A/N: Thanks for the feedback. I really appreciate it. I'm trying not to make the wait between chapters too long, but sometimes real life just won't cooperate!

chapter four: the chained lady

Frankie was lying in Kilmer's arms, staring up at the night sky. He'd been naming constellations, pointing them out and explaining the stories behind them.

"You're smarter than I thought you were," she said.

He laughed. "You can thank my mother. She's a mythology nut."

"What's that one?" Frankie pointed to a long line of bright stars.

"Andromeda. Her father sacrificed her to the gods for her mother's vanity – see, there are her arms chained to a rock."

Frankie propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at Kilmer. "How did she die?"

"She was supposed to be eaten by a sea monster. But Perseus – you can see him standing over her – saw her and rescued her. He was apparently overcome by her beauty and couldn't bear to let her die."

The stars disappeared and Frankie was in the cellar again. She closed her eyes, willing herself back with Kilmer.

"They call her the Chained Lady," Kilmer said. "She's you."

"John, don't leave me." She threw her arms around his neck.

He kissed her. "I won't."

Kilmer knocked on Frankie's door. Knowing how much Frankie loved flowers and hoping that something bright and colorful might cheer her up, he'd bought a dozen yellow roses. He didn't find it at all significant that he'd forked out an exorbitant amount of money to get roses in December, rationalizing that he owed her an apology for yelling at her.

The elevator doors opened and he turned, hoping Frankie would get off. A tired-looking woman shuffled towards him instead. He tried knocking again.

"I think she's gone away," the woman said. She unlocked the door next to Frankie's.

"Gone away?"

"Haven't seen her in . . . I don't know. I usually see her in the mornings. I haven't the past few days."

Kilmer nodded and waited for the woman to enter her apartment before he resumed knocking. Frankie wouldn't go away when she was ill. And if she had, she would have called to let him know.

There was still no answer from inside. Kilmer began to worry; she could be too sick to get out of bed. He picked the lock, not really caring if anyone was around to see him, and let himself into Frankie's apartment.

"Frankie?"

He went straight to the bedroom, surprised to find the bed neatly made.

"Frankie?"

Dropping the file on the bed, he checked the bathroom and the spare room. Nothing. He went back into the living room. This time he noticed that her gun was on the coffee table and the flowers in the vase were dead. Worry pricked at the edge of his conscious; Frankie would have thrown them out when she noticed them dying.

Most disturbing was the dried blood on the carpet.

He hadn't worn his earpiece because he hadn't wanted the team here with them. Now he pulled it from his pocket, fitted it to his ear and switched it on.

"Jelani, I need you to send Lark here with her field kit."

"What's wrong?"

Kilmer saw the red light blinking on Frankie's answering machine. He pressed 'play' and heard himself speak. "Hey, it's me. Look, I'm sorry about today. I know you're not feeling well . . . Take the next couple of days off, okay? See you on Monday."

She never got the message. She hadn't come to work and he'd assumed . . . he'd assumed . . .

"Kilmer? What is it?" Jelani's voice broke through.

He took a deep breath. "Frankie's missing. I think she's been gone since Wednesday."

"Maybe she took off for a couple days—"

"There's blood."

Jelani was silent. Kilmer heard Lark say, "I'm on my way."

Kilmer leaned against the wall, his knees suddenly weak. Frankie was gone and he'd had no idea anything was wrong.

Someone grabbed Frankie's arm and pulled her up the stairs. She knew immediately that it wasn't Kilmer; he would never be that rough with her. She was pushed onto a chair and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light.

"Do you know what you are being punished for?" The man's voice was heavily accented, hinting at a Middle Eastern origin. He wasn't a particularly large man, but Frankie sensed a viciousness about him.

"My name is Frankie Ellroy-Kilmer," she began. The man slapped her across the face.

"I know who you are, bitch. Do you know why you're being punished?"

"May I have some water?" Her throat was dry and it was difficult to speak.

"No."

"But, Fasil—"

"Shut up."

Frankie glanced at the other man. He was younger than her interrogator. She guessed he was the one who had given her the blanket. Maybe she would find an ally in him.

She started coughing.

"Get her water," Fasil said. "And find something for her to wear."

Frankie knew it wasn't for her sake that the younger man brought her a dress, but she was glad anyway. She smiled when he put a glass of water on the table. "Thank you. What's your name?"

Fasil laughed. "Why must he tell you his name? So you can tell your friends when you are free?"

"I think you wouldn't let me see your face if you intended to set me free." She studied the man in front of her. "You're Sadiq Fasil."

He shrugged. "What is a name?"

"What do you want with me?"

"You need to be held accountable for your crimes."

"And what are my crimes?" Frankie shivered. Even with the dress she'd been given, she was still cold.

