Disclaimers et al—See chapter 1

Feedback—Comments, critique, and suggestions are welcome.

Spoilers—Seasons 1-3

Special Thanks: As always, thank you to my betas extraordinaire, k and em. Misplaced semi-colons, down by eighty-percent. Absent commas, up by two hundred-percent! Gah!! Punctuation, my old nemesis.

A/N: My apologies for the delay with this chapter. Things have been extraordinarily hectic lately, leaving me with no free time to write. Unfortunately, I don't see it improving in the near future. However, I do promise to try my best to post chapter 4 as soon as I can.

Summary: Shawn and Company must hunt for answers when Lassiter goes missing.


*CHAPTER 3*


"Ooh, Superman where are you now?

When everything's gone wrong somehow

The men of steel, the men of power

Are losing control by the hour…"

(Genesis- "Land of Confusion")


MONDAY AFTERNOON

Shawn gave the clock on the wall an angry glare. Only five minutes had passed since Juliet entered Chief Vick's office. In that time, he had whistled his way through four of his all-time favorite TV theme songs. Drumming his fingers on the desk to keep tempo, Shawn felt himself grow restless. He felt useless and Shawn Spencer didn't do useless.

Giving up any pretense of patiently waiting, Shawn hopped up from his chair and strolled to the glass walls of the Chief's office. The blinds were canted, making it almost impossible for him to monitor their conversation from the outside. Knowing that he'd learn nothing of value from the hallway, he gave Vick's door a quick knock before brashly entering.

"Mr. Spencer, what do you think you're doing?" Chief Vick demanded. "This is a private meeting."

"Sorry. My bad! Quick favor, Chief, could you scoot over about six inches to the left?" he asked, making a large sweeping gesture with his left hand. "I can't read your lips from this angle."

Vick rolled her eyes. "For crying out---this isn't the time or place, Mr. Spencer. Now, please go."

"Chief, please wait," Juliet interjected. "Shawn's aware of the situation. I contacted him this morning. He's been helping out."

She gave him an appraising look before saying, "Is that so? Okay. Mr. Spencer, stop loitering around out there and sit." Shawn didn't need to be told twice, immediately dropping into the chair next to Juliet.

Turning her attention to the junior detective, Vick inquired, "Okay. Will someone please tell me what's going on? Where's Lassiter?"

Juliet drew a deep breath. "We don't know. I was contacted by Nowak when Lassiter didn't show up for an appointment this morning. No one has seen him here today and there haven't been any 'field' requests for him by any other officers or departments. I've called his cell phone about a dozen times, but it's either turned off or disabled."

Vick frowned. "Now, I know that our head detective would like to think himself above such errors, but is it possible that he's simply double-booked himself? Medical appointment or something similar?

The junior detective shook her head before answering, "No, or not that I can determine. I've called everyone that I could think of: doctors, family, colleagues, and no one's seen Lassiter today. I've also contacted local hospitals and the morgue. Outside of the patrons at the bar and the cab driver, Shawn is the only person who's spoken with Lassiter in the last 16 hours."

"What time was Lassiter to report for his appointment?" Vick asked.

"8:30."

"I see. I'll grant you that this is odd, especially for Detective Lassiter. But given what's occurred in the past couple of months…"

"I know what you're going to say, Chief," Juliet protested, "that Lassiter has been acting erratic. Like a man obsessed. But you know him! He wouldn't skip out on meetings or avoid calls. This isn't like him. I believe something is very wrong." Her voice became heated, rising sharply with her last words.

"Easy, Jules," Shawn said in a hushed voice. He reached over and gently placed his hand over hers. "I kind of agree with the Chief. Lassiter's been more Lassiter-like, and not in a good way. More like a crazed gun-toting, Michael Douglas in 'Falling Down', über-Lassie kind of way."

"Let's not overreact or make assumptions," Vick replied. "Lassiter has been unaccounted for only six and half hours. Clearly, there is the possibility that it has been longer. Are there indications that his disappearance was not voluntary?"

