"Jack, Jeff will be back any minute,"Prescott began.

"One of you should have got me up," McCoy snapped as he reached for his all weather jacket. "Why the hell did you let me sleep when police called? I know you still love her,Sam. I know you never wanted her to marry me, but that doesn't give you the right to come up here and-"

"You're not going to help her acting like an ass," Prescott snapped back, equally frustrated.

The three men had been on the sofa when Chief Inspector Laurent called an hour earlier. McCoy's body had reluntantly given into fatigue; his head rested on the arm of the sofa. Collins and Prescott sat silently finishing the last of the scotch.

Prescott's mind had been on his own wedding day, when the phone jarred the two back to life. Collin reached the receiver before the first ring had finished. After a whispered exchange, Collins hung up the receiver and motioned for Prescott to join him in the bathroom.

"They found the delivery van,"Collins said as he closed the door."Brooke wasn't in it. Laurent says they found it in a parking garage not far from here, as well as a pair of women's shoes, about fifty feet from the van."

"Then let's stop talkin' and get Jack."

Collins shook his head.

"Jack's not going to be of any help with this," Collins said candidly. "The ring, the note, now this, he's just going to be one step closer to falling apart himself. I think I should go find out what Laurent's men find and you should keep an eye on Jack until I return."

"No way in hell-"

"Sam, you both have too much invested here. She was your wife. You have to be as distraught as Jack is," Collins continued."I mean, you jump on a plane as soon as you here she's ..."

"My feelin's for my ex wife are not the issue here," Prescott retorted stubbornly.

"They are not. But your ability to be objective and helpful with the police are," Collins said bluntly."You and Jack will be in the way and that will slow the police down in doing their job. It will slow them down in being able to bring Brooke back."

Prescott opened his mouth to continue the debate. His words failed to come out of his mouth when the waterfall shower caught his eye. His jaw dropped and he could hear his own sharp intake of air.

He immediately knew why McCoy had chosen to take Malinowski there. Why the Irishman had booked this particular suite.

Prescott remembered his own plans to for fill his former wife's fantasy. He had planned to take her to Hawaii after the Valenski trial was over. Prescott had planned on returning the travel agents call to finalize the details for the trip once court was over, the day he'd been shot. The day this life took a fateful, unexpected detour, into the world of witness protection...

"Jack, I put her in jeopardy myself," Prescott said quietly, as he put himself between the door and McCoy. "This isn't your fault. You have to step back and let the police do their job if you want them to bring her back to us."

The two men's eyes met in silent understanding.

"You kept her safe when you left by leaving her, Sam," McCoy said bluntly."We both know what that note was about…as well the ring being sent to me…this is personal. This is about revenge for what I did in the Rostov case."

Prescott took a deep breath as he scratched his ear. When McCoy had returned to the room, he had informed Collins and Prescott that the engagement ring was indeed Malinowski's and a note had accompanied it.

The note had contained three words. Collins had immediately recognized it as Russian and had called a friend at the Russian consulate for a quick translation. The note read 'what for what', the Russian equivalent for quid pro quo.

It was a message Prescott himself had received during the Valenski trial. Both he and McCoy understood the unspoken message immediately.

"God help her, it is Rostov," McCoy whispered as the color drained from his face.

"You and both know safety is an illusion Jack," Prescott said sadly."My leaving made her less of a target for one gangster. As an ADA, Brooke knew it would be just a matter of time before she was in someone else's sites. It's not like the woman is prosecuting E felonies. Even if it is this Rostov, it could have just as easily been someone she herself had put in prison."

McCoy knew Prescott was trying to be civil, to go easy on him; God only knew why. He remembered Malinowski making an offhanded remark about her ex husband's tell tale sign of dishonesty; recognizing it as soon as the man put a hand to his ear.

Too weary and anxious to call the other man on his attempt at deception, McCoy started to turned towards the window, when the door opened.

"Both of you grab a bag," Collins snapped as he reached for one of the suitcases by the door."The next flight to Manhattan leaves in ninety minutes and we need to be on it."

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As the car raced across the border back into the United States, Malinowski fought to keep her nausea in check. Tied up and gagged in the truck, she remembered McCoy telling her about the untimely death of his young assistant, Alexandra Borgia. She recalled how horrified she'd been to hear how the ADA had met her death by gagging on her own vomit. Feeling the effects of too much chloroform and not eating for more than twelve hours, she swore she wasn't going to allow herself to meet the same fate.

At the motel she had been allowed to use the bathroom briefly. It had taken little time to realize an escape attempt would be futile. The bathroom window was too small for even a toddler to get out of. The window also looked out on a deserted alley far from anyone who might remotely have a chance of hearing her scream.

When she looked around the tiny room for a weapon of any kind, she could see her captors had anticipated her thoughts. The towel rack had been removed, as had any glassware that may have been left in the room. On the bathroom counter were only a wash cloth and a tiny bar of soap. Even the mouthwash and toothpaste had been removed.

She took the opportunity to use the toilet and gingerly washed her face, after quickly massaging her wrists and ankles. She gulped down handfulls of tap water. Briefly, she entertained the idea of using the soap to leave a message on the plate glass mirror, but remembering the earlier warning, thought better of it.

Instead, she took the miniature bar and knelt under the countertop. She knew if the police were able to find the room, the CSU would scour the place – it would be unlikely they would overlook the bottom of a counter top. Quickly, she wrote 'Rostov' and the date and time.

Hearing footsteps approaching, she tossed the soap in the sink and wiped her hands on the damp cloth. It took a few seconds for the chair holding the door closed to be removed. The man she had recognized from Becky's hotel room door, roughly reached for her shoulders to lead her back to the bed.

His partner stood by the door holding a gun that was pointed at her.

"Hold out your arms," the gunman commanded as the other man picked up the discarded telephone cord.

Wordlessly, Malinowski did as she was told.

"Now, your legs," the gunman said a few minutes later, nodding approvingly."You seem to learn quickly. This is good. Less trouble for us, less trouble for you."

The more she heard the men speak, the more certain she was they had learned their English somewhere in the east. The intonation, the mixture of accents, reminded her of speech patterns she'd heard from first generation immigrants before.

Submissively, she nodded while she watched the other man bind her legs. She focused her eyes on the cut on one of the man's fingers, as she raised her hands.

"You may speak," the gunman said with amusement.

Choosing her words carefully, Malinowski looked back at the gun man. Of the two he'd had shown himself to be the most violent, so far. Based on the conversations she had overheard, he also appeared to be the one in charge, the one with the most intelligence and control.

"Without telling me any unhealthy details, will you tell me why I'm here?"

Malinowski waited as the two men exchanged satisfied looks while they spoke in Russian. She hoped appearing clueless would confirm to the men that she had indeed been unconscious throughout most of the journey. If she could convince them she had no idea what their plans had been, she hoped her feigned ignorance would buy her time.

"You seem to have some knowledge of how these … situations… work," he said at last, "why is that?"

Score one, she thought smugly. Although he still didn't seem to know who she was, it was just a matter of time before that changed. She and McCoy had just applied for a marriage license. That was public record any reporter working the crime beat would check once s/he started connecting the dots, once word of a kidnapping the day an American DA who was to be married got out.

Now, she had a chance to make them think they had tricked her into giving something away, something she knew the Canadian version of The Ledger would do before morning.

"You know I'm an assistant district attorney," she said matter of factly."I've had cases like this. Am I here because of one of those cases? If so, is there any chance we can make some sort of deal, before things go any further?"