a/n: I'm not sure how much people are enjoying this, but I promise to post what I've written. Thanks to those of you who've reviewed!
Day Three
Warrick had a few choice phrases come to mind when he read the newest note. He wanted to run around and hit something. Hodges was hovering close by, and Warrick almost considered him, but decided now wasn't a time to get suspended.
His eyes scanned the note again.
To Gil Grissom and friends,
You will obtain information from the server for Kannell Corp. The information must be complete, either recovered from the server at the storage facility or through your own channels. If the information is corrupt or changed in any way, Nick Stokes and Jill Parker will die.
You have two days.
Warrick already checked out this Kannell Corp. They were based somewhere in Spain, and no one there seemed to care to call the Las Vegas PD back. They did have a server at the data storage facility, but it was damaged.
"Why didn't they take the info they wanted?" Warrick asked. Behind him, Gil paced and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"The employees are dead," Grissom said.
"And the police showed up," Catherine added. "Maybe someone hit an alarm."
"Alarms at a server farm?" Warrick questioned.
"Information is power," Grissom said. Beside him, Sara frowned.
"Okay," she said slowly, processing everything they'd said, "so what information does Kannell Corp have that would interest these guys enough to use it as ransom for Nick?"
Greg butted in, elbowing Hodges aside. The annoying alternate lab tech was still hovering, but moved to let Greg into the conversation. Greg placed a sheet of paper in front of everyone.
"Company profile for Kannell Corp," he introduced. "They're not well known, but they're a brokerage firm, of sorts—catering to the extremely, sickening wealthy people. Donald Trump used to be a client until the Taj Mahal casino teetered on bankruptcy."
"Exclusive. So information to accounts of the obscenely rich. They were trying to steal it, probably," Sara said. "But why would Kannell have a server out here?"
"Security," Catherine answered. "You spread out your information, and Las Vegas may be far enough to be considered safe."
"Obviously not safe enough," Warrick said. "But Kannell doesn't seem concerned. They haven't gotten back to Brass or to me."
"Which brings us to the issue," Gil summed up. "What do we do about this ransom?" His cell phone rang before anyone could think up an answer.
It was Brass.
"Yes?"
"We just barely missed one of your kidnappers."
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Lane drove back quickly to the house, speeding moderately in the car he just stole. The other vehicle that Lane's getaway man had arranged had been . . . detected. By now, LVPD was probably swarming over it, and the lifeless body of the driver . . . .
He didn't really like killing the man, especially since it threw a wrench in his already messed up plans. But the driver had proven stupid. The car he arranged after he dumped the van was just too easy to trace.
Lane had barely avoided capture after a brief car chase.
He scowled at the house ahead of him and tried to tell himself to be composed. He had to be stern but not psychotic to control Kostya and Ethan, and the hostages. He braked with a screech of the tires in the garage, and threw out the idea of being composed.
He was ticked.
Ethan picked up on it immediately. He wasn't a very bold or courageous man—Ethan hardly qualified as more than a kid, but for all his weakness and cowardice, he was loyal and did follow through.
Kostya and Ethan were eating something in the kitchen.
"Who's watching them?" Lane snarled at his men. Ethan seemed intimidated, but Kostya looked bored.
"They're tied up, Lane," Kostya said. "They're fine."
That wasn't the answer Lane was looking for. It annoyed him, actually, and he quickly descended in the basement to see for himself.
Sure enough, the investigator and the girl were secure. They must have picked up on his mood as well, because neither moved a muscle or said a thing.
Their silence fueled him. He stormed up to Jill and flicked out a knife from his jacket. She flinched at the sight of the blade, even more so when he rough cut away the ropes. He jerked her to her feet.
Even though she was free of the bonds, she could sense danger. Lane grabbed her by the arm, noticing the jacket she wore was Kostya's. That annoyed him too, and he flung her to Kostya, who'd followed his friend.
Kostya caught the girl with a frown, but held her still. Lane turned to Nick next.
"Nick Stokes," he said, a slight pant to his voice. He turned back to Jill, pointing the knife at her. "Can your lab identify blood to a single person?"
The CSI frowned, not likely where this was going with Jill being held. Lane moved on his hesitation.
He wrenched the girl from Kostya and tore the jacket from off her shoulders. He shoved her back to Kostya and pressed the tip of the blade into her upper arm.
Jill bit back a cry even as blood started to fall. Her whole body tightened, trying to shut out the pain. Her breathing quickened, and oddly, she could tell Kostya's did too.
