~ SANCTUARY ~

Disclaimer: Still don't own it.

Chapter One

Standing in front of the heavy wooden door, Thomas Randall brushed one handed at his straw-dust and soil encrusted workpants as he quickly scanned the small car park that serviced the White Horse Bar. It wasn't that long ago that the place was almost buried under, what was reported to be, one of the worst winter snowstorms that the state had ever seen but, looking around at the lot's hard-packed surface and the mixture of dusty Ford Rangers and Dodge Rams that currently inhabited the space you'd never have known it – spring had well and truly arrived and, with the need for his services picking up nicely, Tom was more than pleased to see it.

He'd spent the best part of the day doing what he could to rectify the damage that the harsh weather had dealt to old Mrs. Chandler's flower beds. From what he'd been told, the crisp, regimental lines of shrub roses had been her late husband's pride and joy and, though she'd never really shared his fascination with the plants, his widow had always done her best to ensure they received whatever care and attention they needed in a concerted effort to keep the garden going in his honor. Thomas was certainly no expert but after a morning spent pruning and fertilizing and most of the afternoon carting in and laying load after load of fresh mulch, he felt sure they at least had a fighting chance of survival and, with luck, would provide the old lady with the a more than passable display come summer.

Deciding that his clothing was as clean as he was going to get it, he pulled open the door and stepped in over the threshold pausing for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the bright artificial lighting of the old-fashioned timber clad bar. With the Beaverhead, Big Hole, Jefferson and Ruby rivers all nearby and horse trails crisscrossing their way from one end of the county to the other, the town got its fair share of tourists but most of those currently gathered at the White Horse were locals and Tom nodded politely to many of them as he limped his way through the maze of tables and chairs to his customary stool at the slab-top bar that dominated the westernmost wall of the large, low ceilinged building.

He'd barely settled himself on the well worn timber seat before an ice-cold Budweiser was pushed across the bar towards him and, looking up with a wry grin, he shot a wink of thanks at Louella, the White Horse's longest serving and, undoubtedly most popular, bartender. She'd always made a point of learning what it was her regulars liked to drink, how they liked it served and, most importantly, whether or not they were the type that needed her almost constant presence be it for service, conversation or both and she'd worked out Tom's needs quickly – a single bottle of Bud, absolutely no babysitting and, ten to fifteen minutes later, the change from the twenty he always used to pay his tab so he could be out the door and on his way with the minimum of fuss.

Wrapping his hand around the bottle, he took a long pull as he watched her wander off to the far end of the bar then swiveled his seat slightly so he could get a better view of the large LCD television that was mounted high up on the wall above the establishment's impressive array of liquor bottles. With the volume turned down, he couldn't hear a word of the weather report that was currently playing but the seven bright yellow suns that decorated the next week's forecast brought a smile of satisfaction to his lips – the better the weather, the better his prospects for more work and paying his way, especially with the long list of debts and favors he'd racked up over the last eight months, was priority one as far as Tom was concerned.

The picture changed as the local news gave way to a commercial break and he sipped at his Bud, grateful for the lack of sound, as an ad for a Dillon used car dealer morphed into a plug for funeral insurance and then into a plea for donations to aid the plight of starving third world orphans. He was almost two-thirds through the bottle by the time the news anchors reappeared on the screen and was tussling with the decision of what to have for dinner when his cell phone rang and, pulling it from his pocket, he thumbed the answer key and raised it to his ear.

"Randall."

"Hey, pal." The familiar voice of his friend, landlord and sometime boss instantly snapped Tom from his musings. "I know I said I wanted you out at the Baxter job tomorrow but there's been a change of plans; one of the suppliers screwed me over and forgot to add those four inch seal fittings to this week's order so I'm going to need you to head into Bozeman and pick the damn things up."

"That's a four hour round trip, Wade." Taken aback by the unexpected directive, Tom didn't bother to hide his dismay at the though of spending so much of the day stuck behind the wheel of his truck. "Isn't there anywhere closer we can get them?"

