"It didn't work because none of them were right," Jarred rasped. "I told you that each time but you wouldn't listen."

  "I chose all the others," she confided. "Jarred chose you."

  The old man pushed himself to his feet and limped toward Blair. "You're the one," he whispered. The sour, rancid smell of the house drifted around Lowry, clung to him, was a part of him. He stopped in front of the helpless anthropologist, his wet, rummy eyes tracing over every inch of him. "I knew it the first time I saw you. Then when I touched you..." Gnarled hands reached toward Blair.

  He held his breath. Pressed himself flat against the pole. Wished to be anywhere but here.

  Dry fingers slid down Blair's cheek. "So young," the old man rasped. "To be so young again." He dropped his hand to his side and turned to his wife. "Let's finish this." Jarred shuffled to the altar and leaning down, straining from the effort, lifted a small duffel bag onto the thick plank.

  Rebecca gave Blair a quick peck on the cheek before moving to her husband's side. "I just don't want to rush through it this time," she said as she began pulling what looked like surgical instruments from the bag. She held up each one, inspecting it before laying it out before her. "I think last time, with Bill, we went too quickly. He passed out before I even got to the blood letting."

  "You damage their bodies too much," Jarred complained.

  "You've read the text," she protested, the tone of her voice the same as if she were discussing a problem with her car. "I have to do some cutting."

  Fear clenched Blair's gut. Okay, this is not going to happen to me.

  He looked wildly around. There had to be something that he could do to get out of this. Some way... Then his mind flashed on a possibility. When they moved him to the altar. Rebecca would have to uncuff him to get him over there. So far he hadn't seen either one of them with a gun. Hell, even if they did pull a gun on him, he'd prefer getting shot while escaping to being butchered on that altar.

  Rebecca strode casually toward him. "Time to move on to phase two." She reached above him and undid the cuff to his left wrist then stepped back.

  Before he knew what was happening, Blair's arm dropped like a lead weight to his side. The cuff, now free, slipped through the ring dropping his other arm. His knees buckled under the sudden weight and he collapsed to the ground. Excruciating pain sliced through his body and the earlier dizziness returned.

  You're free! Get up! Run!

  But he couldn't. All he could do was kneel on the ground, head dropped against his chest, panting through the pain.

  In his daze, he realized that Rebecca had, at some point, re-cuffed his left wrist, locking both of his hands in front of him.

  "Come on, Blair, we don't have all night."

  He felt a foot nudge his side. They wanted him to get up. To move to the altar they had prepared. But if he did that, if he let them secure him to that thing, he was dead.

  Find your inner strength.

  The words from the meditation exercise he had practiced earlier that day came to him. Feel only your breath going in and out. In and out. Let it draw you to a place of peace. A place of power. He let the words flow through his mind. Settle into his soul. And then he felt it. A warmth from deep within him. It spread through his body, taking away the pain, clearing his mind.

  And escape suddenly seemed possible…even easy.

  Rebecca leaned down toward him and hooked her hand around his arm. He let her pull him to his feet, but the instant he was up, he locked his hands together and swung hard hitting her across the jaw. He did not wait to see her fall. Instead, he turned and sprinted toward the covering of the trees.

  Zig-zagging over the rough terrain, he ran blindly. He ducked low under branches. Jumped overgrown roots. Avoided sharp edges of tree limbs. He stumbled once, almost going down, but gritted his teeth and managed to stay on his feet. The full moon overhead lit his path, helping to guide him and give him precious light.

  He glanced back over his shoulder, trying to see his captors. He saw nothing.

  As he ran on, he tried to think. Plan. He studied the path before him. Could he find some place to hide? No. He didn't need to hide. He needed to get out of here.

  He stopped running and pressed his back against a large oak tree. Leaning forward, he tried to catch his breath, to clear his mind. Think. His shoulder throbbed. His chest ached But his mind was clear. A road. He needed to find a road because where there was a road, there were cars. Help. He ran cuffed hands over his face, wiping away the sweat, sweeping his hair back from his eyes. He looked around unsure which direction would take him where he needed to go.

