Chapter Three

The sun was merciless as it beat down on him. Shade, he had to find shade. Raising the less painful of his battered and torn arms up he shielded his eyes and tried to see if there was anywhere that he could hide from the powerful rays and try to re-group.

. . . . . . . . . .

"The body was found this morning but she had been dead about a week; I was searching for anything, anything at all, so I ran the name through the computer and discovered she was a witness in a case of Steve's. I followed that up and found the guy had died in prison just over a month ago. There is nothing else current that leads back to Steve; I think it has to be linked." Cheryl explained her findings to Jesse and Amanda while Ron and Mark both looked at the official papers she had given them.

"I've got on to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department and they ran a check on anything to do with him. He has a sister that lives in Beatty. Local sheriff said that she hasn't been seen in about a week. He also said that she had been totally devastated by the death of her brother." Cheryl paused a moment as Mark looked up from what he had been reading and began to speak.

"So we go there. It's what, a couple of hours by helicopter or plane? If necessary I'll hire one." He was on his feet already but stopped as Ron put a hand on his arm.

"Mark, if Steve's in Nevada then it's federal; she's crossed the state line with him. I'll get all the manpower we can possibly need and then some. I can have agents in … where was it? Beatty?" He received a nod from Cheryl, "In less than two hours."

"Then do it." Mark slid the phone on Cheryl's desk closer to him but as he did so it began to ring.

"Detective Banks … yes he's here, hold on." She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "It's for you, Doctor Sloan, the hospital?" Cheryl looked a little surprised. She was sure that they would know he wasn't working right now.

"Oh, thank you." Mark tried to sound calm as he took the receiver from her. "Doctor Sloan … what …? No, no. I heard you … Send it here … You know where I am just e-mail it here." Mark paused and then handed the phone back to Cheryl. "Tell them the address for here."

"Mark? Mark, what is it?" Jesse was instantly by his side and helping him into a vacant seat. He had seen how his friend had buoyed himself up to take the call and how, now, he was empty again.

"Another … another picture. The hospital got another picture. Jesse, we have to find him, before it's too late we have to find him."

A second phone rang, this time a cell and Ron, with a gruff apology, moved away to speak.

"Wagner… What …? Where was that found …? Ok… No, we'll be flying up sometime today." Ron turned to speak with Mark but saw how white he was and so for a moment paused. He indicated to Amanda that he needed to talk with her and together they moved away a little, as they started to converse the computer announced the arrival of mail.

. . . . . . . . . .

There was no shade, just unremitting sunshine and the odd brush like bush which cast a small shadow. He crouched down as close as he could to one of them and tried to think what to do next. The water was so very tempting but he knew that if he drank it all at once he may not get any more and so carefully, holding it in the hand of his useless right arm, he undid the top with his left. He allowed himself two mouthfuls and then he did the top back up again. His body sagged a little and the branches of the bush dug into the raw wounds on his back causing him to cry out in pain. Even that small movement made his arm hurt even more and he knew that before he tried to find his way back to civilisation he had to do something about his shoulder.

For a minute or two he just sat, his head swimming, and every part of his upper torso shouting at him, sending so many different pain signals to his brain that he was unable to deal with any of them. Finally it came to him, the only thing he had to use was his pants and he needed to turn one leg of them into a sling.

Knowing, however, was far easier than doing and so he sat a little longer trying to work out how to go about it. As he looked down at the blue dusty material he realised with a smile that sometime during his ordeal one of the legs had been ripped. If he could just continue that on maybe he would be able to fashion something that his father and Jesse would be proud of. Carefully looking around he realised that the painful shrubs were his best tool and so he broke off a longish branch and began attacking his jeans with it.

Thirty minutes later he was sure he was about to pass out but he was, at long last, proud of something that he had done during the whole awful ordeal. He had his arm up in a sling which would at least protect it from some of the painful movements he was certain he would put it through as he struggled not only to stay alive but to find his way towards any type of civilisation.

The disappointment he had suffered as he had realised there would be no car tracks to follow, because he had been left on hard rock, had dissipated a little as he had staggered towards the sandy surface which supported the bushes and their useful branches. He wished that one of them was long enough and strong enough to use as a staff but that wasn't to be. He did have a shorter one which he planned to keep with him though, just in case it might come in handy.

