Grissom pushed his salad around the plate as Sara vainly tried to engage him in conversation that didn't involve a serial killer stalking girls on the Internet. Ordinarily his attention would be all hers, he'd listen to every word that left her delicious lips. Today was different. Five girls were already missing. Five girls, in the prime of their lives, taken and forced to die brutal deaths, and they had nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

"Maybe I'll have more luck getting your attention if I let you analyse what information we do know about all this," Sara tried finally, tiring of having to continually prompt him with grunts of his name.

He raised his eyes to her and dropped his fork onto his plate. "I'm sorry, Sara. I'm just frustrated. We have so much to go on, yet we have absolutely nothing."

She sighed. "Not that I want to tempt fate or anything, but we really need another victim. Preferably someone we can link to the case before they end up dead."

He huffed. "Impossible. Absolutely impossible. We can't link them until we find their body." He folded his arms and leaned them on the table. He looked out of the diner window to a police car with sirens blaring speeding past. "We have no witnesses to any abduction, so how can we?"

She shrugged. "Now we know the general criteria for a victim, we should be able to link the next missing girl on our list of 500, should one go missing."

"You know the statistics for…?" He paused at the sound of his cell-phone. He flipped it open and kept his gaze out of the window. "Grissom."

"Gil, it's Jim. You and Sara anywhere near Jills?"

He raised a brow at the sound of Jim Brass' voice on the other end of the phone. Not particularly wanting extra company that would prolong his absence from the lab, but also not wanting to be rude, he let out a snort. "We're inside, why?"

"Grab your kits and meet me out the back. We've got a big one."

"Unless it pertains directly to the serial case, I really don't have the time. Call dayshift."

"What if I tell you that the Eagle has been accused of murder?"

The question was as successful as Brass had intended. Grissom's attention was sparked. "The Eagle?"

"Abduction and murder."

Grissom drew his wallet from his pocket and dropped two $20 bills on the table. "Sara and I'll meet you there." He held out his hand to help her out of her chair. "Looks like Kharma might be on your side today, Sara."

~~O-O-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O-O-O~~

The officers were still stringing the Crime Scene tape when Sara and Grissom stepped into the alleyway, evidence collection kits in their hands. Grissom paused to survey the scene for a moment before he considered approaching Las Vegas' most colourful detective.

Even though it was late afternoon, and the sun was high in the air, the alleyway was fairly dark. It wasn't exactly a tight alley, there was enough room for a large garbage truck to come through and release or retrieve a garbage container.

There were the standard puddles of fluids best left unsmelled in front of the garbage container and beside the rear door. No evidence to suggest they were stomped in. However, one rather large puddle about five feet away from the back step of the door had obvious drag marks.

He slowly set his kit on the ground and crouched before it, keeping his eyes on the drag marks as he retrieved his camera.

"Sara," he called without looking at her. "Over here."

She was far less systematic on her approach of the evidence. She was careful not to compromise any trace or evidence left behind, but seemed to have some more energy than her older partner. "What do you have?"

He held his camera with both hands, and was crouched in front of the puddle, but managed to point out his findings. "Maybe we'll find some fiber transfer on the bitumen."

She leaned over his shoulder and squinted for better focus at the ground. "I'll go get some tags and bags."

Sara's departure gave way for Jim Brass' arrival. "This one's a doozy, Gil."

Grissom shut one eye and looked through the viewfinder of the camera. He held his breath as he snapped off a couple of pictures, then lowered the camera and set a small, black and white measuring marker around a small piece of fabric. "You don't honestly believe the Eagle did this, do you?"

"Eyewitness says he did."

Grissom snapped another picture, then raised his eyes to Brass. "Witnesses can be mistaken, Jim."

Brass smirked. "Yeah, I know. But you also know protocol. We gotto call him in for questioning."

"I wish you luck on that."

Brass pursed his lips and watched as his friend snapped off more photographs and set the camera on his knee as he tweezered up a piece of fabric. "The diner's got security cameras all over the place. I spoke with the owner and she's willing to provide us with any footage necessary." He cleared his throat. "She also swears that there's no way the Eagle – she called him Mark – would be responsible for this."

He rocked his rump back onto his ankles and hummed thoughtfully. "Use of his first name. Sounds like she's familiar with him. She may be worth talking to."

Brass thumbed over his shoulder. "This is a Federation hang-out, chances are she's seen him here a few times."

