Well, this is a little late, but not too much. That's what happens when your college school year ends and you have to move out of your dorm on the day you plan to update. So now that I've taken a final, packed up my room, and drove 6 hours to my hometown I think maybe it's time to update this. Only a few hours later than would be normal, so yay!

Anywho, here's the update after that last fun cliffhangar, and I hope you all enjoy, and please review at the end. Thanks to all who have done so thus far.

Chapter 10

7:05 a.m.

Pain erupted so fast and hard that Don could barely even register where it was coming from. His vision went grey for a few seconds before finally he knew it was coming from his right shoulder. Fantastic. Now he had a white-hot fiery blaze ripping through his upper arm to accompany the throbbing in his wrist.

It took every ounce of strength and will he had, but by some absolute miracle Don still didn't lose his grip on the gun—not even when his brain shorted out from the initial impact of the gunshot. His right arm was definitely and officially out of the equation. Fortunately, his left hand had a good grip on the gun handle, so he yanked forward. Shore had started to get up off the floor, but Don's pull had caused him to stumble.

Don, in one last act of desperation, took advantage of Shore's small lapse in balance and hooked a leg behind the other man's ankle. Shore landed on the floor with a grunt. The impact shook the floor, and pain flared up again, shooting up and down Don's arm.

Damn.

With a flash of panic, Don realized he'd lost his grip on the gun. He had to act quickly.

Simultaneously, Don halfway sat up and pulled a table lamp down from the end table next to him with his good arm. Swinging, Don connected with Shore's arm, sending the gun flying. It wasn't exactly his intended goal, because there was no way he could get to the gun now without having to go through Shore first And with the amount of pain he was now in, that would be next to impossible.

And if ever there was a time for a Hail Mary, this was it.

Shore was scrambling to his feet instantly. Don really had only one option at this point—which was to run.

So that's what he did. While Shore crossed the room in search of the gun, Don flew up and out the door. Once outside, he made a break for the trees.

Shit. This wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. Shore would be after him within seconds. He only hoped he could be well hidden before then. He ignored the throbbing in his wrist and the blood gradually staining his white shirt and forced himself to a sprint.

8:55 a.m.

They were making good time. But whether it was good enough remained to be seen. David only wished he could drive faster, but the roads were wet and muddy from the rain. He supposed he should be grateful that the rain had stopped, and this morning was bright and sunny.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, David had begun to realize the true odds of actually finding Don up here anywhere. It had occurred to him that there was a strong possibility that Charlie's analysis was strongly biased toward Don still being alive. David doubted that Charlie had left a lot of room for any alternative possibilities.

Still, what did they have to lose?

If Don was alive, then Charlie's math would probably lead them to the right spot. But if he was dead, then what difference did it make?

The terrain had been rough so far, but it was starting to even out a little. That was good, David figured. He'd been getting a little tired of watching Colby's and Nikki's heads bobbing vigorously up and down through the rearview mirror.

They'd ridden mostly in silence, each of the four of them likely pondering all the things they could possibly find up here.

"There!" Liz suddenly blurted out from the passenger seat. David turned his head to follow her gaze.

There it was, the small cabin they'd been looking for, through a small set of trees. The small cabin they'd been led to by Charlie's math.

David stopped the car.

Behind them, another SUV also came to a halt. Eight people quickly opened their respective doors and hopped out—David, Liz, Nikki, Colby, and the four-man tactical team they'd brought with them.

"All right, Agent Sinclair," said Greg Posey, the leader of the tactical team. "How do you want to play this?"

Very carefully, David answered in his head. "Split up into teams. We need to get some eyes inside, but we can't make it obvious we're here. If Shore is in there with Don, we don't want to scare him into shooting him."

The group of them split into teams of two. Posey and his men covered both the back and the front, while David and the rest of the team split up to the side windows.

David found himself making careful steps toward the south side window. The ground was soft and squishy with heavy mud; it was difficult to maintain balance. His heart rate was increasing as the suspense of the situation increased. David could feel the too-familiar feeling of adrenaline rising up within him. In only a few more moments, they'd have their answer. Moments from now, they'd all know what fate had befallen their former team leader. Hopefully.

He and Nikki reached their side of the cabin, quietly falling against the wall on either side of the window, only the sound of their breath filling the air around them. David nodded at Nikki, and the two simultaneously turned towards what was clearly the kitchen window, their guns still pointed toward the ground.

Damn.

It hit David like a wave. Something had clearly happened in there. The first thing he registered was the blood on the floor. Oh, Don, I hope that's not yours. There was a lamp on the floor, its cord tangled around the skinny end table nearby. A quick scan across the room told David that there were two other rooms in the cabin—one a bathroom, with the door open, and the other what looked like a set of stairs leading to a basement.

"Agent Sinclair," Posey's voice came through his ear piece. David's eyes flicked to the right, where he noticed through the window that the front door had been left wide open. Straight ahead he saw Colby, through the other window, also looking towards the door.

