by Beth Manz
Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.
Note from the Authors: In our Sentinel universe, the events depicted in "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg" did not occur. Therefore, any "canonical" references that may be found in this story are related to episodes up to and including "Most Wanted."
Dedication: This series is dedicated to friendship, for only through caring for others can we truly find a sense of peace and belonging.
Last Call for Marcus Grant
Part Nineteen of "The Progressions" Series
by Beth Manz
Part One
Jim paced the confines of his small jail cell, waiting for lights out, frustrated that he had to spend the night in this place. His gaze shifted to the narrow window situated above the cell's single cot. He sighed as he took in the sliver of moon that had risen in the early evening sky, his thoughts turning to his partner, to the fact that Blair would be spending the night away from the loft for the purpose of protecting himself from Marcus Grant. By now Blair should be with Eli, safe until morning.
He turned away from the window, his thoughts of Sandburg scattering as his attention was captured by the familiar aroma of cigars. Moments later, Simon Banks stopped just outside his cell door.
Jim crossed to the bars, pleased but surprised to see his captain. "Simon? What're you doing here?"
The frowning Banks held up a videotape. "We have a problem," he supplied tersely. Nodding toward the guard, Simon moved aside to allow the burly man to unlock the barred door.
"What's going on?" Jim asked as the captain stepped through the now open door.
"I just came from Judge Masterson's home."
"Her home? Why did you go to her home?"
"To get a special release signed," he explained. "You're free, Jim. All charges against you have been dropped."
Jim frowned. "How is that possible? Did you tell Sandburg?"
"That's the problem," Simon replied softly. "Blair is missing."
"What!?" the detective exploded.
Moving forward, Banks placed a hand on Jim's shoulder. "It gets worse." The captain squeezed at Ellison's shoulder. "Jim, I think Blair is with Marcus Grant."
/
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/
"Almost there, buddy."
Blair tensed at the sound of Grant's voice, his hands gripping and regripping the handle of his backpack. He'd been allowed to pack a few things to bring with him, Grant assuring him all the while that in one week he'd be allowed to return to the loft if he wanted to.
So why am I blindfolded? If he's just going to let me go in a week, why won't he let me see where he's taking me?
Blair shifted slightly in his seat, annoyed by the dark cloth that blocked his sight. He tried hard to keep the fear and panic that churned in his stomach from overwhelming him, forced himself to concentrate instead on the ride. They'd been driving for several hours and within the last ten minutes or so the ride had gotten rougher, as if they were now traveling on dirt roads. And the air coming through the partially open window beside him felt cooler, causing Blair to wonder if they were traveling in the foothills.
The car turned, slowed, and then finally stopped.
"You can take the blindfold off now."
Blair reached up and pulled the cloth away from his eyes, blinking against the early morning sun that shimmered through the windshield.
"What do you think?" Grant asked from beside him, his voice bright and excited.
Blair squinted as he leaned down and looked out the windshield. Before him stood a large, two story cabin, expensive and meticulously maintained. As his gaze traveled to the area around the house, his thoughts were confirmed. They were in the foothills of the mountains; wilderness pressed in on all sides of the house.
"How far are we from town?" Blair ventured.
"No one's going to be disturbing us if that's what you're afraid of. This place is off the beaten path and miles from any town. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other without worrying about anyone stopping by."
"Terrific," Blair muttered.
Grant reached over and slapped Blair playfully on the upper arm. "Come on, Champ," he enthused, "I want to show you the inside." Marcus pushed out his door and headed for the cabin, a broad grin on his face.
Champ.
Blair shuddered as the name reverberated through his mind. This was the third time Grant had called him that. The first time Blair had tried to dismiss it, sure it was a one time occurrence. The second time he'd cringed and tried to pretend it wasn't happening. But now...now he realized that Grant meant to use the name as some kind of endearment. The thought turned his stomach.
"What're you doing, Champ?"
Blair jumped at the voice at his window. He looked out to see Grant leaning down, staring in at him. "Sorry," he muttered. Opening his door, he stepped out.
Just go along with him for a week and then get out of here, he told himself. That's all you have to do.
Blair followed Grant into the house, taking in the plush surroundings as he stepped into the foyer. From the over-stuffed wing-backed chairs in the room to his left to the dark oak paneling of the staircase before him, it was obvious the place had cost a small fortune.
"This is where I recuperated after my accident on that bridge," Grant was saying. He glanced at Blair. "I thought about you a lot during that time, but I was angry then. I didn't really know you like I do now." Smiling fondly and draping an arm around Blair's shoulders, he steered the anthropologist toward the stairs. "Your room is up here."
Reaching the top of the stairs, Grant led Blair to a room at the end of the hallway. It was spacious, containing a king-size bed, a dresser, even a fireplace. French doors led out to a balcony. The view was spectacular; through the treetops Blair could glimpse snow-capped mountains gleaming in the distance.
Sandburg dropped his pack on the bed, shifting his gaze away from the vista and taking another look around the room.
