Alan frowned as he felt Don's forehead. He was hot to the touch and rivers of sweat poured down his face, matting his dark hair. His eyes twitched as he endured some fever induced dream, and he occasionally let out a sound of distress. "Shh, Donny," Alan whispered as he smoothed his hand through his son's hair. "It's okay, I'm here." Don didn't respond, his restlessness actually increasing, so Alan redoubled his efforts. He wrapped an arm around his son and pulled him securely against his chest. Placing his mouth close to Don's ear, the older man continuously whispered soothing words and phrases while gently stroking his son's face and hair. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Alan, Don quieted down and peacefully slept with his head pillowed on his father's chest.

Now that Don was resting, Alan let his thoughts drift to the other matter at hand. Don was right – Barry seemed like he could use a good father figure in his life. But how in the world was Alan supposed to step in and use that to their advantage? They'd only been 'acquainted' with their captor for a short while and Alan was hard pressed to find any sympathy for him – not after the torment he kept inflicting on his son. Though he supposed if he could start up a dialogue and get on Barry's good side, then his anger toward Don might dissipate.

The door opened, interrupting Alan's thoughts, and Barry stepped inside the office. "Aw, that's so sweet it's disgusting."

Alan held his tongue and checked his anger, instead trying to look beneath Barry's harsh exterior. "What can I do for you, Barry?"

"I need to show the cops outside that I really do have a hostage," he told him. "So get your butt up and get over here."

"I'll gladly agree to that, but can you please tell me what your goal is? Why did you take this place over today?"

"Mind your own business," Barry snapped as he took a threatening step toward his two captives.

"Okay, okay," Alan held up a hand in supplication. "Just give me a minute – these tired old bones don't move so fast anymore." With the greatest of care, Alan shifted Don so that he was lying on his left side before standing up and meeting Barry's impatient gaze. "Look, Barry-"

"Calling me some randomly assigned name is not going to put us on a personal level," He growled. "Understand?"

"Of course," Alan hastily nodded. "I know I'm in no position to argue or demand, so I want to ask you to do something for me." Barry remained silent so Alan decided to press his luck. "May I please get something for my son to drink? Something for the pain? More bandages for his leg? Please."

"I told you not to waste your time," Barry snapped as he gripped the older man's arm and pulled him into the store. "Although..." He glanced out of the window at the cops who were intensely watching him. "You know what, old man? Since you asked so nicely, I'll let you get him something to drink. All you have to do is stand in front of that window and raise your hands to the good sheriff."

Alan had no illusion that Barry was granting his request because of how he asked, but rather that there was an ulterior motive that he had yet to discover. Still, he could at least get Don some relief in the form of hydration. Alan nervously walked toward the window and raised his hands as he was told. The Sheriff nodded to him and turned to his deputies, gesturing to the inside of the car.

"Okay, that's all I need," Barry said. "Go get your son some water."

Alan made his way across the store, casually studying the maze of wires that crisscrossed the floor as he walked. Opening the cooler, he reached for the water but stopped as he spotted the sports drinks. He knew they would be more beneficial because they contained electrolytes and sugars, and Don needed all the help he could get. "Do you mind if I get one of these?" Alan asked as he held up an orange flavored drink.

"Knock yourself out, just be quick about it."

Hedging his bets, Alan grabbed three of the bottles and bundled them in his arms.

"I believe I said one," Barry warned.

"I'm sorry," Alan said ruefully. "You said something to drink. I should have realized. It won't happen again."

The gunman stepped in front of Alan and leaned into him until their noses were almost touching. "Why the sudden change of attitude, pops?"

"No reason. I just want to make sure my son and I make it out of this okay."

"Are you sure you're not trying to get me to let my guard down? Swoop in and knock me out with a blow to the back of my head?"

"No," Alan insisted. "Honestly, I just want my son to be okay."

"Whatever," Barry shrugged. "But you're only taking one bottle." As Alan reluctantly set part of his bounty back in the cooler, Barry eyed the cops outside. They were still watching him like a hawk, even more so now that they saw his hostage. Maybe... "You know what? Grab a couple of those ACE bandages, too."

