Blair exhaled a small huff of air--an attempt at a laugh, Jim surmised--then sighed deeply. "You filled that... missing part," the young man continued. "Found... my sentinel... but that wasn't the most important part... that was never the most important part."

  The words cut through the heart of Jim's reserve, toppling it, and the older man dropped his head against Blair's. This was goodbye. Blair had given up--he could hear it in his voice, feel it in his relaxed body. Almost desperately, Jim held Blair close to him, too close he suspected--he was probably hurting Sandburg, though the young man didn't utter one sound of complaint.

  Against his chest, Blair's hand patted him in sympathy and understanding, sensing--as he always had been able to do--what Jim was feeling. "It's okay," he whispered. "Don't... need to be strong here, Jim..." Blair whispered back to him. "...don't need you to be strong. Just need you close... that's all." Blair managed another small chuckle, then breathed out, "B'sides, you never did fool me with all that stoic... macho... he-man stuff."

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Jim couldn't help but laugh at Blair's description. "I didn't, huh?" he asked around the strangling tightness in his throat.

  "Nope. Knew you were... an old softie from the very beginning," Blair answered. "But don't worry, man," he whispered against Jim's shoulder, "I never told a soul."

  Jim nodded his head against the Blair's hair. "Always protecting me, huh, Chief?" he asked.

  "Always, Jim," Sandburg said softly, sad now. "Absolutely... always." He looked up at Ellison, searching in the darkness for his friend, though Jim knew he couldn't see him through the thick blackness. "It'll be okay, Jim," Blair assured him.

  Jim shook his head in firm denial. "No, it won't, Sandburg. Do you hear me? Nothing will be okay if you're not here." He grasped Blair's chin gently and looked down into his partner's eyes. Even though Blair couldn't see him, he had to make him understand... "I want you to promise me something, Chief."

  Blair shook his head slightly. "Jim..." he began, already knowing what Jim was going about to ask of him.

  But Jim didn't allow him to voice his concerns. "No! Promise me that you won't give up," he said vehemently. "That you'll hang in there until help comes, because it will come."

  Blair dropped his gaze, and Jim could see the despondency that had settled across the young man's features; it was obvious to him even in the dark. Blair shook his head again, "Jim," he said, looking back up his friend, "I can't--"

  "You can!" Jim cut in, not willing or able to hear Blair's refusal. "I've never seen you quit on anything, Sandburg. Never. And don't you dare start now, you hear me?" He released Blair's chin and reached around to pull Blair close again. "Just tell me you won't give up," he repeated. "Promise me!"

  Blair was quiet for several seconds, then Jim felt him nod against him. "I promise, Jim."

  The words were spoken softly, but beneath them was a small hint of Sandburg's trademark tenacity; and Jim took hope. "I'm gonna hold you to that, Chief," the detective said even as he felt Blair drift back into a troubled sleep. "I'm gonna hold you to that."

  Part Five

  Blair was dying.

  And Jim Ellison's heart, what was left of it, lay within his chest like a cold, dead weight. Ironic, really. He couldn't quite understand how his heart could feel so bereft, so empty, and yet still feel so heavy at the same time.

  Jim sat with his back pressed against the rock wall of the old mine and stared into the oppressive, total darkness. Wearily, he raised his arm and glanced down at the illuminated face of his wristwatch, an action that had become almost automatic, an unconscious ritual that had developed over the course of the past few hours. The lighted dial shined up at him, the hour and minute hands revealing that not even ten minutes had passed since he had last checked the time. But the fact that only nine minutes and twenty-two seconds had passed since his last consultation wasn't what bothered him. Instead, the detective worried over the total amount of time that had passed. Thirty-six hours. Thirty-six hours since Quinn had destroyed the mine's entrances, sealing Jim and his guide into what was probably going to turn out to be their shared tomb after all. And with each of those passing hours, a little more of Blair's fragile life had slipped away, meted out in minute, priceless increments.

