(Belated disclaimer: I own nothing. Seasons 3 and 4 wouldn't have happened on my watch.)

HE WILL ALWAYS HAVE ME

Sunday

Bailey was looking at the wheelchair with disdain as he awaited John. A reminder of the damage his body had incurred, as if the pain and the sling around his left arm weren't physical and visual reminders enough. He had convinced the doctor to switch the pain medication, so he was already more alert than he had been last night.

He'd tried to compile the list of potential Jack suspects late into the night, but sleep had claimed him eventually. Nightmares again, restless sleep. He sighed and wished that John would arrive soon. He doubted that the junior agent would have news, but he would bring the files George had pulled concerning Sam's cases from the past nine months. He'd agreed to meet Angel at the fire station safe house. She would drive them to tell Chloe the bad news, and on the drive there, Bailey would pore over the files, looking for curious details of the men who had passed Sam's way.

He wondered when Agent Foster might gain access to Donald Lucas. An FBI agent's kidnapping would expedite things, and the Jack-related physical evidence at the crime scene should hasten the proceedings more. Bailey decided to call the agent after Angel and Chloe were ensconced in the safety of the fire station.

"Bailey. Hey." John had come in while Bailey was deep in thought.

"No news, I guess." John shook his head with a grim look.

Bailey felt sheepish for his failure to greet his friend. "Sorry. Hi John. I'm in pain and a little preoccupied. That's no excuse, though," Bailey muttered, thinking of the time Sam had gently chided him for failing to give her a proper hello.

John smiled a little. "This isn't my first rodeo," clearly reminiscing the same period of time. "Do you have any news?"

"Nothing since last night, when I challenged Foster to confront Lucas. Did George get the files together?"

"Yeah, they're in my car on the back seat." John fidgeted a little. "I was wondering... Do you want me to take a leave of absence?" At Bailey's questioning look, he continued: "If I can't investigate Sam's disappearance and your shooting officially, I'd rather help you get to the bottom of this off the record than waste a minute on some other case."

Bailey was humbled. "I appreciate that. Let's wait and see what Foster thinks after he meets with Lucas. After that, he might be more open to our cooperation. But thanks."

"No problem. Let's get you out of here."


Agent Foster waited in the bare holding cell for Lucas. It had taken a few hours to cut through the red tape, with a round of calls to the deputy director of the FBI, the governor of the state, to the warden of the prison housing the convict. Foster reviewed his plan of action. He would cut to the chase straight away, revealing to Lucas the events of the past days. The killer's reaction would be telling.

Lucas shuffled in with cuffs chained to his hands and feet. The guards pushed him down on the seat and remained standing beside him.

Foster took a beat, studying the man in front of him. The convict wore a blank expression. "I'm Special Agent Eric Foster. I've come here to discuss Agent Waters with you."

The killer perked up a little. "What about her?"

Foster put the official FBI id photo of her on the table and slid it towards Lucas. He kept a close eye on the convict. "She's been kidnapped."

Lucas had gazed at the photo with interest and warmth, but he shot an ambiguous look to the agent at the news. "By whom?"

"You tell me. Did you orchestrate it?"

Lucas turned taciturn. Seeing that he wouldn't get an answer, Foster slid two other photos on the table. Malone's id photo, and the photo he'd taken from Waters' office, of the two agents. Lucas' face didn't show any strong emotions towards the wounded agent. Foster decided to go in for the kill.

"You kidnapped her once before, set her up for the murder of Darla Turner. That must have appealed to you, being able to control her like that. After all, that's what the game was always about. I'm curious though, how did you feel when she tried to control you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When she realised that you wanted to be close to her and challenged you to take her hand. That must have been hell of a blow to your ego..."

Lucas bristled at the slight the agent was insinuating. "I've always been in control."

"Have you? I doubt it. See, I think you never even touched her when she was conscious. Sure, you touched her after you let that spider bite her. But when she was awake? Nah." Foster threw in a contemptuous chuckle for good measure, hoping that Lucas would rise to the bait. "Sort of pathetic, really."

"I touched her plenty."

"You took her hand?"

"Yes!"

Foster sighed at the confirmation of Malone's doubts. "You're not Jack. The real Jack didn't touch Agent Waters that day." He stood up to leave. Lucas wasn't going anywhere, and therefore making sense of the convoluted story between the real Jack and Lucas would have to wait until Jack was caught.


Sam felt dizzy. Whether the sensation came from a lack of sleep, the sedative Jack had shot her with or the times she had to go heave her stomach's contents in the bathroom, she could not say.