"Then she can probably identify him from the security footage."

"That's the idea," he droned slowly.

Grissom's lips twitched in thought as he held the fabric up into the light. "Have you contacted the Federation, yet?"

"I've got Sophia doing it now."

~~O-O-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O-O-O~~

Mark sat, cross-legged, at the base of his mother's gravesite, staring at the faded photograph of her. His thumb stroked slowly along the softest black velvet on a small box held protectively in his hands. As was usually the case when he visited his parents, Mark sat in silence for a long thirty minutes in contemplation before he actually spoke.

He cleared his throat and lowered his head in respect of his two deceased parents. "Mother. I wanted you to be the first to know." His eyes raised and focused on the recessed wording on her gravestone. "I've found someone I feel is worthy of wearing your ring. I plan on asking her to marry me this evening over dinner." His head tilted, and although his gaze remained on his mother's gravestone, his focus was on the image in his mind of his beloved's smile. "She's amazing, Mother. I know you'd love her just as much as I do. She's. She. I." He smiled at his own inability to voice what was in his mind. "She leaves me speechless, obviously."

He slid his feet along the grass to free himself from a Lotus position and raised his knees to his chest. His arms circled around and his hands met in the middle to cup the small box. "I know I'm still so young. I should wait, make sure, and plan my life and future before I take a bride." He inhaled and shifted his eyes to the smallest purple flower growing beside the stone. "But I also know that my time here is limited. At any time I can be pulled from this life. I want to make the most of it while I still can."

He opened the box, smiled at the glistening diamond, and stared at it as he spoke. "Princess is worth the risk, really. She …" he smirked as he stumbled again. "You know, mother. She and I were preordained for this. The Gods actually sent her to me for this purpose, and this purpose alone. I know it. I know that she is the one who I am supposed to … " He looked up at the gravestone again. "She walked into my life as you slipped out of it. I was only a kid, but you know. I knew from the moment I saw her that she was the one. I fought it for so long, listened to everyone else and made some bad, bad decisions about her – but she always stuck with it. She was always there. Always."

He grunted as the phone at his hip vibrated. Annoyed that he was being interrupted whilst conversing with his mother, he was gruff when he flipped it open.

"What?"

Jill's voice came though sounding somewhat shaky. "Mark, it's Jill. Are you okay?"

He ran his hand though his bangs and dropped his head as he clutched a handful of his hair. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm at the cemetery."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Tell me you've been there a while."

"At least 45 minutes, why?"

She sucked in her bottom lip, moving the top one across it as she contemplated the best way to tell him what she knew. "Uh. Mark, you're being accused of murder."

"What?" The word escaped his mouth before he had a chance to actually digest the sentence.

"Yeah, uh. I have the police here at the diner. Apparently there is a witness saying he watched you kill and drag away a woman."

"Do I need to tell you how preposterous that sounds?"

She let out an uncomfortable laugh. "Yeah, I know, eh?"

He drew himself to a stand and slowly wandered to his car, aware that at any second his communicator might chime with a demand from Anderson. "How long ago did this supposedly happen?"

"About 30 minutes ago."

"Where?"

She cleared her throat somewhat sheepishly. "In the alley out the back."

He sniffed and opened his car door, wanting to let it air of heat before he climbed in. "And you didn't hear anything?"

"Dinner rush, Mark. I was in the front."

He groaned and rubbed at his brow as he leaned his arm along the top of the open door. "You have security cameras all over the place, what do they show?"

"I don't know. The police have already confiscated all of my surveillance equipment."

He tapped his fingers on the door as his lips pursed. "So they have everything?"

"I'm afraid so, Mark." She let out a breath. "You know about that serial killer, right?"

"Yeah."

"They aren't playing games anymore. They'll take damn well everything they find no matter how irrelevant it is. Shit you could take a leak in the gutter, and because it's technically something illegal, the CSI unit will swab it up and try to link it somehow to the case." She lowered her voice as if there may be police presence around her. "Mark, I don't know what you want to do. These guys are on the absolute warpath right now, it might not be a good …"

"Jill," he interrupted softly. "I'll go and talk to them."

"Are you sure? Maybe you might want to have Anderson look into it somewhat before you throw yourself at the mercy of Vegas' finest."

He laughed on a breath. "I have nothing to hide, Jill. I'll head down to the station now, and try to diffuse the situation before the press get hold of this and blow it out of the water."

