Disclaimers: Numb3rs belongs to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci…I think. (NOT me! NEVER me!)
Summary: What if instead of silencing Dr. Eppes permanently, Bonnie Parks’ kidnappers just wanted him out of the way so that the reporter would not be found before they were ready to release her?

Warnings: Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 11: “Breaking Point”, and possibly other episodes that relate ... I can’t think of any warnings other than that. If you think of any that I should mention, please let me know!

AN: OK, sorry for the wait on this chapter. I really didn’t expected it to take this long. :-(

Anyway, I DON’T HAVE A BETA-READER FOR THIS FIC, so there may be some rough spots in this chapter. I plan on editing it in the future and reposting, but after reading through the chapter several times myself right now I can’t do much more. If anyone would like to become my beta-reader for this fic (which is actually not that much longer), feel free to volunteer. And constructive criticism is always appreciated.

As for everyone else: Enjoy! ^_^

Abduction

By Jess S

Chapter 2: Searching

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

“Finally,” Don shook his head as his phone rang, glancing at the caller ID before answering, “Yeah, Colby what’ve you got?”

“Not much, Don,” the younger agent sighed. “Her editor said she didn’t do much work in her office, but it seems like she didn’t do much here, either. ‘Course that fits with what the editor said, too.”

“Yeah?”

“She called her an ‘absolute professional,’ and said she was always just about her work.” Colby paused for a second—probably looking around—then continued. “There’s some pictures of her family here, but most of this apartment looks like she hired a designer to set it all up and then never moved or added anything. Doesn’t look like she was even here all that often.”

Don sighed, glancing towards the media room where Amita and Larry were talking to two—no, now three—of the techs. Word about Charlie’s abduction seemed to have flown around the office. Every desk on this floor was full, all of the other SIC had contacted him some time in the last hour and all the techs they usually worked with were here. Hopefully whatever the techs had gotten from the voicemail would help them somehow. The timeframe for a search area didn’t really matter, of course. LAPD had already brought his car in and canvassed the area and the FBI’s crime scene techs had already examined everything they possibly could there. “So there’s nothing about her work? No notes in her desk or computer, videos—”

“The techs already went through her computer, remember? And no, there’s nothing else at her desk. Though there is a copy of Charlie’s book on one of the coffee tables.”

“Really?” Don felt one eyebrow shoot up even as a small grin forced its way out.

“Yeah, small world, huh? Maybe he’ll wanna autograph it for her later.”

Don could hear the grin in Colby’s voice even as it faded when the junior agent continued more seriously.

“There are some tapes of her reports, but they’re mostly the same ones we already have, plus a couple older ones.” Colby paused for a second, then continued. “David just talked to the super about her mail. ‘Said the LAPD collected all of it last week and had the post office forward it to them. David’s on the phone with ‘em right now.”

“All right, have ‘em send it over an—”

Colby cut him off, “Actually, we drove right by there on the way here. We can just pick ‘em up ourselves on the way back.”

Don shrugged but nodded his agreement, “Fine, whatever works.” Seeing his father headed over from the break room with two steaming cups of coffee in hand—the third cup he’d brought Don so far in the last few hours—he sighed, “I’ve gotta go. Keep me informed, OK?”

“Will do, boss.”

“Right, bye.” Don hung up, sliding his cell phone into the hold he had on his belt before accepting the caffeinated beverage from his father. “Thanks, Dad.”

His Dad nodded, before asking the same question he’d asked several times already, “Anything?”

Don sighed again, “We’re workin’ it, Dad. Why don’t you—”

“I’ll just see what everyone wants for lunch, then,” his father, cut in, turning away slightly before turning back with a raised eyebrow. “Starting with you. What’d you want?”

Don blinked, “Dad, you don’t hav—”

“I need to do something, Donnie,” the older man replied firmly, before adding more softly. “Please.”

After a long moment, Don nodded and shrugged. “I don’t know. Surprise me.” When his father started to turn away, he caught his arm and gently led him towards an empty conference room, feeling something else needed to be said. After closing the door behind him, he sighed, “Sorry, Dad—”

“For what, Donnie?” Alan Eppes shook his head, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

That didn’t feel true, but Don kept talking anyway. “You know, Dad. After we find Charlie, I’m—” he broke off for a second, something inside him not wanting to continued but he quickly shook it off. “I’m kinda thinking that maybe he shouldn’t work for me anymore.”

His father shrugged, “Well, I can’t say that wouldn’t be safer.” Then he sighed. “But he likes working with you.”

“I know, but—” Don shook his head, trying to grasp what it was that had been bothering him about Charlie working with him as of late. He’d gotten over worrying about his safety after a few years by setting some ground rules that should keep him safe. That’d worked until now. Obviously he was going to have to reevaluate the safety-issue. But it was more than that. “It’s more than just safety, you know. I mean, you an Mom, you sacrificed so much for him to do something great.”

Now his father frowned at him, “And what, you think he’s supposed to be doing something better than what you do?”

Don shrugged. Well with all of the special teaching and numerous other advantages Charlie’s genius had granted him, wasn’t that how it worked? “Yeah.”

He’d been expecting his Dad to be thrilled, or at least pleased at the idea of Charlie not working with the FBI anymore. At least then he’d only have one son to worry about getting mixed up in stuff like this. But then again, his Dad had said years before that he’d learn to make his peace with Charlie’s involvement. And apparently had, otherwise there’d probably be a lot of anger mixed in with his worry for the youngest Eppes.

“You know, uh,” his Dad shook his head. “None of us can tell where Charlie’s path to greatness might take him. I mean, even the FBI might be part of it.” Then he shrugged, smiling softly, “But like I said, he likes working with you. I don’t think you can stop him.”

Don shook his head again, “I don’t know.”

His father nodded, while placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Oh, and Donnie. We all made those sacrifices for Charlie. Especially you. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

After a moment the FBI agent nodded, “I guess,” he reluctantly agreed as he turned and opened the door to let his father out with a nod of thanks, before watching the weary older man walk off to start asking—apparently everyone on the floor, hopefully not the whole building—what they’d be having for lunch in an hour or so.

He glanced towards the elevators as he heard the doors slide open again—a part of him a little nervous since the last time he’d looked Amita had walked into the office in tears—but this time a surprised grin crossed his face as his misplaced agent glance around, before catching sight of him and crossing the bullpen towards him.

“Hey, boss.”

“Megan,” Don nodded, smiling briefly at the one good thing that had come out of this whole situation. “Welcome back.”

An Unknown Location

Charlie made it all the way to the screen door before he heard the loud, almost-echoing pound of pursuer’s footsteps, but his shaking hands weren’t able to unlock the door before a thickly muscled arm wrapped around his neck, jerking him backwards to fling him away from the door. The mathematician yelped at a sharp burst of pain in his arm and then again as his airborne course crashed through a table of some kind, effectively arresting his flight before the demolished table—and everything on it, which was thankfully only a few knickknacks and a lamp—collapsed down on top of him.

“You little shit!”

He heard the obviously angry man shout right before a fist slammed into his face, knocking him back against the couch the table had been in front of with another pained-cry. More blows and a few kicks followed, with Charlie trying to escape the worst of them by curling up with his arms over and around his head. Still, the blows landed, drawing out yelps, gasps and whimpers depending upon how much each hurt even as he subconsciously tried to maneuver away from both his attacker—which he really couldn’t do—and the shards of the lamp that had smashed after hitting his head and then falling to the floor. Those shard cut into him each time he fell back against them, but he found it was easier to focus on then the focused fury of his pissed off captor.