"Do you want to take a shower? Freshen up a bit?" Grant indicated another door, which Blair assumed led to the bathroom. "I'm sure you're exhausted. I know you're still recovering from your drug overdose."
"I'm fine."
Grant chuckled disbelievingly. "Blair, you were on a respirator. Do you know how serious that is? I saw your chart. I know--"
Blair whirled toward his captor, the expression on his face causing Grant to pause mid-sentence. "You saw my chart?" he spat out. "You were in my hospital room?" He shuddered as he pictured Grant standing over him in the hospital, watching him while he lay unconscious, helpless.
But if Grant sensed his disgust, he didn't show it. The man simply shrugged and gave him a tolerant smile. "I had to check up on you, Champ."
Blair's mouth went dry. How had this man managed to get into his hospital room without anyone knowing about it?
Grant smiled widely. "Okay, listen, I'm going to go down and make us some breakfast. You just settle in."
"Sure," Blair breathed. "That'll be great."
As soon as he was alone, Blair surveyed his room more carefully. He checked the closet, the bathroom, the drawers-looking for anything that might help him in case he needed to escape. Which I think I'm going to need, he thought morosely. The room seemed to be equipped with all the necessities-with one glaring exception. There was no phone in sight. Not even a phone jack.
Sighing, Blair stepped out on the balcony and scanned the area around
the house. There was nothing but wilderness as far as the eye could see.
"This place is off the beaten path and miles from any town."
A sense of discouragement settled over him as Grant's words came back to him. He wrapped his arms around himself as though warding off a chill. He had to face the cold, hard facts...he would need Grant's car if he was ever going to get away from this place.
/
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/
Jim Ellison paced the length of his captain's office, turned and paced back again. He was alone; Simon at the courthouse trying personally to obtain a search warrant for Douglas Merrick's home. It was the only thing they could think to do, the only place they thought they might begin their search for Blair. There has to be some clue somewhere that will tell me where Grant has taken him.
Every few minutes Jim's gaze shifted to the TV in the corner of the office, the images from the tape Simon had showed him last night still playing vividly through his mind. It was clear that Grant had killed Douglas Merrick in a pact the two men had made-a pact meant to frame Jim, a pact Grant had then forsaken in order to gain possession of Blair.
"He said he'd be gone a week," Simon had told him. "Said he was going away with a friend."
"A friend," Jim ground out. "That sick bastard...."
Moving to the windows, Jim stared out, his gaze sweeping over the city that lay beyond the glass. Where are you, Chief? Why the hell did you go with Grant?
But he knew the answer to his own question-knew why Blair had gone. He'd done it for Jim, done it to protect his sentinel. Blackmail. It was the only answer that made any sense. Grant must have blackmailed Blair into leaving with him. He must have told him he'd leave the tape only if the kid agreed to go away with him.
"Maybe in a week's time, Grant will just let Sandburg go."
Jim shook his head as Simon's words played across his mind once again. He huffed in annoyance. There was simply no way he was going to wait around and just hope that Blair came home. He was going to find his partner.
And this time, when he got his hands on Marcus Grant, he was going to end the doctor's twisted games once and for all.
/
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/
Blair stepped hesitantly into the kitchen, watching as Grant set out two places at the table, the plates overflowing with food.
"Hey, Champ, feeling better?"
Again, Blair bit back the revulsion that the nickname elicited. "Yeah, thanks," he mumbled. He pulled out his chair and looked down. A pair of iron shackles rested on the cushion. A chill raced down his back. "What are these?" he demanded, holding them up.
"Just something I want to use as a precaution, that's all."
"A precaution? What are you talking about?"
"Blair," Grant said, moving to him, putting his hands on his shoulders. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's just...well, I need to be sure you actually give me the entire week I asked for. The restraints will make sure you do."
"You expect me to wear these things?"
"Just until I feel I can trust you."
Blair's mouth dropped open and he gaped at Grant. "Until you can trust me? Don't you have that backward, Grant?"
The man frowned at him. "Blair, I'd really prefer it if you'd call me Marcus." The sentence was presented as a request but Blair could hear the order lurking beneath the words.
"Okay, Marcus," Blair responded slowly, choosing his next words carefully. "But I really don't think putting these shackles on me is a good way to begin our friendship."
Grant shrugged one shoulder. "It's really not that big a hardship, is it? You'll still be able to get around. They'll just limit you enough that I won't have to worry about you trying to escape...at least not on foot."
Pushing Blair gently into the chair, Grant crouched down and locked the first shackle around his left ankle. "After we eat, you can do the dishes," he explained. "At lunch, you'll cook and I'll do the dishes." He clicked the second shackle into place, the foot long chain that linked the shackles together resting on the floor between Sandburg's feet. "That's what friends -- roommates -- do." He looked up at Blair, smiling. "Isn't that what you and Ellison used to do?"
"...used to do." Why is he talking in the past tense?