Taking another careful swig of his water he used his stick to help him to his already painfully hot and sore feet, his torn, jagged pants' leg meaning that his bare calf caught on the grit and gravel breaking the skin as it did so.

Once he was on his feet he shielded his eyes and looked up into the sky as a sudden shadow caught his attention. Above him he could see birds circling and, with a heavy heart, he knew that they were waiting for him.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Jesse, let me see it. I have to know." Mark's voice was almost breaking with the emotional stress of everything he was going through.

"Mark, it isn't gonna make any difference if you see it or not. You know he's in trouble. We just have to find him, fast." Jesse had seen the deep lacerations on his friend's back and the way that his right shoulder was at a very odd angle. He knew that Mark would miss neither of those things, nor the look of defeat on his son's face as he huddled on his knees looking up in the direction of whoever it was who had taken the photo.

"Jesse, get out of my way!" The older man got to his feet and forcibly moved the young doctor from in front of the computer screen. "Oh, my God." A chair was pushed behind him and he fell backwards into it. "We have to find him, Ron; we need to get your guys moving."

"Mark, they've found where he was held. There's no one home, but he was there, no doubt about it."

"How … how do you know … and where is he?" Mark wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers. If there was no one home then maybe they were already too late.

. . . . . . . . . .

He could see a rocky incline, not far ahead, he was sure it wasn't too far ahead, the sand beneath his feet wasn't making walking very easy but if he could get to it, then maybe he could find shelter. A cave maybe or a nice picnic area … he shook his head, his mind was wandering. A cave, if he could find a cave out of the sun he could wait until nightfall and carry on then. But the dogs … he hadn't thought about them for a while, he had to keep ahead of the dogs. He was suddenly forced to his knees by an attack of cramp in his legs so violent that it took his breath away and he had to stop everything, moving, thinking, breathing, everything and try to relax enough for it to go away.

He had no idea how long it took for him to have the strength to get back to his feet, it was a job that would get more and more difficult as he carried on walking he knew. And those dogs, if they came too close then walking wouldn't be enough, he would have to run. For a moment he stopped as he remembered back to when he had come face to face with the beasts that would chase him.

"Ah ah, before you go any farther I have to introduce you to my friends, my babies. They are all I have left thanks to your father." Her voice had been full of hatred and she had pulled on the arm she held and he had stopped. Grateful for the chance to catch his breath it had been easy to obey her instructions but as he looked in the direction she indicated he thought his heart would stop.

The cage had been quite small but inside it had been two chunky medium sized dogs, dogs he recognised all too easily as Pit Bull Terriers. He had a feeling they were banned in England, that you weren't allowed to own one or breed them. He wished that was the case here.

"They are so sweet but so hungry. This one is Blossom and that one is Petal, such pretty names for such pretty babies don't you think?

He hadn't answered her, hadn't realised that he was supposed to, and so she had jerked him hitting his battered body against the wall and causing the pain to radiate through him. Then, before he could regain any sort of composure, she had pushed him hard against the bars of the cage and both dogs had rushed him growling and slavering against him through the wires.

"They have your scent now too, my darling, and of course I have your shirt, this shirt." She had rubbed it against his bleeding back and then placed it just out of reach of the animals who proceeded to bark and hurl themselves towards it as if possessed.

With a deep shudder he pulled himself back to the present, he couldn't think about it, he had to keep moving, but it was so hot, so very hot, how could he get to the station in time in all this heat? Stop it, concentrate, you're not going to the station you're going to that hill, see … that hill over there. That's where you're going. He shook his head and saw the sweat fly off him, causing his back to scream out as the salt droplets hit it. Water, there would be water at the station; he'd be fine at the station.

. . . . . . . . . .

"The Vegas office called through to Beatty and they checked her house. It has a cellar and well, it was obvious he'd been there." Ron stopped speaking. The amount of blood that had been found on the floor and splattered around the walls had been relayed to him over the phone but he felt that it wasn't the type of thing to mention right now.

"So what's happening next? Are they checking for her? She must have places that she goes, people she sees? What about where her brother's buried? Maybe she will go there." Mark looked up and the expression of hope on his face was almost too painful for those who loved him to see.