“Hey!” he heard his angry beater cry out as the blows suddenly stopped, but didn’t dare look up even as heard another voice reply.

“Wha’ the hell are you doin’, S—man? You were just ‘sposed ta take him ta the bathroom an’ back, same as the chick!”

“I did!” the first snarled back. “Then the little shit tried to run—”

“Course he did, ya moron! Wouldn’t you?”

Charlie looked up to see the second man pushing the first away. He thought these two were the same ones that had ‘woken him up’ last night, but he wasn’t sure. Still, the larger man had technically ‘saved’ him, though obviously for less than altruistic reasons as he went on.

“Boss doesn’ want him dead. You know that. And we didn’ sign up for no murder, we’re not gettin’ paid enough for that.” The larger man shook his head, letting out a disgusted sigh that would probably be visible on his face if he wasn’t wearing a mask, and waved towards Charlie. “Let’s get ‘im back in the cellar. We’ve still gotta clean out the bitch’s warehouse some time today.”

Charlie cringed away from them as both men turned towards him, the smaller one still radiating explosive fury and the larger, more sensible one clearly angry too. Still, he couldn’t avoid there massive hands as they closed around his arms, but he cried out in agony as they started to jerk him to his feet, then gasped when he was dropped back onto the sharp shards of the broken lamp again.

“Ah, man, you broke his arm!”

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

Don nodded in thanks as he accepted a BLT sub from his Dad, watching as one was handed to each of the others around the table. A chicken-Caesar wrap to Megan, who was skimming through some of the info they already had on the case. Some kind of beef-subs to Colby and David, who were going through the box of mail they’d picked up a short time before. And another chicken-Caesar wrap for Amita, who was staring at the food his Dad put in front of her but not, he thought, really seeing it.

After a moment he rolled his seat over to the spot at the table right next to her and gently touched her arm, “Amita? You OK?”

The mathematician started, eyes darting over to his before she blinked several times and then nodded. “Y-Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just...” she sighed, shaking her head as she looked down at her sandwich. “I just hope he stopped for dinner, at least, last night.”

Don nodded in understanding, though he was glad his father had stepped out of the room to bring all the other workers in the office their lunches. “Yeah, Charlie can be a little bad at that.”

Amita nodded, but she was frowning as she replied, “Um, I was just th-thinking...” she paused for a second, glancing at her sandwich before looking up again, to hesitantly meet his eyes. “K-Kidnappers... do they usually feed, um, their, um—”

“Victims?” Don suggested his tone gentle, and then sighed when she nodded and shook his head. “Sometimes... There really isn’t a ‘usual’, from what I’ve seen,” he replied, glancing around at the other agents to see them nodding in return.

“But that doesn’t mean you should eat, Amita,” Megan told her gently, and all of the other agents nodded again. “We all have to keep our strength up, to help us find Bonnie and Charlie, all right?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” Amita nodded, quickly taking a small bite of her sandwich, shaking her head as she chewed it as little as possible and then swallowed. “What do you need me to do?” she looked like she was shaking her head again as she looked quickly around at everyone else in the room, eyes hopeful.

“Well, we still have those numbers Charlie was going to take a look at,” David pointed out, grabbing one of the folders Megan had already skimmed through to hand it to Amita. “Maybe you figure ‘em out?”

“Yeah, and Charlie’s always thinking up math-stuff to help us, and we’d appreciate anything you can offer in that department,” Don told her, raising an eyebrow. “Anything come to mind?”

Amita shook her head. “But I’ll take a look at these, I guess.”

“And I believe it would be best for me to join that endeavor,” Larry spoke up from the doorway, before making his way over to Megan, who rose to greet him.

Everyone smiled slightly as they hugged. Though Colby was shaking his head just as slightly, seemingly forever bewildered by why Megan would want to date Dr. Lawrence Fleinhardt. Don was surprised when they actually exchanged a quick peck on the lips right in front of them, but chose not to say anything as they stepped back from each other and Megan raised an eyebrow, almost daring anyone to comment.

Instead Don caught Amita’s arm again, and nodded towards her wrap. “You should finish that, first. Don’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings.”

She smiled sheepishly but obediently took her seat even as Larry wheeled a chair around over to sit next to Megan while she reclaimed her seat. And Larry set his own lunch on the table—a sub from the exact same place all of theirs had come from.

“Yes, Alan seems to have lunch for everyone today, very kind of him.”

“Yeah, well,” Don shook his head. “Gave him somethin’ to do, I guess.” Then turning to Megan he raised an eyebrow, seeing as she wasn’t only reading the summaries, she’d also gotten the first look at what forensics had so far. “So?”

“Looks like the techs were able to identify most of the sounds in the voicemail. And they’ve got the perp’s—or at least one of the perps’—voice for comparison, but there really isn’t any way to get a positive ID with that.” Megan set that file down, nodding to Amita as she did so, before picking up another file. “Like LAPD said, forensics found traces of chloroform in Charlie’s car, as well as a little blood on a steering wheel.”

“I thought the airbag deployed?” Amita protested softly and Megan nodded again.

“It did, so he must have hit his head before the major crash, maybe when they were rear-ending him. The airbag deployed when he hit the tree, which stopped the car.”

“Makes sense,” Don nodded before shaking his head, not liking any of the images that the analysis provoked. He shot another glance at his brother’s girlfriend and frowned at the pained expression on her face. “Amita? You OK?”

After a moment, Amita started to nod—then changed to shaking her head—but finally decided on nodding. “Yeah, I...” then she shook her head. “I just can’t believe we teased him.”

The two FBI agents blinked at her and glanced at each other before turning fully back to the troubled consultant.

“What? Charlie?” Don demanded, softening his tone when Megan lightly kicked his ankle, but still keeping an intense stare fixed on the Amita as she almost flinched at the question and then nervously brushed a few long, dark strands of hair out of her face before replying.

“Larry and I. We really thought Charlie was just being paranoid, but I knew that the truck had really bothered him an—”

“What truck?” Megan asked gently, before Don could demand more heatedly.

“Th-The one the night before last, that scared him?” Amita’s reply was hesitant, and soft enough that both FBI agents had to lean towards her to hear all of it. “Larry and I teased him about it yesterday morning, but now that I think about it, it’d probably worry me too.”

“What truck?” Don snapped the question, his big-brother instincts coming to the forefront of his mind again—not that they had all that far to go, since Charlie had just been taken, bringing them to high, barely ignorable alert—at the thought of someone scaring his brother even before the kidnapping.

Amita stared at him for a moment, shaking her head before she murmured softly, “…H-He didn’t tell you?”

An Unknown Location

Charlie moaned as he tried to move into a more comfortable position. Problem was, if there was a comfortable position possibly on this cold floor—easily felt through the too thin pad he’d been given to sleep on—he certainly couldn’t find it. Especially with his hands handcuffed together when his arm was still screaming sporadically and bits of porcelain still digging into his back.

Thankfully, his captors’ initial thoughts on his injured arm had been wrong. It definitely wasn’t broken. But something had been sprained or pulled or... something. Cause it hurt a lot more then the rest of his body, which wasn’t in good shape either.

“Here,” Bonnie murmured softly, sliding a hand under his neck by his shoulders to help him sit up as she held an open water bottle towards him. “Drink this.”

