Chapter Seven

Terry watched Don from the corner of her eye, unwilling to make a sound. Ever since losing Charlie, a precarious calm seemed to pervade Don, and Terry couldn't help but feel as though it was the calm before a particularly violent storm. One that she knew was inevitable, but had no desire to witness alone.

The cops had arrived on the scene just over five minutes after Fischer had driven away, and had reacted poorly to finding two federal agents at the center of the disturbance. Federal and city department relations were strained at best most of the time, but with a particularly territorial cop and a distraught older brother, it had taken every bit of training Terry had to keep Don from alienating the NYPD from the FBI. Since then, Don had barely spoken two words.

Don's hand abruptly shot out, striking the rental car's dashboard so fiercely that it caused Terry to jump.

"Hey!" she said indignantly. "Take it easy, will you? I'd like to get my deposit back."

"We had him!" Don shot back, ignoring the attempt at levity. "Dammit, Terry, he was right there in front of us!"

"I know," Terry replied quietly.

Don continued as if he hadn't heard Terry's voice. "I swear . . . when I get my hands on him . . ."

He let the threat hang in the air, lapsing back into silence. Terry didn't bother to offer any words of comfort. She was worried about Charlie, too, and knew that the usual placations would fall on deaf ears.

She guided the car towards their hotel, finding a parking spot fairly quickly. She followed Don into the hotel, neither speaking as the weight of their failure saturated the air surrounding them. The elevator ride was brief, but when the doors slid open, both agents knew that something was amiss.

Drawing their weapons, they crept down the hall towards the rooms they had blocked off for their purposes. The door to the room where Carroway had been held was slightly ajar. Cautiously, Don pushed the door open and swept his gun around the room.

David and Emily White, another agent from Don's office, were just coming around. Don and Terry crouched by them, helping them to their feet.

"What happened?" Don demanded. "Where's Carroway?"

"He surprised us," White replied, wincing and rubbing her aching head.

"Surprised you?" Terry echoed, confused.

David nodded, then met Don's eyes. "He was in the bathroom. He managed to get out of his cuffs . . . I'm not sure how. After Adams and Larson left to report to the New York office, he came out and hit us with a towel rod. Don . . . I'm sorry."

Don lightly squeezed David's shoulder, feeling a sinking feeling in his gut.

White looked at the two. "Hey . . . weren't you guys supposed to go get Charlie? Where is he?"

Don turned away from his agents, unable to look at anyone. Terry took pity on him and answered.

"Fischer found him first," she said quietly. "We couldn't stop him."

White swore softly and David closed his eyes. Don moved over to the window, his mind reeling.

Carroway was gone . . . and with him went any chance of getting Charlie back.

Charlie came to with a start. The abrupt movement sent a stab of white-hot pain through his skull, and he fell back, lying still until the feeling passed. When the stars receded from his eyes, he looked around.

He was back in his cell, bound once more hand and foot. Instead of being tied to a chair, Charlie was left lying in a heap on the floor. A strip of duct tape was fastened around his mouth, preventing him from uttering so much as a sound.

Charlie closed his eyes and fought back the tears of frustration that had risen. He had been so close . . . Don had been just feet away . . .

He didn't blame his brother. He knew Don would never do anything to put him in danger. But Charlie couldn't help but wish that Don had found some way to stop Fischer. He was tired of this . . . he wanted to go home . . .

The door to his cell opened, and Charlie looked up. He felt his heart stop in his chest as he met the eyes of the last person in the world he had ever wanted to see again.

"Hello, Charlie," Sam Carroway greeted pleasantly. "It's been quite some time."

"Where would they go?" Don asked. "Where would they meet? They both used to live here when they were younger. I want a list of properties for either Fischer or Carroway or some relative of theirs. Let's go!"

Don's agents dispersed amongst the New York agents, intent on finding the information Don needed. Terry and David moved closer to confer with the senior agent.

"You think we'll hear from Fischer now?" David asked.

Don shook his head. "I'm sure Carroway's met up with Fischer by now. Now that Fischer's got what he wants, he won't need Charlie anymore. That doesn't give us much time."

"Maybe Fischer will let Charlie go," David offered weakly, not really believing his own words.

Don smiled gratefully. "I hope he will, but I can't afford to take that chance. The sooner we figure out where they are, the better off we'll be."

"Agent Eppes!"

The three agents turned as Ben Adams hurried across the room to them, carrying a file. "We ran a background check when we first got Fischer's identity. It came back with a list of his assets, which we all checked out, but on a hunch I asked for a check on all assets of Fischer's relatives. I just got the results back."

"And?" Don demanded, feeling his excitement rise.

"Fischer's grandmother went back to her maiden name when her husband passed on," Adams reported. "She died about three months ago, leaving her estate just outside the city to Patrick McClellan. McClellan was his mother's name, which is why it missed our original check."

"And that might very well be where he's holding Charlie," Terry stated.

"Good work," Don said. "Get everyone available and let's get out there before they move."