Chance Destiny Read online

  Author's Notes: This story is a mostly stand-alone crossover of The Sentinel and Witchblade, though brief references to my other stories will be made. I am sorry this one took so long. While there are plenty of bunnies in the carrot patch, they all hid in their holes for a time. I blame stress. Good news is that the bunnies have finally come out and starting to communicate with me again.

  For those unfamiliar with Witchblade, it was a show on TNT based on a comic book by Top Cow. Sara Pezzini is a Homicide detective with the New York City Police. One day a mysterious bracelet called the Witchblade finds its way onto her wrist. It is an ancient, semi-sentient 'object of power', that has been passed down to strong women (and only women) through the ages, including Joan of Arc and Cleopatra. Not only can it change into a gauntlet or a sword when needed, but also provides the bearer with abilities like slowing down time, warnings of danger, and visions of past and possible future events.

  For those familiar with the show, this story is set after the second season. This means a season after what the fans dub as 'The Great Rewind', where Sara set time back to before her partner, Danny Woo, was killed. (Yes, I know how that sounds to non-fans, but you had to have been there J ) So for this story, Danny is alive and still Sara's partner, Sara is Jake McCartey's training officer, and Kenneth Irons (a baddie who knows a lot about the Witchblade) is dead -- or is he?

  I am not as familiar with the comic as I am the TV show. However, I pulled in a little of what I could find on the internet to fill out the characters. For instance, Jake's name is listed as Jason Chance McCarthy, though the TV series has the last name as McCartey. I'm kinda filling in the blanks a little, and hoping I'm not stomping too hard on canon. If I am, I apologize.

  As always, I wish to thank several people. To Zadra, who provides tons of encouragement and plans great road trips; Shallan for pep talks and brainstorming sessions; Toni Rae for lunch get togethers and cover when I need it; Lori Wright for good discussions and beta'ing; Gabrielle for beta'ing, and as always wolfpup, who gives my stories such a happy home, and even comes up with nice title pictures to go with some of them! Go check on some of her art work on my older stories.

  Also, many thanks to all the sweet people who email me, even if it's to complain that I haven't posted anything recently!

  Please send any comments to [email protected]

  Enjoy the ride.

  Disclaimer: Most of characters are not mine. I'm borrowing them out of deep reverence, affection and respect. I will accept only personal fulfillment, and no monetary gain. If you do sue, you will not get much and I will send over my Black Lab mix, who will stare at you pathetically for hours and probably con you out of all your food.

  Please do not reproduce, copy, or otherwise use any part of this story without permission from the author.

  Rated PG-13, mostly for language

  * * *

  * * *

  Cascade, WA

  Patrick Chance leaned back heavily in his chair. A fire snapped in the fireplace, sending flickers of light to reflect off the golden cross in his hands. His fingers lovingly traced the ornate metalwork in a long-familiar pattern. For thirty-six years, he had been the cross' guardian. It would feel strange not to have its slight weight around his neck. It had not been taken off since his father willed it to him.

  However, Patrick was no longer the spry, strong man who had inherited the family trust. There were days when every hour of his 65 years ached through his bones. The cross needed a strong guardian, a young guardian. One who would accept the responsibility and bear it well. Normally, it was passed on to a son or grandson, but Patrick had no children. While he knew several of his nephews and nieces would fight over his company when he was gone, none of them were worthy of the cross. Every time he went over the list of family members, only one name stood out.

  The timing was right. It was his birthday next week and he wouldn't be surprised by a present. He would also recognize the cross. Hopefully, he would accept the treasured possession from a favorite uncle and wear it to please him. Patrick wished he could explain, but tradition dictated otherwise. The new guardian had to find out about the cross on his own.

  Slowly, he lifted the gold chain over his head. He stared at the gleaming gold for a long moment. Then he reverently placed it into an oblong box. The box was carefully slipped into a large envelope, addressed to Jason Chance McCartey in New York, New York.

  * * *

  Eight months later, New York, NY

  There were times when he was glad to be in New York. This was not one of them.