"I'm sorry, Mark."

"Don't be," he assured softly. "Thanks for the heads up." He pursed his lips. "Oh, Jill."

"Yes?"

"When you see Princess, can you let her know I might be a little late, myself, for the dinner tonight."

She was silent for a moment. "Princess? I'm not expecting her."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I had no plans with her today."

"But you sent her an email. When I spoke with her about half an hour ago she was on her way to see you."

"Oh," she seemed confused. "I don't remember … but you know, I forget a lot of shit."

He laughed and looked down at his communicator as it chimed. "Oh damn. Look, I have to go, Jill. Looks like the Federation have already caught wind of this. Thanks again, hey, and don't worry. I'll get it sorted out."

He snapped the phone closed as she was saying her own goodbye and raised his communicator to his mouth. "This is G1, Chief. Go ahead."

"Commander. We have a problem."

"I know Jill filled me in."

"Are you on your way?"

Mark sighed. "Yes, Chief."

~~O-O-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O-O-O~~

The Eagle was in his full regal glory when he strode through the front doors of the Las Vegas Police Department. He ignored the oohs, aahs, and whispers from those around him as he strode confidently toward the reception desk.

The receptionist, a short blonde woman named Judy, gasped when she saw the blue glass visor of the Eagle. "Oh my. Good evening, Sir. How can I help you?"

A short breath hissed out of his mouth as he let his eyes scan from side to side at small groups of people watching him amid whispers. "I'd like to speak with the lead detective on the murder abduction case from Jill's Diner."

She pursed her lips, as yet uninformed of the latest case. "Oh. I haven't been given any information on a new case. If you want to take a seat and wait, I'll phone Detective Brass."

He gave a nod, but didn't move to take a seat. Instead, he turned and pulled his wings closed to cover his chest. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, not in contemplation, but to attempt to filter out annoying conversation to focus on something a little more interesting. A deep voice with a definite Texan accent seemed to hold the information he was looking for.

"You're kidding me, right? The Eagle?"

"That's what Sara said. She's sending in the surveillance tapes with Brass and Grissom. They should be here any minute."

"Damn, Greg. That seems like a crock to me. The Eagle's the good guy."

"Yeah, Nick. But you know they linked all the Serial cases to the Eagle, don't you?"

"Oh come on. You can't be serious. What kind of link?"

"Not too sure, Cat and Archie are working on some Internet connection thing that involves something about him. She's not giving out much information on it."

Mark's eyes flashed open.

What the Hell kind of link can connect him with a serial case?

Before he could speculate further, Judy's voice pulled his attention back to the desk.

"Mr. Uh. Eagle? Detective Brass has asked that I take you to interrogation. He's about five minutes away." She stepped out from behind the desk and timidly began to walk down a corridor. "Please follow me. Do you need a coffee or anything while you're waiting."

He was guarded as he walked two steps behind her. "I appreciate the offer, but no thank you."

She unlocked a door and stood beside it to let him enter. "You'll be meeting with Detective Brass and Doctor Grissom very shortly. Is there anything you need in the meantime?"

He offered her a smile. "Are you this accommodating with all suspects, Ma'am?"

She blushed and lowered her head. "I'm sorry, it's just … um …Please take a seat, they won't be long."

He stepped into the sterile room and immediately took up position in the darkest corner. He leaned his back into the corner and folded his arms across his chest. There was no doubt in his mind they'd accept his alibi and assurance he had nothing to do with the murder, but was curious as to what, exactly, they had on him to require the gossip.

What link was there?

Did this mean that the Federation could finally sink their teeth into an investigation they'd been keenly following?

Princess would love to take part in this – investigation and intelligence research was her forte. Much more than explosives, electronics and first aid, she loved to seek out new information.

The thought of her made him smile – a smile that faltered immediately upon the arrival of two middle-aged men into the room. The younger looking of the two, a short man with dark hair and worry-creased face, immediately extended his hand in greeting.

"Thank you for coming down so quickly, Eagle. I'm Detective Brass, this is Doctor Grissom of the Crime lab."

Mark looked down at the offered hand, considered letting him hang, and finally unfolded his arms to give a firm shake. "I'm eager to prove my innocence, Mr. Brass. Please, call me Mark."

Brass waited until Grissom had taken his customary slouched and thoughtful place at the edge of the table and then swept his hand to a seat across from him. "Please, Mark. Take a seat."