Blair nodded numbly as Grant stood and moved to his own chair. The shackles rubbed against his ankles, the chain between them clanking with every small move he made. He pulled at the chain, testing its strength. It held tight. Fear stabbed at his heart, raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "You're not going to let me go, are you?" he blurted out, the truth settling over him like a heavy cloak.
"Blair, when this week is over you won't want to leave. I guarantee it."
"But if I want to--"
"You won't!"
Blair flinched back at the harshness in his voice.
"You won't," Grant repeated, more softly this time. "Now, come on, Champ. Let's eat before this gets cold."
/
/
/
Jim shoved the bureau drawer angrily, causing it to close so hard that a few photos fell over on the dresser's top. He snatched one of them up and found himself staring down at Hannah Merrick's smiling face. "Damn you!" he yelled, heaving the photo across the room, satisfied when the glass shattered against the wall.
"What the hell is going on in here!" Simon demanded as he stormed into the bedroom.
"This is pointless!" Jim shouted. "We're not going to find anything here!"
They'd been searching Douglas Merrick's home for nearly half an hour and so far they'd turned up nothing that would lead them to Blair. In fact, they hadn't managed to find a single link between Merrick and Marcus Grant.
"We're wasting our time here," Jim exploded. "Merrick isn't the one who took Sandburg. It was Grant. And if we're going to find my partner we need to look for Grant, press his father, check his family's holdings."
"And we're trying to do that." Simon crossed to Jim, stopping before him. "But it takes time. Gerald Grant is in Europe and--"
"Dammit, Simon, the man is always in Europe."
"If you had Marcus Grant for a son, wouldn't you be?"
"The man is running from us because he knows what his son is doing. If I'm right about that, then Grant is using daddy's money to fund himself. What we need to do is examine Grant's holdings, look for some place that Grant might be comfortable, a place he'd feel he could take Blair and not be found out."
"Jim, do you have any idea how many companies Grant owns? Or how many of those companies have sub-companies? It would take months to go through all the man's records."
Jim spread his hands. "What are you saying, Simon? You think I should just give up?! I can't do that."
Simon pursed his lips and shook his head. "Jim," he soothed, his expression softening, "you may have no choice."
/
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/
Blair finished stacking the last breakfast dish in the dishwasher and closed the door. Wiping his hands on the towel beside him, he turned and scanned the kitchen and the room beyond. Grant was nowhere in sight. Quietly, he crouched down and pulled at the shackles around his ankles, looking for leeway.
"What're you doing, Champ?"
Blair jumped at the sound of the voice. Straightening, he gazed levelly at Grant. "Just trying to adjust them a little," he replied, hoping Grant would believe the lie.
"I made sure I didn't make them too tight." Grant crossed to him and checked his handiwork himself. "They feel fine to me."
"Yeah? Well, you're not the one wearing them," Blair muttered.
But Grant simply smiled and slapped Sandburg companionably on the back. "Come on, buddy," he prompted, gesturing toward the front door. "Let's take a walk. The mountain air will do you good."
"A walk?" Blair asked incredulously. "You expect me to walk in these things?" He jerked on the ankle restraints.
"I want to show you around outside. Don't worry, we'll take it slow. I know you're still recovering."
"Perfect!" Grant slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders and began leading him toward the door. "We can do this every day-take walks together, talk. It'll be great!"
Blair shuffled along beside his captor, resisting the urge to pull away from the man's offensive touch. He gritted his teeth, determined to play along. If he trusts me enough, he'll let down his guard, he reasoned as they stepped outside.
The house was surrounded on all sides by the beauty of the forest. The towering evergreens were moss-covered old growth, majestic sentries that filled the air with the clean aroma of pine. Blair dropped his gaze to the needle-strewn ground, noting absently that the land was uneven, sloping significantly in some areas and flat in others. It truly was a beautiful setting, and at any other time he was sure he would have enjoyed it. But now, as he worked to navigate each bump in the ground, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps, he could think only about escape.
"Over here, Champ!"
Grant had moved away and Blair looked up at the sound of his voice to find the doctor standing near a group of small boulders, gazing straight ahead.
Blair clenched his jaw tight and made his way slowly over to where the doctor was standing, the chain that locked his ankles together making it hard to traverse the uneven ground.
"You can see for miles from here," Grant said as Blair approached him.
Blair struggled to climb up to the rise Grant stood on, but without the full range of his step and in his still weakened condition, he simply could not do it. "I'll take your word for it," he said at last, panting, his shoulder beginning to ache from the strain of trying to climb.
"Nonsense, Champ. I'll help you. That's what I'm here for!" With that, Grant reached down, gripped Blair's hand, and pulled him up to where he was standing. They were on the edge of a drop-off, the area below littered with rocks and shrubs. But Grant was right-it was beautiful.
Blair swallowed as he took in the relatively shallow ravine below. His old fear of heights kicked in and he closed his eyes and began to move backward. As he attempted to turn away from the drop-off, his right foot nudged his left and he stumbled, the shackles making it impossible for him to regain his balance. The dirt beneath his feet gave way and before he knew what was happening, he was slipping down the side of the hill.
