Overboard (prequel to "Into the Ocean" songfic)
Blair pulled his Volvo into the familiar spot overlooking Cascade's skyline. "I still don't think this is such a good idea," He said, shifting into park.
It was hard to ignore the fact that his heart was pumping harder than usual to accommodate a small surge of adrenaline. A nagging sense of trouble was tickling the back of his brain.
"What's wrong?" Katie teased. "Worried about returning to the scene of the crime?"
When he looked over at his passenger she was smiling back at him with enough intensity to outshine even the dazzling city lights beneath them. Suddenly trouble was exactly what he wanted.
Blair laughed softly. "What crime would that be?"
"The one that got you to fall in love with me."
He moved closer and tucked a stray strand of soft, black hair behind her ear. "And what makes you think I'm in love with you?" His gaze contradicted the sarcasm in his words.
"Well you'd better be," she challenged.
"Why's that?"
"Because I love you, Blair."
And for one, brief instant, Blair Sandburg discovered what it was to know -- to really know -- that all was right with the cosmos.
The instant evaporated with a sharp crack.
Blair tensed even as Katie went limp. His hand tightened instinctively around her shoulder. He drew her into his arms, his peripheral vision vaguely noticing the spider web pattern that had formed around a perfect hole in the window of the passenger door.
"Katie?" He asked, his voice shaking. "Kate? Are you okay?"
She did not answer. She did not move.
"Katie?" He tried to brush hair from her face. His hand came back moist, sticky. "Katie?" His voice breaking, the name barely escaped his lips.
"No. God, no." Blair forced himself to probe for a wound. He found it -- right at the base of her skull. "No. Katie, no. No. Katie!"
But there was not a damned thing he could do. She was already dead.
Holding her tenderly in his arms, Blair cried softly before his thoughts began to register what had occurred. She'd been shot. Someone had taken a shot at her through the glass. That someone might still be out there, and might already be targeting him.
Fumbling around numbly, his entire body trembling, Blair pulled at the handle behind him and pushed the door open. He fell backward onto the gravel, landing hard on his butt. And then, not knowing what else to do, he waited, listening.
Crickets chirped around him. There was the swish of a light breeze in the surrounding trees. That was all. There was nothing else -- no footsteps crunching on gravel; no twigs breaking under pressure; no cars peeling away toward the freeway. There was only him.
He realized his heart was pumping so loudly he probably wouldn't hear much of anything else anyway. What he needed was Jim.
Jim.
He reached back into the car. Hesitating as his hand brushed Katie's hair, he swallowed around a lump in his throat and closed his eyes. A moment later, taking an unsteady breath, he grabbed for his cell phone on the dash. Then he dropped back to the ground and hit the first speed dial.
"Sandburg?" When Jim answered after the second ring, some part of Blair noticed that his sentinel sounded wide awake despite the late hour. "What's wrong?"
"Jim?" The lump in his throat had grown to choking proportions. Blair could hardly breathe. "She's dead."
The admission released a flood of emotions. Anger, grief and shock made it nearly impossible to think.
"Where are you?" Jim asked.
"They must've tailed me," Blair answered instead. "God, Jim. I must've led them right to her!"
"Sandburg ... Blair, tell me where you are."
"I told her ... Jim, I told her she had to be careful. Her dad was right about that, you know? You can't ... you can't follow routines, especially if your family is ... when your father is...." He swallowed before continuing his rambling. "Habitual patterns can be like open invitations to stalkers or ... or ...." He started sobbing. "God, Jim. She's dead."
"I'm sorry, Blair." Jim said softly, earnestly. "Please, Chief, you have to tell me where you are."
Not even realizing he hadn't answered his friend's question, Blair's attention was drawn to the wild approach of an SUV. He was dimly aware of his hand steadily dropping toward the ground beside him as the vehicle pulled to a stop. By the time his knuckles came to rest on the gravel, Blair was completely oblivious. The phone slipped from his fingers. He was numb. He was aware of only one thing; his focus was now entirely given over to the nearly three hundred pounds of muscle approaching him.
It was Paulie, one of "Daddy's" henchmen.