"I'd much rather stand, thank you."

"As you wish." He took a seat and opened a poorly organized file. "You'll have to excuse us. We haven't had time to prepare properly for your questioning. I don't exactly have all the information yet."

Mark flicked his eyes to Grissom, who sat back in his chair with his legs crossed, elbow on his knee and chin pincered between his thumb and index finger. His eyes switched back to Brass. "Then for now let's talk about what you do know. I expect your team are currently processing what you brought back from the scene,"

"Indeed."

"So. You want to know why whereabouts for the day so far?"

Brass smirked. "You've done this before?"

Mark's expression remained stoic. "Let's just say I watch Law & Order and CSI a lot. My girlfriend is somewhat addicted to crime shows."

The admission caused a snort of amusement from Grissom, but he said nothing. Brass, for his part, folded his arms and leaned back in the chair his eyes flicked to Grissom. "So does she listen to the scanner and read textbooks, too?"

Mark frowned. "I don't follow."

He waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. It's an in-house joke. So, tell me what you've been doing today."

Mark stepped out of the corner and leaned on the back of a chair. "I've been running around preparing for a special dinner tonight with my girlfriend."

"Was she with you?"

He shook his head. "No. What I had to do I didn't exactly want her to know about." He read a smartass expression on the detective's face and actually smirked. "Which did not involve murdering and abducting women."

"Do you have any witnesses at all that can account for your activities?"

Mark pursed his lips. "Not as the Eagle, Mr. Brass."

"Jim…"

"Jim. I can provide alibi for my civilian identity, will this suffice?"

Brass shrugged. "It should."

"If I am to offer you further information on my civilian identity, I want to ask that you empty the adjacent room of spectators." He jutted his head to the one-way mirror, where his heat sensor warned him there were seven bodies witnessing the questioning. "I'm rather protective of my other existence and those connected with it."

Brass cleared his throat and rose from his seat. "I'll clear the room and lock it."

Mark let his eyes follow the detective and, once the door had closed behind him, turned his attention to Grissom. "My youngest teammate is a big admirer of yours, Doctor Grissom."

Grissom's expression remained somewhat neutral, although there was a glimmer of self-pride at the comment. "An Entomologist in training, Commander?"

Mark nodded. "You could say that. He likes to torment the Swan with various specimens."

"Does he study them, or merely play?"

"I'd say he's more interested in studying Princess' horrified reactions than the actual critter. Although he can sprout of each and every one of their Latin names."

Grissom's lips pursed. "How old is the Swallow?"

"14."

His eyes widened in shock. "He's just a child."

Mark lowered his head and gave a proud smile. "Only in age, Doctor Grissom."

Grissom shook his head almost sadly, sliding his eyes to Brass as he re-entered the room. "Are we set, Jim?"

"I should have called Ticketmaster. There were at least six …"

"Seven," Mark corrected.

Brass cocked his head. "You can see through that?"

"I'm the Eagle," Mark said slowly, that being enough explanation.

Brass shrugged and pulled a pen from his pocket. He leaned down over a notepad and raised his eyes expectantly to the Eagle. "So, Mark. Tell me what I need to know to clear your name."

"This will remain confidential, I trust."

"Between the three of us only, Scouts honour."

Mark pulled out the chair he'd been leaning on and finally took a seat. He leaned back, crossed his legs at the thigh, and folded his arms across his chest. "My full name is Mark Cronus."

"As in Colonel Cronus?" Grissom asked in surprise.

Mark nodded. "I am his only son." He took a cautious look back at the viewing room and once satisfied it was empty, removed his helmet. With the removal of his helmet came a more relaxed demeanor and personality. "I'm 23 years old, and live with my girlfriend on an airstrip just outside of town."

Brass was frantically scribbling away as Grissom regarded a hero who was barely out of childhood sitting stoically across from him. He made mental notes about the physical appearance and posture of their only suspect, but remained fairly quiet.

It was Brass who did the questioning. "What were you doing today? Specifically at around 4pm this afternoon."

"At 4pm I was at my mother's gravesite."

"Are their any witnesses that can corroborate this?"

"It's a military cemetery, Jim. There is heavy security. I have to sign in and out for every visit."

"Which means there must be cameras on the premises?"

"Of course."

