Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with The Sentinel's characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. Band of Brothers and Welcome to Cascade take place before September Song [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after The Perfect Partner [Sentinel universe]. Missing Persons happens right after Fanfare for June [Hardys]; A Matter of Public Record takes place any time between Death on the Fourth of July and February Flirtations [Hardys], and before Remodel and Rebuild [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

Thank you so much to mas1581 and Sarai for the comments. Much appreciated!

Missing Persons

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 8

Fenton stumbled up the stairs, his arm held tightly by one of his captors – Rico, he thought, although he wasn't positive. He was more than slightly disoriented by the sudden whirlwind of activity which surrounded him; he'd been sitting patiently, tied to the chair, for what had seemed like months...and abruptly things had changed.

Blindfolded, untied from the chair but immediately restrained, his hands bound behind his back, he'd been hustled roughly from the room where he'd been held captive and manhandled along until they reached a vehicle of some sort and he was shoved into what felt like the back seat of a car. Someone buckled a seat belt over him, leaving him helpless, unable to free himself and very uncomfortable with his hands still tied behind him.

After a few minutes there was more noise of people around him, and to his utter shock he felt another person thrust into the back seat beside him, and again heard the click of a seat belt being fastened. He heard someone mutter "He's still out – what'd you hit him with, anyway, a brick?" and wondered who in the world might have been so unlucky as to get himself tangled up with these preposterous people. Ellison? Sandburg? It was possible, he supposed, and he certainly couldn't imagine anyone else.

Moments later car doors slammed shut and an engine started. Fenton settled back as best he could and prepared to wait out the ride. He had no idea where he had been, so it seemed useless to try and figure out the route to where they were going. Might as well just hang tight and try to be prepared for whatever came next.

Now here he was, being escorted into what seemed, to his limited faculties, to be a dwelling of some sort. He felt carpeting beneath his feet as he ascended the stairs, and it felt like a house, although he wouldn't have been able to describe exactly what he meant by that, if asked.

The top of the stairs was reached, and he was turned sharply to the left. More carpeting, he noted, as he felt the edge of a doorway brush his shoulder, and then another one, much sooner than he expected it. A firm shove propelled him forward, and hands gripped his arms and pulled. The investigator found himself down on his knees.

Hands fumbled with the restraints about his wrists, and they were released, but whoever this was kept a tight hold on him, preventing Fenton from any escape attempt. He heard the sounds of something – someone? – else being dropped heavily to the floor nearby.

"There, that ought to do it." It was Bruno's voice, sounding slightly out of breath. "Geez, he was heavy enough! You had it easy, you didn't have to carry yours!"

"C'mon," was the answer. "Let's get the door blocked. Oh – leave the light on. Otherwise Miss Bobbi'll probably say we're being blatantly criminal again!"

Fenton felt himself pushed forward again, down on his stomach. "Don't try anything, you're gonna be guarded," Rico growled "We'll bring you something to eat later, and do the bathroom thing," And then they were gone. A door closed, and then came the sounds of something being wedged beneath the doorknob.

The detective was already scrabbling frantically at the blindfold. Pulling it off, he blinked at the sudden glare which assaulted his eyes, and briefly squeezed them shut again, trying to acclimate himself to this new situation.

Gingerly, he opened his eyes and squinted around. Where he was became evident almost immediately: a large walk-in closet with empty hangers on rods, built-in drawers, and several shelves. A couple of folded blankets and pillows were sitting on the shelves, but otherwise the room was empty.

Well, a closet is certainly better than that room by the furnace! Fenton thought to himself, and then turned to see just who his fellow-prisoner might be. His breath caught in his throat as he beheld the unconscious form of his younger son.

"JOE! My God, Joe!" Mr. Hardy flung himself forward to kneel beside Joe. How in the world had he come to be here? "Son?" He carefully examined Joe, finding a bump on the back of his head similar to the one Fenton himself sported. Other than that, he appeared to be unharmed. "Joe? Wake up, son." Gently, he patted his son's face, and finally was rewarded by a small groan and blinking eyes.

"Ow...oooh, don't!" Joe turned his face away from the irritation.

"Joe? Open your eyes."

Slowly, the boy obeyed. For a moment he stared uncomprehendingly, then his eyes widened, and he lunged upward. "DAD!"

Fenton wrapped his arms about his younger son in a hard hug. "I don't know what you're doing here, but..."

"We came to find you!" Joe explained, hugging Fenton in return. "I guess I found you all right," he added, wincing, "but not quite how I meant to! Man, what a headache!"

"I think you should lie down again," his father recommended, loosening his hold enough to let Joe stretch out flat on the carpeting. Rising to his feet, he perfunctorily checked the closet door, then got a pillow from the closet shelf and slid it beneath Joe's head. "I know how you feel, believe me – but I can assure you that it does get better over time!"

"You got clobbered too, huh?" Joe winced, settling himself carefully on the pillow.

