The explosive report of gunfire pierced Blair's ears.
"Jim," he whispered in horror. His wrists burned, the skin under the manacles rubbed raw. Yet Blair continued to twist and squirm in his bindings as he shifted helplessly in the old dentist chair.
It was quiet now.
Desperately Blair searched the strange room. He couldn't see a damn thing that could help him out of his chains. Some of the candles Lash had lit were still throwing off dim light, survivors from Jim's fight with the serial killer.
Help Jim.
Should he call out? Certainly Jim wouldn't have come alone? Blair found it hard to believe Jim had come at all. How'd he know where to look? Hell, Blair didn't even know where he was. Jim must have some cop-trick up his sleeve, some new clue Lash had left during their fight in the loft.
Focus, Blair.
How much drug had he swallowed? None, right? He spat it out. Or was it absorbed through the lining of his mouth? Maybe that's why it was so hard to think, to keep his mind on the task at hand.
It was getting too dark.
Shit, why was he such a screw up? This whole case had been one mistake after another. He had freaked when they'd found the body in the tub, he went to Club Doom when Jim told him not to, he'd totally blown it at the church and then… tonight.
What the hell had he been thinking! He knew lash was following him. He knew it! He saw the reflection. But what does he do? He runs home to an empty loft.
God. He was an idiot.
Now Jim's probably dead.
Because of him.
This partnership was doomed before it even began.
"Sandburg, open your eyes."
Jim? Blair blinked. Light returned. Why was he staring at his own lap? Oh, he was slouched down in the chair. So, some of that drug had gotten into his blood stream. It shouldn't be this hard to move.
Jim was helping. He looked concerned, maybe even scared.
Feeling his mouth move, Blair managed a few garbled syllables. Hell, he couldn't even understand what he'd just said.
Jim smiled - the one that caused the crow's feet to form at the edges of his eyes. He didn't look mad.
"Hey, Chief. How you doing?"
Blair returned the smile – at least, he hoped he was smiling. What was Jim doing, wiping his chin? Great, now he was drooling, just wonderful.
"I could hear you talking. You did good, kid."
Okay, now Blair knew he was grinning like an idiot.
Maybe this partnership wasn't having such a bad beginning after all.
"Jim," he whispered in horror. His wrists burned, the skin under the manacles rubbed raw. Yet Blair continued to twist and squirm in his bindings as he shifted helplessly in the old dentist chair.
It was quiet now.
Desperately Blair searched the strange room. He couldn't see a damn thing that could help him out of his chains. Some of the candles Lash had lit were still throwing off dim light, survivors from Jim's fight with the serial killer.
Help Jim.
Should he call out? Certainly Jim wouldn't have come alone? Blair found it hard to believe Jim had come at all. How'd he know where to look? Hell, Blair didn't even know where he was. Jim must have some cop-trick up his sleeve, some new clue Lash had left during their fight in the loft.
Focus, Blair.
How much drug had he swallowed? None, right? He spat it out. Or was it absorbed through the lining of his mouth? Maybe that's why it was so hard to think, to keep his mind on the task at hand.
It was getting too dark.
Shit, why was he such a screw up? This whole case had been one mistake after another. He had freaked when they'd found the body in the tub, he went to Club Doom when Jim told him not to, he'd totally blown it at the church and then… tonight.
What the hell had he been thinking! He knew lash was following him. He knew it! He saw the reflection. But what does he do? He runs home to an empty loft.
God. He was an idiot.
Now Jim's probably dead.
Because of him.
This partnership was doomed before it even began.
"Sandburg, open your eyes."
Jim? Blair blinked. Light returned. Why was he staring at his own lap? Oh, he was slouched down in the chair. So, some of that drug had gotten into his blood stream. It shouldn't be this hard to move.
Jim was helping. He looked concerned, maybe even scared.
Feeling his mouth move, Blair managed a few garbled syllables. Hell, he couldn't even understand what he'd just said.
Jim smiled - the one that caused the crow's feet to form at the edges of his eyes. He didn't look mad.
"Hey, Chief. How you doing?"
Blair returned the smile – at least, he hoped he was smiling. What was Jim doing, wiping his chin? Great, now he was drooling, just wonderful.
"I could hear you talking. You did good, kid."
Okay, now Blair knew he was grinning like an idiot.
Maybe this partnership wasn't having such a bad beginning after all.