Brass looked up from the notepad and relaxed in the chair. He tapped the pen on the table and looked at Grissom. Mark's swift arrival really had caught them unprepared. He hoped that Grissom might actually have something to add to the conversation to keep them going long enough for some sort of evidence to make it to the room.

Grissom raised his brow. "Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to frame you for murder?"

Mark tilted his head. "Is that a trick question?"

Brass pursed his lips to quaff a chuckle. "Just answer the question."

"How about we discuss what you do have," Mark offered, somewhat amused to have caught two men with an impeccable reputation off-guard enough to make them stammer. "If I know what, exactly, I'm being accused off I may be able to help you … Waste time, so to speak, until we get something more substantial."

"All we really have is an eyewitness," Brass said with a shrug. "They're unreliable at best, especially when one thinks that the person they saw is … well … one of you."

Mark sighed. "A line up really won't do us much good, will it?"

"You'd be pretty easy to pick out, Mark."

There was a brief moment of silence, with the only sound being the squeal of metal across tile as Mark shifted his chair more comfortably underneath the table.

Grissom cleared his throat to continue the questioning. "Commander, have you or anyone from your civilian life been receiving threats of any kind?"

Mark's head was low, but he raised his eyes to Grissom so that they were wide and almost dangerous. "If anyone I love received even a whisper of a threat, I would immediately act upon it and neutralize said threat."

"Why did I just get a shudder?" Brass asked rhetorically as he rubbed his own arms as if trying to warm them.

"With that knowledge, would it be unreasonable to ask if they'd hide any threat from you?"

"I would hope they'd tell me."

"What about your girlfriend?"

Mark's lips pursed at the suggestion inside the question. Princess wouldn't hide anything from him … But she had been acting strangely over the past few weeks, especially in the last couple of days.

His eyes flashed and he immediately shot out of his chair. He crossed one forearm along his belly and attained a thoughtful, but worried, pose. "No …" He breathed long.

The action immediately caught Grissom's attention. He watched Mark begin an absent pacing and raised a brow. "What is it, Commander?"

Mark's head snapped to look through the man asking the question. Without answering, but staring at him as if addressing him, he raised his communicator to his lips.

"G1 to G3. Princess, do you copy?"

Silence.

"G-Force Commander to G3 Swan. Princess you need to answer me." He paused. "Swan, that's an order. Respond."

Grissom turned to give Brass a look and wasn't surprised to see him looking back at him with wide, questioning eyes. He looked back at Mark who was beginning to look a little panicked.

"Commander?"

Mark rubbed at either side his nose with his fingers and kept his eyes in Grissom's direction without actually looking at him. "She doesn't ignore my pages."

"I think we need those security photos," he muttered under his breath.

Mark's eyes finally flared and focused on the Entomologist. "I have to see that footage, Doctor."

Brass quickly rose to his feet. "I'll go and give Archie a kick in the ass to print off some stills."

Both Mark and Grissom watched Brass leave the room. There was a thick, heavy silence between the two of them that was only broken by Grissom clearing his throat.

"Can I ask you a question, Commander?"

"That's why I'm here," he answered bluntly.

He leaned his forearms on the table. "Does your Swan have a profile on Facebook?"

"We all do."

He took a deep breath. "Your civilian sides, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Has she ever made reference to having a crush on you?" He saw a dark look on the Eagle's face and raised his hand to ask a moment to explain himself. "I don't care if you and she are involved, and that isn't why I ask. We've found a possible link that may seem somewhat strange."

Mark's arms folded across his chest. "Let me guess. They all think I am …" he groaned painfully to say it. "Hot?"

"Something to that effect."

"Not to appear self-centred, Doctor Grissom, but there are more than a few comments to that effect across the Facebook network."

"Is that a yes or no, Commander?"

He rubbed at his brow. "Yes. She and I make a game of expressing our …" he cleared his throat, "attraction to each other."

"Do you know of her receiving emails from anyone outside of your group?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I really try not to pry into what she does outside of the two of us."

"These emails may have been threatening. Something along the lines of her being a harlot or hussy, and how someone needs to teach her a lesson?"

He paced. "She never said anything to me."

"Maybe she didn't take it seriously, or she thought she could handle it herself." He took a breath. "She is the Swan, Commander. I doubt she'd think an Internet bully could take her out."

Mark's expression darkened. "She doesn't think that way, Doctor. Yes, she's tough and a more formidable opponent than anyone on my team, but she'd never allow herself to underestimate any kind of enemy. She's simply not that confident."