"Unfortunately, yes. Now—" Fenton settled back down on the floor, sitting cross-legged beside his son. "tell me please, what – where – how do you happen to be here?"

Joe smiled a little. "When you didn't make your check-in call on Friday night," he explained, "we got worried and contacted Jim and Blair. Who were also worried, because you'd missed lunch with them. When they told us that, Frank and I caught the first flight here we could. We've been looking for you ever since. With some unofficial help from the Cascade police." He looked down at his wristwatch. "It's still Sunday night!"

"Uh-huh," his father agreed. "You know, don't you, that while I'm very glad to see you, and to know that you were looking out for my welfare, I'd rather you hadn't found me quite this way?"

Joe pushed himself up on his elbows, grimacing as the movement made his head spin. "Well, it wasn't really my first choice either, Dad, ya know?"

Fenton gently pushed him back down. "You may as well stay still; there's nothing for you to get up for." He surveyed their prison ruefully, rising to walk around and examine it in detail. "No windows, no vents, and a blocked door with – so I was told – a guard outside. I think we're stuck for awhile."

Joe scowled, but was forced to agree with Fenton's assessment of their situation.

"Now...since I've been sort of out of the loop for a few days, care to tell me what's going on?" Fenton resumed his seat beside Joe.

Joe pondered for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. It was difficult with the throbbing pain in his head. "Well," he began, "we really don't know what's going on, exactly. Frank and I tried to talk to Roberta Van Lansing, but she insisted she'd never heard of or from you...although we knew better. Well, we know she'd gotten your messages, anyway. Jim and Blair found out that she seems to be involved with some guy named Darius Sutherland from back east, who's visiting his wealthy cousin here in Cascade." He paused to look again at their surroundings. "Have you been here all the time?"

"No!" his father said. "They moved me – I guess right after they captured you. They brought us here in a car. I was in some sort of basement storage room, but I don't know where. Furnaces and...things like that."

"The Lincolnshire Tower," Joe said with conviction. "It's a big – make that huge – office building in downtown Cascade. We were pretty sure you were there, Frank and I, but we couldn't get in to search. We followed Bobbi there. We were watching the building, but somebody got the jump on me in the underground parking area." He rubbed his head gingerly. "Frank's gonna freak," he added. "First you disappear, then me. Why did they grab you, anyway, do you know?"

Fenton shook his head. "Not precisely. I don't think I'd been all that threatening, but apparently someone got scared of me trying to find Bobbi Van Lansing. I was in my motel room, getting ready to meet your friends for lunch, and there was a knock on the door. I didn't think anything of it; I opened it, and two men in ski masks forced their way in. I fought for awhile, but I guess they got tired of it, and...wham!"

He rubbed his head in memory of the blow which had rendered him senseless. "I woke up tied and blindfolded in that...room, whatever it was. And Bobbi's definitely involved, although I don't believe she had anything to do with my kidnapping." He grinned, suddenly looking very like Frank. "She's been yelling a lot at someone or other over it. I couldn't hear all of it, but I heard enough. And it got a whole lot worse when you – I didn't know it was you, though – showed up." The smile faded. "I don't know what she's mixed up in, Joe. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

Joe was patting his pockets hopefully, only to desist with a sigh. "I thought maybe I hadn't been frisked, and my cell phone might be here," he explained to Fenton, who nodded and shrugged in resignation.

"They took pretty much everything I had, too."

"They took your files," Joe told him. "There was nothing in the motel room but your clothes and shaving things, that sort of stuff."

Fenton shook his head. "Makes no sense," he reiterated. He got up and retrieved another pillow from the shelf. "Might as well get comfortable while we wait," he said, and lay back on the floor with a sigh. "Try to get some rest, Joe; that bang on the head needs it."

#####

Captain Simon Banks surveyed the three men in his office grimly. He noted that they all looked pale and haggard in the morning light streaming in through the windows. After hearing what had been going on, from Jim late the night before, he understood why. He'd acceded to Ellison's request that he and Sandburg be removed from the homicide case to concentrate on the disappearing Hardys – and now he had another battle on his hands!

"I AM going with you to Lincolnshire Tower," Frank Hardy said adamantly. "You can try to stop me, but I am going. I'll go alone if you won't take me with you, but I am going to look for Joe and my father, and that's all there is to it!"

A muscle in Jim Ellison's jaw was jumping with tension, and he glared at Frank. "Not if you're in protective custody!" he snapped. "It's too dangerous, and I don't want you along. I want you to stay here at the station."

"Why would I be in danger if I'm with you and Blair?" Frank shot back. His glare didn't quite match the Sentinel's for power, but it was effective, nonetheless.

Almost subvocal, Blair murmured "Gotcha there."

Ellison transferred his glare to his partner, then rubbed his jaw irritably. "It would be better—"

Simon decided it was time to intervene; this could go on interminably. "Frank, do you promise to stay with Sandburg or Ellison at all times, and obey them, if I allow you to go along?"

