Blair woke up slowly, desperately trying to clear away the thick fog that filled his brain. Consciousness brought with it pain, starting with a dull ache that rapidly escalated into full blown agony as he attempted to lift his head.

He opened his eyes. The naked overhead light nearly blinded him. He half expected to find the enraged figure still standing over him. With a small whimper of relief he saw nothing but the empty bathroom.

His face hurt like hell. Opening his mouth carefully, he winced as a sharp pain traveled along his jaw and down his neck. That must have been the blow that finally put him out. Blair shut his eyes tightly as he remembered fervently hoping that he'd be knocked out before he was killed.

Maybe Peter thought he had killed him. Maybe that was why he'd left Blair sprawled on the bathroom floor, his shirt ripped to shreds and stained with his blood.

Gritting his teeth tightly to silence a groan, Blair grabbed the sink for balance and hauled himself to his feet. A noise startled him and he swung facing the door, checking to see if Peter would come charging through it again. Not that he was in any shape to defend himself if his tormenter returned.

His sudden motion caused his head to throb and he could hardly focus. He took several deep breaths in an effort to combat the overwhelming nausea that fought to overtake him. The cramped room finally stopped spinning and he eased his death grip on the sink.

Still clinging to the vanity for support, he reached across for the door and eased it open. His heart pounded wildly, then settled down when he realized the sound he heard was the man's loud snoring. He's been drinking again. With luck he'd be out cold for awhile. Relieved, Blair moved quietly through the small apartment.

For a moment he felt tears burn his eyes, and Blair squeezed his eyelids shut. He'd need his strength and his sanity to get out of there. He was afraid if he gave in to the urge to cry, he would lose both.

Carefully he entered the bedroom and retrieved his wallet from the bedside table. Taking an instant to glance over at the slumbering beast in the bed, Blair's face began to contort with rage and he quickly realized it soon would erupt into violence. Turning away in order to repress his turbulent feelings, he looked around the room to see what else he might need.

The man suddenly shifted his weight on the bed and Blair froze. All thoughts of a semi-organized departure fled his addled brain as he grabbed his shoes from the floor and withdrew from the room.

Glancing around the cluttered living room, he spied his jacket, lying across the chair where he'd flung it earlier. He also discovered the full laundry basket near the front door, where Blair placed it earlier that evening with every intention of washing his clothes. He had no idea what might be the basket, but for now, it would have to do.

Rapidly Blair moved around the room gathering those special items he needed to bring with him. There was never any intention of returning. His laptop computer and a handful of books were dumped into the basket. Two guitars, previously hung on the wall, were draped by their straps across his back.

Taking a last look around, Blair had to close his eyes as the anger threatened to re-emerge. Given enough time, there were still numerous objects in the apartment he longed to bring with him. Common sense prevailed as he realized there wasn't time for another trip into the apartment.

As he pushed the laundry basket away from the door, Blair noticed the safety chain was broken. A reminder of the entrance the man had made earlier. The lock still appeared to function and Blair cautiously eased the front door open. Gingerly he lifted the heavy basket and stifled a groan as he slid through the opening. Fighting the urge to slam the door shut behind him, he pulled it closed and walked away.

The rough asphalt scraped his bare feet as he raced across the parking lot to his car. He hardly noticed it so great was the fierce ache in his arms and face.

Blair dropped the basket by the trunk of the car. Grabbing his keys from his jacket pocket, he fought trembling fingers in his effort to open the trunk.

A small groan of relief escaped his lips when he noticed his backpack lying there. He took a moment to dig through the clothes inside and pulled out a wrinkled flannel shirt. Quickly he replaced the blood stained shirt he was still wearing before tossing the basket and the guitars into the trunk.

Again he had difficulty as he attempted to unlock the car door, but finally he was inside with all the doors securely locked.

Patting the dashboard affectionately, Blair implored the elderly vehicle to start for him. Luck seemed to still be with him as the engine turned over the first time. Shifting the transmission into drive, Blair slowly drove off.

As he turned into the street, he glanced into the rearview mirror. Although the apartment building behind him seemed quiet, his entire body was on high alert. Any minute he expected to hear an enraged voice behind him. It wasn't until he finally merged onto the interstate that he was able to relax somewhat.

As the lights of Portland faded away in the distance Blair realized he'd made it. This time he wasn't going to stop until he was safe. That man was never going to touch him again. He was determined not to let anyone get close enough to him again. His mother had been right to constantly move around. Don't get involved; you only get hurt. A sharp twinge in his arm bolstered his conviction.

Fighting back the still fresh pain in his body, Blair continued driving north.

- - - - -

Jim spotted the speck in the distance. Focusing harder despite the rain, he realized it was a car parked on the shoulder of the road. A car with it's hood up. A lone figure stood to the side, apparently oblivious to the pelting raindrops. Noticing the long wet curls plastered to the person's head, he assumed it was a woman. As he slowed down to render assistance, he realized his mistake. It was a man.

As he eased his pickup truck alongside the disabled vehicle, Jim noticed the man opening the car door and placing one leg inside, as if poised to jump inside and lock it at the first sign of trouble. Shaking his head, Jim wondered momentarily if his Good Samaritan act was really worth the potential problems.

Shifting into neutral, he kept the truck's engine running. It paid to be cautious. He slid across the bench seat and rolled down the passenger side window. Sticking his head out the window Jim looked down at the stranded motorist. The man looked young, probably in his twenties. He was barefoot and wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, both of which were plastered to his slender frame by the steady downpour. As he lifted his gaze, Jim recoiled in shock. Dark, angry bruises marked the skin of the younger man's face. Puffiness along the left side of his jaw and a split lip said it all.

Jim swung his baseball cap around backwards as he spoke. "Need some help?"

Confusion clouded the sad, blue eyes that met Jim's, and he had to struggled to control the anger that bubbled up inside him. Someone had done a good number on this guy. He remained mute as he stared at Jim.

Jim tried again. "Do you have any idea what's wrong with your car?"

"Radiator overheated," came the soft reply.

He nodded. "There's a gas station about 20 miles up ahead. I can let them know, but it'll probably be awhile before they get to you."

The young man stood quietly and looked around vacantly. Jim's anger stirred again. "What happened to..."

Abruptly he pulled back, and for a moment, Jim thought the guy was going to jump back into his car. "I told you, my radiator..."

He sighed and struggled to calm the tone in his voice. "I'm not talking about your car. Look, it's pouring down rain here, you're all alone out here, and by the look of your face..."

Eyes flashing brilliant blue, the man glared at Jim. "Not that it's any of your business, but I was in a car wreck. I hit the dashboard," he explained angrily.

Jim glanced at the front end of the old Volvo. "Right!" he mumbled softly. He pushed the truck's door open. "If you want, I could give you a ride into the next town, or I'll let them know at the first gas station that you're here. It's up to you, but I need to get going."

"I don't ..."

"Look, Chief, I'm only offering you a ride, that's all. Do you want one or not?"

"Hey, man, how do I know I can trust you?"

Jim had to chuckle at that. "You don't. But then again, I don't know if I can trust you, so I'd say that makes us even."

The young man seemed to consider that for a moment and nodded. Glancing over at the pickup truck and back at his broken vehicle, he apparently made his decision. Yanking his keys from the ignition, he moved to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. Jim watched as he reached in and retrieved a backpack, laptop and two guitars before carrying them over to the truck, where he deposited them on the front seat. Returning once more to the trunk, he grabbed his shoes and slammed the lid closed.

Sliding his few possessions closer to the driver, he jumped into the cab and closed the door. "Let's go," he muttered as he fastened his seatbelt.

Jim shifted the truck into gear and pulled slowly onto the highway. Twisting his cap around once again, he momentarily glanced at his passenger. The young man sat up stiffly, his arms clutching his backpack and laptop firmly. "You can put those on the floor, if you'd like," he said gently. "I'm not gonna steal them."

His passenger continued to stare straight ahead, giving no clue as to whether he'd even heard the man.

"What's your name?" Jim asked after several minutes of silence.

To his surprise, the young man mumbled "Blair."

They traveled several miles before Blair spoke again. "What's yours?"

"Jim," he responded automatically.

Blair shifted in his seat slightly, giving him a better view of the driver. "You live near here?"

"I'm from Cascade. It's a little over an hour from here."

"Is it a big town?"

"Yeah, it's a good size city," he chuckled. "How about you?"

"What about me?" Blair asked cautiously.

"Where are you from?"

"Down south."

He nodded, remembering the Oregon license plates he noted on the Volvo. Apparently his passenger didn't like questions.

"I was on my way to Canada. Is Cascade anywhere near the border?" Blair asked hesitantly.

"It's still a pretty good trek into Canada. You'll have to get your car fixed first," he pointed out.

"Can't wait around for that."

Jim frowned when Blair's words sunk in. "You gonna hitch across the border in this rain?"

"Guess I'll have to since you're not going that far," he stated flatly.

For some reason that thought unnerved Jim. And judging by the young man's bruised and battered appearance, he was uncertain as to whether Blair would even make it to the border.

"What do you do?" Blair said hastily, interrupting Jim's thoughts.

"I...uh...I'm semi-retired," he stuttered as he was caught off-guard.

"Not bad for a guy your age getting to retire," Blair snickered briefly.

Jim laughed at the easy retort. "Only semi-retired, Chief." There it was again. The nickname came out too fast for Jim to have a chance to retract it.

"So what did you retire from?"

A soft sigh escaped Jim's mouth as he considered his answer. "A little of this and a little of that." Without giving Blair a chance to formulate another question, he quickly took control of the conversation. "What about you? You a musician?" Jim pointed at the guitars that sat on the seat as a barrier between the two men. "Off to find your fame and fortune in the big world?"

"What? Oh, no. I play a little, that's about it."

"Those are a couple of nice guitars, you've got there. I thought that maybe you played professionally."

Blair was quiet for so long, Jim thought he'd fallen asleep. When he glanced over at the young man he found him still hugging his worn backpack and computer, apparently deep in thought.

The truck approached a large highway sign, indicating the next town was only a few miles ahead. Jim sighed quietly as gazed at his passenger. He began to worry about what sort of possible trouble this young man could have gotten himself into that would have resulted in the heavy bruising to his face. Jim didn't buy Blair's story about the car wreck for one moment. Nor did he imagine that he was going to Canada for a vacation.

"We'll be in town in about five minutes," Jim announced as he spied some familiar landmarks. "Where do you want me to drop you off?"

Blair straightened up immediately and looked at the surrounding landscape. "You said it was a big town," he said accusingly.

Jim realized what Blair was referring to and shook his head. "No, this isn't Cascade. That's another sixty miles."

"Could you drop me off there?"

"What about your car? I'm sure that somebody at the gas station up ahead could fix it." Jim looked perplexed.

"No. I'll deal with it later."

It was fairly obvious that Blair was telling him to stay out of it. However, Jim decided to be persistent. "I could tow it into town for you later on," he offered.

Angry eyes flashed their resentment. "I said I'd take care of it later, okay."

The desperation in the words was evident. "Easy, kid. I'm on your side."

Blair sagged wearily against the back of the seat, mumbling, "Sorry."

Jim continue to drive, bypassing the town. Both men sat in silence as he maneuvered through what traffic there was. Once the town was behind them, however, Jim pulled the pickup over when he found a wide shoulder.

As the truck lurched forward, coming to a complete stop, Blair glared at him sharply. "What's the matter?"

Jim turned off the ignition and twisted in his seat until he was facing his passenger. Fixing his gaze on Blair's pale face, Jim felt his stomach tighten as he got a good look at the purplish bruises marring his otherwise handsome features. The look on the Blair's face cut straight to his heart and his protective nature. "You're in some sort of trouble, aren't you?" he said quietly.

