Hello all. I hope you enjoy this little tale I'm about to begin, and please let me know how you like it! Usual disclaimers, plus keep in mind that this is my first story for this fandom. :)

The only thing that was thicker than the blackness that surrounded her was the stifling heat that threatened to suffocate her. A pair of green eyes fluttered back to life, and a mop of black hair rustled against something soft as she tried to fight off the dense fog that hung behind her eyes.

Where am I? she wondered. And how did I get here? The fog wasn't helping her recover that particular bit of information, and she continued to flutter her eyelids in an attempt to fight it off. Turning slightly, she tried to pick up her hands only to find they had been bound behind her back.

Packing tape, she realized. A quick tug on the bonds confirmed that. She felt the sticky, cloth-like substance with the very tips of her fingers, layered probably three or four times. The reinforcing twine that made the substance great for securing packages closed was also doing a hell of a job keeping her in place.

The blackness didn't subside, though the fog had lifted just enough for her to make out a thin ray of light that drew a line down one part of the farthest wall from where she lay. The woman tried to pick her feet up, only to hear an unwelcome clang resound as she did so. Closing her eyes, she had to work to feel the metal bracelets that were now acting as an anchor encircling her ankles. Explains where those went, she thought.

The realization that her handcuffs had been used against her made her take notice, and from her position she tried to take inventory of what else was either missing or available. The woman rolled her hips, searching for something in her pockets, but those were picked clean. Phone's gone, and so's my Benchmade, she realized. Terrific.

Heaving deep breaths, she tried to speak, but her only reply was a strange muffled sound that was trying to escape her lips. Her mouth had felt cottony and dry, but she'd blamed that on the 'enforced nap.' As her senses came about, she realized that someone had gagged her with a cloth of some sort and more packing tape.

Shit, she thought. Ambushed, caught, and trussed up like a turkey. Brilliant, Chase. Well done.

The too-warm air was beginning to overpower her, and the remnants of whatever had been forced into her lungs as she'd screamed for help earlier made Chase realize that she would lose the battle with sleep. Gotta stay awake, she said. Focus. How am I getting out of here?

The woman tried to sit up, but her bound hands and her vantage point on what she thought was a bed of some sort was making that goal hard to accomplish. The bed was in the middle of the room she occupied, and it left her with no wall nearby to push herself against as leverage. Chase tried to use the headboard as a shove-off point, but her chained legs wouldn't allow her to reach that far.

Damn, she thought. Her bright green eyes stared at the ceiling—or what she thought was the ceiling—and her mind began to race. The thin beam of light that teased her ever so slightly served as both hope and a subtle warning. I don't know who might be out there, she reminded herself.

As the fog continued to slowly lift, Chase tried vainly to piece together the fragments of memory that added up to her waking up to this small, dark, makeshift prison she was currently trapped in. The memories were slow in coming.

-----

"Nosy bitch."

"Eddie, man, did you catch that piece she had on her?"

"Yeah," a stocky man said, pulling out a well-kept H&K that the young man had found on the woman being held in the back bedroom. "Nice, eh?"

"Man, not the word for it. Modified clip, built-in silencer…that thing's dangerous." The word was uttered almost as a compliment. "What's a woman doing carrying something like that?"

Long fingers began pulling through the items that had been 'liberated' form the woman's pockets. "Couple quarters, couple dimes, receipt for something…" As soon as the long fingers reached a thin black wallet, they prized the item open, hoping to find a few bills that might make taking her worthwhile. Once open, however, those fingers nearly dropped the wallet in surprise. "Oh, shit!"

"What?"

"She's a cop!"

"Nah…really?"

"Look, idiot," the man with the long fingers—Eddie—said sharply. "Says so right here." He held up the black wallet, making sure the item in question was plainly visible. "License and everything."

"Cops got badges, not licenses," Eddie's companion said sharply. Snatching the wallet out of Eddie's hand, he examined the card embedded in the wallet further. "She's a PI," he said finally.

"What's a PI doing sniffing around us?" Eddie asked.

"Good question," his companion said. "Let's find out."

-----

The sudden rush of light blinded her, catching the woman off-guard as she tried to reconcile the brilliant rays of phosphorescence assailing her eyes all at once. The sound of heavy footsteps assailed her ears, and she turned her head slightly to try and get a look at who was holding her.

"Hey," one of the men snapped, the word following a few light slaps to the face. "The hell you doing, following us?"

Chase's eyes furrowed in confusion. "I wasn't…" she started to say, before the muffled grunts and whines made her realize she would be unintelligible. As soon as she sighed in frustration, long fingers reached over and grabbed the tape covering her mouth, ripping it off so hard that Chase's face burned. The woman winced in pain, quickly trying to shove the dry cloth out of her mouth. "I…I wasn't…" she said, her voice hoarse.

