Sentinel - Progression Series 06 Day of Reckoning Read online

  "Jim?" he mumbled, shifting slightly where he lay.

  Rough hands grabbed him by the upper arms and turned him, forcing him onto his stomach. Blair let out a grunt of surprise, his heart slamming into his ribs. He wriggled, tried desperately to squirm out of his assailant's tight grasp. But instead of finding leeway, his struggles were met with greater force. A knee came to rest in the small of his back, pinning him flat against the couch cushions.

  He cried out in pain as his arms were wrenched behind his back. Seconds later, a strong, sticky substance was wrapped around his wrists, locking them tightly together. He pulled against the binding but could not get free. Then the hands were on him again, gripping his shoulders, turning him onto his back. He looked up--and found himself staring into the cold eyes of a man he'd hoped never to see again. "Grant!"

  "Hello, Mr. Sandburg." Marcus Grant intoned smoothly, moving to sit on the edge of the couch. He smiled good-naturedly at Blair. "Actually, I should say Dr. Sandburg now, shouldn't I?" He leaned closer. "Congratulations on receiving your doctorate, by the way."

  "What do you want?" Blair asked, annoyed by the man's small talk. He pushed against the sofa cushions with his heels until he was sitting upright, his back pressed against the arm of the couch.

  Grant remained where he was. But the smile on his face slowly faded away. "What do I want?" he repeated. "What I wanted was to be left alone," he said, his voice tinged with anger. "But you two just couldn't do that, could you?"

  Blair shook his head. "What are you talking about? You've been left alone for months."

  "I've been hunted for months!" he exploded.

  Blair flinched, taken off guard by the doctor's sudden outburst. "I don't know what you're talking about." He spoke in a low, calm tone, pulling hard against the bindings that kept his hands behind his back, made him vulnerable. "We haven't done anything--"

  "You must be joking. You and your partner have had me followed all across Europe--stalked like prey!" But as Grant stared at Blair, at the confusion in the younger man's expression, his eyes widened. He huffed out a small chuckle. "Wait a minute. You really don't know, do you?" He laughed again, rubbing at his eyes. "It must have been Ellison... on his own. Oh, this is so perfect."

  Blair stiffened as Grant reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. The doctor drew him forward roughly, then leaned over so he could whisper in his ear.

  "Your partner," Grant hissed out, his hot breath sending a shiver of revulsion through Blair, "Has been trailing me ever since I left Cascade. I haven't had a moment's peace." The hand on his shoulder tightened, the grip painful. "And now, neither will he."

  Blair shuddered as Grant's dark promise wound through him. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, his mind tracking backward in time... to the night Grant had dragged him through the rain, across a field to a shallow grave dug in the mud... and buried him alive.

  Grant shoved Blair away. Standing, he reached down and hauled the smaller man to his feet. "Time to play," he whispered threateningly. Giving Blair no time to protest, he dragged his captive toward the loft's front door.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim pulled the truck into his parking space in front of the loft and turned off the engine. Pocketing his keys, he stifled a yawn, then exited the cab, locking the door behind him. He was glad to be home. The meeting with the chief had lasted longer than he had hoped and now he was tired and hungry--and ready to spend some time with Blair.

  He trudged wearily toward the main entrance to the apartment building. Fumbling for the loft key, he wasn't paying attention to the familiar surroundings or to what he was doing. He heard the main door opening, then someone bumped into him.

  "Sorry. I wasn't..." But the apology died on his lips as he found himself looking into the angry eyes of the last person he had expected to run into at this hour. "Naomi!"

  "Jim," she acknowledged coolly.

  "You've seen Blair?" He gestured awkwardly toward the building, assuming--hoping--the two had been able to talk after all. Her cold reception didn't bode well for the success of any conversation the two may have had, but Jim hoped that at least a few things had been worked out between Blair and his mother.

  "No, I haven't seen Blair," she answered, her words haughty, clipped. "I knocked several times, but there was no answer."

  "No answer? That's strange..." Jim glanced back at the parking area. "His car's here," he said, turning back to Naomi. "And I talked with him earlier. He was going to be home all evening..."

  "Well, he's not there now."

