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Once Upon A Time ... There Was A Sentinel Rainier University Blair Sandburg stood in front of his class and looked out at the sea of faces. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this term we will be dealing with Guide 101. I know that some of you have put your names down for Guide training and I hope that you will be successful, but first you need to be sure you understand just what is involved. "For a Sentinel, the connection is on the physical level, what we call bonding, and their commitment is total. As a Guide you become one with your Sentinel. He or she will imprint you on their very soul, and once joined, separation can lead to the death of the Sentinel. It is impossible for them to sever their connection to you. This is why you must understand what you are getting yourself into." A hand went up at the back of the class. "Mr. Sandburg, you're a Guide, aren't you?" "Yes, and I wouldn't change that for the world. There's a feeling of security, and the knowledge, which is humbling, that your Sentinel would die for you. Guides can't make the physical connection, we're unable to imprint. So what we do as a Guide is make a full commitment. We're sworn to the vow in front of a Sentinel and Guide pairing, and once taken, the vow cannot be undone. The words are sacred; 'that on this day of our lord, 25th July 2004, I, Blair Jacob Sandburg, have joined with Sentinel Detective James Ellison as Sentinel and Guide. Bonded together in this life and the next, death be no barrier. One heart, one soul, one life." The class was silent, the passion in the oath could not be ignored, and for the first time they were learning the truth; to be a Guide was not a fashion statement, fad or slavery, it was a lifelong commitment to a Sentinel. It was exhilarating to see their teacher, someone, although liked, was often thought to be a bit flaky because of his ideas, speak so passionately about the bond, at a time when the scientific aspect of the bond between Sentinel and Guide was being explored. Blair Sandburg believed in the spiritual connection between Sentinel and Guide, the mythical concept of two people becoming one. Timidly a hand went up, "Sir how does a Sentinel imprint?" ''Now that's a good question ... " Blair collected the last essay and was putting it away when a knock on the door announced Jack Kelso the former CIA agent turned teacher, who wheeled himself in. He was bright and breezy by nature, and had readily helped out Jim Ellison on a recent case that had involved a rogue CIA agent, Lee Brackett. With a grin, Blair hefted his briefcase and followed him out heading for the university cafeteria. ' The older man deftly maneuvered his wheelchair along the uneven paving stones. Suddenly he stopped and Blair caught out, walked past him. When he realized he'd left Jack behind, he turned back. Jack's attention was riveted by something in the distance. "Jack, what's wrong?" Blair scanned the area, trying to see what the other man was looking at. Whatever it was, it was upsetting the usually unflappable Jack Kelso, and that took some doing. The man was ex-CIA; he'd survived the car bombing that had taken the use of his legs and instead of allowing pity to take hold, he'd created a new career in the academic world. A leading expert on the Intelligence Services, he'd just authored a best-selling book. But at this moment, he looked scared, and his hand went to the bag he carried. Blair saw the glint of gunmetal as Jack withdrew a revolver. His eyes never left the man in the distance and Blair heard him mutter over and over, "It can't be, can't be, he's dead." "Jack, are you okay? What's wrong? Talk to me man." Finally Blair's voice got his attention. "That was Sands, I swear to God it was. What the hell is he doing in Cascade? Blair, I have to get to my computer, I have to check this out." Kelso's mind was whirling a mile a minute. He'd heard through the grape vine that Sands had died a bloody death in Mexico. He'd breathed easier knowing the man was dead and he no longer had to live under the threat that one day he would look up to see Sands standing over him. Because one thing he knew was if Sands was alive and in Cascade, he was a dead man. No one screwed over Sands and lived to talk about it. The computer in Kelso's office was high tech; his fingers flew over the keyboard as he ran a program he'd designed to reveal the password needed to gain access to a computer that was impregnable to 99% of the top hackers in the world. Finally, he got to the database he wanted and pictures flickered across the screen, until only one was left. It was badly blurred, the man's dark, straight hair and dark glasses the only features that stood out Finally Jack eased back from the keyboard. "Sheldon Jeffrey Sands." "This is who you saw?" Blair couldn't understand the panic in Jack's voice. Kelso ignored his question and just stared at the picture. "If he's in Cascade, you have a problem. Sands makes Lee Brackett look like a saint. He's borderline psychotic- but brilliant- in a twisted way. Pray that I'm wrong." "Could the CIA have brought him in to catch Brackett?" Blair put his hands up to stop Kelso before he got started. "I know they're not suppose to work in the U.S., but Brackett's a liability. Could they have brought this Sands in to catch him?" Kelso shook his head. "Sands? Hell, no, he's too unstable. The firm likes to keep him south of the border. If they brought him back, it's for a black op. whatever he's here for, Blair, it means trouble." The Campus Rainier University FBI Agent, Greg Lewis walked beside his charge. At 47, Agent Lewis had been with the FBI for twenty years and at six foot six, he towered over the man he was escorting. Although built big, he was fast on his feet. He could still complete the Academy obstacle course faster than a lot of the younger agents. Reaching up, he rubbed his jaw, remembering how he'd caught hold of his charge, only to have a fist connect with his jaw hard enough to put a smaller man down. The snarled comment to keep his hands to himself was still ringing in his head. But he had his orders, and that involved escorting the younger, smaller man to see Dr. Burke for a Sentinel examination. Walking in silence gave Greg a chance to actually get a good look at the other man. Sands was 32 years old, although he looked younger, 5" 9,' slender, wiry build, with long straight shoulder length hair that was pushed behind his ears to keep it out of his face.His eyes were covered by wrap around dark glasses, his long slender fingers covered with black leather gloves, his clothing all black except for a tan colored jacket. Greg's eyes fixed back on the man's face, looking at the skin that was unnaturally pale which added to his almost ethereal beauty. Greg had observed the way women looked at him. Pity Sands couldn't see them. "Steps." The warning came just as they reached them; the smaller man nodded and climbed them, as Greg prompted. "Level ground." Moving in front of the man quickly, he had the door open before his charge reached it. He was an FBI agent playing guide dog to a CIA agent. He'd heard his colleagues comments, knew they thought he was stuck doing this because it was all he was capable of after the friendly fire incident. Let them think what they liked. At least he wasn't on desk duty anymore. Doctor Toni Burke's office was on the third floor of the building, and when Lewis knocked, it was a woman who answered. "Doctor Burke?" "Yes," she said, as she came around the table to shake hands. "I'm FBI Agent Lewis, this is Federal Agent Sands, and I believe you're expecting us." "Certainly." She shook hands with Greg, but then her hand was left hanging as Sands made no attempt to take it. She reached for his hand, only to have it caught by Greg Lewis. “No doctor," he said, with no other explanation, and she dropped her hand, nodding in understanding. "Please take a seat gentlemen." As she sat, she watched the way Sands moved, his fingers trailing over the back of the chair, and the way the larger man hovered. Only after Sands sat down did the FBI agent take his own seat. A mismatched pair, she thought. Lewis was a giant of a man, and outweighed the Federal agent by at least 50 pounds. "Now, gentlemen, my field of expertise is Sentinel Science, and you'll find that I can help. I've facilitated many Guide and Sentinel pairings. We ... " "What!" Sands, face twisted into a look of total disbelief, proclaimed, "I'm not his Sentinel, and he " he paused, pointing in Lewis' general direction, "is not my Guide. I don't need a Guide, lady, because I'm not a fucking Sentinel." He got up, his chair skidding backwards. "I had to come along for the ride, but I don't have to stay." "Then how do you explain being able to kill those people by sound alone, Sands?' Greg cut in smoothly. "Luck." "In a pig's eye. I've read the reports. No ordinary blind man-hell, no ordinary man- could've gotten a bead on five different people and nailed them in what, forty seconds? That wasn't luck. That was Sentinel ability kicking in." Reluctantly, Sands