Jack had kept her up half the night by his presence, then the rest of the night by the things he'd revealed. Some of the events she had already known, had been able to deduce from the profiles she had made of the victims; other things she wished she could forget forever. And he hadn't even reached the victims that were connected to her.

She had tried to throw Jack with the memories she'd thought of, and a few times, she could see that something had struck a nerve, however slightly. She'd shared a few memories of the happy days with Tom and Coop, not feeling strong enough to reminisce Bailey yet. She figured that the memories would start weighing heavily on her mind once Jack reached Donald Franklin, the first case she and Bailey had investigated.

She tried to estimate the passage of time. It must have been Saturday when she awoke in this place. She guessed that the day was Sunday. She suspected that Jack might blur the times of day together to keep her disoriented and thereby more susceptible to his agenda.

She wondered what Grace, John and George were doing. Where would they be looking for her? Or were they busy grieving Bailey? Had Frances and Arianna flown to Atlanta? How were Chloe and Angel coping?

Foolish thoughts and memories flooded her. Of picnics and dinners, of hugs and kisses. She even managed to smile at them.

Her smile died when she heard the key in the lock. She steeled herself for another barrage of devastating details.


Bailey let out a frustrated sigh from the back seat. He'd been poring over the case files of the investigations he didn't remember with clarity. The team had overseen over twenty cases since Lucas' incarceration, with hundreds of male names to be checked. With George's help, the suspects could be listed and narrowed in a matter of hours, but Agent Foster's dismissive attitude made sure that the VCTF's resident computer genius was off limits.

He was surprised when Angel said "We're five minutes away. You wanna start organising the files so that Chloe won't see them?"

Bailey closed the file and started stashing files back into the boxes.

"Have you figured out anything?"

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Nothing substantial yet."

"Oh. Well, you will. You taught Sam, after all."

Bailey looked out of the window, trying to ignore the pang in his chest. "In this case, the apprentice has surpassed the master a long time ago."

"I find that hard to believe." The conversation died until Angel asked "I hate to ask, but how are you doing?" She looked at him in the rear view mirror.

How was he doing? A deafening dread consumed his waking hours and invaded his dreams, his self-recriminations had reached an all-time high, and if the worst came to be, he feared or rather knew he'd never get over losing her. "Not too great." Angel nodded in understanding.

She started to slow down. "We're here."


Agent Foster had called Malone and heard that he was bringing Waters' daughter home to Atlanta. He kept the phone call short, but had informed the wounded agent that he'd come to realise Lucas indeed wasn't Jack. Foster would meet Malone at the fire station safe house, where they would discuss the way the investigation would now proceed. He was also quite curious to see the house Malone had secured for Waters three years ago.

Foster identified himself to the agents stationed outside the house entrance. He surveyed the large entry hall before taking the elevator. The hand print reader was out of order. He ascended to the second floor and was greeted by Malone, who opened the door.

"Agent Malone. Mind if I take a quick look around?"

Bailey had patience for only one thing. "Yes. What's the plan from now on? Are you going to let me chip in?"

Foster's eye brows shot high. "I still view you primarily as a victim and a witness of this case. But," he placated the agent, "I won't lie that I welcome your expertise concerning Jack. I have much catching up to do."

"I'm already compiling a list of suspicious male contacts and acquaintances Sam might have met since Lucas was caught." Off Foster's questioning look, he continued "Jack wouldn't have let someone else impersonate himself without seeking her out." Foster had to concede his point. A stalker rarely, if ever, lessened the efforts to ingratiate himself to the life of the chosen victim. Every unreturned act of appreciation would only serve to step up the efforts.

"I believe you're right about that. You can enlist Agent Fraley's help with narrowing down the suspects. Now, may I look around a bit?" Bailey stepped aside and swept a hand to signal his consent. Agent Foster walked around, asking a question here and there about whether the furniture was the same, how had the rooms been divided among the occupants, how many times the security cameras had been used. Bailey stopped Foster from entering Angel's old room. Chloe and Angel were in there, wanting privacy from the unfamiliar agent.

At Bailey's explanation, Foster enquired "Would it be possible for me to meet the daughter?"

Bailey blocked the door and lowered his voice. "Her name is Chloe, and absolutely not. She's off limits, even to you." Foster made note of the agent's protective streak. Something to mull over later. He stepped back from the door. "I'm heading to the task force offices. Will you meet me there in, say, three hours? To debrief me on Jack?" Bailey informed the agent that he would have a session with the dramatic incident counsellor in two hours. He would arrive at the VCTF after the session. Foster took his leave.

