Mistaken Identity Chapter 1: Default Chapter, an uc: undercover fanfic

Title: Mistaken Identity

Author: TheDreamyOne sdjolly@bellsouth.net

Rating: R (violence in a future chapter)

Summary: An identity crisis leads to torturous issues for both Nick and Frank

Type: UC:Undercover/Presidio Med crossover. Suspense/drama

Disclaimer: UC/PM or their characters do not belong to me. NBC/CBS, Shane Salerno/John&Linda Wells have those privileges. However, all original characters are mine. Do not use without permission, please.

A/N: This one became a bit darker than I had intended. I do hope future chapters do not offend anyone.

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Stepping off the crowded business flight from Chicago to San Francisco, Frank Donovan walked the short hallway into the terminal. It was nearly midnight and he was a bit on the exhausted side. He was thankful this trip would be short and sweet, just long enough to get the fingerprint evidence he needed, take it to the local FBI crime lab and then make the arrest he knew was inevitable. His gut instinct told him the same criminal stalked the halls of "Presidio Med" as had at one of the Chicago hospitals; however, the culprit disappeared before police had put the pieces together.

When the unexplained deaths began happening at the hospital in San Francisco, he had decided to keep his suspicions to himself. No one on his team knew he had traveled to San Francisco, not even his wife. He could not even explain why he did not tell her what he was up to. If all went as he suspected, he would be back before he was missed and he saw no need to worry her unnecessarily. His superiors believed he had taken a few days personal leave and his team was told he was going through re-certification in combat training. The only other person who knew where he was headed was the one who brought the suspicious happenings at the Medical Center to his attention and he had made a promise to that person he would keep things hushed until proof was in hand.

"Frank!" he heard the shout from the far side of the waiting area of the terminal and spied his cousin leaning nonchalantly against the wall. He smiled and lifted a hand in acknowledgment. As he neared his identical cousin, a large group of rowdy teenagers descended upon the terminal, oblivious to those around them. The group surrounded Frank and his cousin, jostling them and pushing them to and fro until they all managed to get by.

Frank growled his irritation before clasping his cousin in a firm, friendly hug. "Thanks for meeting me, Nick."

Dr. Nicholas Kokoris nodded, but could not manage to smile when he felt the butt of Frank's gun bite into his ribs. It made the situation all too real. "Can't say that this is a happy circumstance for me," he admitted, pulling away. "But I'll go along with it, if it means the unexplained deaths in ICU stop once and for all." He held out his hospital ID to Frank, who stuck it in his shirt pocket. "Keys to my car," he said, tossing the keys to Frank. "I need to go pick up a rental. I'll see you at the house later."

Frank nodded. "This won't take long, Nick, and then you can have your life back." He absently rubbed his jaw and felt the shadow of the beard he had grown in an effort to appear more like Nick. Shay had given him hell for trimming his goatee and mustache to the stubble it now was. He had one hell of a time not explaining why he had done it.

"Good. Can you do this without the gun? I'd rather you didn't take the chance of using it in the hospital."

Frank nodded hesitantly. "I suppose I can, for the initial visit. When we go in for the arrest; that's another matter."

"I understand...and thanks." With a slap on Frank's shoulder, Nick left him to pick up his rental car.

"Your driver's license, sir?" The clerk asked at the rental counter.

Nick nodded and reached into his pants pocket. His eyes widened when he contacted nothing and began patting his other pockets looking for his wallet. He knew it was there that morning! He mentally went through his day up until the current time and nothing...those kids! He'd been ripped off! "Damn. Look, my wallet's been stolen."

"I'm sorry, sir. Without ID and a form of payment," the clerk trailed off and stepped to the back, effectively shunning Nick.

"Damn," he cursed again and went in search of the airport authorities.

"That him?" Rusty asked, nudging his partner.

Jimmy looked toward the rental counter where Rusty pointed and then back at the snapshot he held. "Dead ringer. Boss will be crappin' happy that it was this easy. C'mon...let's go get him."