In a small show of mercy their kidnappers had decided to place Charlie closer to Bonnie, giving her the freedom to look after him more easily. Though more cruelly instead of chaining his relatively unhurt arm to the nearby pipe they had Bonnie chained to, they’d cuffed his hands together, putting pressure on his hurt arm and thereby ensuring he was in a state of constant pain.

Obediently, Charlie edged himself up until he was sitting upright enough to drink and let Bonnie pour small sips of water into his mouth, closing his eyes at the small amount of relief that the feel of the—not cool, but at least wet—liquid flowing down his throat provided. He opened them again when she took the bottle away and let him lie back.

“Sorry,” the reporter shrugged, shaking her head as she put the cap on the bottle and twisted it closed. “But we’ve gotta ration this, remember?” she glanced nervously at the three small paper bags on the floor.

Charlie blinked, “Three—”

Bonnie cut him off gently, “They didn’t leave a new bag for you,” she murmured, thinly veiled disgust in her voice as she shook her head. “Guess they didn’t think beating you was enough.”

Charlie nodded slightly, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment. She was right, he knew. Especially about the water. He was experienced enough as a hiker to know that dehydration could be a very, very dangerous thing. And he was pretty sure it was a recognized fact that the human body could go without food for a fairly long period of time, but the time you could go without water was significantly shorter.

“How ‘bout we play a game?” Bonne suggested after several moments of silence, her quiet words almost echoing in the chilly, barely lit room.

Charlie felt a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow in amusement, “A game?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout...anywhere but here?”

Charlie almost choked on a surprised laugh, “Seems appropriate. OK, you first.”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Your idea.”

Bonnie chuckled slightly, shaking her hair swinging from side to side as she slowly shook her head. After a few more moments of thought, she shrugged. “I probably couldn’t paint myself as more of a workaholic if I tried, but honestly I’d like to be working.”

“At your office?”

“No,” she shook her head again. “No. I don’t do any work at my office at CNN, except occasionally for interviews when I really need to sell the ‘this is going on the news’ to get anything for the story.”

Charlie chuckled softly, but otherwise remained silent as she continued.

“I, uh, I don’t do my work at home either. Actually, I really don’t spend much time at my apartment at all. Most of the time I’m working in the warehouse district. I rented a warehouse there and refurbished it as workplace.”

“Why?”

The reporter shrugged, “Because I’ve always been paranoid, although,” she grimaced, eyeing their surrounding. “Considering our current accommodations, I suppose I shouldn’t call it paranoia. You’re not paranoid if they’re really out to get you.”

“No,” the mathematician agreed quietly, before gently prodding. “So you do all your work there?”

“Yeah. Most of the time. I find it easier to write there. Maybe even just to think.” Bonnie shrugged. “Every breakthrough I’ve had—that was dependent upon my own intuition, at least—happened there.” Suddenly the reporter chuckled, before shrugging when Charlie raised an eyebrow again in curiosity. “Most of my breakthroughs tend to happen late at night, too. Between eleven PM and one in the morning, I think.” She arched an eyebrow—that was either naturally very elegantly shaped or simply hadn’t lost it’s elegant shape since she’d first been captured—back at him, “What about you?”

“When do I have, um, ‘breakthroughs’?” Charlie frowned slightly in thought, before shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know. I’ve never really noticed a pattern.” Then he shrugged sheepishly. “Of course, when I’m really focused on something I don’t stop working on it until it’s done. So I guess the timing of the breakthrough may be dependent upon whenever I started working on the problem.”

“Makes sense,” Bonnie nodded, sighing. “Though I really haven’t had any major ‘breakthrough’ moments since college.”

Charlie frowned at her, “But you’ve had dozens of—”

“Stories for the news, yeah. Non-fiction.” Bonnie shook her head. “It doesn’t write itself and it takes plenty of work but...” she waved one of her hands around before dropping it to her side again. “Doesn’t take quite as much creativity.”

“You write fiction too?” The mathematician asked, wondering why that small fact hadn’t been part of her profile. It was probably irrelevant, but then again techs that gathered the data for his algorithms had gotten used to including the most obscure facts to give him more data to work with.

But Bonnie shook her head, “Not anymore. I used to, in college.” She shrugged. “A few short-stories and poems. Started a novel that’s sat—half-finished—in a safe-deposit box for almost four years now.” She stopped, staring at the ground for several heavy moments of silence.

Finally Charlie broke it, “Why’d you stop writing it?” he asked quietly, then almost winced reflexively when he saw her wince.

Bonnie shook her head again, “I-I started writing it for—Clay talked me into it. Said with all the stories I used to tell when we’d go on camping trips I should have at least one fantasy-book on the shelves. A-After he d-died...” She shrugged and sighed as she finished. “I just couldn’t write any more. Least not in that book.”

“...I’m sorry.”

Bonnie shook her head, wiping at her eyes for a moment even though no tears had fallen from her eyes. Almost like she thought she was crying but had no tears to do so. “Thanks, Charlie. But it’s hardly your fault.” The smile she shot him now was sad, even as she changed the subject. “So what’s your brother like?”

Charlie blinked, “What?”

“Your brother and his ‘team’? You mentioned them earlier.” She shrugged slightly, “Talking about your friends’d probably be more uplifting then anywhere but here.”

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

Don sighed as Amita drew to a tentative close with all of the agents eyes on her.

“So that was a silver pick-up with fog lights and some bodywork, right?” Colby summarized, rising and making his way over towards the monitor with the parking garage security tapes when Amita nodded.

“Ya got something?” Don asked, watching the tape zoom back to just before Bonnie entered before stopping and then moving slowly forward.

“One second,” Colby replied, staring intently at the monitor. A little under three minutes—on the tape, according to the recording—he stopped, and everyone stared at the vehicle. “Something like that, right?”

“Well,” Megan sighed, shaking her head, “I think it’s safe to tell the AD that the cases are definitely connected now.”

Don closed his eyes for a moment in silent grimace before opening them again, shaking his head, “Why would they grab Charlie?”

“They saw his interview,” David murmured, taking a big bite of his sub, chewing quickly and swallowing before continuing. “They knew he was workin’ the case.”

“Yeah, and he’s an easy target,” Colby pointed out, shrugging apologetically when Don glared at him. He started sorting through his half of the mail again even as he finished, “Doesn’t shoot back.”

“Yeah,” Don agreed with a sigh, shaking his head as his eyes went to the offending vehicle on the screen. “Get any plates for that?”

“No,” Colby shook his head. “The bodywork obscures them from the camera’s sight,” he pointed out a bit unnecessarily as they could all see that in the picture. “And I can go back and check, but I’ve watched the half-hour before and the half-hour after Bonnie arrived pretty closely. I’m pretty sure the rear plates were hidden by glare because of the car behind ‘em when they came in. Hey,” he held up two envelopes. “She gets two power bills,” he put one down on the table, “that ones for her apartment, but this ones for an address down in the warehouse district.”

“Think that could be where she actually works?” David caught on, stuffing the rest of his sub into his mouth as he rose.

Don rose also after finishing his sandwich, suppressing a smirk when Megan shot him a glare as she was only half-way though hers. “It’s worth checking out. What’s the address?”

Colby glanced at the envelope, “It’s eight-nineteen Third Street, number one-O-four.”

