A/N: Thank you all again so much for the reviews! They always make my day :)

XXXXXX

Lincoln sat with who he now knew as Veronica. It took a while to actually get to each other's names, but he's glad they did; it felt more intimate somehow, and less awkward, to know her name. Not that they'd taken the long way around with breaking the ice; strapping a woman to your back was a quick way to get to know each other, but the direness of her situation had made it a necessary act. Even though it was necessary, he certainly hadn't minded it…he might have even liked the feeling of her legs wrapped around his hips, but he shoved the notion aside. That was the last thing she needed right now. She needed safety, and to feel safe. He kept his distance on the dock, leaving several feet in between them.

"So, your friend," he started as he leaned back, resting on his hands, "she okay?"

Her eyes lingered on the river, her feet swinging, "I really don't know."

"Did they," he paused, "did they do anything to you or her?"

He didn't want to be insensitive, but he also wanted the details and knew that his police friends would too. They needed to help her, but they also needed to know what they were up against, and just how urgent it all was.

"He tasered us," she answered, "that's how he got us in the truck. He didn't do anything else, not really. Sara, that's my friend's name, she uh…she bruised her shoulder pretty bad when she got thrown in but it's not broken or anything."

"You sure?"

Nodding, "She's a doctor, she'd know if it was that bad."

His eyebrows raised, "A doctor, huh?"

"Mhmm," she grinned, looking coy, "and I'm a lawyer, so we're quite the pair."

A smile, "A doctor and a lawyer. Bet you guys get sick of all the jokes."

Her smile widened, emerald eyes sparkling, "We give each other shit for it, so I'm somewhat immune to it now. Makes for some interesting conversations though."

He processed this new information; she was smart. Driven. So was her friend.

"How did you end up," he paused, not knowing how to phrase the question, "why you? Why would someone take you?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "we were leaving a bar, but it's in a pretty safe area…I thought it was anyways. He just came out of nowhere."

"And you don't know who this guy is?"

Shaking her head, "No. He never said his name and I've never seen him before."

He paused again, glad that she was talking and didn't seem too deeply traumatized. Actually, he realized with a bit of admiration, she didn't seem rattled at all. She was level-headed, thoughtful, and able to clearly explain what had happened. She was going to make the job easy for his police buddies.

"So," she leaned forward a bit and turned to face him, "what were you doing out here?"

He shrugged, "Just walking."

Eyebrows raised, "For miles? No destination in mind?"

He smirked, "It's all about the journey, right?"

She looked skeptical. He shrugged again, "I got the weekend off and wanted some time to clear my head. I started walking and I don't know…just lost track of time I guess."

She was looking at the river now, longingly, "That can be nice sometimes."

"It is," he agreed, then turned backwards at the sound of tires on gravel. Veronica turned too, and he said, "that's them."

She started to stand up, but struggled without the use of her hands, "Little help?"

He smiled and went behind her, grabbing under her armpits and yanking her up easily until the dock was solidly beneath her feet.

"Thanks," she muttered, "they better get these damn things off ASAP."

"They will," he assured with an amused smirk as the car parked and two men got out.

Lincoln and Veronica approached them, and Lincoln greeted, "Hey guys, thanks for coming."

Paul Kellerman took off his aviators and nodded, going over to Veronica, "You must Veronica."

"I am," she replied, straightening her posture, ignoring the pain in her foot.

"I'm Paul and this is Alex," he motioned to his partner, "can you tell us what happened?"

"I will," she assured, "but first, can you take these off?" she turned around to show the cuffs, "and I'd rather talk somewhere safer…he'll be coming back for me, I just don't know when."

Nodding, "Of course."

Alex moved around and unlocked the cuffs. Lincoln watched as she rubbed her wrists and rotated her shoulders a bit, imagining the relief she must've felt. More comfortable now, they all got into the car and headed towards the station.

XXXXXXX

Michael was getting worried. Well, worried might be a bit strong- but he was afraid he'd misread things. Sara still hadn't replied. He knew that she was busy, but she'd never taken this long to get back to him. That realization had a sinking feeling in his stomach, a worry that he might never see her again, a feeling of being let down.

Did he try again? He didn't want to seem too pushy, but there was something in the back of his mind, a mild concern that was growing at an alarming rate. What if she was in trouble?

What IF she was in trouble? He asked himself honestly. Who was he to do anything about it? They barely knew each other; surely, there was someone else more qualified to be her emergency contact, her friend and rock during times of trouble. He wondered who that someone else might be.

