"Charlie, what's going on?" Alan studied his son as he frantically arranged chalkboards so that they were covering every inch of the garage. His behavior was frighteningly reminiscent of the time his mother died and the time Don had almost been killed by a group of bank robbers. Alan's face paled as he realized the implication. "Oh no, is it Don? Has something happened to him?"

Charlie remained silent as he began furiously scribbling across the boards. Alan watched as the long complex string of numbers and symbols flowed from his son. "Charlie!" he snapped, trying to get his attention. "Tell me right now – has something happened to your brother?"

Charlie stopped writing, but didn't look at his father. "I think so," he whispered sadly. "Megan's supposed to call soon with an update."

Alan chuckled. "Is this because your brother missed dinner? He does that sometimes. You know, gets busy and forgets." As the words left his mouth, Alan realized that even he didn't believe them.

"Not this time, Dad. He knew how concerned we were." Charlie did look up to meet his gaze this time. "I keep telling everyone – he would have called. Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

Alan was opening his mouth to respond when Charlie's cell phone rang. He glanced at the ID and recognized Megan's number. "What'd you find out?"

"David interviewed Davies. He's got a strong alibi for the night of the explosion – he was in the police station being questioned about a hit and run. You were right, Charlie – it's not him."

"I knew it," Charlie whispered brokenly. So someone did have his brother, and they had no clue as to who it could be. His mind was swirling and he felt his stomach churn as he realized that he might not be able to figure this out in time to save Don's life – assuming he was even still alive. Of course he is, Charlie chastised himself. This person wants to exact a slow, painful death as revenge. He wouldn't kill Don on the first night. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or not by that thought.

"Charlie!"

Megan's sharp yell broke through his thoughts. "Yes?"

"I asked, can you run a filter again using new parameters?"

"Yes," he mumbled. "But what parameters?"

"I've got a few ideas," Megan assured him. "I'm coming over in a few minutes with the old cases and the profile I've put together. David is staying in California City so he can flash around the photo of anyone we might single out." She paused, unused to the young genius' silence. "Hey," she whispered quietly. "We're going to find him, okay?"

"I hope you're right," he whispered back before the line went dead in her ear.

--

Morning came early, but not nearly early enough for the suffering agent bound in the woods. As the sun peeked over the horizon, its rays filtered through the canopy of trees, slowly warming the forest air. Don's eyes squinted against the brightness of the light, but he welcomed the warmth as it slowly surrounded him. He still had the occasional tremor run through his body, but the shivering had stopped as daylight arrived. Reiner had been right – it hadn't been cold enough to kill him, but Don definitely felt weakened from the torturous night.

He had gotten little or no rest, quickly waking up after passing out as his neck and shoulders screamed in agony. He'd spent the rest of the night in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position in which to rest. He leaned his head against the tree but quickly looked up at the sound of footsteps. He saw John and Jackie coming toward him, each carrying a plate of food and a large bottle of water. They continued toward him, stopping only a few feet away, where they settled in for breakfast.

Don could smell the food – bacon, eggs, and waffles. His stomach growled angrily and his face flushed at the amused looks on his captors' faces. He moved his gaze from the food to the bottles of water and it suddenly dawned on him that he was very thirsty. He tried to tear his eyes away from the bottles of water – to stop torturing himself – but they wouldn't obey his command. John looked up from his plate and smirked at Don.

"Smells good, doesn't it?" He took a couple of deep swallows of water. "Ahhh! That's refreshing – wet and cool." He smiled at Jackie as she, too, took a long drink. They returned to their meal, ignoring Don except for the occasional smirk or sneer. When they'd finished, Jackie took the dishes and disappeared back to the cabin, leaving her husband and Don alone.

He plopped down on the ground next to Don, his expression changing from one of callous disregard to intense hatred. "I won't talk about this in front of her," he began, "But I want you to know why I'm doing this to you." Don refused to look at him, so he calmly reached out, grabbed the agents head and slammed it against the trunk. He smiled in satisfaction as Don's face took on a greenish tint, and he swallowed trying to keep the sudden bout of nausea at bay. "Pay attention now, or I'll do it again." Don rested his head against the tree, letting it loll to the side to face Reiner. He blinked his eyes, trying to keep them open against the throbbing inside his skull. "Do you remember much about me before the trial?" At Don's blank look, he shrugged and continued. "We had a son, Jacob. Fine young man going to a private college on a full academic scholarship. He had all the respect in the world, carrying our family name and the reputation that went with it." His eyes hardened and bored into Don's. "After your investigation and that joke of a trial, the school had the nerve to ask him to leave. Said he didn't meet their idea of a good student. He didn't do anything wrong, and I think he was hurt the most by my situation. You want to know what he told me the day before my trial?" He seized Don's jaw and clenched it tighter and tighter until Don squirmed in pain. "He told me that his mother and I were dead to him. It hurt me deeply, but it devastated my wife. She was already in a financial crisis trying to fund my defense, and then he tells us that. She lost everything at that trial – her husband, her son, her reputation, and her money. She lived in poverty for the year after my trial, until I managed to get a friend to teach her the joys of computers and the internet."

