"You know where I'll be taking him," Quinn said, his voice sounding hollow and distant. Jim forced himself to look up. To focus. "I want you to track us," Quinn continued. "But just you. No one else. I see anyone else and you'll find pieces of your buddy along the trail." He smiled again, a wild, predatory look. "You know I'll do it, Ellison. You know I'd enjoy doing it. Do you understand me?"

  Jim's gaze shifted away from Quinn to the small trickle of blood that trailed down Blair's face. He had promised his partner that nothing would happen to him. That he would not let Quinn touch him. His gaze locked with Blair's. He could see regret, fear and guilt in those blue depths. Knew his own reflected the same emotions.

  I'm sorry, Chief. I'll get you out of this. I promise.

  The knife once again pressed to Blair's throat. "I said do you understand me. Yes or no."

  Jim shifted his gaze back to Quinn. "Yes," he ground out, his voice trembling with rage. Before he could say anything more, he felt another sharp blow to the back of his head and then everything went black.

  Part Three

  "You know, I have to admit that this is even more fun the second time around." Quinn gave the rope he'd tied around Blair's waist a firm tug.

  Blair lurched forward, stumbled over an exposed root and dropped to his knees. Momentum carried him over and he fell forward, scraping his chin against the ground before coming to rest on his stomach. He lay flat, panting, his cheek pressed into the wet earth.

  They'd been trudging through the woods for hours, making slow progress toward the mine shaft where Blair had been shot three years earlier. His hands, still cuffed behind him, ached, the metal rings uncomfortably tight. His chin throbbed where he had hit the ground. And his entire body cried out for water. Quinn had given him nothing to drink or eat since dragging him from that rooftop and he didn't know how much longer he could go on without it.

  He closed his eyes and an image of Jim floated through his mind. The last desperate look on his sentinel's face just before he'd been knocked unconscious. And in that moment, Blair knew. He had to survive this. For Jim. Could not let Jim go through the rest of his life feeling guilty about his death. Because he knew Jim would blame himself if he died and Blair could not let that happen.

  "Get up, Sandburg."

  Blair opened one eye and looked up as Quinn's amused voice reached him. He stood over him, glaring down, his smile filled with glee. Reaching down, Quinn grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked Blair's head back. Blair grunted in a combination of surprise and pain.

  "Get up," Quinn repeated, "or I'll drag you up by your hair." He released him then, shoving his face back into the dirt.

  Gritting his teeth, Blair struggled to push himself to his knees. He started to topple forward again when he felt a hand on his arm, aiding him. He looked up into the face of Quinn's accomplice, Carlo. He hoped to see compassion in this man's eyes. All he saw was impatience.

  "This is taking too damn long," Carlo muttered.

  "Carlo," Quinn snapped, "Let him do it himself."

  "This whole thing is beginning to bore me, Quinn."

  The hand was removed but Blair was already on his knees, sitting back on his heels. He dropped his chin to his chest, trying to get his breathing under control. He could feel warm blood on his cheek and knew his fall had re-opened the cut under his eye. He wiggled his fingers, cringing as the metal pulled against the raw skin around his wrists. "Quinn, can you at least loosen the cuffs?" He looked up, squinting against the late afternoon sun that filtered through the trees. "I'm not asking you to take them off. Just loosen them up."

  "Well, gee, I had no idea you were so uncomfortable. How stupid of me." Quinn made a big show of padding down his pockets, searching for the key. "Oh, you know what?" He snapped his fingers. "I asked Ellison for the cuffs. I never asked him for the key. Guess that's one accessory that you're going to be stuck with this entire trip. Now let's go." He yanked on the rope again.

  Blair grunted as it pulled against him but did not rise. "I need some water." He looked from Quinn to Carlo. "You want me to keep moving? Get him to give me something to drink."

  Carlo glared down at him, then shifted his tired gaze to Quinn. "What's the point of this, Quinn? Just kill him here and be done with it."

