Chapter Eleven: Rising Emotions

Greg couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The only thought that rested with him now was regret, staring into the eyes of the very man that wanted them dead. He was inches away, with no hopes of escaping. A gunshot at this range would do more than just kill. And what of Sara? She would hear the shot, and then what? Come running down and soon would meet her fate in the end. All because of his stupidity.

There was always one more thing he had to do, one more thing he had to try, always pressing his luck. Now he was not only risking his life, but Sara's as well. What Greg didn't expect, out of everything, was the content sigh that escaped the man's lips. He watched curiously, afraid to breathe even, as the officer's eyes drifted close, as though never truly awake.

Was it a trap? Greg waited a moment longer before daring to test fate. He took a step back, and then another, the flashlight still clutched in his hand. It would serve as a useless weapon against a gun, but it at least was more than nothing. Mckinely didn't even stir as Greg continued to back up, now a good length away. He didn't waste any more time.

In one quick, yet quiet motion, he threw the backpack over his shoulder, making his way out of the clearing. He needed to get back to Sara, and they needed to get out of here soon. The more time Mckinely spent sleeping, the more time they had to put some distance between them. For half a second Greg considered the option of hanging around, following the officer's lead in the morning, but forgot about it soon after.

Sara was asleep when he returned; curled into a ball on the ground, head resting on her arm. Obviously she hadn't been too worried about him. Greg let a smile tug at his lips as he sat down, the pack now resting in his lap. He watched her sleep a moment longer, before reaching over to wake her gently.

Greg loved watching her sleep, the past night he had spent observing her more than his surroundings. She seemed so content, so peaceful, the pale moonlight somehow enhancing her already flawless features. He of course would never tell her that, simply embarrassed by even thinking it.

It took a few tries, but she woke up hurriedly soon after. Greg had to reassure her that everything was fine as she blinked a few times, pushing herself up on her knees. They needed to be heading out, but they also needed food, and water. Both of which Greg was happy to supply.

The water was warm, but he wasn't concerned, taking care to sip on it leisurely as Sara nearly drained the bottle in one drink. "Take it easy," he warned, taking another small mouthful as he did so. "This is all we have for now."

"Sorry," she breathed, recapping the nearly empty bottle now. "I've just been so thirsty…" she let out another breath, sinking back onto the ground as she closed her eyes. "That and I'm so tired. I didn't think that I was this out of shape."

Despite the situation Greg laughed. He tossed a protein bar towards her, watching as it scattered across the rocky surface before coming to a stop near her hair. She groped for it with one hand as he pulled one out for him, relishing in the first bite he had in nearly two days.

They ate in silence, the pair somehow able to resist the urgent need to scarf down everything in sight. Greg knew it would only cause them to be sick; that and the fact they didn't know how long it would actually be until they would get more. It was better to go slow, eat only what was necessary.

As he took another bite Greg continued to dig through the bag, pulling out the odds and ends that were found inside. A book of matches, a pocket-sized first aid kit, extra batteries.

"Ammo," Greg remarked between bites, pulling out the cartridges. "He thought of everything."

"Where's the gun?" Sara asked softly, watching him with a worried gaze.

He didn't answer, didn't have to, as he glanced through some of the other pockets. Sara pushed herself up, swallowing her last bite. "He still has it? You managed to take everything else, but left him the gun? Nice one Greg."

"I wasn't exactly going to wrestle a mad man for a gun," he spat out, obviously irritated now. She was the one who hadn't wanted him to go in the first place. Besides, he wasn't going to explain his close call. What did she expect him to do?

"Of course not," she griped, pressing a hand to her head. "You're just going to let him run around the forest armed."

"That's why we need to get going tonight," he agreed, cutting her off. "The sooner the better."

"No," she shook her head vividly. "You haven't had any sleep, and I don't even feel like moving, much less walking anywhere."

"Fine then," he frowned, already moving to close the backpack up. "You stay here."

He didn't stay to watch the reaction on her face, clicking the flashlight on as he worked his way down the hill. With a light source he was able to find a much easier way down, one that was quicker too. Sara was only a few steps behind him, but he made no move to speak with her, nor did he slow his pace to match hers.

He was tired of the accusations, of the blame. Sara had been doing nothing since they left for the trip. He had been the one to get them lost, the one to who was interacting more than necessary with the lab techs, the one who got them into this mess. It seemed the only way Sara was ever happy was when he took the fall for everything. And he was getting tired of it.

"Greg," she called his name patiently, working even harder to keep up with him as Greg sped up. He wasn't intentionally trying to loose her, no, but he wanted her to take the hint that he wasn't in the mood to discuss it. The situation of course, wasn't helping.

