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, Sarai and Marvelmyra (Guest) for your reviews!

Missing Persons

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 10

Fenton and Joe had been sitting on the floor – there was absolutely nothing else to do, after all – and wondering aloud just when all this was going to end. They'd slept the night through on the closet floor, thankful for the carpeting, the pillows and the blankets. They'd been duly escorted to a bathroom, one at a time, three times, and their guard – Bruno, now – had provided them with something to eat, and had left them bottled water. Twice. Other than that, they had been left severely alone.

It was now Monday afternoon, and both Hardy men, but Fenton in particular, were beginning to wonder if they were doomed to die of frustration and boredom in this walk-in closet. Of course, it was hard to complain too vociferously when things might have been so much worse, after all. Both Joe and Fenton had been held captive in far worse places. Here they were relatively comfortable and fed and not mistreated. Joe's headache had subsided after a night's rest, and bothered him only minimally; Fenton's had been gone for two days now.

They had tried to make the time pass and to keep alert; they'd done calisthenics such as sit-ups and pushups and crunches. They'd discussed the situation in depth with no results but confusion. They'd wondered what Frank was doing to find them, with or without the aid of the Cascade Police Department. And they'd watched time tick by slowly...slowly; watched the numbers click by and the hands go around, on their respective watches.

"Mom's gonna be awfully upset," Joe said now, out of a long silence. "Frank would have had to call her."

Fenton winced. He'd thought of that too. "I know."

"She was worried about us coming here to look for you," Joe continued. "She said right out that she was afraid we'd disappear too. How freaky is that, huh?"

"Your mother's a very astute woman. She knows the risks of a profession like mine...ours," Fenton amended with a wry smile. "She also knows that we'll come back if it's humanly possible."

"Yeah..." Joe sighed and subsided into silence once more.

A sudden noise outside their prison made both Hardys look up, tensing. There was the familiar sound of the chair, or whatever it was, being pulled away from the door, and then it opened slightly.

"Keep away from the door," Bruno's voice growled. "Don't try anything, hear me?"

Obediently, they backed away. The door was opened wider and to their utter shock, Bruno entered with a limp body slung over one shoulder. He bent down and deposited it on the floor at Fenton and Joe's feet. "Brought you someone else to play with," he grunted, and backed out again. The door was shut, and again came the sound of a barricade being shoved into place.

Joe gasped as he realized who their new fellow-prisoner was. "JIM!" He quickly knelt beside the detective's crumpled form. "Dad, it's Jim – Detective Ellison!"

They eased Ellison onto his back, and Fenton sucked in a breath when the big cop's face came into view. Blood streaked one side of it, oozing sluggishly from a small cut on the man's forehead. "Ouch. Someone clocked him pretty good. I think there's some pillowcases up there on that shelf, Joe; get one and we'll see about bandaging this."

Joe obeyed, tearing strips of cloth from the pillowcase with quick fingers. Fenton, meanwhile, took a piece of pillowcase and began to carefully wipe the blood from Ellison's face, trying to get an idea of the severity of his injuries.

"This cut's the only thing – well, he's got quite a bump there, as well, but I mean there doesn't seem to be anything else wrong. Hand me that bottle of water, please?"

"I'll bet he was hit with a blunt object, just like we were," Joe said shrewdly, "only he turned around just as it was coming down, and took it in the face instead of the back of the head."

"You're probably right," his father agreed, beginning now to wrap the cotton strips around Ellison's head in a simple bandage. "At least we know that there's something going on with trying to find us," he added.

"So far it doesn't seem to be working very well," Joe said bitterly. "The only way we get found is by someone else getting captured!"

"Considering that I don't believe these are hardened, experienced criminals, they're having an unbelievable run of luck!" Fenton commented dryly, and sat back on his heels, scrutinizing his work. "There, that's about the best I can do."

"I wonder why he's still unconscious." Joe laid a hand on Ellison's wrist. "His pulse is strong...he's breathing okay. Why isn't he waking up?"

Fenton shook his head. "Head injuries can be tricky. There could be something damaged in there that we don't know about." He got another pillow and eased it beneath Jim's head. "May as well try to make him as comfortable as we can."

Joe sighed. "This is just going to kill Blair," he murmured, then paused, jolted by his own words. "Oh God, Dad – what if something's happened to Blair and Frank?"

#####

"Where IS he?" Sandburg paced restlessly, waiting for his partner to return from checking out the room occupied by Bruno Muscaletti and Rico Tambura. Although Blair had wanted to stay with Ellison, he knew why he and Frank had been assigned to snoop through Darius Sutherland's room and Roberta Van Lansing's: Jim was intending to use his enhanced senses during his search, and didn't want Frank to observe him doing so. "How long does it take, anyway?" Although he was half-afraid that Jim had zoned on something, he didn't dare go find out without taking Frank along. It was an impossible situation, and he fumed, and cussed Jim out silently for putting him in it.

He and Frank had found...nothing. Zilch. It didn't even look as if Sutherland or Van Lansing had been in their rooms very much lately.