reached for the chair and pulled it back to the desk. Greg Lewis nodded, and said, "Go ahead, doctor." "Why don't you explain what happened?" Or Burke asked gently. For a heartbeat Sands didn't speak, then reached into his pocket and began rolling one of his habitual thin black cigarettes. Lewis was amazed that without sight he still had no difficulty making the thin cigarette. Lighting it, Sands inhaled the pungent smoke, and then finally began to speak. "What security rating do you have, doctor?" "A six. I've helped other agencies with their Sentinels. " "You breathe this to anyone and I will personally gut you." His smile was hard and bright. Dr. Burke felt a cold chill run through her; she remembered all too clearly seeing a similar smile from a patient the instant before he had exploded into violence. She had the feeling that Agent Sands was walking a line, a very fine line, and any time now he was going to fall. Sands turned toward the window, listening to the babble of the students walking on the green at the front of the building. Turning back, he removed his dark glasses. He heard her gasp, the muttered 'oh my god,' and his smile became bitter. Slowly and deliberately, he replaced them, "Enjoy the view Doctor." Sands sounded as if the whole thing bored him, He appeared to examine the glowing tip of his cigarette, then took a long pull on it, exhaling the smoke slowly. "The plan had been perfect, so simple, yet with a hint of complexity. The old shell game, assassination and counter assassination. The government would've gotten the allies they needed and El would've gotten the man that had killed his wife, and the drug cartel would've gotten their just desserts." "And you?" Or Burke asked "And me, I would have gotten balance." "What went wrong?" Greg found that he had to ask, "A bitch of a partner happened. She betrayed me to the drug cartel. Turned out she was the cartel leader's daughter, and, man, was she a daddy's girl. A great fuck, and if I'd known it was to be my last, I would've taken longer" His lips twisted into a smile at the memory. "We met in a cafe, and she brought a few friends. Next thing I knew, she was leaning over me and I was strapped to a table. I told them that if they killed a Federal agent, there was no place in the fly infested county they could hide. They weren't impressed. Seems they didn't like me watching them, so they made sure I couldn't do that ever again. Subconsciously, Sands fingers brushed the frame of his wrap around dark glasses to make his point. "Were you?" Doctor Burke was unsure how to phrase the question. "Didn't feel any pain, so I never blacked out, not for one single, fun, loving minute. You want to know what it feels like to have your eyes hacked out of your head? To scream while all the time hearing them laugh at you ... hear the woman you've made love to laugh. " Sands voice became hard and bitter. " You know what pisses me off? That bitch is the last thing I ever got to see, she made sure of that." Sands lapsed into silence and he ground out the cigarette. "How'd you escape?" Greg asked. "I didn't escape. I had all this blood and shit running down my face, I was thrashing around and screaming at Ajedrex and she kissed me. The sick bitch was getting off on it; her hands were all over me. Her only regret seemed to be that I couldn't get it up for her, or she would've fucked me in front of the whole cartel. She wanted to keep me as a play toy. But her father he had different ideas, so they let me go. But not before they'd had their fun." "What did they do?" Sands tensed, his hand going under his jacket and his fingertips caressed the butt of an automatic, one of two he wore in a twin shoulder rig. As he fought against the temptation to blow her away and put an end to her questions, his hand moved away from the gun. The thought of killing her was appealing, but they'd only get another doctor and then he'd have to start all over again, and he would've blown his chance to return to Mexico. Greg saw the tension in the CIA agent's body, like a spring that was about to snap. Carefully, so not to alert Sands, he moved into place to stop him if need be. "They picked me up and threw me out into the street. Hell, they probably thought a car would cream me, or I'd weep and beg for someone to help me. They were wrong. That day I got my revenge, taking out four of the cartel, and putting that fucking bitch in her grave." His lips twisted into a smile and he laughed as if it was a private joke only he was party to. It was the wry note of humor in his voice that worried the doctor, and made the warning bells go off in her head. "I do have one regret." Sands said. "I only put one bullet in her. I would've loved to have seen her face when I pulled the trigger." "You loved her?" Dr. Burke asked. ''No,'' he said it quietly, his head turned away, then with more strength, "no. She was a good fuck, nothing else. It was a pity I couldn't watch her die, or make it really slow. She died too quickly." Sands' voice faded, as in his mind's eye, he saw that day, the bright afternoon that had suddenly become dark night. He remembered crossing the dusty square back towards the cartel compound where he knew the layout by heart. Three men came out of the big wooden door; coins softly jingling in their pockets, that sound had been clearly in his ear. The stench of a cheap whore permeated the second man, while the third one stank of respectability. They'd laughed at him and his first shots had gone wide, drawing them closer. Then he'd killed them. It had been Ajedrez who'd helped him to his feet after the bullet to his thigh had put him down, her body pushing against him, the brush of her lips over his making him taste his own blood. Through the stench of blood and cordite, he had smelled her perfume, jasmine. She'd pushed the automatic under his chin, murmuring something. She seemed to have a need to talk. He didn't listen, wanting only one thing, which he took with a squeeze of the trigger. Sands continued his voice empty of emotion. “I let go of her and collapsed as well and then this fucking kid…. You know I could hear the bell on his bike above all the gunfire and explosions. The kid refused to give up on me. Without him I would've been left in the middle of the street." Sands shrugged. "24 hours later, the CIA came to collect me, and that's how I ended up here in Cascade with my very own FBI guide dog." The doctor cleared her throat, not sure what to say, but knowing instantly that if she made any attempt to tell him how sorry she was, he would explode. "I think we can help you. We need to find you a Guide, someone who can assist you as you come on line and that you'll imprint on." Sands ignored her as she went on about what was needed, what they were going to do, what the next steps were .... Her words were of no importance. He had screwed the pooch on that mission, and now this was the price. Half an hour later they left the office, Greg pleased with the way the appointment had gone. At least there was light at the end of the tunnel now, a way forward for the damaged agent. They just had to find someone crazy enough to take Sands on. Walking across the parking lot, Greg heard the car's sudden acceleration as its gas pedal was floored. He had only a split second to shove Sands out of the way, then roll clear of the speeding car himself. He called out, "Sands," then swore, seeing the CIA agent face down on the concrete, blood already pooling under his head. Quickly he knelt down, his fingers pressing to the other man's throat. There was a pulse. Greg fished out his cell phone, calling for an ambulance, then turned his attention to the fallen man. "Can I help?" The FBI agent looked up to see a young man throw down his backpack and kneel beside Lewis. "Blair Sandburg, I'm a T.A. here," the newcomer said as he bent down, pulling out a clean handkerchief to press it against the head wound. As Sands began to come round, he tried to push the hands away, hands that were holding him down. All he could remember was another time when he had been held down, and the burning pain that had followed. Greg caught the struggling CIA agent's face in his hands. "Sands, lie still, you're going to be all right." He risked giving him a slight shake, trying to get through Sands' confusion. The younger man shuddered, then went still. "What happened? Should I call an ambulance?" Blair asked, clearly worried about the injured man. The FBI agent silently took the handkerchief from the man called Blair, and kept it in place, as Sands' hand moved up and over his. In the distance, the sound of the ambulance could be heard. But Blair wasn't listening; he was focused on the fallen man. Following his look, Greg scooped up the dark glasses and made sure they were in place when the ambulance pulled up. Once clear Blair pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. “Jack, you know the picture of the guy you showed me, Sands?” he paused catching his breath, “he’s here. I’ve seen him. He just got hit by car, they’re sending him to hospital.”Blair paused. “Okay, if you’re sure, I can be round the back in 10.”