If he called her work, that might appear stalker-ish, and he certainly couldn't do that. It risked crossing a line. He was tempted to show up there, to see if she was working, but again…was it too much?

He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, that she was fine and just didn't have the time or desire to reach out. But what if this was the one percent chance that something terrible had happened and he sat around doing nothing? He had no way of knowing, and the uncertainty was slowly driving him mad.

Sitting at home alone wasn't helping the situation. It was the weekend, he should be off having fun, but instead he was sitting on the edge of his couch, staring at his phone and listening to the clock ticking the seconds away. The phone felt heavy in his hands, and useless; while the press of a few buttons might ease his mind, it might also cause trouble and have her running for the hills. Too much too fast wasn't usually a good idea.

He felt stuck in a void between action and inaction; to text or not to text. Inaction was the default, however, so that's what he tended towards, staring at the screen, his fingers unmoving.

He was bored and yet unmotivated to do anything, which was his least favorite combination. If by some stroke of luck she wanted to see him today, he didn't want to be busy doing something else when she called, so he eventually decided on a thrilling day of chores. He gave an aggravated sigh and stood up, shoving his phone into his pocket and started puttering around; doing the few dishes that were in the sink, taking the garbage out, doing anything to keep his mind off things.

Action is the enemy of thought, he reminded himself, wise words from an old boss. If you felt stuck in your head, move. Do something. Don't just sit around and wait.

He was still acutely aware of his phone in his pocket, despite his best efforts to forget about it, and he swore he felt it vibrate a few times, only to reach in and check it to find nothing. He was glad he had a lunch date with Lincoln tomorrow; maybe some brotherly advice was in order, or at least some teasing. Lincoln would no doubt give him a hard time about being lovesick, but maybe that levity was needed.

For today, he'd distract himself as best he could, and try not to think about the way her lips had felt against his cheek.

XXXX

The drive felt long, but Sara knew it wasn't. She was insanely uncomfortable, stuck in the car with these two men who meant her harm and no viable way to defend herself. It was that realization, more than her actual reality, that unnerved her. She felt ill-equip and unprepared. She had pepper spray in her purse and a pocket knife, but a fat lot of good that did her. Wherever he'd put it, it wasn't within her reach. So she sat, fiddling with her hands, trying to imagine a scenario in which she could physically best both of them. She was ninety-nine percent sure she could outrun the cop, but he had a gun. She couldn't outrun a bullet. The other guy was far more agile, and he had a taser. Her odds really didn't look good so she sat complacently, and hated every minute of it.

The men both sat in front with her in the back. Since it was a police car there was a gate in between them, and it oddly made her feel a little bit better; she was essentially caged, but cages could keep you safe. They may trap you, but they also protected you.

Her shoulder ached, and her lip was still split, but she was otherwise unharmed and considered that a blessing. Her head leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass on her forehead and watching the world go by.

She wondered about Veronica, about Michael, about work. Her cell phone and wallet were gone; it occurred to her how much of a pain in the ass it would be if she made it out alive. She'd have to get a new phone and license, credit cards…the inconvenience of it was already making her see red. Maybe it was easier this way, get sold off and never have to worry about it.

Her head bolted up as she cut that train of thought short, not allowing her dark humor to prevail-she needed to keep her head on straight. To have some faith. Be smart, be brave, and find a way out of this. She was tired and felt wholly out of sorts, kind of like jet-lag, but different. It was a conscious effort to focus, to think logically and observe her surroundings. Details mattered; if she was ever safe again and asked to recall details about her captors, she wanted to be prepared.

God she wanted some coffee.

She made note of which direction they were going, remembered what he said about getting the load of water to Dallas. That might be useful, right? Figure out which truck was carrying that load from point A to point B…they'd be able to narrow it down and find the driver. The captor.

Her mind was tired but was still working through the details as they slowed down. They were at a small river-side restaurant and parked in front of it. It was almost cute, she realized, and could be a nice place if she were there under different circumstances.

She was anxious to see Veronica and wondered what state she'd be in.

"Wait here," the driver instructed as he cut the engine and got out, walking towards the building. With the air off it got warm quickly, stifling, inside the car. Her captor opened his door, allowing a slight, blessed breeze to waft through. She was almost enjoying the silence when the driver stormed out of the building, beet red and steaming mad.

Nervously, "Everything okay boss?"

Despite his red face, his anger, there was something else behind his eyes. Embarrassment.

Lowly, "She's gone."

Her captor maintained his composure, though she could tell he was slightly relieved, like he wasn't the only one who'd failed, "Gone?"

"Broken window, I don't know how the hell she got out, she was hand-cuffed."