  Blair tensed at the words, talk of his death so casually tossed out by this man.

  "The point is to make Ellison suffer," Quinn ground out. "And I want to draw it out as long as possible. Which means I keep him alive as long as possible."

  "Then just give him the damn water. Or loosen the cuffs. Do something because his whining is beginning to drive me crazy!"

  In one swift move, Quinn drew his weapon and fired off three shots. Carlo staggered backward as the bullets hit him center chest. The man was dead before his body hit the ground.

  Blair stared at the corpse, his breath coming in short gasps, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Slowly, he shifted his gaze to Quinn.

  "He annoyed me," Quinn said. "Even more than you did." He stuffed the gun back into the holster at his back then crouched down in front of Blair. "Let's get something straight. You are a prop to me. Something I am using to get Ellison to do what I want. Nothing more. It would be in your best interest to remember that." He grabbed Blair by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Now get moving."

  /

  /

  Jim stood in the forest, eyes closed, head cocked to one side, listening. He'd heard the three gunshots. But they were far away. Too far away for him to be of any immediate help.

  Blair is still alive.

  The words flashed through his mind giving him some sense of security.

  He didn't know Blair was alive because he could hear his guide's heart beat. He knew it because Quinn wanted to play this out longer than just a couple of hours in the woods. Jim knew who those gun shots had taken down. Carlo, Quinn's partner. Betrayal of his partners was a tradition with Quinn.

  Opening his eyes, Jim swung Blair's backpack from his shoulder and withdrew a bottle of water. As he lifted it to his lips, he hesitated. Had Quinn given Blair anything to drink or eat? He slowly lowered the bottle, regret washing through him. Why the hell didn't I stop for bagels? At least then Blair would have eaten something today. Because Jim was sure that Quinn would give his partner nothing. That Blair's comfort was the last thing on the escaped convict's mind. But it wasn't just Blair's hunger that worried him.

  "He doesn't even have a jacket," Jim muttered.

  It would be night soon and the temperature would drop drastically when the sun went down. Blair had been wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a light cotton button down shirt when Quinn abducted him. He would freeze tonight and Quinn would do nothing to change that. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair. His gaze dropped to the worn pack at his feet.

  When he'd first awakened on that roof, he'd debated calling in backup or just having himself airlifted to the mine because that's where Quinn was taking Blair. But Quinn had made it clear what he was supposed to do. He had to track them. Chase them. If he didn't...

  Jim didn't want to think about that. So he'd gathered supplies--a first aid kit, water, nutrition bars. Everything he'd need for a day and a half journey through the forest to that mine shaft.

  He had been planning to bring his own pack with him. The one he used whenever he and Blair went camping. But when he'd reached the truck and saw Blair's pack tucked on the floor of the passenger seat, he'd decided to bring it instead. His hand moved down and touched the top of the pack. It was like having a small part of Blair with him. It smelled of him--the herbal shampoo he used, the scent of candles he sometimes carried inside, his books. And a part of Jim believed that as long as he had the pack with him, Blair would be fine. Like bringing that pack to his guide would ensure that when he found him, he would still be alive.

  "Because you will be alive, Chief. You will be."

  He stuffed the full bottle of water back into the pack, slung it over his shoulder and started off again.

  /

  /

  Dawson Quinn stared into the small campfire, watching the flames jump and dance. He held his hands out toward it. The heat felt good against the chill of the night air. A smile pulled up one corner of his mouth as his gaze drifted past the fire to the dark form curled into a ball, too far away to receive any warmth.

  Sandburg lay on his side, shivering, his hands still cuffed behind him. The rope around his waist had been tethered to a tree, his ankles bound together. Quinn didn't think Sandburg had the strength to try and escape but he wasn't taking any chances.

  Because the game had just begun.

  Reaching over, he opened the backpack he'd brought with him and pulled out a bottle of water and took a long drink. The kid had asked him three more times for something to drink. Quinn hadn't given him so much as a drop. Maybe tomorrow morning if he was feeling particularily generous, he'd give him one quick swallow. After all, he didn't want him to die.

