"—so when do you expect to be home?"

Kim gave kind of a shrug towards the Kimmunicator screen. "At this point mom, I'm really not sure. Until Wade can come up with where DNAmy's lab is, we're kinda dead in the water."

Her mom's sapphire eyes looked out at her from the screen and kind of gave a look— "Normally under those kinds of circumstances, you and Ron would go ahead and come home to wait. Is there any particular reason why you don't want to do that this time?"

"Ahhhh," Kim hesitated, mind working frantically trying to come up with a reason that she could use without lying to her mom—

"Or," her mom continued in a very 'knowing' tone, "is the reason because you have two younger brothers and two best friends that want to have a very pointed word with you about some 'Big Night' that almost got messed up—was messed up for Ron—?"

The fact that Kim 'deflated' in front of her mom's vision gave the required answer.

"Kim—" her mom started in a disappointed tone.

"Please mom," Kim came back in a miserable tone, "Ron's cranked at me enough even though he's trying not to show it. I can't deal with him and you and them at the same time."

"And just how will you deal with your father when and if he finds out that you've been out . . . should we say . . . unnecessarily for more than your usual amount of time?"

Kim rolled her eyes. "Mom, Ron's going to be seventeen soon and so will I a couple of weeks after that! It's not like Ron and I . . . are going to do anything. We just stated being serious, we're not even close to thinking about anything like that."

Kim could see the movement as her mom folded her arms. "And," was her mom's tart reply, "since when has logic and common sense had anything to do with the way your father deals with things like that?"

Kim felt herself sag further. Almost against her will she, "so I guess you're saying that I'd . . . that we'd . . . better get ourselves home?"

"If all you're doing is waiting for Wade, it would probably be best."

Ever so reluctantly, "okay mom, if you say so."

"Not unless there's something that you could actually be doing honey, I think—"

"Ahhhh . . . KP—?"

Kim looked up at Ron's voice. She was sitting on the bed of the small, dingy '1/4 Star' room that had taken Wade forever to find (she didn't have many outstanding favors in Italy at the moment). Ron's head was sticking through the door, he had gone 'down the hall' to the 'community bathroom' (a concept that had Kim wincing at just the very thought of). The whole situation spoke of just how badly she was trying to avoid going home because the place was gross!

"Yes Ron?" Kim said his name in order for her mom to know just who it was who had interrupted their conversation. At the same time, she could see that something was bothering him, but she couldn't tell just what it was.

"Ahhhhh," and Ron's discomfort was even more pronounced as he started to push through the door, "someone's here to see us—"

It was Han Grippe—

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"—and since we never got the chance to, to use your American term, 'compare notes', I thought it was best that I at least make the offer," Grippe said cheerfully as they all rode together in a cab.

Kim cocked an eyebrow at the small man. "I thought that Descont said something about you're being under contract not to talk to us or say anything about the center?"

Grippe threw off a hand in dismissal. "Yes he did and it is all true. But in my mind Kimberly, I would much rather leave a place of employment with nothing flapping loose behind me. Terribly damaging to ones résumé. Descont's 'contract' does not concern me, it is what I keep a battery of some of the best of the London bar on retainer for."

"Besides," he added with both a snort and a smile, "despite you're rather fearsome reputations, I fail to see why the both of you should have to spend your evening in such . . . substandard accommodations."

"Thank you—" Kim started to say with true gratitude—

"We were fine where we were at—" Ron put in sharply.

Kim gave her boyfriend another sidelong glance. He was . . . the only word that fit was 'huddled' back into his seat with his arms crossed and a none too friendly look on his face. That look had been there from the moment that she had accepted Grippes offer to stay at his place while going over the case brainstorming for clues and trying to figure their next move. Kim had a couple of times nudged Ron with a look saying to lighten up—

But it obviously hadn't happened and despite the fact that she knew that he was still annoyed with her, she was beginning to get annoyed with him.

However, in response to her boyfriends pointed reply, Grippe looked at Ron with a knowing gleam in his eyes and said without preamble, "please young Ronald, I am nothing like my notorious cousin whom you know as Monkey Fist. I would at least wish that you give me the benefit of the doubt until I do something to lose your trust."

Ron's eyes went wide for a moment allowing Kim to feel his usual level of fear kick in—

But then . . . Ron . . . surprised her. Instead of his normal sudden scramble to deny and . . . well—deny, his eyes . . . narrowed—

"Of course you would say something like that," her boyfriend said and she was almost shocked to hear just how . . . steady Ron sounded. But at the same time, she couldn't allow Ron to—

"Ron!" she hissed at him.