He released Don's jaw and wiped his hands on his jeans as if the very contact with Don disgusted him. "She was a fast learner, too. Started gathering money through one scam or another, and started researching you. Your history, your cases, your tendencies, everything. Heck, it was her idea to borrow her sister's kid to put you at ease. She's a clever one." He reached out and patted the agent's cheek in a mock affectionate gesture. "I'll leave you be for now." He stood to leave and half-heartedly kicked Don's bound ankles. "That sun will be all the way up pretty soon, and shining down on you through the trees." He gulped down the rest of the water and tossed the empty bottle at Don, laughing as it bounced off his cheek. "Try not to sweat too much."

Don watched Reiner walk away, waiting until he was out of sight before looking longingly at the empty bottle beside him. Don felt tears pricking at his eyes again and, for the hundredth time, prayed that Charlie was still defying his order to stay out of the case.

--

"This is taking too long!" Charlie yelled in frustration. He slammed the chalk onto the ground, watching as it broke into several pieces. Part of his brain began thinking about how math and physics could be used to predict the pieces that would break off – their shape and size, and even where they would land. I wonder what part of Don broke first? "Stop it!" He didn't realize he'd yelled aloud until he felt Megan's quiet presence by his side, her hand gripping his own. He gently squeezed her hand and gave her an apologetic smile before letting go to grab a brand new piece of chalk and begin working on the board again.

Megan sat back and watched him, her heart breaking at the torment she knew both he and his father were feeling right now. She cleared her mind of those thoughts and reviewed her profile again. She had determined that their perp was someone of above average intelligence, possibly having worked some sort of journalism, technology, or research field judging by how thorough the frame job on Davies and the plan to capture Don had been. This perp thought about three steps ahead of the game, which was why even Charlie was having a difficult time narrowing the list of suspects down. Being such an advanced thinker, he or she would more than likely not have threatened Don, either at trial or during the investigation.

"Any news?" Alan asked as he sat next to her on the old sofa. He handed her a cup of coffee as he fixed her with an intense stare. She smiled as she recognized the intensity she often saw in Don's eyes – like father, like son.

"No," she spoke softly, not wanting to disturb Charlie. "Nothing on our end. We need something – anything – to give us a nudge in the right direction. I'm hoping Charlie can provide us with that." He'd been working straight through the night and could probably use a nap, but she knew better than to suggest it.

"Tell me something," Alan requested, locking his eyes onto hers. "And I want you to be honest. Do you think Don is still alive?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do." He silently gestured for her to continue. "There's not an easy way to say this, but the letters were explicit that his death was going to be slow," she bit back the words 'and painful' and continued. "So I think he's going to be kept alive for a few days."

Alan surprised her by leaning over and giving her a fatherly hug. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "Thank you for being honest with me and doing everything you can to find my son." He released her from his embrace, picked up her empty coffee cup, and left her and his youngest son alone in the garage.

--

Hot. No, not hot. Warm. Warm and dry. Very dry. Like a desert.

Don's thoughts tumbled aimlessly around in his head. The sun was at its full height, and the mid-day heat had become uncomfortable as it continuously beat down on him from above. He found himself staring at the empty bottle more and more often, willing to do just about anything for even a sip of water. He tried to take his mind off his thirst, but that just made him more aware of the brutal pounding in his head. The headache would occasionally peak in intensity, and Don would have to clench his eyes shut to try and block out the sensation of an ice pick being driven through his skull. The pain got so bad at one point that he knew he was going to be sick, but he desperately fought the nausea down, knowing that he needed to retain as many fluids as possible. He succeeded – barely – but was rewarded by intense cramping in his abdomen and back. Another sign of dehydration, he thought. Moving right along at a nice pace here. Hate to ruin your fun, Reiner, but I don't think you're going to get six days out of me. He leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree and closed his eyes, trying to will his pain away, and failing miserably.