Blair's eyes widened and he appeared to hold his breath. The silence permeating the truck was overwhelming.

Clearing his throat, Jim tried again. "Look, I'd like to help if I can."

"I don't need your help, man," he sputtered.

"I think you do," Jim persisted. He reached out toward Blair's face and was instantly shocked when the man flinched and slid as close to the door as he could.

"Who hurt you?" he demanded, his voice harsh with disgust. "Are you running from someone? The cops?"

Straightening back up, Blair looked back at the man. "No, I'm not. I told you, I got hurt in a car accident." He groaned loudly and his face vividly reflected his irritation. "Just stay out of it, man. It's none of your business and besides, I don't wanna talk about it."

"Fine." Recoiling from the rebuff, Jim restarted the engine and pulled back onto the highway. "There's a truck stop just outside of Cascade. I'll drop you off there. You shouldn't have any trouble getting a ride."

Blair didn't answer and Jim was unable to discern anything as he glanced over at him. If Blair was determined to handle things by himself, there wasn't much he could do about it. He sighed heavily as he turned his eyes back to the road ahead.

After waiting a few minutes, Jim tried again. "Why don't you let me arrange to have somebody at the gas station tow your car in and..."

"You don't give up, do ya?"

The hard, bitter edginess in Blair's voice startled him. Looking over, he made eye contact. Jim saw what Blair was trying to hide: Rage and desperation.

"I just want to..."

"I'm sure you do," Blair spat out fiercely. "I asked you to drop it and obviously you can't. Just let me off here. I'll find another ride."

Gripping the steering wheel in frustration, Jim swerved over to the shoulder of the road and slammed on the brakes.

"Thanks for the ride," Blair mumbled, his voice devoid of expression. He reached out for the door handle and Jim grabbed his arm. Blair closed his eyes tightly and groaned. Jim immediately let go.

He fought to keep his voice low and gentle. "Running away isn't going to help anything, you know. If somebody is after you, I want to be sure they don't catch up with you. I don't like the idea of anyone using your face for a punching bag again."

"I told you..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you told me. Look, Chief, if you need some place to crash for a few days while your car's being worked on, I know..."

"No!" he said angrily. Pulling up on the door handle, Blair shoved his shoulder against the door as it opened. "Just leave me alone. I'll be fine." He got out of the truck and leaned in to gather his belongings.

"How about if you stay at my place. I've got plenty of room."

Jim shook his head slightly when he realized he had to be crazy. The very last thing he needed was to get mixed up with some long haired hippie freak who didn't want his help anyway. Glancing over, he noticed Blair had ceased his frantic movements.

"I've got a spare room you can crash in. I can call the gas station on my cell phone and have them tow your car in for repairs. At least this way you'd get a good night's sleep and a meal before driving yourself across the border."

At Blair's hesitation, Jim found he wasn't sure what he wanted his answer to be. He thought he saw a flicker of doubt ease some of the desperation in the Blair's eyes. "I promise I'll try not to ask questions, okay?"

Blair stared at him intently, as if trying to read Jim's mind. It was all Jim could do to keep a look of reassurance plastered on his face. Finally, Blair nodded, and softly replied, "Thanks." He sat back down in the pickup and shut the door.

"No problem. Now, let's take care of your car back there." He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his cell phone.

Blair turned and gazed out the window as Jim made the calls necessary to have the Volvo towed in for repairs. Suddenly his face went grim and he spun around to face his rescuer. "Tell them to keep it inside the garage," he demanded.

Jim looked at him questioningly and mouthed the words "Why?"

Blair broke off eye contact and stared at the floor for a moment. Turning his head to face Jim again, he spoke quietly. "It leaks."

He relayed the odd request to the station's attendant and after a few more minutes, disconnected the phone.

"All taken care of, Chief." Jim smiled briefly as he replaced the phone in his jacket. "They can pick up your car within the next couple of hours and they'll store it in the garage. The downside, however, is that it could be two or three days before they get a chance to really work on it. Apparently they're really busy right now."

"If that's gonna be a problem for you..." Blair hesitated briefly, "...I can just find someplace else to crash."

"Don't worry about it. You're welcome to stay as long as it takes." Apprehension tightened the knots already in his stomach, as Jim put the pickup back into gear and pulled onto the highway. He was likely making the biggest mistake of his life, taking in a virtual stranger. But there was just no way he could've left the guy stranded on the side of the road.

"I take it you live alone," Blair said as casually as he was able.

Jim's nerves tightened further. "Why do you say that?"

Blair either ignored or didn't hear the warning he'd injected in his voice. "You didn't say anything about a family when you invited me to stay with you."

"No, there's no family." Not anymore. But he wasn't going to discuss that with the young man.

- - - - -

Blair sat quietly, watching the landscape zoom by after Jim turned onto the interstate. His arms ached from holding his laptop and backpack so tightly, but still he refused to relinquish his grip on the few remaining pieces of his life.

He dared to steal a glance at the equally silent man who sat next to him, save for the makeshift barrier of guitars between them. He was a tall man, that much was evident by how far back the seat had been placed. His shoulders took up all the available room in the t-shirt he wore, and his solid thighs strained the seams of his faded jeans. He had to be at least ten years older than his own twenty-nine, Blair guessed.

He didn't trust people anymore. He wasn't even sure how far he was willing to trust Jim. But in Jim's deep blue eyes, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time: Kindness. It was the one thing Blair could still respond to.

He watched as Jim's hand rested confidently on the steering wheel; strong, capable hands. A stray thought crept through the muddled layers of Blair's mind. What would those hands feel like when.... The revelation startled him. Didn't he have enough problems without getting wild ideas about a stranger he knew almost nothing about?

The last thing he needed was to get ideas, wild or otherwise, about anybody ever again. What he did need, however, was money. He was down to little more than fifty dollars.

He'd slept in the car last night, what little sleep he'd gotten. And he'd barely eaten in two days now. He was tired, hungry and almost broke. None of which were pleasant aspects, if they continued.

But Jim had offered him a place to stay. It had always taken Peter a few weeks to find him. Maybe Jim could help him find some sort of temporary job, at least until he had the money to make it on his own.

As he gazed out the window, Blair began to grind his teeth. He was so tired of running. He'd been through too much to expect anything other than a brief respite. But for now, he felt he could take this man up on his kindness. Was there any choice? He was quickly running out of places to hide.

His thoughts were interrupted as he saw the approaching Cascade skyline. As they got closer to the city, Blair realized how big it really was. For a brief moment, he actually thought maybe he could get lost here.

A faint voice invaded his head and he turned to face Jim. "What?"

Jim chuckled as he slowed down for a stoplight. "I said, are you hungry? I don't think there's much to eat at the loft."

Blair looked puzzled. "The loft?"

"It's where I live, Chief."

"Oh." Blair puzzled over the question. "I could do food," he finally responded, mentally tallying up the cost of a meal.

"Can you 'do' Pizza?," he laughed. "My treat."

A smile found its way through Blair's mask of uncertainty. "Yeah, that'll be great."

Pulling out his phone, Jim hit speed dial and connected with the restaurant and placed an order. As he hung up, he turned toward Blair. "It should arrive soon after we get home."

Blair gave no response, his mind still playing with the word 'home'. He wondered if he'd ever be able to stay in one place long enough to call it home.

Within minutes, Jim eased the truck into a parking place. Glancing around, Blair noticed the surrounding buildings. "This it?" Hugging his backpack tightly against his chest, he could feel his doubts surfacing again.

"Not the whole building, just an apartment inside." Pushing the door open, Jim stepped out. Turning to face his passenger, he added. "You coming?"

Deciding that his hunger was becoming overwhelming, Blair made up his mind quickly. He grabbed his backpack and laptop and opened the door. As he hopped out, he turned to reach back in, sliding the guitars closer to the door.

Jim had already come around to the passenger side of the truck and he reached around Blair. "Here, let me carry those for you," he offered.

Blair froze and shook slightly from the contact with Jim's arm. "Thanks," he mumbled softly.

As soon as Jim pulled the guitars from the cab, Blair stepped off to the side. With the instruments in one hand, he reached back inside and retrieved Blair's apparently forgotten shoes. "This everything?" he questioned, waiting to shut the door.

Blair shrugged. "Yeah, I travel light." He reached over and took the shoes from Jim.

"So I've noticed." Pushing the door closed with his hip, Jim walked toward the building.

- - - - -

Blair watched as Jim removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack just inside the door. "Make yourself at home," he said before walking down the short hallway.

Standing, rooted in place, Blair glanced around the room. He wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting, but this wasn't it. From what he could see from his vantage point, the apartment was spotlessly clean. The furniture was utilitarian and definitely masculine. It almost didn't seem to be lived in.

Jim returned to find him in the same spot as when he left. He pointed to a small room near the stairs. "You can dump your stuff in there."

Unconsciously, Blair tightened his grip on his belongings. Jim's focus was drawn to the involuntary action. "What's in there?" he lightly asked. "Matters of national security?"

"It's all my stuff," he retorted. Blair watched his expression change ever so slightly. He could just imagine what Jim must be thinking. He was probably convinced Blair was running from the law, and nothing Blair said was going to convince him otherwise.

"Lighten up, Chief." He shook his head. "It was a joke."

Before Blair had a chance to even consider responding, there was a knock at the door. As Jim walked over to answer it, Blair ducked past him and headed toward the smaller room.

Placing his meager possessions on the futon that sat in the room, Blair spun around to take in his surroundings. They were just as Spartan as the living area he'd just vacated. Opening his well- worn backpack, he grabbed a t-shirt and jeans from it's depths.

"Pizza's here." Jim called out.

"Be there in a minute, man," he responded as he quickly approached the bathroom. As he splashed water on his face, Blair took a moment to regard his reflection in the mirror. Seeing the angry bruises that covered his features, he could well understand why Jim would think the worst. On the other hand, he thought soberly, he could hardly tell the man the truth.

Patting his face gently with one of the soft towels, he breathed deeply of the clean, fresh scent radiating from the terry cloth. Briefly his thoughts returned to the small, comfortable apartment he had to leave behind in Oregon. Just as quickly he buried the recollection along with all the rest of his memories. He learned quickly not to dwell on the past. It was far too painful.

Removing his wet clothing, he changed into the dry ones. Suddenly he remembered the clothes he'd left behind in the trunk of his car. Maybe Jim would give him a ride to the gas station tomorrow so he could retrieve them and get them washed, if Jim let him stay. At least he had a place to stay for a couple of days. After that, his only hope was to try to stay several steps ahead of Peter.

Realizing he hadn't brought a comb into the bathroom with him, Blair began to run his fingers through the long curls. Anything had to be better than the way it looked now. Pausing with his hand raised over his head, he caught whiff of wonderful aroma that was permeating the air. Food. He'd completely forgotten about the delivered pizza.

Walking quickly in the direction of the enticing smell, he found Jim in the kitchen, pulling a couple of beer bottles from the refrigerator. He walked up behind and Jim glanced over his shoulder.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah, man. Actually, I do," Blair said calmly. He reached out to accept the proffered beer.

Jim shut the refrigerator door and spun around. He was unable to stifle a gasp when he saw Blair's bare arms beneath the t-shirt. The bruises were matched in intensity and color only by the ones on Blair's face.

Blair's head lowered immediately when he realized what Jim was staring at. He struggled to maintain his thin control over his emotions. "Can I help?" he asked tentatively.

Turning back toward the cabinets, Jim reached in and grabbed a couple of plates. "I've got it covered, Chief. Why don't you just take a seat."

Blair wandered over to the small dining table where the pizza box rested and sat down wearily. Closing his eyes, he found himself fervently hoping that Jim would still allow him to stay a couple of days.

"You'd better grab it now, while it's still here," Jim chuckled.