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Cascade Hospital Freda Morton was 21 years old, due to celebrate her delayed 21 st birthday in two days time, when all her family could get together. Her mother had hinted at a party and celebration dinner, and she was sure it was going to be fun. Remembering Nurse Howard's instructions, she concentrated on the work at hand. She'd been a volunteer for the last two months, and enjoyed her work at the hospital; it made a good balance to studying. But the truth was, her heart was no longer in her studies at the university. She'd been rejected from the one thing she'd been sure was her destiny, and it was eating away at her. Sighing, she clamped down on her disappointment and pushed the squeaking cart into the elevator. Only two more floors to cover and then she could have a well-earned cup of coffee and catch up on the gossip. The doors slid open on the seventh floor and she pushed her cart out. The first twinge that something was off was the lack of personnel at the nurse's station, but she shrugged that off, assuming there'd been an emergency. She paused when she heard a loud bang and someone swearing, then muttering to themselves. She started to push the cart away from the noise, but then her guilt kicked in. What if they needed help? There didn't appear to be anyone else around to look in on the patient. There was only one person in the room, a man dressed in street clothes, and he was groping around on he floor. His head was down and his long hair masked his face. She could see the sunglasses he was hunting for, so stepping forward, she scooped them up. "Is this what you're looking for, sir?" When the man looked up, she stepped back, her hand flying to her mouth. Instead of eyes, there were two gaping holes, just barely healed. "Here." She pushed the glasses into his hand and he hurriedly put them on. As Freda watched his grim efficiency, she wondered what the hell she was doing helping him. She rose and started towards the door, then heard a soft cough. A bullet had ploughed into the door only inches from her head. When she turned, she saw the gun pointed straight at her. "You going somewhere?" Freda shook her head and then realized that was stupid, he couldn't see her. "N ... n ... no." "Right answer." He caught her arm. "Get me out of here, and you might just live to see tomorrow, savvy?" "You're leaving?" "We're leaving." That's when the panic kicked in. If they left the hospital, who knew what would happen to her? She tried to pull away, but he pulled her back against his body and held her tightly, pressing the barrel of the gun against the side of her head. What scare her most was he didn't yell at her, or threaten, his voice just sounded really bored when he said, "Don't, I've had a really bad day, and it doesn't look like it's improving any time soon." Freda said in a strangled voice, "I understand, just don't hurt me." "Check the hall. Can you see anyone?" He released her and she opened the door and checked. "No, it's still empty. What are you, a criminal?" "Your tax dollar at work," the laugh was slightly off, "A federal officer, one of the good guys." "Why don't I believe that?" She bit her lip. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. "We get out of here, and I'll even show you my badge." His voice had a suggestive edge to it, but the next moment he was all business. "The exit, where is it?" "The elevator?" "Stairs," he corrected. He could hear the distinct sound of an elevator coming up. If there were more hit men, he couldn't afford to be caught standing still. The girl had calmed down. He hoped she wouldn't do something stupid, because then he'd have to kill her, and that would be a pity as he rather admired her pluck. If she played it smart and did as she was told, he could just leave her someplace and try to find a hole to hide in. Lost in thought, his senses straining to supply him with information of the environment around him, he gave her a tug to start her walking quickly along the corridor in the wrong direction. She realized he'd heard the elevator and had assumed the stairs were next to it. Freda hesitated, unsure of his temper, but sure he was going in the wrong direction. "It's this way." She tried to pull him back toward the stairs. "You could have something, I'm blind, if you hadn't noticed." He waved his free hand in front of his dark glasses to make his point."Sorry." Freda stopped in her tracks when it hit her. Why was she apologizing when he was kidnapping her? Moving them toward the stairs, she was just coming round the corner when she saw the out flung hand of one of the Candy Stripers, and blood smeared down the side of the reception counter. The man standing over her was holding a knife. He just started to turn and Freda quickly ducked back, stifling a scream. That man had just killed a .. a young girl in cold blood. Just whom were they dealing with? Sands bumped into her, not expecting her to stop so suddenly. Off balance, he staggered into her. "What the hell?" He whispered, and then swore as the stench of blood nearly made him gag. "It's Ellen, I think she's dead - oh my god, there's so much blood everywhere, and a man with a gun, he-" she couldn't contain her horror. The man cut her off quickly one hand going over her mouth as he pushed her up against the wall, silencing her. His body pinned her in place and his head was tilted to one side. Swearing violently to himself, he wondered what the hell his options were. He could hear the man telling someone to get up to the fifth floor quick. If the girl got hysterical and refused to help him, they were both dead. "He's calling in more help, so you're going to have to give me a hand. What weapons does he have?" he whispered fiercely. "All I saw was the knife." "You're going to have to direct me on this, tell me where things are--Ieft, right and by the clock." "You're blind, we need ... " "Very perceptive of you. So are you going to help or is this going to be your secret? Where is he?" "Round the corner at the nurse's station." "Lady, get with the program. Blind, as in, can't see, and unless there's a guide dog around, you're the only one here who can help me. So where is he precisely?" "Er, well," Freda was pushed to the corner, his hand on her shoulder. She pulled back. "He's about ten yards away at, well at my, on your left, no er. .. " Freda stuttered. The man stood perfectly still, his head tilted slightly, and then in disgust, spat out, "Fuck this." He thrust Freda to one side, went round the corner, and fired. The bullets aimed by his senses caught the gunman in the shoulder and spun him round, dropping him to his knees, and the next bullet ploughed into the counter. Freda saw the other man's gun being leveled at the man in front of her. "Shit! Left, six o'clock low; get down." She screamed the instructions. The sightless man dropped to his knees and fired, even as a bullet hit the wall where he'd been standing a second before. This time the other gunman never moved, the bullet going right though his head. "He dead?" "Yes, I th ... think so." Her voice was shaking. "Think? Don't think, confirm." "I may be new at this, but he's got a hole smack in the middle of his forehead, so I think that means dead. “She snapped back at him. She caught a fleeting smile and then he reached up and grabbed her arm, using her as a human ladder to pull himself up. As soon as he got to his feet, he pushed her to start moving and they fled down the stairs. By the time the pair hit the underground parking garage, his long hair was plastered with sweat to the parts of his face not hidden by the dark glasses, and he was shaking from the effort of keeping moving. He dug a hand into his pocket, held up the keys, and still keeping a grip on her arm, did a slow three sixty, his thumb pressing the button, until finally he heard the return ping of the car answering back. "Can you drive?" "I've got a permit." "That's good enough." He began to drag her to the car. "I can't. I don't..." She trailed off; he was getting in the car, not listening. "Okay mister, but it's your funeral." She strode towards the car; the quicker she could get rid of him the better it would be "Great, I'm gonna lose my license before I even get a chance to take the test." "Think of it as a steep learning curve. Now move it, sunshine." As the car gingerly pulled out of the parking garage, the alarm was already being sounded in the hospital, as the carnage was found. In Langley, the first alert went out.