Monday

Sam's control of her sanity was teetering. The onslaught of gut-wrenching details from the last minutes of Jack's victims' lives was taking its toll on Sam. She felt raw and exposed every second of every minute of every hour. Like Jack was just chipping away at her will to live while she tried desperately to fortify her walls of self-preservation.

She was being pulled into the abyss, and this time, she couldn't lean on Bailey to bring her back from the brink; memories were all that remained.

She tried to maintain her strength and keep herself hydrated, although the water and the bare fruits she had taken to eating in an effort to stay clear of any drugs had mostly ended up in the drain as Jack revealed, time after time, another vile detail. She was beginning to feel weak.

Sleep offered no respite. She would fall asleep and then be woken up by the nightmares that followed from the real world only twenty minutes later. She was rapidly approaching her breaking point.

She reminded herself to think of Chloe, to reminisce the joyous moments of her life. Or was she dreaming of new ones, of days when Jack was long buried and she lived on her life with Bailey by her side? Somewhere along the way, the line had blurred and she could barely tell the difference sometimes.


Bailey closed his eyes as the elevator doors shut and the cabin started its descent. His session with the counsellor from yesterday had left him raw. The counsellor had prodded his present mental state, leaving the recall of the shooting to a later time. They'd discussed Jack's return and the spectre of Bailey never seeing Sam again, and, much to his chagrin, his feelings for the missing agent, although he hadn't voiced their true nature. The counsellor had been adamant that he would need to let himself feel the feelings, the denial of which would only serve to tie him up in knots. As long as Sam was missing, cherishing his feelings and memories of her could help him weather it out.

Bailey had met Agent Foster at the command center last night. They'd gone over the details of the Jack investigation, and the agent hadn't broached any personal feelings. Today might be a different story.

His thoughts turned to the unexpected encounter he'd had on his way from the session. He'd been in the parking hall, heading to the car for his ride to the command center when his name had been uttered quietly. Between two SUV's had been Casper, dressed in an impeccable suit. The CIA agent had motioned Bailey to come over.

Casper had beaten Bailey to the punch. "I heard about what happened. Is there anything I can do?"

"Not much, but thanks."

"Are you close to catching the bastard?"

"I hope so." Casper had regarded the man in front of him. He'd put his arms in pockets and rocked on his heels, adopting a nonchalant air.

"You know, the times are dangerous, even if you capture him alive. You never know what could happen. Convicts die in in maximum security prisons all the time, or they go missing on the prison transport. And no one is ever able to figure out what terrible fate befell the person. Can you imagine?"

"Maybe the government should get someone on that." The men had shared a wry smile. "Thanks. Keep your ears open for any Sam-related chatter."

Casper had nodded. "Of course. I hope you find her. I like her." With that, Casper had slunk into the shadows of the parking hall.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Bailey stepped into the frantic command center.


"Let's talk about your relationship with Agent Waters." Foster peered at Bailey. They were sitting around the upper table of the command center. Foster leaned back in his chair and regarded the VCTF leader with a serious look. "I've been able to deduce a few things from my interviews with you and your subordinates."

There was something about the agent that irritated Bailey a bit. Maybe it was that he wasn't the type of person Bailey would fraternize with outside the work place. "Such as?"

Foster sighed. "Why are you so determined to keep a tight lid on anything of a personal nature? I'm here to help, not throw a wrench into your relationship with Agent Waters. So tell me what I need to know in order to do my job."

Bailey knew he couldn't stall any longer. "I've... recently discovered that I have certain feelings for Sam."

"Are they romantic ones?"

"Yes." Foster remained silent, so Bailey pressed on. "But I don't see how my feelings have any bearing on the case. If I didn't know, how could Jack know?"

Foster shrugged. "Both Tom Waters and you were shot with a handgun. To me, that correlation is a clear sign that Jack very much regards you as a rival for Agent Waters' romantic affections, if you will." Bailey pondered Foster's opinions and tried to beat down the ever flickering flame of hope.

"Regardless of Jack's knowledge of your feelings, he resents and possibly hates you. You have provided Agent Waters with emotional support all these years. You share a deep connection. On some level, he must suspect that he can't compete with that. He must feel that without you, he would have lured her over to his side a long time ago."

Foster decided to focus Bailey's thoughts on another terrifying matter. "You know the killer and his profile better than I do. In your opinion, what he is doing with her?"

