~ SANCTUARY ~

Chapter Two

Rolling the Mitsubishi Outlander in against the curb, Sara peered out through the darkness to the front of the White Horse Bar. It was closed, of course, after all, Riverton was hardly Vegas but for the first time in what seemed like forever, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her husband had been here just a handful of hours before – was still here, somewhere, in this town – and that the nightmare she'd found herself trapped in was finally coming to an end.

She hadn't expected to make it up to Montana anywhere near as quickly as she had. The earliest available flight she'd been able to find had been the 5:30am out of McCarran but, thanks to some string-pulling by Ecklie and a judiciously timed phone call from the sheriff himself, the airline had managed to find her a seat on the 8:20pm flight so, just over seven hours after being roused from a fitful sleep by Jim Brass's triumphant phone call, she'd found herself standing, still shell-shocked by the news and full of barely suppressed excitement, at the Avis counter at Helena Airport.

The two hour drive south had tempered some of that anticipation; after all, according to everything Jim had told her, Grissom may not even know who she was. Brass hadn't quite been able to explain why through, the local sheriff's mention of 'amnesia that may not be amnesia' baffling both of them but the fact that they now had a definite location for him, that Jim had seen him and was more than happy to assure her that, apart from a limp, he appeared to be fit and well, was enough to be going on with for the moment - they had an 11 o'clock meeting with the doctor who'd been treating him so, no doubt, all would be revealed to them then.

Switching the Outlander's engine off, Sara sat cradled in the soft leather of the driver's seat as her mind tripped back over the events of that warm August morning almost nine months before… to the good natured teasing she'd endured when she'd turned down Nick and Greg's invitation of a late breakfast following a particularly grueling shift with the excuse that her husband was due home in just a couple of hours and she had every intention of being there when he arrived... to hurriedly picking up Hank at the sitter's and then racing to make it back to the condo in time... to the sound of the telephone that had started to ring at the exact same moment she'd slipped her key into the front door lock... to the very business-like tone of the Highway Patrol officer who'd asked her if she had any idea where her husband was... to the way her hand had shaken as she'd dialed Jim's number and the way that her voice had cracked when he'd finally picked up... to the hastily arranged flight that had whisked the two of them from one end of Nevada to the other... and, finally, to the scene of devastation they'd found themselves walking into; the twisted metal, the stench of burnt flesh and, pointed out by a sympathetic deputy, the long trail of blood drops that, it was later proven, marked Grissom's path away from the carnage and off into the stark desert landscape beyond.

Although pressed for both personnel and resources, the Elko County sheriff had sent out a search party almost as soon as they'd confirmed that Grissom was missing from the scene and, although almost four hours had passed since the incident had first been reported, there were high hopes all around that finding him would be a relatively simple task. With two deputies following the blood trail on foot and another pair roaming the area in pickups, that's exactly what it should have been but the blood disappeared at the base of a large rock roughly a mile and a half east of the wreckage and the only other sign they managed to find of him before daylight faded into dusk was the tattered remnants of his jacket – both sleeves missing and a large piece of the lining torn out – that had become tangled up in a stand of greasewood bushes.

Taking up a position at the side of one of the county's marked Yukons, she'd grasped tightly to Jim's hand as they'd both listened to arrangements being made for the renewal of the search at first light. She'd wanted them to continue on through the night, pleaded for it, in fact, but the sheriff had quickly refused citing the rough terrain and multitude of uncapped mineshafts that littered the area as reason enough to suspend the search – it was bad enough that her husband was out there, lost and injured; he was not about to exacerbate things by adding any of his men to the casualty list. Despite the afternoon's lack of progress, he was quick to assure her, his optimism remain high and with the added assistance of the helicopter he'd managed to secure coupled with the team of tracker dogs being transported up from Ely in the morning, he was positive that they'd locate Grissom safe and sound, or as near to it as possible, by lunchtime at the latest.

He'd seemed so confident, so sure of himself and the men under his command, that she'd wanted to believe him but, standing on the hard-packed gravel shoulder of US-93, staring out into the absolute darkness of the Nevadan desert, Sara couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Something wasn't right here, something about the way Grissom had apparently turned his back on the mangled wreckage and walked away; that wasn't her husband - it wasn't part of his make up and it certainly wasn't part of his training - he'd never have left those people – those bodies – alone the way he apparently had and that, almost more than the fact that he was still missing, had scared her most of all.