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Detective Jim Ellison walked down the hospital hallway. At six foot one, with a powerful build, a stoic expression and imposing presence, he was an unstoppable force. He had been a good Detective before he'd come on line as a Sentinel, but now, teamed with his Guide, he was awesome. He turned as he heard Blair Sandburg come rushing up. "Jim, there's something you should know, Jack Kelso ... " "Chief can it wait? I'm working on a case, later
okay?" Michael Pearson, who looked every inch what he was, a military man, watched the detective keenly. His gaze switched to the Guide, and for the first time Ellison wasn't running true to form. The Guide was younger, perhaps 25 years old, smaller, at five nine than his Sentinel, with a mass of dark, shoulder length curls, and a fashion sense that had been hip 40 years ago. His multicolored clothing looked like a riot in a paint shop. And the kid bounced as he talked a mile a minute. Things had certainly changed with Jim Ellison, and Pearson was about to find out how much. "What's happening?" Blair blanched slightly at the blood streaked counter and the covered bodies. "This whole set up is a professional hit, and a patient took them out. A blind patient, Chief." He broke off to kneel by the body, "Right through the head. Looks like he took a few ranging shots, and then nailed him. We also have a missing volunteer, probably a hostage." It was then he saw Michael Pearson, and his eyes traveled down the length of the man. There was no mistaking the CIA Controller. Michael Pearson looked older, his hair - now gray at the temple, and he had put on a lot of weight. So he wasn't in the field any more, but his presence here meant that the plot had just gotten a whole lot more tangled. *******She'd pulled the car to the side of the road and was still shaking from the near miss. Her passenger wasn't making any comment yet, and she was sure it was because he was in shock. "You were going the wrong way down a one way street." He finally asked, his voice surprisingly calm. "Yeah, sorry." Freda cringed. "Okay. Thought that's what'd had happened. I think that three car pile up was a give way don't' you?" Sands' hands were shaking as he rolled his cigarette, belying his unruffled voice. He forced them to stop. "The first motel you see, pull in." "Try not to demolish anything else." Sands turned towards her when she seemed to make no move to drive away. Freda picked at the lint from her trousers. "Can't you let me go? You can see I'm no good at this. Can't you call the police or backup or something? "Sure kid, I'll call triple A. But in the meantime you're all I have and I need to find a hotel, then make that call." He was looking straight at her and even though she knew he couldn't see her, it felt as if his eyes were right into her soul, like he knew every dark thing she'd ever thought or felt. He was a beautiful man, and she couldn't remember if she'd ever held a beautiful man's attention before. Normally, their eyes slid right past her, as if she didn't exist. "How old are you?" The question surprised her and she stuttered her answer " Er, I'm 21." "Old enough. Pull into the next motel you see, we're getting a room." He paused. "Two hours at the most and I'll be off your hands." Suddenly he smiled as if knew he'd made her blush. "I take sex really seriously. If we were going to be doing that, I'd spring for the whole night. But don't flatter yourself, I'm not that easy." ********Cascade Hospital "Pearson." Jim's tone was cold. "Colonel Ellison." "Colonel." Blair made the title a question. Jim didn't turn around as he said, "You shouldn't have heard that, Chief." Blair walked around to stand in front of him. "But you were a Captain when you left." "I never left, Blair," his tone was brutal, a clear command to shut up. "So what's going on here, Pearson? You're not here for your health, are you?" Jim turned away from Blair and gave his full attention to the CIA Controller. "One of our fieldworkers came back from Mexico a little screwed up. He was hurt on the mission and it might have confused him. He was here and now he's gone and we need to find him." "What's his name?" "Joe Donald." Jim narrowed his eyes at the controller. "Mike, Mike, you should know you can't lie to me. Who is it?" Blair was watching the interplay between the two men intently and at this rate it was going to warrant a whole new chapter on the posturing of two alpha males. He interrupted, tugging on Jim's sleeve. "I've been trying to tell you, Jack said there was; an agent on campus. He was hit in a car accident and brought in. This must be the same guy." "Did Jack have a name for him?" Jim asked, his eyes never leaving Pearson's face. "Yeah, Sheldon Jef..." He never got to finish the name Jim's expression changed to one of disbelief, and he shook his head. "Pearson, tell me we aren't talking about Sands." "He ... " "Sands," Jim yelled the name, and then he was right in the other man's face. "Sands, for god's sake, he is a borderline psychotic. He's been known to kill people because they cooked his favorite Mexican dish too well." Jim ran his hand through his hair.