Grissom attempted not to appear as intimidated as he felt. "Well. Has she been acting strangely at all? Looking over her shoulder? Acting skittish? Being more, possessive and clingy than normal?"

His expression fell as he let his mind travel back to the past few days and the strange actions Princess had been doing. His hand flew to his mouth as he expelled a mortified breath of air. "Oh God." He raked his hands through his hair. "Where is Detective Brass with those pictures?"

"Right here," Brass panted as he burst through the door with a stack of photographs. He dropped them on the table and swiped his hand across them to roughly spread them out. "I think we can safely say that's not you," he murmured as he pointed to a picture of Princess and Chris arguing in the alley. "Your uniform is not so … uh …"

"Revealing," Grissom said with a frown. "Commander, do you recognize the woman?"

Mark's eyes widened and his face fell further into despair as Grissom pushed across a photograph of Princess on her knees, eyes as wide as her mouth as she appeared to be yelling for help. The attacker held a weapon at her thigh and had a self-appreciating snarl on his face.

"I recognize her, Dr. Grissom," he said dangerously after a breath. "The victim is my third in command … and the woman I love."

~~O-O-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O-O-O~~

She half expected to wake with a roaring headache, dry mouth, scratchy eyes and a dry back throat, but as she groggily slapped her tongue to the top of her mouth and slowly opened her eyes, she was surprised to feel pretty much none of that. Her head, although fuzzy, was relatively pain free. Her eyes were well lubricated, as was her mouth, and her throat, although dry, wasn't at all scratchy. If she didn't know better, Princess would have assumed that she had only dreamed the events still so clear in her mind.

When she tried to rub her hand down her face and through her hair in a typical morning ritual, she found out otherwise – unless Mark was in to a new game she was unfamiliar with.

She rolled her head upward to look, as best she could, at her wrists. Both had been secured by handcuffs on either side of a wooden, sled-style, headboard of the bed. A flick and subtle kick of her legs revealed that her ankles had been secured in much the same manner.

"Oh good God," she whispered hoarsely to herself as she looked back up to her wrists to see if there was a way she could send a scramble to the team. "Dammit," she cursed as she tugged and twisted her wrists only to find that they'd been cuffed in such a manner that she couldn't reach her communicator to anything that might depress it enough to call the team.

She rolled her eyes upward and let out a long sigh.

Where the Heck was she? Was she in Spectran hands?

The question in her mind was partially answered by the noisy arrival of her captor. She narrowed her eyes and hissed low when she saw his face.

"Chris."

He smiled and slid down to a sit on the bed beside her. "Actually, my name isn't Chris, Sarah. That was just a clever alias so that the local enforcement teams wouldn't find us."

"Who are you?"

He tilted his head at her and ran his fingertip down her cheek, smiling when she jerked from his touch. "Tsk tsk," he clicked as he waved his index finger from side to side in her face. "That is very poor etiquette, my dear."

She clenched her fists and writhed a little against her ties. "And tying me up is?"

He dropped his head to smell her cheek. "Some things are necessary in order for me to properly correct your behaviour."

She coughed, but didn't exactly voice the response in her mind.

He grunted, rolling his eyes in irritation. "This is not a good start, Sarah. It is really time that you began to behave like your name suggests."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Your name. It is the Hebrew word for Princess. Didn't you know that?"

She pursed her lips – of course she knew that, that is why the boys had called her "Princess" all her life. "I've heard something to that effect."

He nodded with a smile. "Yet you behave like a common tramp."

She sighed as she writhed a little against her ties in an attempt to gain a little comfort. "You obviously have a loose interpretation of the word."

"Loose being the topic of my concern," he purred as he slowly drew himself to a stand. He deliberately kept his back to her. "I understand why you girls think that behaving like you do is what the guys really want you to be. The little whores in the celebrity circus are very poor role models." He paused with a smile. "But that Swan; now there is a girl whom every little girl should look up to."

Princess had to frown and snort at the comment. Didn't this idiot realize that he held the Swan? …

… This wasn't a Spectran abduction. Zoltar was not going to be storming through the doorway at any moment gloating about how he was going to bring G-Force to its knees.

Oh, Jason was going to love this one.

The revelation actually allowed a small amount of colour return to her eyes. If this guy didn't know whom he had, then she could play this out and probably escape relatively unharmed.

With renewed strength, she offered a smile. "Is that why you dressed as the Eagle; because you have a thing for the Swan?"

