Seized
Summary: Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.

After what seemed like endless phone calls, Mac had gotten no where in his search for the missing NYPD officer. He decided to go to the lounge for a cup of coffee, and to see if he could find Danny or Lindsay to find out the details of what was actually going on. The retired marine only talked to Danny over the phone once about this and had called Flack's phone, which still said it was disconnected. Mac wanted to talk to Danny face-to-face.

As he walked to the lounge, he passed the lab where Danny was buzzing around, looking anxious. Mac invited himself in. "Danny."

The blond man looked up and blinked, then uttered a small greeting before lowering his head back to the pictures. Mac walked up to him and placed his hand over the pictures. Danny looked up at the black-haired man. "What, Mac? I'm doing something."

"I need to know what's going on with Flack." Danny looked down at the pictures, glaring at Mac's hand. "Now, Danny."

Danny looked back up, shifting the weight from one foot to the other and bracing his hand on the table. "Lindsay and I arrived at the scene like usual. She went straight to the body, I followed slowly, looking around. After we took a look at the body, took some photos, I went to the car that was in the crime scene. Inside was a cup of steaming coffee, like the person just drove up, got out, and left."

Danny paused for a moment. Mac made a hand motion, encouraging him. "What else, Danny?" he asked, softly.

"Um, I took out the registration and looked at the name; it said Don Flack Jr. When I asked Lindsay and the other officers if he had reported to the scene and they said no."

"When you looked at the scene, did you see anything that would suggest someone had been taken against their will, or…"

Danny grabbed Mac's hand, taking it off of the pictures, then began to rifle through them. He laid a few out on the table in a line, glancing up at Mac as he did so. Mac watched him work silently. "The car door wide open, the cup of coffee… I found some disruption in the dirt and gravel. Looks like heel marks here," he used his pinkie to point out the u-shaped marks, "and these lines show that he stopped fighting and was dragged."

"Passed out?"

"Most likely. Then they stop, and there's what looks like a knee impression and the outlines of a foot. It'd be a size ten in men's."

Mac looked at the pictures. "Only one footprint?"

"Probably from kneeling down and picking him up. The weight would force his foot down and make the outline."

Mac took a look at Danny's face; the younger man was clearly worried since he was close friends with Flack. Sincerely, Mac placed his hand on Danny's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You did good, Danny. We'll find him."

"So, what did you find? I know you looked," Danny asked.

"I called his phone. He answered, I know he did, and tried saying something. I think he was bound and gagged, but somehow got his phone out. But then it got cut off before I got to trace it. Each time I call it, it says the phone was disconnected."

Danny gave a small sigh. "Okay then." He paused, looking up at Mac. "You're not going to give up, right?"

There was another pause. "Of course not, Danny. Never."

----------

Don rocked back and forth on the bed, sitting up still. It was quiet and boring beyond belief. He had tried to blow the tape off like last time, but with the fabric in his mouth, he couldn't take in a breath through his mouth. His tongue was pressed onto the bottom of his mouth and had limited movement, except for side-to-side. Don drummed his fingers together, tapping the tips in patterns. It must have been a few hours since he had woken. The cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding, but there were small drops on his white shirt; his jacket was open. Don worked his shoulders a little since they were becoming sore.

His stomach rumbled softly, but seemed loud in the empty room. He groaned a little, laying his head on his shoulder and closing his eyes. And he needed to take a leak.

The door opened slowly; Don stiffened a little, looking at the door. It was the younger boy from before, holding a bowl of something. Looked like oatmeal. He sat beside Don on the bed, placing the bowl at his side.

"How are you holding up, officer?"

Don make a noise and shrugged in a 'I could be better' tone. The kid frowned.

"Mind if I grab that knife in your shoe? I need to take the tape off."

Don lifted his feet slightly, as if saying 'Go ahead'. The kid reached down and pulled out the knife. With the blade flicked out, slid the tip down the tape, being careful not to cut him. Then he pulled the tape off, making Don groan. "Sorry," the boy apologized. Don pushed the fabric out of his mouth with his tongue.

"That was uncomfortable," he stated, working his jaw. "Mind giving my shoulders a rest?" he asked, moving his hands a little. "I'd appreciate it."

The boy looked skeptical for a moment. Don grinned and lifted his feet again. "I can't go anywhere, kid." There was a lingering moment. "What's you name, anyways?"

The kid was silent, cutting the tape that bound Don's arms. Once his arms were free, Don sighed happily and moved them in front to stretch. Then, he laid them on his lap and waited for the boy's answer.

"It's Seth."