“OK, let’s check it out. See ya Amita, bye Larry.”

Megan shook her head as she followed them to the elevator, hitting the button for the parking the garage and letting the doors close before she said anything else. “Aren’t you stuck to a desk?”

Don shrugged, “We’re not going for any arrests—”

“Still, Don—”

Don rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll stay in the car until the scene is secure. Alright?”

He saw Megan roll her eyes, but apparently that was enough of a concession for her, which was good cause that was all she was getting.

They’d only worked a few cases without her since she went to work with the DOJ and he’d actually forgotten just how easily she could manipulate the rest of them with just the right words from an agent’s angle, or worse a psychological perspective. From the half-smirks that Colby and David were trying to wipe from their faces, they hadn’t.

An Unknown Location

Charlie couldn’t suppress a grimace as he was finally able to lean back against the cold cement wall. They’d spent nearly five minutes slowly struggling into this position, and he hadn’t wanted to eat anyway. His stomach was already in aching knots, and the sight of the half a sandwich Bonnie held out to him didn’t help in that regard. “Is this really—”

“Charlie,” Bonnie shook her head as she gently grabbed his uninjured hand and turned it slightly to set the proffered food in it. “We’ve already been through this, remember? You have to eat.”

With a sigh, he obediently brought the sandwich up to his mouth, slow and careful so as to avoid jarring his injured arm. He hadn’t bothered looking at the label, and didn’t really care what kind of sandwich it was anyway. Like Bonnie said, he had to eat it either way. But he thought it might be tuna. Very, very dry tuna-salad. He wasn’t sure, but that was kind of what it tasted like. The ham and cheese one he’d had earlier was better, but that might’ve been because it was fresher.

“What’d you think we’re eating?” Bonnie asked after a few moments of mindless munching.

Charlie sighed, “Tuna, I think.”

“Huh, I was gonna go with chicken salad.”

Charlie took another bite of his, actually taking the time to role the none-too-tasty substance around on his tongue before swallowing and shaking his head. “Nope. This is tuna, chicken’s a little more bland.” He frowned at the sandwich. “Doesn’t stuff like mayonnaise go bad if it’s not refrigerated?”

“They’re not that old, Charlie,” Bonnie chuckled softly, and he saw a small smile had found its way onto her face again when he glanced at her. “Though you’re right, they’ll only be good for a few days.” Her smile disappeared in favor of a small grimace. “Which means we’ll probably have to eat through the sandwiches first, and ration the crackers later.”

“Makes sense,” the mathematician nodded. “How many—”

“We still have our old bags and one new one. I ate one-and-a-half of my old sandwiches and you ate one of yours. So—”

“We have six-and-a-half sandwiches. And how many of the peanut butter crackers?”

“Twelve packets altogether.”

“Seventy-two crackers.” Charlie nodded, his mind immediately responding with all the relevant stats. “So we can stretch the sandwiches out to a little over two days if you want to have half-a-sandwich at each meal. Then we’ll have the crackers, but what about water?”

Bonnie sighed, “We still have two of your bottles and four from my bags,” she wetted her lips nervously before hesitantly asking, “Do you know h-how much—?”

Charlie winced, closing his eyes as he sighed. “I think it’s s-something like three-liters’ a day is the minimum on average*. How much is in the bottles?”

“One liter...A-Are you sure we can’t stretch it more than that?” the reporter asked, obviously not thinking it was necessary to point out that they only had enough water for one day, if they followed the three-liter standard.

The mathematician still didn’t feel like opening his eyes as he replied, “I-I think we’ll h-have to let our bodies decide that.”

“What? Just drink if we’re thirsty, no ratios or—”

“No. Just drink sparingly when you’re thirsty.”

After several seconds of silence Bonnie sighed. “OK. But you still have to finish your lunch.”

Now Charlie did open his eyes, to smile slightly as he glanced at her hands. “You too.”

819 Third Street, Los Angeles, California

Don nodded as Megan pointed out there destination. “I see it Megan,” he smirked and jerked his head towards his GPS. “The GPS does, too. And I’m pretty sure David and Colby know, too, since they’re ahead of us and slowing down.”

“Sorry,” Megan rolled her eyes, sounding amused.

“Glad to be back?” Don asked with a grin.

“Yeah,” the profiler immediately replied, smiling warmly. Before shaking her head. “I hate the fact that Charlie was taken, of course, but—” she sighed. “This is what I joined the FBI for, so it’s nice to be here again.”

“DOJ job not that great?”

Megan was quiet for a long moment, a dark shadow crossing through her eyes in that moment, but she nodded as it faded away. “No, it’s not.”

“You know when they’re gonna want you back?”

“If I had my way, never,” she shook her head, long hair swaying gently back and forth. “But that didn’t work to well for turning them down the first time, so,” she stopped with a shrug.

Don turned a concern look towards her, “The AD said it was a good assignment.”

Megan snorted, “The AD doesn’t know anything about it.” Then she was frowning at something outside. “Shit.”

Don glanced towards the door that they were coming for and immediately saw the problem. The door was open and three men were coming out, the two in front carrying storage boxed full of paper. His hand turned his sirens on, almost of its own accord even as David and Colby—already out of their car—closed in on the trio.

“Stay in here,” Megan snapped at him, before flinging her door open as he stopped the SUV and had to watch, lips tightly pursed in anger as he knew he had no choice but to obey.

As the man without a box drew a gun, Don’s hand flew to his own, but he knew he couldn’t get out of the car. He’d get kicked off the case. So he could only watch as two of the three men dropped their boxes and fled while the third member of their group covered their retreat. One of Colby’s bullets—it could’ve been David or Megan’s, but he thought Colby had had a better angle—dropped the shooter. But a moment later Megan turned and waived towards him and he resisted the urge to punch something even as he hit his phone’s ‘call’ button to call the situation in.

They’d gotten away.

An Unknown Location

Charlie frowned, shaking his head slightly as he twisted the cap of his water back on as tightly as he could before setting it aside. “What’d you mean?”

Bonnie laughed and shook her head, smiling just as slightly. “It’s not a hard leap in logic, doctor. I’d think it be even easier for you then me—since you’re a professional logician, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“But you’re not too keen on analyzing yourself,” the reporter cut in, still smiling as she continued. “That doesn’t mean you can’t analyze yourself though. So that’s what your afraid of, right? You’re worried that Don’ll shut you out again.”

Charlie started, “He didn’t shut me out before. He—”

“At the very least stopped talking to you for a considerable length of time,” Bonnie shook her head. “I’m sure it wasn’t entirely deliberate, of course. Distance, work and life in general undoubtedly all played their parts, but when it came down to it, between when the two of you left for college and his return of LA—more than a decade later—how many times did he call you.”

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, half-expecting the correct number to just pop out, but paused as he realized he actually wasn’t sure. After a moment he sighed, “I talked to him a few times a month in college.”

“He called you?”

Charlie’s eyes closed. “No,” he murmured softly. “No, he was usually calling for mom. Sh-She went to Princeton with me, for the first three years.”

Bonnie nodded in understanding, “And how many times did he call you in your fourth year of school?”

The genius winced, “Once or twice.” He shrugged, “I was busy though. And I’ve never been good about checking my messages or keeping my phone charged. S-So he could’ve called some other times, too.” Then a smile shot across his face as a memory deigned to reveal itself. “He called me when he got into Quantico.”

“When was that?”

