I do not own any of the characters besides Kaley ... and what is she without her parents?

Ten: Message Received

Chapter 4:

Only a few hours later as Danny headed up the steps, he heard the thump, than the patter of little feet breaking the quiet. He watched as Kaley walked out of her bedroom and stopped, looked around, as if she had so many choices of where she was going to go.

He smiled a little as he shook his head. She was tired and still fighting sleep. They'd played hard after her nap that afternoon. She had an affinity for bouncing her little ball against the wall outside and chasing it, while he shot hoops and sometimes joined her in those little games she seemed to make up in her head. They each had one way conversations with each other, because he certainly had no idea what she was talking about.

He opened the gate at the top of the stairs and went through. It was taller than their first one. They'd gotten it only a few weeks ago, when they realized their daughter was an escape artist. Sometimes when he shut it behind him, he could hear the prison doors sliding closed.

Lindsay claimed Kaley got her tendency to escape from him. He wasn't so sure. He'd remembered getting caught.

"All right, munchkin," he said as he scooped her up. "Where are you headed?"

"Mommy," the word was almost defiant.

"Mommy's not home yet, sweetie," Danny sighed as he carried his baby girl back to bed. "You know, your mother and I are usually pretty good at putting people behind bars to stay. That's where you're supposed to be. In bed."

She put her hands on his chest and pushed, her little face scrunched up. "No."

"Kaley."

"No bed—" and as he started to set her down in her bed, she grabbed onto his shirt with both fists and let out a piercing wail. When she'd let out her first similar noise in the delivery room, the doctor had only smiled and said, "healthy lungs, healthy baby."

Danny tried to remind himself of that as he winced. "Kaley, come on. We both miss mommy. She'll be home soon."

Danny sighed as she only screamed louder, the evidence of how tired she was only punctuated by the sudden appearance of tears. It was an action that tugged at Danny, as her mother cried so very little that he just didn't have experience with tears. Not from those usually sweet and curious brown eyes.

Or so he told himself as he cuddled her close and walked over to the rocking chair with her in his arms. In a quiet voice he began to sing, but she only cried harder. He winced and held a hand to the side of her head, gently cradling it against his heart as he sang.

Maybe his choice of Tom Petty wasn't the best for a toddler, but how could he think of anything else? He sang through Free Falling once, and then desperate enough, a second time. He was into the bridge before her cries turned to hiccups.

Then he switched to a little Jim Croce with Hey Tomorrow, and sang softly until he felt Kaley's breath even out as she finally gave into exhaustion.

For awhile, he just sat and rocked her, feeling the wetness of her tears through his t-shirt and the warmth of her little body, as he listened to the silence.

She should have called.

He pushed back the concern. Lindsay would have, if she had been able to do so. He'd carried being on call during the night shift for a long time, so he knew what could happen. And he'd heard about the little girl on the news. He figured it was the case both Lindsay and Flack had snagged. It wouldn't be easy on her. And if she'd gotten pulled into interview, her phone would have been off when he called at Kaley's bedtime.

Still, he worried.

Carefully he stood and cradling his daughter, gently lowered her back into her little bed. As he leaned back, he was simply caught—for just a moment—looking at her. He reached down and brushed away the wet tears on her cheeks.

"Mommy loves you," he whispered, "and so do I. Never, ever forget that."

.

Downstairs, Danny tapped his phone against his palm as he paced his living room. With the house silent and Kaley finally asleep, his mind had gone on overdrive. Lindsay was fine. Someone would have called him if something had happened. If she hadn't shown up. If she was hurt. Flack had expected her to show up right behind him.

There were dozens of other reasons why she hadn't called.

He stopped and stared at the photos that hung in a group over his fireplace. The one he focused on was the largest one, from their wedding day. It wasn't a traditional photo, was more of a mistake, but the moment he'd seen it during the chore of going through the proofs, he'd itched to have a copy.

To remember the moment over and over.

Lindsay had argued against ordering it of course, more over the size of it than the content, or really the size of the content. He knew she didn't see what he did. In the photo he was looking at her as she was in the process of rolling her eyes, laughing at him as he struggled to make the photographer, his mother and her mother happy by giving them the right smile. He'd been told he looked guilty. When he'd said something about knowing what a guilty man looked like and it wasn't him, she'd snorted.

And it had all tumbled into place. She had pulled her bouquet against her chest. His arms were around her waist as he simply held the pose like he was told to do—well, and because he was enjoying it, enjoying her. Maybe he didn't have the right smile, but he had her. That had been his thought.