"It's quite alright Kimberly," and there was almost a chuckle in Grippe's voice. "Young Ronald is probably thinking about how convenient it was that I was . . . so neatly disposed of during the incident and that no matter how clean and clear my prior record could be, in the end I would almost certainly turn bad because . . . " and Grippe leaned in forward with an 'evil' grin, "blood always tells."

Some of Ron's 'serious face' cracked with that and he backed up further into his seat (if that was possible). The tension almost cracked—

Then Grippe suddenly relaxed and leaned way back into his seat with a huge smile. "But I am not my not-so-good cousin. In fact I have always suspected that part of the reason why he is so hungry for power is that he was denied the title that I carry."

Ron blinked at that, his face screwed up in thought . . . and after a moment he ventured, "yeah, Wade said something about you being the . . . ahhhh . . . the . . . the market of something—"

"That's marques Ron—" Kim managed through an embarrassed wince.

Grippe chuckled again. "Good show. It's little things like that that keep over-bred, over-educated, over-the-hills-and-through-the-woods blue bloods such as I well grounded." He shook his head with another slight chuckle prior to continuing. "Be that as it may, you may have noticed that cousin Montgomery has the use of the title 'Lord'. As he is actually several weeks older than I, it might be fitting for him to actually have the marquis title . . . except that his father; my uncle and his mother were . . . not blessed by the right of wedlock."

Kim felt a shock right down to her toes. Monkey Fist was an illegitimate child?

Grippe was going along happily. "Yes I know, shocking and all. And to say the least, why does he have possession of the ancestral castle and that rot." A noncommittal shrug followed. "Daresay that Montgomery seemed for so many years to be forthright and upstanding. It was due to his interest in archeology that uncle granted him title to the castle and all of the history within . . . and I don't doubt that it wasn't until he made his life's work the expansion into and of the ancient history of Ti-Shing-Pec-Whar that he . . . started to lose his grip on reality."

"So like why," Ron challenged, trying to sound firm, "haven't you or the family done something with him to help him get a grip?"

"No need," was the immediate reply. "You young Ronald have been doing nicely on your own. There has been no need for me . . . as the only surviving family member of that side . . . to intercede."

Ron blinked again. "You really think so?" he asked in an entirely different tone. Grippe gave him a nod of affirmation.

Kim felt the tension lesson a bit . . . but she could tell that Ron still had something on his mind—

"Sir?" her boyfriend started.

Grippe gave him a look, "Ronald, I really don't know what I can do to convince you that I am not a threat. Surely—"

"Rufus," Kim said it very quietly but clearly and her sudden thought was rewarded with the Mole Rats head popping up out of Ron's cargo pocket.

"Ummm?"

Looking intently at their little friend, Kim waved a hand at Grippe, "what do you think?"

Rufus was a blur of motion zipping around, up and even over the little amused man sitting across from the teen pair. Finally, standing atop Grippe's head (made possible in the confines of the taxi by the Englishman's own short stature) the little guy made a thumbs up gesture with a firm "cool'.

Kim turned her look to her boyfriend who was still looking at Grippe, "well Ron?" she asked.

"No monkeys?" and there were more levels of sharpness in his question that even Ron was aware of.

A grin twitched at the corners of Grippes mouth as he confirmed, "none that I am aware of at least. Beyond that, if some do indeed show up, I will be as curious as to their origin as you will."

After a moment, Ron's look turned sheepish . . . and Kim knew the crisis was over.

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"So." Kim ventured sometime later, "despite it all, you don't think that Getty is—"

Grippe held up his hand stopping her. "I believe I said that I was . . . unconvinced that he might be directly involved in whatever happened. There is no hard evidence to point to it. Yes, I readily acknowledge that he has long been after my position, but he is not dense by any means and this may have been the opportunity he has been waiting to exploit."

"Like," Ron put in from where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, wiping his last piece of bread from their meal into the gravy on the plate in front of him, "he was trying to exploit making Kim and I the ones to blame for it all?"

Grippe leaned far back into the couch, eyes looking to the ceiling as he absently twirled his wine glass in one hand, "yes, that certainly would have endeared him to Desconts own prejudices . . . and it is not the first time that he has done something like that."