  Jim dropped his hand back to his side and turned his full attention to his friend. Sandburg lay asleep, his head cradled in Jim's lap. The young man hadn't moved, hadn't made a sound in hours. Hadn't even had the strength to rally from his sleep.

  Sleep. Jim shook his head, chastising himself for being so much of a coward that he couldn't even to admit to himself what Blair's true condition really was. The young man wasn't sleeping, he was unconscious. Had been for hours. And Jim had spent every minute of those long hours with his hand resting against the smooth warmth of Blair's neck, positioned against the carotid artery where he could feel Blair's blood pumping beneath his fingertips. It was the only hope Jim had left. As long as he could feel that life force moving beneath his hands, as long as he knew Blair still lived, then he could continue to breathe and live as well. But if that pulse of life stopped....

  Jim shivered at the impact of the morose thoughts; he pressed his fingers more firmly against Blair's neck. Yes, Blair's pulse was still there, thrumming feebly beneath Ellison's hand. Jim sighed, then settled himself more comfortably against the rock at his back. Resolutely, he forced himself to concentrate on the cadence of Blair's weakening pulse, the warmth of the young man's face where it pressed against his legs, the almost imperceptible sound of Blair's breathing as it passed in and out of his lungs.

  Jim closed his eyes. His hands throbbed dully, but he ignored the pain. Earlier, he had spent several hours trying to dig his way through the rubble at the front of the mine. He had pushed his enhanced senses to the limits as he worked, reaching out with his vision for a glimpse of light through fissures in the fallen rocks, extending his hearing for the sound of rescuers. But no light had met his eyes, no sounds of rescue had reached his ears.

  He had worked on, however, pushing himself like a man possessed. Eventually though, after hours of clawing at the rocks and debris with his bare hands, he had finally had to admit defeat. If he and Blair were going to get out of the mine at all, it would not be by his efforts.

  Someone would have to find them.

  But what were the chances of that? Only Simon would possibly be able to guess where he and Sandburg were, and the captain was no doubt still heavily sedated, recovering from the injuries sustained after being pushed from his speeding car out onto the pavement.

  A small, unfamiliar sound reached the sentinel's ears, snapping him to attention. He leaned across Blair, thinking that perhaps the young man was coming to, but Sandburg lay quietly, not moving. Jim straightened; he listened for the sound again, but it didn't repeat itself. Sighing deeply, he leaned back against the rock again and closed his eyes. Cut yourself a break, Ellison, he thought to himself. Thirty-six hours in a mine--a man's entitled to begin thinking he's hearing things.

  Within seconds, however, his eyes shot open and his entire body went to alert. He knew he heard something this time! He reached for the flashlight and flicked it on. Sandburg hadn't stirred beneath his hand and a quick look at his partner confirmed that he was, indeed, still unconscious. Yet, Jim was positive he had heard a sound nearby. He cocked his head to one side and extended his hearing, turning the dial up to the maximum.

  "...has to be it... get the team over here..."

  Voices! They were distant, muted, but they were there. Jim was sure of it. Sure that he wasn't imagining it. Gently, he slipped his hand beneath Blair's cheek and cradled the young man's head as he maneuvered himself slowly out from beneath his partner's weight. He tugged Blair's backpack over and pushed it beneath Sandburg's head and shoulder, then lowered his friend down against it. Blair didn't stir. Jim slowly pulled his hand from beneath Blair's cheek and stood.

  Grabbing the flashlight, he made his way to the pile of rubble that clogged the entrance to the front of the mine. Leaning into the debris, he turned his head to the side and listened carefully.

  "...get started over there... we don't know if we have much time..."

  The voices were nearer now than they had been a minute before, and Jim pushed himself closer into the debris. "Hey!" he shouted, "Hello? Can you hear me?"

  But only silence met his ears. Of course the rescuers couldn't hear him. They would have to have enhanced hearing themselves. Jim stayed quiet and listened intently. Within seconds he heard another muffled voice. "No way anyone could have survived this... where should I have the team start..."