Paulie leaned into the Volvo. "Fuck," he shouted. Then, "Fuck," He said again as he rose back to his full height. He slammed his fist down onto the roof of the car with earthquake force. "Mother fucking son of a bitch!"
Blair found himself inching backwards across the ground.
Paulie turned toward him. "Mother fucking son of a bitch," He repeated. When his gaze locked with Blair's, there was murder in his eyes.
* * * * *
Jim grabbed his keys with his left hand while he dialed his cell phone with his right. But Simon didn't answer until Jim was already halfway down the stairs to the parking lot.
"This better be good," Simon grumbled. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I think Kate Stefano's been killed." Jim punched at the exit door, unconcerned by the resounding bang of it crashing back against the outer wall.
"Okay," Simon answered after a moment, suddenly fully alert. "Now tell me what you know."
"Blair called." Jim's voice was clear, focused. Not even the quick jog to the truck caused him to miss a breath or lose a word. "He said someone tailed them and they killed Katie."
"Is Sandburg all right?"
"I don't know." Jumping into the old Ford, he jammed his key into the ignition.
"Where?"
"I don't know that either, sir." Jim threw the truck into drive and pulled into the street with a squeal of abused tires. "But I have a pretty good idea where to start looking."
* * * * *
Miraculously, Simon beat Jim to the Stefano's residence. Not surprisingly, the mansion was bustling with activity, despite the hour. News travels fast when you have as many eyes and ears -- and fists on the street as Joe Stefano.
Jim pulled his truck behind Simon's at the curb, nearly twenty feet from the driveway that led to the gate guarding the Stefano residence.
Simon was leaning patiently against his own car. "Not here, Jim," The captain said as Jim approached on foot. "And not now. There have been no reports yet from anyone about a murder tonight. Not even a shooting. Hell, not even a scuffle. All's quiet tonight in the city of Cascade."
Glancing at the brightly lit estate beyond the trees, Jim did not let Simon's analysis deter him. "Maybe so, sir. But that's definitely not the case at the Stefano's. Something's happened. It's only a matter of time before we find out about it officially. By then they will already have sought their own type of justice." He gave his focus over completely to his captain -- and friend, Simon Banks. "You know that's true. You also know what Joe Stefano thinks of Sandburg."
"Everyone knows what Joe Stefano thinks of Sandburg. He thinks the kid's too closely linked to the force to be so coincidentally involved with his daughter." Simon gave a short, cynical laugh. "Like we'd ever consider sending someone in undercover without ensuring they were completely undercover."
"We need to get in there, Simon."
"Not in any official capacity."
"I'm not here as a cop tonight. I was hoping that would be the case for you as well. I just want to find Blair. I can't afford to wait for any red tape."
"As long as we have that straight." Simon sighed. "But Jim, you do realize that whatever happens, whatever Stefano or any of his goons says or whatever any of them does, if an official case does result from this, neither one of us will ever be able to handle that case directly. We will be witnesses, with no power whatsoever to turn that wheel of justice."
Jim smiled. "That's alright, sir. We can at least grease it enough to make sure it keeps turning." He gave Simon a light tap on his arm and started for the passenger side of the captain's car. "You don't mind driving in, do you? The truck doesn't exactly fit the Stefano's decor."
Simon glanced at the truck and shook his head in surrender.
* * * * *
Paulie had never liked Blair. That was obvious from the start. To be honest, Blair knew no one else in the Stefano family -- and that included all the hired goons who did not even share the Stefano name -- had ever liked Blair. If Katie hadn't been so damn beautiful ... incredible ... perfect Blair would have gladly given them all the space they wanted. He never liked any of them very much either. But Paulie ... he was Katie's personal body guard, and when Blair came into the picture Paulie wanted to guard Katie right out of Blair's reach. Instead, Katie had successfully pushed Paulie out of her reach by encouraging her father to order the brut to keep his distance. Katie wanted a guarantee she could have a degree of privacy during her rendezvous' with Blair.
Hell, now even Blair wished Daddy hadn't given in. Maybe then Katie would still be alive.
Dammit! He banged his head against the wooden crate behind him. Why did he let her talk him into going back to the overlook? They'd gone there far too often -- often enough to let anyone who was paying any kind of attention have a pretty good guess where they could be found on any given night.
