He swallows hard, slows his breathing, and pins his ears back calling on animal instinct to listen for clues. He can taste the dried blood in his mouth. His throat is sandpaper dry. He listens. Hands and feet bound, head covered, he knows he is alone but he doesn't know where. No birds chirping, no music playing, just silence. He thinks about her. He thinks about his daughter. He wonders if they are safe. Did he fail them again? The pain in his heart matches the pain of his muscles as the void deluges him.

She swallows hard, folds her arms, and chews her lips. Her eye lids close hiding the humiliating eye roll occurring underneath. They remain as silent as suspects caught at the scene of a crime while the DVR continues to play. High definition images of Walt stepping off the porch, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and the sudden tackle and hood appear. He never saw them coming. She can feel her stomach drop simultaneous to Cady's gasp. Her heart throbs. They stand frozen watching the captured partial images of Walt being swept from the sidewalk, kicking, punching, and driven away in a green truck with a partial license plate.

"What the fuck was that?" She exhales.

"I believe we have just witnessed his kidnapping." Henry says.

"No shit." Her inability to mask her insecurities always fails her.

"Wait, but why?" Cady asks the first real question and the panic begins to spread across her refined features.

"Do you think this has anything to do with the phone calls?" She's practically yelling as she runs into the living room and begins punching buttons attempting to scroll through the most recent calls.

"Phone calls?" Henry asks as he makes his way to Cady.

They huddle in the living room and Vic looks at both of them, "I'll find him. I swear to you I will."

She doesn't wait for a reply. She turns and bolts out of the door and calls the station barking orders for Ruby to get Omar to the station with his best tracking dog and Ferg his best outdoor gear. Her supersonic drive to the station is nearly as fast as the thoughts flipping through her brain; images of them, of him, slide through her mental view-master creating three dimensional memories of pain, hope, and love.

He forces his upper body to comply as he sits up. The hardness from the cold pressed concrete exacerbates the pain in his legs. Basement, finished basement, he thinks. It's cold and it is damp. He works to free his legs but to no avail. He's chained. His boots are gone. The cool metal of handcuffs press into the protruding bones in his wrists and any movement tightens them. They aren't cops he thinks. They didn't engage the safety lock. He is engaging his brain despite the shards of anguish. He begins stitching together the clues. It's been at least a day and a half. He can't tell dark from light but he can feel cold from colder. He thinks it's been 36 hours. The construct of his life begins to fold and collapse under the paper ego he holds on high. No one noticed he was gone. He is sure. It is of his own doing. He will pay for his arrogance.

She instructs Cady how to screen capture and email the still frame of the partial license plate. She and Ferg stare and try to identify the plate to no avail. Her temper gets the best of her and she lets out a two fisted scream of anger and frustration.

Ferg feverously begins scribbling on a notepad which becomes the target of her wrath.

"What the hell are you doing?" She snaps.

"Listing all the states and the state motto next to it."

"What?"

"Didn't you do this as a kid on road trips? You know identify the state license plate and the motto."

"Fuck, no."

"Well, another thing you missed, Big City."

She rolls her eyes and stands over his shoulder and starts Googling Ferg's answers verifying his accuracy.

"Damn, Ferg, you got them all right so far."

"Yup, small town country has its benefits."

"Ok, enough already." She's beginning to calm down, her humor making small peaks and bursts.

"Nevada is the Silver State sometimes known as the Sage State."

Ferg twists his neck sideways, then sideways some more, he's at a ninety-degree angle to the partial image.

"I think that's a Nevada license plate." He says, his head still canted perpendicular to the high-definition image in front of him.

"The S in the snow-capped mountain, Vic. It's Nevada." His pencil lipped partial grin confirms his assuredness.

"We need help." She says out loud like she didn't mean too.

"Why would someone from Nevada want to kidnap Walt?" Ruby asks quietly unable to hide the fear and worry on her fragile features.

"Ruby, are any old cases ringing a bell with you?"

"No." She shakes her head ringing her fingers simultaneously.

Vic fashions the wall in his office with the printout of the partial license plate. The hand furnished bookcase a reminder of what is at stake. She slides her cell phone out of her breast pocket and makes the call. Within four hours twenty five federal agents fill the lobby of the Absaroka County Sheriff's Department lobby. In her desperation her heart promises him.

He pushes his head against the wall and waits for his mind to transport him from his present condition. Her lips flutter past as they whisper his name. He waits for the memory of her warm breath whispering his name and he imagines she tells him she loves him. He believes it to be true. He needs it to be true.