"Donny," Alan said as he gently shook his shoulder. "Wake up for me, Son."

"Five more minutes," Don grumbled as he tried to roll away from his father.

"No!" Alan cried as he grabbed Don's shoulder and stopped him before he could roll onto his bad leg. "Wake up, Donny. Come on now."

The injured man's eyes opened and blearily focused on his father's face. "What is it?" He struggled to clear the fog from his brain, at last remembering where they were. "Are you okay?" he asked with a touch of panic in his voice.

Alan placed a reassuring hand on Don's shoulder. "I'm fine. I finally managed to get something for you to drink. Can you sit up for me?"

"Yeah, with a little help."

Alan slowly eased Don up to lean against the wall, and held the drink to his lips. A faint grimace crossed Don's features, but he continued to swallow the cool liquid. He held up a hand and feebly pushed Alan's arm away. "That's plenty, thanks."

"What was that look for?" Alan asked as his heart lodged in his throat. "Did something else happen?"

"No," Don quietly chuckled. "Don't worry."

"Then what?"

"It's just…" Don hesitated as he smiled at his father. "Orange? You know I hate orange."

"Oh," the older man sighed. "Yeah, I did know that. Sorry. I'm just so distracted-"

"Relax, Dad," Don interrupted him. "It's not serious, I promise. I was trying to lighten the mood a little bit."

Alan sat by his son's side and let out a long, drawn out sigh. "Thanks. I really could use that right now." He produced the tensor bandages and gave Don a sympathetic look. "I got these, too. They'll be better for your wound."

Don frowned and swallowed nervously. "Beats the heck out of shirt scraps, huh?"

Alan nodded and gently gripped Don's leg. "Ready?"

Don's face had drained of color and he looked like he was fighting back a wave of sickness. "I guess."

"Tell you what," his father suggested. "How about we talk while I do this? Maybe it'll keep your mind off of it." At Don's nod, Alan proceeded to make the first wrap with the bandage. Don gasped in pain and clenched his eyes shut as he bit his lip. "Talk to me, Donny," Alan urged.

"How'd you get the drink?" Don managed to speak.

"He took me into the store." Alan answered as he continued to wind the bandage around his son's leg. "I wish I could say I saw something that could be useful."

"Nothing?" Don panted through the pain.

Alan met Don's eyes and nervously blinked. "There's a bomb out there, Don. From the looks of the wires on the floor, it's a big one and it's wired to every single way out of this place."

"Damn," the agent swore softly, wincing as Alan tied off the bandage and patted his leg. "Not what I wanted to hear."

"And as for bonding with him? I don't think that's going to work out. He senses that I'm trying and shoots down every attempt I make. I'm afraid if I keep pushing..." Alan flapped a hand at Don, unable to say the thought out loud.

"I know," Don said. He awkwardly lifted his hand and rested it on his father's shoulder. "You have to keep trying, though. That's still our best bet to get out of here."

"Donny-"

"Promise me."

"Don-"

"Promise me, Dad."

Alan didn't know if it was the desperation in his voice, or the tears in his eyes, but Don's statement broke through his defenses. "Okay, Don. I promise."

Satisfied that his father would stay true to his word, Don allowed the exhaustion to creep back into his mind. "Think I'll... sleep now." He was vaguely aware of his father's strong arm as it draped across his shoulders and tightly embraced him.

"Good idea," Alan whispered. "Rest now. I've got you."

--

"What's he want, Sheriff?" the taller of the two deputies, Andrew, asked.

"Attention," Morrison grumbled. "Media coverage, publicity, the whole ball of wax."

"Do you want us to call Bobby?" the second deputy inquired, referring to the county newspaper editor.

"No, Marshall," Morrison snapped. "I don't want you to call Bobby. I'll be damned if we're going to give this psycho what he wants."

"What's the plan then, Sheriff?" Andrew queried.

"Right now, the plan is just to sit here and try to wait him out."

"Are you serious?" Marshall asked in shock.

"Deadly serious."

"Shouldn't we at least call in some backup?" the deputy continued to press.

Andrew cocked his head at the other deputy, signaling him to leave them alone. Marshall nodded and busied himself in his patrol car. "Sheriff? Sure did sound to me like you know this guy. Anything you want to tell me?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is." Morrison stood and towered over the younger man. "There are lots of men in this town who would love to become a deputy. Might be in your best interest to keep your mouth shut and do as I say."

