Immortal Cascade 02 Crossed Out Read online

  The fact that the door to this room was the only one he'd found closed in the whole apartment was not lost on him. Sticking his hand in the tail of his shirt, he opened the door, then slowly stepped into the doorway. His hand went to his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh& no, no& ."

  Nauseated, Blair backed down the hallway and into the living room. Bumping into the couch, he sank onto the cushions, leaning over, trying to keep from passing out. It wasn't supposed to be like this& this kind of thing happened to Jim, he was the one with the visions, not Blair. Wrapping his arms around himself to ward off a sudden chill, he waited.

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  Jim eased through the door of Cyndi's apartment, gun drawn. Using his senses to satisfy himself that he and his guide were the only ones present, he holstered his weapon, then crossed the room to where his partner sat on the sofa, rocking back and forth slowly, eyes focused on nothing. "Chief? You okay?"

  The rocking motion increased and Blair's eyes closed. "Cyndi& " he whispered, "back there& " His head inclined slightly in the direction of the hallway.

  "Okay, Chief, I'm gonna go check it out, and I'll be right back. Just stay put." Jim headed down the short corridor to the door at the end, opening up his senses, then slamming them closed at the overwhelming smell of blood. Stopping just outside the door, he examined the crime scene.

  The room had been torn apart; candles, tarot cards, and other new age items strewn everywhere. Blood spatters covered every surface including the ceiling. Dialing his sense of smell up a fraction, Jim discovered not all of it was human. The smears on the walls were some kind of animal blood.

  He turned his attention to the victim. Cyndi's nude body was sprawled partially on its side, the torso turned toward the ceiling, the cross marks on her chest clearly visible. Judging by her body temperature, he estimated she'd been dead no more than an hour.

  Something under her arm caught his attention, and he focused in on it. The familiar silver blade and red handle of a Swiss Army knife jumped out at him. He could pick out traces of skin and blood along the knife's edge. "Damn it." Someone was playing very nasty games, and his guide was in the middle of it.

  Turning to walk back to the living room, he pulled out his cell phone and called it in. Closing the phone when he was done, he stuck it in his pocket and leaned over Blair, who seemed to still be in shock. "Chief, Blair, can you hear me?" He grasped the younger man's chin gently and tilted his face up until their eyes met. The anguish he saw there stunned him.

  "This is my fault, Jim, all my fault. I could have stopped this, kept this from happening." Blair shook his head free from the Sentinel's hold.

  Ellison barely held on to an exasperated sigh. "You couldn't have known someone was going to kill her, Chief. What are you, psychic?" His partner's gasp startled him.

  "Yes. I saw this, Jim! I saw this weeks ago, when I had that vision. This is my fault, my fault!" Blair was on his feet now, pacing maniacally.

  Grabbing his partner's arm as he came past, Jim pulled him around to face him. "Sandburg, this is not your fault!" Seeing his words weren't getting through to his nearly hysterical guide, Jim shook him gently. "Blair, listen to me!" Blair blinked, then gazed up at the taller man. "Look, I've never told anyone this, but when I was in the temple with Alex, while I was in the water, I had visions. I saw things, images, they went by so fast, were so jumbled I couldn't make sense of them, I still can't make sense of them." He stared at his friend, making sure he was getting this, that he understood. "I saw Simon and Megan get shot. I don't know by whom; I don't know when. And there's nothing I can do about it. If that moment comes, Chief, there will probably be nothing I can do to stop it, no matter how much I want to be able to save them." He rested his hands on Blair's shoulders, feeling the other man's fingers grip his forearms tightly.

  For a long moment, Blair couldn't speak, could only breathe, absorbing his friend's concern and compassion. Finally he met Jim's eyes. "It's not fair," he said softly, "it's not fair to have this& gift, and not be able to use it to help the people you care about."

  "I know, Chief, and I'm sorry this had to happen to you, to your friend." Jim cocked his head to the side slightly, listening. "The PD is on its way. You'd better get out of here."

  Blair shook himself out of his melancholy. "Why?"

  "Where's your pocket knife?"

  Frowning, Blair patted down his coat. "It was in my pocket earlier today, but it's gone now. I've got to get a new jacket. I keep losing stuff out of this one." He gave Jim a crooked grin, which quickly faded at the detective's grim expression.

  "Someone used it to carve Cristo's mark on Cyndi. It's under her body." Blair's face paled, and Jim gripped him by the elbow, leading him to the door. "Go back to your place, Chief. I'll meet you there as soon as we're done here. Go!" Ellison gave him a push down the hallway. The stairwell door closed behind Sandburg just as the elevator opened and Simon Banks strode out.

  Removing his cigar, he said resignedly, "Okay, Jim, what in the hell happened here?"

  Ushering his captain into the apartment, Ellison began to explain.

