Here's part 6. Enjoy, and keep that lovely feedback coming!

Chapter 6

Sunday, October 9, 2011
12:01 a.m.

After a fitful sleep, Robin woke up feeling even more tired than before. The day's events and emotions had left her exhausted, and she'd all but collapsed on her mother's shoulder as they sat together on the sofa at the Eppes house. She hadn't quite fallen deeply asleep enough to have actual dreams, but rather her mind had conjured up some strange random images, mostly of Don and what could be happening to him.

She couldn't believe this could be happening. To Don, of all people. Hadn't he been through enough? He'd been stabbed and had nearly died; surely that was enough trauma to last a life time. But it had only been two years since that had happened. And selfishly she wondered, what about her? Hadn't she been through enough? She'd already done this once before—this terrible waiting game that kept her stomach in knots, waiting for some news, any news, on the well-being of the man she loved. Been there, done that.

Her mother had an arm around her shoulders as she sat silently with her head resting on the back of the couch. She looked over at her sister, passed out in the chair beside the couch. Her father was in the other chair, eyes glued to the television.

Where was Alan? He was nowhere in sight. She wanted to find him. At the moment, he was the only one who understood. He was her only lifeline to Don right now.

She leaned forward, peering into the dining room. No Alan.

"Where did Alan go?" she asked her parents.

"Oh, I don't know," her mother answered too casually, fueling a short burst of frustration in Robin. "I think he might have gone upstairs to change."

There was something in her mother's voice that made Robin angry. She was too relaxed about this . . . but there was something else—she seemed almost smug.

"Okay, just say it," Robin challenged. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father slowly turn his head towards them, listening closely. "Just say what you've probably wanted to say all day. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I should have found someone else, someone who's life was less likely to be in danger all the time, someone who has a safer job—then maybe this wouldn't have happened and I wouldn't have to go through this."

Her mother's face softened considerably. "Oh, Robin. I can't honestly tell you that the thought hadn't crossed my mind, but it's only because I hate to see you hurting like this. But I understand, I really do. Don's the one you love. Unfortunately I haven't gotten the chance to meet him yet, with everything that's happened, but from everything you've told me about him I know he's a wonderful person. I know he makes you so happy. And I know that he sounds like exactly the type of man I'd want for you."

Honestly, that was not at all what Robin was expecting her mother to say. She'd been ready for a fight. It was so cliché, but Robin's parents had made comments to her—some subtle, some less so—throughout her time with Don about how much nicer it would be if Don had a job with better hours, or one that wasn't so dangerous. She knew they secretly didn't really approve of her relationship with Don, and she figured what had happened today would have shown them a perfect of example of why they'd been right. She thought they'd be very subtly rubbing it in—not directly, no. That wasn't their way.

Instead, all she was hearing in her mother's voice was genuine compassion and sympathy. Her eyes welled with tears; slowly she turned her watery gaze towards her father.

He reached out, grabbing one of her hands in his. "Sweetheart, you've picked a good man for yourself. Now personally, I don't care who the guy is, I'd find something wrong with him no matter what. None of these guys are good enough for you."

Robin laughed a watery laugh. "Dad, you're such a typical dad."

Her father smiled. "I know. And I don't care. But the point is, your mother's right. Don does make you happy, and that counts for everything. I'm so sorry for what's happening, and it makes us sick to see you in this much pain. But if you love him enough that he's worth this kind of torment, then we have nothing negative to say about it."

"I do love him enough," Robin answered with a swallow. "If he were to walk through that door right now with some good reason why he wasn't there today, I'd first punch him in the face and then I'd marry him."

"Black eye and all, huh?" came Rachel's sleepy voice. "Those would be some good wedding pictures."

Robin laughed in spite of herself. Leave it to her sister to always come up with some witty remark and make her laugh even when she was at her lowest point.

Heavy footsteps stomped slowly down the stairs, and Alan eventually materialized into view.

"Alan, hey." Robin was relieved to see him. The conversation she'd just had with her parents made her feel better but Alan was still the only one who could really understand what she was going through right then.

Alan smiled warmly at her. "I was thinking about making some coffee," he announced. "If any of you would like some, I can make a lot."

Only Rachel declined, and Robin remembered her sister didn't drink coffee. Everyone else accepted, and Robin rose to her feet.

"Let me help you, Alan." She grabbed his arm and led him gently into the kitchen.

Once in the brighter light of the kitchen, Robin took a moment to carefully study Alan. His eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and his shoulders seemed more hunched than usual. He suddenly looked many years older.

Before Alan would even have a chance to realize what was happening, Robin pulled him into a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, returning it.

"Oh, Alan," she breathed. "He has to be okay, he just has to be."

"He will be," Alan answered. "I don't know what's happened to him, but he will be. He's got a whole team out there trying to find him, and they're making progress. They found his car. They're getting closer. He'll be okay, and they'll bring him home, and you two will get married."