Blair opened his eyes and discovered Jim already seated at the table across from him. He waited cautiously while Jim placed a couple of slices on his own plate. He selected a slice for himself only after Jim took his first bite.

The men ate their meal in relative silence. That is until Blair reached over to grab his third slice of pizza. Jim had to chuckle as he watched his guest wolf it down. Blair's face became flushed as he realized he was the source of Jim's amusement.

"Eat as much as you want. That's what it's there for," he continued to chuckle as he began to rise from his chair. "Want another beer?"

Instantly Blair was on his feet. "I'll get it," he said as he strode into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Returning to the table moments later with two bottles, he placed one in front of Jim. As he sat down, his gaze focused on the opened box lying on the table. He debated eating another piece.

Jim watched the man in fascination as he studied the box and the prize inside. As he took a drink from his beer, he nudged the pizza closer to Blair and nodded quiet encouragement. Blair helped himself to more.

"So," Jim began casually, "you got a last name?"

Blair abruptly shoved his chair backwards over the hardwood floor. "I'll do the dishes," he mumbled, picking up his plate.

He didn't mean to pressure the man. He was genuinely concerned and wished there was a way to convince Blair of that.

"I'm sorry," he called after the figure retreating toward the kitchen. "I'm not trying to hassle you," he added to his weak apology.

Setting the plate down in the sink, Blair raised his head and just stared at him.

Frustrated, Jim could only watch him. "Whether you believe it or not, I really want to help you. But I need you to work with me here. I have to know what kind of trouble you're in..."

"Forget it, man. I don't need your help."

"I think you do. Nobody deserves to have the shit beat outta them."

"I told you, I was in a car wreck," he muttered, no longer expecting Jim to believe the lie.

Jim simply nodded. "I know." Picking up his own dish, he carried it to the sink. Glancing over at the man standing nearby, he took a deep breath before continuing. "I didn't intend to give you hard time. Honest. I apologize if you felt I was."

Blair could barely think straight. He was so tired. But somewhere through the thick fog that clouded his brain, he felt this man was being honest. His shoulders sagged as he began to relax a bit.

Jim stepped away and Blair moved back to the sink in order to wash the dishes. Jim retreated back to the table and grabbed his half empty beer bottle. He took a long drink.

"Sandburg." It was spoken softly, but Jim turned toward the kitchen.

"What?"

"My name. It's Blair Sandburg," he said a bit louder this time.

Jim's mouth curved into an unconscious smile. As he crossed the floor back over to the kitchen, he held out his hard. "Pleased to meet you, Blair Sandburg. I'm Jim Ellison."

Blair hesitated only a moment before finally extending his own. Jim grasped it carefully as he shook the man's hand. He released it, moving away in order to alleviate the nervous man's fears.

"I'm gonna run down to the store so we'll have something to eat in the morning. Anything you need?" Jim announced as he reached for his jacket. "Feel free to watch TV if you want."

Blair was just finishing putting away the dishes when he glanced over at the door. "Nah, I'm good. I'm pretty wiped so I'll probably just crash." Exhaustion has rapidly drained what little energy he had left.

"I'll see you in the morning then." Just please stay here and be safe he wanted to say out loud.

- - - - -

Jim walked out on the street and headed toward his truck. Opening the door, he glanced up at the building. Frowning, he slid into the driver's seat. He hated thinking about the violent world his guest had just left behind. It still puzzled him why someone would have done this to the young man.

Turning over the ignition, Jim tried to remember what little information he'd been able to glean from Blair. It was fairly obvious that he was running away from whomever did this to him. But why was he so damn stubborn in refusing to talk about it so the man could be dealt with by the authorities?

He pulled out into the light evening traffic, immersed in his thoughts. Blair was scared, that was certain. He obviously thought this sick bastard would come looking for him. But was that the reason behind his stubborn refusal to talk about it? As Jim continued to roll various ideas back and forth, one answer found it's way to the front: Was Blair involved with this man and worried about Jim's reaction to the fact that he was gay?

Jim relaxed his shoulders with a wry smile as he pulled into the parking lot. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that the prospect of making contact with the animal that did this didn't bother him nearly as much as the prospect of sharing living space with the handsome young man.

It had been too long since another man had appealed to him that way. His smile faded as he headed into the store. Jim began to curse softly to himself. This was beginning to get really complicated and neither of them needed it. He had to keep any personal feelings out of the way. Blair only needed Jim's help, whether he realized it or not.

- - - - -

Jim practically raced through the store collecting the necessary groceries. As he moved through the aisles he couldn't help but wonder if the man would still be there when he returned. The thought that he might not be unsettled him, visions of his previous roommate flooded his memories. The forbidden image of his lover flashed through his mind, and brought with it a rush of agonizing pain as he remembered losing the one person who had meant everything to him.

By the time Jim parked the pickup in front of the loft, his head was aching. He took his time unloading the groceries and carrying them up the stairs. He didn't want to admit to himself that he was anxious to get inside and make sure Blair was still there.

Unlocking the door, Jim stepped inside and froze. Lifting his head, he focused his hearing around the loft. Without stopping to turn the lights on, he quickly headed to the kitchen to set the bags down. Abandoning the pretense of being unconcerned, Jim strode toward the spare room down the hall. Nudging the door open, his pulse leapt in relief. The street lights glared through the tiny window, falling across the sleeping figure on the bed.

Blair lay on his side in a fetal position, his shoulders exposed beneath the blankets. One of the pillows was held tightly against his chest. His features relaxed in sleep, he looked far younger and Jim's heart stirred. A small smile crossed his face as he gently eased the door closed and moved back down the hall.

- - - - -

Jim awoke slowly in the morning, the delicious aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the loft.

Rolling onto his back, he lay in bed savoring the unexpected luxury. The soft rustling in the kitchen brought a grin to his face. Throwing back the covers, he thrust his legs out of the bed and headed down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Blair had set the frying pan on the burner. Opening the refrigerator he grabbed the carton of eggs he noticed earlier and placed it on the counter top. He opened several drawers in an attempt to locate useful cooling utensils. He spun around and jumped nearly out of his skin. He hadn't heard Jim come down the stairs. Jim was leaning against the open doorway, naked save for his boxer shorts, with a look in his eyes that completely unsettled Blair.

"Morning," Jim said, a slow grin working its way across the handsome face, intensifying Blair's confusion.

Blair turned away, but not before his glance had taken in Jim's broad, muscular chest. "Morning," he muttered, opening the egg carton. "How do you like your eggs?"

"You don't have to fix breakfast, Chief, I can manage it," he said, moving closer toward his guest.

"I don't mind," Blair responded softly. "Now about those eggs?" he prompted.

"Scrambled would be great."

Blair grabbed a glass of orange juice he poured earlier and turned to hand it to Jim. He made the mistake of looking up at the man as he did. He hadn't shaved yet, and Blair saw the dark stubble covering his jaw accentuating his chiseled features. Jim studied the younger man's face, and Blair's stomach tightened. He knew what Jim was looking at.

Blair's lip was healing over, and the puffiness in his cheeks had gone down, but the bruises still darkened his skin. Dropping his chin, he moved back toward the stove.

"Do I have time for a quick shower before you do that?" His gaze skimmed over the man's still damp curls, jeans and different flannel shirt. "Hopefully you've left me some hot water."

"I took a fast shower earlier, so I'm sure there's plenty," he smirked. "Go ahead. I'll just have another cup of coffee and wait until you're finished before I fix 'em." He glanced up as the retreating figure padded toward the bathroom.

- - - - -

An hour later the two men sat at the table quietly, the remnants of breakfast all that remained. "Thanks," Jim said quietly, pushing his plate away.

"Glad you liked it." Blair stood and reached toward the dish.

Jim grinned up at him, unsettling him again. "It's been awhile since anybody cooked for me."

Blair nodded and carried the dishes to the sink. He returned with the coffee pot and began to pour more into the empty cups. He noticed that Jim's grin had faded and he though he saw a flicker of pain cross the larger man's face before he turned away. Blair briefly wondered what might have caused the man such discomfort, but wisely chose to remain silent. The less questions he asked, the less likely it was Jim would ask them back. The less Jim knew, the better it would be for both of them.

Blair glanced at his watch. "Do you have to be anywhere this morning?" he asked casually.

Lifting his coffee, Jim took a gulp before answering him. "Nope. I thought maybe since you're here, you'd like to check out the sights of Cascade."

Blair's pulse raced. He sat down again, cradling his coffee cup in his hands. "I saw it," he said brusquely. "When we drove through it to get here yesterday."

His blue eyes darkened as they studied his guest. "You mostly saw the interstate, Sandburg." There was a hint of frustration in his tone. "Besides, it was almost dark when we got here."

Blair struggled to suppress the rising panic he felt. He couldn't let Jim know how afraid he was. He really didn't want to go anywhere. Not out in the open at any rate. Not out there, where anyone could see him.

"I just thought you might like to know the area a bit in case you needed to go out and get anything while you're here."

Despite his escalating fears, Blair realized the wisdom in Jim's statement. It was going to be a few days before his car could be fixed, assuming Blair could find a way to pay for it. It couldn't hurt to get his bearings in the city. And Jim would be with him, at least for today. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that," he finally responded weakly.

- - - - -

A sheet of paper rustled in the hands of the figure standing by the window. "When did this come in?"

The messenger shifted uneasily. "About fifteen minutes ago."

"Says here it was spotted yesterday on the interstate. Did they send anyone to pick it up?"

"Yeah, but when they got there early this morning, it was gone. The kid must have come back for it sometime during the night."

The man cursed viciously, raking his fingers through his blond hair. "All right. I'll handle it." He waited for the door to close before reaching for the phone. The fools had screwed everything up again. But at least he'd narrowed the trail. He had to be somewhere in Washington, and he was going to find him. And when he did, he'd make the kid wish he'd never been born. By the time he got through, no one would ever be able to look at him without shuddering. Smirking at the thought, Peter Carson began punching buttons.

- - - - -

Blair glanced around nervously as they walked toward the truck. It wasn't until he was safely inside that he noticed it wasn't raining any longer. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax as he waited for Jim to start the engine.

As they drove around, Jim pointed out the grocery store he'd visited the previous evening as well as some of the neighboring restaurants that offered delivery service.

"Do you always think about food?" Blair remarked.

"Not really." He caught the lopsided grin on the kid's face. "Okay, not all the time," he amended with a chuckle.

Blair tried to absorb his surroundings as the tour continued around town, but found it might be difficult to remember much given the sheer size of Cascade. As they passed the library, a fleeting thought entered his head and he looked up in time to make an effort to remember the nearby street signs.

When they returned to the loft a few hours later, Blair again made a mental note concerning the location of a phone booth he'd spotted across the street from the apartment.

Armed with several department store bags and a bag filled with Chinese carry out, they entered the building.

- - - - -

No sooner had Jim set the bag containing their lunch on the table, then the phone rang.

"Ellison," he said automatically. He grinned broadly as he recognized the caller. "Hey, Danny. How you doing, man? Jeez, it's been awhile since I've heard from you."

Blair moved around the table, pulling the various items from the bag and setting them out. Walking back into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and peered inside. He could still hear Jim's side of the conversation. And it was getting louder as the man became more animated.

"Hell, you know that I'd love to, but I.... Yeah, of course I know that. You don't understand, Danny. It's been a few years since I did that." He looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Blair heading toward him, carrying a bottle of beer. Accepting the beer, he nodded toward the table, indicating Blair should begin without him. "I don't know, man." Jim watched as Blair sat down at the table and began helping himself to the generous portions as he got dragged further into the conversation with his friend.

"No, you're right, Danny. I guess I can't let him down. All right, I'll be there tomorrow and then we'll play it by ear."

