Chapter 8 Till Death Do Us Part

"Say that again," Ron Wagner spoke into his phone. A very concerned look had appeared on his face.

Mark was immediately interested and gave the FBI agent his total attention.

"Ok. You stay with your man, and I'll put Rodgers on the new player." Ron pulled the phone away from his face and stared at it for a few seconds before finally disconnecting the call. His expression showed his puzzlement.

Mark, who was tired of hearing only the one-sided conversation, couldn't contain himself any longer. "What's wrong?" The two men were alone at the beach house, Jesse having gone back to his own apartment to get some sleep before reporting for his next shift at the hospital.

Ron didn't answer right away which caused Mark to become even more anxious. But finally, he said, "We knew that someone inside the FBI was supplying information to the mob, but now it seems that our friend may have a buddy at the LAPD."

"It isn't Steve!" Mark declared, not wanting a dark cloud to appear over his son's reputation.

"No, Mark. I know it isn't Steve. And honestly, I'm not sure that it's anyone just yet. It could be that the LAPD are simply looking for their missing Lieutenant." He sat still in his chair for a few moments longer and then suddenly rose. "I think I'll join the surveillance team and see where this all leads."

"I'm going too," Mark declared, standing up himself, his voice strong with determination.

Ron eyed the older man for a long minute in silence. "Mark, it could be dangerous."

"I know."

"And you're a civilian, you really aren't allow-"

"I'm going, Ron," he stated and led the way to the front door, leaving no room for further discussion.

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"Steve," Ellen quietly uttered. It was difficult to talk because her mouth felt so dry.

"Hmm?" It was more of a grunt than a real word.

"What time is it?"

Steve sighed and suppressed the urge to tell her, "About five minutes later than the last time you asked." Instead, he slowly moved his right hand over to his left wrist and pressed the small button that lit up the face of his watch. "It's 2:25."

"In the afternoon?" It was asked without any trace of emotion.

Even though Steve was suffering from the same dehydration symptoms as his wife, not having anything to eat and drink for over forty-eight hours, her uncharacteristic soberness and confusion caused him to be concerned. "Yeah, in the afternoon." A small amount of light was drifting under the door, and it was feeling hot and stuffy again.

For several minutes, the room was completely quiet except for their raspy breathing. Ellen was sitting a short distance from her husband, both of them leaning against the wall. She was having a hard time concentrating because her head hurt, but she finally broke the silence, her voice clearly showing her fear. "Are we gonna die here?"

Steve was surprised by her inquiry, and his first instinct was to say, "No." However, he knew there was no way out of their dungeon, and there was no guarantee their captors would return. He had actually given the question some consideration himself but hadn't wanted to frighten her by bringing it up. He took in a shallow breath and, not wanting to lie to her, replied, "I hope not."

If she had been feeling like her normal self, Ellen would have most certainly reacted in a somewhat irrational way, but instead she remained still and silent. She felt like crying, but no tears came, and, after a few more minutes, she spoke again. "I love you, Steve."

He reached out in her direction and touched her arm. Scooting closer to her, while at the same time gently moving her closer to him, he answered, "I love you, too, Sweetheart." She cuddled into his embrace. "Your arm is cold," he commented.

"I'm ok." Since she had used her sweater to wrap Steve's hand, she had felt chilled, but right now it was hardly noticeable because Steve's hug was warm and comforting. It occurred to her that if they were going to die, then it was a slight comfort that they would experience it together. Her thoughts drifted, and images of times they had spent with each other filled her mind, and a smile came to her face. She couldn't help but share, "Do you remember when we first met, that night that you took me back to your house to protect me, but I didn't want to be alone?"

A smile came to his face also. "Yeah, I do."

Ellen stood in the doorway of Steve's bedroom, highly impressed by the strong abdominal muscles that she observed on the policeman who had taken it upon himself to be her guardian.

Suddenly, Steve noticed her and was startled, and somewhat embarrassed, by her presence. "What are you doing in here? I thought you were all settled in the guestroom?" he asked, covering up his bare chest with the shirt that he held in his hand.