“Almost two years after he graduated. He kept playing for the Stockton Rangers, then he...” Charlie shook his head. “I don’t know what happened, really. He just decided he wanted to be an FBI agent, so he quit baseball—I always thought he loved playing—and then he joined the Bureau.”

Bonnie shook her head, grinning slightly. “Maybe he thought it was time to stop playing. Maybe he wanted to make a difference in the world. Or maybe he just wanted to play with more dangerous toys,” she shrugged. “Could be a story there, though.”

Charlie started, and quickly shook his head despite the pain the rapid motion caused, “Bonnie, you can’t write—”

“Relax, mon ami,” the reporter shook her head, smiling gently. “I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t let my work hurt innocent people. And I certainly don’t want to hurt a...” she trailed off and looked away suddenly, biting her lower lip.

The mathematician frowned slightly at her, staring in consideration before he decided on finishing her sentence, “A friend?”

819 Third Street, Los Angeles, California

“…Yeah. It’s eight-nineteen, East-Third.” Don repeated for the third time as he watched his team members shuffle through the boxes the men had tried to steal out of the warehouse.

“Roger that, Agent. CSI’s on its way and LAPD has started sweeping the area.” The operator he’d caught replied. “LAPD is looking for the white-truck.”

“Great, thanks.” Don replied shortly before hanging up, still unhappy at their failure to apprehend the three men: though one of the would-be-thieves was dead. He shook his head and nodded towards the boxes, “Anything?”

“This guy’s gone,” David commented from the other side of the fence he’d climbed over a few moments before, shaking his head as he rose from checking his pulse.

Colby sighed, then shrugged as he pulled the lid off another box, “You know, I’m pretty sure I wounded a second one of those guys.”

“I think so too,” Megan murmured, though her eyes remained fixed on the papers she was sorting through. “CSI’ll have to look for blood spatter down there.”

Don nodded, frowning as he eyed his team mates, “And you’re all right? You’re good?” he nodded again after receiving quick nods from all three agents while David climbed back over the fence. “Anybody get a plate-number for their—”

“I couldn’t see it at my angle,” Colby cut in, “but that was definitely the truck from the video.”

“You sure?” Don frowned, one fist clenching in further frustration at the perps’ flight.

“And the one Amita described,” Megan nodded in agreement, then sighed as she shook her head at the pages of used line paper she’d been sorting through. “Well I can’t make heads or tails of this. It’s just more of those numbers.”

“Well Charlie always says that more data is a good thing, right?” David shrugged, shaking is head at the numbers before his eyes went back to the newspaper clippings he was sorting through as he continued, “Maybe it’ll help Amita and techs decode it.”

“We can always hope,” Don agreed, before shaking his head to kneel down next to his agents, hoping his earlier, useless hovering hadn’t been too irritating before dismissing the thought. “These guys were clearing out Bonnie’s workplace, so—”

“So they’re probably working for whoever she was investigating,” David interrupted with a nod towards the newspaper clipping he’d been looking at. “She’s got a lotta stuff on this guy, Richard Taylor.”

“Richard Taylor?” Colby frowned, shaking his head. “He’s a big real estate developer, right?”

“Yeah,” Megan immediately confirmed. “Actually he’s been in the news a lot lately. Wants to start a big development for the city.”

“Looks like he’s who she was investigating, then,” Colby commented, before frowning as something in his box caught his eye and he reached down to pull it out quickly. “Wait a minute, this guy’s one of the guys that just pull off in the truck?”

“You sure?” Don frowned, scrutinizing the photo.

“And that’s Taylor!” Megan pointed out, pointing to one of the pictures in the news articles David was going through.

Colby nodded in agreement before answering Don’s question, “Yeah, I’m positive.” He confirmed with a frown. “He’s the one that started shooting first.”

“Yeah,” David agreed. “He was in the middle. Drew his gun behind the box he was carrying,” he finished, pointing to the smallest crate, which Megan was still sorting through.

Don’s frown somehow managed to deepen as he took the photo from Colby’s unresisting hand, “Looks like we’ll be talking to Taylor soon, then.”

Megan frowned at him as she set her useless—to their eyes at least—pages of numbers back down in the box and put it’s lid back on before rising, her head shaking. “One of us will talk to Taylor, Don,” she said, waving a hand to indicate Colby or David. “You can’t. We’re probably giving his defense attorneys too much to work with by your involvement in the investigation anyway, you can’t interrogate Taylor.”

“She’s right, Don,” David pointed out unnecessarily, while Colby nodded in agreement.

Don sighed and shook his head, his jaw clenching as he called on all his training to push back the furious-big-brother in him to let the experienced-agent maintain control. “I know.”

Megan stared at him for several long seconds before she nodded to the other two agents, “You guys check-out the warehouse, Don and I’ll take care of these,” she finished, indicating the boxes.

Both of the junior agents nodded, dropping the papers they’d been holding back into their respective boxes before rising quickly to move towards the warehouse door.

Don watched them go, wanting to follow but again knowing that he really couldn’t. So instead he grabbed one of the lids to seal the boxes up, while Megan did the same. Then he pulled his car-remote out of his pocket, hitting the button that made the back of the SUV open automatically before taking Megan’s box, which was slightly smaller than the other two, and set it on top of his before taking hold of the lower boxes handles as he rose to move it into his SUV while Megan followed with the third box.

The way this case was going now, if they didn’t find Charlie—and Bonnie, but it was Charlie’s kidnapping that effected the agent personally—soon, Don would almost definitely be completely removed from the case. He knew his team wouldn’t want to, but it was getting harder and harder to push big-brother back. And all it would take was a second of lost control to loose the case. Which was probably why the team’s profiler was still studying him, her eyes intent.

“You OK?” Megan asked, and he knew that she wasn’t fishing for how he was handling everything personally. She was doing her job and making sure he was still able to do his.

“Yeah,” Don replied firmly, hoping that was enough to satisfy her for now. And hoping that he was right about himself as he slid the crates into the back of his SUV, waiting till Megan had done the same before closing the door. Then he suppressed a sigh of relief as several familiar vehicles—SUVs and cars similar to the ones he and his teammates drove, fed cars—turned onto the street.

Megan’s gaze remained intent on his face for several more moments as the other cars stopped around them, before she turned her attention to another approaching agent.

Don’d have to remember to be extra nice to the CSI guys for a while. A long while.

An Unknown Location

Charlie smiled, resisting the urge to shake his head as he knew it’d certainly make his hurting head go from a dull, persistent ache to sharper, throbbing pain again. “Friends are a good thing to have, Bonnie. That’s why you read my book, right?”

Bonnie chuckled, “Yeah, I guess. Though I was kinda hoping for some help in the dating department too.”

Charlie blinked, unable to keep an eyebrow from rising as he gave the slightly younger woman a quick once over. “I wouldn’t think that’d be a problem for you.”

Even after more than a week in these horrible conditions and all of the stress, lack-of-nutrition and whatnot associated with their captivity, Bonnie was still a very pretty woman. Of course, he was probably a bit biased. For one thing, he was in much worse shape then she was, she was also the only friendly face around here and she reminded him of Amita. It wasn’t just that both women shared dark black hair and pretty smiles though. They shared the level of intensity, of focus, that Charlie often found himself drawn to. It was a characteristic that he knew he had in spades and often handicapped him, as most women wouldn’t tolerate being ignored or their date being distracted by random patterns or a sudden break-through in his work.