Moment captured.

Her father had stopped him after the picture had been retaken and said that he'd been unsure if Danny really loved her like he needed to … until that moment.

And that's what Danny saw when he looked at the photograph. He loved her. For all those crazy, heart stopping moments. Maybe she did look silly, but that was part of why he treasured her.

He tapped his phone again and looked down at it briefly before flipping it open. No one would question him calling just to check on her.

In the darkness of the morning, under the brightness of a street light, Stella watched Danny drop down on the front steps of the apartment building. He looked lost. Flack walked over from the other direction and sat down next to him. Neither said anything.

They had traced up and down the block, to the subway station. Back at the lab, one of the lab techs accessed Lindsay's MetroCard usage only to find out that she'd never made it back to the subway. So they'd gone back and traced her steps, knocking on doors where they could to see if anyone had seen anything. There were no 24 hour diners nearby, no all night movie theaters.

They'd found nothing.

Her cell rang and she pulled it out, grateful to see Mac had called her back. "You have something?" she asked, without preamble.

"No, I was just calling to see—but you would have called if you had found her." Mac's answer was short, clipped—frustrated. He'd been checking with local stations, cab companies, the hospitals, anywhere Lindsay could have been taken if something happened.

"How's Danny?"

Stella looked over at him, watched as his lips parted. He was thinking, not coming up with answers. It was a look she'd seen before.

"We've got to find her Mac." she said, in place of an answer.

Stella disconnected and walked over. Flack looked up at her, his face grim. Danny didn't move. She sat and slid her arm around him. "I'm so sorry, Danny."

"What? That you sent her home early just so she could see Kaley?" Danny closed his eyes. "She's … somewhere."

Stella nodded, but they both new the statistics, had both worked missing persons cases from the other end. She wasn't even really missing yet. Stella glanced at her watch.

"9 and a half hours."

"What?"

"Lindsay walked away from here just under ten hours ago."

.

Danny looked at his watch as well, noted the time. Just passed three a.m. It had been just less than 12 hours since she'd left home. He could still see her face as she leaned over him, saying goodbye to Kaley. Her hair falling around her face.

Mommy loves you.

His mom had come over to watch Kaley when he'd come in, which made him think of Lindsay's family. "I need to call her parents. Do I need to call her parents? I—"

His phone rang, breaking his thoughts. It was Lindsay's tone, the pne he reserved for her. He jerked out his phone, flipped it open as he let out a nervous laugh. "Lindsay—where the—"

"She's ready."

"What? I don't—" but there was nothing but silence on the other end.

"What is it Dan?"

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared down at the screen.

"It was some guy. He said ..." Danny felt his breath leave him. "She's ready."

Flack glanced at the phone. "He didn't hang up."

"I'll call it in," Stella pulled out her own phone, "get a trace on it."

It took them twenty minutes. Twenty precious minutes that felt like hours. Danny expected an abandoned building, a warehouse.

Instead they ended up in central park west, outside what had to of been a million dollar ground level suite. Danny let them push him back, but he stood behind Flack, his weapon raised.

Flack yelled out the warning, even as he turned the knob.

The door opened easily.

They swung in, ready.

"Danny."

Danny came around the corner and felt his breath leave his lungs. There she was, seated on the floor, her hands tied behind her back.

"Lindsay—" he rushed around Flack and Mac, and dropped to his knees front of her, set his gun to the side, even as he reached for her.

She had yet to look at him.

He placed a hand gently on either side of her face and brought it up to look at him. He searched her brown eyes. "Lindsay," he whispered. "Everything's going to be okay. Look at me, baby. Everything's going to be okay."

But as she stared at him, the look in her eyes was blank, distant.

He wasn't even sure if she saw him. If she even registered that he was there.

And then he saw it, the words printed in black ink across her forehead.

Message received.

Author's note: Okay … it's bad, I know. But there's a plan. I think. And if you would write a review, I might be inspired a little sooner … :p I can't promise anything though. This week's going to be crazy! But reviews might help. :p

Another note: This chapter was originally going to be called 10 hours. I kind of knew where I was going to get to this point, and when I realized when I read the name I saved it under "Ten4" that it was like the police code 10-4, which means "message received." Then, knew I had to get to this point and the name of the chapter was changed. Of course, you don't know what I know. Or what Lindsay knows.

Anyway, the 10-4 … How cool is that? Okay, so maybe you can't celebrate with me yet—and I suppose you really shouldn't. :p