Andrew gulped and nodded. "Yes sir, I'll keep that in mind."

--

"This feels weird," Colby muttered as he searched through the papers sitting on the Eppes' coffee table.

"I know," Megan answered from the dining room. "But if they are in trouble, this is our only way of finding them. Unless Charlie ever checks his messages."

"What's up with that anyway?" Colby wondered aloud. "It's a math conference – it's not like he's surrounded by hot babes at the pool."

"You have seen Amita, right?" David asked.

"Okay, good point," Colby grinned.

Megan let out a groan of frustration. "All I see in here are a couple of days worth of newspapers and a box of recipes. Nothing about any vacation spots."

"I've got a math journal, a book of crossword puzzles, and a sack of coupons in here," Colby offered. "Nothing useful."

David walked away from the table just inside the front door and held up an envelope. "Here's the receipt for a fishing license for Alan."

"Does it say what lake it's for?" Megan inquired.

"No, you don't specify a location – it's good for anywhere in the state."

"Would they have to show it when they fished?" Megan asked him.

"No," David chuckled. "Sometimes they do spot checks, but mostly they check it when you leave with your catch to make sure you haven't exceeded the catch limits." Seeing Megan's face brighten, he somberly shook his head. "And no, they don't keep records of that information anywhere."

"So," the female agent sighed. "Back to square zero."

"Maybe not," Colby spoke as he joined Megan at the dining table. "Look at the papers here. One is opened to the weather forecast for Green Valley and the other is opened to rental car companies."

"If they took a rental, they'd have to tell them where they were going," David smiled.

"But we don't know if they took a rental," Megan reminded him. "And if they did, which one would they have used? There's five companies on this page alone."

"Federal employees get discounts with certain companies," David informed them. "My guess is that Don would have used one of them."

"That's a long shot," Megan said hesitantly.

"It's the only thing even close to a lead that we have," Colby said. "Might as well try to follow up on it."

"Okay, assuming that I agreed with that," Megan started. "There's that whole warrant issue. The rental company's not going to just cough up the names of their customers and what they're driving."

"You've obviously never seen my charm at work," Colby winked.

"Twenty bucks says you get nothing," Megan challenged as they departed the Eppes house.

"You're on."

--

Sheriff Morrison sat in his squad car, his hands covering his face, as he pondered the situation at hand. He knew who the gunman was – an unwelcome memory of the past – and he knew who Gerald was, and why the bomber wanted to clear his name. What he didn't know was how in the world he was going to handle this situation. Of course he didn't want the hostages to die, but he couldn't very well let their captor notify the world about what really happened with Gerald. Morrison had almost decided to tell his second in command a half-truth to get him behind his plan, but that idea flew out the window as Marshall came running toward him.

"Sheriff!" the younger man called out in excitement. "I ran the plates on the hostages' truck. It's a rental, so I called the company and got an ID!"

"You what?" Morrison asked, trying to hide his anger. "Did I ask you to do that?"

"No," Marshall answered, his brow creasing in confusion. "But don't we benefit from knowing who he's got in there?"

"We already knew he had a Federal Agent," the sheriff snapped. "What else did we need to know?"

"But now we know who that agent is," Marshall hesitantly pointed out. "And I put in a call to his office."

"You what?" the older man roared.

"I thought th-they should be here," the deputy stammered. "That is one of their agents in there."

"You're right," Andrew spoke as he joined the two men. "The sheriff here just doesn't want a turf war with the Feds. You've never worked with them before, have you?" Marshall shook his head. "Ah, you'll find out soon enough why no one likes them. Next time make sure to run it by the sheriff first, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Andrew smiled. "Why don't you check out their truck? See if you can find anything useful." The younger deputy nodded and headed off to do as told. "Okay, Sheriff, I just covered your butt. Mind telling me what's really going on? Why you want to keep this whole incident a secret?"

Morrison eyed his second in command before sighing. "It's not important. No matter what I do now, it's all going to come out."

"What is going to come out?" Andrew moved closer to his boss and lowered his voice. "Talk to me, Roy."

Morrison shook his head. "Let's just face that part when we come to it, okay?" Besides, he added silently. Maybe I'll get lucky and that idiot will get himself killed before he can say anything about Gerald.

TBC