"I heard a noise," she replied. It was a weak excuse and she knew it.

A little disgusted with her childish response, he began, "Miss Sharp-"

"If you think I'm staying in there by myself, you're crazy!" The day had already been a rather difficult and scary one, and she felt rattled.

Relenting, Steve replied, "Well, I guess you could stay in here, and I'll stay in the guestroom." As irritating as he found this woman, he still wanted to be a gentleman and started to leave the room, coming face to face with Ellen as he passed through the doorway.

"Wait." She didn't want him to leave, but since he was standing so close to her, she couldn't think fast enough to create an excuse, so she had to admit, "I don't want to be alone."

"Oh, right. I guess you could stay in here," he began to offer, returning to the bedroom.

"Oh, no-" she started.

"It's all right," he interrupted.

" —but it's your bed."

"I can't have you sleeping on the floor, it's all right." Steve didn't really relish the idea himself, but he knew that he would probably survive the night on the carpet with only a few sore muscles. Ignoring Ellen's objections, he continued, "I'll just grab my things."

Ellen interjected, "I have an idea." She picked up the comforter that was at the foot of the mattress and moved it across the middle so that it separated the bed into two separate halves from the head to the foot.

"What's that?" Steve asked, a little confused.

Smiling, she said, "Just make sure you stay on your side."

Finally understanding the situation, Steve responded, "Ok, fine. Just make sure you keep your hands to yourself."

Ellen spoke under her breath, but certainly loud enough for Steve to hear. "Like I'd be tempted."

"Steve, I need to tell you something about that night." Her voice was weak.

He stroked her arm hoping it would provide her with some warmth. His response came slowly. "What?"

"I was tempted."

Even though his head was aching, it took him only a few seconds to figure out what she meant. "Me, too."

"Steve, I was looking forward to our children," she voiced quietly, with a touch of melancholy.

Steve was stunned into a brief silence, but when he spoke a smile touched his mouth. "I was too, a blonde, hyper girl like her mother" he was interrupted by a light punch to his arm.

"Who you calling hyper?" Ellen asked with a touch of her normal brightness. "I suppose we would have a muscle-bound boy as well, huh? Or, oh yuck, a muscle-bound hyper girl, Steve, she'll never get a date!"

Steve chuckled at the image her description presented. His thoughts were then dragged back to their current predicament. He did want to spend the rest of his life with this woman, whether it was the next thirty years or the next thirty minutes he planned to make the most of it. Since there was no longer a reason to keep his hands to himself', Steve felt in the dark for her cheek and then gently moved it so that their lips met. It started off as a sweet tender kiss, but evolved into a deeply passionate one, clearly expressing the love they felt for each other. Ellen wrapped her arms around Steve's neck and held him tightly, while he tightened his hold on her. In the back of their minds, the thought lingered that this could be the last day of their lives. But without speaking, they silently agreed that if it really were their last day, they would leave this earth affirming their devotion to one another.

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When the call came in, Mark Sloan had begged to accompany Ron, but now after sitting in a cramped van for over three hours, he wasn't sure that he had made the right choice. Besides he and Ron, there were two other FBI men and all kinds of surveillance equipment in the back of the vehicle that was supposed to look like a newspaper delivery truck. Mark had tried to be patient and remain silent, taking in what he could from the conversations of the others, but now his patience was wearing thin. They had driven around downtown LA for over an hour and then headed east out of town, where, for nearly two hours, they had been following a dark blue sedan. It always surprised the older doctor how quickly the area became sparsely populated once the metropolis was left behind.

Ron was surprised at how quiet Mark had been. He had made the doctor give him his solemn promise that he would stay in the background and not interfere. Ron knew that would be impossible for the older man, and he was actually planning on it not occurring, actually wanting his wise input, but he had to admit that he was enjoying being in control of the situation for just a little while.

The other surveillance vehicle was about twenty minutes ahead of them, following a dark gray car, heading east on the same road. Ron wasn't sure if the distraction of driving around the downtown area was really that, a distraction, but they had been careful to not be spotted, and it seemed that neither group of bad guys' suspected anything.

