"Finally," Don muttered as they pulled in front of the low-end apartment building that acted as Albert Jolly's office. "I was beginning to think we weren't going to find anyone today."

"Doesn't look like business is particularly booming," Coop remarked. "Might be a little easier to bribe some information out of him."

"If he's seen Sammy."

"Or if he's heard anything around town. Come on, Eppes – where's that optimist I used to know?" Coop winked and exited the vehicle, leading the way as he and Don approached a young man in his mid-twenties wearing a Dodgers cap turned backwards on his shaved head. "Albert Jolly," Coop greeted with a nod.

"Don't know any 'Albert Jolly'," the young man shrugged.

"Really?" Don inquired. "That's funny because we have his mug shot right here…" He flashed a picture at the young man. "You must be his twin brother."

"Only child, sir," he shot back, sneering with the last word.

"We heard this is where he likes to hang out," Coop said as he sat on the step next to the young man. "You know – do his business."

Don glanced around at the deserted area. "If you can call this 'business'. Things seem pretty slow today."

"I imagine they'll stay that way with two FBI agents sitting on your stoop." Coop made a show of yawning and stretching as he leaned back to make himself comfortable. "Of course I could use a nice, slow, relaxing day. How about you?"

Don smiled and sat on the young man's other side. "Sounds great."

"Come on," the other man groaned. "You can't be doing this. Don't you need like probable cause or something?"

"To sit and wait for Mister Jolly?" Coop grinned. "Nah, we can take our time. Unless of course you know where we can find him."

The man between the agents scowled and flipped his hat around. "What you be wanting ol' Albert for?"

"Little Q and A session," Don replied.

"What's in it for Albert?"

Coop dug out his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. "A little civic appreciation."

"Then you going to get off my stoop?"

"Faster than you can say 'parole'," Coop promised.

The young man sighed and grabbed the bills out of the agent's hand. "So Mister Jolly's in now. What do you need to know?"

"Have you seen this guy around?" Coop asked as he held out a photo of Sammy Holloway.

Albert made a point of studying the mug shot before handing it back. "May look a little familiar. Not like I done no business with him though."

"Who has?"

"What am I, 4-1-1? How am I supposed to know?"

"Your stoop, your block, your business. If he was just passing through, whose neighborhood would be next?"

Jolly flipped his cap backwards again and shook his head. "I ain't saying I know nothing for sure, but I might have a suspicion or two."

Don and Coop waited while Albert studied the sidewalk. Don finally leaned in close and whispered "We got all day, remember?"

"This is harassment," Jolly spat, his eyes scanning the street before he spoke again. "And that better be what you say if anyone asks, okay?"

"Scout's honor," Coop vowed.

"A couple of blocks over there's a bunch of old crack houses," the young man said as he gestured down the street. "They've been raided so many times that most of the junkies have moved on. Anyway, there's this one guy who likes to deal from the biggest one over there. I keep telling him he's going to get busted but he's a stubborn fool."

"Name?" Don prodded.

"Jay, Joe… something like that. This guy you're looking for was making a bee-line for that place a couple of nights ago. Word was he was looking for weapons and ammo and a place to hide out."

"Is Jay-Joe in the office today?" Coop asked.

"I ain't seen him yet but he usually shows up when the sun starts to go down. Cockroaches are like that, you know." Albert cackled at his own joke.

"Takes one to know one," Coop retorted as he and Don stood up. "Thanks for your civic-mindedness, Mister Jolly."

As they walked away, Don glanced at his friend. "You want to check the place out or set up surveillance and wait until he shows?"

Coop checked his watch and then the waning afternoon sunlight. "Let's sit on it and wait. We'll surprise him as soon as he shows."

Don nodded as his cell rang. "Eppes."

"This is Watkins," a nervous voice said. "Your brother… Charlie… he…"

Don stopped walking as his heart seized in his chest. "He what?"

"He gave me the slip, sir."

"He what?"

"We were getting along just fine and then he got this text message about some staff meeting. I was going with him but he said he had to stop at the restroom. I checked it out – no one was inside – and he went in."

"Did he just vanish in front of your eyes?" Don demanded.

"He seemed embarrassed to have another guy in there so I told him I'd wait outside."

Don rolled his eyes and cursed the genius' cleverness. "So you left my brother unguarded? What in the hell were you thinking?"

"I was trying to be understanding, sir."

"That wasn't your job, Watkins!" Don took a deep breath and composed himself. "Are there any signs of a struggle?"

"No, and… well… I think your brother went of his own free will. I mean… I don't think anyone was with him. See, the bathroom window was locked from the inside – I made sure of that when I checked it out – and I was guarding the only door. Charlie opened the window and climbed out. There was only one set of shoeprints in the flowerbed under the window."