Stupid! He complained silently. And then to emphasize his pathetic inability to voice the word through the tape across his mouth, he banged his head against the crate twice more, making sure he hit it harder each time. He had been an idiot.
And now Katie's dead.
She's dead. Oh, God! She's dead. The tears came again, and Blair didn't care. He let them fall. He could drown in his own snot for all he cared. Katie was dead and it was his fault.
When Paulie had told him they were 'going for a ride' back at the overlook only moments after Katie had died in his arms, Blair had been far too numb to feel even a split second worth of fear.
After Blair realized he had survived that trip, he was still too numb to feel even the slightest bit of surprise -- or hope, or curiosity.
Then Paulie had handed him over to Katie's brothers. Now he was sitting in the back of a semi, surrounded by crates filled with god-knew-what and trussed up with enough duct tape to make him feel like the result of a do-it-yourself hack's weekend project, and he just didn't care.
Katie was dead. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.
"Please, Chief, you have to tell me where you are."
Jim! Blair heard his friend's voice in some corner of his mind that still had clarity, and he realized that Jim mattered. And when all this was said and done, after the Stefano brothers did what they would, Jim might even feel a similar kind of pain. And that, too, would be Blair's fault.
I'm sorry, Jim. I am so, so sorry.
Jim would never know how sorry he really was.
* * * * *
Joe Stefano was sitting at his desk when Jim and Simon were silently escorted into his home office. His black leather executive chair turned toward a side window, he appeared to be giving all his focus to the darkness outside while subconsciously massaging a worry ball in his right hand. Fingers curled around the ball tightly enough to prove out a white-knuckled grip, and then eased slightly before tightening again.
Jim knew there was nothing subconscious in the gesture. It was a silent threat.
"Is it true you received some disturbing news tonight, Mr. Stefano?" Simon asked, breaching the silence.
"Disturbing?" Stefano repeated softly. "Disturbing?" He said again as he slowly swiveled his chair to face them. His hand froze into a fist around the unfortunate worry ball before slamming down hard onto the desktop.
"My daughter is dead, Captain Banks," he shouted. "I would say that's a little more than disturbing."
"It is true, then." Simon replied softly. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"So you came here to apologize, is that it? Are you admitting responsibility?"
"We only came here," Jim said, "to see if you had any information that could help us find Blair Sandburg. We understand he was with Kate when it happened. We just want to make sure he's all right."
"Cops looking out for their own?"
"Friends, Mr. Stefano," Simon said. "Friends looking out for their own. We are not here in any official capacity. We are only here as Sandburg's friends."
"Friends or cops, makes no difference to me. Family, Captain Banks, family is what matters to me. And my family has been viciously attacked. Right now, I don't give a damn about your friend."
"Blair Sandburg is my family," Jim stated flatly. "You ought to know that by now. We've had enough opportunities to discuss that over the past few months."
"Whatever we have discussed, Detective, whatever compromises we ever agreed to, none of it matters anymore. My daughter is dead; probably because of those very agreements. I knew it was wrong then. I only agreed because she was stubbornly insistent."
"You know I felt the same way. They loved each other, Mr. Stefano. And they were both adults. Neither one of us was ever going to be able to stop them from seeing each other."
"Fuck that, Detective. And fuck you. Any protections I have ever extended to your friend, or colleague, or brother, or whatever the fuck you want to call him, are over, finished. He could be dead by now for all I care. In fact, I hope to God he is."
Jim took several steps toward the desk as he shouted back. "Blair Sandburg is not responsible for your daughter's death. The last thing he would ever do would be to put her in harm's way."
Mr. Stefano rose to look Jim square in the eye. "And that's exactly what it is: the last thing he's done. Forget him, Detective. He knew what he was getting into when he got involved with Kate. And so did you. Our so-called discussions, our compromises are all proof of that. Now she's dead. Consider him a casualty of war. Because that's what this is now, war."
"If you know where he is, then you better damn well tell me."
"Or what, Detective? This is my house. This is my family we're talking about--"
"And Blair Sandburg is mine!"