"Remember his wigged-out theory on maintaining balance? Oh, yeah, you ever really listened to that." When he saw the look on Pearson's face he said, "I thought so." "Look, Ellison, I don't like it, but when we need someone to manipulate, to plot and execute a plan, we use Sands. The agreement was that he was kept south of the border, but that went to hell in a hand basket when he needed urgent medical treatment." "Is he a Sentinel?" Blair asked ignoring the look Jim shot his way. "He might be a Sentinel. We brought him to Cascade as a holding measure- to check him out. The Medical Board will have to review his case. He may be insane, but he was the best at what he did. Blind, he's just another psycho. If he doesn't bond, there's a nice, small, white padded cell awaiting him. And believe me, that's where I want him if we can no longer make use of his talents." Pearson paused. "Now we just need to find him." *******Freda sat on the edge of the bed. Her kidnapper looked exhausted and in pain. He ignored her as he dug through his pockets, and pulling out a small white bottle, he popped the top, dry swallowed a couple of white pills, then rested his head back against the chair. "You're bleeding," she put in, almost timidly, and he raised a hand to his face, "your lip is bleeding." Her tone of concern switched to one of defense. "Look, it wasn't my fault, I told you I only had a permit. That truck came out of nowhere. I had to slam on the brakes or we would've been mincemeat. If you'd been wearing your seat belt you might not have hit your face." Freda ground to a halt and got to her feet. "Where you going?" "To get a towel, you're bleeding on your shirt." As she walked into the bathroom, she saw the way he tracked her every move. It should have made her nervous, but it didn't. So far he had made no attempt to contact anyone and seemed paranoid about being betrayed. As she came back into the room, he rolled his head so that he was looking at her, or would've been if he had eyes. "You know those men I killed? What was different about them?" She got the feeling she was looking at a professional, but a professional what? Freda wasn't sure if he actually expected her to answer, but if that got him away from her any the quicker, she was willing to answer his pop quiz. She thought about it. Saying they all had guns seemed kind of obvious. "They all had suits on." "Well done, Sherlock." He drawled sarcastically. Putting her hands on her hips, she snapped back, "Look I'm doing my best. Give me a break, already." She swallowed when she saw his fingers drift across the gun on his lap. He leaned forward in the chair and then relaxed back, smiling. "As I was saying ... " totally ignoring her out burst... "Well observed. Now what else did you see?" ********Cascade HospitalJim walked around the basement parking lot, thoughtful as Blair was following him. He knew that the younger man was dying to question him. "Go ahead, Chief." "Colonel. I thought you retired a Captain." "Who said I retired? I just took a long leave of absence." "What-you ... Jim, I thought I knew you." Blair was angry, but also saddened by the lack of trust Jim had in him. "Blair. .. " Blair Sandburg knew that tone, it was the one Jim used when he didn't want to discuss something any further, but now that another life was on the line, he had to know. He stared at Jim, a frown on his face. Seeing the look, Jim gave in. "Do you really think they would let a Sentinel leave?" He left the question hanging in the air. "I'm a sleeper, I only get activated when needed, and no, you didn't miss it, I haven't had a mission since we bonded." "You know this Sands?" “I wish I didn't. Pearson's right, he's good. He was the field officer three years ago in Bolivia, and with just $800,000 and a mobile phone, he organized and then destroyed a military coup, getting the President re-elected. But he's a master of manipulation. He's been known to make mothers betray their children. And he's an opportunist. The world goes to hell and Sands catches the last plane out." "Will he hurt the girl?" "Sands is crazy, but he's doesn't just going around hurting people without a reason. He won't abuse or rape her. The odds are, as an innocent, he'll leave her on some street corner when he has no more use for her. If she keeps a level head, she should be okay." A shout from Henri Brown made Jim turn to see H waving a surveillance tape in his hand. ********Freda had been taking Sand's test for an hour and it was surprising what she'd seen and understood. "Could be cartel, but if so, how the hell did they get on to me?" "A drug cartel, are you DEA?" She got the impression that if the man had been able to, he would've rolled his eyes at her. "CIA." CIA? Freda backed a little further into the chair. What the hell had she gotten herself into? "Kid," he leaned towards her, "you're safe. I'm not going to kill you or let you get killed." "Thanks." "I still need you." Freda just stared at him, and then saw the smile tug at his lips. At that moment she realized that he wasn't going to hurt her. "Look, kid, I'm one of the good guys, hired by dear old Uncle Sam." "Do I get a name?" Freda suddenly decided that if she was going to be dragged round from pillar to post, she was at least going to know who was doing the dragging. "Sands" "That's all?" He made no attempt to tell her more. "Trevor, Karl, Thomas?" She tried to guess, knowing that he would tell her, if only to shut her up. She couldn't explain why, but for some reason it seemed very important that she know his name, as if knowing it would somehow make sense of what was going on around her. "Look Mr. Sands--" "Agent Sands," he corrected. "It's either Sands or Agent Sands, never Mr. I didn't go through the fucking academy to end up a mister, savvy?" "You don't have a badge on you, do you?" When she saw the look he gave her. She added, "It's not that I don't trust you Agent Sands, it's just you don't look like any agent I've ever seen." "And you've seen that many?" "No, but enough to know you don't look like one." "How many?" Sands sat up more, liking this. "Okay, you're the only one, but, " she muttered, "they can't be like you." "Tut tut tut, and I thought you liked me." He looked even more beautiful when he smiled. "So what's your name?" Freda grinned. It had become a matter ofhonor to get him to tell her. "Go to hell, kid," he said amiably as he put his feet up and made himself comfortable. "Nathan? Broderick? Percival? Gerald? Ian? George?" She could do this all day. "Shut up!" "Sidney? Leroy? Doug? Rudy?" He was starting to look quite irritated and she knew it wouldn't be long before he caved. Picking up the nearest thing he could find, he threw the Bible at her. "Shut the fuck up." "I will when you show me your badge." Sands pulled the leather wallet from his pocket and tossed it accurately across to her. Freda caught it. Being very careful with it, she admired the badge and the photograph next to it, and for the first time, really smiled. "Thanks, Sheldon." He made a grab for his gun, looking royally pissed, and Freda tossed the wallet back at him. Sheldon Jeffrey Sands snapped it right out of the air. "Satisfied? Enjoy the sound of my name now, but if I ever hear you use it again, you're a dead woman." Freda couldn't quite work out whether he was joking or not.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Major Crimes Cascade PD
