Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU. It belongs to a genius named Dick Wolf. No profit is being made from this story.

"Look," Olivia said, trying her best not to snap at the man behind the desk. "We arrested Samuel Slater this morning because he had another man's identification on him. That man is wanted in connection with a child molestation charge…we will not be holding Mr. Slater in jail."

"I no have the budget for new work," the man snapped. "Slater good worker…need him for heavy lifting. He have strong back."

She sighed and dropped her hands on the desk in frustration. John stepped up quickly.

"Listen, Mr. Rodriguez," he said through clenched teeth. He bit his lip to control his impatience and spoke as calmly as he could. "We are looking for Andrew Willis." He locked eyes with the Hispanic man firmly. "Do you understand what I just said?"

Rodriguez nodded.

Munch raised an eyebrow. "Repeat it back to me."

"You looking for Andrew Willis," the man said slowly, in broken English.

John nodded. "Does Andrew Willis work for you?" he continued slowly. The man looked at him blankly. He raised his eyebrows. "Sir…does he work for you?"

Rodriguez stared at him in confusion. "He work for piping company," he said. "Mr. Manning down the street."

Olivia's eyes lit up quickly as she leapt on the information. "How do you know that?" she asked quickly. The man looked at her. "Mr. Rodriguez, have you seen him at work before?"

He looked hesitantly at John before speaking. "I see Andrew in the morning when he get off bus," he said. "He always go into Mr. Manning trailer where the other workers are."

She looked at John with an anxious expression. He briefly met her gaze before turning back to Rodriguez. They both knew that the information was as good as coincidental.

Munch mustered a reassuring smile for the man who was looking nervous. "Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez," he said. "You've been a big help."

He motioned for Olivia to follow and walked out of the trailer.

"Well that's lovely," she burst out as soon as the door was shut. She raised an eyebrow at John. "We can't prove that Willis is working for a piping company any more than we can prove that Rodriguez has a valid green card."

John cocked in eyebrow in amusement at her choice of analogy and shook his head. "So we'll just have to go talk to the foreman there," he said patiently.

She huffed and began walking faster. He matched her stride and looked at her quizzically. "What's with you, Olivia?" he asked. "Why are you so uptight today?"

She looked at him in exasperation. "Well, excuse me for being a little pissed off, John," she said darkly. "I wasn't planning on coming back to work tonight, and especially not to run around the fucking Spanish Harlem."

"You think I wanted to do this?" he shot back in annoyance. "I have things I need to be doing too, Olivia." He stopped and looked at her. "How long you been working this job? I would think you'd know by now that we don't exactly work 9 to 5."

She stopped as well, his words stinging. Whipping her head toward him to give him her best glare, she suddenly stopped when she saw the look on his face. She sighed. He was right. None of them liked this. What right did she have to be a bitch about it?

She sighed. "Sorry," she said. She offered him a small smile to make amends. "What's our next move?"

John smiled back, knowing exactly what she was feeling. It was the worst part of their job sometimes. "How about finding someone around this place that can speak English?" he asked wryly.

She chuckled as they approached their car.

Elliot hit his knees hard and fell forward onto the floor. He felt hands grab his ankles and start pulling him backwards, leaving a bloody smear from the side of his head.

Panic and raw instinct had him fighting before he was even aware of it. He kicked frantically and twisted his body as hard as he could to loosen the grip. His assailant was obviously caught off-guard because one hand flew from around his left ankle.

Fueled by the new leverage, he twisted even harder and reached behind him. He began clawing at the hands.

"Help me!" the man said quickly.

The black man came around to the other side and grabbed Elliot around the neck, startling him. He whipped his head around quickly. Out of desperation, he reared back and spit square into the man's eyes.

The grip fell away instantly and the man staggered back, swiping at his face.

"Son of a bitch!" Elliot growled, feeling the hand reach for his left ankle again. Enough of this shit.

Whipping around fast, he used the momentum to lift his body up and flew at the second man with both hands, plowing his fists right into his head. The man jerked in surprise.

That was all the hesitation that he needed. Jerking his feet out of the man's grip, he kicked him as hard as he could.

Finally free, he scrambled to his feet. Pain and dizziness rushed to his head the minute he stood, making him light-headed. He quickly gripped the side of the nearest shelf to keep from going back to the floor.

