"Professor Eppes."

Charlie nodded at the suit-clad man standing outside his office the next morning. "My brother sent you?"

"Agent Robert Watkins," he introduced as he shook Charlie's hand. "Call me Bob."

"How long are you stuck on babysitting duty, Bob?"

"Oh no, Professor," he said, shaking his head and smiling. "I've heard all about your consulting with the FBI. I'm happy I finally get to meet you."

Charlie's face brightened at the sincerity in the other man's words. "In that case you can call me Charlie." He unlocked the door – having locked it the previous night just to please his brother – and ushered the agent inside. "I only have one afternoon class today so I'm afraid you're in for hours of watching me work on my research."

"Hey, any day I don't get shot at or have to go after dangerous criminals is a good one." He dropped into an empty chair and smiled. "Maybe I can even learn a thing or two about math." As he watched the professor pull out a chalkboard covered in complex equations, his face creased into a frown. "Maybe not."

The younger man chuckled as he moved to a bookshelf and ran his fingers along the spines of the books. He stopped, removed a brightly-colored paperback and handed to the agent. "Kind of a lay person's guide to interesting math facts. Even Don liked that one."

"Thanks, Charlie." Bob flipped the book open and began reading the first page only to look up sharply as the professor's cell shrilled. "Who is it?" he asked as he peered over the top of his book.

"It's Don," Charlie told him. "Hey, bro."

"Take the book back."

"What?"

"Every time you spend more than an hour with one of my agents, the next thing I know they're carrying around their own copy so they can finish reading it in their spare time."

"I'm spreading a love of math," Charlie protested. "How is that bad?"

"Because he's there to watch you and keep you safe," Don shot back, frustration apparent in his voice. "How's he going to do that if he's wrapped up in a book?"

"Fine, I'll take it back."

"Thank you. I don't suppose you got any calls from Grayson last night or early this morning?"

"No," Charlie replied, quickly adding "And yes – I'd tell you if I had." He took his brother's silence as doubt and scowled. "When exactly did you stop trusting me, Don?"

"Never," the other man said. "I just… I know you'd do anything for your students. That's not normally a bad thing but in this case… I need to know that you're going to stay safe, Buddy."

His brother's obvious worry set off a wave of guilt and Charlie took a deep breath to calm himself. "I will, Don. I promise."

"Thank you. Look, Coop and I are going to check out a couple-"

"Coop?" Charlie interrupted. "I thought he'd been shot?"

"He was but they released him."

"And he's working in the field again? Don, are you sure he can watch your back?"

"He used to do it a long time ago," the agent reminded him. "And I still trust him to do so now."

"But if he's not one hundred percent…"

"Relax, Charlie. Coop's a tough guy. We'll both be fine."

"Okay," Charlie agreed, although he felt anything but easy about the whole situation. "See you tonight for dinner?"

"Depends on how the search goes. Look… I have to run but I'll check in with you later."

"Bye," Charlie said, but his brother had already disconnected. He turned to Bob and shrugged sheepishly. "Um, Don says no reading while on duty."

The agent let out a loud laugh and shook his head as he handed the book back. "That brother of yours has got some kind of sixth sense, doesn't he?"

"I sure hope so," Charlie muttered to himself.

--

"I think I remember why I quit fugitive recovery," Don sighed as he and Coop sat in his black SUV across the street from a rundown bodega.

"The ninety-nine percent boredom followed by one percent sheer…" Coop grinned widely. "Fun?"

"Have you gotten that much crazier?" Don asked as he shook his head and fought back a grin. "Or have I gotten that much saner?"

"Little of both, I imagine." The redhead peered through his scope at the entrance of the building, searching the throngs of milling gang members for the face of the small-time dealer they were after. "We're only halfway through the list. You gotta give it some time."

"Hard to be patient when I know there's even a slight chance someone might go after my brother."

"You've got one of your best agents on him, Don. Just relax and let's worry about our thing. If Hernandez doesn't show in the next twenty or so we'll go on to the next contact."

"How do you know he didn't already load up on weapons and supplies before he got to LA?"

"Sammy's not exactly a 'forward thinking' person. My money says he hauled butt out here and then worried about how he was going to go about contacting his brother and getting his money."

Don raised an eyebrow as he watched two gang members get into a fist fight over a bottle of soda. "And if you're wrong?"

"Hey, I go with my gut," Coop reminded his old partner. "It's never failed me before."

Don eyed his friend's injured shoulder – the sling conspicuously absent so as not to show 'an obvious weakness'. "Except maybe in an alley a couple of nights ago?"