Sara sat smugly in the back, that's Vee for you. Always thinking. Damn she was grateful to have her on her side, she thought with a well of pride, of hope, in her chest. Then it occurred to her; Vee didn't know where she was anymore. If they went looking at the warehouse, they wouldn't find her. Sure, Vee would probably have them check the restaurant too, but Sara could only assume that she and the two men would be gone by then. No way these guys would hang around there now.

Bellick's eyes went to Sara, piercing her through the glass of the window. He opened her door and dragged her out, slamming her back against the car. She grimaced as her back slammed against the solid door.

"Where is she?"

Stunned silence turned to confusion, "How the hell would I know?"

"She's your friend."

"Yea, and we're in a city neither one of us has even heard of and we don't have phones. She can't tell me where she is, and even if she could," Sara shrugged, implying that her friend wasn't that stupid, wouldn't risk the communication.

He backed up and blew out a breath, thinking. He turned to his partner, "I bet she went to the cops. The nearest station is ten miles from here at least, she could still be on her way. With her foot the way it is, she couldn't have gotten far."

Her foot? Sara wondered, what happened to it?

The captor, "Would she even know which way to go? Like she said," pointing to Sara, "they ain't from around here. She could've taken off in any direction."

Bluntly, "We have to find her. We promised them two girls and that's what they're gonna get; you know what they'll do if we don't deliver."

He nodded slightly, looking guarded, "Speaking of, "deliver"…"

Bellick waited.

"I still have to get that load to Dallas, I'm way behind schedule."

"Your truck full of goddamn water is the least of my concerns right now."

"But it will be your concern if my other boss starts poking around and asking questions, trying to figure out what the holdup is. I can't sit on it any longer," he looked more confident now, "I have to get back on the road right quick, or we'll be in hotter water than we are now."

He pulled up his police cap and rubbed the inner brim against his forehead, thinking.

"Alright," he decided, "we take this one back to the warehouse and lock her in. You take off, and I'll find the other girl."

He nodded.

Sara was so numb to it all by this point that she just considered herself lucky to have a dimly lit warehouse to call home instead of a dark, suffocating truck. Bellick shoved her into the back seat again and they all took off, heading back to the warehouse.

XXXXXX

"Do you remember anything else about the truck?" Alexander Mahone asked Veronica.

She was sitting opposite from him and Paul, with Lincoln at her side. They'd gotten her a candy bar and a Coke from the vending machine, which she greedily took before they started asking her questions. The sugar and caffeine made it temporarily easier to think, but she was sure the inevitable crash would come later. She needed sleep and real food, but for now, they needed her.

"It was red," she told them, "fire-engine red. It was full of water, you know, those big blue jugs."

Mahone nodded his understanding.

"Other than that, I don't really know what to say."

"You didn't happen to see a license plate?"

Shaking her head, "No. We were tasered when he put us in there, and he never let us out. When I escaped I…I didn't have time to look back."

Paul, "Can you describe the man who took you?"

"Uh," she sighed, "he was maybe five nine, five ten, something like that. He had a southern accent-"

"-what kind?"

"Sorry?"

"What kind of southern accent?" Paul clarified, opening his palms in a questioning gesture, "Did it sound like he was from Texas? Kentucky?"

"Alabama," she told them, and he scribbled it down. Her eyes followed the tip of his silver pen. It looked smooth and heavy, a nice pen. For some reason that made her feel better, like they were real detectives using only the finest to jot down their notes.

"Hair color? Eye color?"

"It was dark- well, dim lighting every time I saw him, but he had brown hair and I think brown eyes…like I said, I didn't get a great look at him in the daylight."

She felt useless. What did she know about him? Nothing. Not a name, not a-

"Did he have any tattoos, scars…?"

"No," she shook her head, "no I don't think so."

"And what about the other man," Mahone asked, "the officer that picked you up?"

"Officer Bellick," she said with certainty, glad to finally know an answer, "I saw his name badge."

Paul smirked, "Not the sharpest tool if he didn't think to take it off."

She scoffed, the humor putting her a bit at ease, "No, I think I startled him though. He was on the road up to the warehouse- probably didn't expect to see me running towards him."

Nodding, "And you said he owned the restaurant we found you at?"

"That's what he told me."

"Did he say anything about why you were there, why he took you?"

"He was going to sell us."

She watched as their eyes changed, the tone of the conversation growing heavier.

"He," she stammered, "he didn't say for what, just said that we'd be sold…and he mentioned a buyer, but we didn't hear any details about that."

They both took more notes.