"If there was, I'd have gone and got them myself." Wade pointed out patiently. "I tried phoning around but-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Still annoyed, Tom sighed. "I suppose if I leave here early enough I can be back in time to-"

"Uh, actually..." Wade quickly cut him off. "I told the guy you'd be there about nine o'clock but apparently he won't have time to get everything together until lunchtime at the earliest so, unless you want to spend the whole morning sitting around a warehouse, getting there early isn't going to do you much good." He paused for a moment to let the news sink in before continuing. "So I thought, since you're going to have some free time, you could also stop by the printers for me while you're over there; I've got a load of new order and invoice books ready for pick up and I'm probably going to need them sometime in the next-"

"Invoice and order books?" Shaking his head at the words, Tom couldn't help but chuckle. "When are you going to join the rest of the civilized world and computerize your business?"

"When hell freezes over." It was his stock reply to a question he's been asked many times before but Wade took his friend's teasing words as a sign that he'd resigned himself to the trip. "So, you're good to go tomorrow?"

"Well, you're the one paying for my time so if you want me to drive to Bozeman then that's what I'll do." Checking his watch, Tom quickly wound up the call. "I guess I'll see you late tomorrow afternoon when I get back."

"Okay buddy; I'll see you then."

Jabbing his finger at the end button, Tom slipped the phone back into his pocket as he downed the last of his beer. Mindful of his leg, he eased himself off the stool and, after paying Louella, began threading his way back through the growing crowd towards the door and the car park beyond.

He never noticed the two men seated in one of the booths that lined the right hand side of the room but they'd certainly noticed him and, as Tom disappeared through the opening, the younger of the two raised a questioning eyebrow towards his companion.

"So, is he your guy?"

"Yeah, he is." Letting the breath he'd been holding escape in an almost juddering sigh, Jim Brass rubbed his hand roughly across his mouth as he mentally reviewed the last ten minutes and tried to make sense of what he'd seen. "I was beginning to believe that the next time I saw him he'd be laid out in a morgue somewhere." He shook his head, still not quite able to believe the day's events. "I sure as hell never thought he'd be hiding out up here."

"Well, I don't think hiding out is quite the right term." Leaning forward, Sheriff Joe Rankin rested both forearms on the table as he frowned at Brass's choice of words. "I think, as far as Tom's concerned, he's simply living his life like the rest of us."

"Guess he's got a shock coming then, huh?" Despite the circumstances, Jim's dry wit returned full force. "And so do some other people back in Vegas."

"He's got family down there?"

"Yeah, he has." Still staring at the now empty doorway, Brass frowned. "So what are we looking at here? Amnesia?

"I don't think so." Rankin said. "At least going by what Doc Warner was saying I don't. He's been flat out with patients all day today but he's clearing some time tomorrow to meet up with you so I guess he'll fill you in then. He wants Wade Armstrong to be there too; he's the guy that picked Tom up and hauled him back here last August." He cocked his head towards the vacant stool at the bar. "That phone call a minute ago was Wade making sure Tom wouldn't be wandering around town tomorrow and accidentally bump into you; the doc's not sure what'll happen when he comes face to face with someone who actually knows who he is so he thought it would be better to get him out of the way until the three of you have had a chance to talk."

"Four of us." Pulling his phone from his jacket, Brass flipped it open and stared at the keypad. "I can pretty much guarantee there's going to be someone else at that meeting." He shrugged. "Provided, of course, she can get up here in time." A sudden thought occurred and he looked up with a frown. "You weren't worried about him seeing me?"

"I leave it to Doc Warner to worry about his patients welfare, the most important thing, as far as I was concerned, was getting a positive ID and I figured bring you in here to give me one would be worth the risk." With a sweep of his hand, Rankin gestured to the room at large. "As you can see, it gets pretty busy around this time of day so if Tom did happen to see you, he probably wouldn't get much more than a glimpse." He nodded towards Jim's phone. "So, you gonna to use that thing or what?"

"Yeah." With the shock of his discovery beginning to ebb, Jim Brass felt himself relax for, what seemed like, the first time in over eight months as he realized that his long search was finally over. "Yeah, I am." Scrolling through the list of saved numbers, he selected one and hit the call button as he prepared himself to spread the news that Gil Grissom was alive and well and living in Riverton, Montana.

TBC

A/N: A quick note to Shadow Play readers - as you've no doubt noticed, I'm having a couple of issues with SP just now (nothing to do with the story itself, it's all to do with my mindset at the moment) but I am working my way through it and hope to have it back on track and heading towards the finish shortly. In the meantime though, I just want to take this opportunity to thank you for your continuing patience.