/11/

A loud series of knocks broke through the relative silence in the dark hotel room, though Vadim didn't care too much about that – ten times louder, and they still wouldn't wake the blonde on the bed. It'd been three hours, and he was certain there was still enough of the drug in her system to keep her out for at least another one, if not two. That would be plenty of time to accomplish the next piece of his scheme.

Of course, he wouldn't have had to ponder the time at all if his counterpart had decided to arrive on time. Vadim gave a scowl as he stood from the chair at Calleigh's bed, where he'd taken up an odd sort of a vigil for the past three hours. He didn't want her dead, not yet at least. That wasn't a part of the plan, and so he'd taken up the painstaking responsibility of monitoring her breathing, making sure she didn't lapse into a slumber from which she would not wake.

Certainly, there was no fun in that, but then again, this whole plan hadn't been entirely too fun anyway, if he was completely honest with himself. Vadim had the bruises to prove that much. Calleigh Duquesne was clearly nothing if not feisty. But there was feisty, and then there was resistant, and Calleigh had quickly crossed that line. And Vadim did regret having to drug her – that hadn't been part of the plan, but in the end, it worked in his favor. He'd garnered himself a few hours to think without that obnoxious accent of hers piercing through whatever brilliant scheme he'd been working his mind through. Granted, much of the master plan was already set in stone, but it was the little things that Vadim took great pleasure in bringing about – particularly the little things that would leave Eric Delko seething with anger, frustrated with his complete inability to find the woman he loved.

Yes, that was the part that left Vadim sneering gleefully.

It was that sneer that decorated his features as he leisurely crossed to the door, drawing it open without so much as a single glance through the peephole – he knew without a doubt who it would be, though.

On the other side stood a much shorter man than Vadim, clearly much younger as well, but obviously just as much, if not more, Russian. With his lightly-stubbled face and his casually unruly short dark hair, he seemed a stark contrast to much of the rest of the Russian mob, or at least to Vadim. His eyes, though dark and determined, also carried a bit of hesitance though, something very unlike anything exhibited by the rest of the mob.

It was that hint of hesitance that left Vadim narrowing his eyes at the other man, combined with his clear lack of care for punctuality. "You're late, Alexei," he observed quietly.

The simple accusation left Alexei bristling noticeably, though he managed to pull himself somehow to his full height – the last thing he wanted was to attract the other Russian's ire. "It's Miami. In case you hadn't noticed, there is traffic," he muttered, crossing his arms. Forcing himself to hold Vadim's eyes, Alexei bit roughly at the inside of his cheek – this was not where he wanted to be. Not at this hotel, not in the mob at all. Silently he damned his father for the seemingly unbreakable hold the man seemed to have over him. Alexei was only doing this because he'd been born into it, because his father had refused to let him out – he, however, wanted none of it.

And this was just another tedious assignment that would get him nowhere – Alexei wasn't even sure what the point of being a part of the group was. Nothing he did was ever going to advance him; his father made sure of that – that was his way of keeping tabs on his son at all times. And now, because of all that, he got to play babysitter.

To say he resented his own heritage would be a drastic understatement. He hated where he'd come from; hated all it seemed he was destined to be. But it seemed as though his life had been set out for him from the moment of his birth; now, at twenty-four, he felt helpless to change that. And he certainly didn't wish to oppose the Russians, not after the scheme of revenge they had out for Eric Delko.

For now, though, he shook that from his mind – he'd spent far too long lingering over his predicament, and would likely spend plenty of time lingering on it in the future. Like it or not, he still had a job to do, and it wasn't as simple as merely not getting paid if he didn't do it – if he chose not to do what they demanded of him, Alexei could very well lose his life. To fight off the shudder that threatened to course through him, Alexei pushed his way into the room, past Vadim and to the darkened bedroom where Calleigh lay bound and unconscious on the bed.