  Ellison stood still, frozen in place as he listened to the bits and pieces of conversation that came to him through the rocks and the dense rubble. The minutes that went by seemed like hours, ticking by with agonizing sluggishness.

  The detective abandoned his position next to the debris and began to pace between the entrance of the mine and the place where his partner lay curled up beneath his jacket. Then, realizing he would only drive himself to distraction with his futile pacing, he positioned himself again at the piles of rubble and began digging. The rocks and bits of old timber tore at his fingers but he ignored the new bruises and surface cuts that appeared on his hands as he dug.

  Jim worked relentlessly, pushing himself until he was out of breath and the muscles in his arms and shoulders screamed from the abuse. At those times when his body would not allow him to keep pulling away at the rubble, he stumbled back to his partner's side, squatting down to check for Blair's precious life signs, to make sure the young man was still breathing.

  Ellison felt torn between his need to be with Blair and his need to help the men and women who were working outside on their behalf. But each time he waged the silent struggle, reason eventually won out over his heart, even if only for necessity's sake. He knew there was little he could do for Blair, especially as long as he remained unconscious. Therefore, he used the time to help burrow their way to freedom, knowing that was the best help he could provide for his partner under the circumstances.

  It seemed like hours since he had started digging... in fact, perhaps it had been hours. Fatigue gnawed at him, begged him to stop, but he pressed on. At one point he thought he saw a glimmer of natural light shining through the debris a few feet above his head. He paused and closed his eyes as vertigo assailed him. Surely the vision of light was just a reaction to his body's lack of food and sleep. He shook his head in an effort to dispel the dizziness, then opened his eyes and stared up at the rocks above him. There it was! A tiny sliver of light, so small that he had to strain to see it, was knifing its way through the mass of debris. Hurrying, Jim scrambled up the small hill of rubble, pushing himself upward until the fragment of light fell across his face. Placing his lips next to the small cranny, he yelled, "We're here! Can you hear me?"

  There was a moment of stunned silence from outside the mine. Even the sound of digging stopped. Then, "Detective Ellison?"

  Jim lowered his head and bit against his lower lip in order to keep from shouting with joy. "We're here," he called again, lifting his head and forcing the words through the small crevice. He bowed his head. "We're here," he whispered gratefully. He knew that his last remark was spoken much too softly for anyone on the outside to possibly hear, but he didn't care. The rescuers knew that he and Blair were alive, and that was all that mattered. Jim propped his arm against the debris. He leaned his tired body forward and dropped his head against his arm. He was exhausted.

  "Hang in there, Detective," the voice of one of the rescuers came to him. Absently, Jim registered that it was the same person who had spoken to him just a minute before. "We'll have you out of there in no time," the voice promised. And Jim nodded silently against his arm, not caring that the men and women outside were unable to see the gesture.

  Wearily, he picked his way down from the small mountain of debris and walked back to where his partner lay. Falling to his knees, he pushed his hand beneath the collar of Blair's shirt, searching for his partner's pulse. He closed his eyes and exhaled a thankful sound of relief--his friend's heartbeat throbbed slowly, steadily against his seeking fingers. Blair was still alive.

  Without opening his eyes, Jim lay down at Blair's back and curled himself in close behind his friend. Placing one arm protectively across Sandburg's chest, Jim whispered, "Just hang in there a little longer, Buddy. Please. Just a little bit longer." Then Jim lay silently and waited for the rescue team to break through the debris and take them home.

  /

  /

  Simon Banks sat in the corridor of the top floor of Cascade General Hospital, impatience etched in every line of his face, mirrored in the stiff posture of his body. The wheelchair he was occupying felt rigid and much too small for his large frame. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. An unconscious sigh of relief escaped him at the thought that his men had been found alive. Details were sparse, but for now it was enough to know that his hunch had been correct. He tried not to think of what might have happened if he had not regained consciousness... if he had not been able to tell the rescuers to check the old mine in Cascade National Forest's north woods.

