Mac cursed the cab driver silently as he dodged through early morning traffic. The speedometer was obviously fixed, as he was sure it didn't usually take this long to get to the lab driving at the speed limit. He was cursing himself, too, for having got a cab to the crime scene yesterday, thinking that it would be more logical to share the police vehicle with Danny on the way back with the evidence.

Eventually, they pulled into the cab rack at the end of the block on which the lab was situated. Mac shoved a few dollar bills at the driver and climbed out without waiting for change. He strode quickly along the sidewalk, only just avoiding people heading in the opposite direction. He didn't look at them. Right now, they didn't matter in the least to him.

"Wait," a voice suddenly called. He swung round. Standing by a signpost was the woman from the coffee shop. She was staring at him intently with those dark eyes. Her hands were thrust deep into the pockets of her black coat.

"I haven't got time," he told her, and made to move on, but she lunged forwards and grabbed his sleeve."

"Please," she said urgently. "I need to talk to you."

"Let go of me," he said, and she did. "What do you want?"

She hesitated.

"What?" he asked, more forcefully.

"I… your friend…"

"Which friend?" He narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion.

"You know. Your friend who phoned you. The other night."

"What about her?"

She hesitated again, and he was filled with the urge to shake her. "Your name's Taylor?"

"You know it is, you heard me say it. What do you know about Stella?"

"She's called Stella Bonasera, isn't she?"

"Just tell me what you want to say, or I'll take you in for formal questioning."

Her eyes opened wide with fear. "No, don't, please."

"What do you know about Stella?"

"Where is she?"

"Why do you want to know?" he asked.

"Because…" she paused. "Don't take me in for questioning."

"Tell. Me. What. You. Know. About. Stella." Each word was clearly spaced, individually formed. He was a hairsbreadth away from arresting her. He could think of something to charge her with later.

"I don't know where she is." She faltered under the furious look in his eyes. "I didn't do anything. I swear, I didn't do anything."

He put his hand into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone.

"No, wait. I didn't do anything, but she's in danger."

"Why?"

"Because of you. Because – I can't tell you."

"You'd better tell me, right now."

"I can't," she said desperately. "I can't. I can't. I'm sorry."

"You know what's happened to her though? If you didn't do anything, you know who did?"

"Yes…"

"Talk. Now."

"I can't," she said again, frantically. "I need to go."

"You aren't going anywhere."

"You don't understand," she protested. "If I tell you – if I tell you anything – she might be killed. I don't know, I don't know, but I can't tell you anything."

"So why are you talking to me?" he demanded.

"So that… so that you knew. I've got to go. Please, let me go now."

Helplessly, he watched her as she turned and half walked, half ran down the street, almost pushing through groups of walkers. He let her go. Hurriedly he headed in the other direction, taking the steps in front of the lab two at a time, and shoving his way through the glass door. Hawkes met him at the top of the elevator, in front of his office.

"Mac – " he began, but was cut off immediately.

"Stella's in trouble."

"We don't know that yet. We could be jumping to conclusions."

"I know she is, for certain." He briefly related the strange conversation he'd just had. Hawkes's face became more concerned as he progressed.

"We need to find her, Mac," he said.

"I know," Mac said grimly. They entered his office. "Do you know what time she left?"

"No, I don't think I saw her to speak to all day, only in passing."

"I talked to her about 3pm. Her shift finished at 4, she probably left then."

"So she's been missing for over twelve hours."

Mac groaned, a deep noise full of pain. "She could be anywhere. We have to find her soon."

- - - - -

Stella hadn't realised she was falling asleep until she woke. She opened her eyes, but immediately screwed them half shut again as the sunrays lanced into her face. Her muscles ached and her whole body hurt from having spent all night on the unforgiving floorboards, but at least the pounding in her head had lessened.

She twisted her hands behind her, finally realising that she was tied to her chest-of-drawers. Wrists tied to one leg, ankles to the other. Whatever she was bound with, the knots were tight. She wouldn't be getting her hands untied any time soon. Time to think about this.

She forced her wrists and fingers to bend as much as they could, her fingertips exploring what was tying her up. To her surprise, what it seemed to be was – string. A length of string wrapped round and round her wrists, however, was as strong as a length of rope would be. She let herself relax, minimising the way it cut into her.

The string wasn't going to break. She had nothing to cut it with. She wouldn't be able to break it unless she was prepared to break her wrists first, and she had no intention of that, at least, not until it became a final resort.

To her surprise, she found that she was furious. Blazingly angry with herself for being so careless, with Mac for not opening her door. But mostly with whoever had put her in this situation, whoever had tied her up in this humiliating way as to prevent herself getting free. She wasn't going to let them win. She wasn't going to wait for hours until it finally occurred to someone that it might be a good idea to check her apartment, and she definitely wasn't going to let her friends find her like this, absolutely helpless. Not if there was even the slightest chance that she could do something about it.

So. Think. If the legs of the chest were lifted, she'd be able to slide the loops of string off the ends. To do that, she needed to tip the chest over somehow, and prevent it from landing on her. Think. Think. She twisted her whole body over as far as she could, onto her back, ignoring the pain shooting from so many places she couldn't count them. She let herself try to scream with the pain, the noise muffled by the cloth in her mouth. Too quiet for anyone to hear. She managed to get the joint of her knee underneath the wood. She bent her knee, pushing up as hard as she could.

The chest lifted slightly. She shouted, a roar of effort, and pushed upwards as hard as she could, and dragged her hands down, sliding her fingers under the leg, squashing them, but keeping the gap between the bottom of the leg and the floor open. She pushed, her whole body now distorted with the effort, and the edge of the flat top banged into the wall. She held it there.

Now. She dragged her hands down, fingers pulling at the loops of string. She eased them from under the wood, counting them off. One. Two. Three. Four. And the fifth, the last, and she was finally free. She had to lie back against the floor for several minutes, unable to move, hardly able to believe what she had done, tears in her eyes from the strain.

It was easier to loose her ankles. She had an arm to support the weight of the chest, too. The knots still tight, she half wriggled, half pushed her way across the floor to the desk, where, she remembered, a pair of scissors lay on the surface. She reached up with her joined hands behind her, and knocked them off, managing to pry them open, and used the blades to saw through the ties. She cut the bonds at her wrists, then her ankles, and then pulled the gag out of her mouth. It was one of her tea-towels, ripped in half, a length of packing tape over her lips which had prevented her spitting it out before. She took deep breaths, coughing and retching painfully.

The phone, now. She tried to get up again, and found she couldn't stand. She was too weak, and hurt, and shaken. That only infuriated her more, and she sat and pushed herself along the floor, like a stupid baby, she told herself. And up the few steps, somehow. But she couldn't reach the phone, so she took hold of the corner of the table it was sat on and pulled herself up, making a grab for it and knocking it off, hearing it smash into the floor. The blood rushed from her head, and her vision went black, and she followed it. A few seconds later it rang, but she didn't hear it.


A/N: Yes, I know. But it's not as big a cliffhanger as the last chapter was... you seem to be forgiving me though. So happy that so many of you are enjoying this:-) Kate x