Suddenly, their van shook as a sharp bang sounded from the rear of it, and all the occupants lost their bearings as the driver of the vehicle fought for control.

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The imprisoned couple, unable to do anything else, lay motionless next to each other on the floor and slept.

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Mark couldn't help but pace impatiently in the hot afternoon sun, while the flat tire was replaced. He knew that the men were working as quickly as possible to repair it, but in his mind it wasn't fast enough.

Ron was pacing too. He was also yelling into his cell phone, barking out orders to other agents and cursing under his breath about the lack of money provided for proper upkeep of their van. The unscheduled delay could cost them lives.

Somehow, and he couldn't really explain why, Mark knew that Steve and Ellen would be found. Something in his heart told him that they were headed in the right direction and that soon the mystery of their disappearance would be solved. He wanted to be there when that happened, however, when it did, he prayed that his medical expertise wouldn't be needed.

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Steve and Ellen both roused when they heard the door to their cell open, and they instinctively opened their eyes and tried to sit up. However, the bright light shining in blinded them, and they simultaneously covered their eyes with uplifted arms.

"Well, Lieutenant, I must say that you're not looking very well."

Steve couldn't see the man who was standing in the doorway, but he knew the voice was a familiar one. His mind seemed to be working in slow motion, but after a few moments he identified it as belonging to his superior, Chief Masters.

Using all of the strength that he could find, Steve sat up, bracing himself against the wall. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he managed to say, "Sir." Trying as best as he could to help Ellen to a sitting position, he continued, "I knew you would find us."

"Find you?" Chief Masters let out a small chuckle. "Actually, I've known where you were all of the time." He let that nugget of information soak in before continuing. "Sloan, I arranged for these accommodations for you and your lovely bride." Sarcasm filled his words.

Steve's head ached, and he was using all his strength to keep himself upright, but he could still reason, just slower than usual. He was sure that his face showed his confusion.

Chief Masters didn't move from the doorway as he spoke. "We knew that Hackett was going to turn information over to the FBI, and we were looking for a way to take care of him before that happened. When your inquisitive wife visited him, and they had that little argument, we just couldn't pass up the opportunity."

Steve's mouth was too dry to actually form the question "Why?", but the chief didn't need to hear it to give the answer. "I had your house ransacked to implicate you. With the men I have working for me in the department, it won't take long to produce evidence that both you and your wife were heavily involved with some of the organized crime families in LA. And when your bodies are found out in the desert, murdered execution style, even your father will be hard pressed to prove otherwise."

"Captin," Steve muttered.

A large smile appeared on Chief Masters face. "You're wondering about Captain Woodruff? I just told you, I have other men in the department working for me." Steve eyes had adjusted to the light, and he didn't miss the smug smile on the chief's face. "You were an easy prey, Sloan. And it really is too bad that you didn't accept my offer years ago to be on my special task force. If you had, well, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now."

Steve watched as the tall man, that he had once highly respected, slid his hands into rubber gloves. The snap of the latex sent a shiver flowing through his body, and as he moved as best he could to place it in front of his wife's, he felt her tiny hands grip the fabric of his shirt. Ellen had remained totally silent during the entire discussion and now that he could see clearly, he could see fear in her eyes, fear that changed to a look of love as they momentarily locked gazes.

The chief took a gun out of a plastic bag that a nearby police officer was holding. "I guess this is good-bye, Lieutenant."

The tall man took two steps toward Steve and pointed the gun directly at his head.

Steve sat motionless, knowing that he didn't have enough energy to do anything to fight off his attacker. Ellen's grip on his shirt remained firm, as did his resolution to stay in his current position to act as her shield. If the mad man in front of him pulled the trigger, he would take the bullet, and hopefully, she would be spared. He braced himself as his eyes focused in on Masters' finger moving the trigger.

Several gunshots rang out, but Steve only comprehended the first one. The pain registered for only a few seconds during which time he heard Ellen call out his name. Then he slumped to the floor in a heap and knew no more.