"Mark, Mando was buried in LA. They notified her but she didn't come collect the body and so it was dealt with by local officials." Cheryl hated to shut the door on another line of enquiry but she had already thought of it and looked in to it.

"What about Denise? Would she know anything about his family? She was gonna marry the guy at one time. Well, before he framed her for murder that is." Jesse looked at Cheryl and saw her look confused and shake her head. "Denise Steiner, the mouth that roared? She was arrested for the murder which got that Mando guy jailed in the end. I did those voices, do you remember? All those cool voices." Jesse smiled for a moment and looked around at his audience and then the smile faltered, "And my mom visited!"

"I'll call her, but from the car. I'll call Denise from the car; we need to get to the airport." Mark was on his feet and ready to leave but he saw Cheryl about to speak and so, reluctantly, he paused.

"Mark, remember, Denise Steiner's personal assistant was just brutally murdered. She may not be the best person to contact."

For a moment Mark seemed to stop completely. "Thank you, I hadn't thought of that. I need to remember that others are suffering too. Thank you, Cheryl." Then the shutters went down, all the feelings were put away for later, and Mark was on the move, out into the hallway and on towards the parking lot with his friends following along behind, all of them praying in their own ways that they would be in time to save his son.

. . . . . . . . . .

The hill was getting closer, he knew that the station was on the other side of it, if he could get there then they could call his dad and he could come get him. He knew he shouldn't have come to summer camp but all his friends were going, and he so wanted to be like them.

"Dad … please … please come take me home." He staggered a little as he spoke and shook his head. Where were all the other guys? They said that there was a water hole around here some place. He must have gotten lost. It would be over the next ridge, he was sure about that.

"I'm … I'm sorry, Dad. I'll come again next year … I'll be ready then." He had been walking for such a long time. Ten o'clock, he remembered someone saying at ten o'clock that they had to be going. The sun was too high for ten; it had been up and was on its way down it must be nearer two. He'd just check his watch. Where was his watch? His dad had bought that for him, when he had his superman outfit. It was red and blue and matched it.

"Dad … I'm sorry, I … I lost my watch … I'll go look for it. Over that hill. I'll go look for it over that hill." He stumbled again, he was so thirsty and so tired, maybe he could sit down, just for a little while and drink his soda. He let his legs buckle underneath him and then carefully opening the bottle he drank every last drop.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I can get in touch with someone, I know people, they will have a private plane. We need a private plane." Mark was talking to no one in particular but they were all listening to him and each of them was trying to work out the best way to help.

"Mark, I have a plane waiting for us. As soon as I told my bosses that this Arriaga woman had crossed the state line the case was officially mine." Selfishly he had felt relieved, grateful to her that by doing that one thing she had saved him from having to explain why he had removed himself from a top secret assignment to go running off after a personal acquaintance. Now though, now that he had information none of the others had, he just felt desperately worried for probably the only man he would call a true friend.

Mark hadn't answered; words were getting to be too much to think about. Inside his head all he could see were pictures, pictures of his son throughout his life. He remembered holding him in both hands as he spoke to him for almost the first time. Katherine had filmed it and even a month later they had marvelled at how much he'd grown. Well, he'd grown a lot more since then. He remembered how Carol had leant on her brother so much and how Steve had been more than happy to let her do it. Sure he'd complained and grouched about it but anyone who dared step out of line where she was concerned had better look out.

He remembered watching him go off to war, to fight in a foreign land in a conflict which was reviled at home and probably in other places as well. He had been so proud of him and he knew that Steve had been proud too; proud to serve the country he loved. Mark had often wondered if he hadn't had to go whether he would have joined the LAPD. The continuance of a job where he was fighting for the little guy had seemed natural to his son, but he had been so worried, so very worried, probably ever since.

There were other times he remembered too. He thought of the superman suit, Katherine had worked so hard at that, he wondered what she would think now, now that you could go into any branch of Toys R Us and buy an outfit off the shelf. It wouldn't have meant so much, even to a six year old boy, Mark knew that.

The memory of the suit made him think of Steve lying in an ICU suite fighting for his life after Gordon Ganza had put a contract out on him. Three bullets they'd taken out of him that day, but they hadn't removed the fight, that had still been strong and Mark prayed that it would get him through his current ordeal. Steve had regained full health that time and he'd worked to free his father from death row. With a shudder Mark pulled himself back to the present, death was a word he couldn't think about, he had to think of good times, happy times. That was the way to go.

