How long had she been in here?

The walls of the closet closed in around her.

She glanced at her wrist, looking for her watch. But there was only a bruise on her pale skin, where his large hand had pulled the watch off, just before he had forced her into the trunk.

Not that she could have seen the time anyway.

The darkness was thick, oppressive, a living entity stalking her, pressing her back against the walls of the closet.

How long had she been in here?

xxxXXXxxx

There was no way. Simply no way.

Natalie crossed her arms on the table and laid her head down, too exhausted to cry. Too discouraged to even care that she had no tears, no ideas. She needed sleep. Food. Someone to tell her that it was all a nightmare, a bad dream, that she would lift her heavy head off her arms and it would all be gone, just a memory of night terrors.

Eva would be busy doing her Eva things, smoothing the way for them on a new assignment, calling in her political markers to get them what they needed, when they needed it. Miles would be slumped over his text books, working too hard, letting his youth slip by at the call of his dedication.

Instead, she was here, in the lab, finding out what she had known all along.

There was no way to slip this bastard a fake mix using his formula, not and pass any simple reaction test he could do right on the spot and get Eva very, very dead. Not that he would be stupid enough to come get it himself.

And there was no way to make the formula the way it was written without turning a biochemical terror weapon loose in the hands of a man who would kidnap an innocent woman and beat a young doctor almost to death. She was still worried about Miles' chances. It was touch and go. She'd hated leaving the hospital but she had to try to figure out a way to make the formula without making it..

"What are you doing?"

She startled, shocked to realize that she had almost fallen asleep. "Stephen." She rubbed at her eyes, then sat up straight. "Have you heard anything? Oh no, is Miles–"

He raised a hand. "Miles is... the same. No change. What are you doing here, Natalie? It's three o'clock in the morning."

"Trying to find a way to make this stuff without making it," she answered.

He cocked his head. "If he couldn't make it himself, then he doesn't know what it is other than that he has the formula, yes?"

She nodded.

"Why can't you just make up a batch of... I don't know, kool aid?"

All he has to do is run a reaction on it, Stephen," she said, weary beyond words, fighting to control her irritation. She knew he was just as tired and discouraged as she was. "He's not an idiot and we can't treat him like he is. Eva's life depends on it. It can be something as simple as dropping an aspirin in the mix and it won't react properly, he'll know. He's no idiot. Or at least we can't bank on the off chance that he might be an idiot. Eva's life depends on it."

"I know, Nat. I was just hoping there might be an easy answer for once. I'm as worried as you are."

"Eva's terrified of the dark, Stephen. It's dark and it's storming and she's alone."

The chirp of his cell interrupted whatever he'd being about to say and she watched his face as he listened, then spoke. "I'll be right there." He flipped the phone shut, said, "I'll be back, Natalie."

"Stephen, what is it?"

"I need to go back to the hospital, Nat, you try to get some rest, okay?"

"Stephen–"

He gave a sigh. "Come on."

"Where?"

"The hospital."

xxxXXXxxx

The door knob turned easily in his hand and they walked into her apartment.

"No sign of a struggle, anyway." Joe opened her mailbox and rummaged through it, lifting her mail. "Doesn't look like she's been home for a few days, either." He set the mail down on the hall table and followed Claire into the apartment, scratching at his beard.

Claire flicked the light on, bathing the dark apartment in sudden bright light.

"Nice place."

The apartment was spacious, Spartan, yet elegantly and expensively furnished, the walls and surfaces mostly bare of pictures and ornaments. A house, not a home.

"Yeah." Claire glanced around the living room. "You finish up in here. I'll have a look in her bedroom."

"Okay." Joe walked over to the phone, pressing the 'play' button on the machine. He lifted the photo next to it, of Eva, standing alone, in a formal, dress, smiling, beautifully, sadly.

The mechanical squawk of the answering machine interrupted his thoughts.

"You have no messages."

"Great." He raised his voice, still clutching the photograph. "Nobody's looking for her yet, not her mom, not her boyfriend." He glanced at the few photographs she had, at the one he still held in his hand.

She was alone in all of them, clinging to her isolation like a shield.