Jim whirled towards his boss. "Sir, I don't think—"

"Detective, I was not addressing you. Frank?" Banks gentled his tone. He could clearly see the anguish on the boy's face, and he recalled that Frank and Joe were considered good friends by his son. What would Daryl say to him when he found that both Joe and Mr. Hardy had disappeared shortly after coming to Cascade? He'd get that...look...from his son, the disappointed, 'I thought you could do anything, and you let me down' look. Banks didn't want to see that expression on Daryl's face.

Frank nodded shortly. "I promise. I'll do whatever they say."

Jim blew out a frustrated breath and made an 'I give up' sort of gesture. "All right, all right." He stalked from the captain's office without a backward glance.

Frank glanced from Banks to Sandburg, a miserable yet defiant look. "I didn't want to make him so mad, it's just..."

"He'll get over it," Blair said calmly. "But why don't you give him a few minutes to cool off? And me a little while to try and...smooth things over." He glanced into the bullpen, and saw his partner seated at his desk, staring at his computer screen. "Come out in about five minutes and join us, okay?"

"Okay."

Banks reached for the coffee pot. "Care for a cup of coffee, Frank?" he invited.

Quietly, Blair left Banks' office and moved to stand behind Jim, reading over his shoulder. "Checking up on Sutherland, huh?" He laid a soothing hand on the Sentinel's shoulder, feeling Jim's tense muscles relax minutely at the contact. "Anything?" He began to rub the taut shoulders gently.

Jim shook his head. "Nothing detrimental. He's just what his cousin said he was, evidently; a stockbroker in New York. If he's doing something else, it hasn't caught up with him yet." He clicked to a new page. "No warrants, no outstandings, hell, he doesn't even get traffic tickets!"

"Maybe he doesn't drive in New York City," Blair pointed out sensibly.

Jim shoved the keyboard away suddenly and turned around, dislodging Blair's comforting hands. "Chief, you know it's a bad idea to take Frank along!" he growled. "What if there's somebody intent on taking the Hardys out, one by one? He'd be a sitting duck, going back there, even with us!"

"He wants to find his brother and father. He wants to help. Don't deny him that, man...and don't treat him like a baby, either. He's not a baby – he's as old or older than a lot of guys in the military, for instance."

"They're babies too," Jim said, sounding stubbornly miserable.

"You didn't think that when you were 19."

"I was pretty stupid when I was 19, Chief." Ellison sighed. "Some things don't change."

Blair sighed too, and leaned against his desk, surveying his partner thoughtfully. "Are you implying you're still stupid? Come back from the guilt trip, Jim. This wasn't your fault."

"But it happened on my watch," Ellison muttered. "On our watch, Chief. First Hardy and now his son."

"So we'll do something about it," Blair vowed. "We'll find them. We just haven't pursued the right trail yet. Why don't we try calling John Sartellis again? He's the best link we have to Darius Sutherland, and Sutherland's tied in somehow to Roberta Van Lansing."

Jim smiled a little, nodded agreement and reached for the telephone. While he was involved in conversation with Sartellis' secretary, Blair beckoned to Frank, who emerged from Captain Banks' office and somewhat hesitantly joined the detectives. He was carrying two mugs of Simon's coffee, one of which he silently placed at Ellison's elbow; evidently a peace offering of sorts.

Blair gave him an encouraging smile. "We'll probably go pretty soon; Jim's checking on a couple of things first," he said softly.

"Is he still mad?" Frank whispered with a sidelong glance at the other detective.

Blair had to bite back a grin, knowing full well that Jim was able to hear them just fine. "I think he's okay now. He's just worried about you, Frank." A reminiscent smile quirked one corner of Sandburg's mouth. "He's about had his fill of civilians riding along with him, that's all."

Ellison reached out with a pen and lightly swatted his partner with it for that remark, and ended his conversation, looking frustrated again. "John Sartellis is out of the office and out of town today," he reported. "I've left urgent messages for him to call us if he should happen to check in, but..." He sighed and took a long sip of the coffee Frank had brought him.

"What does that mean?" Frank asked. "I mean, what does that mean for you – us? What do we do now?"

"Well, it means that we'll go over and see what we can find at the Lincolnshire Tower and try to catch up with Sartellis later," Ellison said. He looked up at Frank. "You promised, remember."

"I know. I'll stick with you guys. Just don't shut me out, okay?"

Jim nodded briefly and picked up the mug. "Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome."

Blair dug through a desk drawer to conceal his smirk, ostensibly looking for a pen that suited him. Frank and Jim had made their peace, in a fashion. Now the only problem was going to be allowing the Sentinel to use his abilities without Frank's keen eye catching him at it. He suspected Ellison hadn't quite thought this aspect through when he insisted on Frank remaining with them at all times. Well, he could distract Frank while Jim worked; Ellison was scarily adept at using those enhanced senses now, with or without his Guide's help.

Jim drained the coffee cup and rose, marshaling Blair and Frank before him. "Let's go. We've got some people to find."