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  Sandburg exited Cyndi's building by the back entrance, cutting through the alley to avoid the squad cars he could hear pulling up in front. Shock and grief were gone now, replaced by anger and a myriad of questions. Why would Cristo kill Cyndi? Why would anyone? And why would they try to frame him for it? He hadn't found out anything on Cristo, at least not yet. Oh, man, how would Cyndi's death impact his working for Cristo?

  His racing thoughts were interrupted as he reached the end of the alley. He paused in the shadows, checking to make sure the coast was clear. A car turned at the intersection and rolled quietly down the street, coming to a stop at the corner of Cyndi's block. Cristo's limo! What in the hell was he doing here? Checking on his handiwork?

  Darting out from his hiding place, Blair ran up to the parked car, yanking the back door open and reaching inside, his hands closing on expensive silk. Dragging the drug dealer out of the limo, he slammed him against the side of the vehicle. "Why? Why did you kill her? She never did anything to you! She would never betray you! She worshipped the ground you walked on!" he screamed, unable to control the rage washing over him.

  Jesus' hazel eyes widened, then filled with tears. "Then it's true? Cyndi's dead? No, no, it can't be true!" He struggled in Blair's grasp for a moment then buried his face in his hands, his shoulders slumping. "She can't be gone, she can't. She was my Mary& "

  Blair let go of him, his fury spent. Cristo was honestly broken up over this. Maybe he didn't have anything to do with her death, maybe he was as much a victim as Blair was. What was he thinking? Either he was way too deep into his role here, or Jesus was one hell of an actor. Still, someone had used Blair's knife to make Cristo's mark. The drug dealer's words finally registered, and he felt his anger returning. Blair's eyes narrowed. "How did you know she was dead?"

  "Someone called the office, told Rico she was dead, and that you had something to do with it. But I knew they had to be wrong. You would never hurt Cyndi; you loved her, as I did. And if you did kill her, you're smart enough to start running, though it would be of no help to you. You know how I am. Even if you had a head start, there is no place in this world you could hide." Cristo grasped at Blair's jacket, his hands twisting in the fabric. "Tell me. You have to tell me what happened!"

  "I& she& " Shit! What in the hell should he tell him? "This is going to sound really strange, but it's the truth. You know Cyndi and I both meditated. I was meditating tonight, when I got this overwhelming feeling she was in trouble, someone was hurting her. I called her place, but she didn't answer, so I came over. I found her. Someone beat her, beat her up badly, trashed her apartment, then killed her. They cut your mark in her chest with my knife." Blair's gaze was intent on the other man, watching for any flicker of recog
nition, of guilt, but Cristo's expression never wavered from shocked grief.

  "Sir!" Blair gently detached Cristo's hands from his coat. "Come on, we can't stay here. Someone called the cops. They have to have found the body by now, they'll be looking for us."

  Jesus blinked a couple times, then nodded curtly, his sorrow transforming into anger. "When I find out who did this, they are going to suffer."

  "I'd like to get my hands on them myself, but here and now is not the time to be discussing this. Right now I need to go find myself an alibi, and so do you." Blair took a nervous glance around. So far the cops hadn't started combing the neighborhood.

  "You do that, Blair. I'll call you tomorrow, and we'll make arrangements." Jesus began to climb back into the limo.

  Blair started to turn away, when a thought struck him. "Does this mean I still work for you?"

  Pulling the door closed, the dealer rolled down the window. "Yes, Blair, it does. You've proved yourself to me, and Cyndi trusted you." A small smile tugged at his lips. "She was my right hand, you know, but don't let Rico know I told you that. I'll expect you to take over her duties."

  "I don't know if I can do that by myself. Cyndi and I were a team." A brilliant idea hit him. "Look, sir, I have a friend who could help out. She's really good in a fight and I'd trust her with my life. I'm sure she'd make a good addition to your organization."

  Cristo nodded. "Fine, fine. We'll discuss it later." He began to roll the window up, then paused it. "Oh, Blair, Rico told me you used to work with the police."

  Trying to hide the fact that his heart was about to leap out of his chest, Blair nodded. "When I was at the university with Cyndi, I rode along with one of the officers for a paper I was writing." His voice lowered as he tapped into the raw emotions just thinking about those carefree years with Cyndi at Rainier brought up, using them to color his next words. "I was raised to think the police were as bad as Hitler's stormtroopers, but working that closely with them I began to think my mother had been wrong to teach me that. Then I got involved in a case regarding a university student. They ignored my insights and knowledge. I realized in their eyes, I'm nothing but a long-haired, over-educated hippie, not one of them. I've burned my bridges with them."

  Cristo leaned out the window and laid a hand on the other man's arm. "It's all right, Blair. I'm not going to hold against you the fact that you kept this information from me." His lips parted in a grim smile. "Besides, your past with them could prove very useful. If you still have any contacts there, use them to find out what they know. Whoever did this will pay for Cyndi's life with their own."

  "There might be someone I could talk to," he admitted.

  "We are agreed then, eh? We will work together to find Cyndi's killer." Cristo clasped Blair's hand firmly in both of his. "To vengeance."

