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.

Chapter Thirteen:

Agent Brooks slowly lowered his cell phone, mind racing as he stared back at the appalled face of Don Eppes. "Agent Eppes," he said in a forced, casual voice, "I thought you and Agent Sinclair were speaking with Assistant Director Tursack."

Don, gritting his teeth, shot out a hand and slammed open the office door, slowly and deliberately entering the darkened office. "Who was that?" he asked softly.

Brooks stammered only slightly, "Don, I don't know what –"

"Who the hell was that?" he yelled, angrily knocking over one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Was that the bastard who shot her?"

When Brooks stood frozen in the corner and didn't respond, Don continued to advance on him, his anger building and climaxing inside him. "Why'd you do it? How much money did they give you?"

Brooks' face broke into a twisted smile as he continued to lock eyes with Don. "It was enough. Why? Afraid you're never going to see that little bitch of a girlfriend of yours again?"

Suddenly, with a roar of outrage, Don leapt at Brooks, and the two went down in a tangle of arms and legs. They rolled on the floor behind the desk, each trying to get the upper hand against the other. Don found himself on his back, legs pinned by the weight of the other agent. Wrenching his hand free, he slammed his fist upwards and connected with Brooks' jawbone. Though Don's knuckles screamed against the impact, Brooks fell backwards with a grunt, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. Don launched himself forward again, wrapping his hands around Brooks' neck. The other agent thrashed beneath him, throwing Don off and into the desk where he struck his head with agonizing force against one of the sharp corners. Forcing himself back to his feet, Don managed to wrap an arm around Brooks' throat, slamming him to the office floor and pushing his knee into the small of his back. He fell back with a yell when he felt Brooks' fist box his left ear, but he managed to maintain his hold on the other agent.

"Agent Brooks? Agent Eppes?" he heard from the doorway followed by several pairs of feet dashing over to where the two agents were entangled on the floor. Their fight had hardly gone unnoticed due to the noise they were making, and Don found himself roughly hoisted to his feet, arms held fast by two agents he didn't recognize. Brooks was lifted up as well, mouth and nose bleeding slightly, and it was all Don could do not to hurl himself at the traitor in front of him.

Agent Simons, who had a firm grip on Brooks' left arm, had a stunned expression that was matched by his question, "Would you two like to tell us what the hell is going on?"

"Yeah, I would," Don nodded, spitting his words, "This guy's helping out Agent Lake's kidnappers. I caught him talking with one of them. They're paying him off to give them inside information, and he's been giving them everything they've asked for."

The other agents exchanged incredulous, suspicious looks, and Simons gripped Brooks harder on the arm, turning him slightly to get a better look at his face. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Brooks, who refused to make eye contact with Simons, maintained his focus-less stare forward and lifted his chin in defiance. Don gently shook off the agents who restrained him and ordered, "Get him down to interrogation, and let Tursack know what's been going on. I'm sure he'll be very interested to know about this inside job."

The three agents pulled Brooks past Don (who still wanted nothing better than to hit him across his arrogant face) and out the door. Simons glanced at Don and shook his head in disbelief. "Now what happens?"

Don was suddenly acutely aware of the time – less than a day until the ultimatum was carried out. Terry needed them to focus, now more than ever. "We need him to tell us where she is – and he's going to, so help me God. We don't have much more time."

His eyes darted toward the concerned ones of Simons, but, not wanting to see the fear and apprehensiveness in his fellow agent's face, he strode purposely from the office to the interrogation center, where his last hope for finding his partner awaited questioning.

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Terry awoke to a strange tickling on the front of her shirt. The bleeding from the gunshot wound had finally stopped, and she had managed to fall asleep on the hard closet floor cradling her arm. Now, she had been snatched from a convoluted nightmare she couldn't quite remember to face the reality of her situation that was no less of a nightmare. She snapped her eyes open and saw that the closet door was slightly ajar, sending enough light into the room that she could make out the vague outline of a crouched figure in front of her.

Struggling to sit up against the wall, she realized that the tickling on her shirt was actually a strong, clumsy hand trying to undo the buttons. Her eyes flashed nervously back to the door, but there was no indication that anyone else was in the house – no voices could be heard, and no footsteps filtered up from downstairs. The top two buttons on her shirt were already unfastened, and she pushed up her bound hands, though her arm screamed in protest, to push away the hand.

A soft chuckle came out of the darkness, and she recognized the low voice as that of the blond-haired man whom she had met earlier. She would have felt more comfortable if it was her original captor, since she had immediately sensed that this man possessed terrifyingly little conscience. "I'm glad to see that you're awake," he said.

"Leave me alone," Terry said firmly through gritted teeth, trying her best to ignore the rising fear in her chest.

He edged closer to her, and she slid away clumsily in the opposite direction, trying to distance herself from him. "Does your boss know you're up here? He promised my friends I wouldn't be harmed, and he wouldn't like you bothering me," she told him.

His hand reached out for her shirt again, and she tried to slip away. His other hand shot out, clamping down on her shoulder and stopping her motion as he resumed his leisurely grope. Terry couldn't ever remember feeling so helpless in her life, and her mind raced as she tried to think of a way out of the room. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling slightly, as she tried to distance herself from what was happening. Suddenly, as his hand lowered to unbutton the third button on her shirt, she heard a door slam downstairs, the heavy footsteps of two men audibly echoing through the house. She flicked her eyes up to the vague outline of the man in front of her, though he hardly seemed to have noticed the noise. She could hear the heavy, pant-like breathing of the man, but she could also make out the muffled conversation of the two men downstairs.

Then, to her relief, she heard clumping footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. The door was suddenly thrown open, banging against the far wall. The blond man jerked away his hands and jumped to his feet, knowing that he was caught. Her captor, blue eyes blazing in barely contained anger and frustration stood menacingly in the doorframe.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted, advancing on the blond man before him.

Her tormentor lowered his eyes, throwing a quick glance in Terry's direction before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I wasn't doing anything…just visiting was all."

"Well, don't. This will all be over one way or another in a day, so just hold on to yourself. Get downstairs and make yourself useful," he shot back, glaring at him. The blond man slipped by him sheepishly and disappeared into the hallway. Letting out an impatient sigh, her captor stared impassively down at Terry where she sat, her bloody, torn shirt still half unbuttoned. He shook his head in a frustrated manner and left without another word, slamming the door shut behind him.

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TBC soon, I hope, but I have midnight tickets to Star Wars on Thursday (squee!), so I'll be a little tired the next day. Prom's this weekend too, so I'll try to crank out another chapter on Sunday or so, but no promises on the exact date.