Sighing deeply, Juliet shook her head. "Not yet. There were no signs of foul play or forced entry at his apartment. But that's only based on visual inspection. We'd need CSU to scrutinize things a bit more. And we haven't located his car, yet."

"Mr. Spencer, do you have anything to add?"

For reasons he couldn't easily explain, Shawn didn't want to discuss last night's events with Chief Vick unless absolutely necessary. He wondered briefly if there was such a thing as fake psychic confidentiality. Not that it mattered. He doubted that Lassiter would care what was said. It was more likely the head detective would deny their conversations altogether than take offense.

"What can I say?" he said with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. "I drew the short straw. Being the SBPD's favorite and only psychic consultant, I stopped to see if he needed a ride home. That's all. He didn't. Took a cab home instead."

Juliet nodded in agreement. "Gus and Shawn checked out the bar and the cab company. Lassiter was transported to his apartment Sunday evening."

"Baaa!" Shawn cut in with a shout. "No sheep!"

Chief Vick's eyes widened at this interruption. "Please explain yourself, Mr. Spencer."

"Sorry, Chief. Sometimes, these visions just spring up out of nowhere." Shawn shook his head, adding, "I think the spirits are trying to tell me that Lassiter didn't sleep in his apartment last night."

For a moment, Vick just stared at him. "I think it might be in the best interest of the station if we investigate this quietly for the time being," she said. "I'd like to avoid any unnecessary media attention until we can get more information. O'Hara, I'll temporary take you off all current assignments. You may use two officers to assist you on this."

She shook her head in conciliation when O'Hara started to protest. "I'm sorry, but that's all I can spare right now. Start the usual traces: phone, credit cards, banking. I want you to retrace Lassiter's steps and question his neighbors and anyone who's had any contact with him in the last week. Also, put a BOLO out on his vehicle."

Shawn raised his hand and asked, "And me?"

"Yes, Mr. Spencer?" Vick returned, perplexed. "What about you?"

"I know that Lassie doesn't seem to appreciate my genius, but I'd like to help out if I can."

Vick raised an eyebrow at the genuineness of the offer. "This will require some discretion on your part, Mr. Spencer."

He pouted at the obvious reproach. "I can be discreet when I have to. There was this time in fourth grade when Gus and I…"

Vick held her hand up, effectively halting his story. "Fine. You may assist O'Hara. I want you to report directly to her if you find anything." Vick added, "And Detective O'Hara, let's handle this like we would any missing person case, which means that we need to keep in mind that Lassiter's absence might be voluntary."

Juliet stiffened at the word 'voluntary,' but said nothing in return. She gave a small nod to the Chief before hurrying out of the office. Not surprisingly, she didn't wait for Shawn to follow suit. Finally given the orders that she needed, Shawn watched as Detective O'Hara set off to do as she felt necessary to find her partner.

"Is there something else, Mr. Spencer?" Vick inquired.

Shawn hesitated, unsure how to approach a question that's been nagging at him. "Um… And if it's voluntary? I mean if Lassiter … you know."

The Chief sighed deeply in understanding. "You know what it means, Mr. Spencer. It could ruin his career. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some phone calls to make," she said as she made a 'shooing' gesture.

Shawn gave a grim nod before turning to leave her office. Vick confirmed what he already knew. If Lassiter did voluntarily disappear, it would scar not only his reputation, but his record. Shawn didn't doubt that Lassiter would be declared unfit for duty if that were the case. Despite their differences on so many (many) things, he had no desire to see the detective stripped of his badge or title, especially if this was just a momentary lapse in judgment.

He knew that his willingness to help probably had more to do with the Drimmer fiasco than Shawn would care to admit aloud. Deep down, he still felt that he somehow owed Lassiter. Maybe just a little bit. But as loathe as he was to admit it, the detective's precise shooting had saved them both.

Who would think to stick a gun in a bowl of nuts?

Shawn shook his head at the memory and set off to locate their lost head detective.


MEANWHILE…

Pain.

It was Lassiter's least favorite sensation to wake up to. His head ached fiercely and for the life of him, he had no idea why. It was eerily reminiscent of a time not too long ago. Despite his hazy memory of events in that damn warehouse, that was one thing he would never forget. The pain. One did not forget having a bullet ricochet off one's skull. No matter how hard he tried, the memory was always there.