Blair pushed his plate away just as Jim set about demolishing the food in front of him. With a wry grin, he sat in rapt fascination, watching the man accomplishing his task.

Jim paused as he glanced up, realizing he had an audience. "What?"

"Do you always eat like that?"

He beamed over at the young man, unsettling Blair again. "I'm starving. Got a problem with that?"

"Not me, man." Blair chuckled easily as he began to clear the table. "Hey, if your friend wants to get together, don't let me stop you," he said casually over his shoulder, heading for the kitchen.

Jim twisted around and stared at the retreating form, debating his answer. "Um...yeah, Danny's an old friend of mine and he was calling about a potential job. I'll be gone most of the day, I'm afraid. You sure you'll be okay on your own?"

Aware he was being scrutinized, Blair kept his expression neutral. "I'll be fine hanging around here while you go to work, Jim." His eyes widened as he blurted out, "Hey, maybe there's some kinda of work I could do for your friend to earn a few bucks as well. What does he do?"

Jim had just taken a bite of his food and could only shake his head negatively. "He does PR work, Sandburg, and I doubt there are other openings," he chuckled, once he'd swallowed. "What's this about getting a job anyway? When did you change your mind about heading to Canada?"

"I haven't changed my mind." Blair shook his head sadly. "I'm still going. But I need some money. I have to pay to get my car fixed."

He debated revisiting the subject of who was chasing Blair, but decided to save it for later. "What sort of work have you done? Maybe I can help you find something around here though." He remembered the guitars Blair had brought into the loft. "You said you play guitar. There's a small music store about a mile from here. I can talk to the owner and see if he needs an assistant for awhile."

Blair nodded his acquiescence. "Thanks, man. I'd appreciate that."

- - - - -

The next morning Blair woke, hearing Jim moving about the loft. Dragging himself from the relative safely of his bed, he padded to the bathroom.

Splashing cold water over his face, he lifted his head slowly. The reflection that greeted him in the mirror wasn't nearly as frightening as it had been in recent days. Reassured that his face was indeed healing, he headed toward the kitchen and a much needed caffeine fix.

His mouth quickly registered his surprise as he reached the kitchen doorway. Jim stood poised with his arm extended, cup of coffee in hand.

"Thought you might need this," he snickered.

"How come you let me sleep so late?"

"I thought you decided to sleep in. I didn't know you had something to do."

"I don't. I..." Blair stuttered. Then he noticed the grin on Jim's face.

Gulping the last of the steaming liquid in his own mug, Jim set his cup in the sink. "I have to run. Don't know when I'll be back."

"I'll be fine, man," Blair assured him.

"I left my cell phone number by the phone if you need me." He paused, his hand on the door knob. "There's a spare key there as well."

Blair could only nod. He stood staring at the door long after Jim shut it behind him.

Finally urging his body to move, he wandered back to the kitchen, deciding he wanted another cup of coffee. He glanced at the watch but realized there'd be no way to gauge what time Jim might return.

- - - - -

As he drove off, Jim couldn't help but wonder if Blair would take the opportunity to make the run for Canada in his absence. He knew that would be a mistake, but the stubborn young man refused to accept that reality, just as he adamantly refused the repeated offers of help. He could only shake his head in confusion.

The scenery passed quickly as Jim sped down the interstate. An angry scowl seemed etched on Jim's face as he reflected on the enigma that was Blair.

A familiar highway sign appeared up ahead. Impulsively, Jim took the next exit. Traveling for several miles, he turned his truck into the high school parking lot. Jumping out, he quickly strode around the back of the building toward the auto shop.

He spied a group of students standing around the hood of a late model car. "Rocky," he called out to the man under the hood.

The shop teacher stepped away from the car and began to wipe his hands. "Hey, Jim. How's it going?"

"Fine, man. Listen, do me a favor?" He glanced over to his left and saw the Volvo resting in the far bay. "Have you fixed it yet?"

"Not yet. The kids replaced the radiator, but I found a couple other things wrong with it and I've got parts on order. It'll be another few days, I'm afraid."

"That'll work," he said as he walked over to the car in question.

"I'll give you a call when it's ready, Jim," the mechanic called out. His attention quickly returned to his students.

Jim's attention focused on the Volvo. Opening the door, he looked inside and decided to check to see if Blair had left anything important in the car. He slid into the seat and glanced around. Nothing other than a few empty candy wrappers on the floorboard. Lowering the visor, he discovered the registration card held in place by a rubber band. Before he was even conscious of his actions, he removed the paper, along with others behind it. The name Blair Sandburg jumped out at him. And an address in Portland, Oregon. There were two other, similar registration cards as well. Same name, but varying addresses. One in Reno, Nevada and the other in Sacramento, California.

He stared at the three registration cards. The dates they'd been issued were all different. So his hunch was right. Blair was running. But what or who was he running from?

Carefully, he replaced the registration cards. Leaning over, he opened the glove compartment. Finding nothing of importance, he lifted the door to close it. Something caught his attention, and he immediately reopened the small door. He stared at the button on the side. Pushing it, he was rewarded when the trunk lid popped open. He closed the compartment door again and slid out of the seat.

He saw it before he'd gotten to the rear of the car. A large basket sitting in the trunk. On closer inspection he realized quickly it was a laundry basket filled with clothes and books. Dirty clothes at that.

Closing the trunk and the open car door, Jim looked around, trying to locate his friend. He found him once again at work under the hood of the car with several students.

"Thanks, Rocky," he called out. "I'll catch up with you later, man."

"I'll be here," the teacher replied laughingly.

As Jim headed back to the interstate, he wondered again if he wasn't making one of the biggest mistakes in his life by letting this stranger into his home.

- - - - -

His mind racing, Blair had compiled a list of potential sources of employment and income. First, he realized, he needed to make a phone call. And he couldn't take a chance on using the phone in Jim's apartment. Once again he was grateful Jim had shown him around the city yesterday. He planned to make good use of that information, beginning with the phone booth across the street.

He found the spare key on the table by the front door. Glancing briefly at the tiny silver thunder bolt key ring, Blair jammed it into his jeans pocket. Opening the front door he quickly walked out.

Blair stared at the pay phone long and hard before finally lifting the receiver. Exhibiting a determination he scarcely felt, he punched the appropriate numbers.

Several times he came close to disconnecting the call as he waited to be connected. At long last a familiar voice greeted him.

"Sandburg, I assume there's a reason you're calling me collect?" The man's voice clearly relayed his annoyance.

"Sorry, Ralph. I'm on the road and I didn't have a choice."

"I received an envelope last week, supposedly from you. I thought you should be aware of the fact that there's somebody out there assuming your identity and not doing a terribly good job at pretending to be a writer," the man said sarcastically without a trace of amusement in his voice.

"Ralph, you know that..."

"Sandburg, at best this wouldn't pass as a rough draft of an acceptable story. If this was your idea of a joke, then you should know that I have no sense of humor."

"Yes, sir," he said quietly.

"As I recall, you had promised me that you were going to track down Alvin Lee and do a story about what ever happened to him. Instead you send me a lame ass report on the Monkees."

"But my research on them..."

"It's bullshit, Sandburg. VH-1 did the Monkees to death. They're old news. They're still touring. Look kid, I'll be honest with you, the only reason I gave you a shot was because I saw some promise in that story you did on Mick Taylor of the Stones. That's what I want more of. That's what the readers of The Beat want more of. Stories about what's happened to rock musicians they grew up with."

"I tried to find Alvin, sir. I kept running into dead ends," Blair sighed in frustration. "I knew the deadline was getting close so I thought it would be better to write something rather than nothing. I'm sorry, I should have just told you." Blair closed his eyes tightly, vividly remembering a specific 'dead end' that prevented him from tracking down his subject.

"Damn straight you should have told me," his boss said angrily. "Now I'm going to have to find a filler article for this month's issue. I should have known better than to count on you for this story. You have no real experience in..."

"Ralph, please... Look, I'm sorry I let you down on this assignment. I promise you, man, I won't do it again. I can do this. I really can. I screwed up when I said I could find Alvin Lee. I should have done some background checking first to see if it could be done. My mistake. I picked his name out of thin air. Ten Years After was one of my mother's favorite groups."

"I don't know, Blair. I've put everything into this magazine. If all my writers pulled this crap on me, I'd be out of business before the magazine ever got a fair shot. I'm just not sure it's worth..."

"Come on, man, give me one more chance. I won't let you down this time." Blair paced frantically, as far as the receiver's cord would permit. Looking into the cloudy Cascade skyline, he desperately sought an inspiration. "I'll tell you what, you pick the group or musician you want me to find and write about."

There was momentary silence on the other end of the line. "I shouldn't do this, Sandburg."

"Ralph, if I was in your office right now, I'd be on my knees begging you for this chance, and it wouldn't be a pretty sight."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be." The man chuckled. "All right, where are you now?"

His eyes opened wide. "I...uh...I'm traveling around at the moment."

"What part of the country, Sandburg. Do you want an assignment, or not?"

"Oh, Pacific Northwest," he responded quickly.

"Hmmmm." The line fell silent once more and Blair wondered if he'd been disconnected.

"Ralph? You there?"

"I'm thinking, Sandburg. Ah, I've got it. Back in the '80s there was a band called Thunderbolt."

"Oh, man those guys were good," Blair interrupted quickly. "As I recall the lead guitarist, The Axecutioner, quit at one point and I think all the other guys are dead now. So you want me to try to find the Axecutioner?"

"He's hardly lost," the editor laughed. "I understand he's still trying to find another group to take him in. The moderate talent the man had years ago has long since vanished."

"I don't understand the angle you want me to take on this assignment then." Blair was perplexed. "The leader of the group, Mark Davis, died like five years ago. I know there were a lot of articles done on him so I can't imagine you want to do another one. And with the other guys dead, it would be kinda difficult to come up with much in the way of a story anyway," he snickered. "Pretty short interviews I would imagine."

"Are you sure of your facts, Sandburg?" he pressed.

"Huh? Um...Axecutioner quit the band. That left four guys. Neil Powers, the bass player OD'ed. Fred Shanks was electrocuted. Mark Davis was killed in a car accident. And J.T. Kirk was...um... he was..."

"Exactly!" He paused as if emphasizing the point. "I want you to find out if he's dead or alive. They were a Seattle based group so that's in your neck of the woods at the moment."

Blair scribbled several notes in his pad. "I'm on it, Ralph. I won't let you down this time, I promise," Blair said quickly.

"I can only give you a month on this, Blair. If I don't have an acceptable story on my desk in that time, your association with my magazine is finished. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly. And thank you, sir, for everything."

He stood there on the sidewalk, wishing he could cry. But he was unsure whether they'd be tears of happiness and relief or of sadness because of the impending task facing him.

He needed to find out whether J.T. Kirk was even still alive, and he needed to find out quickly. Once inside the loft, with a cup of fresh coffee, a pad of paper, and a pen, he began to organize his attack.

Within the next hour he had a fairly thorough list which included potential contacts he felt would be necessary to ascertain whether Mr. Kirk still lived, and if so, where he might be. With a smile, Blair finally raised his head from the paper. For the first time he noticed the computer resting on the desk against the far wall.

Standing he approached the machine indecisively, as if afraid it might attack him at any moment. Several times he came close to actually turning it on and even dared to imagine that perhaps he'd be lucky enough to discover that Jim would have left the information stored so that he'd be able to log on to Jim's account. A nagging thought in his head actually prevented him from attempted the maneuver and he finally walked away from the computer in disgust.

Carrying his backpack into the spare room, he tossed it on the floor, grabbed his laptop as he sat on the futon and lost himself in a mindless computer game.

- - - - -

Jim walked along the crowded sidewalk when he spied a familiar face. "Simon! Long time, man.," he called out to the man rapidly approaching.

