Sara heard a noise at the door. Time was a mystery at this point, and she had no idea how long she'd been left alone. For a while she'd scoured the walls and floors, searching for an escape route not because she truly believed there was one, but because she felt obligated to. She had nothing else to do and would feel rather foolish if she missed an opportunity to break out due to her own complacency.

Not surprisingly, she found nothing, and had spent the latter part of her day eating the jerky and pretzels she'd found lying around. There was beer too, the combination of food and drink defining this space as the man cave that it was, but she opted for more water instead. Being even slightly buzzed right now would be a terrible idea.

The jingling sound of a chain caught her attention now, and she sat up, her back still against the wall but her posture more rigid. The door cracked, and the bright afternoon sun poured in, officer Bellick coming in and shutting the door.

"We gotta leave," he stated without preamble.

Idle curiosity, "Why?"

"No questions," he barked as he came closer, grabbing her arm and pulling her up.

She sighed, "They're gonna catch you, you know."

He stared her down, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and fear. He looked small, she realized, like a boy dressed in a man's clothing, trying to play the part when inside he felt incapable, unsure.

He was in over his head.

He ignored that comment and took her outside, putting her into the back of the police car. It was definitely afternoon, she noted, given the position and strength of the sun, but that was of little comfort. Nightfall wasn't something she looked forward to; what felt unsafe during the day was amplified at night. She was sure she'd be alone again when evening came, alone and in the dark, her hours of relative freedom dwindling away. The buyer would be coming around soon.

He drove a different way this time, in the opposite direction of the town they'd visited earlier. She forced herself to focus again, to absorb details of her surroundings, but she was growing tired of it. Freedom already felt like an illusion, like she'd been a captive for far longer than a few days. That night at the bar with Veronica felt like a lifetime ago- getting coffee with Michael was even more of a mirage, a cruel trick played on her by her own mind.

She started seeing more buildings, larger and closer together, meaning they were approaching a metropolitan area. Her only guess was Chicago- they hadn't been driving that long, and they were still firmly in the outskirts when he took an exit ramp and rolled into the parking lot of a motel. It wasn't a chain she recognized, and she had the sinking feeling in her stomach that they accepted cash and didn't require I.D.

Wordlessly, he got out and went in. The thought of sharing a room with this man had her crawling out of her skin. Maybe he'd get her a room and leave her alone; that would be the best-case scenario. Although, she considered, if they shared a room and he fell asleep, she could possibly escape or knock him out. The thought of physically harming someone wasn't a pleasant notion- knowing she had to do it was one thing, but physically executing the action would be different. She was a helper, not a destroyer. Part of being a doctor was treating every patient the same regardless of who they are and what they'd done. Now, she was deliberately planning to injure someone because of his actions. She felt trapped inside her own morality prison.

He came back out and told her to follow him inside; any funny business and she'd end up cuffed with her mouth taped. She really preferred to avoid both of those things, so she did as instructed and followed him inside and up to the fourth floor. He kept a hand on her arm, lightly this time, the whole way in; it was enough contact to ensure she didn't try to run, but not so forceful to seem suspicious to anyone who might see them.

She could only assume that he'd requested a higher floor to lower her chances of escape; jumping from that high was rarely compatible with life…unless she could somehow fasten a rope with the sheets. Something to consider, if he left her alone.

He swiped the key card on the door and opened it, allowing her inside. She sighed, grateful to at least have a bed for the night.

Then he pulled out the handcuffs.

"Wait-" she started to protest.

"-can't have you wandering around here. Get on the bed."

"Can I at least use the bathroom first?"

He considered her request, and backed away slightly, "Fine. Make it quick."

She pushed past him and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. She braced her hands on the counter and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she splashed cold water on her face. A glass cup was near the unopened soap and she grabbed it, filling it with water and gulping it down. She sat down on the toilet and let her head fall into her hands, her foot taping up and down, quickly considering her options.

He was going to cuff her to the bed, that was pretty clear. She had nothing to pick the lock; she rarely used bobby pins and had nothing else that would suffice. She had no weapon. Her eyes darted back to the glass cup; she could smash it and keep a shard, but he had a gun. The phrase, "Don't bring a knife to a gun fight," came to mind. It was no use.

She supposed she should be grateful; he wasn't intent on killing her. If she was dead, the buyer would have no use for her, so at least the stakes weren't as high as they could be. She contemplated a bit longer but knew her time was limited. Every possible scenario she could come up with in trying to escape ended up with her injured and still not free. Even staying in the bathroom wouldn't end well-he'd either kick the door down or start shooting through it.

