I'm really starting to hate snow. We didn't get hit as hard as some people did but it was enough to make work crazy this past week. I hope everybody reading this made it through okay.


Lassiter slowly returned to consciousness with a throbbing pain in his head. He cracked open his eyes and groaned, the light painfully bright.

"Lassiter?" A hand pressed down on his shoulder. "Stay still."

He opened his eyes again, forcing them to adjust. He was lying on the floor, looking up at off white ceiling tiles. Turning his head slightly, he saw Liz crouched next to him, pressing something against the side of his head. He could see a trail of dried blood along the side of her neck but the cut didn't appear to be bleeding anymore. "What happened?"

Liz pursed her lips. "That other guy knocked you out, then they brought both of us back here and locked the door."

Right, someone had snuck up behind him while he was distracted. Lassiter looked around. 'Here' was apparently a storage room in the back of the shop. No windows and no way to tell what was going on outside.

He hissed as Liz shifted her hand against his head. "What are you doing?"

"You were bleeding pretty badly from where they hit you." She bit her lip as she examined the wound. "Though it looks like it's started to slow down."

"Head wounds always bleed a lot," he said from unfortunate experience. He reached up to feel where Liz was pressing. "I've got it."

Liz moved back, watching him carefully as he sat up. "I've got more napkins if you need them."

"I'm good for now." Being upright was making him dizzy and a bit nauseous. Great, that meant he probably had a concussion. There was nothing he could do about that now, so he focused instead on their situation. "How long have we been in here?"

"I don't know, maybe ten minutes?" Liz shrugged. "I didn't have a way to check the time."

That was long enough for the police to respond and have the place surrounded, which was exactly what these guys wanted. Whatever they planned to do, they would be doing it soon. He removed the napkins and checked his head, glad to feel that the bleeding had finally stopped. He looked over at Liz to find her staring at him oddly. "What?"

"Nothing, just. . ." Liz tilted her head. "I never noticed how blue your eyes are before."

Lassiter was struck with an intense feeling of déjà vu. The woman at the party had said the same thing. Before he could ask her about it, the door opened.

The man Lassiter was calling "Jack" in his head (due to his uncanny resemblance to Nicholson in his younger years and his general creep factor) came in, grabbed Liz off the floor and again put a knife to her throat. Lassiter growled, rising to his feet more quickly than was wise. The room started spinning and he had to keep a hand on the wall to steady himself. "Let her go."

"You're in no position to make demands, detective," the second man said as he entered the room.

Lassiter glared at him. Brad Mitchells, the fugitive he had been hunting for the last three days, and now his captor. He wondered what he had done for the universe to punish him like this. Maybe he shouldn't have cut off that nun, though he was in pursuit of a suspect at the time. "What do you want?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Mitchells pulled out a cell phone. "I want the number for your police chief. I assume by now she's outside making sure the building is surrounded."

"You're not going to get away with this," Lassiter promised.

Mitchells smirked. "Ah, but I have her head detective and an innocent civilian. I think she'll be willing to work with me." He held the phone out to Lassiter. "Dial."

Lassiter glanced over at Liz and Jack. Mitchells followed his gaze. "I wouldn't try anything." Jack tightened his grip on Liz, adding a second shallow cut to the one he had given her earlier. "Dial."

Lassiter met Liz's frightened eyes and took the phone. He quickly dialed the Chief's personal number and handed it back to Mitchells.

"Good boy," Mitchells said with a sneer. Lassiter balled his hands into fists but did nothing as Mitchells spoke. "Is this Chief Vick? Good. As I'm sure you're aware by now, I have your detective and a civilian. If you want to see either of them alive again, I demand the release of my partner as well as the diamonds you confiscated. We'll also need a car, something nondescript. We'll be bringing one of the hostages with us and will release them once we are safely away to make sure you guys don't try anything."

"She'll never agree to that," Lassiter said.

Mitchells held the phone against his chest. "For your sake, you better hope she does." He brought the phone back up to his ear. "I know you brought Tony in for questioning so I think an hour would be fair to get everything together." He listened for a moment, then, strangely, held the phone out to Lassiter. "She wants to speak to you. Proof that our hostages are safe." He jerked the phone away as Lassiter reached for it. "No funny business."

Lassiter carefully took the phone. "This is Lassiter."

"Detective, are you alright?" Vick asked.

"A bit banged up but I'll live." He glanced over at Liz. "The woman is fine too."

"Good." He could hear the relief in her voice. "I want you to cooperate with them. No heroics. Do you understand me?"

"Yes ma'am," Lassiter said reluctantly. He knew it was the safest course of action but he hated being at the mercy of two thugs.