  Detective Jake McCartey was perched on a fire escape of an old warehouse. The January air ruffled his short blond hair, sending its chill straight to his bones. He shifted on the cold metal, tightening his grip on his binoculars. Suddenly, a sneeze tore through him.

  "Hey, Rookie. You okay?" The warm voice of Detective Sara Pezzini, his training officer, spoke through his earpiece.

  "Yeah," Jake whispered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. "Just love freezing my ass off for the second night in a row."

  Danny Woo, Sara's partner, entered into the conversation. "What, can't handle a little cold, California boy?"

  "Definitely wondering why I left." He was also wondering how the skinny Asian man handled the cold better than he could. Must be Danny's Zen mojo, or his New York upbringing.

  "You're just wondering that now?" Jake could hear Sara's amusement behind the words. For a moment, the thought of the strong, beautiful brunette took his mind off the cold.

  Then Danny's voice shattered the image. "He didn't want to miss out on all our New York fun."

  "Well, I have to admit I wish Burbanks would hurry up and pick up his stash of guns. I'd like to bust him with illegal arms AND connect him to the murder of that bike messenger." Sara hadn't liked seeing the young girl sprawled alongside her bike. He hadn't liked it, either. But Jake had noticed how the more experienced detective tended to push harder on cases involving young women.

  His mind partly on the conversation and mostly on watching the loading area for their perp, Jake's hand absently found the cross around his neck. The feel of the ornate gold seemed to soothe him. Was that why his uncle had always worn it? Then another sneeze forced its way out.

  "You still have coffee left?" Sara inquired.

  "Yeah."

  "Drink it. It should warm you up."

  "Yes, Mom." Jake could almost picture Sara's glare. With one last stroke of the cross, he reached for his thermos.

  * * *

  Next morning, Cascade, WA

  Detective Blair Sandburg whistled as his partner drove up to the estate. "Man, this is some setup. There has to be at least fifty rooms."

  "Closer to a hundred, Chief." Detective Jim Ellison braked his '69 Ford truck to stop in front of the steps leading to the mansion. Two marble lions guarded the entryway. "The Chance family was one of the original pioneers of this country. Made a lot of money in lumber."

  Blair tilted his head up as he stepped out of the truck, trying to see the top floor. "Why exactly are we here? We usually leave home invasion to robbery." He started to climb the steps next to Jim.

  "Take another look at the house. Mr. Patrick Chance was critically injured last night, and he's one of the mayor's main contributors."

  Tilting his head to the side as he studied a gargoyle, Blair asked, "But still, why us?"

  "Because there was a similar robbery at Chance's office, too. They think there's something else going on."

  Blair glanced at his partner. "And because the mayor called the commish."

  "And because the mayor called the Commissioner," Jim agreed.

  "It's tough being popular," Blair chuckled.

  The two men walked into the marble lobby. As Bla
ir gawked at the gleaming room, Jim strolled over to the nearest officer. "Hey, Mitchell, getting any sleep with the new baby?"

  The young man turned to the senior detective. "Not much, but more than Joanie. They call you and Sandburg on this one?"

  "Yep." Jim glanced around, noting the officer on the balcony above and the nervous staff watching from an entryway in the back corner. "Any sign of forced entry?"

  "None that we've found yet, and the security is state-of-the-art. Forensics is going over everything right now."

  "Where was Mr. Chance found?" Blair queried as he joined them.

  "Upstairs in his den. Looks like he was working late and the invaders surprised him."

  Jim asked, "Did they go anywhere else?"

  "Looks like the master bedroom and the office, but that's it."

  "Let's take a look, Chief." Jim led the way up the curving marble stairs.

  "You picking up anything yet?" Blair whispered as he studied the smooth railing.

  Jim's nostrils flared a moment. "Just lots of cleaner and polish."

  Blair chuckled. "I would say that would be suspicious, except in this place." He greeted the officer on the balcony, who directed them to the office.