  Use the knowledge within you. Trust your inner voice.

  Blair licked his lips. What choice did he have? Once again, he took a deep breath and concentrated. He felt the inner peace within him expand, grow. West. He needed to go west. He opened his eyes and looked to his right. That way, he was sure of it. Just as he pushed away from the tree, he heard movement behind him. Close, too close. He ran on, ducking, dodging, jumping whatever lay in his path, hoping he was heading west. At least he no longer heard the sounds of his pursuers closing in behind him. He might even be going in the right direction. Yes. It felt right. Over this small hill and--

  He burst through the trees and come out on a hard-packed dirt road. He turned to his right and saw…a car. It was parked on the side of the road only about forty feet away. Rebecca's car? Probably. He started slowly toward it. Maybe she had left it unlocked. Maybe the keys were in it. Or a phone. His steps increased as each thought went through his mind until he was running, his feet matching the rhythm of his pounding heart.

  He'd get to the car, get inside somehow and then--

  A sharp pain shot through his left shoulder, driving the thoughts from his mind. He pitched forward, slamming to the ground. Skin peeled from the palms of his hands. His chin smacked against the gravel, sending pain through his jaw and neck. Above him, he heard a deep, cynical laugh. The sound shot icy tentacles of fear through him. He rolled sideways. Seconds later, a tire iron cracked against the hard ground inches from his head. The harsh blow sent up a cloud of dirt and leaves. Blair pushed up but before he could get his knees beneath him, he felt the tire iron connect with his ribs. The force of the blow sent him sprawling backward. The world around him dimmed momentarily then came sharply into focus. He lay flat on his back, gasping. Each breath jostled his now broken ribs sending bursts of pain through his body.

  Rebecca stood over him, the tire iron held high over her head, poised to strike a deadly blow.

  "Anything you do to me, you do to your husband!" he cried out, his cuffed hands raised in front of him as a shield.

  Rebecca hesitated. She lowered the tire iron, her eyes sparkling wildly. "That's good, Blair. And it'd work…if I believed any of that crap."

  Blair's heart jack-hammered in his chest. She didn't believe…had never believed. She'd killed those other men because...Oh, God, just because she'd wanted to.

  She's going to kill me! The words slammed through him, stealing his breath. But it wasn't just the fact that she was going to kill him that was making breathing difficult. It was the fact that she would enjoy it. He could see it in her eyes, a savage look of fulfillment...tinged with lust.

  "Jarred believes it," she said, grinning down at her helpless prey. "And because he believes it, I get to kill. I knew none of those other men were what he wanted but it didn't matter. They were what I wanted." She rested the tire iron over her shoulder, like a baseball player waiting for the next pitch. "I slept with all of them first. Told Jarred it was to see if we were compatible. Actually it just made their deaths that much more enjoyable for me." She sighed heavily. "I would have liked to have that with you too. It would have made this moment so much more meaningful."

  Blair scooted backward on the ground, trying to put as much distance between himself and Rebecca as possible. "There's still time for us to get to know each other," he said, using his most soothing tone of voice. "Just put that thing down and the two of us—"

  "Do you think I've gotten away with this for so long because I'm stupid!" she screamed. She advanced on him again, the tire iron swinging high. "I don't think so."

  "Rebecca stop!"

  Blair looked over his shoulder. Jarred Lowry limped toward them, his face a mask of incomprehension. "What are you doing?" He moved past Blair and stopped directly in front of his wife. "He's the one I've been waiting for. You know that."

  "No," she said, her voice gentle. "He tricked us, my love. He's not the one."

  She made a move to go around him, her hard gaze once more finding Blair. But Jarred moved with her, blocking her. "He is the one. I know it." He reached for the tire iron. Rebecca held it away from him.

  "Jarred, honey, you're making me angry." Her voice shook with barely controlled rage.

  Jarred gripped the tire iron, tried to wrench it from her hands. "I won't let you do this!"