Damn it, Charlie! Don growled silently. I swear once I get you back safe and sound, I'm going to hurt you. "I don't suppose you looked at this text message?" He took the other man's silence as a negative. "Put a trace on his cell. If he uses it again maybe we can get an idea of where he's headed."

"On it."

"Then round up all of the students that were in Charlie's class with Grayson Holloway. See if they have any idea where he might like to hang out or anywhere Charlie might have gone with him for off-campus study sessions."

"Yes sir."

Don angrily flipped his phone shut and looked at Coop.

"Charlie ran?" his old partner asked, a hint of 'I-told-you-so' in his voice.

"Don't start with me, Coop," Don warned as they reached the SUV. "Charlie didn't run off so he could aid and abet some fugitive and his brother."

"No, of course not. He probably had some top secret math conference-"

Don slammed his former partner against the side of the vehicle and leaned in until they were nose to nose. "Listen to me very carefully. My brother may have made a boneheaded decision but I assure you it was in the best interest of helping out someone he believes is a good kid. And that is the assumption that we are going to work with until we find out anything for certain. Are we clear?"

Coop shoved Don back a step, fighting back a wince at the twinge of pain in his shoulder. "As long as you realize that if Charlie is helping them out, he's going to have to answer for it when we find him."

The two men eyed each other in silence and Don realized that he had changed a lot over the past few years. He'd learned to trust people – family, friends, his team – while Coop still had the old hunter mentality of trusting only himself. He found himself wishing that his old partner had never called him and dropped this little mess in his lap and that, once they were done with the hunt, Coop would never came back into his life.

"Let's just put this behind us for now and set up surveillance on the crack house," Don offered.

"You don't want your team looking for Charlie?"

"It's not that I think he's guilty of anything," Don hissed. "But he left of his own free will – he wasn't kidnapped and he hasn't done anything illegal. I can't very well authorize extra manpower to look for him, now can I?"

"But since Watkins was already assigned to watch your brother…" Coop thought aloud. Realizing his friend was trying to make what he thought was the right call – no matter how much Billy disagreed with it – he held out his hand as a peace offering. "Makes sense, Don."

The other man shook his hand and smiled faintly. "Let's go find Sammy so we can move on."

As the two men climbed into the SUV and disappeared down the street, Albert Jolly – who had been a witness to their argument – pulled out his cell and piece of paper with a number on it. Once he'd placed the call and relayed his information, he disconnected and grinned to himself. The money the Fed had given him was chump change in comparison to what he'd just earned with one phone call.

--

Charlie climbed off the bus and began the long walk to the deserted pier under which he and Grayson had spent so many afternoons going over various lessons. For a boy from the Midwest, Grayson had a love of the water the likes of which Charlie had never seen. He would watch in wonder as his student waded knee-deep in the ocean while reciting numerous theorems and thinking through problems out loud. He always seemed to remember the lessons better if he was actually in the water while studying. Charlie knew a lot of teachers would think he was crazy to go to such lengths for one student but he firmly believed that Grayson was a gifted young man, capable of wonderful things with a patient and understanding teacher.

Now though, as he approached the deserted pier in the waning light of the day, he wondered if he had made the right decision to come here alone. Charlie briefly thought of stopping where he was and calling Don to come help but the idea of his brother interrogating and possibly arresting his student made Charlie cringe. Although he didn't know all the details, he suspected Grayson's childhood hadn't been a picnic and he was reluctant to subject the young man to any treatment that might destroy their student-teacher bond. No, I'll just talk to him first and see what's going on. Then I can call Don if the situation warrants.

Charlie took a deep breath and continued toward the abandoned pier, squinting against the shadowy area beneath the aging wood. He didn't see any sign of Grayson in their normal spot – the fourth support beam from the left – so he slowed his pace, his eyes scanning back and forth looking for any signs of his student's presence. He'd just stepped under the pier when he heard a rustling noise behind him followed by something cool and metallic pressing against his neck. He froze, his heart hammering in his chest, and slowly lifted his arms. "Grayson?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"You came alone? No one knows where you are?"

"Yes, alone. No, I didn't tell anyone where I was going." Charlie mentally kicked himself as the words left his mouth. If he does want to hurt you, now he knows he's free to. No, stop it. Grayson's not like that. Of course he does have a gun pressed to your neck…

"The safety's on," Grayson said as if he could read Charlie's thoughts. He lowered the weapon and patted the professor's shoulder. "I just… My life is screwed up, Professor. I could really use your help."

Charlie slowly turned around, shocked at the weary expression on the younger man's face. "My God, Grayson… You look terrible."

"Then I look a little better than I feel." He gestured to the weapon in his hand. "Sorry about that but I had to make sure you came alone. It's not safe out there."

"You're scared for your life?" Charlie inquired.

"Not mine – yours. My brother seems to think he can use you to get me to do what he wants."

"What?"