"She likes her space." He heard Claire opening doors light from the bathroom spilling across the floor. "She's got a wardrobe in here I could get my kids' rooms in, but not many clothes. No photos, no sign of a boyfriend." She switched the lights off and walked out into the living room.

"I did find this though." She threw the small box to him and he caught it in his off hand, careful not to let the photograph drop.

"Dino's Bar and Grill." He raised his eyebrows. "Classy place."

"We should talk to the bartender."

He lifted the photo. "Can't quite see our girl there, though."

"Maybe she went slumming. Lonely girl," Claire commented thoughtfully.

"Shame."

Claire's cellphone rang loudly and she shook her head, digging in her pockets. "Maryland. Oh, hi sweetheart." Joe grinned as she turned away from him. "No, I'm still on duty, just checking a lead out. I'll be home soon."

His grin slipped away as he listened to her talk, staring at the beautiful, lonely girl in the
photograph. He glanced up at Claire, still talking to her husband.
He slipped the photo inside his jacket pocket.

xxxXXXxxx

"Where are you going now?"

"Shut the hell up, Ginelle. I told you, it's work."

"You promised to take me to the casino. You never take me anywhere anymore. What good is this money if we never get to spend any of it."

"Look in the mirror, you stupid slut, you're wearing twenty grand of jewelry now and you ain't even got any clothes on."

"I'd put clothes on if you'd take me any damn where!"

"Look, Ginelle, I've got business. You want your pretties, your baubles, then you let me go do my business, you hear? The money don't get deposited unless I do what I"m told. This one's bad. The man don't like second chances or do overs. I got to do this right this time and I don't need you on my back throwing my game off."

"I might not be here when you get back, you know. I might just go out on the town by myself. Have myself some fun without you."

"You go right ahead. Just don't bother to come back here. You got that?"

Those were the last words Jack ever said to Ginelle. She would remember every one of them.

xxxXXXxxx

She huddled in the back of the closet, head bowed, arms wrapped around herself, shivering.

Making herself as small as she could.

Maybe if she was as small as a mouse, as still as a mouse, then he wouldn't notice her, and he wouldn't get angry with her. Wouldn't hurt her.

And he would hurt her, if he was angry with her. She had read the promise of that in his eyes.

She wouldn't make him angry.

She knew what it was like when someone like him was angry.

xxxXXXxxx

He had the groggy feeling that something should hurt. Maybe everything should hurt. But there was a barrier between his body and his mind. It took him a long, long time to realize that the barrier was the drugs flowing into his veins.

It was a longer time still before he remembered how to move his fingers and open his eyes. White ceiling. All he could see was a blurry visual of a white ceiling. If he turned his head, he might see more, but that seemed like such an effort...

Voices. He remembered voices. Natalie. Frank. Stephen. But there were no voices now, only the shush shush of one of the machines close to his head. Pain. He remembered pain. Pain so bad that it eclipsed the fear. Blue eyes in a black mask. Like a demented racoon. A voice with the taste of Boston in it. Eva. Something about Eva...

He had to tell them something about Eva...

The blue eyes... he could see them now. They were imprinted on his memory so he didn't mistake them when he saw them again and they were so close he could see the irises widen in surprise when he opened his eyes. A hand clapped over his mouth as he pulled in breath to scream and panic jolted through his abused body, short-circuiting the pain meds.

"Hush, Miles," the man said, and his voice was almost kind, "don't make this hurt any worse than it has to. It'll be over in just a second, no more pain, see, I'm doing you a favor, kid."

He saw the knife, small, a glint of light caroming off the razored edge and he bit down hard on the hand covering his mouth, so hard that he tasted the bitter tang of blood.

"Damn!" Jack squealed and jerked his hand away from the kid's mouth, a ragged wound torn into the palm, blood drooling down his wrist, dripping onto the sheets. Furious, he backhanded Miles, spraying more blood across the wall.

Miles shut his eyes, numb, stunned after the single blow, breathing hard, and simply waiting for the killing strike.

It didn't come.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here!"

Startled into opening his eyes again, Miles saw his assailant jerked backward away from the bed, a figure in white, then a scuffle that he more heard than saw, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and a woman screaming. It was bedlam after that and he lay there, panting, not knowing if he was going to live through the next minute or not.