Vick seemed to sense his reluctance. "That's an order, detective. Stay put and we'll have you out of there soon."

"That's long enough." Mitchells grabbed the phone back. "One hour or you will have a couple of dead hostages on your hands." He ended the call and dropped the phone on the floor. One well-placed stomp smashed the screen and a second rendered the phone useless. "Mayson, let the girl go."

Mayson put the knife away and shoved Liz at Lassiter. Already off balance, the two of them fell back against the wall. "Cooperate with us and you two might make it out of this alive," Mitchells said.

Lassiter glared at Mitchells, knowing the chances of himself coming out of this alive were slim. But he would be damned if he let them kill Liz. Mitchells smirked, as if he knew what was going through the detective's head. Mitchells and Mayson exited the room and locked the door behind him.

After a moment, Lassiter realized he was still holding Liz. With a jerk, he let her go and took a hasty step back. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at the closed door. "Those guys are dangerous."

"Yes, they are." Lassiter watched her grab some napkins and gently pat her neck. "Let me see," he said, stepping over to her. She arched her neck and let him turn her head gently to examine the cuts. "It doesn't look deep." Her skin was very soft beneath his fingers, her neck a long and slender arch. He felt the urge to press his lips to it, right at the base of her jawline. He wondered how she would react. He wondered how she would taste.

With a jolt, he realized he had been staring at her neck longer than he needed to check her cuts and definitely long enough for her to notice. He quickly dropped his hand and stepped away again.

"That's good," Liz said, a faint blush staining her cheeks. She pressed the napkins back against her neck.

Lassiter slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes. "If I was any good at my job, you wouldn't have gotten hurt at all. Mitchells is the second person I couldn't find this week."

"Well, you found him now," Liz pointed out with false cheer.

"Yup. Just in time for him to get away with several million dollars worth of diamonds," Lassiter lamented.

They both were silent for several minutes. "So, who was the other person?"

Lassiter opened his eyes and looked over at her. "What other person?"

Liz checked the napkin pressed to her neck, then put it aside. "The other person you were looking for."

Lassiter reached into his pocket and fingered the strip of cloth. "Just someone I met at a party. I never got her name." He remembered the feeling he had gotten earlier and glanced sideways at Liz. Her hair was curly, though it was hard to tell how long tied back the way it was. She was the right height and build and her eyes were the same unusually dark hue. He pulled the fabric out of his pocket and handed it to her. "The only thing I have is a scrap of her costume. I'm guessing it tore when she left."

Liz ran her fingers over the smooth fabric. He knew when she recognized it, because her head snapped up and she looked at him in surprise. "You're the cowboy?"

"Sheriff," Lassiter corrected her.

Liz shook her head. "Wow. Out of all the people I guessed it would be, you were never even a remote possibility. Not that there is anything wrong with you," she added quickly. "It's just. . . well. . ."

"I don't have the best social skills?" he suggested wryly.

Liz shrugged. "You weren't doing too badly at the party."

"Why'd you leave then?" Lassiter asked curiously. He had guessed at the time she was hiding something but as the days passed he had begun to wonder if he had done something to put her off.

Liz looked down, picking at the torn edges of the scrap. "I didn't, exactly, have permission to be there," she admitted.

Lassiter didn't question any further. It wouldn't do to have to arrest the woman he was interested in dating. Though with the situation they were currently in, dating might not be something they had to worry about. He looked around the room with renewed energy. "We need to find a way out of here."

"I know a way."

Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

Liz nodded. "The ceiling tile in the corner is loose. Once you get up there, you can crawl to anywhere in the shop."

"Can you get outside?" he asked, thinking it would be best to get Liz to safety before taking on Mitchells.

Liz nodded. "Yeah, there's a grate in the back that you can get to that opens onto the back alley."

Lassiter looked at her curiously. "How do you know all this?"

Liz blushed. "Mandy. She used to sneak her boyfriends back here so she could make out with them during her break. She almost got caught a few times until one of them hid in the ceiling and found that secret way out."

Saved by a barista's promiscuous behavior. He would have to make sure Spencer never heard of this. "Which tile?" Once Liz pointed it out, Lassiter started moving things around so they could climb the shelves to freedom. "Come on, we don't have a lot of time."


As soon as Liz was up in the ceiling, she started crawling to the front of the store. She knew Lassiter was going to go after those guys and there was no way she was leaving him on his own.

She heard the detective scrambling up behind her and a muttered curse as he saw where she was heading. "Liz! Get back here!" he hissed.

She ignored him and continued moving forward. The space was dusty and she had to fight the urge to sneeze several times as she cautiously crept forward. She could make out voices underneath her now and guessed she was over the counter area.