She opened the door and made her way over to the bed.

XXXXX

"Do you want me in a room next door?" Lincoln asked as he and Veronica entered the lobby of the small-town hotel.

"Hmm?" she questioned, her gaze elsewhere, lost in thought.

"Do you want me next door?" he asked again slower, "If you don't want to be alone we can get a room together-"

Her eyes widened slightly.

He smirked, "With two beds," he clarified, "I'm just saying…if you want some company I can be around. Otherwise I'll get my own room."

She considered this, "I wouldn't mind the company," she admitted softly.

He nodded and went up to the desk, ignoring the slightly confused look that the clerk gave him when he asked for a room with two queens.

They had stopped at the little store on the way and Veronica had gotten the necessities: toothbrush, a change of clothes, a few snacks. He'd grabbed a few things too since he hadn't intended on spending the night anywhere besides his apartment when he'd left to go for a walk that morning. He carried the bag so she didn't have to mess with it as she hobbled around on her wrapped foot, and with a newly acquired room key, they headed over to the elevator.

"They'll tell us, right? When they go look for Sara?" she asked as Lincoln pressed the number three button.

"They said they would," he replied, "so they will."

"Right," she said a bit distractedly as the elevator dinged and they got out. Their room was at the far end, and her foot was obviously bothering her. He watched the slight grimace with each step.

"You ok?"

"Fine," she replied through a clenched jaw.

His eyebrows raised, "Uh-huh."

She scoffed, "Ok, it hurts like hell. You happy now?"

A smirk, "Yup. Come on," he unlocked the door, "go sit."

She hobbled in and flopped on the closest bed, laying on her back and letting her knees bend over the edge of the bed, feet dangling.

Lincoln's phone rang, "It's Paul," he told her.

"Put it on speaker," she demanded as she propped up onto her elbows.

He did, and answered, "Hey."

"She's not there," his voice cut through the silence, "we found the warehouse. It looks like someone was there recently, but there's no truck and no police car. They must've cleared out."

Lincoln's eyes darted to Veronica, saw the panic in them, "So what's next?"

A pause, "We need to regroup, figure out the next course of action. We'll see if he owns other property-"

Veronica, "-if he left the warehouse he's not going to go anywhere else that he owns, we need to think outside the box."

Paul, firm yet soothing, "We'll find her, but we need to figure out our next best move. I'll be in touch, but for now, you two just stay close. If there's any developments, I'll call."

"Thanks," Lincoln hung up and looked at her, already preparing for an assault of worry and demands. Instead, she looked weary, and smaller than she had before.

"Hey," he sat down on the edge of the bed, "it's gonna be alright."

"How can you say that?" she asked breathlessly, "they said the buyer was going to be here any day now and she's stuck somewhere like a sitting duck. I was supposed to help her," a slight shake in her voice, "that's why I left. That was the plan. Even if one of us could get to safety, we'd be able to help the other."

He saw a glisten in her eyes, a mist covering the otherwise flawless green, "I wish there was more we could do, but we can't right now. We have to let them do their jobs."

"They're slow."

"It's been one day," he reminded her, "half a day, even. They're good at what they do."

Her eyes lingered on the wall in front of them, unseeing, "You should get some rest," he told her.

She blinked a few times, "Yea, I guess I should." She got up slowly and grabbed the bag from the store, heading to the bathroom. He listened as the water for the sink turned on and off and heard her rummaging around. When she emerged she was wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a soft t-shirt, her face washed and hair pulled back.

"Thanks for the clothes," she started as she sat back down on the bed, "feels a lot better."

"No problem," he assured, then actually thought about what she'd been wearing, "were those work clothes you were stuck in?"

"Yea," she groaned, "I got out late when I went to meet Sara at the bar, so I didn't have time to change."

"Well, I'm glad we got you something else."

"Me too," she peeled back the covers and he stood up off the bed.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," he decided, "want the T.V. on or anything?"

"Yea, that'd be good," she replied as she slid under the covers, curling up on her side and pivoting slightly so she could see the T.V. better.

"I think after I'll have Paul drive me home so I can grab my car. Never know, we might need it."

"Ok," she agreed.

"You'll be okay here?" he clarified, not wanting to leave her alone if it would make her uneasy.

She nodded, "I'll be okay."

Satisfied, he flipped on the T.V. and tossed the remote so it landed close to her hand, then went into the bathroom and shut the door. He was glad he had tomorrow off; hell, if this wasn't all cleared up on Monday, he'd call out. After getting her this far, he needed to see it through; he needed to know that she and her friend were ok. The thought of just up and leaving caused an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. Nope, he couldn't do that.