Deja-vu, but not. His pain wasn't as extreme, not even close. No elephants clomping around his skull this time, just a steady ache that throbbed in time with his pulse.

Not a stranger to hangovers, Lassiter assumed it was unusually strong reaction from one too many scotches, and decided the best course of action was to sleep it off. As he shifted into a more comfortable position, the movement ignited a sharp ache in his arms. Startled, he tried to reposition his arms, fearing that he may have injured himself when he passed out. He had experienced enough embarrassing injuries for one lifetime. Thank you very much. Frankly, Lassiter had no desire to endure any more ridicule from the SBPD's peanut gallery (namely Spencer).

However, all attempts to move his arms and hands were met with resistance. Lassiter felt cold metal pinch his wrists as he tried to yank them free.

Handcuffs?!

Bile quickly rose to his throat as his fragmented memories rushed to greet him. With much disgust, he recalled getting sucker punched in front of his own apartment. Some head detective, indeed, Lassiter groused. Attacked in front of your own apartment because you were too drunk to defend yourself. He immediately cursed himself for making such a reckless error. Always on alert. Those words had been drilled into him as a rookie. Not only did he agree wholeheartedly with them, but he preached them on several occasions--an adept detective must never let his/her guard down. To make such a foolish and potentially deadly mistake disturbed him more than he was willing to admit.

Forcibly pushing aside those thoughts for another time, Lassiter focused his attention on his current predicament. The handcuffs. Despite the throbbing in his skull and surging nausea, he managed to pry his eyes open. His world was a mess of dark blurs and shadows. Blinking forcefully, he willed his blurred vision to clear. Tilting his chin down slowly, Lassiter could see that his hands were cuffed behind his back. Not only was he restrained, but he had been stripped of his coat, tie, and gun.

A quick survey of the room had revealed little, save for a tiny, dark, windowless space. The small stream of light seeping from under the door provided little in the way of a light source. He couldn't make out any other furnishings except for the chair that he currently occupied and a small table positioned next to him.

Lassiter tensed as he heard the sound of unfamiliar voices outside of his prison. Alarmed, his heart raced, causing the pain in his head to increase tenfold. It took only a moment for him to realize that the voices were drawing closer. He needed to make a decision fast. Awake and confront them, or feign unconsciousness and perhaps gain some valuable time and insight. Though it went against ever fiber of his being, he managed to close his eyes and hoped that it would be worth the sacrifice. Keeping his eyes shut and chin down, he heard the distinct 'click' of a lock released as new occupants entered the room.

"Hey! You awake?" came a deep shout, as two distinct sets of footsteps entered the room.

"He's still breathing, isn't he?" a different man asked. The voice was softer, more tentative than the first.

"Yeah," the first grunted back his answer.

"He's been out for hours! This can't be right. You hit him too hard."

"Did not! Barely smacked him. He's probably still drunk. You saw him stagger out of the cab last night."

"You know what the boss said…"

The first barked, "Shut up, moron! I know what he said." Lassiter knew from the proximity of the clomping footsteps that the man loomed over him. "Hey, Detective. Time to wake up! Wakey! Wakey!"

Lassiter wasn't able to suppress a wince as he was seized roughly by his hair. Startled, his eyes popped open. He hissed at the brightness of the light filtering in through the open door. As his eyes readjusted, he saw that the man in front of him was Caucasian, early to mid 30s, athletic build, shaved head, and brown eyes with a crooked nose. Scanning, Lassiter immediately caught sight of his weapon stuffed carelessly in the waistband of the man's pants. Damnit!

"Bout time you woke up," he sneered, shoving Lassiter's head to the side as he released his hair.

Lassiter growled, as the ache in his head magnified from the abuse. "You're both under arrest for assault and abduction of a police officer. Unlock these cuffs immediately," he commanded with as much authority as he could muster.

The man with the crooked nose laughed, darkly, "I don't think so. Maybe I did smack you too hard. Look around, Detective, you aren't in any position to arrest us now, are you?"