  He stared down the hall at the gleaming stainless steel doors of the elevator that serviced the helicopter landing pad on the hospital's roof. The elevator through which his men would be arriving. Not a patient man, even under the best of circumstances, Simon chafed at the fact that the helicopter transporting Jim and Blair was late. But the worst part was the feeling of helplessness. He was a man used to having control, to delegating details rather than having to wait for them.

  Control. He hadn't felt in control since the moment he looked into that dumpster behind Commerce Street and saw Gil Brody's body.

  He clenched his fist in anger and impatience as the image of Dawson Quinn's face crossed his mind. At the thought of what he had probably done to Blair. Simon was no fool--he knew that there was only one way Quinn could have managed to get Jim and Blair out to that mine. Through force. Force that involved hurting Blair.

  "I'm going to play with Sandburg."

  As Quinn's words swept through his mind, Simon came to a decision. Once he got back on his feet, if his men hadn't found Quinn by that time, he and Jim would go after the man themselves. Simon closed his eyes at the thought of a confrontation between Quinn and Ellison. Next time he wasn't so sure he'd be able to talk his stubborn detective out of killing Quinn outright. Next time he wasn't so sure he'd even try...

  Simon glanced at the clock on the corridor wall, then craned his neck to look up at the nurse who stood behind him. "Are you sure there isn't a problem? They should have been here ten minutes ago."

  The nurse smiled down at him and patted him patiently on the shoulder. "I don't have any details, Captain Banks," she said softly.

  Simon turned back toward the elevator doors and resettled his large frame within the confines of the wheelchair. Dammit, he didn't need this thing! He could get around with a cane just fine. But it had been the only way they would allow him up here - hospital policy, they had said.

  He turned back to the nurse to ask--again--if she had any details on the condition of his men. But even as he opened his mouth, the elevator doors opened. A single gurney, surrounded by three people, was shoved out. One person held an IV bag over the prone body, another was checking vitals, calling out the results even as they moved down the corridor, the third was directing the gurney. But none of those things interested Simon. He saw only one thing -- Blair's still form upon the bed.

  He pushed up out of his chair, stumbling toward the unconscious police observer. "Oh God Blair." His gaze swept over him, taking in his bruised and swollen face, his bandaged wrists, his shallow, strained breathing.

  The doctor and nurses did not slow down but swept past him without stopping. Simon tried to follow, attempted to limp after the gurney, his teeth gritted against the pain in his leg. A hand grabbed his arm, stopping him.

  "Captain, please. You're going to open your stitches."

  He turned toward the nurse, searching her face, seeing the compassion in her eyes. "How could this happen?" he blurted out.

  "They'll take good care of him," she assured.

  "He's not even a cop." That's what kept going through Simon's mind over and over, without end. Blair was not a cop. He should have never been involved in this. He should have been left out of Quinn's little games. He should have been kept safe. Simon dropped down into the wheelchair, running a hand over his face. Only then did he realize that Jim still had not emerged from the elevator at his partner's side.

  Dread pressed in on him. What shape would Jim have to be in to not be with Blair? He shuddered at the images the question brought to his mind.

  A moment later, the elevator dinged for a second time and the doors opened. But instead of a second gurney, a nurse and a man in dirty green army fatigues stepped out.

  "Excuse me?" Simon said as they moved toward him. "Were you with the chopper that just arrived?"

  The man looked down at him, his expression weary. "Yes, sir, I was."

  "I'm Captain Banks. Detective Ellison and Blair Sandburg work for me."

  The man nodded. "Detective Ellison told me to find you. He wanted you to make sure his partner was taken care of. I told him the hospital would--"

  "Where is Detective Ellison?" Simon snapped. "Why didn't he come in with you? Wasn't there room on the chopper for both men?"

  "Plenty of room, sir. Detective Ellison stayed behind by choice. He said he had some unfinished business to take care of up in the woods."

  Simon's mouth went dry. He stared past the man standing before him, his stomach churning with worry. Jim stayed behind. There was only one thing that would keep Jim from Blair's side right now.

  The sentinel had gone after Dawson Quinn.

  Part Six