Even in the low light, Alexei could see that she was beautiful, but that wasn't what caught his attention in that moment. "What did you do to her?" he asked, his eyes wide. Her cheeks were filled with a deathly pallor and, from where he stood, each breath appeared to come with extreme effort, as much as she could expend while out of it. And if Alexei wasn't mistaken, the sleeve of her white robe appeared marred by drying blood. On top of that was the fact that she lay there unmoving, unconscious, and though he wasn't privy to all of the details of this assignment, he knew that wasn't part of the plan. "She looks like hell, man."

Clearly, that mattered not to Vadim. He gave a shrug of nonchalance, idly checking the time on the display of his phone. "She'll live." He paused, glancing briefly to Alexei, long enough to catch his eyes. "Perhaps barely, but she'll live."

Curiously, Alexei crossed to the bed, first laying the back of his hand against Calleigh's pale, clammy cheek, then gently parting her eyelids with a finger, checking the response of her pupils – his aspirations, before being so rudely forced into the mob, had been to go medical school; it was just another thing his heritage had stolen from him. "What'd you do, knock her out?"

Lazily, Vadim rolled his eyes. "Don't act like it's the most gruesome thing you've ever heard of," he said dryly, watching the scene before him unfold with a dark sort of amusement. "She had it coming – my little princess here plays dirty." He paused, allowing Alexei to finish his brief survey of the blonde on the bed before reiterating his earlier statement. "She'll be fine."

Alexei scoffed. "Well, you'd better hope so, that's all I know."

"Let me tell you something about Calleigh Duquesne," Vadim began, perching himself on the edge of the table. "The woman is one tough little vixen. Odds are, she could take ten times the amount of what I gave her – it likely only knocked her out now because, well, just look at the circles under those eyes. She's clearly not sleeping –"

"And that couldn't possibly be because you have her chained half-naked to the bed," Alexei muttered, under his breath.

If Vadim heard, he gave no indication of it. "All I wanted was to…help her along, you see," he continued, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "She was out like a light before she could even begin to fight."

"Yeah, because clearly she has the strength to fight at all."

Vadim snorted. "Don't underestimate her, child. Underneath the angel, there's a little demon waiting to break out." He paused, his eyes traveling disdainfully over Alexei's slender frame. "She could take you, no problem. Unfortunately…" he sighed, rolling his eyes as if disgusted, "you were the only one available to, ah, babysit her."

"Of course I was," Alexei muttered under his breath, his voice utterly dripping with scorn. He knew the truth – it wasn't that he was the only one available; it was that he was simply the only one without the rank to say no. His eyes returned once more to the unconscious blonde on the bed; try as he might, he simply couldn't see any of the descriptions Vadim was throwing around about her. No fighter, no demon, no tough little vixen. His eyes merely saw the fragile, tormented beauty, and rather than animosity toward her, Alexei only felt pity. He might know very little about what was going on, but he knew with absolute certainty that she didn't deserve this. "Why does she even need a babysitter anyway?" he asked, his eyes back to Vadim. "She's out cold. She's cuffed down. I highly doubt she's going anywhere."

Vadim lifted a brow, a silent warning for Alexei to stop questioning his plans. "I know her history – every bit of it, even the parts of her sordid past that I wish had been left hidden," he explained, giving an exaggerated shudder. "I'm not at all convinced that she won't try anything funny. Your job…is to make sure that doesn't happen." He smirked. "If it does happen…well, you know the consequences."

With that warning, Vadim checked his bag, making sure all the necessary components for the next part of his scheme were there. When he was certain that he had all he would need, he slung the bag carelessly over his shoulder, glancing back to Alexei who had taken a seat at Calleigh's bedside. Swiftly he crossed to the door, firing back one last warning before he was gone.

"Oh, and don't you dare touch her," he snarled. "She's mine."

..

Eric was furious. So furious that he couldn't remember a time he'd been more furious.

He'd been angry when he'd first found out about Sharova. He'd been angry when he found out what the man had done to his mother. He'd been angry so many times at the man over the past year, even before the first time he'd come face to face with him. But this…it went beyond anger. This was pure, unadulterated fury. There was no doubt in Eric's mind that, had he not gotten himself out of Sharova's presence when he had, he would've ripped the other man apart. His father or not, there was no part of Eric that could simply stand there and listen to the man talk about the woman he loved like that, and especially not with the current danger that Calleigh was surely in. Mere anger did not even do the feeling justice.