  Jim frowned and checked his watch. 10:45 p.m. "Why don't you come back upstairs with me?" he suggested. Reaching out, he opened the door for her. They walked down the corridor together, headed toward the elevator. "I'm sure Blair is probably just sleeping, since he didn't rest very well last night..." Jim let the words trail off as he realized what he had said.

  But it was too late. Naomi turned on him, her eyes flashing anger. "And that's my fault, I suppose?"

  Jim held up his hands. "I didn't say that. But let's face it, Naomi, Blair was pretty upset when you left last night." He punched the call button for the elevator. "He tried to reach you at the hotel all day."

  "I wasn't there. I spent the day at the T'ien Ming Temple... meditating."

  "I see," Jim responded softly, gesturing for her to precede him into the open elevator.

  "I doubt that," Naomi said quietly as the door closed behind them. She turned and locked her gaze forward, staring at the closed elevator doors.

  Jim took a deep breath. This is ridiculous. "Listen, Naomi," he began. "If you'd just listen to what Blair and I have to say--"

  "I've already told you there's nothing you can say that will change the way I feel. If you'd listen to me, you'd see that I only have Blair's best interests--"

  Jim held up his hand, halting her speech. He inclined his head, inhaled deeply. "Do you smell that?" he asked after a few seconds.

  "What? Do I smell what?" Naomi demanded, confused.

  "That aroma. It's heavy, sweet..."

  "I don't smell anything," Naomi said as the bell announcing their arrival sounded and the elevator doors slid open. She marched into the corridor, toward the loft door. Jim followed slowly, still trying to place the oddly familiar odor.

  He shook his head, dismissing the strange scent as he reached the loft. Inserting his key in the door, he extended his hearing, searching for his roommate's familiar heartbeat. His search was met with silence. That's strange... I know he's home...

  Opening the door and ushering Naomi inside, Jim looked around the open expanse of the living and dining areas. A pillow and the throw from the back of the sofa lay bunched up on the couch--evidence that Blair had been waiting up for his roommate. Quickly, Jim's gaze cut to the balcony and again he extended his hearing. Nothing. He made his way back to Blair's room and stepped through the French doors. "Chief?" he called out softly as he entered. But the room was empty.

  Crossing back to Naomi where she stood near the kitchen counter, Jim shook his head in confusion. "I can't imagine where he is." He shrugged nonchalantly to cover the small niggle of worry that was beginning to form at the back of his mind. "Maybe he ran down to the all-night market or something."

  "Maybe..." Naomi repeated softly, concern furrowing her forehead.

  The ringing of the phone startled both of them from their questioning. "That's probably him," Jim said lightly, giving Naomi a quick smile.

  "Ellison," he spoke into the receiver.

  "Hello, Detective Ellison. It's been a long time."

  The sound of Dr. Marcus Grant's smug voice sliced through the detective. Suddenly, the aroma from the elevator came into sharp focus--it was the sickly sweet cologne that Grant always wore. Fear and anger gripped the detective's heart at the realization that this man had his friend. "I want to talk to Blair," he demanded. "Now!"

  Grant's amused chuckle trickled across the line. "My, my," the doctor mused. "Push
y, aren't we? However, I'm impressed that you've already discovered Dr. Sandburg is missing. But then, you always were a sharp one."

  "Let me talk to him!" Jim shouted, ignoring Grant's arrogant chatter.

  "All right," Grant acquiesced, his voice taking on a tone of irritation. "Talk," he said, his voice more distant now, as if he were holding the phone away from himself.

  Jim's heart beat rapidly in his chest as he waited for Blair to speak. He extended his hearing, tried to get a lock on some background sound that would give him a clue as to where his partner was being held. But there was nothing.

  "Jim," his partner's voice came to him after a few seconds--distant as well. "Don't do anything he says. You hear me? Don't play--"

  "That's enough," Grant cut him off.

  Jim closed his eyes as he waited for Grant to resume his conversation. Blair had sounded okay. Unhurt. At least for now.

  The doctor's smug chuckle came across the line again. "You know, Detective, your friend is really so premature with his advice. I honestly think he'll change his mind when he sees where I'm taking him."

