Don fidgeted impatiently in his chair for several minutes before finally giving in and rising to his feet. He ignored Terry's questioning look as he began to pace in the small interrogation room, desperate to burn off the excess energy he felt building up.
"How long does it take to escort a prisoner?" he demanded of no one in particular.
"They'll be here any minute," Terry replied calmly. "Don, maybe you should let me do the talking."
Don stopped and rounded on his partner. "Why? Do you think I can't handle this?"
"Did I say that?" Terry shot back. "You're too close to this, Don, and I know how badly you want to find Charlie. Believe me, we all want to get him back. I'm just saying that I may have a better chance of getting Carroway to talk than you, especially with how worked up you are."
Don opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped as the door opened. A figure clad in orange coveralls, whom neither Don nor Terry had seen in several months, entered escorted by two armed guards. Carroway was forced into a chair, where he smiled cheerfully at the two FBI agents.
"Don!" he greeted. "It's been a long time. How's everything? How's your brother?"
Don took a menacing step toward Carroway at the mention of his brother, but Terry stood and blocked his path.
"Oh my, something wrong?" Carroway probed.
"As if you didn't know," Don spat back.
"Don!" Terry hissed. She gave him a warning look, then turned to Carroway. "We've run into a situation that we're hoping you could shed some light on."
"Oh?" Carroway replied. "Do tell."
Terry slid back into her seat and leaned over the table. "It seems that a relative of yours would like to see you out of prison. A cousin, to be specific. He's done a few things to try and get you freed, and we need to know who he is and where he might be."
"I'm afraid I can't help you there," Carroway told her. "I have no idea who could possibly want to get me out of here."
"Lives are at stake, Sam," Terry pressed. "If you cooperate with us, we can get the DA to reduce your sentence. Give us a name."
Carroway's gaze swept over Terry and flickered onto Don's tense form hovering behind her shoulder. The two men stared at each other, neither backing down for several moments.
"Sorry," Carroway said at last. "Your offer's a little too late. I've been behaving myself, and am expecting to get out of here ahead of schedule."
"Ahead of schedule at the expense of my brother! Who is he, Carroway?" Don demanded, no longer able to contain his anger. "Who've you gotten to help you? Tell me, dammit!"
"Don!" Terry exclaimed.
Carroway lifted an eyebrow. "You should learn to control that temper of yours, Don. People are liable to get hurt." He stood and nodded to his armed escort. Halfway to the door, he paused and turned back to Don.
"Too bad about your brother," he said. "I'd hate to think that anything bad would happen to him while his brother's busy chasing down personal vendettas."
A red haze fell over Don's eyes. He wasn't aware of crossing the room, could barely hear his partner's shouts. All he knew was that, suddenly, he had his hands wrapped around Carroway's throat and was squeezing as hard as he could.
Hands fell on Don's shoulders, trying to pry him off of Carroway, but Don ignored them. He had spent too much time trying to control his rage, and now it flowed through him, driving his actions.
"Don! Let him go!" Terry's voice, by his ear, barely registered in his mind.
"You son of a bitch!" Don yelled at Carroway's flushed face, which was starting to turn an interesting shade of purple. "Tell me where my brother is now, or I swear to God-."
Several more guards spilled into the room. It took the combined efforts of three men and Terry before Don was finally pulled away from Carroway. Carroway was led into the hall and away from the interrogation room, but that didn't stop Don from trying to break free to give chase.
Terry moved in front of Don and, grabbing his tie, jerked him down to her eye level. "Don! Get a hold of yourself!"
Don's eyes still smoldered with fury, but he locked gazes with his partner. "You heard him, Terry! You know he's behind this!"
"And thanks to that little outburst of yours, we can't use him to find Charlie!" Terry snapped.
Her words struck Don like a physical blow, and he jerked his head in shock. Pulling away from the hands still restraining him, he sank into a chair and leaned forward. He cradled his head in his hands.
"Hey." Terry gestured for the guards to leave and sat down in a chair beside Don. "Listen, Don, maybe you should go home. You've been on this since it started. You need a break. You'll be no good to Charlie if you're dead on your feet."
Don lifted his head, rubbing his face as he did. His eyes met Terry's once more, only this time they held despair.
"I guess you're right," he said, his voice so soft that Terry had to strain to hear him. "Besides, I . . . I haven't told Dad yet . . . he should know."
"Do you want me to come with you?" Terry asked gently.
Don smiled faintly. "Thanks, but no. I can handle it. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
Terry returned his smile and watched him as he rose and walked out of the room, walking as though he had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.
Charlie leaned forward as far as the cords would allow, grunting with the effort as he pulled against his bonds in the desperate hope to loosen them. Finally, he fell back against his chair, breathing heavily from the exertion. Once he had recovered his breath, he began to wriggle, coaxing the cords to fall further down his arms.
As he worked, his thoughts strayed to Don. Had his captor contacted his brother already? Did Don know he was missing? Was Don already looking for him?
Charlie fervently hoped that Don knew he was in trouble. He was convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that if Don knew Charlie was missing, then Don was already out looking for him. Surely it was only a matter of time before Don found him. In the meantime, he simply had to help Don out by escaping.
The door opened, causing Charlie to freeze. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he prayed that his cords looked untouched to his captor.
The man set his ever-present camera on the table and turned to Charlie. Charlie suppressed a shiver at the calculating look in his captor's pale irises.
"It looks as though your brother has not chosen to follow my instructions," the man stated. "Despite knowing the consequences of his inaction, I'm going to have to send him a little motivation."
Charlie leaned back in his chair as the man approached. "I don't suppose a memo would work," he stated half-heartedly.
The man let out an appreciative chuckle. "I think he'd need a little more persuasion, don't you?"
Charlie swallowed thickly. "Uh . . . wh-what did you have in mind?"
The man's smile widened menacingly. Moving away ever so slightly, he dipped into his pocket and pulled out a metallic object. A flash of yellowish metal glinted in the dim light as the man slipped whatever it was over his fingers and flexed his hand, making a fist.
Charlie felt his heart leap into his throat. "M-Maybe we can talk about this," he stammered. "S-Surely there's another way to make Don listen."
"Probably," his captor admitted. "But this way's a lot more fun."