"Hey, Jim. Come on, man, let me buy you a beer." He dragged the man into the closest bar.

"You remember me telling you about my friend, Danny?" he chuckled. A waitress appeared and placed a bottle in front of each man.

As soon as she moved to the next table, Simon leaned closer. "Isn't he that friend from L.A.?"

"The same." Jim took a generous drink of the amber liquid and sighed. "He called me last night and offered me a job with..."

"So are you gonna do it? I think it's time for you..."

"But it has been too long. Hell, I don't even know if I still can. I'm not a kid anymore. I just don't know how some of these guys do it all the time."

Simon leaned back in the chair and stretched his long frame. "I seem to remember you telling me you'd never give it up. It was in your blood."

His faint smile held a touch of sadness. "It's just not the same anymore." Simon merely nodded his understanding. "But Danny said that Carlos asked for me specifically."

"THE Carlos? Oh man, Jim, you've gotta do this."

Jim grinned mischievously. "I told Danny I would."

"Hell, this calls for a celebration," Simon laughed as he raised his bottle high and saluted. "That's great news."

"Yeah, I guess it is," he said quietly.

"Life goes on, Jim. He'd want that."

"I guess, " Jim responded glumly.

Patting his friend on the back, Simon rose. Pulling out his wallet he placed a bill on the table. "I've gotta get home. Daryl will be expecting dinner soon. Listen, it was good seeing you again."

Jim stood. "You too, Simon. I'll let you know how things go." He watched the police captain walk away. He meant to ask him for assistance in what to do about Blair. He meant to see if his friend would keep an eye on his guest while he was away. He meant to a lot of things. He just watched him walk away.

- - - - -

"Hey," Jim called to him from the doorway.

He turned slightly. "Hey, Jim." Blair jumped off the bed quickly. "I didn't know when to expect you back or I would've fixed something."

Jim laughed as he followed the young man toward the kitchen. "Which is why carry-out was invented, Chief," he snickered as he watched Blair explore the various bags.

"Thai, right? Cool! I haven't had Thai food in ages." His smile was infectious and Jim found himself hoping he see more of it in the days to come.

- - - - -

"Are you positive?" Peter Carson scowled at the marks his pen doodled on the pad in front of him. "You've checked with every gas station and repair shop within a couple hundred miles?" He had the phone pressed so close to his ear he could hear the deputy's breathing on the other end of the line.

"All right," he responded irritably to the other man. "He probably hasn't crossed over the border into Canada yet, but I want that watch maintained at all the border crossings. I figure he's still in Washington so extend your search to all the repair shops in the state."

His nostrils flared with fury. Grabbing the coffee mug from his desk he hurled it against the wall. Watching as it shattered into a million pieces did nothing to abate the force of his temper. This was the last time that kid would do this to him. This time when he caught up with him, he was going to break both of his legs. Maybe then, he'd think twice about trying to run off again.

- - - - -

Jim glanced over at Blair as they sat on the couch watching the television following dinner. "It's okay with me if you use your computer to connect to the internet, Chief."

"What?" Blair turned and looked up at the man. "That's okay, man, I don't have any internet service. But thanks anyway." He sighed deeply wishing he did.

"You can use mine. I've got AOL and you can use one of the extra screen names. Well, assuming you're not gonna get me arrested for using some illegal porn site," he laughed.

"Oh, wow, man. That would be fantastic. Sure. I mean, no I won't get you into any trouble or anything."

Jim gave him the necessary information and Blair spent the rest of the evening setting up his laptop so that he could connect to the internet. Once he successfully got online he cautiously began to explore random sites.

- - - - -

The next couple of days, as soon as Jim left the loft, Blair quickly got online and began to research his article. He found various sites where he checked pubic records and so far he couldn't find anything that would prove that J.T. Kirk had actually died. All evidence seemed to point to the fact that Mark and J.T. lived together in Seattle and when Mark died in his car accident, J.T. moved away and vanished. Blair envied J.T.'s ability to disappear and fervently wished he'd been able to acquire that capability so he could be free from Peter.

In spite of the information he was able to gather on the internet, however, Blair soon realized, the only way he could positively verify its accuracy would be for him to travel to Seattle and check the public records office there. He also needed to speak with Mark Davis' sister, who he learned still resided there. He felt that she could possibly be the definitive source on whether J.T. still lived, and if so, perhaps she might be willing to pass along his address.

He stared at the monitor screen looking for answers. He knew he had to find a way to get to Seattle. But his car wasn't fixed and it wasn't going to get fixed without any money. He couldn't ask Jim for the money. Maybe he could ask Ralph for an advance...

Taking a deep breath, he vowed to think about that alternative later. For now, he decided to call Jim's friend at the music store and try to schedule an interview for a job.

- - - - -

By the time Jim returned that evening, Blair was smiling broadly. Jim couldn't help but notice the obvious change in the man from only a few days ago.

"So are you going to keep me in the dark, or are you going to tell me what has you in such a good mood?"

Blair grabbed the lid out of his hands and replaced it on the pot. "If you don't leave that alone, you're never gonna get dinner," he chided. "I called your friend, Joe, at the music store. I've got an interview with him on Monday," he said cheerfully.

Jim smiled cautiously. Monday was three days away. He wondered briefly why the delay. Glancing back at the young man as he stirred the contents in one the pans on the stove, he caught a glimmer of purple and black on the exposed cheek. Closing his eyes, Jim chastised himself for his suspicions. Obviously the man wanted more time for his bruises to heal.

"That's great, Chief. I'm sure he'll give you the job."

"Um...Jim?" Blair replaced the lid and turned to face the bigger man. "If I get this job, do you think maybe he could pay me in cash?"

"I don't know, Chief. Besides, that would be problem for you with taxes."

"I won't be here to file taxes next year, man, so I don't care."

"But I thought..."

"Jim, we're not gonna get into this again. I told you, I'm only gonna stay here a little while until I can earn enough money to get my car fixed and then I'm going to Canada."

Jim shrugged. "If you get the job at the store, we can talk to Joe and see what can be worked out. Maybe he can make a check out to me and then I can cash it for you," he offered.

"Hey, that would work. Thanks, man." Blair looked over at the stove. "Oh, jeez, this is gonna burn. Grab some dishes and I'll bring dinner over in a minute."

Realizing he'd been dismissed, Jim did as he was asked.

- - - - -

Later that evening, when Jim decided to take a shower, Blair flipped on the TV. As he sat fascinated with the sitcom, the phone rang. Glancing down the hall, he heard the water still running. He debated momentarily about answering the offending instrument, but overwhelming fear of discovery won out and he remained frozen in place. The answering machine finally intercepted the call and Blair's nerves loosened once he realized it was a friend of Jim's.

His eyes focused once again on the television screen when he heard the bathroom door opening. Glancing over he saw Jim approaching, a towel wrapped around his waist. Blair sucked in a breath as he struggled to turn his head away.

"Uh... you had a call, man."

"What did Simon want?" Jim asked casually as he climbed the stairs to his room.

"What? I wasn't paying attention. The guy left a message on the machine." He cocked his head in wonder at the man upstairs.

When Jim returned, he walked over to the answering machine, preparing to replay Simon's message. Pausing, he glanced over at Blair. "It's all right if you answer the phone, you know."

Blair just nodded.

Returning his attention to the answering machine, Jim pressed the play button.

"Jim. It's Simon. Guess you're working. I think it's great you're doing this, by the way. Listen, I need to talk to you about something that's come up at the station. Give me a call and we can get together."

"Is Simon somebody else you and Danny work with?"

"Huh? Ah, no," he said cautiously. Momentarily abandoning his plan to return Simon's call, Jim headed into the kitchen and returned with two beers. He sat down next to Blair. "Simon's an old friend from town." He debated informing the young man that Simon was a police captain, but given his own nagging doubts, he remained silent.

"So is work going pretty well with Danny?" He chose to change direction.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Better than I expected."

"So what exactly do you do for Danny?"

Jim hesitated, carefully wording his answer. "I don't really work for Danny. I work for Danny's client. I basically just follow orders and do what they want me to do."

"Ah, man. That sounds really boring." Blair's lips twisted in a cynical smile.

"Not really," he chuckled. "It's interesting. I get to meet lots of people."

"But you're forced to do what they want you to do..."

"I do have some input here, Chief, so I'm not exactly forced."

"It still sounds like you do what they tell you to do?" Blair pointed out.

"It is their money. Gotta keep the clients satisfied after all," he smirked.

He snickered as he took a long drink of his beer. "And I suppose you're gonna tell me you get paid really well for doing this."

"As a matter of fact..." At the shocked expression on Blair's face, Jim laughed. Draining the last of his beer, he stood and headed into the kitchen. "Well, some of us aren't as young as they use to be and I need some sleep for my fan club," he grinned as he approached the stairs.

- - - - -

Blair lay in bed trying to process the man words. As he analyzed what he knew about the man and the job that had materialized while Blair was staying there, he found himself drawn to a single conclusion about his host. Jim had to be a male prostitute. Apparently Danny was his pimp, securing clients for Jim. It only made sense with Jim himself saying he had to do what the clients wanted and making good money doing it. Perhaps that's why the man felt a need to help Blair. He'd found himself in a similar situation at some time in life.

He drifted off to sleep with thoughts of a strange kinship with the man sleeping upstairs.

- - - - -

Over the next few days the routine remained essentially the same with Jim leaving every morning for work, only to return that evening. Blair stayed a virtual prisoner within the confines of the loft, content to use the computer for companionship. The only change came when Jim suggested a trip to a department store to pick out some new clothes for Blair to wear on his interview.

He thought briefly of the laundry basket stashed in the trunk of his car, but swiftly brushed that out of his mind. He had no access to those clothes at the moment. Glancing down at the fraying edges of the jeans he was wearing, he decided perhaps the man was right.

That evening as Blair prepared for bed, he stared over at the jeans and new sweater draped across the chair, and smiled. He needed to make a call first thing in the morning and then he had to meet the owner of the music store. Hopefully it would be a good day. He fell asleep, a faint smile on his face.

- - - - -

Standing in front of the phone, he closed his eyes, rehearsing his well-prepared speech. This was the only chance he was going to get, and if the man turned him down.... Blair's eyes flew open and he punched in the phone number. He waited for the sarcastic response to come.

"Sandburg, I hope you're calling with good news. Lord knows, with the way the day's gone so far, I could definitely use some good news." The man laughed.

"Ralph, I've got a big favor to ask you. Before you say a word, let me assure you I wouldn't be asking this if it wasn't really important. My car broke down and it's gonna be awhile before I can get it fixed. I've got a number of leads I was working on before that happened and now I don't have any way to follow up on them. I..." The man didn't need to know the car broke down before he'd gotten the assignment, Blair grinned weakly.

"You'd better not be telling me you're not writing this article." His voice grew louder with his frustration.

"No, sir. I'm working on it. It's just that..." he hesitated as he tried to gather the strength to go on. "Ralph, what I could really use here is a loan. I think I'm really close to finding something, but I don't have any way to afford to travel around right now."

"I don't suppose there's anyway you could reassure me that if I were to do this for you that I would definitely have that article on my desk by the end of the month?"

Blair mentally went over his rehearsed speech. He just had to convince his editor. "I'm really close, Ralph. I just need to talk to a few more people. I know..."

"I'll have five hundred wired to your checking account. I assume that will make this happen?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Five hundred would be fine. Um...Ralph, could I get you to just send a Western Union wire with the cash? It would be easier for me to get the money that way."

"You realize this is somewhat unusual. I don't..."