He pulled his cell phone out and punched a number...then waited tensely. To his utter dismay, there was no answer. When it switched to voice mail, Blair cut the connection and made his decision. "Come on, we're going to go see what's happened. But stay behind me when we get there. Let me go in first. Got it?"

Frank frowned a little at this stern injunction, but he nodded his understanding. He'd seen this man nearly lose his partner to an assassin's bullets, and knew how close Blair and Jim were. Blair was usually very easy-going, but he was getting scared now, and any snappishness on his part was easy to understand and forgive. "Got it," he said.

It only took them a few minutes to reach their destination. The door to the room was closed and locked, and when Blair knocked on it and called sharply, there was no response from inside. Taking the passkey from his pocket, Sandburg slid the card into the slot and when the lights glowed green, shoved the door open. Gesturing for Frank to stay back, he entered the room, one hand instinctively reaching for his holstered revolver.

"Jim? Jim, you here?"

Only silence greeted his query.

"JIM?" It took only a few seconds to ascertain that the room was empty of any living being other than himself. Shaken, Blair beckoned Frank inside. "He's not here!"

"Where would he have gone? Do you suppose someone came and he – took off after them, or something?" Frank demanded.

"He'd have let me know somehow; he wouldn't have just left...but I'll check." Blair stared around the hotel room looking for any signs of his missing partner, then walked into the bathroom, punching a button on his phone. Frank heard him inquire whether Detective Ellison had called in anything like an 'in pursuit' notification, or if he'd been heard from in the last 30 minutes.

Frank began to look around as well, and his sharply indrawn breath brought Sandburg back to the main room in a hurry. "What?"

"Look." Frank pointed at the cream-colored wall near the doorway, and then at the beige carpet. "Look there."

Sandburg looked, and felt his heart turn over in his chest. Showing clearly on the light paint were spots of something dark red...almost certainly blood. A slightly larger smudge stained the pale carpet. Very lightly, Blair touched one of the spots, then looked at his forefinger. "It's fresh," he heard himself say, in a voice he scarcely recognized.

"Jim? Or someone else?" Frank breathed.

Blair shook his head, unable to give the other man an answer. With trembling hands he pulled out his cell phone again and once more hit a speed-dial number. It was answered almost immediately.

"Banks."

"Sandburg here, sir. Captain, Jim's gone."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"We...I...we need a forensics team at the Silver Reef."

"Sandburg, can you try to make sense, here? What's happened?"

Blair firmed his jaw and took a deep breath, striving for calm. "We're at the Silver Reef Hotel, sir. Jim was checking one room and Frank and I the others. When I tried to contact Jim, he didn't respond, so we came down to the room he was supposed to be in. It's empty...and there's some fresh blood spots on the wall and the carpeting. Jim's been taken, Simon!"

"Jesus in a jumpsuit!" For an instant Banks was unable to come up with anything more to say, then he rallied. "Okay, I'll get Forensics rolling and I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay put...and Sandburg?"

"Yes, sir?"

"It'll be all right. We'll find Ellison for you." The receiver clicked down, ending the conversation.

Blair slowly pocketed his phone and turned to the anxiously waiting Frank. "He's sending a team and coming himself." He shivered involuntarily, despite the warmth of the room, staring blankly at the blood-spattered wall. "This can't be happening..." The whispered words sent a chill through Frank as well.

"Can we wait outside?" he asked hopefully, and Sandburg nodded, jarred from his introspection. He ushered Frank out of the room, and they both leaned against the wall to wait for the arrival of Banks and the technicians.

Frank finally broke the silence. "At least now we know it's not something specifically aimed at us – at my dad and Joe and me. Although I guess right now you probably wish it had been, huh? That way Detective Ellison wouldn't have been...taken."

The guilt-ridden tone of Frank's voice made Blair feel ashamed of himself. "No," he said gently, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "of course I don't wish that. This is just – it's just a professional hazard, that's all. It comes with the job. Jim and I both know that. It's just that this seems to happen a lot, you know? To Jim and me. And when someone takes him, it's...well, it's not good." Even as he spoke, the young cop was remembering other times, long past: Colonel Oliver...Lee Brackett...

No, when Jim was taken, it was never good.

###

The forensics team arrived and began to go over the room in careful detail. Blair watched them set to work, briefly answering their few questions and declining to leave the room. He was unsurprised when Captain Banks showed up, less than five minutes behind the technicians. The big captain strode up to him, dark face creased with a scowl that looked formidable, but Blair knew was a mask to hide his concern.

"Simon," he greeted listlessly.

"Sandburg," Banks returned in a surprisingly gentle tone. He nodded to Frank, who had been hovering near Blair uncertainly. "Hello, Frank."

"Hi, Captain Banks."

Banks didn't beat around the bush. "Let's see the blood," he said curtly, and hunkered down to inspect the telltale spots when Sandburg moved aside. After a moment he glanced up. "There's not much – whatever happened, it wasn't too serious."

"It could be," Blair argued, lips stiff with tension.