  Serena Chang was pointing at the window as she directed her unit. "Check over there." Then the round-faced woman turned towards them. "Hi, guys."

  "Serena," Jim returned, his eyes swiftly taking in the scattered paper, pulled out drawers, torn up loveseat and the white outline by the overturned chair. "What do we have?"

  "Mr. Patrick Chance, 66, was attacked at 12:34 am last night."

  Blair frowned as he pulled on his gloves. "That's a pretty exact time."

  Serena smiled. "The perps broke that mantle clock."

  Blair knelt down to look at the clock without touching it. "Man, what a shame. It looks like an antique."

  Tilting her head to look at it, Serena commented, "It must have been important to him; he would have had to wind it up every few days."

  "Yeah." Blair continued to examine it. "It looks very well cared for."

  Ignoring the clock discussion, Jim studied the scene critically. It seemed like the invader had become frustrated and swiped the top of the desk clean. Yet there was one object still on a corner. Jim stepped closer. From the cracks in the glass, the picture frame had apparently hit the floor with the rest of the items. Yet it and it alone had been replaced. Why would it be singled out? Jim turned as he began pulling on his latex gloves. "Serena? Was this on the desk when you arrived?"

  "Yes." Serena and Blair both joined Jim at the desk. "I thought that was odd, too."

  "Is it cleared to be picked up?" Blair asked.

  "Yes, we're done with photos and fingerprints."

  Jim lifted the frame from the desk, careful not to disturb the broken glass. Blair lifted up on his toes to examine the picture, too. For a moment they studied the young man with long, blond hair, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. "Does Mr. Chance have a son?" Blair asked.

  "No," one of the forensic officers replied. The dark-haired young woman pushed her glasses back on her nose. "The newspaper did a huge write-up on the Chance family last spring, and it mentioned that Patrick Chance didn't have any kids. Sounds like he had loads of nephews and nieces, though."

  Blair smiled his thanks at the girl. "We'll have to check into them, see who matches the picture." He then noticed that Jim was still frowning. "What?"

  "He looks familiar," Jim replied. "I just can't place him." Then the senior detective shrugged. "It'll come to me. Serena, give us the reports as soon as you can. The Commissioner has taken an interest."

  "Will do," Serena replied.

  "Now we better talk with the staff. Serena, can I take this picture with me?"

  * * *

  Next morning, 2:30 am, New York, NY

  Sara was tired, but in a good mood as she rode in the back of Danny's car. They had finally caught Burbanks around midnight. The murderer had been processed and was spending the night in a cell where he belonged. It felt good to finish a case without any major roadblocks or weird twists by the Witchblade. While the sentient bracelet protected her and sometimes helped with her investigations, it could also be a damned nuisance.

  The ride home was quiet. Considering how exhausting the stakeout for Burbanks had been, Sara wasn't surprised none of them felt like talking. She frowned when she heard Jake, sitting in the front seat, cough. It was a good thing they did finish up tonight; the winter air had apparently turned his sneezes into a chest cold.

  Pulling up in front of Jake's apartment building, Danny reached over to shake the dozing man awake. "McCartey, you're home."

  "Thanks," Jake softly replied, then coughed again.

  As he slowly climbed out of the car, Sara stepped out as well. "Rookie, take something for that cough. And sleep in tomorrow."

  Jake cracked a smile, though Sara could tell it took more effort than usual. "Thanks, Mom."

  Sara aimed a half-hearted swipe at his shoulder, then turned to sit in the seat Jake had just vacated. By the time she was inside, Jake had disappeared into the building. She was pulling on the seatbelt when she realized she was sitting on something. Lifting her hind end slightly, Sara discovered a wallet.

  "What is it?" Danny asked, noting his partner's contortions.

  Flipping it open, Sara glanced at the driver's license. "It's Jake's. I better give it to him." She opened the door again.

  "It could wait until tomorrow," Danny suggested.

  Sara didn't answer. The red stone of the Witchblade had begun to swirl with light. Suddenly, she jumped out of the car and raced up the sidewalk.