Captain Simon Banks was none too happy as he was brought up to speed on what was happening. The incident at the hospital was becoming more complicated by the minute. He looked around at the men in his room and took a bite on his cigar. CIA, FBI. .. the whole damn alphabet was in there, Agent Lewis was unlike some of the other FBI agents he had met. The man was willing to work as part of a of an inter-agency group, and so far hadn’t thrown his weight around. But he wasn’t about to bet that wouldn’t change. "What do we know about the dead men?" Carolyn Plummer answered, frustrated. "The computer has drawn a blank so far. They appear to have no criminal record, never been in the military, or even had a driver's license." She looked rather accusingly at Michael Pearson, and then turned back to Simon, "but we're still cross checking. We did have some luck with the surveillance tape," she said, nodding to her ex. "You were right, Jim. I managed to get a clear ID on the car license plate." "We have an all points on the car at the moment." Jim raised a hand to stop Simon, and continued. "They know to report back and not approach. Hopefully, we should be getting a result soon." Greg Lewis said thoughtfully, "When the call comes, 1 want to go in with my team." Simon saw the telltale twitch of muscles, as Jim's jaw tightened. The Ellison temper was about to explode. This was Jim's city, his territory, and he wasn't going to give up jurisdiction to any FBI bluenoser. Greg seemed to understand tried to placate the Sentinel. "Look he's my responsibility, and I want to make sure he's brought in, and the woman with him is safe." The look Greg gave Ellison and Pearson spoke volumes. Sands was his and he wasn't going to let anyone else interfere. The silence in the motel room had stretched out but Freda's gaze never left the man sitting opposite her. She could tell there was something seriously wrong with Sands. His head tilted again, as if he was straining to hear something, then with a cry of pain, he brought his hands up to try and shut the noise off. As he
rocked forward, the gun slipped to the floor. Freda dived forward and caught it. She could just walk out of there now, and leave him to whatever trouble he was in. She could, but she wouldn't leave him, not when he was in such pain, rocking back and forward with his hands pressed to his ears. Suddenly she realized how he'd been able to take that guy out. He was a Sentinel. She couldn't hear anything, but that didn't mean much, as there was no telling what he could he hear. Where the hell was his Guide? A Sentinel needed a Guide to help him handle the sensory spikes. She placed the gun back on the floor, carefully, as if it was a poisonous snake "You're a Sentinel." She said, kneeling down in front of him. Sands was breathing hard, trying to get control of the pain. His hand snapped out and caught her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. . "What do you know about this Sentinel crap?" Freda ignored the question for the moment, and instead asked, "Where's your Guide?" Not bothering to hide her outrage. She covered his hand with hers, feeling him flinch, but she didn't pull back, just curled her fingers around his. "I don't have one--only been online for two weeks," he said, sounding exhausted. "Came online in Mexico when-there was a woman--okay, we were lovers--only she didn't know I was a Fed- and she wasn't too happy when I fingered her father. And then there was the fact that she didn't like me looking at other women. So I guess she thought she was killing two birds with one stone, so to speak." "She did that to you." She packed a world of fury into those five words. Sands turned his face towards her, shocked that she would care that much. When she next spoke, she was all business. "I'm not a nurse, I just volunteered at the hospital. But I took Sentinel 101, so I can try, okay?" The CIA agent reached out and brought her hand to touch his face, feeling the warmth of her skin against his chilled flesh. She didn't pull away from him as he moved his face so that his lips brushed the palm of her hand. Freda took a steadying breath, then asked, "Which senses came on line first?" "Hearing and smell." He shuddered, remembering the pain and carnage around him in the street, freaking out when he couldn't breath because of the dust in the air, dust that had felt like razor blades cutting his throat and lungs. "Okay, two of the five," she paused, considering. "What about touch?" "No." She continued to herself. "Sight's gone, so that leaves taste. Do you find that you have a good sense of taste?" "Yeah," he grimaced, remembering what he'd been able to taste in the hospital food, "but I wouldn't call it good." "Right, so that means that you're not a full Sentinel, but have three out of a possible four at the moment. Don't try to force the other one, you're hurting too much as it is." He had tried to hide it, but she could see the pain that often flitted across his face. He needed to be in a hospital, not in some motel room. "I'm not very good at this." She tried to hide the bitterness in her voice. "You know a lot more than I do, so that makes you the expert." The sky outside of the motel window had become dark. She glanced at her watch. It was now five hours since she'd been kidnapped-well, that's if a Federal agent could technically kidnap you. Slowly she eased her hand back from his. "Y ou should be back at the hospital, they can protect you there." "Gee, they did such a great job before." Sands licked his lips, tasting the nutmeg. Puzzled, he did it again. The taste was stronger and he felt like he could get addicted to it. With effort he pulled himself back from the sensory seduction. "To business. The only people who knew I was in Cascade were the CIA's local Controller and the FBI, in the shape of frigging, Greg Lewis. Neither of them have motive to-scrub that- the Controller might, but that's personal, not professional. So who else knew I was here and wants me dead?" "Did you fly in? Could someone have tracked you that way?" "Private jet from Mexico-- should not have been traceable." His fingers tapped the arm of the chair, and then suddenly sat up as he heard a car pull into the motel parking lot. "Check that." Freda eased the curtain open and hissed, "Four men, all in suits." Sands scooped up the gun and jumped to his feet; he could hear them heading for their motel room. Sands tried to listen to the men as they approached the door, hoping to learn who they were and what they wanted, but was driven to his knees as one of the other room's occupants switched the television on, the sudden noise assaulting his sensitive hearing. Then as suddenly as it came, it went. The noise was still there, but it faded back, at the same time Sands felt the pressure of the girl's hand on his shoulder and heard her voice low and soothing. Instinctively using that as an anchor, he pushed out his senses until he locked in on the men. This time it was no flash in the pan. He could smell the aftershave, and knew exactly who was stood outside of the door. Greg Lewis shot a look at the younger FBI agent and said, "put that gun away and don't try anything stupid." "SANDS, I'M COMING IN." Greg put a hand on the door handle and then jerked back as the bullet neatly hit it. "FUCK YOU, SANDS, THIS IS AGENT LEWIS, PUT THAT GUN DOWN BEFORE I FEED IT TO YOU BARREL FIRST." Keeping to one side of the door, away from any other bullets, he kicked it open. But there were no other shots. Carefully he eased his head round the doorjamb. They said Sands was insane and there was no way he was going to just walk in there until he knew what was happening. Sands was in a chair, looking relaxed. "You want to tell me what happened In that hospital room?" "Self defense happened. The bastards tried to take me out." He fired the gun and the window exploded. "Don't fire." Lewis yelled at the other agents. "Fuller keep still, you heard me." He realized that Fuller had moved into place to take the CIA Agent out, and Sands had heard him. "Sir, the hostage" Greg muttered under his breath and looked back into the room. The girl was kneeling down next to Sands chair, looking scared, but not of him. "She's not a hostage." Sands put his hand out and Freda took it. "She looks like a hostage from here." Sands didn't trust easily, he didn't actually trust at all, but he'd decked Lewis and the man had still treated him fairly. Taking his time, Sands lowered his gun so that it rested on the arm of the chair, but he still held on to it. "Come in Lewis, and join the party." Sands drawled. Lewis came in slowly, trying not to set the skittish man off. He took it as a good sign when Sands let go of the gun and started to roll one of his habitual handmade cigarettes. He gave the impression that he was the poster boy for control, when really he was hanging on by his fingernails. Greg recognized the girl from the photograph. Freda Morton now stood at Sands' shoulder, her hand resting on the back of his chair. In the mirror behind them, he could see that her fingers actually brushed his back. "Miss Morton, are you okay?" "Fine, tired, that's all." She answered, almost wistfully, but the FBI agent realized that she hadn't moved away