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: Yes! Just took my AP Statistics exam this afternoon – one down, three to go! Big-time thank you's, hugs, kisses, and chocolate pudding to all of you who sent reviews. They really helped me cope with the stress and bad stuff that's been happening this week. Merci!

Chapter Ten:

Don barely offered a hint of acknowledgement when Charlie got into the car the next morning, his stack of papers neatly tucked under one arm. He wasn't exactly angry about their argument the night before, but he didn't want to chance igniting it all over again. Thankfully, he hadn't heard from his father, telling him off for getting his brother too involved with the case, so he presumed that Charlie had made it clear the decision to come to the office had been his idea.

Much of the drive passed in silence, but halfway to the office he heard Charlie say in a hesitant voice, "Don…I'm sorry about what I said last night. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything."

Though discussing their conversation was the last thing he wanted to do, Don was still curious about the semantics of his brother's apology. "Charlie, you didn't accuse me of anything."

"Yes, I did!" Charlie insisted, "I know how important your self-control is to you – your ability to handle whatever happens is one of your best qualities...I know I've always envied it," Don glanced at him in surprise. "And last night I accused you of losing that part of yourself. And that was wrong. I know that you're too much of an FBI agent and too much of a collected person to lose yourself like that…so I'm sorry."

Don nodded and heard himself respond, "You were right though. This is getting to me…it's just so damn frustrating to have this situation completely out of your control!" He gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. "It's bad enough when it's a regular case, but when it's someone you know, someone you…someone you care about…it's hard not to get bogged down. I just feel like there's something I should have done, something I'm missing, and it's frustrating the hell out of me! So, I'm sorry about last night, too."

Charlie squeezed his elbow sympathetically. "Don't worry about it. With any luck, this will all be over in a few hours, and we'll have Terry back. We just need to see it through to the end."

Don glanced over at the pile of papers on Charlie's lap, the key to this whole problem. He offered up a silent prayer as he saw the FBI office building appear at the end of the street. 'Please, God, let this be over soon. Let it be over.'

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While Charlie stayed back at the office to work on the real formula with Agent Brooks and the others, Don and David decided to ride over to East Avenue to oversee the phone booth drop-off of the forgery. Squinting against the bright sunshine, he watched David and Agent Umbridge carefully secure the papers inside the phone booth per the instructions of Terry's kidnapper. The formula was neatly packaged in a brown cardboard box, wired shut, and taped underneath the receiving box of the phone – all that was needed was the recipient to arrive.

Don glanced anxiously down at his watch – 10:06. They had to be out of there by 10:15 or risk their counterparts getting impatient and following through with Terry's death sentence. "You about done over here, David?"

He looked up from securing the last piece of tape and snapped off the rubber gloves he was wearing. "We're finished. Are we still good on time?"

"We should start clearing out – we've only got nine minutes to go. You're sure that Assistant Director Tursack didn't try to mount a surveillance team around here?" Don asked.

"No, I explained the whole situation to him and had him listen to the taped conversation. He wants this to work as much as we do, and he was willing to let go of standard procedure just this once," David replied.

Don cracked a relieved smile, thankful for that bit of good news. "Let's start packing up. We should head back to the office and sit it out – it's too dangerous to Terry to be around here."

They headed to one of the parked government-issue cars waiting by the curb, David issuing clean-up and evacuation orders to the other officers over his shoulder as they went. Don allowed the other cars to leave first, wanting to ensure that the scene was perfectly set for the arrival of their mysterious, malevolent caller. Slamming the car door shut, he cast one final glance over at the phone booth. 'We've done all we can for now. Time to play the waiting game,' he thought.

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When Terry opened her eyes from her fitful, restless nap, she was disgusted to find she was being watched again, though the eyes that peered at her were not cold and blue but a muddy, depthless brown color. She recognized the man seated in front of her on an upside-down bucket as her captor's accomplice who had been nervous and twitchy, completely losing it when her cell phone had rung. His mop of dirty-blond corkscrew hair lay in a greasy mat on top of his head, and he had a 9 mm revolver in his lap which he fingered with a luxurious, caressing stroke that Terry found extremely unsettling. The empty, lopsided grin on his face was oddly detached as though he was laughing at a vulgar joke he couldn't quite remember – Terry immediately hated him.

"Where did your friend go?" she boldly asked him.

"Out. He had some dealings with your FBI friends, but you shouldn't worry about that," he replied.

