his lips were right against his ear, then whispered, "He's not too bright, is he?"

  "Go to hell," Blair ground out.

  Quinn straightened. One eyebrow cocked in surprise. "I tell him not to annoy me and what does he do? He annoys me. Again." He reached behind him, grabbing at something attached to the back of his belt. Blair visibly trembled as Quinn pressed the large hunting knife he now held to his throat. "Was that smart?"

  Jim swallowed hard, his own throat suddenly dry, constricted. "Quinn-"

  "I asked you a question!" Quinn shouted, his voice overriding Jim's. "Was that smart?"

  "No," Blair managed, his voice tight.

  "No," Quinn repeated. He sighed and the knife shifted from Blair's throat to his cheek. Quinn pressed the long blade flat against his skin. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together," he said, his voice low, emotionless. "It would really be in your best interest to keep this little incident in mind." He flicked his wrist, opening a small cut high in Blair's left cheek, just under his eye.

  Blair gasped, instinctively jerking back from the pain of the blade.

  "Quinn, you bastard!" Jim started forward. Carlo's gun clipped him a glancing blow to the back of the head. He staggered another step. Collapsed to his knees. His vision blurred. He dropped his chin to his chest, concentrated on the dials in his head, turning down the pain that radiated through his skull.