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

As the door opened, Don hoped it was Seth again, but to his dismay it wasn't. It was an older man this time. Again, Don tensed up and waited for him to approach him. The door was shut, and locked, and the man walked up to him. He looked down at the cop, smirking like he had a secret. "Oink, oink," he taunted, putting a hand on Don's cheek. In turn, Don jerked his head away and gave a glare. But the man sneered and brought his hand up. Don saw this and braced himself, closing one eye and looking up at him through one. "Stupid cop!" he called, bringing his fist down across Don's jaw. Don fell back onto the bed, wincing and wanting to scream. The man laughed, grabbing a fistful of Don's black hair and pulling him back up. "B.T.K., baby. You know what that means?"

Don nodded, closing his eyes and sinking his teeth into the fabric still balled in his mouth.

"Of course you do." He punched Don again, then threw him to the floor. Don laid with his face pressed onto the cold wood floor, looking up at the man through the corner of his eye, panting through his nose. Again his head was pulled up by his hair. "I want to hear you scream."

Don's eyes grew as a knife was pulled out. The blade slid down the tape, then it was pulled off. The man pulled the fabric out of Don's mouth, and Don gasped for air.

"Fuck…" Don panted, looking up at the man.

There was a knock at the door, then the handle jiggled, making the man look up. "What?"

"Dave, open this door."

"Get out of here, kid!" the man responded.

Don began inching away from the man, Dave, trying to get to a safe spot. Dave looked up and noticed this. "Excuse me!" he hollered at Don, who froze. Dave walked up on Don, who clenched his teeth. "What were you doing, pig?"

"What do you think I was doing, Dave?" Don hissed. Dave grinned, then gave Don's side a good, hard kick. Don yelled out, rolling onto his other side and closed his eyes tight. He groaned, writhing in pain. This gave the man satisfaction and encouraged him. Dave brought his foot back and delivered a few good kicks. With each one, Don cringed and screamed out.

Finally the man stopped, watching Don lay in agony on his back, head thrown back and sputtering a few curse words. Dave pushed some blond hair from his eyes, chuckling. He got down, straddled Don's hips, and braced one hand beside his shoulder and grabbed the cop's chin with the other. He forced Don to look him in the eye.

"You're not having any fun, are you?"

"Go to hell."

Dave patted the cop's cheek, then placed his hand on his forehead. Don grimaced. Dave bashed the back of Don's head onto the floor a couple of times, the last one knocking him out. The man stood up and looked at him. Then he snorted and wiped his hands off on his jeans.

----------

"Our victim's name was Carlos Hernandez, twenty-one, five feet seven inches tall, and a hundred and sixty-seven pounds. He had a rap sheet for drug distributing, drug using, grand theft auto… Carlos had just recently gotten out of jail a month ago," Sheldon told Danny, who was ghosting him as he worked on the computer.

"Any acquaintances?" asked Danny, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Not many. He was an orphan, which introduced him to the streets."

Danny shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Drug deal gone bad?"

"Probably. He was found with no wallet or identification. Good thing his prints were in the database."

"Well how does Flack tie in with all this?"

Sheldon sighed. "He doesn't. Probably, if he answered to the scene, he saw the murderer. The person knew this and knew that if Flack got away, he would be exposed."

Irritated, Danny sunk his teeth into his bottom lips and took one hand out of his pocket; he caressed his chin in his hand, his thumb resting on his upper lip. "There's no one who interacted with Carlos except for his customers?" Sheldon shook his head no. "Can we get any of his customers?"

For a moment, Sheldon tapped his fingers on his thighs, thinking. He raised his glasses off of his face and grinned. "I think we got a cell phone in evidence."

As if on cue, Adam walked in holding a phone in his hand. Danny looked up at him, then glanced at the phone. Adam held it out. "Our victim's phone. Just got a text."

Danny took it and glanced down at the screen. Out loud, he read, "'Carlos, I need the stuff. Meet in twenty. Woodland Cemetery. Jerome Avenue gate.'" He looked up and grinned. "Maybe we can talk to this guy." He looked at the name. "This… Michael guy."

----------

There was a man standing at the gate when Mac and Danny arrived. He was a lanky kind of man, tall and nervous. The man was leaning on a post, arms crossed over his chest and waiting. Mac parked the car and got out, followed by Danny, who had a hand on his weapon. They approached the man, who made to movement to get away. Danny spoke first. "Michael?" he asked, and the guy looked up.

"Yeah?"

Mac showed his badge. "We need to talk."

After a moment of hesitation, Michael turned and ran into the cemetery. Danny was first to the chase. He followed Michael around a few headstones until he tripped over one he jumped over. The guy tried to scurry away, but Danny jumped on him, digging his knee into his back and holding his shoulder in place with his arm. Under him, Michael squirmed.

"Michael, we just want to talk," Danny assured.