  "Pez! Pez!" Worried, Danny shifted the car into park so he could follow his partner.

  * * *

  Jake felt like he'd been hit by a bus as he unlocked his apartment door. Exhaustion weighed down his chilled and aching body, emphasizing his sore throat. All he really wanted to do was fall face first into bed. He entered his dark apartment thinking only of sleep.

  Closing the door behind him, habit made Jake turn towards the locks. Then the sound of footsteps penetrated the fog in his brain. The young detective jerked away from the body hurling towards him, throwing up his arms for protection. Avoiding the main force, Jake barely noted the tug on his left forearm as he scrambled away from his attacker. He was fumbling for his gun when he was tackled to the floor in front of his TV.

  The faint light from his VCR reflected off the serrated hunting knife approaching his face. Using both hands, Jake managed to stop the wrist before it could descend further, but could not push the much heavier man away. The extra weight on his chest made it hard to breathe. Blood dripped from the knife tip onto his neck. The man's other hand gripped around his cross' heavy chain.

  Jake stared up into the glaring eyes peering through a stocking mask. He was shocked at the hate in them. "What... You... Want?" he managed to ask.

  For an answer, the man increased the pressure on the chain.

  Then his front door flew open. "Freeze, Police!" Sara yelled.

  The weight on his chest lifted, though the man yanked at the chain again as he stood. Then the intruder raced to the kitchen area and its fire escape, Sara on his heels.

  Anger pushed Sara's tired body through the window and down the metal stairs. Anyone who was brazen enough to break into a policeman's home and attack him deserved to be caught. But by the time she had reached the pavement, the attacker was gone. Sara quickly checked both ends of the alley and various doorways, but couldn't find where the perp had disappeared. She glanced at her innocent-looking bracelet. The large red stone embraced by intricate swirls of silver laid dormant. "Oh well," she thought to herself, "At least it warned me that Jake was in danger." She shuddered slightly as she turned back, remembering the vivid images the Witchblade had shown of her junior partner being attacked.

  When Sara reentered the apartment, Jake was lying on his back on the couch. Danny was holding Jake's left forearm high above the rest of his body,
pressing a dish towel against it. Sara could see blood soaking the cloth around Danny's fingers. When both men looked at her expectantly, Sara could only shake her head. Danny frowned as Jake simply closed his eyes and coughed.

  To Sara's questioning look at the towel, Danny replied, "I've already called it in and asked for an ambulance.

  "I don't need an ambulance," Jake replied. "I just need some sleep."

  "You need stitches," Danny corrected calmly. "This gash is pretty deep."

  "Give it up now, Rookie," Sara replied as she studied him. The blond looked too pale for her own peace of mind. "If Danny says you're going, you're going. Trust me, you can't talk him out of it."

  "Not that it ever kept you from trying, Pez," Danny replied with a smirk.

  Sara pulled the light blanket from off the back of the couch and draped it over Jake's prone body. Sitting on the end by his feet, she asked, "Any idea who it was?"

  Jake slowly shook his head. "He was husky, around six-four, six-five, and heavy. He had a stocking over his head. I could see his eyes, but it was so dark, I couldn't tell eye color."

  "Did he seem familiar?"

  "No." Jake coughed.

  "Any idea why he was here?"

  Jake again shook his head. "Maybe he wanted to rob me?"

  "Then why start in your bedroom when you have a large TV and a full sound system right here?" Danny questioned.

  Sara stood back up and walked to the open doorway. She whistled as she inspected the damage. Even Jake's mattress had been sliced open. "What in earth did you have in here?"

  Jake shrugged, trying to look nonchalant though his eyes reflected his unease. "Bed. Plants. Alarm clock. Clothes."

  Danny shook his head. "No way he'd go to all this trouble for clothes, especially your clothes."

  Sara walked back, noting one of Jake's desk drawers had been dumped. "You must have interrupted him." She gently patted Jake's ankle as she retook her seat. "Any idea what he was searching for?"