She tried to pry up the edge of a ceiling tile and raised a cloud of dust. Quickly raising her hand to her nose to smother the sneeze, she started to lose her balance. She stuck her other hand out to catch herself but it went right through the tile next her. She scrambled to find something else to grab as she heard Lassiter cursing behind her. She felt his fingers brush her ankle as she lost the fight with gravity and tumbled down from the ceiling.

She landed hard on her right arm and for a moment all she could do was curl around it and gasp from the pain. She breathed in a cloud of dust from the broken tile and started coughing, each jolt of her body making her arm throb. She hoped it wasn't broken.

"What do you know? Chicks really do fall from the sky."

Liz looked up to see Mayson standing over her. He grinned and pulled out his knife. "I don't think Mitchells will mind if we have a little fun. I'll just say I had to subdue you when you tried to escape." He laughed. "Hell, that's even the truth." He reached down towards her and she scrambled backwards on the floor, glancing around frantically for something to use as a weapon.

Lassiter swung down from the ceiling, feet catching Mayson right in the chest and knocking him back into the counter. Her assailant hit his head, groaning as he slumped down to the floor. Lassiter landed on his feet, watching Mayson warily to make sure he stayed down.

"Nice entrance," she said gratefully.

"Thanks." Lassiter picked up Mayson's knife from where it had dropped and walked over to her. "Are you hurt?"

Liz sat up, cradling her right arm against her chest. "Just my arm. I landed on it when I fell." Lassiter held out his hand and helped pull her up. Movement behind the detective drew her attention. "Lassiter. . ."

There was a loud click behind the detective. He closed his eyes and grimaced. "Mitchells."

"You really need to remember to watch your back, Lassiter," Mitchells said, stepping forward with a gun pointed at Lassiter's head.

Lassiter turned slowly and his eyes narrowed. "That's my gun."

Mitchells glanced at the gun in his hand. "Yes, it is," he said smugly. "Drop the knife." When Lassiter hesitated, he pointed the gun at Liz. "I won't ask again."

Lassiter placed the knife carefully on the ground. "Now kick it over." When he did, Mitchells picked it up and placed it in his belt. "Now back away from the woman."

Lassiter glanced at Liz but slowly did as Mitchells ordered. Liz swallowed hard as Mitchells turned his focus to her. She tried to back away but Mitchells was faster than she thought. She yelped as he painfully grabbed her injured arm and pulled her to his side.

Lassiter tensed, hands curling into fists. "Don't hurt her," he snarled.

"I won't if you cooperate," Mitchells said. He kept his gun trained on Lassiter, figuring him to be the bigger threat. "Now, we are going to go into the back and this time I'm tying the both of you up so you can't pull this stunt again."

Liz waited until she meet Lassiter's eyes and gave a slight nod. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest what she was about to do. Before he could and ruin the element of surprise, she drove her elbow back into Mitchells' solar plexus. While he was gasping, she bent back the index finger on his left hand until he was forced to loosen his grip on her.

As soon as she pulled herself free, Lassiter moved in. He tackled Mitchells, hand going for the gun. Liz backed away as the two wrestled on the floor. There was a deafening bang as the gun went off, firing harmlessly into the back wall.

Mitchells was fighting dirty, hitting Lassiter wherever he could. Lassiter kept his focus on the gun. He smashed Mitchells' hand on the floor until the gun went skittering away. Mitchells let out a shout of rage and shoved Lassiter back into the counter. The detective cried out, clutching his head where it had slammed into it. Liz could see blood starting to well between his fingers.

Mitchells clambered to his feet. "You stupid man!" He kicked Lassiter viciously in the ribs. "I tried to give you a chance but you just. Wouldn't. Listen!" He punctuated each word with a kick as Lassiter groaned and tried to curl up to protect himself. Mitchells stood there panting, looking down at the injured detective. "It's time to do what I should have done from the beginning," he said, pulling out the knife.

Liz had stayed out of the fight until now, but she wasn't going to let Mitchells kill her potential new boyfriend. Luckily, Mitchells seemed to have forgot she was in the room. Seizing her chance, she came up behind him and jumped on his back. She wrapped her bad arm around his neck and used her other hand to claw at his eyes.

"AHHHH!" Mitchells swung his arms and twisted, trying to knock her off. Liz held on tightly with both arms, knowing if she was knocked free she would be an easy target. Mitchells stumbled back from Lassiter and slammed her into the wall. The force of the hit knocked the wind out of her and her grip loosened. Mitchells grabbed her arm and twisted, throwing her down to the floor.