  "Leave me alone!" She swung high and hit him hard on the side of the head. The old man crumpled to his knees. Blood poured down his face. She raised the tire iron and, grunting with the effort, hit him again and again and again.

  Blair turned away, trying to block out the sickening sound of metal hitting flesh. He rolled onto his knees, gasping as the broken ribs tore at his insides, and focused his gaze before him. Gritting his teeth against the almost overwhelming pain, he dragged himself forward. There was a tree only a few feet away. If he could reach it, maybe he could pull himself upright. Then he'd at least have a chance of getting away.

  Behind him, the sounds of the beating stopped. Rebecca's harsh breathing filled the night. She was done with Jarred.

  She was coming for him.

  Blair reached the tree and began to pull himself up. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in his ears. He resisted the urge to turn and look. Concentrated only on getting his feet beneath him. Then he heard it. The whine of the tire iron as it cut through the air. It struck him high on the right side of his head.

  Only as he was falling did his mind register the sound of the approaching vehicle. Blinding headlights swept over him as he hit the hard-packed ground.

  Jim felt the almost physical reconnection to his Guide seconds before the headlights of his truck illuminated the horrific scene before him.

  "Jarred!" Frank Croft screamed as the bloodied corpse that had once been his brother came into view. He was out of the truck before Jim could put it into park. Rushing to the body, Croft hugged his dead brother against his chest.

  Croft's actions registered only fleetingly in Jim's mind. His focus was on one thing and one thing only -- his Guide. Blair lay on the ground, his hands cuffed before him, his hair matted with blood. Jim didn't know if he was still conscious, only that he was alive, the familiar beating of his heart pounding through the Sentinel. But Blair would not stay that way much longer if the woman looming over him had her way.

  Jim shoved open his door, pulling his weapon even before his feet hit the ground. "Don't move!" he yelled and locked his aim on the woman who held his partner's life in her hands.

  Rebecca Lowry's cold gaze snapped to Jim. The tire iron remained over her head, ready to strike.

  "Drop it!" Jim ordered.

  On the ground, Blair moaned. Rebecca's gaze fell back to the helpless young man at her feet. The tire iron shook in her hands. A slow, satisfied grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. She licked her lips.

  Jim stepped closer, his gun aimed at her heart. "Give me a reason," he ground out. "Please."

  The smile on her face faded. She lowered the bloody weapon. "I'm not a fool, Detective." She dropped the tire iron to the ground and raised her hands over her head.

  Jim pulled his cuffs and forcing her to her knees, locked her hands behind her back. In the distance, he could hear approaching sirens. Backup, but they were still at least ten minutes away.

  Jim rushed to his partner. Blair lay on his back, blood matting the hair on the right side of his head. Gently, Jim pulled him up. "Hey partner," he whispered as he cradled his Guide against his chest. Blair's cuffed hands pushed against Jim in a feeble attempt to get away. "Blair, it's okay. It's me. It's Jim."

  Half closed eyes looked up into his. "Jim?" he managed, his voice filled with relief. "Hey, man, I'm still conscious this time."

  "That's good, Chief." But even as Jim said the words, he knew his partner had passed out.

  I've been doing this too much lately, Simon Banks thought as he stepped through the hospital doors. He headed directly to the waiting room and spotted Jim instantly. His best detective sat in the far corner, perched on the edge of a chair, his head dropped forward, his gaze locked on the floor. Simon crossed the room in three long strides.

  "Jim, what the hell happened? How is Sandburg?"

  Jim looked up, his eyes tired, beaten. "What?"

  "Sandburg...how's Sandburg?" He had thought that the kid was going to be okay. That's what Jim had told him over the phone. But seeing the look on Jim's face now...

  "Blair's going to be fine," Jim said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Two broken ribs, a few stitches, some bruises. But they're not even keeping him the rest of the night."

  Relieved, Simon dropped into the seat beside Jim. "So why do you look like you just lost your best friend?"

  Jim sat back, his gaze locked on the ceiling. "I was just thinking about how often I've been in this position lately, sitting in a hospital waiting to see if Blair were going to be all right."