The black man lunged at him. He ducked a split second before the blow connected, and staggered away, desperately running for the door.

The black man was after him in a minute. He flew forward and tackled Elliot around the waist.

With a shout of surprise, he fell forward hard and smacked his face right into a metal shelf. Blood spurted out of his nose instantly.

Moaning with the intense pain, Elliot scrambled to push himself off of the metal. Before he could move again, the black man was yanking him forward. He hit the ground and an instant later was knocked breathless by a heavy weight on his back.

"Hurry up," the black man said urgently, shifting his weight on top of the downed man's back.

His companion quickly came around and lifted Elliot's arms, pulling them into a vice grip. "Alright, I got him."

The weight suddenly disappeared, but he didn't have time to register the relief it brought before he was yanked upright. He stumbled.

The black man was in front of him in a second and gripping his neck as another person held both of his arms tightly. They began dragging him across the store.

"Help me!" he screamed frantically, trying to twist his head around.

The black man reached up and covered his mouth quickly while they continued to race across the store. He stumbled along helplessly, fear rising into his stomach as they approached the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY

"Open it up," the black man hollered, keeping a firm grip on Elliot's mouth.

The door opened and they forced him inside, slamming it shut behind them.

Fin sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. The half-eaten sandwich beside him had lost his interest a half-hour before. He rubbed a hand over his eyes as he waited for the printer to spit out the information from his computer.

"How's it going, Fin?" Cragen asked, coming out into the squad room.

He sighed again. "Got an address and social security number from DMV," he said tiredly, snatching the paper from the printer tray. "But they don't have his driving record, so either he's really smart or really paranoid."

He handed the paper to the captain. Scanning it, he nodded. "Alright, that's good," he said. He glanced at his watch. "Olivia and Munch are on their way back from Harlem," he said. "They weren't able to locate the foreman from the description that Slater's boss gave…I told them to come on back. We'll have to call it a night."

Fin looked at him, somewhat surprised. "There's nothing else we can do?"

Don shrugged helplessly. "What other choice do we have?" he said. "Andrew Willis is still gone, and we're no closer to finding him than we were at…" He glanced at his watch again. "Hell, I don't even know when we started."

He dropped his arm and rubbed his eyes rapidly. "I can't ask you guys to pull an all-nighter on this. I'm afraid we might have to pass it on once we get a new case."

The other two came in at that moment looking worn out and wet. The captain turned toward them.

"It's official," Olivia said wearily, slapping the keys down on her desk. "Andrew Willis has vanished off the face of the earth."

He smiled sympathetically. "Well, you did all you could," he said. "Did you get any headway on where he might have headed?"

John shook his head. "We found two people in a span of twenty miles who could even speak English," he said bitterly. "None of them had even heard of the guy." He sighed angrily. "I think we're being played here, to tell the truth."

Cragen raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment on the statement. "I sprang Slater at eight," he said. Olivia started and glanced at her watch. It was later than she thought. "You guys go home. There's nothing more we can do tonight, and we need to start focusing for new cases. You know we're going to get one sooner or later."

She sighed heavily, all too happy with the idea. She hoped to God that the others didn't try to protest.

Munch nodded silently, too tired to really care at this point. He just wanted to go to sleep right now.

Fin sighed. "Sounds good to me," he said. "Don't know about you guys…but I vote for sleep."

Elliot struggled and jerked wildly, trying to knock them away from him. The grip was surprisingly strong.

He was dragged across the smaller room and turned around. A pair of black hands was holding up a strip of tape.

"Hold him still," a voice said anxiously as the grip on his arms slipped for a minute.

They pushed him forward. The black man's hand removed from his mouth and the tape applied in almost the same second. Whimpering in panic, Elliot fought wildly against the hands holding him from behind.

They shoved him back around and slammed him up face-first into the wall. He felt his arms jerk tight and then someone was tying rope around his hands. He continued to struggle, desperately yelling against the tape on his mouth.

Something slammed into his back and he cried out in pain before slumping against the wall. Hands jerked him around when he went limp and pressed him to the floor.

Exhausted and in pain, Elliot stilled and looked up at the three people standing in front of him. He vaguely recognized the black woman as the one he had seen with the old blind woman, but he didn't recognized the second man.