Kim was sitting in the wingchair to the side, plate primly in her lap. "If I might ask, just why is Descont so . . . "

Grippe snorted, "he is that last of an old Italian family that viewed the world with an old style, very conservative set of values. The fact is, despite other appearances and the official record, all he is in reality just the manager of the facility, having been unofficially removed from any and all higher position due to his . . . mistreatment of those who do not hold his views. It is only his bedrock ability to hold costs down and get the most out of what he is forced to spend that endears him to the more modern and liberal members of the board . . . which is the faction that maintains a bare majority in the decision making process. It infuriates him that all who use the facility, be it fashion or the arts or the theater, treat him as 'the manager'—

"But I thought that you said that—?" Ron started.

"Because that is all that he is," Grippe answered with a shrug. "He just doesn't see it that way. He tries to hearken back to his family's political connections before, during and after the war and the fact that he had . . . some minor adventures as a lad during that same historic event . . . adventures that were heroic enough to gave him a certain . . . license to act the way he does in the eyes of the old establishment. But the sad fact is that he . . . and they . . . has not been able to move on to the twenty-first century and all the changes that entails."

"No 'political correctness'," Ron snorted.

"Among a host of other things," Grippe agreed. "But the center certainly can not remain stuck in a past time and it does move on . . . leaving Descont further and further behind."

"Alright," Kim broke in, trying to get the conversation back on track, "so if Getty isn't the inside man in this operation, who could it be?"

Grippe gave her a steady look, "that is the jackpot question isn't it? And again I say Kimberly, that at the moment, I have no opinion. It may well be Getty; he certainly would be in the best position for it although there was no indication of it prior since I was unaware of a potential conflict. A through investigation is needed . . . and that . . . would be very difficult considering our current position."

Kim cocked her head at him in question.

Grippe snorted and shrugged. "Personally . . . I think you're right and that Getty is in it up to his neck. But the professional in me has to remain 'unconvinced' . . . as in not having enough hard evidence to 'convince' a prosecutors office and on from there, a jury of his peers. Your own questions about the lack of electric torches among the security personnel, about the 'lack' of rumors that I cited at our other meetings . . . plus there can be no doubt that Getty is still involved in organized crime. But beyond that, we are dealing with all the employees of the center, all potential witnesses to something . . . and almost all of them members of one of the trade unions—"

Kim's eyes narrowed as if sudden understanding came to her. "And the trade unions are all controlled by the organization?"

But her eyes widened again when Grippe shook his head. "Some of the unions are, but the rest are, very simply put; an extremely tight fraternity that does not mingle with outsiders nor cooperate with any kind of official investigation that might not be in their own best interest. Questioning our 'owlcelots' would be more productive in these circumstances."

"Even the security officers?" Ron asked in disbelief. Grippe nodded.

"They are much more concerned with their own 'job' security. Such jobs with the kind of pay and benefits they receive are very hard to come by . . . especially considering how little actual work they do."

The two teens looked at each other as if trying to figure out just what to do next. But Grippe answered that question for them by looking at his watch and saying, "I'm afraid that I find that at my age; being manhandled by a gorilla followed by hours in a small pitch-black dungeon like room smelling strongly of sweating gorilla to be rather taxing. We can continue this in the morning with fresh vigor."

With that he stood up and started to gather the plates on the table, Ron hastily retrieving Rufus who was curled up sound asleep on his own completely licked clean plate. The two teens helped Grippe with the clean up as he chatted, "the guest shower has linens for the both of you. Kimberly can have the guest bed, Ronald, I laid out pillows and such for you on the couch in the den."

They bid Grippe good night and went to their chambers.

"Ron," Kim asked quietly with a beckoning. He followed her into the bath, already assuming what she wanted. Reaching the counter in front of the mirror, she gathered all of her hair into one hand even as she peeled off her mission shirt off as far as her forearms, her back as always to her boyfriend. She held her arms, tangled with hair and mission shirt to the side of her head, exposing her t-backed sports bra clad back to Ron who gently touched her there—

"I don't think the bruising is any worse KP." Ron's hands then smoothly/gently worked up into her hairline where he found the 'egg' from her hard landing—

"Oowwwww" she whimpered.

"Sorry," was the sincere reply. After a moment, Ron continued, "if it's still that tender, KP, we might want to consider telling your mom?"