"Bullshit. You were right there, watching us the whole time," the man said, his tone stubborn and determined. Grabbing a handful of black hair from the bed, he yanked Chase's head a few inches off the mattress. "Now, what were you doing there?"

"Watching someone else," she said simply. "I have no idea who you are!"

"You buy that, Eddie?" the man asked, he voice carrying a trace of mockery to it.

"I dunno, Mike," a slightly younger voice responded. "There was a lot going on today out there…"

"Ehh," 'Mike' said, tossing Chase's head roughly back onto the thin mattress. "Well, we'll see, won't we?"

"Wh-what?" Chase mumbled. The drugs were still working their way out of her system, and she was trying to push through the lingering fog that remained.

"We've got business, and you're going stay with us a while, just to make sure it goes through smooth, catch me?" 'Mike' said slowly, as though Chase were a very young or very stupid child. "Now, you going to be nice?"

"Just let me go," she said quietly. "I'll forget you exist."

The reply earned Chase a hard slap to the face, and she felt the rough cloth being forced back into her mouth again. "Guess we'll do this the hard way," 'Mike' said simply. "I'd think awhile about being nice, girlie. Wouldn't want you to get hurt with this thing here." Chase's eyes widened as she saw her prized 'Hector' being waved right under her nose.

Oh, shit, she thought in despair. They've got my gun…

-----

--She's not answering her phone.—

Kyle Parker stared at his friend and colleague as though he'd just been told they'd run out of coffee. –She's probably busy. Josh had her all over the last couple weeks…--

--She always calls,-- Oliver Lawrence insisted. –When's the last time she didn't call us?—

Kyle thought on that a moment. –Okay. You've got me there. What does her voicemail say?—

--That's just it,-- Oliver explained. –It's not saying anything. It's as though the phone's been disconnected or something…--

--Like someone stole the sim card, or broke it,-- Kyle realized. Turning to his computer, he quickly punched a few numbers into a program he'd designed to trace their cell phones in the event of such an emergency. After a few minutes, he pounded his fist onto the hard surface of his desk. –I can't get a trace,-- he said. –The phone's not responding…--

--All right. Means one of two things: she's got her phone turned off, or it was busted.—

--Can't be just 'off', 'cause it's not going to voicemail,-- Kyle reiterated.

--So it's busted,-- Oliver said. –Question is, how?— Kyle noticed as the man punched in a number on his phone and waited pensively for his party to pick up.

--Who'd you call?—

--Josh. This isn't like her.-- As soon as Oliver's hands dropped, he got a familiar voice on the end of the line.

"Oh-lee-vair? 'ow can I 'elp you?"

"Josh, that job you asked Chase to do—where was that?"

"The job?"

"Look, she hasn't answered her check-in in hours. The phone's been disabled somehow, and we're starting to wonder."

"You know she was working a top-secret case."

"Josh. Right now all I care about is finding her. Where was she going?"

The man on the other end sighed. "New York City," he said finally.

"Anything else at all you can tell me?"

"Eet was about exploseeves. She was trackeeng exploseeves, possibly to use een an attack."

"Oh, great." Oliver sighed deeply, trying not to panic. He'd learned long before that panicking got no one anywhere. "Explosives in New York."

"There ees sometheeng wrong, Oh-lee-vair?"

"Maybe. Can you meet?"

There was a pause. "'alf an 'our. Your office."

"We'll be here." Oliver hung up and relayed the contents of the conversation to his partner.

--I hope she's all right,-- Kyle said. –Should I call the locals there?—

--Do we know anyone there?—

Kyle slowly shook his head. –No one I know of.—

--Better let me make that call. As soon as we get more from Josh.--

Both men looked at each other, sincerely hoping their friend and employer had simply dropped the device somewhere and broke it on accident.

----

Chase's head spun. Her stomach began to growl, and she knew that her urgent desire for water wasn't because she was hoping to cash in on her 'hosts' hospitality. I'd wonder what was in it, she thought as she continued to think about rainstorms and waterfalls. Her shoulders were growing stiff from being forced behind her back for so long, and every time Chase tried to pull at her bonds she only managed to make the pain in her wrists increase a little more.

The hell were these idiots doing there anyway? she wondered. It was supposed to be easy—after three weeks of tracing down buyers and suppliers, she was so close to finding the people Josh had been looking for she could taste it. What went wrong?

Retracing the events of the day in her head, Chase closed her eyes in order to concentrate. She'd been waiting in that alley nearly three hours, knowing full well that the buy was going down there. The black jeans and shirt might have made her look more Goth than she'd liked, but it wasn't a color that would stand out. Chase remembered seeing several dark SUV's casually line the outer streets surrounding the alley, remembered a few people getting out and moving around. Most of them spoke Chinese, and none of it Cantonese, which had irked her.

