McCoy his sister and the two young women each a final hug before they followed the two uniformed officers out the door of his suite. McCoy turned to Collins, who had just flipped his cell phone closed, when Lindsay Malinowski ran back to him.

"Jack, please don't make me go," she said between sobs."I'll do whatever you want, if you let me stay until the police find Aunt Brooke."

"Honey, you know I can't," McCoy replied as calmly as he could."You know your father wants you on the first flight to Manhattan and he's right. Until we know what's happening, all of you need to be as far away from this as possible. You've given your statement to the detectives, if you think of something else your father knows can call them. There's nothing else you can do right now."

"But-"

"You know your Aunt would want me to keep you safe,' he said giving her another hug."As soon as we know anything, I'll call your father. Now, go on with Becky and Colleen. An officer will take you to your Father as soon as the plane lands."

As Lindsay started to protest once more McCoy's daughter stepped in, putting an arm around the teenager, her other arm around her father.

"I love you, Dad," she whispered. "I know they'll find her soon. Stop blaming yourself, it's not your fault."

"You know Becky's right," Collins said after the door closed. "It's not your fault, Jack. She's an assistant district attorney. You told me yourself Brooke and her ex husband ticked off both the Mexican and Russian mobs pretty good a few years ago. I'm sure she's had cases since then that..."

"She stopped carrying that gun because she knew how I felt about guns."

"Why would she carry a gun now? You told me yourself, she initally started carrying a gun out of fear of reliatation after she thought her husband was murdered. That threat is gone, isn't it? Besides Jack, even if she'd been armed, you have no way of knowing she'd of had a chance to draw her weapon, "Collins countered as he poured his friend a drink."Neither of you had anyway of anticipating this. Besides if you don't get a hold of yourself, you can't help find her."

"What did your friends at Interpol say," McCoy asked setting the glass on the table.

"They're in contact with Brooke's office. Her boss has given them the names of every defendant she's been in contact with in the last decade. They're trying to locate her ex-husband to see if he can be of any help, as well. Right now, they have the locals reviewing the security tapes in hotel and at the bridal shop Becky said they spent the morning in."

"Did you ask about Rostov?"

Collins nodded as he undid the bow tie around his neck.

"He's still sitting in his cell in Siberia. Interpol has asked the Russians for a copy of a list of his visitors, but for now, he seems secure enough."

McCoy shook his head in frustration. On one hand, he was more than relieved to know Rostov was where he was supposed to be. Although McCoy could easily think of a few dozen felons within a hundred miles of Manhattan who'd like to see him dead or at least suffering, Karl Rostov stood out in his mind as the person he'd most recently angered the most.

Even McCoy knew he'd crossed more than an ethical line, as he watched Andrei Karpovich's men from the KGB hustle Rostov into a waiting car. Although he never lost sleep knowing the man who had kidnapped and prostituted dozens of women from his own homeland was wasting away in a Russian prison, McCoy did lose sleep knowing the kind of vengeance a man like Rostov was capable of.

Although he was sure Malinowski knew about the case, he'd never talked to her about it. The only people he'd spoken to about it were Arthur Branch and his own daughter: Branch because he knew his conduct during the case could reflect on the then DA. His daughter, because Branch insisted he'd be a fool not to warn the woman closest to him to be on the lookout for anyone or anything unusual.

It was the excuse he used to set up the fateful dinner that brought his daughter back into his life.

"Jack, what is it about Rostov that bothers you," Collins started.

Both men looked towards the muffled shouting coming from the other side of the door. McCoy gave Collins a confused glare as he opened the door to find Sam Prescott on the other side, arguing with two uniformed officers.

"Jack, thank God," Prescott said, after McCoy reassured the officers."Andy called me. Brooke's missing? What the hell happened here and what are the Canadians doing about it? Her last big case was that Crawford mess and we both know Roberta Crawford doesn't the connections or the means to pull something like this off. "

McCoy ushered Prescott into the suite and made the introductions. Collins handed him a drink as the three men sat on the sofa.

"The Canadians are working with Interpol to find her," Collins interjected. "Jack tells me you and Brooke had bad blood with more than one mafia family. Do you think any of them could be ..."

Prescott shook his head impatiently.

"Jeff, I spent five years in witness protection because of Vladimir Valenski's threats. The man is dead now. His organization has gone through a major overhaul. The new hiearchy of the family would probably throw me a party for puttin' Vladmir behind bars. As for the Mexicans, they had their fun with Jack a few months ago. None of those guys would kidnap an American ADA on foreign soil."

"Then who the hell has her," McCoy said louder than he intended.

He rubbed his weary eyes, the new cufflinks sparkle catching his attention. Forever yours….

"Jack they're going to find her," Collins said as he squeezed his friends shoulder. "It shouldn't be much longer before the locals have something from the surveillance tapes. That'll give them a place to start."

"Mr. McCoy," one of the uniformed officers called as he opened the door. "Chef Inspector Laurent wants to see you downstairs."

After a heated but brief discussion, McCoy met the haggard looking Frenchman in the hotel manager's office. The manila envelope addressed to McCoy was covered with white residue from fingerprinting power.

"Monsieur McCoy this envelope arrived not more than an hour ago. Can you identify its contents for me, please?"

Mc Coy took the ring from Laurent's hand and stared down at it in horror.

"It's hers," he said as his voice broke."It's Brooke's engagement ring."

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When she opened her eyes, Malinowski found herself lying on a bed in a cheap motel; her hands and feet still tied, . Although her mouth was still duct taped shut, her eyes were unobstructed.

The room had all the usual fixtures of a road side motel: Bed, dresser, two chairs, and a table. The only thing that was missing was a phone. She stared at the empty phone jack, until it occurred to her it was the phone cord that was binding her arms together.

She strained her body to move into a sitting positionand looked across the room at mirror hanging on the wall. Even in the dim light of the single bedside lamp, she could see her face was a mass of black and blue blotches. As she studied her face, the reality of her situation took her hit her. She could feel her eyes well up, as her eyes fell on the bedside clock. The bright red numbers indicated it was nearly midnight.

By midnight she was supposed to be in a romantic lover's hideaway starting her honeymoon in the arms of her new husband.

She knew McCoy would be frantic. He'd be beside himself with worry and….knowing Jack…guilt. If she lived through the nightmare she was in, she knew her first words to him would have to be 'it wasn't your fault'…

If she lived through it…

She shook her head; trying to clear her mind and stop the tears she had no way of wiping from her face. She immediately regretted the sudden motion. The room spun, as a stabbing pain shot through her skull. The result of the lingering effects of the drug and battering her face had taken, hours before. She closed her eyes, feeling her stomach lurch as she sank back against the headboard.

You don't have time for this, she told herself impatiently. You have to stay calm…think….think about escape…holding on until Jack can find you ….everything else can wait… think like victims that survived…think like a survivor, Brooke, not a victim…

Suddenly she opened her eyes and brought the hands that were bound in front of her, to her head. Barely able to move her fingers, she caught hold of a few strands of hair and tugged. She knew wher ever they were, they probably wouldn't be there for long. It was a long shot but, she had to try. She had to try to leave some sort of trail in the hopes McCoy and the police would eventually find this room.

With a gag in her mouth, she could think of only two ways to leave a trail of her DNA for the police to follow.

As she let the hairs fall from her hand to the floor beside the bed, she heard the adjoining door open and immediately went limp, closing her eyes. She heard the voices of the two men from before, talking about dumping the delivery van and finding another car to use when they crossed the border.