Kim snorted, turning into the mirror to look at the still developing bruising on the arm where she was grabbed and thrown in the darkness of the main room. The shoulder joint was sore as well. She didn't answer Ron however; she knew that they would be called unequivocally home if her mom got just a hint of her injuries.

With another snort, Kim brought her forearms, and the back of her mission shirt up close to her face. While the small tears were barely visible, more sensed than apparent was the spot of blood splatter on the material. All of her own blood, of which there had been very little, had done nothing more than stain the 't' of her sports bra. So this blood definitely had to be from the creature she had collided with in mid air, Wade's confirmation only making it—

"Do you think it was hurt bad?" asked Ron's quietly.

Kim blanked for a moment as the true meaning of Ron's question was so off-kilter with anything they had been discussing . . . but now that she thought about it—

She then turned to her boyfriend, wonder and amazement in her eyes. "Ron! That's brilliant!" She was instantly pulling her mission top back on, already heading out of the bathroom door towards Grippe's room—

Leaving Ron standing open mouthed; totally unaware of whatever it was that he had been 'brilliant' about this time.

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"Ya know," and the 'frightened whine' factor was very strong in Ron's tone, 'why is it that European cities always look so much spookier when you're trespassing in pitch black back alleys around buildings that you've been told to stay out of—"

Kim managed a grim chuckle as the two of them continued to creep through . . . "then you should blame yourself for that thought Ron. If it wasn't for that moment of cognitive genius, we wouldn't be here."

"If I knew what you just said KP I might be able to say yes or no—"

Ron then stopped as Kim's hand came up to halt him. They had finally reached a place where the angle was right. Kim already had the hairdryer out and Ron's head was snapping around impossibly fast in all directions, looking out for trouble even as the charge sent the grapnel flying.

Moments later, the two of them were on the roof, Kim, seeing all the scaffolding, walkways, hulking A/C units and wires, taking a moment to pull up and tie her hair back into a ponytail before the two of them made their way to the area where all the repair work was being done. It took only a couple of minutes to locate what they were looking for. Kim nodded to Ron.

Ron looked down into his hands, "okay Rufus, you understand what it is that we're looking for?" The Naked Mole Rat gave a nod and a salute with an "uh huh."

Ron lowered his hands to the open ventilation port with a quiet, "now be careful—" and the little guy was gone, skittering in through the vents. The thin but incredibly strong line attached to his harness snapping in through the opening after him.

The two teens watched for a moment, then their eyes met, that one look enough to convey to each other their mutual concern for their friend. Then Kim took in a deep, deep breath before sighing, "now we wait."

The two of them sat under a large roof unit of some kind, almost lost to each other in the hole of blackness, the only contact between then was the rubbing of their hips together. Kim looked out at the blue black of a night sky washed with city lights, part of her mind still picking at all the loose or missing pieces of the puzzle they were in.

The other—

Kim tried to push those aside for now. She had to remain alert. They were trespassing and it wasn't as if they were at a villains lair where trespassing could be forgiven for the good of the mission. As it was, Grippe had been forced to park his car blocks away as to avoid being seen by an employee going for a midnight snack or a graveyard security officer arriving for his shift.

The other thoughts—

"Ron?"

She felt him stir beside her . . .

"Ron?"

"KP," came his whispered reply, "I thought you said that we should keep the talk down?'

"T—that's just it Ron, other than . . . when I was so . . . upset in that diner . . . . . . w—we . . . haven't been talking."

There was no reply.

"Ron . . . I said I was sorry."

There was a long moment—

"Yes you did," came Ron's low reply. "But it still hurts KP."

Another long moment. "I—" she started to say—but he interrupted her.

"I try to forget about it KP, I try to ignore it . . . and usually I'm eventually cool with it . . . but sometimes . . . you can be so selfish." She felt the sting through her heart . . . but there was a flash of ire as well. She opened her mouth again to respond but again he got it out first.

"And I know that I'm not anywhere near cool when it comes acting that way myself. Heck, I know that I've blow it as far as selfish several times but . . . " and Ron's tone became 'rockhard hurt', "but at least I like to think that I've never done anything like that to you intentionally on a really personal level—"

"How about when you gave up being my campaign manager and switched over to Prince Wally?" she asked sharply, not believing that Ron wasn't willing to simply accept her apology . . . wasn't ready to simply forgive her as he usually did . . . that he was actually accusing her of—

There was a long moment of silence before her boyfriends voice, now very tight said, "there's a difference between an election for class president and getting locked in a broom closet because my being around would crimp your style with your 'crush'. There's a difference between my wanting to spend time with friends doing things you don't like and when we are together; being told directly, sharply and oh so menacingly that such and such an evening out with just the two of us was most definitely not a 'date'."