Before sliding into the soft leather seat of Nick's Jaguar, Frank took a moment to shed his jacket to remove his shoulder holster. "Doctors and cars," he commented with a grin, "they go hand-in-hand." He carefully stashed his gun and holster under the driver's seat before donning his jacket and sliding in behind the wheel. He gunned the engine smoothly and slowly pulled out of the parking area to the airport's exit lane.

"Hey...Benny...there he goes!" Jagger hollered and jumped behind the wheel of a beat up late model van.

"Yep, that's him..." Benny agreed, sliding into the passenger seat as Jagger began pulling away. "Follow him...we'll take him out after he leaves the interstate. Less traffic; less witnesses."

After making a report with the police stationed at the airport, Nick headed in the direction of the airport shuttle that had been arranged to take him anywhere he wanted to go. His first stop would be to his apartment to get any form of identification to begin replacing what he had lost. What a proverbial pain in the rump.

"Come on...now's our chance," Jimmy insisted, seeing their target waiting, seemingly impatient, in the deserted shuttle bay.

Approaching him from behind, Jimmy grabbed Nick forcefully by the upper arms while Rusty brought a closed fist down heavily on the back of his neck. It all happened too quickly for Nick to react before what felt like a boulder slammed down on the back of his head. He groaned painfully as he slumped into unconsciousness. Jimmy kept him from hitting the ground with the grip he held on Nick's arms. "Help me walk him to the car. Hurry it up, Rusty."

"Okay, okay," he grumbled. "Man, this guy weighs a ton."

"Stop complaining and move. This guy is worth a hefty bonus to us if we deliver him alive," Jimmy explained as they made their way to the parking lot with Nick supported securely between the two, although his feet dragged the ground.

They dumped their prize into the back seat of the Lincoln that was used specifically for seedier purposes; it was complete with coal black window tint to prevent prying eyes from seeing anyone or anything inside. Once their captive was secure, they left the airport and headed off to collect the bounty on the lump in the back of the car.

Two miles outside of the airport Frank hit a desolate stretch of highway; deep inclines that led into dense foliage lined either side road. The only other vehicle for miles suddenly appeared behind him. Glancing in the rearview mirror he noticed the vehicle was moving up on him quickly and steadily. It would overtake him soon.

He grew more annoyed the closer the vehicle got to him. Larger in size, its headlights shone into the rearview and side mirrors in an offending fashion, effectively blinding him. He slowed the Jaguar hoping to have the vehicle pass him and relieve the irritation.

As if sensing he wanted them to pass, the vehicle's turn signal began to blink and Frank sighed in relief. He just wanted to get to the hospital, get the evidence, and get back to his life in Chicago. He knew he would be in the doghouse when he told Shay what he had been up to. That he told her a fib to keep her in the dark once again, would decidedly piss off his hot-tempered wife. But she would cool off soon enough when she realized he had not been up to anything dangerous.

Too late, Frank realized the vehicle was not going to pass him as it closed the distance between them and slammed into the Jaguar's rear bumper. He lurched forward; cursing when the seatbelt grew taught and bit into his shoulder from the sudden jerking of the vehicle. With a growl, he withdrew his cell phone from his jacket and began dialing the police. He could tell that it was a van that was using the Jaguar for battering practice when it pulled up along side and veered into the rear passenger door. The sudden impact caused him to lose his hold on the phone and it flew across to the passenger's side floorboard and disappeared into the darkness. "Damn it!" he snarled as he clutched the steering wheel, bringing his vehicle back under control.