from Sands. Perhaps she frightened of him, but she didn't look it. "I'm going to ask the others to come in now. You're perfectly safe, Sands." Raising his voice slightly, he called out, "Agents Fuller, Morris and Edger, get in here." From her position, she could see the look on their faces, a look that said it was going beyond the call of duty being in the same room as Sands. The big man, what was his name? Agent Lewis-when he looked at Sands, there was no disgust. A little despair, a little annoyance, but nothing likes the loathing she saw in the younger FBI agent's faces. The younger of the agents ignored Sands and turned to her. "Freda?" "Yes," she answered warily. "Your parents are worried about you. We're here to take you home." He beckoned her over, but she was reluctant to leave the CIA agent's side. She got a feeling that something might happen to the man if she did. But some of her worry faded when she realized that Agent Lewis was looking after him. He was crouching down so that he was level with Sands, his voice a low whisper. The agent quickly introduced himself, "I'm Agent Fuller," he said as he caught her elbow and quickly escorted her out of what he thought was earshot. "We need to know if he assaulted or molested you in any way. If he did, don't worry, he won't be protected by the Agency." She was shocked at the suggestion that Sands would've raped her. "I'm fine, nothing happened." The agent didn't believe her, but repeated forcefully, "We will protect you. Did he force you to come with him?" Lewis saw the way that Sands tensed and started to get up. He was looking towards Fuller and the girl. "Look, AGENT FULLER," Freda snapped at him, "Agent Sands didn't kidnap me, and he sure as hell didn't rape, molest or assault me in any way, shape, or form. Now can we let this drop?" She turned on her heels and headed back towards Sands. Lewis saw the way Sands relaxed, and how her hand brushed the blind agent's shoulder. Sands flinched, but didn't pull away or strike out, which was his usual reaction to physical contact. Something was going on here, and it was very interesting. "Agent Lewis, I would like to go home now, but ... " she didn't finish her sentence, but her look of reluctance spoke of her concern about leaving Sands alone. Lewis saw an unexpected emotion flit across the CIA agent's face. He could swear he saw panic and longing as soon as the girl had spoken of going home. "I'll take you home," the voice was steady; the face neutral, no hint of the panic he could've sworn he'd seen in Sands. A protest would be pointless. "Of course." "Sir, is that at good idea? Agent Sands is ... " "Is what?" Sands cut in, "charming and courteous?" He smirked at the younger agent. "Back off," Greg snapped. It was hard to tell which agent he aimed that comment at. Sands stood and came to her side without hesitation, running his hand down her arm and taking her hand. Without thinking she closed her fingers around his hand. "Agent Fuller, show Miss Morton to the car, I just have to finish up in here." Fuller led the way back to the car. In his late twenties, he was tall, blond and good-looking -the picture perfect FBI agent. Once at the car, he ignored Sands, and turned his attention and what he considered his charm, on Freda. "I'm pleased we got to you in time, Miss Morton, this must have been a terrible experience for you, if you need counseling ... " If Sands had eyes, he would've rolled them. "What he's saying is that he wants to get into your pants." Fuller started to splutter a reply, but instead took his anger out on the car. Jerking the door open, he caught Sands' shoulder and pushed him down and in. Freda caught the blind agent as Sands' head slammed into the top of the doorframe, his knees buckled, and a bloody line opened above his dark glasses. She managed to get a grip on his arm and guide him into the back seat of the car. Greg got in and glanced in the rearview mirror. "What the hell?" He turned in his seat, digging out a handkerchief, only to have Freda push it away, "I've got it covered." She had her scarf pressed against the wound and Sands pulled her close to him, using her body to keep him upright. She gave Fuller a glare and went back to trying to stem the blood; already a bruise was beginning to form around the cut. The CIA agent seemed to be having a hard time answering her whispered questions. "You best get us to a hospital, I think he's concussed." Greg didn't argue, slamming the car into gear as he made a mental note to find out what the hell had just happened once he was alone with Freda Morton.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
CIA Cascade Office.Michael Pearson looked across at Dr. Toni Burke, then at Blair Sandburg, and then behind them at Colonel Ellison. Ellison didn't look too happy, but so far had kept his peace."Well, Doctor, you've heard Agent Lewis' observation, what do you think?"Dr. Burke tapped her pen against the folder. "From what he said, it appears that Agent Sands might have formed an attachment to her. Now for that to happen they must have been very close, because certainly the man I spoke to earlier was very resistant to being a Sentinel." She looked at Blair. "You spoke to her?""Freda was rejected for Guide training, because," he paused, "GDP said none ofthe Sentinels would take her as a Guide. I read the report. They said she was too tall If she'd been a beauty, that might not 've been a problem, but the GDP didn't like the idea of a female Guide towering over one of their Sentinels." He added ruefully, "Just goes to show that the GDP doesn't always know everything."They all heard the passion and anger in the young Guide's voice, and Dr. Burke was all too aware of what Blair had suffered. He was by all accounts one of the best guides currently out there, and yet he had been rejected five times because of his looks, the rumors about his sexual preferences, and the fact that he was thought to be a flaky hippy throwback. That had ended when, of all people, an ex- military--or so they thought-police officer had taken him under his wing and bonded with him."Freda was quite clear that she did get close to him. She helped him several times, and he might have scented her then. But I think we can pin it down. She said that he held her hand. Now if he tasted her, coupled with scent, he would have been well on his way to bonding. Sands now seems to have a Guide.""Can it be broken?"Dr. Burke shook her head, saying, "not without a risk to Sands. A Sentinel that's deprived of his Guide can't bond again, and they slowly lose control, spiraling down into insanity and overload. Coma and death follow."Doctor, I'm not worried about Sands, he already has a cell with his name on it where he can go crazy and die. I just need to know that the girl won't be hurt by the severing of her connection with him." Pearson's callus statement didn't surprise Ellison. He knew there was no love lost between the two men."The Guide doesn't imprint, so there's no threat to her."For the first time since a certain incident in Mexico, Pearson looked happy. The biggest thorn in his side, bar Lee Brackett, was about to be buried so deep that no one would ever hear of him again.Agent Lewis been sent to collect Sands, only to find the man was missing. Surveillance had somehow lost him and that had him worried.Mrs. Sandra Morton opened the door and looked at a man who stood facing away from the door. When he turned back, he smiled and asked, "Is Freda at home?"Mrs. Morton looked over her shoulder, "Lucy, tell Freda she has a visitor. If you would come in Mr ... " She left the mister hanging in the air."Sands.""Mr. Sands," she halted on the name. "You're the one that...""Hello, Mr. Sands," Freda arrived cutting across her mother, "What can 1 do for you?""I just came to apologize and make sure that you're okay." Sands used the most sincere voice he had. "Could we talk?""Of course, this way." Freda put a hand out, asking, "Can you feel my body heat?"The blind CIA agent raised one hand out towards her voice. "Yes.""Okay." She moved closer, so that his hand was only inches from her. "Use it to follow me." She kept close so that he could track her heat signature. Freda escorted Sands towards the patio, guiding him with an occasional soft word. He deftly moved to the left or right, avoiding