“Getting a date, yeah,” Bonnie shrugged. “It’s the long-term relationships I have trouble with.” She sighed and shrugged again. “Like I said earlier, I really get caught up in my work. So I could easily go weeks at a time without any real desire to date, which most guys don’t consider girlfriend-material. Not the ones that actually want to commit to that, anyway.”

Charlie sighed in agreement, “Yeah, I have trouble with that too. That’s why I’ve mostly only dated women with PhDs. They tend to understand more.”

“Tried that. Dating a doctor, I mean.” Bonnie grimaced. “It was only about three months before I first suspected he was seeing someone else. Turns out he’d been dating a bunch of the nurses at his hospital on and off in my absence.” She shook her head, “The sleazebag didn’t even seem to get that I wouldn’t like what he was doing.”

The mathematician closed his eyes for a moment in sympathy, barely keeping himself form shaking his head again. “Well, I guess it might take you more work to find someone worth dating. I mean, all of the women I’ve dated since I got my PhD are women I met through work.” Then he frowned, “Well, actually one was someone my mom tried to set me up with, but that didn’t work.”

“Why not?”

Charlie grimaced, “She was a really nice girl and very pretty, but we really didn’t have much to talk about.”

“Yeah, I’m OK with talking, obviously,” Bonnie shook her head. “It’s the long stretches of work, when I’m not really interested in talking, that are the problem.” She sighed a little sadly then, “It was a little different when my parents and brother were still around. My mom and dad set me up with a few good dates, and my brother put the fear of God—or at least of my little-brother-who’s-in-the-army—into most of them, so cheating wasn’t an issue.”

“Have you tried any of those dating-services?”

The reporter grimaced again. “I’ve investigated some of those services, but yeah I’ve tried a few times,” she shrugged. “Still, the first few dates were great but they didn’t work out long-term either.” After a moment of silence she shook her head before deliberately changing the topic again. “So what’d you think your friends are up to now?”

Charlie blinked, and then smiled slightly. “I know they’re working hard to find us. Both of us.”

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

Don shook his head in frustration, “You really couldn’t get anything out of him?”

“All we have is a picture of him talking to a man that may be our perp on a crowded street, Don,” Megan reminded him, sighing. “It’s not much to threaten him with. We definitely can’t arrest him for that. And he knows it.”

“Yeah,” Colby agreed with a nod as the trio made their way towards the media room where David was still talking with a few of the techs. “He all but rubbed our faces in it.”

Megan nodded, “He’s not going to be winning anything with that personality, that’s for sure.” Then she sighed again. “But he’s not a sociopath. Just your typically sleazy-businessman with ties to crime.”

“Hey guys,” David nodded to them as the disgruntled trio entered the media room while the two techs he’d been talking to left. Then he winced at they’re expressions, “The meeting with Taylor was that bad, huh?”

Colby shook his head quickly, “Not even worth talking about unless you want to listen to useless complaints.”

“Well, the tech department put together some information on the guy.” David shook his head, “But we still don’t have any idea what those numbers are.”

“Amita and Larry—”

David cut Don off, “Are still working on them, with most of the techs backing them up.” He shook his head, “But no luck so far.”

Don sighed, then nodded towards the TV screen that had an image of Taylor smirking smugly at them while leaning over some kind of model. “What else have you found?”

“His firm’s working on a big project. It’s a redevelopment with just about everything they can cram into and it makes Taylor look like a big hero to the city. Bringing a revenue center to a formally blighted area.”

“But Bonnie Parks doesn’t see him that way?” Colby guessed and David nodded again.

“Yeah, she’s been talking mostly with the poor local residents who’ve all been forced out to make room for the development, and they’ve been terrorized by thugs—”

“Taylor’s criminal ties,” Megan interjected, frowning at the picture of their head-perp. “He forced them to sell?”

“Isn’t kidnapping Parks and then grabbing Charlie too kind of overboard for this sort of thing though?” Don shook his head, firmly keeping ‘big-brother’ under lock and key to keep his experience as an agent in charge. “I mean, these things get some kind of bad press all the time, don’t they?”

David nodded again, “Yeah, but if Bonnie timed it right she could ruin the whole thing. Because his projects not free and clear yet,” he opened one of the files on the nearby computer, bringing up a news article on the screen. “He’s still waiting on a vote from the zoning commission.”

“So he can’t afford any organizes opposition to his project,” Megan realized with a nod.

Colby also nodded, “Especially not bad press. If Bonnie does this exposé and shows what Taylor’s been up to—”

“It gets voted down,” Don nodded. “And he looses the bookoo bucks.”

“So now we have motive,” Megan commented and David nodded again.

“The problem is, if Bonnie had any kind of proof, it’s not here,” he told them, gesturing to the boxes the thugs had tried to steal from Bonnie’s warehouse.

After several moments of silence Don nodded and gestured towards another display, where the morgue-shot of the guy Colby had taken out was on display. “We’re working this guy, right?”

“Yeah. The techs and forensics are going over him now,” David confirmed. “Haven’t IDed him yet.” But then again they’d only shipped the body down to forensics a little while ago.

“And Amita and Larry are still working the number streams,” Colby pointed out, shaking his head. “I mean, there has to be something to them, right? We’ve seen her work. She wouldn’t have made those lists if they weren’t important. I mean, she’s too deliberate and focused for that.” David and Don both nodded in agreement, but Megan was watching the younger agent with a knowing-look, and Colby frowned at her. “What?”

The profiler immediately shook her head, “Nothing. You’re right.”

Don was fairly sure he didn’t want to know what was going through the female agent’s head. Especially since she seemed to be analyzing Colby, which was better than her analyzing Don himself but he didn’t really want to know what was going through the younger agent’s head if it wasn’t relevant to the case. After a moment, Don shook his head again and sighed. “Well, I’ll go check up on Amita and Larry then. Keep working this?”

Megan raised an eyebrow at him, but nodded in agreement while David did the same and Colby replied with his semi-typical, “Yeah, boss.”

An Unknown Location

Charlie frowned as the familiar sound of the front door banging open came through the floor, followed by many pairs of feet moving quickly through the house as the door slammed shut behind them. He looked at Bonnie, “I thought—”

“They’ve never come for a third visit in one day,” the reporter confirmed, her blue eyes fearful as she looked at him before her eyes went back to the ceiling and then to the entryway to their room as footsteps pounded down the basement stairs. She did, however, quickly move to help him sit up again as he started struggling.

Then both of them watched warily as the bookcase that blocked the entryway was moved back and four masked men—different from any of the ones they’d seen before, he thought—came in.

One of the men, apparently the leader since he was issuing orders, pointed at Charlie. “Get her.”

Charlie couldn’t help but flinch back as the other three men moved towards them, despite the fact that they were apparently intent on Bonnie.

“Wait, wha—”

Bonnie’s question was cut off with a cry as one of the large men struck her, sending her tumbling to the side before the cuffs that bound her to the overhead pipe brought her flight to a jarring stop.

“Shut up, both of you,” one of the men—the one that had just hit her—snarled.

“But—”

“Just gag her already,” the leader cut Bonnie off, his order also saving her from being hit again.

Instead her abuser pushed her back against the wall and, after catching the roll of duct tape the leader threw at him, used it to tape her out shut before he handed the tape off to one of the men that had pushed Charlie further away from Bonnie.

