Show: NUMB3RS

Genre: Action/Adventure/Suspense

Rated: T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

Pairing: Don/Terry friendship

Summary: As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

Disclaimer: I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

Author's Note: Thanks a bunch to all of you who wrote reviews! It really helps motivate me to keep writing, so I just want to give a big, gushy smile to all those reviewers out there! Oh yeah, there's a curse word in this chapter, but I censored it a little bit.

Chapter Four:

"I want a team in there dusting for prints. She never got home last night, but someone who wasn't supposed to be there could have visited. Look through her mail and her car, too – report anything that's out of the ordinary, no matter how minor. Get a team to patrol the streets from here to the apartment. Question the residents and the store owners, anyone who was around last night and who's a potential witness to what happened. We can't miss anything. We've got no leads to go on right now, so this has to be a thorough job," Don paused from his litany, shakily exhaling.

"Just make sure they do it right," he finished in a softer tone.

David nodded. "We've already got people combing her apartment. I told them to call if anything turns up."

Don ran his fingers through his hair, looking around the office for something to do. He felt tugged in all directions, as though he wanted to help, needed to in some way, but was unsure how to proceed. Charlie watched him silently from the corner.

"Agent Eppes?" Don turned and saw Brooks standing behind him, holding several manila folders in gloved hands.

"The search turned these up on East 81st Street in a trashcan. We though that you should have a look," he said, holding out the papers.

Don snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and took the folders from Brooks. He opened one and immediately recognized it as the photocopy of the Rutger's case files that Terry was going to take home to study. Slowly closing it again, he noticed several flaky, maroon-colored splotches on the front that were unmistakably dried blood.

"Good," he managed to get around his tightening throat, "Take it down to the Evidence Lab. See if they can get an I.D. on the sample."

Brooks nodded and left without another word. David placed a comforting hand on Don's shoulder, squeezing it as though to impart some extra inner strength to his friend. "I'm going to head over to her apartment to see if they've had any luck. See you guys later?"

Don nodded apathetically and watched him go. He and Charlie were now alone in the office, and he collapsed wearily into a chair, resting his head in his hands, palms pressed to his eyes, relieved that he no longer had to maintain a strong façade. The murder spree they had been working on had been postponed so the team could completely devote themselves to unraveling Terry's disappearance. Yesterday he would have given anything to be done with the case, but now…

"This is my fault," he said abruptly, not even bothering to lift his head, "I shouldn't have let her walk home alone."

There was silence for a moment, but then he heard Charlie's voice, soft and hesitant, "It wasn't your fault."

Don stood in a sudden burst of anger. "It was twenty blocks! Twenty fcking blocks, by herself, at night, in the middle of Los Angeles, and I let her go! I could have insisted on walking her home, made her drive with us, called her a cab – something! But I let her go! Don't even try telling me it wasn't my fault Charlie – I might as well have handed her over to those guys myself, for all the good I did!"

He stormed to the conference table, overturning chairs as he went, scattering papers, and finally picking up a coffee mug and hurling it against the far wall, where it shattered, staining the carpet a deep brown.

Don stood, quivering with anger and self-recrimination when he felt Charlie's hand drop lightly on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze.

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered.

The first thing Terry was aware of was the muffled ringing of her cell phone. She struggled to open her eyes but found that it barely made a difference; her surroundings were dark and empty, the only light coming from the seam under the room's door, where a thin band of light cast a faint glow onto the floor. Several feet away, she could barely make out the form of her crumpled coat, which she knew contained her cell phone in the right inside pocket. Trying to get to her knees, she raised her head from the floor and was instantly overcome with a wave of dizziness and nausea that forced her to collapse again.

' Please, God, don't let the ringing stop. Don't let it stop,' she silently prayed, ready to try moving again.

It stopped ringing.

'It's fine,' she told herself, 'I just need to reach my jacket. If I can get to the phone, I can call Don or the office. They'll be able to help.'

Propping herself up on her knees, she gritted her teeth and managed to roll into a sitting position, resting against the stucco wall. She winced as her head touched the wall; though her hands were bound in front of her with twine, she managed to reach up, gingerly touching the base of her neck. She could feel an ugly gash caked with dried blood; it seemed to have stopped bleeding, so she decided not to concern herself with it.

Terry forced her eyes to focus back on her jacket, which contained her only link to the outside. There were no windows in the room, so it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. With all luck, the others would realize she was missing and begin a search. Without some hints, however, they wouldn't have any idea where to begin; she didn't even know who her abductors were. Don and the team couldn't be expected to figure it out on their own.

The problem was the jacket seemed to be so far away, and her vision kept swimming in and out of focus. 'Probably a concussion. Just deal with it – I can't let a bump on the head stop me now. This could be my only chance,' she thought.

She took a deep breath and doubled over in pain; the fight yesterday must have cracked a few ribs as well. She couldn't afford to worsen her condition, but she needed to reach the phone.

'Okay,' she told herself, 'On the count of three, I'll go for the coat. All right… one…two…'

The room was suddenly flooded with light as the door on Terry's left swung open, hitting the wall with a bang. Squinting, she looked up at the doorway, swallowing her panic as a huge figure appeared, silhouetted against the light.

I'll update as soon as possible!