Bailey shot the agent a scathing look. Foster reasoned "You have to try and push your personal feelings aside and think like an experienced profiler. Otherwise, you're useless to me." There was that Mr Personality aspect again. Bailey tried to distance himself from his dread and view the case impersonally.

"The last time he had her, he toyed with her and framed her for murder. He was in total control."

"Do you think Waters will try to rattle him, challenge him again?"

"Maybe. But last time, it was clear that he wouldn't keep her long. He hadn't had anyone committed for his crimes, and he even left behind a puzzle to find her."

"Would she have known that he wasn't going to detain her?"

"I think so. He blinded her temporarily, but it wore off quickly. She could hear the muffled shouts of a serial killer Jack had kidnapped. He even answered Angel's phone call."

Foster contemplated Bailey's words. "Now, the situation is different. He's framed Lucas, he wounded you and he's left no clues behind. As far as he's concerned, the game is over."

Bailey shot Foster's question back at the man. "What do you think he's doing with her?"

"Maybe he's parading his memorabilia of her. Maybe he's telling her how he became a serial killer or why he chose her. I believe he's trying to convince her that they're alike, and he may employ any means to achieve that goal. The salient point is that throughout all these years, he has built a fantasy relationship with her, and as it becomes increasingly clear to him that the reality will not live up to the fantasy, she faces ever greater danger."

"You mean that he might eventually kill her."

"Yes. You need to prepare yourself for that outcome." Bailey didn't respond, too lost in dread. If only Sam would hold on.

Tuesday

Jack was taunting Sam with Bailey's death. She wanted to claw his eyes out.

"And that day... It wasn't hard to find out where you were headed. A simple wire tab was all it took. So, I arrived there a few hours before you did. Waited behind the cabin, cleaned it of utensils. When he stepped out to get the rest of the bags, I made my move. He was standing at the boot when I shot him. Poor bastard never saw it coming." He chuckled.

Bailey had died from a gunshot. Just like Tom. It was fitting, in the most cruel possible way.

"Then, I was reunited with you."

In the silence that followed Jack's words, Sam tried to clear her mind. The way he had just described Bailey's demise... Something was off about Jack's story. She had a feeling it was something she shouldn't ignore, despite the emotional tailspin it might cast her into.

"What was that? For days, you've been torturing me with telling the most gruesome, nightmare inducing details of your every heinous murder, every moment leading up to the final heartbeat, but with Bailey... You just glossed it over."

Jack suddenly realised he stood on precarious ground. His resentment of the VCTF leader had increased with every one of Sam's memories concerning the man, and it dawned on him too late that that was why he should have put more effort into describing the murderous act. His frustration had gotten the better of him, and he now had to scramble to convince her that the scant details were because of his desire to get away with her as soon as possible, not because the agent wasn't actually dead.

"Did I? Do you want to hear more about his last word? How it died on his lips? How I pinned his FBI id to his chest? To be honest, I wasn't paying that much attention. After all, I had more pressing things on my mind, like our reunion."

No, that wasn't right. Jack killed to own his victim. He would never hasten his high for any reason. He enjoyed the game too much.

"No, you always pay attention when the victim dies. That's the only time you feel alive. You wouldn't pass that up for anything. It's like you took no pleasure in Bailey's death, like you aren't savouring your memories of it. It's like..."

Sam's breathing hitched. If Jack isn't savouring his memories of Bailey's death, it's because it never happened. It never happened. Bailey never died.

"It never happened," she whispered.

She forced herself to examine her logic, to ponder the lack of feeling in Jack's final story, to picture the scene at the cabin and to profile Jack's actions there and here, just seconds ago. It all added up.

"You aren't exulting in Bailey's death because he didn't die. He's still alive."

Jealous wrath consumed Jack as he watched her whole being come alive again. A spark had been lit inside her and she shone like the sun, fiercely, blindingly.

For a moment, Sam's energy felt tapped, as her mind reeled from the realization. Then, it soared to the skies and she smiled, her hand unconsciously moving to the small of her back and the other to her neck. He was still alive. Relief washed over her and tears pooled in her eyes, spurred on by the new-found world of hope. He would save her, just as her memories of him had already saved her from falling into the abyss Jack was dangling her over. She would see him again.

Sam pinned Jack down with a steely look from her blue eyes, and the utter conviction in her words started a rage inside his head. "The game's over. You lost."