It was as if Eric couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't feel anything save for the angry beat of his heart and the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Sharova had tricked him. Eric had trusted the man, had put his life and career on the line to try and find a way for Sharova to get out of the mob, though it turned out the other man didn't really want out at all. And, not only had he tried to pin the blame for what had happened before Eric on Eric's mother, but he'd also admitted to being the one assigned to kill Calleigh. To kill her. To take her away from him forever. Blinded by rage at the words, he'd no choice but to storm out of that room before doing something he'd eventually regret.

And clearly, the fury emanated from his very being as Eric stalked through the hallways, people in the line of potential fire quickly clearing out of his way. He had no idea where his destination might be – he simply needed to be as far from the holding cells as possible, and the quicker that happened, the better. There were any number of areas in the lab in which he could make himself useful right now. Trace could use him, fingerprints could use him, ballistics could use him…but he couldn't possibly be there now, and the very fact that the suggestion had popped into his mind sent a sudden burst of pain through him, pain which he quickly channeled into anger, just for the fact that it was easier to deal with.

He'd left Sharova alone after a single punch, though he'd so wished he'd stayed for more. It wasn't enough to assuage his pent-up frustration. His nerves were practically vibrating with tension, strings pulled so tightly that just the slightest pressure might leave them snapping, recoiling violently. He'd never felt like this before – so very angry, and so completely out of control of anything. He helped out where he could, but what use was it? All he could really do was stand by and watch, waiting for the dice to fall however they might. And that was simply not acceptable to Eric. He needed to do something. He needed some news; he desperately needed to hear something good before he completely broke down. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, and the last time he'd seen the one person who could make everything better, she'd been shooting at him as he sped away with a man he now hated with every fiber of his being.

A familiar face approached him in the rather deserted hallway, though it took a moment for Eric to place the lab tech's face. He was a night-shifter, an extra brought in to help with the sudden shorthandedness of the lab – with Calleigh missing, and Eric technically at arm's length of any current case, the day shift was in need of some extra assistance. He couldn't even remember the tech's name, but the important detail, the only important detail, was clear to Eric after a moment's thought. "Hey. You," he nearly growled, unable to sheathe the anger that remained directed at Sharova.

Startled, the tech faltered in his steps, cowering visibly at the magnitude of the fire in Eric's eyes. He'd been working with the crime lab for nearly two months – he was new, still walking on eggshells, still wary of any mistakes that might appear in his work, even when checked over twice, sometimes thrice. He'd encountered no problems thus far, but now, with Eric Delko of the day shift practically growling at him, he was quickly retracing his every step, wondering what he might have forgotten.

He opened his mouth in preparation of a reply, but Eric quickly beat him to the punch. "You find anything?" he questioned low, nearly deafened by the angry rush of blood through his ears.

"I – what?" he stammered, momentarily unsure of what Eric was talking about.

"The car," Eric huffed, feeling his patience seep slowly out of him as he spoke. "The car from the swamp – the one that you were supposed to finish working with. Did you find anything?"

"I – I don't know, man, I just got back from break –"

At those words, something within Eric completely snapped. They were completely different, but somewhere between his ears and his brain, the words were transformed into something eerily reminiscent of what Dan Cooper had had the gall to say to him a year and a half before. Before he could even catch himself, before he could even think, Eric had the unsuspecting lab tech backed against the nearest wall; he had no hands on him, hadn't touched him at all, though his fist did find itself against the wall just mere centimeters away from the tech's head. "On break?" He snarled, unaware of the small crowd that had paused in their own actions to watch the drama unfold. "One of our own is missing, possibly hurt, maybe even dead or dying, and you're out enjoying what, a vanilla latte and a banana nut muffin? Look around; nobody else is slacking off today, so –"

"Delko!"