"You think so," Kim shot back, with a matching rise in her voice—Ron was actually arguing with her? "Then what do you call having my family take all the time and expense of taking you with us on vacation to Florida and the only thing you can think of once your there is chasing the big-chested college co-eds around while I'm fighting for my life with Drakken in a swamp or that I call in some of my favors to try and get you to be maybe like a little more appealing to other girls and you blow it all out of proportion because you didn't have a clue as to what—"

"Yeah!" came the hard but firm tone back at her from out of the darkness. "You called in favors to try and make me something that I wasn't . . . but I'll admit that I went along with it because I was trying to figure myself out at that time. But how about the fact that after 'your makeover of me', that you got all bent out of shape when the other girls liked what they saw. That was a real big favor that you did me."

"You didn't seem to mind it all that much," Kim shot back in return. "After all, you did the same thing yourself when you tired that 'bad boy' stunt. Just because you started it made it different huh? Everything I tried to do to help you didn't count?"

"And look where that led!!" he hissed back as if not believing what he was hearing. "I wasn't being myself! That's why it didn't work. But at least the bad boy thing was something I did! Not something that you led me by the nose to do! And that doesn't change the fact that you kept getting hostile anytime any girl had any interest in me."

"Did not!" she snapped back with considerable heat.

"Did too!" he shot back.

"Did not!" she retorted, completely blown away by the fact that Ron was fighting her this way. Who did he think he—

"And just what would you call the sitch of green-eyed jelling over Yori when we were looking for Sensei? Monique said that you were really close to losing it." Ron asked in a hurt tone.

"You think?" was Kim's sarcastic reply. "Monique didn't know what she was talking about . . . and she shouldn't get into yours and mines business. And right back at cha . . . how about the fact that I didn't do anything to get in the way when Tara was interested in you?"

In the dark, Kim could see that Ron was shaking his head as if with disbelief. "I didn't know that Tara was interested in me. If you knew, why didn't you give me some kind of clue? Some kind of help? Kim; I'm not the brightest bulb in the house. I helped you with Josh! A little return for everything I did for the two of you would have been nice!"

"All I've ever tried to do is HELP you Ron but you were too DENSE to—"

"KP!" Ron hissed causing her to slap a hand over her mouth which had gotten way too loud—

The two of them became one with the shadows as there was a faint 'thump' as if someone was walking over some of the simple wood bridges that spanned between the parts of the complex. It was coming their way.

Fortunately, the steps never came too close and soon, after some haphazard wandering around, faded away back into the distance. But in the meantime, Kim had gotten a hold of her temper, realizing that she was in a real poor position to blame Ron for anything from their past considering what she had done in the present (let alone events in the past that Ron had just oh so unerringly pointed out).

In fact—

In fact . . . she had completely ignored the little voice screaming deep down inside her, the same voice which had impotently been screaming each and every time something had happened to Ron . . . all those times where she had refused to step in and stand up for him or stop the abuse.

The suddenly realization hit Kim like a kick to the stomach. She was instantly horrified that she had let her guilt, anger, fatigue and insecurity cause her temper to take control after everything she had already done, after all the damage she had caused, with all the bad feelings that she had brought into their relationship . . . in a conversation that she had initiated to try and make things right. A conversation that she had started and that Ron had tired to tell her honestly about how he felt about the whole rotten sitch she had created!

"Ron—" she started again, hoping that the contriteness in her whisper conveyed how sorry she was, how appalled she was, how completely humiliated, how totally wrong she was at what she had just done.

"I love you Kim," and the hurt and the sorrow and the anger and the pain just filled Ron's voice, "but there are times when your Blue Fox personality just gets out of control. This is one of them. And the fact that either you can't see or wont see what's wrong between us right now just—" his voice trailed off.

Kim felt herself die inside. For every fiber of her being told her that he was right, and it was her own stubborn reluctance to admit that she was wrong in anything that was killing their relationship . . . she couldn't even admit it to herself let alone the boy she was suppose to be in love with, the boy she should be able to admit anything about herself to . . .

"Let's just not talk," was the angry/serious growl out of the darkness at her, effectively ending any chance of conversation or reconciliation.