"Mark, we're here." The soft voice of Amanda, full of compassion and concern broke into his memories and he turned towards her.

"What? Honey, what did you say?" He started in his seat, jerking his body back to full awareness almost too quickly.

"We're at the airport. Jesse and Ron have gone ahead to make sure everything is ready so that we can take off as soon as possible."

Mark looked around him, he had been so lost in the past that he hadn't realised they had stopped, hadn't noticed that two of his companions had left him to go organise things. He needed to get a grip.

Amanda watched as her friend pulled himself back together both mentally and physically and then, when she was sure he had everything he needed from the car, she locked it and, taking his arm, began the walk to the terminal building.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The drink had been warm; he didn't like warm water and had thrown the bottle away in disgust. Climbing to his feet he looked around himself. Where was he? He didn't remember how he got here. Thinking hard for a moment he managed to push all the conflicting thoughts away. He could see a woman with shoulder-length black hair coming towards him as he finished putting the trash outside his apartment at the beach. What had she said to him?

"Excuse me, are you Steve Sloan? Lieutenant Steve Sloan?"

He had put down the final black bag of rubbish and looked around as the voice broke the silence.

"Yes I am, who wants to know?" He had smiled at the pretty young woman who was opening his back gate.

"My name is Melosa. You don't know me, but you will." Suddenly there was a gun pointing at him and he took an involuntary step backwards.

"Please don't move unless I tell you to. I would hate to have to kill you where you stand." The soft American accent had been replaced by a stronger Spanish one and slowly and deliberately the woman moved towards him, the gun never wavering in her hand and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would use it if he didn't do exactly as she said.

Shadow, he had used the word shadow, he needed that. Why did he need that? Turning his head from side to side he looked around. He had been in his back yard, how did he get here? The sun was directly in his eyes now, whatever way he looked it seemed to glare at him. It was so hot, and he hurt so much. Carefully getting to his feet he tried to remember what he had been doing. There were hills one way but not the other. Which way should he go? He didn't think he had the energy to climb so he turned towards the flatter landscape. With that decision made he dropped the stick he had been holding and began to walk.

. . . . . . . . . .

The flight had been a very tense affair and Jesse had tried, unsuccessfully, to lighten the mood. He knew he was just annoying everyone though and so, in the end, he had retreated into the same silence that everyone else was sharing.

Steve was the best friend he had ever had. He knew that without him he wouldn't be the success he was. He could remember so vividly the day that their whole world had literally exploded around them when Caitlin Sweeney had blown up Community General Hospital. He had come round to find Steve trying to get them out of their prison while his arm, which had been injured when Carter Sweeney had fired a nail gun at it, was bleeding all over the place. Between them and the tight-fistedness of his mother and the way he had to choose oranges, they had gotten out of the small room and into what had once been a main hallway of the hospital. They had talked about how they would like to own a restaurant one day, even joked about doing it when they retired, and then decided if they survived they should seize the moment and do it now rather than wait. If Jesse was honest he hadn't really given it a lot of thought after that.

Then one day, just as the new hospital was beginning to take shape, Steve had told him about BBQ Bob's. He had known then that Steve wasn't just tolerating him because he worked with Mark, but that he must really like him. That had meant more to him than the restaurant or any of the other things which they had shared over the years. Steve, who was everything that he would never be, liked him, and he liked him just as he was.

The voice came over the intercom requesting the passengers to fasten their safety belts because the plane was coming in to land at Beatty. The fact that it didn't have an airport hadn't seemed to be a stumbling point and, as Jesse looked out the window, he could see why. The land was barren, some of it was rocky some sandy but all of it had one thing in common. It was desolate.

The landing wasn't the smoothest he'd ever experienced, but considering that they were about one hundred miles from the nearest airstrip he'd cope. Undoing his belt Jesse stood up and made his way to the exit and as he did so the extreme heat hit and almost knocked him back inside. It was then that he realised just how much danger his friend was in.

A/N There really is a place called Beatty in Nevada, but it isn't quite like I have painted it. I plead artistic license and hope its inhabitants will forgive me. Tracy.