The black man crossed his arms and stared down at him, scrutinizing him carefully. He nodded to his companions.

"Let's get ready," he said.

Olivia walked into her apartment with a groan and slammed the door shut.

What a shit-hole of a day. Her feet ached from walking around creation for God-knew how many hours and she was so tired that she felt like she could fall asleep standing up.

She walked into the kitchen and checked her messages, glancing at the clock as she did. God, it was already 9:30.

Her pastrami sandwich sat abandoned in its wrapper and she pounced on it quickly, suddenly realizing how starving she was. It disappeared in a matter of seconds.

She put the plate in the sink and turned off the lights. Going over to lock the door, she yawned and toed off her shoes. She carried them with her into the bedroom and prepared to take a shower.

I wonder how Elliot's day went, she thought suddenly. She scoffed. Surely it couldn't have been as bad as hers.

Oh, God…oh, God…

Elliot wriggled his hands frantically, his moans muffled by the god damn tape that he couldn't get off of his mouth. Dear Jesus…help me, please help me…

He stared anxiously at his captors as he continued jerking his hands. The woman had a bowl of liquid on the floor and was crouched next to it, sloshing it around gently. She wasn't his primary concern.

What had his rapt attention was the humongous hatchet that the black man was holding up. The other man was busy rubbing it with a soft cloth. He saw blood on the end of it, making his heart race. That explains the headache, he thought wryly.

The second man dropped the cloth. "How's that look?" he said to the woman.

She glanced up at it and smiled. "Perfect," she replied.

The black man gripped the hatchet and began walking towards Elliot. His breathing became rapid and sporadic as he froze in panic, unable to get any conscious thoughts together.

He could only watch as the man began rolling up the leg of his jeans. He went up to his knee and stopped, smoothing his hand over the skin. The dead set look on the man's face told exactly what he was planning to do.

Elliot screamed out wildly when the hatchet came up. He squeezed his eyes shut frantically.

"Wait," the woman said suddenly.

He heard softer footsteps walking towards him, but all he could think to do was brace himself for the hatchet. After a minute, he ventured to open his eyes, surprised to feel tears running down his cheeks.

The black woman crouched in front of him. He stiffened.

After a minute, a somewhat soft look crossed her face. She reached forward and gently peeled the tape off of his mouth, leaving it hanging off the side of his face.

He looked at her, wide-eyed and desperate.

"Please," he begged tearfully. He found that he couldn't get any other words out past the huge lump in his throat. The tears began coming out faster. "Please."

She stared at him for a minute. Finally, she said, "Not yet."

The black man growled. "Let me do it," he said anxiously. "Please….I been waiting for such-"

The woman spun to face him, her face hard as stone. "Not…yet," she repeated forcefully.

The man scowled, but backed away reluctantly. She turned back to the man by the wall. He had started to shake now, his blue eyes terrified and alert at the same time.

Narrowing her gaze, she reached out and draped the tape back over his mouth again, pressing it down firmly.

She stood up and walked out of the room.

Don stretched out on his bed, sighing heavily. Despite what they may think, he really hated having to call his squad in on their off-time.

He didn't know what it was about this Willis guy that had the D.A. so uptight, but he was just going to have to get over it. His squad had more urgent matters to deal with besides one man who had gone AWOL. He was sure that he would get an earful in the morning when he told Arthur Branch that, but frankly, he didn't care.

He glanced at the clock as he rolled over and sighed. Nine hours before he was back at work again.

Loud, muffled breathing echoed around the small room. For the moment, Elliot was alone, and he was struggling with all he had to loosen the ropes around his hands.

His mind was racing in extreme panic. He was still trying to comprehend what the hell was going on. Who were these people? What did they want with him?

A surge of pain from his palms made him hiss. The spot was probably rubbed raw by now. It hurt so much that he decided for the moment to stop trying. Instead, he concentrated on trying to stand up. If he could get to his feet, he would have a chance to run.

He dimly wondered what time it was. There were no windows in the room, but he knew it was still raining because he could hear it pounding on the roof.

In the movies, every time someone got into trouble there was always someone at home that would become worried when the person didn't show up after a while. He lived alone, knew no one at his apartment complex, and had told everyone at work not to expect him until the next morning.