A loud sound above them on the pier drew Grayson's attention and he quickly raised the gun as he peered through the wooden planks. Charlie looked up too and saw the outline of an empty beer bottle as it rolled along the aged wood. "There's no one there."

"Not yet." Grayson stood up and grabbed Charlie's elbow. "Come on, I don't think it's safe here any more."

"Wait," the professor protested as he tried to yank his arm away. "We can call my brother. He can help us."

"No! He'll try to throw my brother back in prison!"

"He is an escaped fugitive, Grayson."

The young man shook his head and tightened his grip on Charlie's arm. "No, I can't let him go back. I… I had a plan, you know."

"You helped him escape?"

"Of course not! Look – we need to go now. It's not safe here."

"Grayson," Charlie said in his firmest voice. "I'm not going anywhere until I call Don." His eyes widened as his student raised the gun, removed the safety and pointed it at his head. "What…?"

"I like you a lot, Professor. You've helped me more than anyone else ever has to make something of myself. But I love my brother, no matter what he might have done. Like versus love – do the math."

Charlie again raised his hands in surrender and nodded. "Sure, Grayson. Whatever you say. We can go."

The young man reached out and grabbed Charlie's cell, tossing it several feet away into the sand. "Sorry, but I can't risk you calling someone or someone trying to trace your location." He relaxed his grip on the weapon and tugged on Charlie's elbow. "Come on, my ride's just up the hill."

--

Don slowly sipped his cup of coffee as he and Coop watched the crack house. He longed for the feel of caffeine racing through his system, keeping his mind and senses wide awake and on full alert, but he knew all too well the drawbacks of consuming too much coffee on a stakeout. Coop was nudging his hand with a cardboard box and Don almost laughed out loud when he saw the contents. "You've got to be kidding me."

"God's perfect food," Coop told him. "Besides, we have a stereotype to live up to."

Don shook his head as he grabbed one of the doughnuts and took a large bite. He immediately frowned. "Good God, Coop. How long have you had those things?"

"Sell by…" he read aloud, suddenly frowning and tossing the box in the back. "Well, that's just a recommendation anyway."

Don spat the rest of the pastry out and glared at his old partner. "I don't know what's liable to get you first – an angry fugitive or food poisoning."

"I'll take the fugitive any day." Coop nodded as a beat up Ford Bronco pulled into the crack house's yard. "Speaking of…" A man whose features were concealed by a large sweatshirt jacket emerged from the old truck and stealthily slipped into the house.

"I see him." Don checked his weapon, making sure he had a round chambered and the safety was off. "How do you want to do this? Straight-up burst through the front door or one on the front and one on the back?"

"We could pretend to be buyers."

"He'll smell cop on us from a mile away."

"Maybe you," Coop countered. "I can pass. You can cover my six."

"Sounds too dangerous," Don argued. "Let's just both go through the front door. There's only one of him to two of us – we've got the numbers advantage."

Coop sighed and held up his hands in defeat. "Fine. Front door it is." He awkwardly readied his weapon, his one shoulder hampering his abilities, and nodded to Don. "Let's go."

The two agents sprinted for the house, staying low and using small trees and overgrown shrubbery as cover, until they reached the front porch. Don climbed up the stairs first and crouched by the door as Coop made his way to the other side. Don peeked through the dimly lit window but could see no sign of the suspect. He gestured at Coop who looked through the window on his side of the door before dropping back down and nodding.

'Room to the right,' he mouthed to Don. 'Seated at a desk.'

The other agent signaled he would go high and Coop would stay low on three. When the redhead indicated he was ready, Don counted down on his fingers. When he lowered his last finger the two men kicked open the door and identified themselves. They did a cursory scan of the front area before homing in on the room with the desk. The suspect's profile was still visible and they quickly rushed into the room.

"FBI!" Don announced again, his adrenaline rushing as the figure in the chair didn't move. "Show me your hands!"

Coop crept around to the other side until he could see the face of the man in the chair. He looked up at Don and frowned. "This guy's dead."

"What the-"

A metallic canister flew into the room and before either man could react, it detonated with a loud boom and a blinding flash of light. Both agents hit the floor, stunned by the concussion wave and the overwhelming of their senses. Something heavy slammed into Don's head and he immediately lost consciousness.

Coop heard the noises coming from his friend's direction and tried to go to him but was halted by a swift kick to the ribs that left him winded and gasping in pain.

"I should kill you," an angry voice hissed in his ear. "But lucky for you I need you to deliver a message. Go back to your FBI friends and let them know that my brother had nothing to do with my escape. He's innocent – so stop hounding him or else you'll never see your little friend here again."

"Don," Coop managed to rasp.

"Deliver the message, Agent Cooper."

A kick to the head sent stars dancing across Coop's vision and rendered his muscles useless. He could only lie and watch as Sammy Holloway gathered Don in a fireman's carry and fled from the house.

TBC