Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

2. The Hunt

The phone rang for two seconds. Creed was having a shower when he thought he heard a ringing, but it was so quick he didn't pay any attention to it. He had barely finished the shower when there was a knock at the door.

"Hi, Victor. Ruth said ya asked fer me…"

The woman closed the door, her eyes going over Creed's naked body with a gleam of pleasure.

"C'mon here, Izzie."

The woman bounced over to him, shedding the negligee on the way, and welcomed his eager mouth.

"Good morning, Victor."

Creed opened his eyes and saw Ruth set down a tray with scrambled eggs, fried ham and bacon, and a beer. He had woken with her steps coming up the stairs, having had a refreshning deep sleep after Izzie had left his bed.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 9. Would you like anything else for breakfast?" The woman smiled knowingly. "Maybe a digestive?"

Creed grinned. Ruth always knew how to keep him pleased.

"It'll depend on the digestive. Who d'ya got in mind?"

"Both Rachel and Ellie are free."

"Hmmm. Rachel and Ellie, huh? Tell ya what, I'll taste both an' decide which one I want afterwards."

"I'll call them."

Creed reached for the tray. The day was starting out really good.

It was barely past midday and Ruth was packing his stuff while he ate. He always spent some hours at Ruth's whenever his jobs took him closer to New York. She had good women and good food available, and knew just how he liked things.

"Victor, you have a call on your cell phone."

"Huh? I thought I heard somethin' last night. Lemme see."

Ruth turned to him, letting him see the cell phone, and he immediately sprang to his feet, swearing and snatching it from her hand. He swore some more while checking who and when had called. Then he grabbed his bag, ignoring the two shirts still in Ruth's hands, and left without another word.

"Victor, wait…" The woman shook her head, annoyed, and hanged the two shirts in the closet. " Nevermind! Ya'll come back again sooner or later."

Creed swore all the way to Wausau, in the private flight he had freighted. He had bought that particular cell phone so that Irbis could contact him should anything happen. He had also bought her one, but no matter how many times he tried to call her, the damned thing was always dead. Nobody was answering the house phone, either.

What the hell was going on?

Once in Wausau, it took him half an hour to find out the answer: the time it took him to find his house watched by a grey haired cop and ask him what was going on with the house's owner. The old guy then told him that a young woman who lived there had been kidnapped from the library's car park. Creed didn't lose any time and got as much information as he could: a security guard had sounded the alarm about 15 minutes after the attack, but the guys had disabled the cameras so there weren't many clues as to who the perpetrators might be.

The whole thing had happened about 24 hours ago.

After chatting with the cop in a tone as casual as possible, so as not to get any unwanted attentions, Creed checked the car park. It wasn't hard finding Irbis's scent at the spot where her notebooks had been found; nevertheless, many people had walked by that same spot, wearing down last day's scents. Fortunately it hadn't rain. Even as it was, it required quite some effort to get the information he hoped for. He registered Irbis's scent, first of all; then he isolated other scents similarly worn down from more recent ones. That was hard work and it gave him a headache; but he was satisfied with the results: masked under the still strong stench of ether, he noted down five guys' scents. The five men had been through that spot around the same time Irbis had been kidnapped, so they were the potential kidnappers. But before anything else though, he went after the two security guards working at the place at the time of the crime. Naturally two of those five scents belonged to them, so he narrowed down his list to three suspects.

It was 8 pm. Irbis had been taken about 27 hours ago and Creed only had the guys's scents. Now he needed a visual of them, but how if they had disabled the cameras?

He checked the security company which dealt with the Library surveillance. Sure enough, both cameras in the car park had been taken out at 4.57 sharp. That meant the guys had picked their victim previously and carefully studied her routine. However, they hadn't disabled the car park's entrance camera. But no car had left before the arrival of the police, and then five or six vehicles had left almost in a row. There had been no suspect movements while the cameras were still on, either. No clues there, definitely. But, if the hit had been previously prepared, if Irbis had been spied, maybe there could be some clues in the surveillance tapes from the previous days.