  Not yet, at least.

  His mind drifted back to that morning. To Ellison's panic and fear on that roof. It had been so palpable, Quinn could almost taste it. He'd dreamt of that moment for so long. Pictured it in his mind, how Ellison would look, how his voice would sound. But none of his dreams had been as sweet as the reality. Listening to Ellison beg... even now it sent a warm feeling through him.

  Sandburg muttered something in his sleep. Quinn's gaze shifted to him again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he thought back over their day-long trek. He had expected Sandburg to break down. To crack under the physical and emotional stress. He knew the kid was scared. He'd seen it in his eyes. In the slight tremors that shook his body. But Sandburg had kept his fear in check, using his anger to keep himself under control.

  And it pissed Quinn off.

  A smile pulled up one corner of his mouth as he made a decision. He would not give Sandburg water until he begged for it. Begged just as Ellison had begged on that roof. A low chuckle escaped his lips.

  Standing, he crossed to Sandburg and stared down at him. The kid looked impossibly small curled up on his side, his head tucked low against his chest. He reminded him of Brody, the way he tried to talk his way out of the bad situation he now found himself in. Managed to remain calm even in the face of death. But where Brody had been arrogant, Sandburg had an innocence about him... especially in sleep. And Quinn hated that.

  Drawing back his foot, he kicked Sandburg in the stomach. The innocent expression evaporated instantly, replaced by fear, pain. Quinn smiled, drew back his foot and kicked him again and again and again.

  /

  /

  Jim crashed through the trees and into the clearing. He had been following the sounds of Blair's cries of pain, carried to him on the night breeze. Now as his gaze swept over the small campsite, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, he prayed he wasn't too late.

  A crumpled form came into view just a few feet away. Blood pooled around his head. His face, once recognizable, was now a bloody pulp. But Jim knew who it was. "No," the single word of denial whispered past his lips. He stumbled a few feet closer, blinking back the tears, trying to deny what he knew was true.

  He dropped to his knees beside the still form of his partner. "Blair!" The name burst from him, pounding through his skull even as his heart threatened to pound out of his chest.

  Jim jerked awake, his eyes snapping open, his breath coming in great gasps. He sat up, pulling his weapon, sweeping the area. He was alone. It had been a dream. He dropped his chin to his chest, relieved.

  But when he looked up again, he realized that he could see the dawn breaking through the trees. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Had meant instead to search all night. But as darkness descended, he'd found himself almost zoning trying to follow the trail left by Quinn. Without Blair, he could not keep his focus. So he'd stopped.... just for a little while, he'd told himself.

  "Another broken promise," he muttered.

  He'd found Carlo Arguelles' body late yesterday afternoon. Just as he suspected, the three slugs were in the man's chest. He'd left the body where it lay. He would tell the authorities where to find it once he had Blair back safe and sound.

  He unzipped Blair's pack and took out water and a nutrition bar. He'd finally come to the conclusion that he had to keep his strength up. He would do Blair no good if he reached him only to collapse from lack of food and water. He just hoped that Quinn wanted Blair alive enough to give him the same.

  One foot. One step. Another. Then another.

  Blair stared at the ground and concentrated on keeping himself upright and mobile. But it wasn't easy. Each step sent a jolt of pain through his battered body. He didn't think anything was broken but he was covered with so many cuts and bruises that it felt as if he were coming apart.

  He shuddered as memories of Quinn's unprovoked attack flashed through his mind. The man had started with his ribs, kicking him over and over. Then he'd moved to the back of his thighs then his shoulder blades until finally he'd placed one final, powerful kick to his stomach. That had been the worst, sending pain cascading through his entire body.

  He bit his lip thinking about that moment, the sound of his own shrill cry still echoing through his mind. Quinn had left him then, silently moving back to the fire that burned on the other side of the campsite, leaving Blair panting in agony.

  One foot. One step. Another. Then another.