Bailey, John, George and Agent Foster were stationed in the command center, discussing and eliminating possible Jack suspects. The list had whittled down to 22 men who warranted a closer look. Agent Foster had relented on his rules, and so John was allowed to chip in, helping to assess the behaviour of the suspects on the basis of his own memories.

They worked chronologically, not wholly ignoring cases unrelated to Jack, but focusing on the dates surrounding Lucas' capture and the team's trip to Otis, California. Bailey asked George to pull up the men who'd sought out or otherwise met Sam after the incidents. This yielded six men, including two prison guards, a local newspaper reporter, the sheriff from Otis and two of his deputies. It took a few quick calls to ascertain that the prison guards and the reporter were out of the running. All three of them hadn't called in sick or quit since Friday, and the FBI agents were all in agreement that Jack wouldn't leave Sam for long periods of time at this stage of the game.

The information was slow to trickle in from Otis, however. The haphazard way of running the sheriff's station was still in full swing, and the deputy who'd answered the phone call had only been on the job a week and still learning the ropes. It took a few hours for the VCTF members to hear back from the sheriff, and then they learned that the sheriff and one deputy had both quit recently.

George started tracking down the movements of the suspects, and Bailey, John and Foster reconvened at the upper table to discuss each man.

"What about this Sheriff Boats? What do you remember?"

John chimed in. "He was the quintessential hapless small town sheriff. Didn't really react to Sam at all, at least that I saw." Foster looked at Bailey, waiting for his opinion.

"He was polite to her, but seemed to take no special interest in her."

"Would you really expect Jack to do so in plain sight?" Foster asked.

John challenged "Look, once Jack was again face to face with Sam, wouldn't he have made some oblique overtures to her over the investigation? Nudging her a little, toying with her? Boats didn't do anything of the kind, hell, he didn't even say her name once that I recall."

Both Bailey and Foster tensed. Bailey willed himself to remember every encounter with the bumbling idiot, and he too was grasping at straws to think of a time Boats had used Sam's name. Something finally clicking, Bailey stood up and strode over to George. John and Foster followed.

"George, pull up the court transcript of the Sheriff Boats' testimony."

"Checking to see if he mentioned her name on the stand?" John asked.

Bailey nodded. "We should also check how many times he attended the trial. He might have been there on other occasions to be close to Sam. George?" The computer whiz nodded and indicated that the search would take a few minutes. He pulled up Boats' testimony first.

"Search for Sam's name." No results came up.

"Let's see if and how he referred to her" Foster suggested. George performed a search algorithm for female nouns and pronouns in the transcript. The search returned a few hits.

Bailey's eyes scanned through the results quickly. "'That lady'..." Boats' only mention of Sam. "How many times did he attend the trial?"

George pulled up another search window. "Four times. For his own testimony, Sam's turn, Lucas' confession and the verdict." Bailey's furious kick sent the nearby chair rolling to the wall, colliding with a loud thump. Jack had been right under their noses.

Foster's voice cut through the silence. "We've found our guy, I believe. Let's make sure, though. We need a full background check on him, assuming he bothered to fabricate one that doesn't crumple immediately. Agent Malone, a word?" Foster gestured for Bailey to join him at the upper table.

They sat down. Foster spoke brusquely. "I need you to tamp down your anger and think. How did you and Agent Waters act in front of Boats? "

"Not of out the ordinary. We behaved in the same way as we always do. We shared a hug after the verdict came in." Bailey considered the agent's line of questioning. "Are you concerned that it would endanger Sam?"

"And you. Jack may have revealed his real appearance, and that raises the stakes. If she realises that you're still alive, it places both of you in grave danger. If push comes to shove and she shows no signs of coming over to his side, he may resort to trying to kill you in front of her this time."

Bailey took Foster's words in and leaned into the chair. "Let's figure out how he's going to do it."

Wednesday

Her time was running out. Sam's willpower had surged with her realization about Bailey, and so she was able, for the first time in her captivity, to use her profiling skills and adopt a persona that she estimated would throw Jack off. She was skilled at this, altering her demeanour and even speech patterns to get the desired reaction out of the suspect. Doing so would strip Jack of his precious control.

She knew that she was fighting against the clock. With every hour, the possibility of Jack killing her increased, as he was presented with mounting proof that she would never succumb to him. What she needed was a mistake on his part. He'd already made two: letting Bailey live and letting her know about it. She had to rattle her cage to see if she could push him to do a third mistake, a mistake of her making. She had to bait him oh so carefully, try to steer him in the direction she wanted.

"Do you want to hear how Bailey and I met?"