Approaching quickly was a clearly livid Natalia, but Eric didn't back away – he couldn't. Not until he felt her fingers wrap around his arm, lightly yet forcefully guiding him away from the wide-eyed tech against the wall. Natalia turned her eyes to him briefly, the cold orbs boring a hole in the poor lab tech. "I'd suggest you get back to work."

"Didn't you see?" he sputtered, glancing from Natalia to Eric. "He- he tried to –"

"Let it go," Natalia interjected, her voice low. Eric wasn't too sure what happened in the moment that followed – he couldn't see, but seemingly something had silently passed between Natalia and the tech; either that, or the cold fire in her eyes was enough to frighten him into submission. Eric couldn't help but smirk at that – Natalia wasn't a woman he wanted to be on the wrong side of.

With a low grumble under his breath, the hassled tech glanced once more to Eric before quickly heading on his way. And then Natalia turned to Eric, her gaze deflecting momentarily to his arm. "Locker room. Now," she demanded quietly, mindful of the small crowd that had gathered.

"Natalia –"

"Now, Eric." Between her voice and her eyes, there was absolutely no room for argument. She knew he was upset; knew he was worried sick, and clearly angry about something now. But that did not mean she could let him storm around the lab taking it out on the rest of their coworkers. "Do not make me say it again."

To his credit, he didn't argue it further – despite his boiling anger, Eric was smart enough not to cross an angry Natalia. Leaving the small crowd behind, the two of them quickly found themselves in the quiet solitude of the locker room, the flickering fluorescents above highlighting the exhaustion present in both of their faces. As the door closed behind them with an echoing slam, Eric strode purposefully to the opposite end of the room, needing the extra breathing room.

Hanging back by the door, Natalia closed her eyes, silently exhaling a deep breath, giving Eric a moment before finally speaking so as not to sound too exasperated. "Okay. Look, Eric," she began, fixing him with a stern gaze, though it also managed to convey the understanding she felt beneath her professional exterior. "I know time is of the essence here, and I know the longer we go without hearing anything, the more frustrating it gets. And I know you're worried about Calleigh. I know you're scared – hell, I'm scared, so I can't even begin to imagine what it's like for you."

"You're right – you can't," Eric interjected, earning himself a harsh glare from Natalia. It was effective though; pursing his lips, Eric crossed his arms and bit his tongue as she continued.

"I'm not trying to argue that, Eric," she insisted firmly. "I'm just telling you that it doesn't matter how worried you are – you can't storm around the lab like this. You can't go around throwing random lab techs into walls because that's not going to help Calleigh at all, and you know that. I told you this already and I'm telling you again – if you don't start looking at this like the professional you are, then you'll be off of this case before you can even blink."

That had calmed Eric before, but this time, it only seemed to rile him further. "Professional?" he repeated, incredulous that Natalia would even suggest that in the wake of what had just occurred. "I'm not the one slacking off - that kid took a break, Natalia. A break. Calleigh's missing, or – or maybe even worse, and he decides a Starbucks run is in order? How is that going to help Calleigh?"

"Look, Eric," Natalia interrupted, taking advantage of Eric's pause. "You need to take a seat and calm down, because you're sure not helping Calleigh right now. Don't you think she'd be disappointed to see you acting like this, not keeping your wits about you and letting this guy get under your skin like this?"

It was a low blow and Natalia knew it, but at that moment, she wasn't sure how else to possibly get through to him. Certainly it seemed to take the wind out of his sails as her words sunk in; his shoulders slumped as his anger faded visibly, replaced by an almost helplessness that tore at Natalia's heart. "I'm sorry, Eric," she said softly, turning to her locker, "but the most important thing you can do right now is stay focused, because that's what these guys want – they want you to lose your mind, and you know that. Don't play into their game." She paused, giving her words enough time to permeate his mind. "Now, do you want to tell me why blood is soaking through your sleeve, or am I going to find a couple more scandalized nightshift techs running around the lab, perhaps with black eyes?"

