I'm new to writing fanfic so go easy on me! Would love to hear what you think.

"I really don't know how you do it," smiled Steve at his father as they laid the table in the beach house. "You just have a knack of looking at situations in a different way to everyone else, and you hit on the right bit of evidence and…"

"And pinpoint the murderer," joined in Amanda, setting down a jug of water. "One hundred per cent accuracy."

"Give or take," chuckled Mark.

"Well you were certainly right this time," said Steve. "We all suspected the guy of those three murders, but you were the only one who found that smear on the door frame that proved he had been there at all three murder sites."

"And what better way to celebrate than a wonderful meal with friends," Mark said with a grin.

"Talking of friends, where on earth is Jesse?" Steve said. "I sent him out about an hour ago to get some beers."

"Yes, he should have been back by now," mused Amanda. "Still, serve up, as soon as he smells the food on the table he will be back here in an instant!"

They brought the food out of the oven and set it in the middle of the table, and put a plate at each place setting. Then the doorbell rang.

"Here he is," said Amanda. "Told you he'd smell the food."

"But why doesn't he come in round the back like usual?" Steve said. "He's probably being lazy, doesn't want to carry the beer all that way. His little arms probably can't cope!" With a sigh he went through the house to the front door. He could see Jesse's shape outside the front door.

"Come in, lazy, although I should make you walk…" Steve began as he opened the front door, but tailed off as he looked at Jesse's face. Jesse looked pale and worried and there was a stricken look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Steve," he mumbled.

"What?" Steve said. "No beer?"

"No, I-" Jesse began, and three dark shapes appeared from where they had been crouching out of sight beside the door. All three held hand guns. Two pointed them at Steve, and one put the barrel of his gun right up against Jesse's neck. Steve didn't have time to move. He stood stock still, waiting to see what the situation would bring.

"Your gun," hissed the nearest man. Steve reacted slowly, taking in all the information he could. There were two men, one woman, all dressed in dark clothes. All handled their weapons with an ease and confidence that troubled Steve.

"Faster!" insisted the man who had spoken, pointing his gun menacingly at Steve's chest. "Hand it to me, now."

Steve took his gun out of its holster at his waist with slow movements so as not to make any of them think he was about to try something. He wished he could, but he was too outnumbered and taken by surprise, and they had his best friend in a position where they really couldn't miss.

Jesse was looking quite nervy. He had played a large part in so many of the murder cases the four of them had solved, and had seen his share of action, but rarely had he been threatened with a gun and exposed to strong danger. That was usually Steve's part, and he had training and experience. Steve could see that Jesse was very aware of the gun barrel resting on his neck. He squirmed a little, as if to move away from the gun, and the man put his arm around Jesse's neck and held him with a tight grip to keep him still.

Steve looked at his friend again and saw something else that upset him more: guilt. Jesse was feeling guilty about bringing this to Mark's house, but Steve knew that Jesse was in no way to blame for anything.

The man took Steve's gun and threw it into a bush at the side of the door.

"What's this all about?" demanded Steve angrily, but the gun men pushed forwards into the house and Steve was forced to step backwards. Jesse was pulled over the threshold and the front door was closed. The woman locked it and pocketed the key.

"Make a sound and shrimp here dies," the man said in a low voice. "Take us to the others."

Steve could see little he could do except obey. He wasn't going to try anything unless he was sure Jesse wouldn't be hurt. Regretfully he made his way back to the kitchen.

Mark's face brightened with the beginnings of a smile as he saw Steve leading in possible guests. Mark was always ready to welcome any one into his home. However the smile died on his face as he caught sight of the guns, and Jesse held in a tight grip. Amanda gasped.

"Nobody move unless I say," said the man who had been doing all the talking so far. "I want you all to move very slowly into the sitting room and sit on the sofa. Finn here is going to stay extra close to his new buddy-" he winked at Jesse, who made a disgusted face "-to make sure you all behave. Any funny business, don't think we won't shoot. We don't need you all."

The second man, Finn, kept his gun closely trained on Jesse as they took seats in the lounge. The first man gave order to the woman. "Scarlett, I want you to lock all the doors and block them up so no one can get out. Make sure the windows are locked too." He joined Finn in the living room, perched on the dresser with his feet on a coffee table, and grinned nastily at his hostages.

Mark had faced danger many times in his role as a consultant to the police, and did not feel much fear, although he was aware that their situation was extremely serious. He, too, realised that this had been well planned and the criminals were dangerous and comfortable with their weapons. Although he felt calm, there was an underlying anger that these people could just walk into his house at hold their lives at risk. He took a look around at his friends and son anxiously.

Amanda's face looked taut and anxious, but she managed a small smile at Mark as he caught her eye and he knew she would be all right. Jesse looked pale and there was a touch of despair in his expression. Mark looked at his son. Steve's anger was clear to see, he looked furious and tense, as if he was about to leap out of his chair at any minute. Mark knew that he would be feeling frustration at not being able to stop this situation before it got to this stage. He just hoped his son wouldn't lose his temper. He was very capable of handling situations such as this, which is how he got to where he was in the police department, and why he was such a respected homicide detective. But when Steve was riled he could sometimes let his temper get the better of him, and nothing was worse for that than when a situation was personal, when his friends were involved.

Scarlett came back in the room. "Done, Mitch," she said, and the leader nodded. Scarlett leant against the wall, aiming the gun casually at one of them after another.

Mitch turned to the captives. "You are probably wondering why we are here," he began.

"It had crossed my mind," said Mark.

Mitch glared at him for having the nerve to sound so calm, as if this was an ordinary conversation. "I'm here on behalf of my brother," he said. "Thanks to you and your friends, he's spent the last ten years in prison. But now he's out."

"You know, I thought you looked familiar," said Mark in a conversational tone. "You're the brother of Jackson Barley, aren't you."

Mitch looked at Mark in disbelief. "No," he sneered.

"Oh, yes my mistake, John Riley?" Mark suggested.

"Shut up!" yelled Mitch, getting to his feet and waving his gun wildly. "You shut up and let me speak!"

Steve shot an exasperated look at his father. Mark always thought the best way to deal with murderers and criminals was to be nice to them and put them off guard. While this worked some of the time, it wasn't working here and Steve wished his father would be quiet until they had worked out what these guys wanted. They were volatile.

"Chill Mitch," Finn said calmly from his position behind Jesse's chair.

Mitch glared at Mark and took a deep breath. "Way we figure it, my brother could have made a lot of money in those ten years."

"By illegal means," said Amanda.

Mitch ignored her. "He could be very comfortably off. Instead, he's dirt poor. Now, that's all your fault. He reckons he could have made one million easy. He's also very upset with you for putting him away. But he's an easy guy. He wants to give you a choice. He says, each of these options is worth the same to him. So it's your choice: you give us one million dollars. You got a nice house. You definitely got a million one way or another. Or, you die. Your choice."

And he sneered at them as his last words echoed round the room. Mark, Steve, Amanda and Jesse were all struck silent at this speech.

Chapter 2 coming soon.