"You are a murderer. Although your American courts do not think so, Allah does, and it is Allah who is judging you."

Frankie sipped the water slowly, wanting to make it last as long as possible. "This is about Alpha-126?"

Fasil slammed his fist down on the table. "He has a name!"

"You just said names aren't important." Frankie stared up insolently at him. He could do what he wanted to her but she would not be cowed.

"He had a family, a child. He is missed. You, on the other hand . . . no children, no parents. Even your husband would not stay married to you."

"My friends will come for me. John will find me."

Fasil laughed. "Your friends? They do not even know you are missing. There have been no television reports, nothing in your newspapers. And John? Your ex-husband? Why should he care about you anymore?"

Feigning bravado, she sat up straight. "So why don't you just go ahead and kill me?"

Fasil smiled. "Allah will tell me when the time is right."

Frankie shivered. His eyes were empty, soulless. She tried to crawl inside his mind, but what she knew so far scared her.

"'Fight in the cause of Allah those who fight you, but do not transgress limits; for Allah loves not transgressors.' How is what you're doing self-defense?"

"Hassan, take her down again. Looking at her makes me sick." He turned away.

Fasil wouldn't just kill her, Frankie realized. He was playing with her. He would use her death to make a statement.

And he would make her suffer first.

Kilmer stood against the wall and watched Lark process Frankie's apartment. Angel had come with her and was talking to Frankie's neighbors. Kilmer couldn't look away from the blood. It wasn't bad enough that she was missing, but she was injured as well.

For all they knew, she could already be dead.

No, he would not accept that. If Frankie was dead, he was sure that he would feel it.

There was a knock at the door, and a voice calling, "Frankie?"

Kilmer opened it, surprised to see a pretty blonde on the other side.

"Oh, hey," she said. "Sorry, I didn't realize Frankie had company."

"Who are you?"

"Ally Jackson. I live one floor up. I came by to see if Frankie wanted to come to a party with me, but I guess she's got other plans." Ally shrugged and turned to go.

Kilmer caught her arm. "When was the last time you saw Frankie?"

"Wednesday night. She looked pretty bad so I figured she was sick. Is she feeling better yet?"

"Do you know her well?"

"Yeah, I guess." Ally narrowed her eyes. "Hey, how come you're asking so many questions? Who are you?"

"John Kilmer. I—"

"Ah, the ex."

"Frankie's missing."

"No way." Ally shook her head.

"We think she disappeared on Wednesday evening. Did you see anything out of the ordinary? Anyone who doesn't live here?"

"Well, there was the pizza guy. But he seemed pretty normal. He wasn't too friendly though. He looked at me like I was . . . I don't know, like he was looking through me."

Kilmer studied Ally. She was attractive and probably used to positive male attention. No wonder the pizza guy's disinterest had seemed odd. He handed Ally a card. "Thanks. If you remember anything else, call me. Any time."

Ally nodded. She turned to leave then looked back over her shoulder. "Hey, I know it's none of my business, but Frankie still cares about you. You have to find her."

"I will," Kilmer said, more to himself than to Ally. "I'll find her."

Angel left Mary Price's apartment, shaking her head as she joined Kilmer in the hallway. "That poor woman."

"Did she see anything?"

"No. She's a recovering alcoholic and on Wednesday night, she fell off the wagon. She's sober now, but she says the last two days are fuzzy."

Kilmer swore. "Well, isn't that convenient."

Angel took his arm, leading him back into Frankie's apartment. "Let's see if Lark found anything useful."

Lark was packing up when they reached her. "I've only found Frankie's fingerprints. I've taken a sample of the blood but I think we can assume it's hers."

Kilmer looked around the apartment. He could see subtle touches of Frankie here and there and he suddenly ached to see her again.

"Kilmer?"

He shook his head, returning to the present. "Let me get the file, then we can go."

In the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a pillow. It smelled of Frankie.

"Where are you, Mrs. Kilmer?"

People didn't just vanish into thin air. Frankie's kidnapper wasn't perfect; he must have screwed up at some point. All they needed was to find out what that mistake was. They had to; the alternative was unthinkable.

Kilmer felt ill. He went into the bathroom for some water, noticing that the toilet seat was up. To his knowledge, Frankie wasn't seeing anyone – at least, he hoped she wasn't seeing anyone – so that left only one other option.

"Hey, Lark. Did you dust for prints in the bathroom?"

Lark came into the bathroom. "Yeah . . . Wait. I see what you're thinking." She ran back to the living room for the powder and brush. When she returned, she dusted the handle on the toilet then scanned the fingerprint.

"Jelani, are you getting this?"

An eternity later, Jelani said, "The print belongs to Ali Hassan. He's been in the States for a year on a student visa."

Kilmer smiled. Gotcha, he thought.