"All right," David spoke into the radio attached to his Kevlar vest. "Colby, you and Liz go around to the back door. Nikki and I will join you, Posey, at the front door. We'll have to make entry."

"Copy that," Colby said.

David and Nikki stalked around to the front while Colby and Liz made their way to the back. David looked briefly through the doorway, shaking his head again at the blood spatter that coated most of the floor in the living area.

"On my count," he said softly into his radio, but also loud enough that the other three near him could hear. "Three. Two. One. Execute."

All eight agents burst inside the doors, a chorus of "FBI!" yells resounding through the small cabin. Colby and Liz, closest to the basement stairs, immediately flanked to their left to head down there. Nikki, nearest to the bathroom, peered inside.

"Clear!" she announced quickly.

"Clear!" came Colby's voice from the depths of the basement.

David lowered his gun. He knelt down to inspect the blood trail further. It was partially dried, but not completely so. Whatever happened here had happened probably a couple hours ago.

From the blood, David figured someone had probably been shot here.

"David," Nikki said. He turned towards her, and she held up a pair of handcuffs. "These were here on the floor in the doorway here."

"There's nothing much in the basement," Colby announced as he and Liz appeared in the doorway to the basement stairs.

"All right, it looks like they were here," David said, realizing he was stating the obvious.

"Yeah," Colby agreed. "So where are they now?"

David shrugged. This was bad. Someone had been shot. The amount of blood wasn't as bad as David had seen in other situations, so the gunshot wound likely hadn't been fatal, from what he could tell. Probably no major blood vessels had been hit. He wouldn't stake his life on that, though.

"Let's split up and search the woods around here," David suggested. Hopefully, hopefully, they'd find Don out there somewhere.

9:05 a.m.

Charlie kept checking his watch every few seconds, a la Don. It made Robin smile, just a little. Her smile, quickly faded, however, as Amita suddenly sat down, slinging an arm around Charlie's shoulders. She realized for the billionth time that morning, with a pang, that there was a very real possibility she might never know the feel of Don's shoulders again. She might never know the feel of any part of Don ever again.

"They should be up there by now," Charlie ground out. "It's been almost two hours. The drive up there is only about an hour and forty minutes. They should be up there. They could call any second."

Robin watched her almost-brother-in-law as he fidgeted, anxiousness oozing out of him. It was putting her a little on edge.

Okay, to be fair, she was already on edge. It wasn't really his fault. She'd been on edge since late yesterday afternoon, ever since Don had not shown up to the wedding.

Oh, God, she felt awful. She could remember the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach as she'd waited and waited for Don to show up, but he never did. She could remember thinking that he'd deliberately done this, that he'd gotten cold feet and had left her at the altar. How could she have thought that? Why hadn't she given him more credit than that?

What if she never saw him again, and what if during the moment that he'd died, she'd been angry with him? She'd never be able to forgive herself.

The truth was, she really had no idea how she'd even move on from this, if Don were to turn up dead. She didn't know how she'd deal with losing him—especially not when she'd come so close to being his wife. And she hated how her well-being was so dependent on his, but the fact is, it was.

"I just hate this waiting part," Charlie was saying, and Robin realized she'd tuned him out for awhile. "I can't stand sitting here and not doing anything."

Robin scoffed. "Ha. You're telling me. We've been sitting here all night, not doing anything."

Charlie sighed, shooting her a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry, you're right. I wasn't thinking. You're right. At least we were at the FBI all night, trying to help move this thing forward. I can't even imagine sitting here for all those hours just waiting."

Robin felt bad. "I'm sorry Charlie; I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just . . . well, we went so long without hearing anything. It just made me want to crawl out of my own skin, you know?"

"I know," Charlie whispered, his eyes downcast toward the table that sat between them.

Alan, who was seated to Robin's left, lay a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay," he said. "We've all had a rough night." He took a deep breath; Robin noticed how deeply the older man was struggling to maintain his composure. "You're right, Charlie. They're probably up there by now, and we'll hear something very soon."

His reassurances rang a little hollow to Robin. She knew—hell, they all knew—that any number of things might happen up there that might delay David's phone call down to here. The FBI might find themselves in a standoff; trying to negotiate with a madman to get Don released from being a hostage. Or they might find Don and he could be in critical condition and getting him out of there quickly might take huge priority over notifying them.

Or they could simply not find anything up there. Not that she doubted Charlie's math or anything, but hey, they called it probability for a reason. In which case, they'd be back to square one and they'd have to sit here and wait for God only knew how long and she didn't think she could take anymore waiting.

Or—and it made her sick to even ponder this possibility—they could find Don up there somewhere and he'd be dead.

Robin checked her watch. 9:08 a.m.

Come on. Someone better call soon. She simply couldn't do this anymore.

TBC