The path had narrowed, running along a steep grade. Greg had moved away from the edge, hugging the hill that ran upwards, carefully placing his steps, only hoping that Sara was following his lead. Part of him wanted to check on her, but he quickly remembered his pride, and kept his gaze forward, his eyes only moving to examine the forest floor beneath them before taking each step.

It was then Sara reached up, placing a hand on his shoulder to try and slow his outrageous pace, the words leaving her mouth at the same time. He didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear, so instead he pulled away. If Greg had time to think of the situation, if he hadn't been so haughty, so proud, then maybe it wouldn't have happened. All he knew next was the fact that there was no longer ground underneath him.

Who exactly was running the case wasn't clear. Catherine and Nick had spent nearly ten hours collecting and processing evidence at the scene, only to return to the lab to find out that the nightshift there had taken it over.

Nick had quickly diverted the situation, offering to pick up some coffee from a nearby stand. Catherine had agreed, even though she wasn't very hungry. A lone finger tapped on the table while she waited. Accommodations were offered, the crime lab offering a cheap hotel down the street for the pair to rest, but the blonde wouldn't be warded off so easily.

It had taken her nearly an hour to convince the receptionist she needed to speak with the supervisor in charge. Nearly another hour had passed, and she was still waiting. She had spoken with Nick only fifteen minutes ago, who had claimed to be on his way back, but Catherine had her doubts.

Her fingers drummed endlessly on the table as she stared into open space, knowing that with each passing moment meant less of a chance of finding Greg and Sara. Catherine wanted answers. She wanted to know why the case was being handed over, most certainly after she and Nick had flown all the way out here. She also wanted to know why they hadn't been informed of this before. Mostly, she wanted to know why a search team hadn't been called in.

She alone wasn't authorized to start a search and rescue. Catherine knew the proper procedures, the guidelines, and the involvement. At the same time it wasn't enough. And now she had to sit here and wait for answers that seemed as though they would never come.

Catherine stood up expectantly as the door to the break room opened, the man shaking her hand in quick greeting. "Scott Stevenson, I was told you were looking for me?"

"For a while now," she answered coldly, letting go of his hand at the same time. "I'd like an explanation."

"There's really no need to explain anything," he stated quietly, provoking a short laugh from the woman.

"We came out here at a moments notice on our own time, spent our own time processes a scene, taking statements, and within mere minutes a decision is made to hand the case over. A decision, might I add, that was made without the consent of either me or my colleague."

"That was before you made one of our guys a suspect Miss Willows. When it becomes personal, we get personal. Robin Mckinely is one of our finest officers. He's worked the force for almost ten years now. I can assure you that he's had no involvement with this crime."

"I can assure you the same about Sara and Greg. For one, they're close friends, and they wouldn't turn on one another. Secondly Greg's never handled a gun in his life, and to all the sudden be able to use one so liberally without any training seems unreal."

"With all due respect it doesn't take training to pull a trigger," Scott countered her. "His poor accuracy would suggest his lack in expertise. But a fool with a gun is still a madman, and he's taken someone hostage. I'm just thankful it wasn't Robin."

"You've come to that conclusion already? Within two hours. I thought our crime lab was fast."

"We don't need all the evidence to tell us the story; we take into account simple facts. If Mckinely was the culprit of this then why did he end up wounded?"

"If Greg was the one to blame then why did we find Sara's gun, the same gun Greg supposedly used to kidnap her, a matter of feet away from the initial scene, with only two sets of prints on it?"

"Robin could have easily mixed guns up," Scott offered up.

"Greg's prints showed up on Mckinely's gun. Not Sara's."

"It's still a gun," he pointed out coldly.

"There's a difference in his story. So why don't we call him up to compare the evidence to his word. Oh, that's right, he's unavailable."

"Robin Mckinely is on administrative leave, as well as medical rest."

"He's a suspect in an ongoing crime," Catherine argued with him.

"As far as I'm concerned his name is cleared. You want to argue that fact, file a complaint. I'm just sorry it won't begoing anywhere."

"Two of our people are involved, like it or not," Catherine stood up to him, "We are still running this case. Where did Greg and Sara stay?"

"Last night?"

She frowned, resisting the urge to smack them upside the head. Her look was enough as he rolled his eyes, already leaving the room. "I'll have it checked out, but as far as I'm concerned all you are doing is collecting evidence. Anything you process will be considered contaminated, and thrown out."

She felt like screaming, a vibrant line of blasphemy running through her head as she tried to control her anger. Catherine was normally the one in charge, the one who always took the lead. Now she was on the backburner, having to watch stranger run a case that could very well affect the lives of her friends. And she wasn't going to sit back and watch any longer.

TBC