Blair interrupted the man quickly. "I know this isn't a normal procedure, Ralph. But it's a little harder for me to cash out of state checks than I thought." That excuse sounded lame, even to him. Suddenly a new idea struck him. "Besides if you put it into my account, I wouldn't have access to it until tomorrow and I've already got an important interview set up for late this afternoon."

There was only silence on the other end for several seconds. "You were pretty sure of my answer, weren't you?"

"No, sir," Blair stammered. "I was just really hoping that you'd be willing to help me out here."

"I'll switch you to my secretary. Give her the information and I'll have the money wired to you shortly."

"Thanks, Ralph. I really appreciate your help."

"Sandburg, I want more than your appreciation. I expect that article on my desk. If I don't get it, there WILL be hell to pay for it."

Blair could only snicker at his editor's words. "It'll be on your desk with bows and flowers."

"The article, Sandburg. Just the article. You won't impress me with bows and flowers. Now hold on while I get Maggie on the line."

Several minutes later Blair walked down the street, a smile firmly in place. Glancing down at his watch he calculated it would be a few hours before he could retrieve the money Ralph was sending. In the meantime, he realized he needed to increase his pace if he was going to make it in time for the interview he'd set up at the music store with Jim's friend.

Jim was going out of his way to help him and Blair was determined to make a good impression on the shop's owner in order to secure this part time job. It wasn't much, but at least he'd be able to earn something in order to begin repaying Jim for his assistance.

Several hours later Blair returned to the loft. The smile was still evident on his face. He'd managed to secure a temporary position as an assistant at the small store. Additionally, he agreed to give occasional guitar lessons. Hanging up his jacket, Blair pulled his wallet from his jean's pocket and the grin widened as he viewed the money that now was there.

- - - - -

When Jim returned to the loft that evening, his senses were overcome with the delicious smells that emanated from the other side of the heavy door. Walking inside he discovered the table was set and Blair moving back and forth through the kitchen.

"What's the occasion?" he questioned while placing his jacket on the hook. He noticed the red light blinking on the answering machine.

"Your friend, Joe, gave me the job, man. Plus, I'll be giving some guitar lessons."

Jim grinned as the words sunk in. "Joe's a good man. I told you things would work out. Who called?"

Blair nodded as he continued to stir the concoction in the frying pan. "Yeah, he's cool." He glanced over toward the phone, puzzled. "No idea, man. Hey, why don't you get cleaned up, dinner's about ready." He lifted the pan from the burner and spooned the contents into a nearby plate.

He punched the playback button quickly. "Jim. It's Simon. I really need to talk to you. Give me a call as soon as you can." He debated calling his friend, but his stomach chose that moment to angrily growl, which ended all question of what was more important. Laughing he headed down the hallway. When Jim returned he found Blair already seated at the table, waiting patiently. Sitting down, he hungrily helped himself the steaming food.

They ate in relative silence though occasionally Blair's voice interrupted the quiet as he spoke about ideas he had for helping out at the music store. Jim grinned to himself as he discovered he enjoyed not only hearing the kid's voice, but just the fact that he was saying more than just the few words and sentences he had previously. Maybe there was hope that Blair could recover from his horrifying experience of the last week.

That thought was short lived, however. As they worked side-by-side, washing and drying the dishes and pans, Jim's arm brushed against Blair's. For a brief instant Jim felt a tingle running through his skin where contact had been made. He glanced over at Blair. The young man's reaction was immediate. Flinching, he backed away rapidly, dropping the freshly rinsed dish. It crashed loudly on the floor.

"Sorry," he murmured softly.

"It's only a dish, Chief. No harm done," he readily assured him.

Jim retrieved the broom to clean up the broken pieces. Turning, he caught a glimpse of Blair as he stood in the doorway. He didn't appear to be frightened as he watched Jim sweep up the debris. Perhaps he still felt the strange connection the two men had shared just moments before. Jim continued to sense it as he dumped the remnants of the plate into the trash can.

Blair turned and headed toward his small room. As Jim watched him retreat, he called after him. "I thought I'd made a run to the grocery store tonight. Why don't you make me a list of stuff you need. After that great meal, I'll gladly let you fix just about anything for us."

Blair halted his movements and spun back around. "Seriously?"

"Sure. Hey, why don't you come along with me. That way you can make sure to get what you want."

He pondered the offer for a moment. "Maybe next time, Jim. I'm kinda tired from my excursion today." The music store was less than a mile away from the loft, but with his other stops of the day, he'd probably covered five or six miles on foot. He hoped that Jim wouldn't be suspicious.

"No problem. Go get me that list so I can get outta here." If Jim had any reason to doubt Blair's statement, he hid it well.

Ten minutes later he left the loft, Blair's shopping list secure in his pocket. The young man stared out the tiny window in his darkened room, watching as the big pickup pulled away from the curb.

He couldn't decide if he was relieved or saddened to see Jim go. A nagging thought tugged at him. He was far from indifferent where Jim was concerned. And that thought bothered him.

As he continued to stare down at the street, his body shivered as he remembered the current that had passed between him and Jim. His accelerated heartbeat told him he wanted to get closer to Jim, yet Blair's common sense screamed at him to stay away from this man. Blair couldn't deny the excitement Jim was beginning to arose in him, any more than he could ignore the fear that accompanied those feelings.

He didn't want to feel this way about any one. He couldn't allowed himself to be controlled again. Neither by force, nor by emotions. From now on, he was on his own. Even so, he couldn't help the flicker of regret as he watched the truck make the turn at the corner.

- - - - -

He was standing by the window an hour later when Jim found him. He could see Blair's face clearly in the moonlight, though the shadows played across his handsome features, adding a strange, sensuous appeal. He stood looking down at Blair, his expression unreadable, and became aware of the rapid beating of the young man's heartbeat. Unconsciously, Jim moved closer until he was standing next to him.

"I... uh..." Blair's lips seemed to have gone dry, and he moistened them with his tongue. "I didn't hear you get back." He turned slightly, lifting his chin.

Reaching out, Jim closed his strong hands around Blair's arms.

Blair tensed, tried to pull back as Jim's lips touched his. But his pulse raced when Jim slid his fingers through the mass of curls and held him, increasing the pressure of his mouth. As his hands wandered up the solid form of Jim's chest Blair could feel the steady throb of Jim's heartbeat beneath his fingers.

Jim's arms wrapped around him, drawing him against the warm, hard body. Unable to control the urge, Blair lowered his arms and firmly grasped Jim's tight ass. He felt the man shudder against him as he pressed forward. The tiny movement sent desire surging through him. His mind spun, confused by the intensity of his emotions. Where had all these feelings come from? Why couldn't he seem to fight them?

Jim tightened his hold, urging Blair's lips apart to plunge his tongue into the hot, moist mouth. Blair's resistance was rapidly deteriorating. He leaned into Jim, sliding his hands across the broad expanse of his shoulders. Slowly, Jim left a trail of kisses along the side of Blair's neck, and he felt his legs begin to weaken.

Jim shifted against him, his hand sliding down Blair's jeans and resting over his erection. The movement was subtle, but it seemed to slam into him like a train wreck. Blair jerked away abruptly, his body rigid, his mind rampant with the shock of his own denial.

Jim let him go immediately. In the moonlight streaming through the window, he could see the reactions on the older man's face. The questions, the disbelief...and something else, but he didn't know what.

"Blair, I..."

"No!" He swallowed, desperately searching for the right thing to say. "I can't do this. I can't."

Jim lifted his hand out toward the young man as if to touch him, then let it drop. "Can't you at least tell me what happened? Who did this to you? How can I help you if..."

Blair interrupted him quickly. "I don't need your help, man. I can take care of myself. Just let it go."

Jim turned and slowly left the room, closing the door behind him.

- - - - -

Surrounded by darkness, Jim sat on the couch, softly cursing. He discovered it hadn't improved his mood. Nor had the third beer he was just finishing. He hadn't meant to kiss the kid, he assured himself. He'd done his best to stay away from him. But he'd felt his body respond, smelled the arousal. For one single moment he'd glimpsed a passion far beyond anything he'd known before when he was with...

He jumped up from the sofa and stumbled into the kitchen. Yanking the refrigerator door open the small light caused him to blink as it glared at him. Quickly he grabbed another bottle and slammed the door closed and moved back to the living room.

Taking a long swig of the liquid he tried to force his jumbled brain to concentrate. There had to be a way to get Blair to talk. Somehow he'd find a way.

- - - - -

In the small, spare room Blair lay awake, chastising himself for allowing his emotions to overcome his good sense. He had gotten far too close to Jim, he knew from past experience that would only prove to be a detriment for them both.

As he lay there in the dark, he wondered when he'd regained the ability to feel emotions, something he thought had buried long ago. In fact, he would have thought it impossible to hurt as badly as he was now.

Which was all the more reason why he had to prevent Jim from becoming involved. Peter had too much power and was far too dangerous. He began to remember when Peter had last found him in Oregon.

It had taken Peter a couple of months to track him down. When he arrived home from work one night, he found Peter inside his apartment. Peter had accused him of everything from prostitution to selling drugs to pay the rent on the cheap apartment.

In his mind, Blair relived the painful experience, blow by blow. He could still see the moss green eyes, glittering with some weird kind of excitement just before the man hit him. He shuddered violently before forcing his mind back to the present. Sitting up, he began to rub his forehead, trying to relieve the throbbing pressure.

It was hopeless. Nobody could help him. Peter would destroy anybody who tried. Blair knew he had to get away. His car still wasn't ready, but if he waited for that, it would give Peter time to find him. He wasn't far enough away yet.

Sighing, he reached over and turned on the light. He glanced at his watch. It was almost three. If he left now, he wouldn't have to explain it to Jim. Jim would only want to help.

Quickly he grabbed all his possessions and stuffed them into his backpack. He scribbled a message for Jim before placing the pad inside last. Quietly he opened the door and began to tip toe across the darkened room, pausing by the kitchen counter long enough to drop off the note. He continued toward the front door, reaching for his jacket in the dark. His nerves jumped as he heard a faint rustling sound behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn't see anything in the pitch black interior of the room. His imagination was racing out of control. He could almost hear footsteps. He quickly moved toward where the door should be.

The hands came from nowhere, suddenly, and without warning. They seized his shoulders. He'd grabbed Blair from behind.

A hoarse voice muttered, "Going somewhere, Chief?"

Blair dropped everything with a crash and twisted around, scratching and clawing to break free. Jim tried to grab his arms to still their frantic movements. It took several minutes before he finally was able to calm down.

As Blair pulled away from the man, he turned on the light switch and looked over at him. Reluctantly, he put his jacket back on the hook.

"Couldn't even say good-bye?"

Blair sighed heavily. "I left you a note." He stared at his jacket, unable to face Jim just yet.

"I saw it. 'Thanks for everything.' Is that it? Hell, I've had better good-bye's from my father, and I hate my father," he smirked.

Miserably, he shrugged. Then his head shot up and he spun around. "Wait! How did you read that note. The lights were off. And where were you?"

"I was on the couch." Jim was unwilling to lose control of the situation so he quickly bent over and picked up the backpack, guitars and computer. "Okay, first I'm gonna take this stuff back into your room. Then you're gonna tell me the whole story."

"But I.." Blair started to interrupt, but a quick glance at Jim's face told him he meant it.

When Jim returned from carrying the few precious items Blair still owned, he discovered the man perched on the arm of the couch, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the entire world. Quickly Jim strode into the kitchen and began to make coffee. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

Jim set the mugs down on the table and sat down at the opposite end of the couch. Blair immediately lifted it to his lips. Jim leaned forward, leaning his arms on his knees. "Who is it who beat you up?"

Blair set the cup back on the table and sighed. He struggled for the words. "My former lover," he said at last..

"What the hell is he doing beating on you?"

"He won't let me go." Blair reached for his cup again and wrapped his hands around it like a security blanket. "He thinks he owns me."