Coop lowered the scope and gave Don a hard look. "Somebody's cranky today. What gives, Eppes?"

"Nothing," Don shrugged, irritation written across his features. He shifted in his seat and fixed Coop with an intense look. "No, I take that back. What's bugging me is the fact that you could have come to me and we could have gone to Charlie to start with. He'd have gotten Grayson to talk to us and who knows? You might not have gotten shot and you might be on your way home now, Sammy in tow."

"I am sorry I didn't come to you first, Don. I mean that. Your brother… I never could get an accurate read on him."

"Let me save you the trouble," Don snapped. "He's a good guy… a consultant for the FBI… one of us."

The redhead rolled his eyes and studied the bodega again. "Fine, you've made me a believer."

After an eternity of tense silence, Don blew out a deep breath. "It's been thirty minutes; he's not going to show."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Coop tucked away his scope and pulled out their list of weapons dealers. "Let's go visit Mister Albert Jolly."

--

Charlie finished writing out his class notes and powered down his laptop, looking up at Bob who was staring through the sunlit window. He grinned slightly, thinking of how boring his life might seem to someone used to so much fast-paced excitement. "Boredom setting in?"

Bob turned to him with an embarrassed look on his face. "No offense, Charlie, but… yeah – a little."

"None taken, Bob. I've consulted on enough cases for my brother to know what your life must usually be like. What say I make up for it by taking you to lunch?"

The agent frowned. "I don't know about any off-campus trips. It'd be a lot more difficult to keep an eye on everyone around us."

"How about the cafeteria then? It's really dead this late in the day but the food is usually still edible."

"With high praise like that how could I possibly say no?"

Charlie grinned. "I'll tell you what to avoid." His cell phone vibrated, indicating he'd received a text message. He flipped open his phone and frowned at the unfamiliar number. As he pulled the message up, his heart skipped a beat. He read the words a second time – and then a third – but there was no mistaking who had sent it or the desperation it conveyed.

"Charlie?"

The professor's mind raced. I should tell him about the message – let him read it and decide what to do. But… He schooled his features and looked at Bob. "This is the second time this week," he snapped as he deleted the text message.

"What is?"

"They've called a last-minute committee meeting. Is it really too much to ask that they give me a few minutes notice?" Charlie shook his head and smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid lunch will have to wait. I have to report to Professor Finch's office right away. I know you're supposed to keep an eye on me but I can assure you that Millie can scare the worst bad guys off without even breaking a sweat."

"That nice of a boss, huh?" Bob asked through his laughter. "You're right though, Charlie. I still need to accompany you."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the professor remarked as he stuffed his laptop into its case and threw the strap over his shoulder. "I need to make a stop at the little boy's room."

The agent followed him out of the office and down the hallway until Charlie pointed to the restroom door. Bob placed a hand on Charlie's arm and shook his head. "Let me check it out first." Charlie stepped back and waited until Bob had checked the three stalls in the small first floor bathroom. "Okay, you can go in now."

Charlie stepped through and glanced over his shoulder. "Um… do you mind waiting outside?"

"Why?" Bob inquired, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I can't believe I'm doing this, the smaller man thought as he blushed and ducked his head. "I never liked to shower in the locker room, either."

"Oh," Bob said knowingly. "Sure, Charlie. I'll be right outside."

Once the agent let the door close behind him, Charlie moved to the window and forced the rusty hinges to move, thankful when they didn't creak too loudly. He stuck his head through the opening and gauged the distance to the ground. Confident he could make the short drop without hurting himself, he turned on the water and called, "Almost done, Bob."

"Take your time," the agent's muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door.

I'm sorry for whatever my brother does to you, Charlie silently apologized. But I can't believe that Don is right about Grayson. I have to give him a chance to explain things. The professor sat on the ledge and swung his feet through the window. He took a deep breath and pushed himself forward, landing hard but steady on the ground. He slung his bag on his shoulder and took off through campus at a brisk trot, his mind replaying the short message over and over in his head.

Professor. Need help – don't know what to do. Think you'd understand – brother problems. Off-campus meeting spot – just us. PLEASE COME.

I'm coming, Grayson, Charlie silently chanted as he hopped onto a city bus.

He never saw the man who cautiously pursued him through campus to the bus stop, scowling when he failed to get on the bus after Charlie. Nor did he see when that same man pulled out a cell phone and made a quick call, his features lighting up in a dangerous smile.