Right place, Wrong time.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI: NY. Just a fan showin' some love.


Adam was tired, dead on his feet, tired, he'd clocked fifteen hours today. He never thought that was humanly possible, but he'd proved it wrong.

He looked at his apartment complex and smiled, just steps away from his nice comfy bed. Adam entered the lobby, looked at the elevator and dropped his head in disgust. OUT OF ORDER, this place was falling apart. That settles it tomorrow he'd go apartment hunting, or at least he would try.

After three flights of stairs he reached his floor, normally it wouldn't bother him, but his feet hurt, his body was shutting down in desperate attempt to re-energize it self. He just wanted a shower and crawl into his own bed.

He reached for his keys, fumbled around with them and found his apartment key. "You've got to be kidding," he grumbled. The lock was stuck again. He had told the apartment manager about it for the last two months. Adam groaned. He fought the lock, as he tried to get it to work a gunshot echoed towards him. Panic spread through Adam, quickly he turned his key, "work," he pleaded, his window was closing. If the gunmen turned that corner and saw him, he was done. As if he was in some badly made movie the gunmen turned the corner. Adams' lock finally turned, he opened the door, you've got to be kidding me, he thought bitterly.

The gunmen looked at Adam, who tried to dart quickly into his apartment and closed the door, and he had nearly succeeded until the gunmen rammed the door open, sending Adam stumbling backwards into his apartment. Can things get any worse?

He looked down at Adam who was paralyzed with fear on the floor, "Right place, wrong time," he cooed and shut the door behind him.


"Call came in about one a.m.," Flack began as they walked up to the third floor.

"What time did the first responder get here?" Mac asked.

"According to central he got here about one fifteen a.m.," Flack answered.

"Not much time to make their escape," Mac replied. "Could have escaped out the window," Mac added.

"Thought of that, it's locked; according to the apartment manager the window wouldn't open the lock was busted. He hasn't fixed it." Flack replied, shaking his head in frustration.

"Along with the elevator," Mac muttered.

"Hey doesn't Adam live on this floor?" Flack asked out of the blue.

"He does, but he might not be home, heard someone say his car was still parked in the garage. Guess he crashed in the lay over room," Mac answered.

"Fifteen hours, even I'm impressed."


Adam watched as he looked through the peep hole. The police had gotten there quicker then the gunmen had anticipated and in turn had infuriated him, and Adam had the split lip and a cut under his eye which Adam was pretty sure would be a handful of color by tomorrow.

"This is all your fault," he grumbled as he pointed his gun at him.

"Me!" Adam was flabbergasted. "I'm not the one that just committed cold blooded murder, then took someone hostage."

It seemed like he floated over to Adam, brought his right hand back and hit Adam right in the jaw. He had already worked him over giving Adam a black eye, a split lip and now his jaw. He would be black and blue tomorrow. If he lived that long.

"Stand up," he demanded, lifting his gun up and down.

Adam did as he was told. His boss was right down the hall, police going up and down the hallway, and yet here Adam stood being held at gunpoint. And no one knew.

"Turn around."

Adam complied; he felt the man put his hand into his back pocket.

"Let's see if you have anything to make this worthwhile."

Adam sighed he was glad that he took a few minutes to put his NYPD crime lab ID in his car. He had sat in his car for a few minutes, as if on automatic pilot he threw the badge on the passenger seat then decided that he was too tired to drive home, instead he had grabbed a cab. And forgot the ID.