"The law won't let him get away with that," Jim pointed out angrily.

"Peter makes his own laws, man. You have to understand the kind of man he is. Besides, nobody gives a damn if a gay guy gets the shit beat outta him. One less fag out on the street to deal with."

"That's crap and you know it. There are new laws all the time to protect ...."

Blair laughed harshly. "That doesn't stop Peter. Hell, I've split twice before. He found me both times. He traced me through my social security number and found out where I worked. He was waiting for me when I quit for the day. Both times he beat the shit outta me, to teach me a lesson."

He paused, remembering the image of it all over again. "The last time was five days ago. I'd begun to hope that he'd given up. It'd had been a couple of months since I'd last seen him. I was working in a bar downtown. When I got home after closing up the place, there he was, waiting."

Blair watched as Jim's hand began to form a fist. He felt his stomach tightened. "Dammit, Chief, why haven't you gone to the police about this?"

He set the cup back down on the table and stared at his empty hands for a moment. Finally, he was able to look over at Jim again. "Because," he said softly, "Peter is the police. He's a Nevada county sheriff."

Jim's stared at him, his face frozen in shock.

"That's why nobody can help me," Blair said, when Jim made no effort to speak. "He's put several of my friends in the hospital in the past when they tried to help me. The last time, he manufactured a string of violations and bunch of my friends have lost their business as well."

Jim felt like pounding the arm of the couch with his fist, however, one look at the pain mirrored in Blair's eyes forced him to hold back from acting on that desire. "Chief, there are things you can do to stop him. It doesn't matter if he's a cop. You can get him on assault charges, take out a restraining order."

"No!" Alarmed by Jim's insistence, Blair stood up. "You don't understand. Nothing's gonna stop him. He is the law. It's gonna be his word against mine. Who's gonna believe the word of a fag against a cop?"

"Chief.." Jim stood and reached for him, but he backed away.

"I can't. I just can't" He knew he should have never have told Jim about Peter. Jim was only going to get hurt by Peter. Blair wandered off down the hall until he reached the spare room. With a heavy sigh he sat down on the futon, pulling his knees tightly against his chest. He shut his eyes and lowered his head.

Jim found him there. Blair opened his eyes when Jim entered the room. Seeing the despair etched on the younger man's face, Jim's heart twisted with pain. He sat down next to him, fighting the urge to take him in his arms and ease his fears.

"You're exhausted," he pointed out, when Blair looked over at him. "You need a good night's sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

He shook his head. "There's nothing more to say, Jim. I'm not gonna stay and cause trouble for you. I've gotta get outta here."

"We'll talk about it later, Chief. Right now, you need to sleep."

"I can't sleep. I'll just..."

"I'll just stay with you until you fall asleep," he insisted.

Blair looked over at him puzzled. "You just wanna be sure I'm not gonna split."

"Maybe," he smiled. "But you need some sleep. Just let me hold you until you go to sleep. I promise that's all."

As Blair slowly nodded, Jim hoped it was a promise he could keep.

- - - - -

Jim lay listening to Blair breathing, tortured by every move he made. He knew he should get up and go back to his own bed. He was only making things worse for himself, lying there with his arms around him, trying not to notice the insistent demands of his body.

He'd managed to doze off several times during the night, his sleep haunted by images that Blair's words conjured up. Jim realized he wouldn't be able to do it by himself, and he knew just the person to help him.

Jim's eyes flew open when he felt Blair stir in his arms. Glancing down, he found ice blue eyes staring back at him.

"Hey," he muttered.

He grinned and squirmed, trying to disguise his growing arousal. "Hey yourself. Doing any better?"

Blair nodded meekly. "Have you been here all night?"

"Yep." Jim slid his arm out from under his shoulder and stretched. "I guess I fell asleep."

"That's cool, man." The young man sat up, stretching his arms high above his head and arching his back with a small groan.

Jim swallowed hard as he watched in silence. He began to slide out of the bed, when he felt a hand grab his elbow. Turning, he looked back into the sleep rumpled face of the young man.

"Thanks."

It was all Jim could do to stop himself from rolling over on top of him. He plastered a smile on his face and nodded. Rising quickly, he padded down the hall to the bathroom.

Even as the tepid water hit his body, he couldn't force the rebellious thoughts from his mind. He longed to take that lost soul into his arms and make slow, gentle love to him.

Wishful thinking, he reminded himself brusquely, with thoughts of how quickly Blair had pulled back last night when Jim made a move. An uneasy thought filled his head as he turned off the water and left the shower. Was that why Blair tried to run last night? The thought nagged at him so much, he knew he was going to have to ask him.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he headed toward the kitchen and the smell of coffee. Leaning against the doorway, he found Blair preparing breakfast.

"Why were you going to leave without telling me where you were going? Is it because of what almost happened between us last night?"

"No, I..." Blair stopped stirring the eggs and he glanced over at him. "I knew you'd ask questions I didn't want to answer. I didn't want to involve you in all of this."

Feeling slightly better, Jim moved closer. Reaching over, he snatched a piece of bacon from the plate. "Why not? It sounds like you're trying to protect this monster."

Blair spooned the eggs onto the platter as he carefully struggled to control his rising anger. "I didn't know if I could make you understand how dangerous Peter is." Looking up, he stared at Jim. "You're right, he is a monster. And I'm definitely NOT trying to protect him. I'm just trying to make sure I get away from him for good. And I thought you might try to stop me from going to Canada."

"I understand more than you think. I..." The phone rang, interrupting his words. Jim rushed to retrieve it. "Ellison," he responded stiffly. "Yeah, Danny, it's going great. They wanna do it tonight? Ah, man, not tonight," he sighed heavily. Turning around, Jim watched as Blair set the plates on the table took a seat. "How long will they need me there? Two days? Are you sure?

All right. I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up the phone and walked over to the table. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip before looking down at Blair. "That was Danny," he said glumly. "They need me to come to work, but it's gonna be a couple of days this time."

Blair's eyebrow arched. Was he wrong about what Jim did? "Hey man, that's cool. I can take care of myself," he said as he began to eat.

Jim watched him for a moment and debated. Taking another sip of his coffee he turned around and walked a few steps away from the table before hesitating. Spinning around he strode back to the table. "Listen, why don't you go with me?"

Blair looked down at his plate, amused that he'd ever entertained the notion of Jim as a prostitute. "I'll be fine, Jim.

"I'm serious, Chief."

He looked up sharply, sensing a confrontation. "You're only asking to prevent me from running to Canada while you're gone."

"You planning to run to Canada while I'm gone?"

"I told you I'm going." he said defiantly.

Jim's eyes probed his. "You car isn't fixed yet."

"I know that. I can hitch a ride."

"And risk Peter catching up with you? I thought the whole idea in getting that job with Joe was so you could make some money to fix your car."

Blair felt the sudden lurch of his stomach and tightened his grip on his fork. "He won't know where I am yet. It always takes him awhile to track me down. It would probably be better if I don't stay in one place long enough to let him do that this time."

"But if you get a ride there'll be someone to remember you. Someone to tell him where you've gone."

Blair shifted uneasily. "By that time, I'll be so far away, he won't know where to look. Besides he won't have any authority in Canada, man. He can't come after me there."

"Chief." Jim leaned across the table and reached for his hand with his own free one. "Look, do me a favor here. I've gotta go to work. I'll be back in a couple of days. Just please be here when I get back. You've got that job lined up with Joe in the meantime. Maybe your car will be fixed when I get back."

"Jim, there's no way."

"Just be here when I get back. If you're so hell bent on going across the border later, I'll drive you across myself, if your car's not fixed." He said reasonably.

"You don't have to do that." He stared at the man in amazement.

"I know," he said quietly as he ate his cold meal.

- - - - -

Jim tossed his duffel bag into the pickup, he glanced toward his building. He dreaded leaving following his confrontational conversation with Blair. He wanted to remain here and make sure Blair would be safe. But he'd made a commitment, and he had to follow through with it.

As he drove into traffic, Jim pulled his cell phone from his jacket and made a quick call, setting up a quick appointment before leaving town.

Striding rapidly into the coffee shop, Jim slid into an empty booth and waited. When the waitress appeared, he ordered two cups of coffee. He didn't have long to wait.

"Dammit, Jim, what took you so long to get back to me?" Simon slid in the seat opposite his friend, his angry expression dissipating once he saw the waiting cup.

"Sorry, Simon, I've been really busy these last few days as you can imagine. Matter of fact, I'm headed out again now and I won't be back for a couple of days," he groaned. "So what's so important you needed to talk to me about anyway?"

Taking a quick gulp of the steaming liquid, Simon set the cup down on the table. "The last few days around the station have turned into a madhouse with paper flying everywhere," he sighed. "Normally this isn't anything that would interest you, but a couple of things stuck out at me and since you're usually pretty good with details, I thought you might be able to help."

"What, you've got a stolen car or something?" Jim said smiling.

"I wish," he replied glumly. "Nah, a few days ago an APB came over the wire from Portland for a missing kid. Well, actually he's not a kid, he's in his late twenties or something," Simon quickly amended. "Anyway, when I'm checking it out, I find there are APBs out on this kid in Nevada and California as well."

Jim looked over at him, suspicion making him frown. "What the hell this guy done?"

"Beat's me. The details are sketchy, but apparently he's wanted back in Nevada in connection with an ongoing investigation. And this is the interesting part, they consider the kid to be dangerous and a flight risk. We're suppose to contact this Nevada sheriff to come pick him up if he's apprehended."

Jim drained the last of his coffee and set his cup at the edge of the table for the waitress to refill. "Okay, and why would this be of interest to me?" His expression was devoid of all emotion.

"No particular reason, Jim," he laughed, "other than the fact that a couple of uniforms recently reported seeing a young man who fit the description walking around in the vicinity of Prospect. I thought maybe if I gave you a description of this guy you could let me know if you see him?"

Jim leaned heavily against the bench seat. "Sure, Simon. I'll give you a call if I see him, man. But since I'm gonna be gone for a few days, I'll probably miss him if he's passing through town." He took a sip from his freshly filled cup.

Simon pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and pushed it across the table toward Jim. Carefully Jim unfolded it and began to study it, line by line.

"Have you called this Sheriff Peter..." Jim looked down at the paper. "Carson yet and told him that your boys think they spotted this Bill Sandalwood kid?"

"No, I figured that since they hadn't made a positive ID, it would be better to hold off. And it's Blair Sandburg."

"What?" Jim looked up confused..

"The kid's name. It's Blair Sandburg."

"Oh, right, right. Well, if I see anybody around the area that looks like this, Simon, I'll give you a call." He glanced at his watch and started to slide out of the booth. "I'd better be going, man. I've got a long drive ahead of me.

Simon's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, Jim? I thought you had a favor to ask me?" At Jim's blank look he continued. "You mentioned something about a favor when you called me back, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Sorry. I've had a lot on my mind these days," he chuckled.

"So what's the favor?"

"No favor, man. Just keep Saturday the 25th open."

"That's it?"

"Yep!" Jim quickly exited the coffee shop before Simon could ask any more questions.

- - - - -

Driving along the interstate, Jim debated several times calling the loft and warning Blair that Peter had issued an APB looking for him. Each time, however, he disconnected the call before he'd finished dialing it, fearful that Blair would run the minute he knew that Peter was getting close.

He fervently hoped that Blair would remain inside the loft for the next couple of days until he could return and then they could plan a more permanent solution for Blair's safety. But somehow he just knew the young man wasn't going to stay put. Jim's grip on the steering wheel continued to tighten with each passing mile.