Jim's interruption did not faze Stefano. "I protect my own, Detective. And if my protection isn't enough, then I see to it that justice is served."
"Justice? What kind of justice would that be? I sure don't see you calling the police."
"And yet you're here, aren't you?" Stefano walked around the desk. By eliminating that obstacle he made it clear he was not threatened by anything Jim might attempt to do. "I'm talking about family justice. Surely you understand family justice?"
"An eye for an eye?" Simon asked.
"At the very least." Stefano did not take his gaze from Jim. "So much for your compromises, Detective Ellison. But there is one benefit to all this; maybe with Sandburg out of the picture, maybe then we'll actually be on even ground -- with me mourning my loss, and you mourning yours."
"You son of a bitch--"
Simon grabbed Jim's arm before any blood could be spilled, and then insinuated himself between the arguing men, maneuvering until he could move Jim closer to the door. After he had opened up a more comfortable space, he turned his own wrath on Stefano. "So that's what this is about? You know Sandburg didn't kill her; maybe you also know he's not even indirectly responsible. But you still want him to pay? Why? Just because you need vengeance and you don't know who to blame yet? Surely you understand, Mr. Stefano, there's no justice in that."
"Maybe not, Captain Banks. But I can assure you I can find plenty of satisfaction in it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."
"This isn't over, Stefano," Jim seethed.
"Of course it's not. But your visit is. Now leave."
Before Stefano uttered another word, two armed thugs arrived right on cue to escort Jim and Simon out.
* * * * *
The truck stopped moving. When Blair felt a final jolt and heard the screeching of solid but stressed brakes followed by that inevitable, final puff of exhaust, he braced himself to face the next stop on the nightmare journey that had begun hours earlier with the crack of breaking glass. Katie was dead. And by daybreak -- if day hadn't broken already -- he would probably be dead, too.
I'm sorry, Jim, He offered in silence.
The truck's rear door creaked open, filling the trailer with sunlight. At first it stung Blair's light deprived eyes, and then it started to warm him through and through. It was a welcome warmth, seeping in to soothe a surplus of aches from the long and grueling night. But this was clearly not a day at the beach, as he was coldly reminded when Katie's brothers dragged him out of the truck.
His bound feet bounced off gravel, making him briefly wonder whether they had returned him to the overlook after all. But no. A quick glance around, which was all his captors would allow him, showed a new setting entirely, one in which grass was more prevalent than gravel, and where an old building compromised the view. Graffiti-filled boards covered the holes where windows should be.
He was pulled inside, both Stefano's heedless of the sharp metal shards that caught the toes of Blair's athletic shoes at the threshold, slicing into the canvas and, subsequently, his feet. And then they dropped him into a dark corner, where something small and quick scurried away just before he landed -- hard -- on the concrete floor.
The Stefano brothers disappeared briefly, but not long enough to let Blair contemplate what other critters might be ready to scurry around him. When they returned, Tony, the oldest, ripped the tape from Blair's mouth, prompting Blair to cry out. How much skin had been attached to the adhesive?
"Shut up!" Tony shouted. "The only thing I want to hear outta you is who made the shot. You got that?"
Blair looked up at him, confused. If he nodded, would that mean he could actually tell them who shot Katie? Yet if he did nothing, that would just piss Tony off even more than he already was. Blair decided to shake his head.
Wrong move. Tony's brother, Mike, suddenly appeared with a baseball bat. Apparently, he thought Blair's right knee was the ball.
When the bat connected with Blair's knee cap, he could not help but scream out in agony, and then he clamped down his teeth, struggling to stay both alert and silent.
"I am god, in here," Tony said. "You got that, flea-bag? When I say talk, you talk. Now, are you ready to talk?"
Blair nodded.
"Who killed her?"
"I ... I don't know." Cringing, Blair braced himself for the bat to come down on his other knee. But nothing happened.
Tony struck a match, and Blair cringed again. Again, nothing happened. Tony simply lit a cigarette, shook the match out and tossed it away. Blair watched as Tony took a long drag, closing his eyes as though relishing the feel of the smoke circulating through his lungs. Then, exhaling, he turned back to Blair, seeming calmed by the experience.