Lunch with Michael tomorrow would be a nice reprieve, even for just a few hours he could think and talk about something else, but at the same time- he hated leaving Veronica. She put on a brave face, but he could see through it to a softer side, a vulnerability. He wanted to help.

He turned the water on until it was steaming hot and stepped inside. Until now, he hadn't given much thought to her situation, and to their actions in response to them. It had been constant motion, doing whatever was necessary to get her to safety and move the investigation forward. Now that he was still for a moment, the heat and pressure of the water relaxing him, he realized how differently things could've turned out. The idea of her still being stuck there, of being shipped off to some buyer…it gave a bitter taste, the rise of bile in the back of his throat.

He worried about Sara; whoever she was, she didn't deserve whatever was coming to her. As much as he'd tried to persuade Veronica that Alex and Paul were doing the best they could, it did bother him that it was taking them this long. If she was set to be sold tomorrow, they really couldn't afford to waste any time. He felt useless though, unable to find her any quicker than they could. He had no resources, no viable way of tracking her down. Perhaps he should call them again, see if they'd come up with any fresh leads. Veronica was worried, and he knew she probably wouldn't sleep if there wasn't a solid plan in place to find Sara in time. If another phone call could ease her mind, he was willing to give it a try.

XXXXXX

The evening was uneasy for Sara. Much to her dismay, Bellick didn't leave her alone; he occupied the bed next to her, which she considered a blessing…being hand cuffed and completely at his mercy- it could've been worse.

He'd turned the T.V. on and lounged, obviously wanting some peace and quiet. Peace, however, eluded him. She watched him fidget, grabbing a beer from the mini fridge and chugging half of it in one go. His feet bounced back and forth as he stretched out on the bed, his eyes more off in the distance instead of on the screen.

She was bored and decided to poke the bear, making casual conversation, "So, what's your next move?"

Her words startled him back into the present, but he just glared at her.

"You know that Veronica knows your name," she explained calmly, "she's already talked to the cops by now."

Smugly, "Why do you think I picked a place that takes cash?"

"True, I thought about that," she admitted, maintaining a calm aloofness, "but you think that's the only way they'll find you? You're already ruined- your reputation, your career. Best you can hope for now is a clean break."

His eyes narrowed, something about his expression reminded her of a bulldog, "What'da mean?"

"Leave the country," she replied with a shrug, as best she could anyways given her current hand-cuffed-to-a-bed state, "get outta dodge. Start over. I mean, is it really worth risking everything to make one last transaction?"

She hated referring to herself as a transaction, but she had to speak in a way that resonated with him. A pity party, "oh please don't hurt me," wasn't going to work with this guy. He obviously only cared about number one, himself, and she needed to appeal to that part of him.

"I can't be worth that much," she elaborated, since he remained quiet, though she silently wondered how much she was worth. And for what purpose. It was a strange thing, and a notion she didn't want to dwell on, but her morbid curiosity sometimes got the better of her. The doctor and scientist in her wondered what the going rate these days was for a body, flesh and bone. It was precious, really, something that you couldn't put a price on. But people did.

"Leave the country?" he parroted, still stuck on that line, "you think I wanna retire in Mexico? Live next to a bunch of taco-benders?"

"What's wrong with tacos?" she asked seriously.

He smirked, "Are you being a smart ass?"

"A little," she admitted, "I'm just saying…cheap housing, nice coastlines, amazing food…sounds like a good retirement, and," she emphasized, "considering that your alternative is a lifetime in prison, I don't think it sounds bad at all."

"Prison?"

"Yea, you know, the place where kidnappers and human traffickers go."

He scoffed, "Only if they get caught."

You will, ran through her mind, but she decided to bite her tongue.

"I'm just saying," she repeated with a sigh, knowing she'd said her piece, "something to consider. Now's your last chance to get away clean."

XXXXX

Michael awoke to a text from Lincoln, "Can we meet earlier? I have some things to take care of later."

Strange, he thought as he glanced over at the clock. It was six-thirty. Lincoln was rarely out of bed before nine and Michael couldn't remember the last time he had solid plans, other obligations, on a day off.

He replied, "Sure, when? Everything okay?"

"Hit the road as soon as you can, and no. I'll explain later."

Well, now that he was thoroughly concerned and had zero chance of falling back to sleep anyways, he got up and threw on jeans and a blue shirt, grabbed his keys, and started driving.