But Lane was unaffected, even as Nick objected.
"Wait! Yes!" he said. "They can ID someone by blood."
Lane stopped, but he didn't remove the blade's tip from Jill's arm.
"Would they be able to ID, say, her blood?"
Nick was quick to answer this time. "If she's in the system, yes. But I doubt she's in the database."
Lane twisted the blade's tip in her arm.
Jill cried out and tried to shrink away from the pain. Kostya glared at Lane, but held her still.
"Hey!" Nick protested. "Look, they'll know it's female blood, if that helps."
Lane halted the pressure, thinking, and then removed the blade. Jill gasped, more so when Lane ripped her sleeve off at the shoulder seam. Her blood had soaked the sleeve, and it still ran down her arm.
The sleeve and knife in hand, Lane turned to Nick. He quickly sliced the CSI's arm, and pressed the sleeve to his blood.
And then Lane turned and left, taking the bloody sleeve with him.
Kostya quickly tied Jill's hands back to the pole. He seemed almost apologetic about it, but followed his boss out, taking the stairs two at a time.
"Are you okay?" Nick asked after the shock wore off. He winced a bit at his cut, but knew it was nowhere near as painful as Jill's. She merely nodded. Despite the blood trail, Nick couldn't help but notice how defined her arm was. Slender, but built in the right places. It was . . .
Nick cleared his throat. "I think Kostya and Lane are going to have it out."
Jill tilted her head to the side. "What makes you say that?"
"Kostya didn't seem too happy about what Lane did," Nick said. "The way he ran out, after Lane . . . something must have happened. Either way, Kostya didn't like the whole knife thing."
"Well he didn't do anything to stop it," Jill grumbled. The air stung at the puncture in her arm, but she had no way to stop it—not with her hands tied.
"You didn't see his face," Nick said. Jill frowned.
"What are you getting at?"
The gentleman in Nick didn't want to get to that point just yet. But things were escalating, and it may be a way to protect her . . .
"Kostya . . . likes you," Nick said. He instantly felt like a fifth grader in a lunch room. "It may be enough to keep you safe."
Before she could digest that, they heard yelling above them.
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"You killed him?!" Kostya repeated, referring to the driver. Lane looked like he was between boredom and exploding at the Russian.
"He screwed up, Kostya," Lane said slowly and forcefully. "The police nearly had me."
"So why torture the girl?" Kostya asked. He unfolded his arms and kept them at his sides. The stance didn't go unnoticed by Lane, or Ethan, who was cowering in the corner of the kitchen.
"A warning to the police. They need to back off."
Kostya switched to Russian. "We've kidnapped own of their own. I think they got the threat."
Lane smirked at the dark-haired man. "What bothers you more, that I killed the moron or hurt the girl?"
Kostya straightened his stance but didn't say anything.
"We've been through a lot, side by side. You were a soldier. Don't forget who you are. And don't let your regard for her get in the way," Lane warned. He switched back to English, even though Ethan understood both languages. "Ethan. Send the bloody cloth and the next instructions to the police."
Lane turned and left, disappearing to the back of the house. Kostya didn't try to hide a glare at the man's back. He sighed, flickering a glance at Ethan, who never said much. The young blonde man retreated to the garage.
Kostya rummaged through the mostly-bare cabinets until he found bandages and rubbing alcohol. Then he went back down to the basement.
The hostages were quiet, and Kostya could see pain on Jill's face. It made him grimace as well.
He knelt by her side, and when he touched her arm, he felt her muscles tense. Her skin was cold too.
He kept glancing at her as he readied the supplies, not daring to say anything. He wasn't sure what to say. He uncapped the alcohol but hesitated before pouring it over the wound.
"This will hurt a little," he said, his voice deeper and huskier than usual. She nodded and he poured some of the disinfectant over it. She drew in a sharp breath and bit her lip.
Kostya wrapped the wound, carefully winding the bandage tight over her arm. She watched him work, and the feel of her gaze on him suddenly made Kostya nervous. He finished by wiping away the blood on her arm.
"Thank you," Jill said. He merely nodded and moved away to pick up his jacket off the floor where Lane had thrown it earlier. He replaced it over her shoulders and moved to Nick.
He didn't really want to help the CSI, but he knew Jill was watching. He made his bedside manner less pleasant, especially with the alcohol, but soon Nick was patched up. Kostya turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder at Jill one more time.
She offered him the tiniest of smiles. Kostya left before such a foreign thing could surface on his face.