  "You touch him, you son of a bitch, and I'll kill you."

  Grant let out a long breath. "Yes, yes. Somehow that's what I thought you'd say. No matter. Threaten me all you want, Detective. It won't change the fact that you and I are going to play a little game. You see, Eddie Rostin discovered long ago that you like to play games. Of course, our Eddie wasn't the most reliable source, but who am I to judge?" Again, Grant's amused laughter rippled across the line.

  "Grant," Jim ground out, "If you want to play games with me, fine. Come and get me. But leave Blair out of it."

  "Tsk, tsk tsk," the doctor reprimanded. "We've barely begun and already you've forgotten who's in control. I'm sure, however, that by the time our game is concluded you will have lost some of that arrogance, Detective. We'll be talking again. Soon."

  "Wait!" Jim shouted into the phone, but he was met with the drone of the dial tone. Slamming the receiver into its cradle, he exhaled a deep, frustrated sigh. He picked up the receiver again, then froze when he felt a hand grasp his arm. Naomi! He'd forgotten she was there, listening...

  "Jim!" she demanded, stepping up and looking up at him. Her eyes were wide with fright, and Jim could hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest. "Who was that? What's happened to Blair?"

  Jim hung the phone up and turned his attention to Blair's mother. "Naomi, I need you to calm down."

  "I will not calm down! Something's wrong. Who has my son? What's happening?"

  Jim closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them and looked down at Naomi. Her mouth was set in a thin line, her eyes sparked with fear and anger. "The man Blair shot? He was a professional killer, Naomi. He was hired by a man named Marcus Grant--"

  "Grant!" she blurted out. "That's the man you were just talking to! Why did he hire someone to kill my son? Why has he taken him?"

  "Blair was going to testify against Grant. The man would have gone to jail for a long time based on Blair's testimony. He fled the country rather than face trial, but he wanted Blair silenced nonetheless. I had men searching for him in Europe, but they lost him two weeks ago."

  Naomi paled as realization set in. "He's... he's going to kill my son. That's what you're trying to tell me, isn't it? That he's going to kill my son!"

  "Naomi!" Jim shouted, gripping her by the arms, holding her tightly. "We don't have time for this! You have to stay calm."

  "How can you stand there and ask me to be calm when Blair has been kidnapped by some maniac!"

  "Because this man likes to play games. He's not going to kill Blair. Not yet. He's too arrogant for that." He released her arms, turned and picked up the phone again.

  "Who are you calling?"

  "Simon. I want you to stay with him while I look for Blair."

  "No, I'm going with you. I'm helping--"

  "You're staying with Simon," Jim bit out. "Right now, the only thing I care about is bringing Blair home safely. I don't need you underfoot while I try to do that."

  /

  /

  /

  Blair stared out the passenger window of the car, pinned in place by the seat belt cutting tightly across his shoulder. He tried not to think about where he was being taken, what Grant planned to do to him. Or to Jim. The thought made his stomach clutch with fear. Blair knew that as long as he was with Grant, the man had control over his partner. And that scared the hell out of him.

  He shivered as the cool night air inside the car moved over his bare arms.

  "Cold?" Grant asked, his voice casual, unconcerned.

  Blair glared across at him. "You could have let me get dressed. Or grabbed my jacket. Or at least let me put my shoes on."

  Grant snorted in amusement. "That would have implied that I care about your comfort." The doctor flicked a brief gaze at Blair before turning his attention back to the road. "I don't."

  Blair returned his gaze to his window, studying the darkened streets, trying to keep track of where they were driving. Grant had turned off the freeway several miles back; he had made his way down several side streets, and Blair had tried desperately to remember which roads the doctor had taken. He knew that that knowledge would be his only hope of finding his way back to safety. Because I am going to get away from you, you bastard. I'm going to get away before you can do anything to hurt me... or Jim.

  The car came to a sudden halt. Blair was thrown forward against the seat belt; he gasped in pain as it pulled tight against his chest.

  "Here we are," Grant announced cheerfully.