“Him too,” the leader confirmed

The mathematician shook his head, ignoring the burst of pain that sent through his head as he desperately asked, “Where are y—”

He cried out as his question was also cut off with a blow to the face. By the time he had blinked back the starts the blow had made him see a few moments later, his mouth had been sealed by a layer of the rough, sticky material. Just before a bag—made of some kind or rough, dark material that he couldn’t see through—was slipped over his head. The mathematician choked on a pain filled gasp as his captors ignored his obvious injuries and started half-carrying, half-dragging him somewhere.

“Just leave him there, an’ get the girl up into the truck.” the leader snapped, and Charlie was abruptly dropped partially onto one of the mats, partially onto the cold cement floor.

Charlie could hear Bonnie struggling faintly, but couldn’t help flinch back as he heard one of the men approaching him again.

He found out a moment later that it was the 'leader'. Though the man’s tone had changed to one of mild amusement, his voice was easily recognizable. “Don’t worry, Doc, Ms. Parks. The Boss just wants you two separated: for insurance. Who knows. Boss gets his way and you two might just see each other in the light of day.”

Then the men were moving away, and Charlie heard the terribly familiar sound of the bookcase being slid back into place. The men pounded up the stairs again, and a few seconds later the front door open and slammed shut behind them.

And Charlie was left there.

Tied up, gagged, blinded, hurt, a little hungry, thirsty and alone.

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

Don shook his head as his brother’s two brilliant colleagues continued to argue back and forth, knowing that the stress of the situation in general compiled on top of not nearly enough sleep or breaks in general was making everyone a little more bad-tempered then they otherwise might be. And unlike the FBI agents and even the techs to some degree, the math consultants weren’t trained to handle this kind of stress. “Guys—”

Larry apparently wasn’t paying any attention to the FBI agents he was supposed to be explaining their work to, despite the fact that he was dating one of them. But his attention was completely focused on Amita. “A downturn analysis—”

“Won’t tell us anything, Larry,” Amita cut him off, following the same format the two mathematicians’ arguments had followed for several minutes now. “We don’t know what we’re analyzing, so—”

Don shot a glance at Megan, raising an eyebrow as she smirked but nodded to him. So at least he wasn’t the only one that was pretty sure the geeks were wasting time talking in circles. “Guys!” he snapped, calling on years of working as a supervisor for classes of training agents and supervising actual FBI teams to put just the right amount of force in his tone to avoid being ignored.

Sure enough, both scientist jumped at the abrupt and loud distraction. And both turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“We know this has to have something to do with Taylor, right?” Megan suggested mildly.

Amita nodded but sighed as she replied, “But we’ve looked at the all of the numerical data the techs have been able to find on his development project.”

“And unfortunately our mysterious list does not seem to correlate with any such data,” Larry nodded in agreement.

A knock on the clear doors made all four turned abruptly towards said door, to see David pushing it open. “Hey guys, we finally found Colby’s dead guy.”

“Yeah?” Don couldn’t suppress a small grin, glad to have a possible, useable break after so many dead-ends. And listening to Larry and Amita, who were apparently completely lost—or as Larry had called it “at an impasse”—hadn’t helped. He nodded to the two professors, smiling slightly at their hopeful looks as he followed Megan out of the room. “Keep trying, guys, all right? We’ll be back in a few.” After carefully closing the door behind him he quickly crossed the room to the media room David and Colby had holed up in to search for their leads. “So?” he asked, frowning slightly when he saw Granger was nowhere to be found despite an apparent new lead.

“Don’t know why it took forensics to get to this, they said they working on something else, but—” David shook his head a bit disgustedly. “Anyway, this dude—Phillip Espino—had more than a dozen arrests, alright?” he hurried on before anyone could question him on that, holding up the file from forensics as if to say, ‘it’s all in here,’ “And half the time his bail was posted by his brother-in-law, Sonny Layva. Guess what Sonny drives.”

“What?” Don blinked, a part of him not fully able to believe that this could actually be as good a break as it sounded. “A silver pick-up?”

David nodded, grinning slightly. “Yeah, I had the LAPD do a roll by his apartment. The truck’s right out front.”

“You call SWAT?”

“Colby’s already got ‘em suiting up,” David nodded again. “Judge Stevens already signed the warrant.”

Don stopped, halfway turned towards the door when Megan grabbed his arm.

“Don, you can’t go.” The profiler glared at him, shaking her head even as David left the room a little to quickly to be called discreet.

Don glared at her for a long moment, but finally was able to force himself back again. Though he didn’t want to nod, to give in, he knew she was right so he did. “Right, I’ll just go help Larry and Amita.”

Megan shot him a sympathetic look, then hurried out of the room a second later to suit up herself. Don watched her go, but then forced himself to follow her out the door then turn in the opposite direction with a sigh.

An Unknown Location

Charlie wasn’t sure about what he wanted to happen right now. Ideally, he’d love to see his big brother, David, Colby and Megan push aside the bookcase and hurry into the room to his rescue. But he knew that, for the moment at least, that was too much to hope for. So, at the moment, he was trying to decide between whether he should go to sleep or not.

The total absence of anything measurable—especially light—made it difficult to mark the passage of time.

He’d never really considered himself claustrophobic—and logically knew that the room he was in, while not large, certainly wasn’t tiny—but that didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Thanks to his restraints, which aggravated his injuries at even the slightest pull, he could barely move. Thanks to the black bag over his head he couldn’t see anything but blackness. And thanks the material that had been used to gag him, which he thought was duct-tape but having never been gagged before couldn’t really be sure, but thanks to its existence he couldn’t try to call for help that he already knew wouldn’t come and he couldn’t even talk to himself.

And he was really starting to wish he’d given in to Bonnie’s cajoling about ‘dinnertime’ what had to have been several hours before instead of putting it off. Because now he was hungry. And thirsty, which the irritating gag seemed to exasperate. Of course, struggling to move around—hurting himself or at least causing pain and exerting considerable amounts of energy—wasn't the smartest of things to try.

It had made him hungrier and a lot thirstier than he might otherwise have been, as it had taken several long, painful minutes of struggling before his entire body was lying on the too-thin mat his captors had provided for him.

Still, despite it’s thinness it was, at the very least, much more comfortable than the chilly cement floor.

But even more than all of that, he really missed Bonnie. He was understandably worried about her, and hadn’t fully realized till she was taken away how much it’d helped to have someone else to talk to.

He’d been far from happy before, trapped in this little, man-made piece of hell, but now he was absolutely miserable.

Trapped in darkness and silence, all he could really do was cling to the hope that his and Bonnie’s captor’s decision to separate them meant that rescue wasn’t far off.

That his big brother was coming.

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

Don knew that the none-stop tapping he’d maintained—hitting the pencil he was holding against the counter—was probably very annoying to the tech and the other agent in the room. Still, to his credit, Colby hadn’t said as they continued to watch their teammates interrogate their newly captured perp. And the tech that was monitoring it all was too new to the job to say anything: it usually took a few months before any of them would be willing to challenge an agent over anything other than what their expertise allowed them to. And it usually took them a bit longer before they’d challenge Don Eppes.

Don shook his head, frowning severely as he forced himself to remain seated in the observing room, trapped on the outside of the interrogation room by the simple fact that his involvement in the interrogation could get him kicked off the case or worse, allow the perp’s lawyer a loophole to help his client walk free.