The fall knocked the wind out of her. Mitchells stepped over her as she lay there gasping. "I guess you have a death wish too."

"I don't think so." Mitchells froze as Lassiter pressed his gun to the back of his head. The detective was swaying and was struggling to stay conscious but Liz didn't doubt for a second he would still manage to put a bullet in Mitchells if he tried anything. "I'll take that," he said, grabbing the knife and tossing it away.

Suddenly, cops swarmed in through the front and back doors. They froze in surprise when they saw Lassiter and Mitchells.

"It's about time," Lassiter snapped. "What were you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" He gestured at two of the officers. "Cuff him."

Juliet had been among one of the first to enter and now went over to Lassiter. "Carlton, maybe you should sit down," she said gently, trying to take his arm.

He pulled away from her, stumbling a bit. "I'm fine." He pointed towards the corner. "There's another one over there."

Juliet looked over at Mayson, then back at Lassiter. Her gaze slid past over to where Liz was lying on the floor. She started to walk over there when Lassiter stopped her. "I've got it. Take care of Mayson."

Juliet studied him for a moment, then glanced at Liz. She sat up slowly, meeting Juliet's eyes, and nodded. She would make sure Lassiter was taken care of. Juliet sighed before directing the rest of the officers towards the unconscious Mayson.

Lassiter came over and crouched down next to her. "Are you okay?"

Liz ran through all the new body parts that were complaining and decided nothing was protesting loudly enough to be serious besides her arm. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good." Lassiter's eyes rolled back and he slumped sideways. Liz caught him right before he hit his head on the floor again. "Help! Juliet!"

Juliet rushed over and helped lay Lassiter gently on the floor. She swore loudly when she noticed the blood coating the back of his head. "We need a medic in here!" She checked his pulse, then put a hand against his chest. He groaned, his breath stuttering, but didn't wake up.

"Is he okay?" Liz asked worriedly.

"I don't know," Juliet said, biting her lip. "What happened?"

"Mitchells knocked him out earlier, then he hit his head again while they were fighting." Liz remembered the kicks Mitchells had delivered while Lassiter was on the ground. "He got kicked in the chest a few times too."

A couple of medics arrived, pushing past the other officers. Juliet helped Liz up and out of their way so they could reach the fallen detective. "He has a head injury and possibly broken ribs," Juliet said.

One of the medics nodded. "We got it, detective." Liz watched as they worked on Lassiter, trying to gauge from their actions and expressions how worried she should be.

"Are you okay?" Juliet asked, causing her to jump.

Liz shrugged. "I'll manage."

Juliet frowned. Gently, she lifted Liz's chin and looked at the cuts on her neck.

Liz jerked away. "They're not deep. They're not even bleeding anymore." A third medic had brought in a stretcher and they were loading Lassiter onto it.

"And your arm?" Juliet asked. "Don't tell me you didn't hurt it. I work with Carlton, the king of hiding injuries." She dragged Liz over to the medics who were just finishing getting Lassiter ready to move. "Do you have room for one more in the rig?"

The third medic, the one who had brought in the stretcher, came over. Her name tag read 'Susan.' "What's the problem?" she asked.

"She's got a possibly broken wrist and a few cuts that should be looked at," Juliet said, pushing Liz forward.

Susan tsked at the cuts on her neck and examined her wrist. "It's probably just sprained but it should be checked out. Guys, we got another one," she called back to her partners.

"We need to get him out of here now, so get her over to the rig," one of them said. The first two started wheeling Lassiter out of the building, the officers in the way immediately clearing a path.

"We'll take care of both of them, Juliet," Susan said.

Juliet nodded. "I'll see you at the hospital," she said to Liz.

"Okay. Thank you," Liz said quietly.

Juliet patted her arm, then went over to where Liz could see another medic team working on Mayson.

Susan led her outside and over to the ambulance. Once Lassiter was loaded, she got Liz seated inside next to him and opposite of her. "If something goes wrong, you'll have to move so one of my partners can get to Lassiter," she said, handing Liz an ice pack.

Liz nodded. Lassiter looked too pale, especially with the oxygen mask obscuring half his face. His shirt had been opened and she could see bruises already forming on the left side of his chest. She tried not to let her gaze linger too long; he was unconscious and it felt like she was taking advantage of him. She let her eyes roam over the rest of his body, noting the IV line and a rough bandage at the back of his head.

"He looks worse than he is," Susan said softly.

Liz took a deep breath and nodded, not trusting herself to talk. She reached out and took one of Lassiter's hands, squeezing it gently. She didn't let go until they reached the hospital.


Not as bad a cliffhanger as last time. Once again, you'll only have to wait a week to find out what happens next.