  The rest of the night was a blur. He remembered being incredibly cold one minute then hot the next. Remembered the ache in his stomach that even the smallest movement caused. But more than anything else, he remembered the sound of Quinn's laughter ringing out with every grunt of pain Blair uttered.

  He stumbled but managed to remain on his feet. The cuffs around his wrists pulled tight. He felt warm blood trickle down his left wrist and into his palm. He gritted his teeth and trudged on.

  One foot. One step. Another. Then another.

  There was a high pitched buzzing in his head. He didn't know if it was from the pain, lack of water and food or something else. More than once Quinn had said something to him, glancing back at him over his shoulder. Sometimes Blair heard him. Other times, the buzzing drowned everything out. But he'd nodded each time and kept walking, hoping that would satisfy him.

  One foot. One step. Another. Then another.

  Quinn gave a massive yank on the rope. Blair stumbled forward two steps before crumpling to the ground. He lay on his side, unable to move.

  "Get up," Quinn growled.

  Blair curled in on himself. "I can't."

  Quinn grabbed a handful of hair and pulled him halfway up off the ground. "You can't or you won't?"

  "I can't," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need some water."

  Quinn released him. Blair collapsed back on his side, panting through the pain that radiated within him. Quinn swung his pack to the ground. Pulling out a bottle of water, he screwed off the cap and took a long drink.

  Blair watched him, swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat. "Please," he muttered.

  "What was that?"

  Blair looked up at him. "Please, let me have some water."

  "Are you begging me?" He laughed, the sound reverberating through Blair's skull.

  "Yes," he blurted out, struggling until he was once again on his knees. "If that's what it'll take to get some water then yes, I'm begging you. Please. Give me some water."

  Quinn crouched down before him, swinging the bottle back and forth in front of his eyes, the cool liquid sloshing from side to side. "Say pretty please."

  Blair dropped his chin to his chest, his lips trembling. "Pretty please," he whispered.

  A rough hand grasped his chin, turning his face upward. He opened his eyes, staring into Quinn's satisfied expression. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

  Quinn lifted the bottle, moving with deliberate slowness, and gave Blair a quick swallow. The water touched his lips, washed through his mouth and slid smoothly down his throat. But as the water hit his empty stomach, his insides recoiled, convulsing with sudden hunger. He shuddered, waiting for the sensation to pass, then opened his mouth again, longing for more of the cool liquid.

  Quinn lifted the water as if to give him a second sip but then stopped, the lip of the bottle just inches from Blair's mouth.

  "You know we're almost to the mine, don't you?" Quinn asked, his voice contemplative.

  Blair's gaze shifted from the bottle only inches from his mouth to Quinn. "Yes," he breathed. The water remained where it was - out of Blair's reach.

  Quinn pulled the bottle away and recapped it. "So why should I waste this?"

  Blair shook his head. "No. You can't do that. I told you what you wanted to hear. Now give me that water!" He started to rise, driven to his feet by anger and adrenaline.

  Quinn shoved Blair backward, toppling him onto his back. He slammed into the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He gasped, trying desperately to draw air back into his lungs. Quinn dropped down beside him. Something flashed in the early morning light. Blair blinked and the hunting knife came into focus. Seconds later, the cold steel pressed against his throat.

  "I don't plan to kill you yet," Quinn growled. "But I'm not above maiming you. Maybe slicing off a few pieces here and there." He pressed harder with the knife. Blair flinched as the blade made a small cut in his neck. "I suggest you keep that in mind before you open your mouth like that to me again." Grabbing Blair by the front of his shirt, Quinn hauled him to his feet. "Let's go."

  Once again Blair found himself concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Moving forward without collapsing on the seemingly endless trek toward the mineshaft.

  "Bet you're beginning to rethink this whole partnership with Ellison."

  Blair looked up as Quinn's voice reached him. The man walked three steps ahead of him, tugging on the rope still tied around Blair's waist, yanking him forward whenever he slowed down.