Alan paused, not sure that he'd heard Barry correctly.

"You don't have all day," Barry's voice was sharp with anger.

Alan quickly came to his senses and grabbed two boxes of bandages. "Pain killers?" he asked hopefully.

"Hell, no! I ought to make you put that stuff up just for asking." He laughed at the remorseful look on his captive's face. "But I won't. Now, be a good little hostage and go back to your room." Barry ushered him so that Alan had to walk in front of the window. It dawned on him that Barry wanted the cops to see what he was carrying, and to realize that there was another hostage, probably injured.

"You're a smart young man," Alan complimented him. "That little demonstration was very well thought out – letting the cops know someone is hurt."

"I told you, I'm not bonding with you, so just shut the hell up! Or maybe you want me to finish off the Fed, huh?"

"No! Of course not. I'm sorry," Alan fell silent as he entered the office, and flinched as Barry angrily slammed the door behind him. "Well, that could've gone better," he muttered to himself.

--

"Any luck getting in touch with Charlie?" David asked as he perched on the side of Megan's desk.

"No," she sighed. "Either he doesn't get a signal, or he doesn't want to be disturbed when he's talking to his math peers. I left him a message that it was urgent for us to find out where his father and brother were vacationing."

David nodded grimly. "I hope he gets it soon."

Colby joined the two agents at Megan's desk and shook his head. "Neither Don nor his dad are answering their phones. It goes straight to voicemail and there's no GPS signal showing up for Don's cell."

"So it's more than likely turned off," Megan theorized.

"Right," Colby stated. "I'm trying to get Don's phone records to see if we can learn anything about where he might be, but..."

"He's not missing, not a no show at work, and phone companies don't like to give out info without a warrant."

"You got it," he told Megan.

"If we could search their house, we might be able to find something useful," Megan thought aloud.

"Still got a problem with that pesky warrant thing," Colby pointed out. "And the fact that breaking and entering is illegal."

"Well," David spoke up. "Technically we wouldn't have to 'break'. I've still got the key Alan gave me during the Russian mob case."

Megan grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

David and Colby grabbed their stuff and followed her out.

--

Rutherford stared at the store phone on the counter next to the cash register. He knew how the Sheriff thought, and knew that he would be getting a phone call any second. On cue, the phone loudly jangled and Chris smiled as he picked it up. "Sheriff Morrison, I presume?"

"You know damn well it's me," the angry voice on the line shot back. "What the hell are you doing in my town?"

"What?" Chris mocked. "You don't like visitors?"

"Not unexpected ones, no. And never you."

"I'm hurt, Sheriff."

"What do you want?" Morrison demanded.

"I want everyone to know what happened to Gerald." He paused and listened to the other man's breathing increase. "That scares the hell out of you, doesn't it? It'll definitely put a crimp in your cushy job as county sheriff, won't it?"

"Tell me," Morrison growled. "What's to stop me from rushing that store or having a sniper put a bullet in your head?"

"Well," Chris chuckled as he toyed with the law enforcement officer. "First, you don't have a sniper – only the big boys have those. And knowing you as I do, I know you haven't called them for help. Pride always was a flaw of yours. Second, I have hostages where you can't see them, but I can get to them in a hurry. So if you rush me, there's a good chance they'll both die. Wouldn't look too good in an election year, now would it? Third, I have wired every potential entry point to a bomb. If you open the door or the windows, or even if you have a sniper shoot through them and the glass cracks, this bomb will go off, destroying everything within a half-mile radius. And that would look even worse during an election year. Of course, it's not like you and your deputies would be around to care."

"Dammit," Morrison snapped. "What do you want?"

"I want publicity – a way to get my story out to the media. And one of the hostages is a Fed, so how about getting some real cops down here? The more, the merrier I always say."

"You're doing all of this just to ruin me?" Morrison furiously demanded.

"No, to clear Gerald's name. Ruining you is just a bonus... Dad."

TBC