Terry bit her lip in frustration – she wished she understood what was going on at Don's end because information was tough to come by in her present situation. There was no use trying to figure out how he was going to keep the formula from these guys, so she decided to focus on her conversation with the mousy, lumpish man in front of her. "And why shouldn't I worry about it? It concerns me, and I have a right to know what's going on."

At this point his grin stretched even wider. "Well, I just thought we could have some time on our own…just you and me. We haven't gotten to know each other that well, and maybe we should start." He edged closer to her, leaning forward so his face was only inches from hers.

Terry swallowed her fear, defiantly staring back into his emotionless eyes. His gaze fell from her face and roamed the lines of her body in a slow and deliberate manner that made her feel dirty. Keeping one hand on the revolver cradled in his lap, she saw the other one extend clumsily toward her chest, brushing against her breasts so that she drew away in uncontrolled revulsion.

Suddenly and mercifully she heard the sharp ringing of a cell phone coming from the man's jacket pocket, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief as he leaned back again, digging into his pockets to withdraw the phone.

"Hello? Yeah, it's me…what's going on down there?" Terry watched his apathetic and pasty face suddenly contort with a mixture of emotion, from disbelief to shock to anger. She watched in interest and concern as he stood, hoisting his revolver, and walk out of the tiny closet in long, rushed strides, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. She could hear him descending the stairs while still talking loudly on the phone in angry, incessant screeches of epithets.

The conversation obviously drew to a close when she no longer heard him yelling in panicky phrases into the phone. She could hear the distinct noise of long, heavy strides pacing the room below her, and she wondered what the news could have been that upset him so badly.

It must have been several minutes later when she heard a door downstairs open and close, two more voices suddenly permeating the atmosphere. At first she heard a triumphant yell from a deeply masculine voice that she recognized as her primary captor, which was quickly subdued by quieter, insistent tones from the man whom she had met a few minutes ago. Though at first she couldn't exactly hear what they were saying, the conversation quickly escalated until all three men were speaking in loud shouts, arguing in profane, explicit tones.

"I'm just telling you what he said!" she heard the blond man yell angrily.

"Didn't those goddam Feds get the message?" her captor shot back.

"I told you, he didn't say what happened!"

Terry heard a third voice say, "Eppes just screwed himself – he just killed the bitch himself! He can put that on his permanent f#cking record!"

There was a pause in which she could hear a string of profanities, but then, her heart thudding in her chest, she heard the leader say in a loud but calmer voice, "We need that formula. We'll call him again – we'll make sure he understands that this time we mean business."

The other two voices immediately chimed in with loud protestation, but she already heard heavy footsteps banging up the steps and down the hall until her enormous kidnapper loomed in the doorway. He had no trace of humor in his face as he stared coldly down at her. "Your partner isn't very smart, is he Agent Lake?"

"He was obviously smart enough not to deal with you," she shot back, glaring at him. "He'll never negotiate with you – you should give this up while you're still free."

He shook his head, pulling what she recognized to be her cell phone from his pocket and brushing his hand lightly against his revolver holstered to his belt. "He just needs a little motivation," he said, speed-dialing Don's number. As she watched him from the floor, he glanced down at his holstered gun and unbuckled it, casually tapping the butt of it against his palm and carelessly flicking specks of dirt from its cold, black surface.

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The office room was tense and nervous, everyone who had been helping with Terry's disappearance crowded into the space waiting for news from her captors. David stood in a corner, arms folded and throwing agitated glances toward the cell phone that was hooked up to the usual analysis equipment. Charlie had gone a pasty white color and was curled up on the couch, hands covering his eyes as he whispered to himself. For his part, Don was staring at the phone in anticipation of the next call, fingers nervously drumming the table in front of him as a quiet mantra in his head cycled through, assuring him that everything would be fine.

Suddenly, the phone rang, startling everyone in the office and casting a silent pall over all of those gathered. Don stood, rushing to the phone, and nodded at David who started the voice recording system and speaker as Don pushed the answer button.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Agent Eppes," he heard the familiar voice affirm.

Continuing in a professional, no-nonsense tone, Don began to speak, "We've given you the formula that you asked for, and now I ask that you keep your end of the bargain. We demand that you return Agent Lake to us immediately in return for—"

"That wasn't very smart, Eppes," the voice countered, an edge of unrestrained hostility easily detected over the cell phone's tinny speaker, "You know as well as I do that that formula was a fake. Don't bullshit me, don't even try. You just killed your own partner…how do you feel now?"

Don felt his hope evaporate with that single sentence.

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Thanks bunches for reading! Hope you liked it – and I promise to update ASAP!