"You know what you are?" Tony asked. "You are a lying piece of fucking shit."
Flicking off the used ashes, Tony gazed at the end of the cigarette and blew on it, watching it go red. Then he effortlessly squatted down, practically bouncing on his heels.
"She ever blow in your ear, huh?" Tony smiled, as though he was excited by the image of his sister making out with Blair. "She ever lick you right there, huh? You know right behind the ear. That turn you on?"
Blair stared back at him, not sure what to say or how to respond.
Once more, Tony flicked off the ashes, seeming to ignore the fact that they landed in Blair's crotch. And then he brought his hand -- and the cigarette -- toward Blair's left ear.
"You know," He said. "Right about ...." He jammed the lit end of the cigarette into the thin skin behind Blair's ear. "... Here."
Surprisingly, Blair was able to stifle his cry, instead emitting a low moan.
"Who the fuck killed my sister?" Tony shouted.
"I don't ...," Blair replied shakily. "I don't know."
"Wrong answer."
This time Blair didn't even see the bat coming. But he certainly felt it. When it struck his right ankle the vibration stimulated new pain in his crushed knee. He felt himself falling into blissful oblivion. But that, too, was the 'wrong answer.' The cigarette singed into his neck, forcing him back to full consciousness.
"I don't know," He cried out finally. "I swear I don't know. I had nothing to do with it, man. You've got to believe me. I loved her. Do you hear me? I loved her. I would never--"
"Shut up!" Tony shouted. "Just shut the fuck up. Whatever you know, I'm gonna know by the time we're through here. You got that?"
Hesitantly, Blair nodded.
"Now start talking."
Blair stared at his tormentor feeling absolutely helpless. He had absolutely nothing to say.
* * * * *
It was dawn by the time Jim and Simon tracked down Blair Sandburg's favorite make-out spot.
Jim leaned into Blair's Volvo, still sitting where he'd parked it at the overlook. Katie's body was gone, and it looked as though someone had made a concerted effort to clean up. Still, some blood remained, trace amounts Jim's sentinel senses could easily pick up on. He allowed himself a moment of relief at finding none of it carried Sandburg's scent. Then he rose to meet Simon's approach.
"I've got Rafe and H looking for Paul Mitchell's SUV, now," Simon said as he dropped his cell phone back into the pocket of his coat.
"I thought you and I couldn't be on the case in any official capacity."
"Yeah," Simon nodded. "That's right; for the case associated with Kate Stefano's murder. But what we're working on now is officially a missing person's case. Has nothing to do with Kate's murder."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me. Sandburg's missing under suspicious circumstances. All I know is that we've got to find him; and the sooner the better."
Jim looked at Blair's car. "And the only angle we have right now is Kate Stefano's body guard." He walked around to the passenger side and studied the bullet hole. "Now, if we were actually working on Kate's murder ...." He turned toward the bordering trees, using his enhanced sight in an attempt to locate where the shooter might have been hiding. "... We would have at least one more thing to go on." He started walking into the woods.
"Jim?" Simon called out.
Jim studied the area before responding. "If we were investigating Kate's murder," He said as he walked back toward Simon, "we would want to get a forensics team out here a-sap. I think they'd have a field day coming up with a suspect."
"Jim?" Simon asked again, raising his eyebrows in concern.
"Footprints," Jim answered. "Cigarette butts. Probably find a hair or two. All clustered around one tree, right about ..." He swiveled, pointing. "There."
"The shooter?"
Jim nodded. "I'd say it's pretty damned likely. But," He shrugged, "not our case."
"I'll call it in."
"You can't. Stefano hasn't even officially reported anything yet. For all we know, officially, Kate Stefano is alive and well and still in bed after a late date."
"What are you saying, Jim?"
"We need to call Stefano."
"Are you crazy? He'll--"
"Appreciate the fact that we can help him prove who killed his daughter," Jim cut in.
"You think that'll be enough to get him to throw us a bone?"
"It damned well better be." Jim's gaze was drawn once more to Blair's car. He couldn't imagine what his friend was going through, first dealing with the murder of the woman he loved, and then being harassed -- or worse -- by Stefano's henchmen. "It damned well better," He said again more softly.
* * * * *