Still, it was infuriating to watch the man David and Megan were interrogating—Sonny Layva—remain stonily silent and unhelpful.

“Your silence isn’t going to help you, Sonny.” David was telling the man, his tone falsely set into his role as the ‘good cop.’ “It’s only going to get you in deeper, you know that, right.”

Megan pulled a picture out of one of the man folders they’d brought into the room with them, glaring at him as she stated, “You see, that’s you, leaving the San Merino Mall eight minutes after Bonnie Parks pulled in.”

“You and your friends had her stuffed down there on the floor, didn’t you?” David asked, raising an eyebrow as he nodded to the picture of Layva’s now deceased brother-in-law’s suspicious truck.

The man finally deigned to glance down at the photo but then shook his head and looked away, the sneer on his face making Don’s blood boil all the more.

“Sonny,” Megan’s familiar voice calmed him a little though it wasn’t directed at him: he felt better hearing someone else snap at the perp, “it’s not you we’re after here, what’ve you got to lose by talking?”

“And how long do you think it’s going to take for us to put this whole thing together?” David asked, his tone light as she shook his head. “I mean, do yourself a favor man, earn some points. It might help you avoid the death penalty.”

Sonny suddenly laughs and shakes his head incredulously, “Death penalty?”

“Kidnapping’s a crime that the courts don’t react well to, Sonny.” Megan pointed out, her tone now calm instead of harsh as she stated simple facts. Nodding to the picture she pointed out, “We can tie you to Bonnie Park’s kidnapping, and to Dr. Charles Eppes—a high-level federal consultant’s—kidnapping. And, if nothing else sticks, you drew a gun and fired on three federal agents who have very good memories.”

Sonny shrugged, “So I might get some jail time. I didn’t kill nobody!”

Don felt a previously ignored but still unbearable weight lift from his heart in the short silence that followed that statement before David replied, his tone carefully neutral.

“You’re saying Bonnie Parks is still alive?”

“Yeah,” Sonny nodded shortly, shrugging as he confirmed. “Last time I checked.”

SNAP.

The tech jumped a little in his seat while Colby glanced over at the senior agent when the pencil the older man had been holding shattered in his too-tight grasp.

“Wait a minute,” David’s voice—bearing a note they were all familiar with: the moment when a fellow agent had realized something important to their case—drew their attention back to looking through the one-way window or the monitors that showed what was being recorded of the conversation. “So Richard Taylor just needed her out of the way till he got that vote from the zoning commission.”

Layva looked away abruptly, but he didn’t need to confirm David’s realization. Everyone knew it was true.

“That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Where is she, Sonny?” Megan demanded, and though Don knew there was nothing wrong with the question—it was one they’d wanted answered for weeks now—they weren’t asking the question HE wanted answered.

Abruptly Layva looked up, his dark eyes determined. “She’s safe!” he shook his head as they stared at him. “She’s safe, man. Though the boss’ll probably move her soon. And the guys he’s gonna have to do it aren’t as nice as me and mine.” Suddenly a smirk crossed his face, “And I don’t think the little guy’ll do that well once she’s taken away.”

Both agents stared at him for several long seconds, while in the observation room both Colby and the young tech were warily watching Don, who was radiating fury but still had just enough self-control to keep himself seated and glaring at the perp through the one-way window.

“What’d you mean?” Megan asked after a moment of silence.

Layva shrugged, “He was a bit more difficult than Bonnie, so he’s a bit banged up.”

Don didn’t even remember rising as his temper—the fury of all his big brother instincts—took over. One second he was seated, glaring through the glass at the perp. And in the next he was firmly pinned against the wall by his junior agent.

After several seconds of furious but futile struggles—with his military background on top of the FBI’s training program Colby really was very well-trained in hand-to-hand combat—Don finally relented and stopped.

Once he’d drawn in several long and harsh but somewhat calming breaths, Colby’s firm hold didn’t waver in the slightest as he asked, “You OK, boss?”

Don took another deep breath as the well-trained FBI agent in him reluctantly pulled the big brother back, then he nodded. “Yeah, fine.”

“Made Bonnie real protective of him, an’ we were pretty sure she was taking care of him.”

In the background he could hear Layva continued even as Colby did too.

“Not gonna try to lose the case by beating the crap outta that piece of—”

“I’m fine, Colby,” Don repeated firmly. Though he knew another such comment from Layva would probably spark a similar reaction. As the younger agent released him he reluctantly made himself sit down again, both hands gripping the armrests firmly as his eyes went back to the interrogation while Colby’s remained on him and the young tech’s eyes darted back and forth between the two rooms.

Not that Layva seemed to care that everybody in this building hated him, because his smirk had reemerged as he continued. “But if the boss move’s Bonnie he’s not gonna move the doc too—better to separate them. So without me, he ain’t got no food, right? He ain’t got now water, man.” He shrugged again. “Now I can’t tell you how much longer he’s gonna last like that.”

“Uh-huh,” David shook his head, “So what are you after?”

“I walk,” Layva insisted firmly, glaring when both agents immediately started shaking their heads. “Free and clear. You give me that,” he pushes the photo of his late brother-in-law’s truck towards Megan, “and I’ll tell you where he is.”

After a moment of silence Megan shook her head again, replying firmly, “It’s not gonna happen, Sonny.”

The perp smirked and leaned back in his chair with a shrug, “Then they're both on you, chica. Not me.”

And as much as righteous fury wanted to take over at that thought, a part of Don agreed with him.

Except it wasn't Megan or David or Colby's fault Charlie was involved in all of this.

Don was the one that had dragged his ever-eager to please, brilliant little brother into the shadier side of the world. He'd exposed the genius to this without recognizing that he didn't have the training to handle any of it or respond to it properly. Then he'd yelled at Charlie for those stupid thirty seconds of fame when the young genius had obviously been trying to help. Like he always did. And Don hadn't even considered the implications of how Bonnie's kidnappers might react to the reporter's implication that Charlie might play a key role in solving the case.

And now Charlie--naive, often too-smart for his own good but still scatter-brained Charlie--was paying the price.

End of Chapter 2: Searching.

Also, sorry for any rough-work you saw in this chapter. As I stated earlier, I don’t have a beta-reader for this fic so I’m probably going to re-post this chapter in a week or two after I’ve had the chance to really edit it. I did go through it myself a few times and often told I can be too critical of my own work, but experience has taught me that no matter how harsh or critical we try to be with ourselves, our eyes can still have a hard time finding faults in our work. So if you see something please, please, PLEASE point it out.

Oh, and it looks like I only have one note from within the chapter, but if you see something else I should explain PLEASE point that out too.

(1) I looked for a ‘minimum’ on how much water we need to drink to survive, and found it surprisingly difficult to pinpoint. Therefore I seized onto the first time I actually found a solid statement of fact, which was as follows: “The minimum water requirement for replacement purposes, for an “average” person, has been estimated to be approximately 3 liters (3.2 quarts) per day, given average temperate climate conditions.” ~ Advameg. Inc. ‘Water Encyclopedia’ – ‘Survival Needs. (URL: .)

Thanks for reading.

Reviews (and especially constructive criticism) are always appreciated.

Flames aren’t, but if you really want to waste your time, go ahead.

Bye for now! ^_^

Jess S

NEXT: Chapter 3: Rescue?

AN: Well, that wasn’t really where I wanted to stop, but it seemed like a good place to. I hope you liked the chapter, and sorry for the way.