It was close to seven in the morning when Creed finished checking the security company's tapes for the previous four days and the day of the attack itself. He had taken them home with him where he was more comfortable for this type of work, and had been very careful so as not to let out his presence to the aged cop outside. The last thing he needed was to become known to the authorities of the area.

Creed finished a bottle of beer and sighed. He hated this kind of couch work. But at least his guess had turned out right, as expected. During the four days, many people had arrived at different hours every day. Workers always arrived before the opening hour, students and researchers typically ten to fifteen minutes after opening hour. Cars driven by workers only left after closing hour or for a short period at lunch; cars driven by students and researchers came in and left at random during the day. One car which seemed to belong to a worker at the place, though, caught his attention: the car always brought three guys. They always arrived at the opening hour, apparently making a case for a just in time worker, and were always the last to leave at the closing hour. Once they got out of the car, they always moved slowly, looking about them discreetly. Those were his targets, Creed decided.

On the day of the attack, their procedure had been different, though. Two of the guys had arrived at their usual hour in their usual ride; the other guy had arrived in a dark green Ford a few minutes after Irbis had parked. Obviously, it must have been stolen. The green car had been parked in a row behind Irbis's white van, exactly in the way which Irbis had taken in the four previous days when leaving the library. The green car had left a few minutes after the police had arrived, like the cars of other students. It was clear that they had got Irbis from behind, knocking her out with ether and locking her in the green car's rear. Then they must have gone their ways and, later, the green Ford driver had come back and left unnoticed. The other two had left almost at 5.30, in their usual Land Rover.

Creed opened another beer and thought it out. They probably had met at some deserted meeting point, changed Irbis into the other car and ditched the stolen Ford. Creed hoped they had kept the usual car. If they had changed into yet another one, it would make it much harder to follow their track. He got up and walked to the window, taking a draught from the beer. The sun, which had risen just half an hour ago, could hardly light the street, not having enough strength to go through the dark grey cloud cover.

Irbis had been kidnapped 38 hours ago.

Looking at the dark trees in his backyard, Creed wondered if she was still alive. Although it probably didn't matter much: dead or alive, they had had enough time to do whatever they wanted with her. The beer bottle broke in his hand and he cursed out loud, kicking a random piece of glass which further shattered against the piano. He punched the wall, ignoring the blood running from his hand wounds that weren't yet closing, as glass shards were still deep in the flesh. Those assholes had had enough time to do what HE should have done in the first place. That had been the original plan: to get the girl to clean his place and then take his sweet time screwing life out of her. He should have been the one enjoying her screams; he should have been the one revelling in her sweet tasting blood. Him. Not some good-for-nothing punks out of nowhere. Creed punched and kicked the wall again. So what if he had changed his mind? So what if he had decided she was more useful alive and working? If she was going to die, it was still at his hands. If she was going to get hurt, it was still at his hands. His hands! Not anyone else's.

He turned and viciously kicked the armchair off his way, marching into the kitchen and getting another beer from the fridge. He was going to hunt those bastards all the way to Hell. If he couldn't have the girl's blood, he was going to have somebody else's, and at a hell of a more painful price. Creed took deep breaths, trying to calm his berserker rage. He still had much to do, much to search before he could let it all out on those three punks. And he needed to be able to think. The fastest way to track down the car would be through the police. That meant he had to drop this piece of info on their hands so they could set a state wide lookout for the vehicle. The moment they were spotted, he'd be on to them.

A sudden noise got his attention. Somebody was trying to enter his house through the French windows at the back. He growled, incredulously. Whoever it was, this thief had chosen a freaking bad time to come knocking at his door. He threw the beer away and entered the living room, growling wildly.

Irbis halted and stared at him, blinking twice.

"Mister Creed?"

Her voice was a mere whisper, and it was swallowed by Creed's thunderous answer.

"What the hell are ya doin' here? Ya're supposed ta be…" he stopped for a moment, considering the ridiculousness of the situation, and finished with a confused "kidnapped?"

"I ran."

"Huh?"

"I ran away."

And she looked at him as if that was the most natural thing in the world.