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His arm throbbed a bit, a dull reminder of the early events of the evening. It was getting late, and Jill looked like she was asleep. But her chest didn't have the calm, rhythmic rise and fall that one sleeping would normally have.
Nick's heart went out to her. Of all the people to be involved . . . he didn't want her to be hurt. Too late.
"I'm sorry," he said, breaking the silence. Jill shifted and straightened up. Her right arm was bare except for the bandage, and as she moved it, she winced. "I should have . . . They wouldn't have hurt you if I'd spoken faster."
"They wanted blood, Nick," she said. "Lane came down here asking about it. He meant to hurt me." Nick knew that of course, but it didn't lessen the guilt he felt.
It must have been worn openly on his face. "Nick," she said, getting him to look at her. "Really. I'll be fine."
A small measure of relief came to him, and he smiled. She returned it, and the light of her face, the beauty—it made him realize how beautiful she was. He knew this wasn't a time for romance, but maybe . . . maybe when this was all over.
He cleared his throat, embarrassed by his thoughts. He had to get himself, and Jill, out of this. He could deal with anything that happened to him—he'd proven that with several of life's less than pleasant experiences—but if anything happened to someone in his care . . . He wasn't in charge of her, per say, but he considered himself her last line of defense.
Or maybe her second to last defense. If Nick was released before she was, he wouldn't be able to protect her. That scared him, especially with Lane and Kostya around. But Kostya had shown genuine care for her, even if his treatment started out rough. Kostya just might be the only one left to protect Jill. Nick certainly didn't trust Lane, especially given the tension arising between him and Kostya.
"What are you thinking about?" Jill asked. Nick almost jumped, as if he'd been caught. He shook his head.
"You," he said. "I mean, what will happen to you." She didn't follow him, so he continued. "They eventually will trade us for what they want. But I'm afraid they'll keep one of us back."
"Who would they choose?" Jill asked. Nick shook his head.
"I don't know. It depends on who they feel will give them more leverage." And realistically, that meant Nick. He was okay with that. As long as Jill wasn't held captive, he wouldn't be afraid to escape. He sighed. "Jill."
"Yeah?" She awkwardly tried to tuck her hair behind an ear, with her tied hands.
"If they do keep one of us after the trade, and if it's you . . ." Nick trailed off. She had to have someone on her side. "Kostya may be your only protection."
Jill coughed.
"I don't think Kostya has protecting me in mind," she said.
"Yes, he does. And it may be motivated by—by desire, or whatever," Nick said, "but it might be enough."
Jill frowned, her forehead scrunched together as she tried to see where he was going with this.
"What makes you think the police won't stop any of this from happening?" Jill asked. "You're one of them. Do you think Lane will get away?"
Nick sighed again, frustrated. He bowed his head and rubbed his hands in his hair. "It's a possibility."
"How can you say that?"
Nick shut his eyes as he replied. "Because we're still here."
The silence that followed fed each of them thoughts that they didn't necessarily want to acknowledge. Jill finally broke it.
"Lane and Kostya have some sort of history," she said slowly. "They've barely met me. Why would Kostya risk his . . . partnership with Lane over me?"
"He might not," Nick said, taking a deep breath. "That's why you have to make sure he likes you."
Another deafening silence. Nick could tell Jill didn't like that. With each moment that passed, he could almost feel the discomfort mounting.
Her voice was cold, distant. "How?"
Nick could almost taste the disgust in her voice, and he hated himself. But he persisted, even as it chipped down the gentleman he always tried to be. This wasn't about niceties. It was about survival.
"Get to know him. Talk to him. Give him reason to hope."
"Nick," Jill said, "Kostya isn't the type to pine after a girl. He's not looking for a girlfriend."
"Probably not," Nick admitted. "But if he cares for you enough, he'll protect you."
Jill huffed at that. "I'm not helpless. I can protect myself."
"Not from Lane."
Jill rolled her eyes. "Do you realize what you're really asking?" she asked, her voice rising. "You're not asking me just to be his friend. Simple conversation won't prove it alone."
"It might," Nick objected, albeit weakly. She sighed and turned her back to him. "Look. Don't do anything you don't have to, or want to. Just . . . be safe."
She didn't answer him. Nick hoped she would, hoped he could smooth out the unpleasantness of this conversation. But she stayed quiet. Inside, Nick kicked himself. His mind battled between what he knew would protect her if it came to that, and what no person should ask anyone unwilling to do.