Quickly freed of their duties by Russell, Nick and Greg had driven in just before midnight; their arrival still marked in her mind as a whirlwind of bone-crushing hugs and whispered assertions that everything would turn out just fine. Knowing both men as well as she did, she'd half expected them to jump on Jim's bandwagon and begin urging her to either eat, sleep or preferably, to quote the homicide detective, both but, clearly sensing that that was the last thing she'd needed, they'd simply joined her at the roadside and sat in silent vigil for the remainder of that long first night. It was a gesture she'd appreciated probably more than they would ever know just as she'd appreciated the support, comfort and even mother hen act that Brass offered but, sitting there, surrounded by three of her closest friends Sara had never felt so alone in the whole of her life.

The shrill ringing of her cell phone jerked her back to the present and, sliding her hand across to the vacant passenger seat, she fumbled for the handset before flipping it open; a smile playing across her lips as she read the caller's identity on the small backlit screen.

"Hello Jim."

"I made a call and checked with the airline so I know that your flight arrived on time." There was a hint of weary impatience tingeing the detective's voice as he spoke but beneath that was something else - a definite lightening of his tone as if the tension and frustration that had been weighing him down for months now had finally begun to lift. "I don't suppose I'm going to win any prizes for guessing where you are, am I?"

"No, probably not." Reaching across to the cup holder, Sara snagged the large takeout coffee cup she'd picked up just outside of Boulder. "But you didn't seriously expect me to just drive by, did you?"

"I knew it would be hard, Sara but I was kind of hoping you'd have a little more self-restraint." His suspicions confirmed, Jim sighed. "I promised we'd to stay out of Riverton, remember; at least until we're sure Gil's on his way to Bozeman in the morning."

"And, as far as anyone here knows, that's exactly what we will have done." Prying the plastic lid from the insulated container, she stared at the now-cold contents for a moment before quickly deciding she didn't need a caffeine hit after all. "I just wanted to see it for myself, Jim; I needed to see where he'd been living, I needed to be somewhere that I know he's been."

"I'm not sure three in the morning's the best time to do it but, I guess, it cuts down the chances of him catching sight of you before we're ready." For the first time since she'd answered, she could clearly hear the smile in his voice. "But you've seen it now so how about going with our original plan, huh? The motel I booked us into might not be exactly luxurious but I did pay for two rooms and I'm really going to be pissed if one of them stays empty all night." He sobered. "You sound tired, Sara and you're going to need to get some rest; I have a funny feeling that we've got a long day ahead of us."

All of a sudden, as if it had been simply waiting for the words to be said, a wave of fatigue swept through her and she realized Brass was right but, she reasoned, if she was tired, he had to be absolutely exhausted. Thanks to a short but particularly bloody gang war breaking out up in the alphabets, both of them had been forced to work doubles but, while she'd managed to eventually make her way home and fall into bed, he'd caught a flight north, hung around all afternoon to ensure Thomas Randall and Gil Grissom actually were one and the same and now, here he was, holed up in a motel just outside of Dillon and, no doubt, doing his best to stay awake while he waited for her to turn up.

"Of course, Jim; I bet we could both so with some sleep." Ashamed at her own unintentional selfishness, Sara was instantly contrite. "So give me twenty minutes and I'll be there, okay." Shoving the coffee back in the cup holder, she was reaching for her seatbelt when a sudden thought hit. "I did thank you, didn't I? For what you did for me today… for what you've done for me since this whole thing started; you promised me back then that you'd find him and bring him home and now you have."

"Well, he isn't home yet, remember." Brass countered, clearly embarrassed by the show of gratitude. "And, technically, I'm not really responsible for finding him, either; the right person to thank for that is the moron who almost ran a Winnebago off the road on the outskirts of Reno this morning – if it wasn't for him, we'd probably still be sitting back in Vegas wondering where the hell to look next."

"If the guys in Reno ever catch up with that driver I'll be more than happy to let him know just how much I appreciate the help but, as far as I'm concerned, it was all down to you." Snapping the seatbelt into place, she reached for the ignition and, twisting the key, listened as the Outlander's engine roared to life. "And, as far as Gil not being home is concerned, that's just a matter of time." Letting the car roll forward, she headed for the end of the street and the turn that would take her back out onto I-15. "Because, no matter what it takes or how long it takes, the next time I drive out of Riverton, I will not be doing it alone."

TBC

A/N: You know, my goal for this chapter was to get it written and posted in a reasonably respectable timeframe but with the end of the financial year looming and what I thought was an annoyingly persistent pinched nerve in my neck (I found out this morning it's actually a herniated disc) things didn't quite go to plan. I'm determined to get back into a routine with it though and should be able to free up a lot more time once this week is done so bear with me and we'll see how we go. :)