Undisclosed Location
0500 Hours PST

Alan's eyes popped open for what seemed like the tenth time in four hours. He glanced around the room. Langager and his FBI friend were both sound asleep. Clearly, a little B&E and kidnapping is exhausting work, Alan thought. He'd tried himself to get a little bit of sleep, but it had come in spurts. His cuffed wrist didn't allow him to lie down, and leaning back against the headboard wasn't really conducive to good sleep.

He hoped to God that Charlie and Don were together, that Don was all right. He'd seen a grimace of pain during the fight-it reminded him of once when Donnie was an eighth grader playing third at a middle school game. A kid had come sliding into third, spikes up, and caught Don in the calf. Nobody else in the stands had caught it, but Alan and Margaret had seen the flash of pain on his face. Don had finished out the play and the rest of the inning, and then had to be benched for the rest of the game.

He was good at hiding his pain, but not good enough to get it past his father.

Alan tugged on the cuff, listened to it thunk against the light fixture. His two captors didn't wake up. Deciding to take advantage of the time alone that he had, Alan began a thorough inventory of the hotel room. Apart from the television, nothing in the room looked like it had been updated since the building's original inception. Even the carpet and the curtains had that strange scalloped pattern that seemed to be popular.

Carpet's not gonna be real helpful in getting you out of here, Alan told himself. Think. Think like the boys.

His eyes drifted up to the light fixture. A simple lamp with a brass shade, that turned on and off with a knob. Attached to a piece of wood paneling that was screwed into the vinyl wallpaper. Walls that were probably plaster.

If I could break the panel off the wall, or unscrew the screws somehow, he realized, there's a chance I could get out of here.

Don's voice rang in his ear. I don't want Charlie anywhere near this. Whatever Don was protecting Charlie from, Alan was right in the thick of it. So was it worth it? he wondered.

Alan filed it away. It was a possibility, if the opportunity presented itself.

Next to him, the traitor FBI agent was starting to stir. Alan adjusted himself on the bed and pretended to be sleeping, and not plotting an escape.


Eppes Residence
0645 Hours PST

CSU had left a few hours ago, and Amita Ramanujan was standing in the middle of the broken glass and wood splinters, trying to decide what to clean up first. CSU had been nice enough to cover the front door with plastic and taken down the crime scene tape so that it wasn't a gaping hole.

She'd been a little upset when Charlie had taken off immediately after CSU had shown up and done their job, following Don to the office, but she understood. And Alan was family; she didn't mind staying behind to help clear things up. She'd been at the house enough times to know where Alan kept his cleaning supplies, and she went in search of a broom now.

Amita glanced at the clock in the kitchen, noted the time. Three hours. Charlie hadn't come back to the house. She was worried, but she also had the advantage of knowing Charlie. Odds are, if he wasn't at the house, he was in his office at CalSci. Hopefully, sleeping, Amita thought. She started sweeping up the glass and wood in the living room, tidying it into a neat pile off the rug so it would be easier to pick up what was left with a vacuum.

She had just put the broom away when she heard a noise coming from the other side of the house. Amita paused, listening.

There was a resounding crash from the direction of the garage.

Amita held onto the broom even as she made her way to the garage, knowing that this was a stupid and highly irrational idea to go check this out on her own. But spending time around Don and his team had also given her some confidence. Granted, it might be a false sense of bravado, she thought as she put a hand on the garage door handle.

She pushed open the door with one hand, the broom raised in the other.

One of Charlie's several chalkboards was lying back against the shelves, and Amita saw smears in the chalk on the board, as if it had been pushed with some force.

There was another sound, one that Amita followed to the middle of the floor, and she tossed the broom aside and wrapped her arms around a shaking Charlie, curled up on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. "Charlie! When did you get here? Colby called almost four hours ago! Why didn't you come inside?"

"C-can't go in there," Charlie stammered, leaning back against her. "I can't-"

"No, I get it," Amita assured him. "I get it." She hugged him. "Has Don heard anything from Langager?"

Charlie shrugged. "I wouldn't know. He sent me home, told me he'd revoke my security clearance if I didn't leave the office."

Amita raised an eyebrow. "That's a little extreme," she noted.

"I went to the office for a little bit, to try to sleep. I couldn't come back here, I couldn't deal with-" Charlie tossed an arm back toward the house. "I'm sorry. I left you here. I shouldn't have-"

"Charlie," Amita gently turned his head so he was looking back and up at her. "Charlie, it's okay. I mean, I was a little upset. But this is your father we're talking about. It's logical that you would want to be at the office helping your brother. Alan is as much my father to me as my actual dad is. This is scaring me, too. People don't think rationally when they're scared."

He closed his eyes, resting his head in the hollow between her shoulder and her neck. "I just want to help," he whispered. "Why can't I help?"

Amita knew Don's reasons. He was protecting his brother. But part of her wondered if there was more to the story than what Don had told them at the house. Instead of voicing that concern, Amita chose to hold onto her boyfriend.


FBI Field Office
0715 Hours PST

Nikki Betancourt came out of Matt's office, stretching. She and the technician had been at it for almost six hours building a passable false identity for Daryl Langager, and she needed to move. Coffee was an absolute must at this point. On her way past the conference room, she spotted David, Colby, and Liz pouring over the files from Langager's first arrest. She frowned. Where was-

The answer to her question was sitting at Don Eppes' desk, staring at his phone. "Don," Nikki spoke softly, so as not to startle him. Her boss barely glanced her way. "Hey. Have you slept at all?"

He shook his head. "Can't," he said hoarsely. "Don't want to miss the call."

"Langager's a cocky sonofabitch," Nikki pointed out. "He's probably sleeping off his high of the night."

Don raised his head. "His high?"

Nikki held up a hand placatingly. "Don, you know the psych profile of this guy. High functioning sociopath. Getting one over on you tonight? You know he loved it. He's smart, but he's gonna screw up, and we're gonna nail his ass."

"You and Li almost done with that fake ID?"

Nikki nodded. "Final touches on a driver's license and social." She leaned on top of the cubicle. "Don. You know, even if you give it to him…"

Don nodded. "Yeah," he responded. "You know, my brother is a pretty smart kid. He said back at the house that Langager's sick of me huntin' him down. So even if I do this for him, he's gonna try to make sure I can't ever hunt him down again."

He looked at Nikki. "That's partly why I've been keeping Charlie at a distance on this. He's too damn smart for his own good. He'll figure that out, too, eventually, when the cobwebs clear from the hell he's been through tonight. He's gonna figure out that Langager's not gonna let me walk away from that meeting."