Don extended a hand. "Don Flack."

Seth took it, giving it a little pressure, then took his hand back. He took the bowl and handed it to Don, who took it.

"How old are you, Seth?"

"Sixteen, sir."

Don took a bite, hesitated with it in his mouth, then swallowed. He took another. "You look older than that."

Seth shrugged. "I don't pay much attention."

Don finished eating what was in the bowl. He set it aside and looked at Seth. "How did you get in this whole ordeal?"

"My brother, the one who hit you earlier, saw you coming up on Carlos. After you were out of your car and everything, he was sure you saw him, so he decided to take you to keep anyone from finding out."

"Hold old is your brother?" Don was taking off his jacket; it was hot in that little room.

"Twenty-two."

"Is Carlos the dead kid?"

Seth nodded, then looked anxiously at the door. "I need to get you tied back up. Put your arms back behind your back, Mr. Flack." He took a roll of duct tape from his pocket, Flack raised a brow at this, and pealed the end from the roll. Don stood as best as he could, putting his arms behind his back. Seth taped his wrists together, rolling the roll around a few times.

"You don't need to do this, Seth."

Seth took the fabric from the floor and went to put it back into Don's mouth, but Don shied away for a moment. "Wait. Do you know what your brother is planning to do with me? Or what he's planning to do all together?"

The fabric was pushed into Don's mouth, making him groan impatiently. His mouth was duct taped again. Seth grimaced.

"I have no clue."

Don grunted, rolling his eyes. Seth pushed Don back on the bed, then took the empty bowl in his hands. The knife was pushed back into Don's shoe. Seth walked out the door, closing it behind him. The cop groaned, falling over on his side.

----------

Stella walked into the autopsy room, hearing some classical music playing in the background. She glanced around for Sid for a moment, then spotting him dancing beside the body on the table. He didn't look up. Stella walked on in, clearing her throat as she did. Sid looked up, then smiled. He picked up the remote to his CD player and stopped the music. "Good morning, Ms. Bonasera."

"You're in a good mood today, Sid."

The doctor grinned. "Any day that you can get out of bed is a good day." He stopped and winked. "My grandfather taught me that."

"He's a wise man."

Sid shrugged and looked down at the body for a moment. Stella stood across from Sid. "What's the COD?" she asked.

Sid pointed a finger to the puncture wound on the body's left biceps, then another at the wound on his right side. "Bled to death. I didn't find any bullets because there were none. It was a stab wound, but not by a knife."

"Any idea what the weapon would be?"

"Well, I found aluminum shards on the inside of the wound. I can't say what the weapon was, but you're looking for something with a long, sharp aluminum tip."

He turned to another table and took a small, plastic tin in his hands. Stella took it when he offered. "What's this?"

"I took it upon myself to scrape under his nails. Blood."

"Thanks, Sid."

He smiled, then as soon as the door closed behind her, he turned on the music again and swayed a little, humming to the tune.

----------

Seth sat in a chair just outside the bedroom where the cop was being held. He had his chin resting in the palm of his hand and was staring off. There was a blackboard nailed to a wall with writing covering the entire thing. Another man was in the room; he had a hard face, clearly filled with anger. On his face were three long scratches; they began right above the left eyebrow and ended on the jaw. The area around the scratches were red and beginning to swell. He was leaning against the backboard, looking at Seth.

"Seth." The older man looked up at the kid.

Seth raised his eyes, but kept his head positioned. "What?"

"Ever heard of the B.T.K. killer?"

"No." Seth was being as curt as possible.

The man pushed himself off of the black board, crossing his arms over his chest. "His name was Dennis Rader and he had a series of serial kills in Wichita, Kansas."

"So?"

"Do you know what B.T.K. means?" He waited, but when he got no answer, he took it as a no. "B.T.K. Bind, torture, kill."

"What's your point?"

"The pig is bound," he mused. A small smile stretched across his face. He held up three fingers, then pulled one down. "What's the fun if we just kill the pig? Why don't we have a little fun?"

Seth tilted his head up. "That guy has been through enough."

The man sneered and walked over. "What are you saying, Seth?"

"I'm just saying we should let him go. We could get in even more trouble if they find a cop here."

Seth was now looking up at the man. The man grabbed Seth's collar and jerked him up. With their faces close, he hissed, "Well who asked you?" Seth swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Dave--" but he was cut off with a punch to the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Stay here," he warned, pointing a finger at the kid. He opened the door, seeing the cop jerk his head up, and chuckled. Once he was inside the room, he closed the door behind him.

Seth looked after him, sighing. "Damn."