People getting ready for a buy, but…then what? The next thing the investigator remembered was waking up in this dark, stuffy room, trussed up like the Thanksgiving turkey she'd mutilated the year before. What did I miss? Chase racked her brain, desperate for answers, but none were forthcoming.

Just then the door opened, and Chase noticed the tiny lighted slit in the wall growing larger. Small, delicate footsteps padded their way towards the bound woman, and soon the packing tape and cloth was removed from Chase's mouth once more.

"Shh," a voice hissed. It was a woman's. "Eat now."

"Eat? Eat what?" Chase said, tapering her voice a little.

"Shh! No talk. Eat." The sound of metal sliding against the worn mattress frame echoed in Chase's ears, and soon the woman sat down next to the investigator's feet, gently trying to turn Chase over onto her side.

"My…my hands," Chase whispered. "I can't…"

Something thick was shoved into Chase's mouth—something thick and dry and crusty. Working her jaw around the hard item between her teeth, Chase managed to break off a piece of the food and chew it, though with difficulty. Each bite made her teeth ache terribly, but her stomach pleaded for more.

"More," she whispered again, readying herself for the next rock-like morsel. After a few more bites, Chase shook her head at the offered food. "I can't," she said. "Could…could I have some water?"

Slowly something brushed against her lips. Chase greedily drank from the thin cup, relishing every drop of tepid water as though it were Evian. "More," she panted, her mouth desperate for moisture.

"All gone. Now, shh." The woman moved off of the bed and picked something up.

"No, please," Chase begged, her voice pleading. "Please, you…you don't have to…"

"Same. Like before." In the few minutes the woman had spoken with her, Chase could tell that English was not a first language for her.

"No, not like…" The rest of the sentence was cut off as the cloth was replaced and the tape refreshed around her head. Chase tried to protest, but her words came out as mere muffled sounds.

"Later, maybe," the woman whispered, almost as an apology. Then the door closed behind her, leaving the investigator alone in the darkness once more.

----

Ling Ling crept out of the small room and scurried back to the kitchen. She placed the plate full of bread crumbs and the thin plastic cup next to the sink with the mountain of other dishes she was expected to wash. "Place is a wreck, girlie," Mike had commented evilly, pulling Ling Ling's hair as she tried to look anywhere but in his eyes. "Clean it up, now."

The two cousins had then left, locking the door behind them. Ling Ling knew better than to try the doors—the few times she had they never opened anyway. Then she thought of the woman the pair had dragged in, all tied up and limp like a sack of flour. She knew what that little room could be like on the hottest day, and as soon as she knew she wasn't being watched she wanted to try to help her.

The soap suds began to engulf the dishes in the sink, and her hands were becoming prune-like as she stared out of the small, dingy window. Ling Ling thought of being outside on such a beautiful day, perhaps sitting on the stoop or maybe working in a little garden. Ling Ling liked gardening, but hadn't done much of that since coming to live in this horrible place. Her eyes traveled to a lone aloe plant and a scrubby violet that she'd been allowed to keep, and though both were thriving under her care, she often wished that she herself would wither as they had once done.

After an hour the dishes were finally clean, and then she began to sweep and scrub the rest of the house. The living room was always a disaster—broken bottles, razor blades, cardboard boxes from takeout left in piles on the floor, powdery substances in little bags and dried brown leaves that made Ling Ling's nose cringe when she smelled them burning. The little woman slowly began sweeping and collecting the refuse that littered the area, careful to put anything that might be 'valuable' in a special spot near the corner of the room. Ling Ling remembered the time she'd wiped up what she'd thought was flour or bad sugar from the crumbling coffee table, and had received the beating of her life for it.

"Twelve hundred dollars, bitch!" Mike had snarled, punching Ling Ling in the jaw. The blow had sent her to the floor. "And you just mop it up?!"

"I sorry," Ling Ling had cried. "You say clean…"

"Well, next time you brush it up and put it over there," he spat, pointing to the corner of the room. "Can't afford to lose more product, you hear?"

Ling Ling had nodded vigorously, desperate at the time to appease her attacker. There wasn't much to the nineteen year-old, and a strong blow could easily shatter something permanently in her. Now she made use of the little hand brush and dustpan, brushing the powdery substances on the coffee table into her dustpan and then placing the contents in a little Mason jar. Once she'd wiped down the room, she then started towards the bathroom, heaving a sad sigh.

----

Chase lay in the hot, stuffy room, her hands beginning to hurt from lying on top of them for so long. Her shoulders ached, and she desperately tried to roll them from their unnatural position a few times in an attempt to stretch them out.

Who's the girl? she wondered. She can't be more than twenty. English isn't her first language, which means traditional family or recent immigrant, but if that's true…how'd she end up here?