the things in his way.They hadn't yet reached the patio door when Lucy came rushing through the room. At the sudden noise, Sands' hand flew towards his gun, but just as quickly, Freda put her hand on his arm, stopping him."Hi Fred, who's this?" She was curious as Freda never had had many male visitors after high school, and this one was certainly good looking. Pity he was wearing dark glasses. She wondered if he was going to be like most of the boys Freda met. Freda was smart, and the boys in high school had come around when they needed her help in algebra or chemistry, all the while secretly laughing at her homeliness."A friend, okay?" Freda reassured her. " Now could you find us some coffee?" She pushed her sister off towards the kitchen, and the tension disappeared from the agent, as he seemed to recognize that there was no threat.Opening the sliding door, she got him seated in the shade."Okay, so what's this all about?""Can't 1 just visit you to apologize?""No." Freda sounded suspicious. "You wouldn't." Sands was slightly annoyed that he hadn't been able to charm her. Usually he had no problem getting women to see things his way. Smile, say the right words, touch the right places. She was a woman and no different than the rest, a little voice in his head told him. But he knew better. This girl was different, and for the first time, he realized that it might be a non-starter if the Agency had gotten to her first. If that was the case, then he was dead, and might as well save them the trouble and eat his gun. Because there was no way he was going to live the rest of his life in a cell, drugged up to his eyeballs ... if he had any, he thought darkly."Do you know Dr. Burke?""Sentinel studies, yeah. Why?"He leaned forward and focused on her, his gloved hands resting on the table, and next to them his cell phone. He relaxed his face into a smile. This was going to be the most important mind game he had ever played.Just as he was about to start his little speech, the one designed to make her want him and come with him, he stopped. He reconsidered what he'd been about to say. For once, as much as he hated it, he would have to be honest."The good doctor," he made her title sound like an insult, "said that I've imprinted on you. You're my Guide." He paused, waiting for her reaction and when she remained silent, cursed the whole idea of being honest. He should've gone with the, "I've fallen in love with you," line he'd planned.Finally he broke the silence and said, "You have to say something kid, because 1 sure as hell can't see your expression.""How did this happen? They said I wasn't suitable to be a Guide.""Like 1 know." Sands shrugged. "I don't know how these things work.""You're intelligent, come on, what do your think happened?" She wanted to hear what he thought had happened.It was his turn to be silent, but finally he started to speak. "I think I started to imprint almost from the beginning. When you helped me in the hospital room, I smelled nutmeg and it was you, and then when you touched my face," Sands stopped and corrected himself, "Okay when 1 placed your hand on my face, I tasted nutmeg again."Sands stopped, hating this. He had to open himself up to her, knew it was necessary. She'd have to be as insane as he was supposed to be to take him on. What did he have to offer her, but hot climates and dangerous work with a borderline psychotic who barely knew how to string two truthful sentences together."I discovered I could find. you, track your heat pattern, pick out your heartbeat. Everything about you calls to me. If Burke is right, I've imprinted. So the ball's now in your court. You can desert me or agree to join with me and be my Guide." He heard her heart speed up "Am I so scary, Freda? I know I'm a bargain basement Sentinel and you could do way better, but don't be scared of me."She wanted to take his hand and tell him he didn't scare her, but first she needed to know some things. "I had a visitor. Mr. Pearson. He said he was from the Agency, and he wanted to know what had happened in the hospital, if you'd hurt me."Freda heard the intake of breath and in that second it was as if he had almost given up hope. He looked so very tired, she saw it in the way his shoulders sagged, and the way he slid lower in the chair, but when he spoke it was with a bitter humor. "He would ask that. And I bet he didn't believe you when you said I hadn't."He was right about that, but she wasn't going to tell him that yet. It was hard to hold back, when all she wanted to do was pull him close. "He said that," she broke off, and he felt the displacement of air when she flinched as his hand disappeared into his jacket pocket."Just my cigarettes," he said, as he pulled the bag out of his pocket "You thought it was a gun?" With quick dexterity, considering he had gloves on, he rolled and shaped his cigarette before lighting it, inhaling the smoke, and letting it out slowly, savoring it.She didn't have to say anything - he already had his answer. Sands began to get up. He could tell the kid was scared, her heart was beating too fast and it was clear she would never embrace him as her Sentinel. He reached out for his cell phone, but was stopped when her hand covered his. He forced himself not to give into reflex and pull away."The truth, Agent Sands. Are you insane?""You want the truth, or what you can live with?""The truth." She said truth firmly, like she knew what it was and that it was something she could handle."He sat down again. "I passed the psych examination, but I had to be careful," he paused. "They say I'm borderline.... personally I think I just have a unique way of looking at things, one that works for me." He gave her brilliant smile. "What did Pearson say."Sands what to know what Pearson had told his Guide, what poison he'd used, but to his suprise, she ignored his questions, almost as if she didn't care what Pearson had told her." /p>
"Would you kill me or any of my family?"Whatever Sands was about to say, whatever smart- ass remark he was about to express, died on his lips. "No, on my honor, for what it's worth, I would never hurt you or your family, and I would protect you to my dying breath."He felt her pull away from him, then jumped as he heard a hammering on the front door - heavy footsteps and the stench of gun oil - he knew they were her for him."Freda, get away from him. Sands don't move keep you hands in sight."He heard her chair pushed back and tensed. Better to die than face what they had planned for him. Pity the kid would have to see it but...."Freda recognized Blair Sandburg, his Sentinel Mr. Pearson, and a couple of other agents. She circled round the table and placed her hand on Sands Shoulder and straightened up to her full height, all six feet. Taking a deep breath, she said. "I formally announce of my own free will, and with full understanding of the sanctity....""Don't say it." Jim Ellison growled."She ignored the Sentinel and continued. "That on this say of our Lord. I Freda Alexandra Morton, have joined with, er.... Mr Sands, as Sentinel and Guide, bonded together, this life and the next, death be no barrier, one heart, one soul, one life.""She said it." Blair said, all too aware of the vow she had made."And may God have mercy on our souls." Freda spun round and looked the newcomer up and down.Greg Lewis stood there. He had come through the back of the garden, his gun held at the ready. "I never thought the bastard would force you.""No," Freda Snapped, appealing to Blair, "the bond wasn't forced, and in fact, I instigated it.""Primer 101," Blair allowed his first smile in two days. He gave Jim nudge in the ribs. "Always nice to welcome a new pairing. He knew it would take a lot of work to get the pair up and running, but if Freda had freely made her choice, then they had to help them.Sands' cigarette crumbled in his hand. He hadn't believed she would do it, had never thought he'd be able to convince her. He let the paper and tobacco fall to the floor and covered her hand with his, where it rested on his shoulder.Michael Pearson closed the distance between them, his voice a harsh whisper, "you make one mistake Sands while you're in the U.S. and I'll...""And you'll do what, Mikey? What're you going to do?" Sands asked, pleased to hear the increase in the Controller's heartbeat. He'd won.