"You don't even know that's Jim's blood," Banks reminded him.

"I just...know," the younger man stated with finality.

Simon, sensing one of the subjects he preferred not to think about unless forced, sighed and desisted from the argument. "It might be something as minor as a nosebleed, you know," he reminded his detective. "Ellison tends to get in fistfights with perps."

"Yeah," Sandburg sighed.

They observed the techs in silence for a while, but it wasn't very long before the crew was packing up their equipment and preparing to leave.

"Nothing," Serena informed them, as she went by. "We'll check that blood right away, Blair, see if it matches what we have on file for Jim." She patted his arm. "Don't worry, honey, okay?"

He nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Serena."

After they were gone Simon, Blair and Frank stepped back into the room for one more look around. It was a typical hotel room, located annoyingly near the hotel's adjoining parking structure. Sounds of car engines and occasional horns honking were an almost-constant barrage, especially when the door was open. Aside from the fact that it was occupied by two persons who weren't exceptionally tidy, there was nothing outstanding about the room; no indications of criminal activity...and no sign of Detective Jim Ellison.

They returned to the police station and Blair settled down at his computer, with Frank perched in an extra chair beside him. The detective had to smile just a little; it reminded him of the past, when it was Jim seated at the desk and himself dragging up an extra chair. His throat tightened, and he resolutely pushed those memories away. They had work to do.

"Let's see if we can find anything on Muscaletti and Tambura," he suggested. He opened up their criminal database program and typed in a name: Bruno Muscaletti. Shortly information began to flow onto the screen; Frank leaned closer to watch intently.

###

"So...what have you come up with?" Captain Banks had exited his office and now stood quietly near Sandburg's desk. In their fierce concentration on what they were doing, neither Blair nor Frank had noticed his arrival.

Blair leaned back from his intense scrutiny of the computer screen and picked up the piece of paper where he'd scribbled notes. "Muscaletti and Tambura both have minor offenses – barroom brawling, simple assault charges, criminal mischief, that sort of thing. Couple of short jail terms, county level. No felonies. No outstanding warrants." He sighed and added bitterly, "This is apparently the first time they've been out here on the west coast. Why the hell did they have to come here and decide to escalate their activities now?"

"They were here in Cascade before Dad, so they didn't follow him," Frank put in. "Happenstance," he said, with an acidity equal to Sandburg's. But even as worried as he was, somehow Frank found it reassuring that these men who were suspected of kidnapping his family members and Jim Ellison weren't prone to violence.

"Hmm." Banks considered it for a few moments, rubbing a hand over his chin thoughtfully. He looked around at the nearly-deserted bullpen; everyone else had left for the evening. "Come on, you two," he said at last. "How about dinner? I'm buying."

"Captain, that's not neces—"

Simon glared him into silence, then repeated, "I'm offering to buy dinner. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Sandburg."

"Yes sir, thank you, sir," Blair sighed resignedly. Maybe it was a good idea. After all, what were he and Frank supposed to do, go back to the loft and stare at each other the rest of the evening...and night? And tomorrow...? He cut off the anxious thoughts firmly. They would find Jim...and Joe...and Mr. Hardy. They would.

###

All three of them made valiant efforts, and the meal passed pleasantly enough. They talked about Frank's freshman year at college, and about Daryl's year at Duke, and his vacation to the Caribbean. They talked about the Jags' hopes for next year's season, and pro basketball in general; the NBA draft was coming up soon. Blair dredged up old stories from his anthropology days and did his best to make them entertaining.

But there was a pall over everything that even the best intentions couldn't lift. During dinner Serena called: nothing incriminating had been found – but the blood on the wall and the carpeting matched Jim Ellison's.

"I knew it." Blair's tone was bleak. "I knew it." He stared out the window of the restaurant, his lips set in a grim line. "He's hurt, Simon. Someone's taken him, and...he's hurt."

"Don't let your imagination run wild, Sandburg," the big captain cautioned. "You know that that little dab of blood doesn't indicate any major injury, and you also know Jim's a pretty capable man."

Sandburg managed a smile at that. "Now that's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"So whoever has him is going to regret it," Banks predicted.

Frank watched the two police officers sadly. He felt responsible for Blair's distress, for if it hadn't been for Fenton and Joe, Jim would never have been put in jeopardy. "I'm sorry," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "I feel like it's all our fault. Again."

Blair and Simon both looked at him, and Banks shook his head firmly. "It was not your fault. These two—" he looked at Blair meaningfully, "get into these situations all the time. Haven't you figured that out yet? Only usually it's Sandburg who's missing and Ellison who's tearing the city apart trying to find him."

Blair smiled faintly. "I wish I could refute your claim, but I can't. He's right, Frank – if it hadn't been this, it would have been something else. This wasn't your fault – or your father's. It just happened." He pushed back his nearly-empty plate and straightened up. "What do you say we go back to the loft and try to get some sleep? It's been a pretty long day."

"Okay." As they rose to leave, Frank couldn't help thinking that it was going to be a very long night, as well.