Jack knew that they were in the midst of a power play, one that had started out with him in control, but the balance had shifted and he was steadily losing ground. He needed to gain the upper hand again, and he would need some time alone to come up with a strategy. The problem was, Sam would recognise his absence for that it was, which in turn would only weaken his hold on her.

He cursed his plan for Malone. If everything had gone according to plan, he would have had the satisfaction of having his beloved Sam by his side and seeing Malone unravel and destroy himself slowly. Now, she wouldn't shut up about the chump.

Sam observed him. "No, I can see that wouldn't hold your interest. Let's come up with another topic. One that hits closer to home." She walked around a bit.

"How about the time you broke into Bailey's home and stole his credentials? You know, you surprised me with that. Nearly drove me up the walls. I was so afraid that you'd attack him again, I could barely let him out of my sight." A thought occurred to Sam.

"When you met Molly Sargucci, you posed as Bailey, didn't you?" Jack's tense jaw gave him away.

"Yes, you probably identified yourself as Agent Malone to her. How did that make you feel? More like a man? Less like a shell, less like an excuse for a human being?" Sam spat out.

Sensing a good opportunity to drive Jack to his mistake, she continued: "You used his identity to cozy up to a leggy blonde. Malone and a leggy blonde, hm. Why does that sound familiar?"

She kept hammering on. "Did you wonder about how I had met Bailey? Did you think about how I would react to Bailey coming on to me? If we'd ever shared a drink in a bar? Had I stolen glances at him when he's preoccupied? Hm?" She watched as Jack tried to remain calm and unaffected by her words.

"The answers to the last two questions would be affirmative, in case you're wondering. Oh, and the one about Bailey coming on to me? Well, I can't say that I haven't thought about it." She made a show of running any number of such events through her head. She gave a tiny satisfied smile.

"I think I'll live to find out what the real deal is like. But if there's one thing I know with absolute certainty, it's this: You will never have me. He will always have me."

Jack stiffened and stormed out. The game was far from over, and Sam would know it soon. He had a plan.


Bailey tilted his head to the side, trying to stretch the sore muscles of his neck. Fifteen hours had passed since they'd surmised Boats to be Jack. Of those hours, Bailey had slept a few, waiting for confirmation about Boats. When the sheriff's background information had been revealed to be bogus, the agents had focused on figuring out Jack's next move. He would come after Bailey, but the method was unknown. Janet, Frances and Arianna were under FBI protection, although they were in Baltimore and Marion, which made it unlikely that Jack would go after them. He couldn't reach Angel or Chloe at the fire station safe house, and Morgan and Richard had both agents protecting them.

"He could always use someone we don't know, someone who's at the wrong place at the wrong time" John offered.

Bailey dismissed it. "While he has done so before, it's too late in the game to entangle somebody else. Plus, how would he get rid of them once they've achieved the goal and brought me in? It's too messy."

Foster chimed in. "That leaves Agent Waters. Which is what I think he will do. What would be more satisfying than Waters bringing Malone to his death? I believe that Jack is counting on you to follow Waters to the ends of the world. So, the only question is: how will he force her hand?"

"No gun will work for obvious reasons. You think he might resort to toxic poisoning again?" John enquired of Bailey.

"Maybe. We should check if any toxic reptiles or animals have gone missing in the state of Georgia in the past week. But, my feeling is that Jack wouldn't repeat himself."

Foster reasoned "And toxins are hard to manufacture or come by, and the effects of the toxin could prove too unpredictable."

John was puzzled. "So what does that leave us? Paper cuts? Missiles? Grenades?"

Bailey was chuckling softly at the younger agent's silly remark when the last suggestion hit home. He scrambled to get a hold of the table phone and grunted out "We need to hurry."

Thursday

Sam awoke from her restless sleep on the chair when the door clicked. She drew a breath when she saw Jack approaching her with a gun. She scrambled to get up from the chair and looked around for something with which to fend Jack off.

Advancing towards her, Jack's lips curled to a twisted smile. "Don't worry, I don't mean to shoot to kill. Well, not you. You're going to be reunited with your precious Malone after all. I'll kill him while you watch on. Here's the kicker: you're going to deliver him to me."

Sam had backed herself into a corner and had nowhere to run when the shot rang. She remained conscious for mere seconds before she blacked out. I'm coming, Bailey. Please be ready for this.

TBC...

(I have the next chapters almost ready, so there shouldn't be a huge wait in store. I just need to fine tune them a bit.)