The responsibility of getting out of here rested solely on him. He had no clue what these people were planning to do, but what he had already seen was enough for him to know that he didn't want to stick around to find out. He barely remembered a time when he had felt such extreme terror like that…he honestly thought that they were going to hack his leg off.

On the heels of that thought was anger. Who the hell did these people think they were, tying him up and stuffing him into a dingy store room? When he did get out of here, there was going to be hell to pay.

Scooting back until he hit the wall, Elliot took a deep breath and began trying to lift himself up. Muffled grunts were heard as he struggled. It was harder than he thought without his hands to brace himself.

He continued to struggle until his muscles began to scream. Letting out a tired moan involuntarily, he felt himself sliding back to the floor.

After resting for a minute, he took another deep breath and tried again. Come on…come on, he thought in frustration. He could get himself up onto his knees, but was having trouble getting up any further.

The sound of the screen door opening made him freeze and sink quickly back to the floor. He glared angrily at the two men when they came back into the room. They'd had the upper hand once by scaring him with the hatchet…there was no way in hell he'd give them that again. Like it or not, he was going to have to suck up the terror he was currently feeling, otherwise he wouldn't stand a chance at escaping.

One of the black men crossed to the other side of the room and began rooting around in the large chest that was sitting against the opposite wall. The other man came over to Elliot.

His eyes rolled up to stare at the man as he stood over him, glaring daggers into him. The tape forced him to breathe loudly through his nose, and the sound was amplified with the size of the small room.

He was unprepared for the black man's move when he suddenly knelt down in front of him. His heart began thudding in his ears when the man reached out with both hands, hovering them over his face. Elliot sucked in a breath, the sound coming out as a small whimper. His heart was beating so hard now that he was sure they could hear it. The hands began turning his head slightly, left and right, and then traveled down to lift up his chin.

Elliot jerked away angrily, immediately regretting the move. The black man's face got dangerously angry. He lunged forward, grabbing his hair and slamming his head hard back against the wall.

His eyes widened in surprise and pain, and he whimpered again when the man got inches from his face. The brown eyes were sparkling with anger.

"Bad idea," he hissed, his breath hot and stale against Elliot's face.

Elliot was frozen in terror and could only stare at him. After glaring at him for a minute, the black man released him and backed up a little.

Swallowing hard, Elliot scooted away from the wall a little ways, feeling himself trembling slightly. His plan to not act afraid was starting to backfire. He could feel tears building in his eyes and willed them not to fall.

Please God…please get me out of here…

Munch flipped on the lights as he stepped inside his spacious brownstone in the lower east side and shut the door behind him. He stamped his shoes against the tile by the front door and shook the rain out of his hair, sliding his jacket off.

His black and white tiger cat, Mouse, walked into the living room as he was hanging up the jacket. He meowed loudly upon seeing John.

"Hey, buddy," he said, glancing at the cat. The cat meowed again impatiently. "I know, I know…I'll feed you in a minute. Is it my fault that the stupid pedophiles don't know when your dinner time is?"

Mouse had been an unplanned addition to his home about three years ago. John was never an animal lover and had no desire to have a pet, since he worked such crazy hours and would never be home anyway.

Then one morning, he walked outside to get the paper and found a cat lounging underneath his car. It was still there when he left for work, and he had tried everything to get the dumb thing to move, but it hadn't budged. So finally, he had gotten inside the car and started it, and as expected, the cat shot out from underneath and took off like a shot.

He was satisfied with himself for solving the problem, and had gone to work like normal. But then the next morning, he had found the cat lying underneath the car again like before. He had done the same thing, starting the car while it was still there, and it had taken off again.

The third morning when he walked out, the cat had moved from under his car and was now lounging sprawled across his paper in the driveway. John had glared at it suspiciously, seeing that it was the same cat.

He had attempted to push the cat gently off of the paper and had no success. The damn thing must have weighed ten pounds, and was perfectly content to dig its claws into the newspaper and not budge.

Thinking that there was no way he was going to be outsmarted by a cat, John decided to one-up the animal and proceeded to lift up the paper with the cat still on top. But instead of darting away at once like he'd hoped, the cat stretched out even more and appeared perfectly content.

Munch had given up and carried the damn thing into the house. It was like the cat had been planning it all along, because it jumped off of the paper the minute he was inside and scurried down the hall. John had chased it only to have the cat jump on top of the closet shelf away from his reach.