"Alright, alright! Just get off of me!" Michael yelled. Danny let him up; Michael cursed and got to his feet. Mac was jogging over to them, taking his time.

"So, Michael, what are you doing here?" Danny asked dumbly. The guy wiped his mouth off with the palm of his hand.

"Meeting someone."

"Carlos, perhaps?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah, you know him?"

"He was murdered. Do you know anyone who would want him dead?" Mac asked, looking hard at the guy. Michael shuffled his feet for a moment, then rubbed the back of his head.

"A few weeks ago I was supposed to meet up with him and I got there and all but…" he trailed off for a moment, thinking. "There was this guy there with him. He was bigger than him and had him against a wall."

"Did you hear what they were talking about."

"Not really. I couldn't hear Carlos well, but I caught the other guy say, 'You'll be sorry'. Carlos muttered his name, then was thrown to the ground. The guy saw me watching, so I split."

"What was the name, Michael?" Danny encouraged.

"Jonathan, I think."

Danny glanced at Mac, then turned his attention back to the man. "Did you know that man. Johnny or whatever his name was?"

"I think I met Carlos at his house one. I didn't go inside, but when I got a glimpse inside, I saw some guy that looked like him, standing against a blackboard."

Mac took out a pen and paper. "Do you remember where you met him?" he asked, offering the paper. "Could you write it down?"

Michael looked hesitant, then took the offered pen and paper and began writing. He handed it back after he was finished with a, "I think that's it. If not, somewhere around there."

----------

After Dave left, Don laid very still on the floor, face still pressed into the wood. He was panting and cursing, eyes clenched tight along with his teeth. The tape nor fabric was replaced on his mouth. Behind him, his fingers stretched and spread, trying to see if he could pull them free from the duct tape. It was no use and he laid still again. Don went to sit up, but was stopped when a jolt of pain jolted through his side; he assumed it was a broken rib or two. He yelled out in pain, then locked his jaw again and forced himself to sit up.

Suddenly, he remembered the knife Seth left in his shoe. He was surprised Dave didn't catch it, but he was relieved all the same. Don pulled his feet over so they were parallel with his hips. Slowly he worked his fingers towards the handle of the blade, grabbing it between his first and second fingers on his left hand. He gave a firm jerk with them, freeing the knife from his shoe. It laid on the floor now, and Don grinned. Don's hands reached down and grabbed it, flicking out the blade. He pushed the blade up between his wrists; he winced when he felt a sharp prick of the tip going into his skin.

After a minute or two of sawing at the tape, it broke free and he gave a small cry of joy. He worked his wrists until they sprung apart, and he held them in his lap, rubbing one hand on the wrist of the other. Don looked at the blood forming on his wrist where the blade stuck him; he brought it to his lips and ran his tongue over the blood. For a moment, he grinned.

On the other side of the door, Michael kicked in the door, rubbing his side tenderly with his hand. "Dave!" he yelled. Seth looked up, sneered, then lowered his head back down to stare at the ground. In his hand was a pistol, pointed at the floor. Dave, on the other hand, was laying back on a chair, head thrown back and snoring. Michael growled and approached him, kicking the leg of the chair. Dave jolted awake, pulling a gun out of the front of his pants.

"Woah, Dave, chill," Michael warned, holding his hands up. The man blinked, then lowered the gun.

"What is it, Mike?"

"The cops just jumped me. Asked for Carlos."

Dave leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. The lanky man frowned.

"Did you kill him?"

"Yeah. I did."

Licking his lips, Michael bounced on his feet anxiously. "Well, this was more than just Carlos. What else did you do?"

Seth spoke up. "Kidnapped a pig. He's in the room." He jerked his head to the closed door. Michael gave it a glance, sighing.

"Damn it, Dave! You're so lucky I covered for you. They wanted your name and address."

"And what did you tell them?"

"I gave them the address of a construction site."

Dave sat back up, drumming his fingers on the barrel of his gun. "And the name?"

"'Jonathan.'"

"You did good, Mike." There was a pause, where Michael glanced at the door again. "Leave," Dave ordered.

He faltered for a moment, then turned and walked to the door. He stopped at the door though, and turned to look at Dave again. "I'm done, Dave. This is too much."

Michael left, slamming the door behind him. Dave chuckled, then laughed openly. "Idiot!" He jumped up, grinning like mad, and followed him at a fast pace. The door was thrown open, and Dave took out his gun and exited the building. There was a set of stairs, and a parking lot beneath. Michael was standing by a black car, looking up at him.

With the gun raised, Dave grinned as he looked down the barrel at Michael. "Get in," he hissed with a smirk. Michael, shaken, slowly got in the car. The older man trudged down the stairs, then approached the driver's side of the car. "Slide over."

Michael did as was told, sliding over the arm rest and into the passenger's seat. Dave slid in next, gun still raised level with Michael's eyes. "Let's take a trip, shall we?"