"I'm sorry, but," she was growing antsy, "can we get someone back up there for Sara?"

Mahone nodded, "We'll look for Bellick in the database, find him, and figure out what property he owns. We should have an address and units up there within the hour."

"I want to go."

Shaking his head, "No, you need to get that foot looked at. We'll handle the search and rescue."

He must've seen the fear in her eyes, the worry, because his next words were softer, "We'll find your friend, I promise."

She looked at him with wide, green eyes, "Thank you."

XXXXXXX

Bellick watched as T-bag backed the truck out, and he shut the warehouse door behind him. Sara leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. He strolled over.

"You're not going to cause any trouble, are you?"

She stared back, masked anger.

His tone was firm, like he was addressing a small child, "I'm going to leave and you're going to be here when I get back. These doors are solid steel and I'm locking every last one of 'em. There's water, and there's food. Make yourself cozy."

With that, he turned and left, double checking the heavy padlock on each of the doors before getting into his car.

He sat down with a sigh in his sun-warmed car. This day hadn't turned out how he'd planned, and that was an understatement. It was supposed to be simple; pick them up, hold them, and sell them. That's how it worked, and how it had worked time and time again. Why were these two causing so much trouble?

He couldn't know which way Veronica had gone, but he started roaming the streets, starting at the restaurant and heading north, then south, and then following the winding, less traveled roads.

He didn't find her.

As the hours ticked by, his hope faded and was replaced with anxious fear, an unsettled churning in his stomach. She was probably talking to the police right now. The ramifications of that rolled over him like a wave, nearly drowning him in the process.

The address was blown- the warehouse. He owned it. If she remembered his name, which he knew she did, having spat it in his face, then any property he owned was off limits. He had to get Sara out of there and somewhere else, quickly.

XXXXX

"Owwww, ouch!" Veronica protested as the E.R. nurse cleaned her wound. Saline being spurted into her cut was less than pleasant, and her adrenaline had worn off. Her feelings and her pain were all too real.

Lincoln was still there, standing next to the bed.

She'd insisted that he didn't need to accompany her, that he'd done more than enough, and that he didn't have to waste any more of his day. He'd shrugged and said that, "After everything you've been through, you shouldn't be alone."

He was probably right. She liked having him there, making her feel more at ease. If she'd been left alone she would spiral, worrying about Sara and trying to search every deep dark corner of her mind for more useful details. She'd still do that, but the edges were softened by not being alone. He had a quiet confidence that seeped into her, making everything not seem quite so dire.

"Almost done," the nurse assured.

Sarcastically, "Great," then, "sorry." The poor nurse was just doing her job, it wasn't her fault she'd had a terrible day.

"I'll get you bandaged up and then you'll be outta here."

Nodding, "Thanks."

With a clean and bandaged foot, Veronica hobbled up off the table and made her way to the exit. Lincoln hung behind, and asked, "You have somewhere to stay tonight?"

"Uh," she realized with a start that she didn't. She also didn't have a wallet or I.D., and therefore no way of reserving a hotel room. She hadn't even considered leaving the small town, not before Sara was found. In the back of her mind she must've assumed that she'd be sleeping on the floor at the police station until they found her, but it was already the afternoon. She might need a better plan, "no, I guess I don't."

He nodded, "There's a hotel down the street, why don't I get you a room."

"Oh that's ok, you don't have to-"

"-I'm getting you a room," he rephrased, "you can stay there however long until they find her."

She wanted to protest again; she didn't like accepting charity and prided herself on being independent. Reality, however, wasn't treating her the best and she didn't have any way to provide for herself. No wallet. No phone.

"Okay," she agreed quietly, "thank you," then after a moment, "what about you? I'm assuming you've got things to do? Places to be?"

She hoped the answer was no, hoped that he'd be able to stick around a bit longer.

"I'm meeting my brother tomorrow at noon, but otherwise I can be here," he held her gaze, hands in his pockets, "if you want."

"I do," she heard herself saying before she could stop the words. Man, she must really be tired. Normally her filter worked a lot better than that, not revealing her feelings to men who were practically strangers, her walls up. Now, he might as well just read her mind-it would be quicker and somehow less embarrassing.

"Why don't I help you walk over there," he offered, eyes darting to her foot, "there's a little store on the way we can grab whatever you need."

She nodded, then bluntly asked, "Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean."

He shrugged in that way of his that she already found endearing, "You needed help."

A pause, smirking, "So you're like…a saint?"

He scoffed, the idea obviously ludicrous to him, "Not even close, but I do what I can."

"Well, thank you," she said genuinely, "I really appreciate it."