Lassiter eyes narrowed as they darted from the first captor to the second. The other man in the room stood off to the side, looking for all to see like a frightened boy. He was significantly younger than the first (perhaps 21 at the most), a Caucasian male with dark hair and portly in size.

"Who the hell are you two and what the hell is all of this?!" Lassiter demanded.

"Like we're telling you that! Man, must think we're morons," the crooked nosed captor replied sarcastically and then added, "We've been hired to keep you out of the way, Detective Lassiter."

"What? By whom?"

The man snorted, derisively. "Doesn't matter."

"Where am I?"

"Your new home for the next week or so."

"What?!" Lassiter roared. His mind reeled at the lunacy. What the hell?

"Listen here, Detective. Our boss wants you out of the way for a bit. Behave and this can be easy for you. Misbehave, and well… " He paused, giving Lassiter a large toothy grin as his balled his large hand into a fist.

Lassiter had little time to brace himself as the man's fist collided square into his jaw. His vision tunneled in a swirl of grey and black upon impact. A fresh wave of pain exploded along his jaw as a warm gush of blood flooded his mouth. Lassiter gagged at the cloying metallic taste and for several long moments, he allowed himself to focus only on breathing through the pain.

Just breathe.

It was an old and familiar mantra that seemed to help with the worst of the pain. Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Lassiter desperately struggled to maintain his grip on consciousness. For several long minutes, everything felt strangely disconnected for the detective. Disjointed. Like the force of the punch had knocked something loose.

However, the sudden intrusion of muffled voices snapped him back to reality. Lassiter slowly righted his head, careful not to disrupt the swarm of angry bees buzzing inside his skull. He spat blood out of his mouth, carefully testing out the responsiveness of his damaged jaw. Pain inhibited much in the way of movement, which was probably a good thing. Since he feared that it was probably broken.

"Damn it, Don! Enough!" the younger man shrieked.

Don snorted. "Shut it. No one asked you, Junior." Lassiter slowly re-opened his eyes to find the smug bastard standing in front of him, arms crossed, smirking. "I was just giving the Detective a demonstration of what will happen if he misbehaves. I think he understands. You do understand, don't you, Detective?"

Lassiter's temper raged. Years of training kept him from lashing out in retaliation. He knew it would be an idiotic and impulsive response given the current situation. Amateurish. Besides, he simply didn't have the advantage that he would need to successfully counterattack at the moment. If only he had his gun. For the time being, he was forced to sit, wait and bide his time.

He allowed his gaze to purposefully wander, waiting for the desire to act rashly to completely recede. Odd. He spotted the younger man standing off to the side, resting in the doorway, staring firmly at his sneakers. He made eye contact with the head detective for the briefest of moments before scurrying out of the room.

Don interrupted Lassiter's train of thought. "Don't worry, you'll be fed and watered regularly. If you're good, we might even uncuff you. Think of this as a little vacation minus the accommodations and tourist shit."

Lassiter coughed roughly, spitting more blood out onto the floor. "Felony assault and kidnapping an officer of the law, that's at least 20 years in prison, you son of a bitch. What you're making can't be worth that?" he replied angrily, as the left half of his jaw began to swell.

Don laughed lightly. "Nice try, but it is and then some." He turned and shouted, "Yo, Junior, bring me some water!"

Within a minute, Junior had returned with a bottle of water and straw in his hands and handed them over to his other captor. "Don't call me that."

Don snorted and quickly placed the items on the table before turning to face Lassiter. "Okay, your hands will remain cuffed for now. Feel free to roam around your new digs. Before you get too excited, there's no way to escape. Door's locked. Try something and I'll shoot you."

Lassiter could tell from the look in the man's eyes that it wasn't an idle threat. The man had every intention of following through if the detective attempted to escape. "I'll be back to feed you in a couple of hours," Don called out, before slamming the door shut.

Crap, Lassiter swore softly, as the room plunged into darkness once more.


TBC

Thanks for reading! Comments, critiques and feedback are welcome.

Completely unrelated A/N on Psych's midseason finale ("Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark")-- Without spoiling, I believe all I can say is WOW!!!