  Blair squinted out his window, trying to see through the thick darkness that lay beyond the glass. As the scene before him came into focus, his heart lurched in his chest. "No," he breathed out, turning to the man who sat behind the wheel of the car, a smug smile on his face. Panic churned through Blair. "You can't. Not again."

  "Don't worry," Grant said lightly. "I'm not planning on burying you again, if that's what you're concerned about." He chuckled softly. "Well, not in the way you're thinking, anyway."

  Blair looked out his window again. A shiver crept up his spine and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end as he took in the ornately carved stones that stretched across the treed landscape. The cemetery was old, poorly maintained; even in the darkness Blair could see the overgrown lawn, the missing stakes in sections of the wrought iron fence.

  "This is one of the oldest cemeteries in Cascade," Grant explained, staring past Blair at the gravestones that dotted the scene. "Many of my ancestors are buried here." His gaze shifted back to Blair. "Some are entombed." The left corner of his mouth quirked up. "I like that word, entombed. Has a real sense of atmosphere to it, don't you think?"

  Blair was having trouble breathing. The sound of his own fast-beating heart pounded in his ears. He pulled at his wrists, desperation flaring in his stomach.

  "There's a story that goes with this cemetery," Grant continued, ignoring Blair's obvious distress. The doctor released his seat belt and settled himself comfortably against the driver's side door, facing Blair. "I first heard it when I was ten years old." He smiled, his expression passive. "You see, my great, great, great Uncle Chester Grant was a sailing man. Spent most of his life on the sea. His family built a mausoleum in this cemetery, planned to have everyone entombed there when they died." His gaze shifted past Blair again, to the cemetery beyond him. "And they were. Well, everyone except Uncle Chester, that is. He was lost at sea, but his tomb is still inside that mausoleum, his name and the year he died carved into the top, just as if he were inside." Grant raised one eyebrow. "So, all these years that one tomb has sat empty, unused." His gaze locked on Blair again. "Until tonight."

  "No!" The single word burst from Blair's lungs. He twisted and pulled at his wrists, frantically trying to free himself.

  Grant calmly got out of the car and crossed around to Blair's door. Pulling it open, he crouched down beside him. "Dr. Sandburg, you really should reserve yo
ur energy."

  "Dammit!" Blair choked out, angry at his inability to free himself. He dropped his head back against the seat behind him and closed his eyes. Think, Sandburg. Think!

  A hand brushed at the hair that had fallen across his forehead. Blair flinched back from the unwelcome touch, his eyes snapping open and darting to Grant.

  "I don't want any trouble from you, Dr. Sandburg. Not like you gave me last time." Grant tilted his head to one side, as if studying Blair. "But I have a feeling you're planning to fight me, aren't you?"

  Blair stared, unblinking, into Grant's cold eyes.

  "Yes, I thought as much. But that was just so unpleasant last time, and I really can't stomach unpleasantness." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew an object. "That's why I brought this." He held up a small black instrument and pushed the button on the side. An electrical current sparked to life, crackling across the top of the device. "It's called a stun gun. It delivers 80,000 watts of electrical current. I touch you with this for one second, you'll feel a bit dazed. Three seconds, you'll be on the ground. Five seconds and amazingly, it'll render you unconscious... for several minutes."

  Blair swallowed hard as Grant pushed the button again, sending another current of electricity across the top of the small weapon.

  "It's really quite ingenious," Grant whispered, staring at the vivid line of current with rapt fascination. "You see, I thought about bringing a real gun, but you and I both know I don't plan to kill you outright, so threatening you with one seemed pointless. But this? This can be administered as many times as I like. According to the brochure that accompanied it, the sensation is quite... unnerving, but not deadly."

  Reaching inside, Grant unfastened Blair's seat belt. "So, here's what I expect from you," he said as he pulled Blair from the car. "No struggling. No yelling. You'll simply walk quietly beside me. Otherwise, I'll be forced to use my little toy on you."

  Gripping Blair's upper arm, Grant started across the cemetery. Sandburg grimaced as he padded across the damp ground, his socks absorbing the moisture on the grass, his feet soaked after only a few steps. The wind kicked up as they walked; the cold air bit at Blair's exposed skin, making him shiver.