Closing her eyes, Chase rolled onto her side, wishing she could have some more water. She'd been picking at the packing tape that bound her for hours, only to end up with sore fingers and little progress. Wish I had that knife on me right about now, she thought. Might have a chance with that…

Suddenly an image flew through her mind—one of people falling to the ground, the sound of bullets soaring helter-skelter near where she had been waiting. Angry voices quarreled in several dialects, and the shouts of younger people began to drown out the voices of her suspected explosives buyers.

"Come on!" one voice had shouted. "Get the stuff and let's get!"

"Who the hell are these assholes?!" another voice had cried out. Chase remembered vaguely the sight of weapons, but the fog hadn't lifted over that part of her memory yet. "Hey!" the voice had yelled. "The hell you think you're doing?!"

"Business," a heavily accented voice had replied, sounding much older and more 'experienced'—Chase had no other word to describe it. "Now, run along."

"Run along from a huge coke buy? Get that!"

That was when all hell had broken loose. Chase mentally kicked herself for not getting out when she had the chance and picking the trail back up later, but now it couldn't be helped. She remembered trying to follow the explosives buyers, but then something had struck her in the legs, and she'd fallen…then the fog, then nothing. The next thing Chase remembered was waking up in this black hole of a room.

Focus, Chase, she reminded herself. By now a lot of time has passed, and the guys are looking for you because you didn't check in. You'll get out of this in one piece. A small sigh escaped her nostrils. I hope.

-----

"Will you get a load of this?" a voice said, descending onto the scene like it was the sight of a last stand. "Looks like World War Three hit!"

"That's not the half of it," another voice concurred, this one soft and warm, almost jovial. "Three bodies on their way to Sid, and we get to clean up…"

"Man," the first voice sighed, setting down what looked like an oversized tool box and studying the shoe impressions in the crumbling concrete. "Brace yourself, Adam, I think we're gonna be here a while."

The younger man smiled. "Found some blood, took a couple of shoe lifts…"

"A couple?"

"Well, like four or five. Had to wait on you, Danny—I was starting to run out of lifts."

"Good thing I stocked up." The two men continued to comb over the area as though it held the Hope diamond, carefully examining each crevice in the concrete and unexplained powder that had fallen on the ground. "What you think, coke?" Danny asked. Adam shrugged, remembering the last time he'd ended up processing a scene with that as a base. "It's positive," his companion said, showing his the test results.

"So a drug buy gone bad?" Adam wondered, moving on to a strange clay-like substance that was lying near one wall of the alley. "Wonder what this is," he mused to himself, bagging the substance and taking thorough notes on where he'd found it.

"Could be," Danny concurred. "Don't explain this, though," he said, finding a small pile of what looked to be gunpowder. After testing a sample and documenting it, he too bagged the odd substance and moved on.

Over the next four hours, the crime scene began to clear little by little, and soon there was only Adam standing near a few small drops of blood near a dumpster. Clinging to the item were a few medium-length hairs, all with root tags—as if someone had witnessed something they shouldn't have and had tried to run.

"Hey, Danny," he called, motioning to his companion. "Take a look at this."

The bespectacled man stared at what Adam had been puzzling at for several minutes. "Huh," he said finally. "You collect it?"

"Yeah. Still, though—are we missing a body?"

"We're missing a lot of bodies, Adam," the older man said, trying to keep things light. "You don't honestly think three people made this big a mess?"

"Of course not, I just…what if someone's hurt out there? Someone we're not looking for?"

"Well, we'll find out," Danny replied. "Come on. The lab awaits."

-----

"What are we keeping her for, Mike?" Eddie whined as the two cousins waited for their buyer to show. "Keepin' a private cop's just as bad as keepin' a real one…"

"And yet, you haven't asked yourself the important question," Mike countered. "What was a private cop doing in that alley?"

"Scouting us, no doubt. Why?"

Mike stared off into the growing dark. He liked the fall of night—made his business easier to conduct when the thick opaque blanket of dusk and twilight set in, and the black sky hid him from a wide view. "Those other people, what were they doing there?"

"Who knows. Looked like a buy."

"Yeah, but that's our area. Worked hard for it, too. What gives those assholes the right to come in and poach our customers?"

Eddie sat silently a moment. "You're right. Still, about the dame…"

"We keep her 'til we find out what's going on. Something tells me there's a lot more she's not telling us. Might even prove to be useful later."

Mike's comment was received with a derisive snort. "I'm telling you, Mike, I don't know…"

"And what have I told you about thinking, Eddie?"

Eddie's face fell a little. "Not to do it so much."

"Precisely. Once we're finished here, we'll go have a nice chat with our 'houseguest.' You'll see." Soon a shadow approached the pair as they sat waiting, and their business was conducted.