"That's an exaggeration." Eric sighed heavily, though to his credit he seemed to surrender, slowly lowering himself to the bench between the rows of lockers. He hadn't really felt the pain until Natalia had pointed it out to him – now, he could feel the throbbing deep in his muscles; he could feel the stickiness of the blood as it dried, practically adhering his sleeve to his skin. Apparently the force of his fist connecting with Sharova's jaw had ripped open the wound at his shoulder where Calleigh's bullet had grazed him. And now he could feel the burn in his arm whenever he moved it; experimentally he attempted to roll his shoulder, though stopped midway with a pained wince.

He offered nothing else, and Natalia sighed, rummaging around for the first aid kit she kept in her locker. "I don't suppose I'd be too far off if I guessed that you'd had a run-in with Sharova." Kit in hand, she turned back to him, noting that at least he had the good grace to look mildly sheepish. "And I guess it ended badly."

Eric sighed. "Understatement," he said gruffly, craning his neck to inspect the damage at his arm. Natalia was right – he'd been so consumed by his anger that he'd been oblivious to both the pain and the sensation of blood; as he'd stalked through the hallways, the wound had steadily oozed, soaking through the fabric of his shirt. It was ruined, that much was for certain.

Natalia seemed to realize that as well. She took a seat next to him, facing him with the first aid kit on the bench between them. "Take off your shirt," she demanded simply, opening the kit and making sure it was stocked well enough.

It was an abrupt command, one that took Eric slightly by surprise. "What?"

She lifted her eyes to him, raising an eyebrow. "I can't get to the wound when it's half-covered by your sleeve, and if you just push it up, you're going to end up with blood everywhere," she said matter-of-factly. "Besides, you can't go around the lab wearing a bloodied shirt – evidence contamination, and all."

Quietly he obeyed, and Natalia frowned as his fingers went to the buttons on his shirt. The growing discoloration in his knuckles was terribly apparent – between that, and the reopened gash at his shoulder, Natalia didn't need him to explain just how badly his run-in with Sharova had gone. She knew exactly what had happened. "Oh, Eric…" she murmured, slightly shaking her head.

Eric huffed, completely aware of the disapproval in Natalia's tone, as well as her eyes on his bruising knuckles. "You want to say something about it?" he challenged quietly, refusing to meet her eyes as he pulled his arms from his sleeves, leaving him in only his undershirt. Unconsciously he clenched and released his fist a couple of times, wincing just slightly in response to the pain.

Natalia shook her head, though remained silent as she rummaged through the first aid kit. It was incredibly primitive compared to the medical care that Eric needed, but Natalia knew better than to argue with him right now. "Nothing more than what I've already said," she murmured, frowning as she went to work on his wound.

Scoffing coldly, Eric fixed his eyes upon an arbitrary spot on the far wall as Natalia worked. Vaguely his ears caught her quiet insistence for him to go to the ER, that he really needed stitches more so than a simple covering. "That's what Yelina said," he mumbled in return.

"Well, Yelina is right," Natalia said, furrowing her brow in concentration. It might have been merely a graze, but it was a fairly deep one at that. She frowned, fearful of the prospect of infection – especially with as long as Eric had been out there in the Everglades. "Who knows what kinds of bacteria are swimming around in this," she muttered. "You're going to end up with one terrible infection."

Again Eric huffed – Natalia was beginning to get tired of that quite quickly. "It's fine."

"Yeah. I can tell. You do know that now you sound like Calleigh, right?" Natalia quipped before becoming serious once more. "I'm doing my best to clean it out, and I'm going to bandage it up in a minute, but I can't do for you what you need," she continued, her voice soft. "You're going to have to get this checked out eventually, whether you like it or not."

"When I know Calleigh is safe." There was no room for argument there, and with a deep sigh, Natalia simply allowed it to drop. She knew nothing she said was going to change his mind; instead, she concentrated on the task at hand. It wasn't until Natalia had finally wrapped his arm in gauze that Eric spoke again; this time, rather than anger, his voice was filled with a badly concealed fear. "He was going to kill her, you know."

"What?"