  "To vengeance," Blair repeated, then stared after the limo as it pulled away, wondering exactly when his life had slipped completely out of his control.

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  Jim stood in the doorway to the crime scene, watching the forensic techs at work. A faint scent of cigar smoke heralded his superior's approach. "Find anything, Jim?"

  The detective shook his head. "Nothing specific, but this," he waved his hand to encompass the entire apartment, "this is all wrong. I didn't work any of the other murders, sir, but Sandburg and I went over all the files thoroughly before he went under. The only thing the killer got right was the cross. The rest of this is completely different. The victims were always found outdoors, in their own territory, laid out very carefully. This is just a big mess, like someone wanted something Cyndi had, and when they couldn't find it, they tried to beat the location from her, then killed her when she didn't tell them where it was. I think the cross was just an afterthought, to muddy the waters."

  Simon rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, say that's the way it happened. What's to say that whoever did this didn't find what they were looking for? And what about Sandburg's knife? You know that's enough to pull him in and question him."

  "I know, but he gave me an explanation for that. He lost it some time this afternoon. Cyndi simply could have found it, perhaps in her car, and planned to give it back to him tomorrow. Hell, the murderer didn't even have to know it belonged to Sandburg; it might have just been out in plain sight. And I don't know for sure that they didn't find what they were looking for. I just have a hunch they didn't."

  "So you think the killer was someone other than Cristo or one of his minions?"

  Ellison nodded. "It looks that way to me. The other killings were about sending a message. This was about rage. Cyndi pissed someone off." His comment sent a glimmer of insight through his mind, but it scurried out of his mental grasp before he could get a clear picture of it. Sighing, he glanced at his watch.

  "You have to be somewhere?" Simon asked.

  "I promised Blair I would stop by his place when I was done here. He was really shaken up by this, and

  I want to make sure he's okay. I'm also going to see if I can talk him out of this before something happens to him, too."

  "Jim, the Feds aren't going to let him quit, not until they have what they want. Sandburg knew that going in."

  The sentinel made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. "I don't give a damn about the Feds, Simon. Blair worked with Cyndi. If whoever killed her didn't find what they were looking for, chances are the next person they're going to go after is Blair." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the bloodstained room. "I will not let that happen to him."

  Simon nodded his agreement. "Go, talk to him, make sure he's safe. I'll help finish up here."

  "Thanks, sir." Turning, Jim left the apartment.

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  The soft knock on the door startled Blair, and he rose from his huddled position on the sofa. Approaching the door at an angle, careful not to stand directly in front of it, he picked up the weapon he kept next to the door. "Who is it?"

  "Ellison," was the muffled reply. Blair peered through the peephole for a moment, then undid the locks and let his partner in. Jim took one look at his friend and grinned. "That your weapon of choice, Chief?"

  Blair leaned the long wooden staff against the wall. He shrugged. "I'm getting pretty good with it." He changed the subject. "You want some coffee?"

  Jim nodded and followed his guide into the kitchen. "I could do with some. I think I'm up for the day."

  A faint tremor passed through Blair. "I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again. Not after seeing Cyndi like that." He poured coffee into two mugs and handed one to Jim. "So did you find out anything else at the scene?"

  Jim shook his head. "Not really. The place was such a mess that I couldn't tell if anything there was out of the ordinary."

  Blair leaned against the counter, both hands wrapped around the warm coffee cup. "No weird smells or anything?"

  "Sorry, not a one, unless you count the animal blood all over the walls. That might give us someplace to start."

  Blair sighed. "It won't. The animal blood was probably whatever Cyndi had on hand for her religious rituals. She was into some strange stuff."

  Sipping his coffee in silence for a few minutes, Jim finally worked himself into asking an investigator's questions. "So, Chief, you know anyone who would want to kill Cyndi?"

  Walking over to the built-in dining nook at one end of the kitchen, Blair slid into the booth and Jim sat down across from him. "No, not really, man. I've been wracking my brain, but I can't come up with anyone who had a specific grudge against her. The only people who really disliked her were Manning and Collier, and I think they hate me more than they ever did her. And any of the other dealers who are left in town are way too scared of Cristo to try anything."

  His own words from earlier echoed in Jim's mind. Cyndi pissed someone off. Could that someone have been the DEA? He would look into it that was for sure. H
e set his mug down on the table and leaned forward. "How about within Cristo's organization? Would Cristo himself have any reason to want her dead?"

  Blair shook his head quickly. "No, man. Jesus was freaked about her death."

  Ellison pinned him with a glare. "When did you talk to Cristo?"

  "Outside her apartment when I was on the way back here. He'd gotten an anonymous call telling him she was dead and that I had something to do with it. He didn't believe them, thank god." He shivered slightly. "Man, that's a weird feeling, to know a murdering drug dealer like him trusts me that much." He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "And I was worried that without Cyndi, I'd be out of a job. He wants me to take her place." He stared off into space for a long moment then turned haunted blue eyes on the sentinel. "How did I end up here, Jim?" he asked softly.