He was late for work as it was, and decided to just leave the damn cat in his closet, shutting the door to make sure it didn't escape. But guilt crept up as he was leaving and he ended up going back and climbing up to lift it down.

He had taken it outside and tried to put it down, but the cat began clawing at him and meowing loudly, refusing to go on the ground. John had ended up dropping him when the stupid cat scratched him, and he scurried like a shot back into the house. He was too pissed to go after him again, so he had locked the door and just gone to work.

He told his coworkers about the incident when he got there and asked if anyone wanted a cat. Elliot had declined immediately, saying that the only thing a cat was good for was to be made into stew. Olivia was allergic, and Fin didn't want the thing. The captain told him not to even ask because he had enough cats already taking over his house.

So he had gotten home that night and had to hunt for the damned cat, finally finding it asleep curled up in his bathroom sink. It had looked up at him when he turned on the bathroom light, and John was horrified to find himself starting to melt when he saw its big green eyes staring at him. It had meowed pathetically and Munch knew it was hopeless.

Mouse now thought that he was king of the house. He strutted around with his tail flicking and refused to go outside for any reason. Munch nicknamed him "Gay Boy" because of the way he pranced around the house, but there was no way he could part with him. The damn thing had squirreled into his life permanently.

The meowing got more insistent.

Alright, alright," John roused, shaking his head as Mouse began weaving in and out between his legs.

He walked into the kitchen with the cat following and rummaged under the sink for a can of cat food. Mouse meowed loudly as he opened it. He barely had it dumped into the bowl before the cat was attacking it.

Rolling his eyes, he threw the can away and opened the refrigerator, more out of habit than actual hunger. Closing it, he looked at the clock. It was 10:00. He was tired, but not sleepy, so he went to put his pajamas on and lounge on the couch for a while.

The black man walked over to Elliot and crouched before him again. He immediately cowered away, but the man reached forward and gripped him by the neck, pulling him forward. He was lifted to his feet and dragged across the room to the other man.

Jerking him roughly to a stop, the man gripped his shoulders tightly to prevent Elliot from struggling. The other man had something in his hand, and as he walked closer, Elliot saw that it was a felt-tipped pen.

The man began tracing a line from his left ear. He went all the way across his face, under his mouth, and around to the other ear. Then he capped the pen and turned away again.

Elliot's mouth went dry when the man picked up the hatchet. He walked over to him and stared directly into his eyes without speaking.

The blue eyes were wide as he watched the man press the hatchet into his neck. He gulped, feeling like he was going to pass out. A short, fiery burn assaulted his neck after a minute and he hissed.

The man brought the hatchet back up, satisfied at the sharpness, and Elliot saw the tiny drop of blood on the end. His chest was trembling full-force against his will now as the man reached around and gripped the back of his head.

"Ready?" the man asked in a low voice.

Elliot saw the other man lift up a bucket with one hand while firmly holding his shoulder with the other. He nodded.

His eyes bugged out when he felt the man place the hatchet against his left ear. The man smiled lightly.

The white-hot pain of the hatchet being dragged across his flesh made Elliot yell, and panic had him reacting before he could think about it.

Diving forward, Elliot slammed his head into the man's face as hard as he could, driving his weight into him desperately. Anything to get the man to drop the hatchet. The man yelped and staggered away, hitting the wall in surprise.

The other man yanked his shoulders hard and he stumbled back, his bound hands nearly making him lose his balance. Twisting slightly, he pulled his shoulder from the man's grip and ducked quickly, effectively throwing the man off-balance.

The black man flew forward and Elliot ducked around him as he was falling. His adrenaline was pumping as he immediately sprinted for the screen door.

He burst through it and plowed right into the black woman who had heard the commotion and was coming to investigate. She cried out and fell backwards, hitting a shelf.

Elliot lost his balance as well and almost went down with her. He leapt as far as he could to keep himself upright and kept right on running. His breath was shallow and fast as he ran frantically for the door.

He burst through the screen door and out onto the deck, gasping. Panic and terror seized him as he jumped off of the porch and into the pouring rain. It was pitch black outside.

Movement from inside made him whip his head toward the door again. Terrified that they would be coming after him, he took off across the gravel.

His hands were still tied and the tape still over his mouth as he hit the asphalt road and began running for his life.