"Sharova," Eric growled. "He was – he was supposed to kill her." The words came as a shock to Natalia; she stared slack-jawed at him, though for the first time she didn't need to prompt him to continue. "That was how they were going to get to me. The warehouse – it was all a ruse to get us there, and if I hadn't been with Sharova…he was supposed to kill Calleigh when she arrived at the scene." He shook his head, lifting a hand to rub at his tired eyes. "How's that for irony? I kept her from being killed, but I got her kidnapped instead." And she still might die - that thought, though, Eric left unspoken.

"You left out the most important part, though," Natalia pointed out, watching him with concern in her eyes – she was worried about him, for more reasons than one. "You're going to get her back. And, for what it's worth," she added, patting his elbow in reassurance, "I probably would've hit the bastard too."

That comment got the tiniest of smiles from Eric – it was just a fleeting quirk of his lips, but it was something, and for that Natalia was grateful. "She'll be okay, Eric," she said softly, smiling as he nodded. "And you will be, too."

Eric gave a slight nod, shifting on the bench as the vibration of his phone got his attention. "Thanks, 'Talia," he murmured, furrowing his brow as he took his phone in his hands and glanced at the number on the display – he didn't recognize it.

She couldn't read his expression; couldn't discern whether the call held good or bad implications – she leaned toward bad, though, simply from his hesitance to answer it. "Want me to go?" she asked quietly, again tapping his elbow.

Almost before the words were out of her mouth, Eric was shaking his head. "No, stay," he muttered. He was filled suddenly with a sense of trepidation as he answered the call, almost afraid of who he would hear on the other line. "Delko."

For a moment, there was merely silence. And then, Eric's fears were confirmed as the thick accented voice of Calleigh's Russian captor drifted almost lazily over the wire. "My, my, Delko, it took you long enough to answer. I do hope I'm not…interrupting something," he remarked snidely.

Eric growled. "What you're interrupting is my job – you know, the one where I hunt you down and –"

"Now, now," Vadim simpered, the oiliness in his voice enough to leave Eric's skin crawling. "Let's be rational adults here – after all, I only called to see how your afternoon was going. Just a friendly chat."

Out of the corner of his eye, Eric caught the swift movement of Natalia as she whipped out her own cell and hastily tapped out a text – to whom, though, Eric had not the time to ponder. His mind was divided between processing the voice at his ear, and controlling his own body as the rage began to pour through him once again. "Get to the point, Nabokov," he snarled, using the surname that Vadim's associate had given up in interrogation.

It was meant to shake him, to show the process they were making in the case, but rather than be intimidated, Vadim only seemed delighted. "So you found out who I am, did you? Too bad that doesn't help you – my name isn't going to tell you where I am…or where your pretty blonde babe is." Vadim gave a theatrical gasp, as if remembering the original reason for his call. "Speaking of…I have a message from her. She wants you to stop looking for her."

"Yeah, I bet she wants that just as much as you swear she wants you, right?" Eric retorted.

"It's true," Vadim insisted with a smirk. "She's forgotten all about you by now. I mean, we had the best little rendezvous not too long ago, actually." He paused, giving a dark snicker. "That's why I'm in such a good mood right now. Hell, I'm in such a good mood that I'd even be willing to let your – oops, I mean my princess talk to you…but she's, ah, just exhausted."

"You son of a bitch," Eric growled, his entire body tensing. He had no way of knowing whether or not Vadim was bluffing, but just hearing all of that in his oily voice was enough to have him shaking with anger. "If you've touched her –"

"I promise you, I've done more than touch her…"

"I swear to God I'll kill you," Eric finished. Beside him, Natalia couldn't help but shiver – the conviction in those words was unlike anything she'd ever heard before, and were Eric to ever find himself alone with Vadim, she had no doubt that he'd make good on that promise.

"Yeah, yeah, so you've told me," Vadim replied with a fake yawn. "You need new material, Delko – hearing the same, silly rant several times over is starting to bore me. Why, I bet pretty little Calleigh could come up with something better even as she sleeps, all passed out from the blissful delirium I showed her just this afternoon. That's what makes her so very sexy – she's beautiful, but clever too, and I like that a lot."