Kim's head sunk to her chest, knowing that in this instance, all the drama was oh so her fault.

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Kim for the next however long, allowed herself to flounder in the total silence between the two of them. Normally she always stood right up and accepted responsibility for anything she did but now . . . she was literally wallowing in what could be called typical teenage rationalization, alternately blaming Ron, Monique, her 'rents and in the extreme, even Felix and Rufus for the hurt, angry, confused wall that was currently between her and her boyfriend. And that was the worst . . .

Deep inside, inside that little core of insecurity . . . she knew that she was the only one to blame . . . but that stubborn part, that part that couldn't admit failure or of being wrong to anything or anybody other than an authority figure (of which Ron was most definitely NOT) yelled and griped inside her that it had to be someone/something else's fault. She was Kim Possible, things like this didn't happen to her—

During that same period, she didn't think that Ron moved so much as a single muscle although she knew that he should be getting stiff from sitting in one position too long. the hurt/guilty/humiliated part wanted to reach out and embrace him . . . tell him just how sorry she was—

The other part wanted him to stew—

And she just wasn't sure . . . which part was really in control.

Then there was a sudden sharp 'clang' that almost made the both of them jump out of their skin. Ron jerked forward, grabbing the fine line that had been slowly, intermittently uncoiling in his lap. He held it for a moment . . . then—

"Two tugs," Ron whispered, already starting to draw the line back in.

Kim kept silent. There was no way of knowing at this point if Rufus had found what it was that she had thought they would find until Ron pulled everything back in. But at the same time, she firmly pushed all her other conflict to the back of her brain, fighting to get her head back into the game.

Kim bit her lip in anticipation/frustration at the slow pace that Ron was bringing Rufus back in. She knew that there was no other choice considering the possibilities of their hypothesis. It still seemed like several forevers before she heard scrambling/scraping in the vent. Ron abruptly hunched down at the mouth of the vent, motions matching the actions of his gathering something into his arms. At the same time, Kim could see Rufus's silhouette suddenly appear on Ron's shoulder.

"Let's go KP!"

In moments, they were back at the edge of the roof, a minute after that, they were on the ground in the alley. "This way Ron," Kim directed with a hand on her boyfriends shoulder in the darkness to get him and his load oriented down the alleyway.

As they worked their way out through the back alleys, the part of Kim's mind where she had shoved all of her 'issues' marveled at the fact that despite the fact that the two of them were oh so definitely cranked to the max at each other, that there was more than a very real possibility that their entire relationship was in danger of falling apart was the fact . . . that when they were in mission-mode, they worked like a finely oiled machine. Sometimes she would be ahead of Ron, breaking trail in the darkness, other times like now, she would be trailing him to make sure they weren't being followed. Ron on the other hand, carrying his burden, was steady and direct, moving forward toward his goal with that firm Ronness determination. They truly were a team.

It gave her some hope that they would be able to work their problems all out . . . but she was already dreading what was probably going to be a very grim and silent plane ride home . . .

All thoughts were banished from her mind when what seemed to be a pair of huge hands suddenly enveloped her from behind causing what little light there was to go out.

A moment later, a blow caused the lights behind Kim Possible's eyes to go out as well.

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Ron stopped at the mouth of the alley. The street ahead was fairly well lit. It was just down two blocks and around a corner to where Grippe was parked. He gave a quick glance each way. He had been concentrating on trying to be as gentle as he could with the burden he was carrying in his arms. It had hardly moved at all since he had pulled it out of the vent as well as being silent . . . except for what might have been an occasional tiny squeal of pain . . .

"Ready KP?" he asked, waiting for her go signal—

It didn't come. After a moment, Ron looked back over his shoulder—

His girl . . . was nowhere to be seen.

Ice gripped his insides. He started to turn, started to step back into the alley—

There was a tiny squeal of pain from the bundle in his arms—

KP! Where are you? he mentally yelled.

There was no answer—and right now, there wouldn't be.

Every fiber of his being screamed inside Ron to go back and find Kim. But the fact that she had been taken without a fight, heck, without a sound even told him that it was just as possible that if he went back, that he would be taken too.

And since he was carrying in his arms the thing that might break the whole case open—

Tears sprang into Ron's eyes as he once again turned back to the street and Grippe's waiting car.

Hang on KP. I'm coming right back . . . and you had better be okay when I do . . . or I'll really be mad!