- - - - -

Blair sat on his bed and waited. He heard Jim walking around the loft, gathering the items he wanted to take with him on his trip. When the front door finally closed, Blair got up and approached the window. He stood to the side and peered down into the street. Yesterday when he stood in front of the window and watched Jim approach his truck, he could have sworn that when the man looked up he actually saw Blair staring back at him. It was enough to make him cautious this time.

Once Jim drove off and Blair lost sight of the large pickup in traffic, he raced to get dressed. Several times, he walked over toward the window and glanced down. Reassured that Jim wasn't returning, he left his room. He grabbed the spare key from the table by the front door and quickly left.

- - - - -

"Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Thomas?" the petite woman asked politely.

Had she not been standing so close to him, Blair might not have realized she was speaking to him. He hated to use a phoney name, but he thought it would be better this way. "Please call me Blair," he finally responded. "A beer would be great, if you have one." Perhaps the alcohol would give him more courage than he was feeling right now.

"One beer coming up." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Left alone for the moment, Blair looked around at the well-furnished living room he was seated in. Glancing quickly at his watch, he relaxed as he realized he had several hours before his bus left for the return trip to Cascade. He'd planned to travel to Seattle right after Jim had left, but unfortunately, by the time he was able to reach the bus station, the last bus for the day had already departed.

"Here you go, Blair." She handed him the ice cold bottle.

"Thank you so much," he responded automatically.

She sat down in the wing chair opposite him. "When you called, you mentioned something about an article you're writing on my late brother's old band. Now, please forgive me for being blunt, but that was years ago and I don't know what I can tell you now that would be any different from what had been previously published."

Blair studied her face as he contemplated his words. "As I told you on the phone, Mrs. Fox, I'm working on an article for 'The Beat' magazine." He was stalling for time. The speech he'd rehearsed during the long bus trip to Seattle flashed quickly through his brain. He took a quick sip of the beer looking for the courage to continue. "I appreciate your apprehension about just another piece written about a defunct band, but let me assure you this is a different approach from what's been done before."

She remained passive as he spoke. Watching her carefully, he almost missed the slight movement as her eyebrow arched suspiciously. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Blair realized this interview could be cut short at any moment.

"Hey, I'll be the first to admit I wouldn't want to read another article that just rehashed how the band started or what they accomplished," he chuckled nervously.

"Mr. Thomas...uh, Blair," she corrected herself quickly. "I applaud your efforts to try to breathe new life into my brother's band. I really do." She leaned forward in her chair. "But I don't make a habit of talking to reporters about my brother or the band, and I don't see why I should make an exception now. I'm sorry, but I just don't see how I can be of any help to you."

"Yes, Ma'am, and I understand why you're skeptical about another article, especially given a lot of the rumors that have been floating around for years. But I honestly believe that the focus I intend to present would be of interest to those people that were fans of your brother's bands, not to mention the folks that happen to hear the occasional Thunderbolt song on the radio. I know that the press gave you a hard time following your brother's death but please believe me, the last thing I want to do is to dredge up any more negative publicity against your brother. All I'm asking for is that you just give me a chance here."

The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of her mouth. "Are you always this charming?" The smile widened in approval.

Chuckling, he shook his head in the negative. "I wish." Taking a sip of his beer, Blair glanced quickly at the hastily scribbled notes in his pad. "All right, let me start by going over a few background facts on the band."

For the next several minutes, Blair shared with her his knowledge about the band's beginnings and their musical style.

"You surprise me, Blair. You hardly look old enough to have been a fan of Thunderbolt, but your grasp of their material is amazing."

A broad smile crossed his face as he looked across at her. "I was just starting college when the band first hit it big. Somehow they hit just the right chord with me and I was hooked."

"Mark was very passionate about music. As long as I can remember, he always wanted to be in a band so he could share even a portion of that love with others."

He nodded as he made several notes. "It must have been a huge disappointment to him when The Axecutioner quit the band after the third album. I was..."

"He didn't quit!" she said abruptly. "Mark kicked him out of the band."

"What?" Blair stared at her hard. "I've never heard anything about this before."

"Lenny was seduced by what the fame brought him," she said curtly, anger flashing in her dark eyes.

"So you're saying he got caught up in the trap of 'sex, drugs and rock 'n roll'?"

She nodded quietly. Looking down at the bottle in her hand, she began to scrape away at the label with her nails. When she glanced over at the young man across from her, she saw understanding in his eyes. "Mark put up with his indifference toward the music for as long as he could. I had told him a couple of years earlier he should dump Lenny, but Mark kept hoping that Lenny would turn around. Finally, when they were rehearsing the material for the fourth album, Mark knew it just wasn't gonna happen and he told Lenny he was out of the band."

Blair looked puzzled at her words. "So why didn't Mark say anything instead of letting him tell the world he'd quit because of artistic differences."

She sighed softly. "That's the way my brother was. He wanted the band to focus on the music rather than produce negative publicity. J.T. agreed with him and they decided to just let Lenny claim he'd quit."

"But that's what ended up happening anyway," he quickly pointed out. "There were so many articles that focused on the bass player's death from that drug overdose when the band was on tour to support the last album."

He watched as her body tensed. "Lies! Neil didn't do drugs!" she responded vehemently. She saw the questions written all over his face and continued swiftly. "You have to understand something here. These guys were like brothers to me. I grew up around them."

"But being on the road...a musician's life is different...it's possible that..."

"No, not Neil. All those articles were nothing more than the press wanting to sell newspapers and magazines. He no more took that coke than Fred hot-wired his amp."

"Whoa!" Blair glared at her harshly as he interrupted her. "So you're saying that somebody slipped Neil the drugs and rigged Fred's amp to electrocute him? That's murder!"

She looked away swiftly at the sight of his scowl. "I can't prove it," she sighed, "but yeah, I guess that's what I've always thought. I know that Mark and J.T. tried to convince the cops of it for a time, but there wasn't any evidence to support the theory, especially since the deaths were a couple of years apart. When I use to mention it to reporters, I was written off as a lunatic."

Blair hesitated bringing up the question that popped into his head. He took a long drink of beer to bolster his resolve. "Is there any possibility your brother's accident could have been related?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "I never stopped to consider that," she responded honestly. "A lot of time passed before Mark decided to try to form a new group. I know he and J.T. had begun talking to several musicians about joining them but I wasn't aware of what was going on exactly."

"So Mark didn't share that much with you about his plans for this new group he was forming?"

"I had gotten married and didn't keep up with what he was doing any more. He and J.T. would stop by and visit from time to time and chat, but it wasn't the same."

Blair tilted his brow, looking at her uncertainly. "I take it that Mark and J.T. were close?" he asked casually.

Her face split into a wide grin. "Those two were inseparable almost from the start," she chuckled. "It was rare to see one without the other."

He smiled as he quickly wrote in his notepad. As Blair contemplated his next question, however, it faded. "I know that Mark and J.T. were roommates for a long time. It's been five years since J.T. disappeared following Mark's death in that car accident. Do you think that J.T. might be dead by now?"

"NO!" she shot out swiftly. She immediately regretted her words. "I, uh...," she stammered. "Look, I don't think I can continue with this interview, Blair. I'm sorry, but I..." She stood up.

"Cathy, I understand how you're feeling. But given the fact that three of the original band members are now dead," he glanced up at her expressionless face, "you have to admit there's a possibility J.T. could be dead as well."

She stood motionless and stared at him. Realizing she wasn't going to respond, Blair continued. "What makes you so certain he's not dead?" he prodded.

"I just....He's not dead," she said softly. "I just know, that's all."

"Do you know how I could find him?" Blair asked cautiously as he rose from the couch, taking several steps toward her.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the man across from her. "You can't," she stated simply.

"Please," he begged softly. At his intense scrutiny, Cathy hung her head. "When Mark died, a part of J.T. died with him. He moved out of Seattle two days after the funeral. I haven't seen him since." Her eyes closed tightly as she fought the persistent memories.

Blair reached over, his hand gently brushing her arm in sympathy. "So you don't actually know if he's still alive?" He hated asking the question, but he found he had to know the answer.

Her eyes shot open. Twisting her head slightly, she glared at the man next to her. "I think I've answered enough questions, Mr. Thomas," she said angrily. "It's time for you to leave."

He nodded silently, common sense dictating she wouldn't tell him anything further. "Thank you very much for everything," he said quietly as he turned toward the front door.

- - - - -

Blair paced through the crowded bus station nervously. Despite the various stops he made after leaving Cathy Fox's house, he still arrived forty-five minutes early for the bus bound for Cascade. As he glanced at the wall clock, he noticed a large map of North America. Moving closer he readily identified his location of Seattle on the map. His eyes moved northward and he saw Vancouver just over the border into Canada. He hadn't realized before just how close Canada was. And now that he was in Seattle, he could be there in only a few hours. And Peter couldn't get to him there. And Jim would be safe. Blair closed his eyes.

He found himself standing in line at the ticket counter. He kept his eyes on the worn tile floor as the line inched closer toward the elderly woman seated on the other side of the window.

"Can I help you?"

His head jerked up. "Huh?"

The woman glared at him over the top of her reading glasses. "Can I help you?" she repeated harshly.

"Uh, yeah. When does the next bus leave for Vancouver?"

She looked over at her schedule. "Next one is leaving in thirty minutes. Do you want a ticket?"

"How much is it?"

"Round trip or one-way?"

Blair sighed softly. "One-way."

"$65.87. I'll need to see some identification to process your ticket, sir." She reached for papers on her desk.

He reached for his wallet. This was his best chance to get away from Peter. To start his life over. And it wasn't as if he'd actually promised Jim he would be back at the loft when Jim returned.

"Sir? Sir?" Blair glanced over at the woman blankly. "Your identification, please," she insisted.

He pulled his Oregon driver's license from his wallet and handed it over. As the woman made notes, he fished the appropriate number of bills out and laid them out for her. She slid a ticket and his license toward him. Mumbling words of thanks, Blair stepped out of line.

Slumped in a chair, hugging his backpack tightly against his chest, he kept watch on the large wall clock. Maybe one day Jim would forgive him and he'd be willing to send Blair his guitars and laptop. He hadn't even left a note. No explanation, nothing.

Blair shifted in his seat, glancing at the clock. Twenty more minutes. Wrapping his fingers around the straps of his backpack, he momentarily considered working on his article. It could wait until he made it into Canada. And he was going to make it. A survivor. Who was barely surviving, he reminded himself quickly. He chuckled softly as he realized he sounded like a bad country song.

A sudden commotion unnerved him and he froze. Glancing over he noticed an unruly passenger being escorted from one of the buses by the local police. He tried to calm his racing heartbeat as he watched the drama play out in front of him. For the first time since he'd arrived at the station, Blair wished he still had his car. His car. He loved that car. Maybe he could find a way to get it back some day if the gas station didn't sell it to pay for the repairs. Maybe Jim would...

He closed his eyes, cursing softly. Even from hundreds of miles away, that man was able to fill Blair's brain.. He'd put thoughts into his mind that didn't belong there, and made Blair feel things he didn't want to feel.

Blair nearly jumped from his seat when the loud voice echoed through the station announcing the bus to Vancouver was now ready for boarding. He remained seated, taking several calming breaths, as he watched several women and their children rushing to form a line at the gate. As they began to move forward out the doors toward the waiting bus, he stood. At that moment, the announcement was made to board the bus for Cascade. Blair took his place in line. Glancing over he watched the group beginning to form for that bus. The bus he should have been on, a voice reminded him. His own line had temporarily halted and he turned to see what the problem was.

Something dug at his thigh. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he felt the keychain. The spare key to the loft. He'd have to mail it back to Jim. He ran his fingers over the cold metal as he watched the other line of passengers move onto their bus. His own line finally began to move again.

Unconsciously he stepped aside and let others pass him. He stood staring at both buses as they completed their loading process. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward and got on the bus.

- - - - -

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