The van slammed into the Jag just as it righted itself, but this time it did not veer away. It hugged the side of the smaller vehicle, forcing it off the road, past the shoulder and down the incline. Frank tried to brake, but by this time the van was behind him again, pushing him into the dense foliage. His car careened wildly through the taller foliage and was swallowed up by the thick underbrush. The thought that the automobile would not easily be seen by passersby flashed through Frank's mind just moments before he crashed head on with a large Maple tree. Frank's body slammed against the seatbelt and he was surprised that the airbag did not deploy. With nothing but the seatbelt to stop his forward progress, his forehead smashed against the windshield and his ribcage crushed against the steering wheel before he was tossed back into his seat. Although the impact was forceful, the brakes and the foliage slowed the vehicle enough to keep the crash from being disastrous.

He fought against the fog that threatened to overtake him while he struggled out of the confining seatbelt and opened the car door. Sliding from the seat and onto the ground, he searched blindly for his gun and holster. He might have smiled when his fingers closed around the familiar grip if he had not been in so much pain. He unsnapped the catch from the holster and removed the gun quickly; turning to face whomever was after him. That was what had him perplexed. The suspect he was after would have no idea he was on his way to Presidio Med and it was highly unlikely that she would hire someone to take him out. No, there was something deeper behind this.

Stealthily he hid behind a tree a couple yards away and waited for the criminals to show themselves. He blinked repeatedly against his increasingly blurred vision, noting the warm, slick feeling of the blood that flowed freely from his forehead, down the length of his nose and spilled over his eyebrows to drip onto his cheeks. As quickly as he could manage, he readied himself when he heard the click of gun hammers cocked into place and the soft-spoken words of the strangers who approached. They were sloppy and, if he were not about to pass out, he would handle this without hurting anyone, but when he saw the guns held by the strangers he knew it was them or him.

He took aim as steadily as he was able and squeezed off two shots in rapid succession. They never knew what hit them as they crumpled dead at the rear bumper of the Jaguar. Frank slid to his knees when a round of dizziness overtook him. The gun slipped from his hand and lay forgotten as he clutched his throbbing head. Gripping the tree as firmly as possible, he pulled himself to his feet. If he passed out in the dense foliage, it might be days before anyone stumbled onto the accident and he might be dead by then.

Staggering from tree to tree, he made his way slowly to the edge of the wooded area and slumped to his knees to crawl through the path the Jaguar had cleared in the underbrush. Once clear of the foliage, he spotted the van that was used to run him off the road partially concealed from the view of those who might happen by this late at night. If he could make it to the van, would he be fit to drive? He seriously did not think so. His vision was double most of the time now, focus swimming in and out making him nauseous and light headed. If he made it to the van, what then?

He swiped at the blood that trickled into his eyes, burning them, and noticed something in the far-off distance. Headlights. If he was lucky, and tonight that seemed like a slim 'if', he could flag down the approaching vehicle and get help. He did not feel as though he possessed enough strength to stand again, and he needed to get up the slight incline to the road above. Although now, it seemed more like climbing Mt. Everest than the small slope that it was.

Taking a deep breath he began the climb on hands and knees, stopping just long enough to ease a wave of nausea. Time was short and he could not give in to the need to close his eyes and sleep. Sleep was what he wanted but he knew it was the one thing that would kill him. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he reached the gravel of the road's shoulder. Now to flag down that oncoming vehicle. He had no earthly idea how to do that in the dark of night other than stand in the middle of the road. Stand. Oh God, could he even do that?

The headlights were closing in and time was running out. Struggling to his feet, he felt another wave of nausea hit and closed his eyes briefly as he stumbled forward a step or two. The lights were closer now, maybe half a mile away. One hand was pressed to his forehead in a pitiful attempt to hold back the pain and nausea, the other he waved tiredly, trying to capture the attention of the oncoming vehicle. If he did not succeed, it was likely they would run him down. That would surely get them to stop. He would have laughed if he could; the thought was more than a bit ironic.

Were they slowing? He really could not tell; his vision was slipping away. As he slumped unconscious to the ground the last thing he heard was the screeching of tires and the putrid smell of burnt rubber assaulting his nostrils.

***

To be continued...