He turned sideways to her and looked across his shoulder at her mid drift. He let out a short, soundless laugh at her question. "Even she dresses as a tramp, Sarah. I feel very little for her beyond respect for the image she projects."

"Make up your mind," she hissed. "You contradict yourself in the same sentence."

He clicked through his teeth in disappointment. "If she were to lose the mini-skirt and hooker boots, I may change my view."

She rolled her eyes as she felt his rise up to her chest. "I doubt she chose the uniform."

"I'm sure she could convince the Eagle to allow her the same dignity the rest of the team have."

She let out a low chuckle. "Not when he's one of the biggest perverts on the team …"

His eyes snapped up to hers. "Excuse me?"

She sucked in a breath at the intensity of his stare, and looked away from him. "Nothing, absolutely nothing."

"You were being smart."

"I'm not exactly in a comfortable position. I tend to try dry humour when I'm out of my element," she lied on a long breath. "Forgive me, Commander."

He leaned down to her and flicked hard at her earlobe. "You aren't a brat, Sarah, so stop it."

"Well you dress as the Eagle Leader of G-Force and then hold me hostage barking orders at me about how I should be … whatever you want me. How do you expect me to act?"

His lip curled. "Like a lady, damn you. That's why you're here."

"You'll need to give me a much better explanation than that."

"You," he droned to begin a pacing rant. "You and women like you. You all put yourselves out there. You show sexy images of yourselves on the internet, in pictures; use blogs to share your mind and thoughts with us like we mean something to you. Then when it comes down to one on one, you clam up. You all dangle that carrot in front of our noses promising us things you have no intention of following through with…"

She raised a brow in contempt at his words. "Oh you have got to be kidding me."

Her words caught whatever else he had to say in the back of his throat. He looked at her with wide eyes. "What?"

She pulled at her wrists, uncomfortable at the tingle and coldness she felt as a result of restricted blood flow. "Really, Chris – or whatever your name is. I never, once, kept it a secret that I was in a heavy long-term relationship. I never put racy images of myself online, and I certainly did not share any sexy thoughts."

"Ahh," he interrupted with a wave of his finger. "But you agreed to a date with me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Over twelve months ago, where I think I undoubtedly let you know I wasn't interested."

"You used me."

She coughed. "What?"

"Within a day of our "date" you hooked up with Mark."

She pursed her lips. "Who is going to kick your sorry ass into oblivion when he finds me."

He waved his hand dismissively. "He won't. I've covered my tracks well enough that he'll have no clue how to find you."

"Oh, he'll find me. Trust me. He'll find me and …"

"He'll be chasing the Eagle, Sarah. I've made sure the whole world will think it was he who did this."

She blinked and tugged again at her ties. "They're fools to believe the Eagle would do something like this."

He hummed. "Don't be so sure about that."

"Then the Eagle will find you and you'll have more than enough trouble."

He laughed and reached in to his pocket, producing a shiny badge. "I'll be one step ahead of them, my dear. I can manipulate evidence, create false reports, even fudge videographic evidence. Before too long, the White Shadow will be accused of all of my misgivings."

She gasped. "You're. My god. You're a police officer?"

"Criminalist."

She focused on the badge and let his words sink into her mind. It took her only a second to process the information and draw a painful conclusion. "You're the Facebook Killer?!"

He ran his fingers over her hair. "Is that what they're calling me now?" He smiled and sharply tugged at a small amount of her hair. He purred as he looked at the many strands in between his fingers. "Infamy is mine, I see. And like the Zodiac, I'll finish what I set out to do and fade off into the distance, to have mini-series and movies made about my crimes."

She whimpered slightly and began to tug just a little harder at the cuffs. "Do to me what you want, but when Mark finds you …"

"Oh, Markey Warkey," He sang in as an insulting tone as possible. "Let's just say that he'd better look out next time he walks into that little tin hangar of his."

She gasped and shook her head. "No. Please don't hurt him."

"Why not?"

"Because. Please. I'll do anything you want, be anyone you want. Just don't hurt him."

His brow flicked; he was enjoying this. "Then be a good little girl, Sarah, and your boyfriend will be safe."

"I promise," she sighed in desperation as she strained to look up at her wrists in hope of being able to send a warning through her communicator. "I promise. Anything you want."

"What I want," he answered her smoothly. "Is the perfect wife."