When he arrived at the restaurant they'd agreed on, he saw that Lincoln was already there. It was a diner, a highly under-rated one, and it had always been a favorite place for Michael to stop by. It was open 24/7 and he'd solved a lot of problems there, sipping coffee in the later hours of the night when the rest of the world was asleep. The clanking of kitchenware, dripping of coffee and background chatter helped him think, and the fact that he wasn't alone. The staff and occasional other customer kept him company in a strange way, despite the very few words they may have exchanged.

Today, the diner felt different, a livelier atmosphere given the time of day. The breakfast rush was in full swing when he stepped inside, and the hostess smiled a greeting. He spotted Lincoln in a booth by the window and pointed; the hostess nodded and let him pass, taking a seat across from him.

There were two white mugs full of coffee already, and Michael gratefully took a sip as he sat down.

"I ordered already for both of us," Lincoln informed him.

A smirk, "Blueberry pancakes?"

"What else?" he teased, "the full platter though, I'm starving."

"Me too," he realized, having spent the day yesterday worrying and doing household tasks. He hadn't eaten much, "so what's going on?"

"Wow, just jumping right into it, huh?"

"You can't tell me that everything's not okay and expect me to let it go."

"Fair enough."

He paused, and Michael could tell by the way he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat that something was really off. He took his time preparing, clearly not knowing how to start. It was making Michael on edge.

"I uh, I ran into a girl yesterday."

A slight relief, "Uh, okay?"

"She was trapped inside a building."

His eyes narrowed.

"Hand cuffed and left by some guy. Anyways, I got her out and she's ok, but her friend is still missing-"

"-wait, what?" he was thoroughly confused now, "back up. How did she end up there? Someone took her? And why wasn't her friend with her?"

"They both got taken outside a bar by some truck driver. They were held in the truck in a warehouse, but the one I found had gotten away."

"If she got away, then why was she locked in a building?"

"Because a corrupt police officer found her. Apparently he was working with the guy who took her in the first place. He locked her up in an abandoned restaurant and went to go get the other girl, but I found her first."

He sat silently, computing this information, "How did you find her?"

He shrugged, "I went for a long walk, heard her shouting for help."

Nodding silently, "But she's okay now?"

"Yup. Her foot got cut pretty bad when she was running, but it's all cleaned up now, she'll be fine."

He sat and let everything sink in. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but this certainly wasn't it, "So, what are they doing to find the other girl?"

"You remember Kellerman?"

"Yea, Paul right?"

"Yup. He and Alex Mahone are on the case."

He felt slightly better by this, "Good, that's good. I'm sure they'll be able to handle it."

Lincoln fidgeted with the edge of his napkin, a distant look, "Yea."

"What?" Michael asked, wanting to know what was bothering him.

"I'm…I'm just worried they won't find her in time."

"What do you mean?"

"Veronica heard the guy who took 'em say something about a buyer. That they'd be sold, and it sounds like it's happening soon."

"Veronica?" he echoed.

"Yea, that's her name."

His heart rate increased slightly, "Where did they take her from?"

"A bar, I don't know where."

He swallowed hard, "Do you know what her friend's name is?"

"Sara."

The word took the ground out from beneath him, his head starting to spin. If he'd been standing, he was certain his legs would've given out by now.

Lincoln, "You okay?"

"No," his hands were shaking now, "I know her Linc. I know them."

"What? How?"

"I ran into them at a bar a few weeks ago and we got to talking. I," he paused, "I met Sara for coffee last week," then under his breath, "that's why she never replied."

Lincoln looked stunned and more sympathetic than he had before, "I'm sorry, man."

"Where is she? What are they doing to find her?"

"That's why I wanted to meet earlier," he explained, "they went back to the warehouse, but he'd cleared out. There was no sign of the truck or Sara. I don't know what Alex and Paul are planning for today, but I wanted to be around to know what's going on."

"I'm coming with you."

A sigh.

"Linc, I'm just as involved in this as you are. I consider Veronica a friend, and Sara…" his voice trailed off, and he tried to ignore the sympathetic yet intrigued look from Lincoln, "I need to help, or at least know what's going on."

Lincoln searched his eyes and recognized the stubborn determination in them, "Alright, fine."

"Let's go," he started to stand.

"Hold up," Lincoln put a hand on his arm, "no point in us going hungry just to get back twenty minutes sooner. Siddown and eat. We'll hit the road as soon as we can."

As if on cue, the waitress appeared and set a plate in front of each of them.

A slight edge in his voice, "Fine, but as soon as we're done-"

"-I promise."