  Simon nodded. "Yeah, I had the same thought when I got here. Except I could include you in that scenario too."

  Jim rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, Simon. I can't help but feel like we're being tested somehow. I mean things have happened in the past but none so directly related to the Sentinel stuff." His hand dropped back to his lap. "First Alex and Brackett. Now this."

  Simon's brow furrowed. "How is this related to the Sentinel stuff?"

  Jim's gaze cut to him briefly before he pushed up from his seat and crossed to the window.

  "Jim," Simon began, his deep voice easily carrying to the detective, "You told me these people threatened Blair. I had their house watched. I even put out an APB on them and I never asked for any details." Standing, he crossed to Ellison, stopping behind him. "I'm asking now."

  Jim remained silent, his back to Simon, his gaze locked on the dark night beyond the glass.

  "I know something is going on with the two of you," Simon continued, confused by Jim's sudden reluctance to share with him. Since this whole Sentinel business began, he and Sandburg had always confided in Simon. Now, something had changed. Something was going on that they were unable or unwilling to tell him about and he was tired of the secrecy. "Jim, I think I've been more than patient with all of this. Now my patience has run out."

  "I'm sorry, Simon." Jim turned but kept his gaze lowered. "It's really not up to me. It's Sandburg's choice here."

  Sandburg's? Since when did Sandburg make the decisions regarding Jim's Sentinel abilities? Sure the kid had helped Jim hone his skills but Ellison was the one with the heightened senses. Maybe this doesn't have anything to do with Jim. The thought spun through Simon's head and suddenly everything seemed to clarify in his mind. Alex's attack on Sandburg. His abduction by first Alex and Brackett and now these new people. The kid's sleepwalking episodes. Sandburg was at the center of everything that had happened in the last two months.

  But why? And more importantly...

  "Is he safe?" Simon blurted out as his thoughts ground to a sudden, jarring halt.

  "What?" Jim asked with obvious confusion.

  "Sandburg," Simon clarified. "Whatever is happening, whatever it is you don't want to tell me, is he safe from it now? Is there something else I should be worrying about?"

  Jim stared at him, a look of helplessness in his eyes. "I wish I knew, Simon. I hope he is but I honestly don't know."

  Simon pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Do me one favor." He slipped his glasses back on and looked at Jim sternly. "Promise me that whatever happens, you will ask for my help before either one of you ends up in the hospital again."

  Jim nodded. "I think I can manage that, sir." But instead of alleviating Jim's worry, Simon's words only seemed to deepen it.

  He laid a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Is there something else you're not telling me?" Never before had he felt so distanced from Jim and Blair. Whatever was happening between them, he only hoped that they would somehow find a way of bringing him in on it.

  "I just can't help but wonder how much more of this Blair can take," Jim said, his tone somber.

  With those words, Simon finally understood Jim's growing anxiety. "Sandburg is not going to leave, Jim. If he were, he would have done it long ago. I knew after Lash that it would take blasting powder to get rid of that kid. He's in this for the long haul."

  Jim looked up, his eyes haunted. "Yeah, I know, Simon. That's what scares me." He stepped away from the window and began pacing. "There is only so much one person can take and Blair has taken a lot. There's a part of me that wishes he would say enough is enough and just take off because maybe then, he'd be safer."

  "But?" Simon prompted when he didn't continue.

  "But there's another part of me, the selfish part of me, that hopes to God he never decides to do that because I honestly don't know what I'd do if he left."

  "Speak of the devil," Simon said, nodding toward the door as Blair stepped through. The grad student moved slowly, stiffly, his arm held across his waist. His breathing seemed shallow, pain-filled.

  Jim crossed to him and placed a hand on his back, supporting him lightly. "How you feeling, Chief."

  "I'm fine…as long as I don't breathe or move."

  "I don't know, Sandburg," Simon said, scowling at him as he drew near, "I get you this new position, you work a total of five days and now you need more time off? I may have to reconsider this whole thing."

  Blair looked up at him, grimacing. "I know, Captain. I'm sorry."