At that, Eric leapt to his feet, unable to contain the tension and still remain seated. "Look," he snarled, vaguely hearing the soft vibration of Natalia's phone, but paying it and her hushed voice as she answered no mind at all. "I am done playing this game with you – you hear me? I am done."

Vadim snickered. "Good. That means I win." Eric opened his mouth, but didn't have a chance to refute that. "And now, I am going to go enjoy my prize some more. Have a fabulous evening, Delektorsky. I know I will."

And with that, the connection went dead, leaving Eric struggling to fight back the nearly consuming urge to put his fist through one of the many lockers before him. "Damn it," he growled, shoving his phone back in his pocket with one hand while the other rubbed at his eyes, burning with exhaustion and frustration. "Damn it!"

"Eric!" Natalia called out, disconnecting her own call. With quiet steps she approached him, laying a gentle palm along his forearm. He was still shaking, seething with fury, and really, Natalia couldn't blame him. For all her earlier scolding about letting the Russians get under his skin like this, she knew there was really no way he could help it – Vadim was toying with him, playing games because he knew that was the easiest way to break Eric. As if taking Calleigh wasn't bad enough, he had to taunt Eric about it. "I need you to calm down for a moment, okay?" she coaxed softly.

It was an impossible request, and both of them knew it. Eric scoffed, shaking his head. "I can't, Natalia. I – I –" he stammered, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as the words refused to reach his lips. "I am done with these Russians," he muttered after a moment.

"I know," Natalia said quietly, wishing Eric would meet her eyes. She frowned, unable to stem the growing concern she felt for him. "But listen, Eric – that was Travers who just called me." At that, Eric finally did briefly glance up, and for a second Natalia could see the depth of his worry for Calleigh – he was terrified. "I texted him right after you answered your phone; asked him to run a remote trace on that call, and –"

"We tried to trace it before," Eric interrupted, turning to his own locker on the other row. He pulled it open rather abruptly, his frustration very much in evidence as the door rattled off of the locker right next to it. "He's jammed the signal somehow – we couldn't get a location."

"Well, that was before."

At that, Eric's head snapped up, his attention entirely focused on his companion. "Are you saying we got something?" he asked, shrugging slowly into the spare button-down he kept in his locker.

"South Beach," Natalia replied. "I had a hunch when it seemed like you didn't recognize the number. When I was sure who it was, I got Travers on it immediately, thinking that if it was a different number, maybe this guy slipped up and we'd be able to run a trace." Pausing, she offered a quick smile. "The GPS pinged almost immediately – Travers got an exact location. That's what he just called me for – he gave me an address and patrol is on their way out there now."

Eric held her gaze as his fingers worked the buttons on his shirt; it wasn't until the last one was threaded through its corresponding loop that he spoke. "Well?" he pressed, mild sarcasm just barely kept beneath the surface – Natalia's earlier words still rang in his ears, and he was just waiting for her to tell him no, that he needed to step back. And he was ready to argue – this was the first real break they'd gotten, and Eric had no intention of stepping back.

Lucky for him, Natalia had no intention of telling him to step back – she'd heard Eric's side of the call; she'd watched as the anger rose viscerally within him, bubbling over and nearly consuming him. It was clear how badly he was affected by this; it was clear how deeply he cared for Calleigh, and despite her earlier warnings, she wasn't going to be the one to stand between Eric and his mission, not right now, anyway. Quickly she gathered the first aid kit from where it remained on the bench and placed it back in her locker, closing the door with an audible clang before turning back to Eric, determination in her own dark eyes as she spoke.

"Let's go."

Hey guys - those of you who have this story on alert will have gotten an alert for chapter 12 along with this one. That was a mistake on my part; I was replacing another chapter of this story and accidentally uploaded it as chapter 12 instead because that's how much of a genius I am, lol. But yeah, ch11 is the only update at this time and I apologize for any confusion.