She pulled apart and looked at him. She came into the kitchen with him to reassure him - well, at least that had been the plan once she'd discovered how fraught he looked - and practically before she began to say anything, he was reassuring her. How did he do that? It was his own son that was missing, and he was so calm.

It was something Don would do, she painfully realized. Alan staying calm and pushing back his own emotions in order to comfort her was exactly like Don. It must be in the genes. When Don did things like that, it sometimes really frustrated her. But here, with Alan, she really appreciated it. She swallowed hard.

"Of course, you're right," she agreed half-heartedly. "Don will be fine." She reached out a hand and rubbed Alan's arm. She looked at him in admiration—admiration for this man in front of her who managed to stay calm, cool, and collected in the ultimate stressful situation; admiration for this man who kept coming depressingly close to losing his own son; admiration for this man who was already like another father to her.

Alan smiled at her sadly and reached over to plug in the coffee maker. It was going to be a long night.

12:39 a.m.

"Hey, David!" a female voice called. David looked up to see Nikki practically running out of the elevator, waving a file. "David! Lab came back with the prints in Don's car." She skidded to a halt in front of her own desk, which David had unofficially commandeered for the evening.

He looked at her in eager anticipation.

Nikki threw the file down on the desk, open to face them.

"There were some prints in the backseat," she announced triumphantly. "Lab ran them through, and guess what? They belong to a security guard at UCLA Medical Center."

"What?" David interrupted, confused. "What would a hospital security guard want with Don?"

Nikki shrugged. "I don't know. His name's Ralph Shore. No criminal history."

"Well, there's got to be something," David said. "An honest security guard doesn't just up and decide to kidnap a federal agent for no reason. Let's check this guy out."

"What guy?" Charlie emerged suddenly from the War Room, dragging Amita behind him.

"Take a look," David handed the distraught genius the file. "This guy's fingerprints were all over the backseat of Don's SUV. Name's Ralph Shore. You know him?"

Charlie shook his head, not looking up from the file he was quickly scanning.

Nikki popped back up from the cubicle across the aisle. "Got it." They all looked at her expectantly. "Dude's got a brother who was into some pretty heavy drug dealin'. Or I should say he had a brother. Patrick Shore. Guy pulled out a gun during an FBI raid ten years ago in Albuquerque, then he took three rounds into the chest."

David's stomach flopped. "Let me guess . . ."

"Yep. Agent who pulled the trigger was Don."

Damn. Don was in some serious trouble. "So this guy's been holding a grudge for a decade now, and suddenly he wants revenge on the guy who killed his brother."

He noticed that Charlie looked weak beside him. David steered the younger man down to the chair at Nikki's desk.

"David," came a small, frightened whisper. "I've worked with the FBI long enough to know what this means. This guy's going to kill Don, isn't he? What are the chances he's even still alive?"

Words could not express how much David did not want to answer Charlie's question. Most revenge killings happened quickly. Don's car had been abandoned hours ago. Who knew where they went afterwards? Most likely, they were already wherever they were going. And most likely, Shore had already gone through and completed the deed.

The chances of Don being alive right now were discouragingly low, but that couldn't stop them.

"Charlie, we just have to do whatever we can do," David answered evasively. "Now tell me, is there any way you can use some of this information to tell us maybe where they went, or—you know, what about that escape radius thing you've done?"

Charlie sighed, standing up. "I don't know, David. I don't know if it can even be applied here. It's just—I mean . . ." he trailed off. He quickly glanced around the room before walking off towards the break room, leaving David standing there to stare concernedly after him.

David looked over to see Amita and Nikki watching Charlie with similar expressions.

"Amita," David said softly. He waited until she turned to look at him before continuing. "Do you think there's anything that can be done here?"

She thought for a moment before answering. "I don't know. We really still don't have a lot of data, but this is a lot more to work with than what we had before, so we could definitely try to figure something out. Charlie's right, an escape radius probably wouldn't work here, but we can probably think of something. I'll give Larry a call, maybe he can help."

"Okay," David agreed. "I'd really appreciate that, Amita. Charlie doesn't ever seem to have his head screwed on all the way in these situations."

"There's just been too many of them, you know?" Her lips thinned into a sad smile. David nodded at her, and she left to go follow Charlie.

David flopped down into the chair, resting his head in his hands. Amita was right. Bad things had happened way too many times around here. But all the stories had happy endings, although the chances of one here weren't good. There was no reason for Ralph Shore to be keeping Don alive unless he was on some strange, sadistic power trip. David knew deep in his heart that his former boss was most likely dead.

And of course, it didn't help that Shore had been acting fairly unpredictably. He'd been playing everything pretty smart so far - and yet he'd made such an obvious mistake by leaving his fingerprints in Don's SUV. Why had he made such an amateur mistake? It reminded David of some old saying among law enforcement officers about how it was easier for them to catch pros than amateurs.

He raised his head slightly to find Nikki staring at him silently. He ignored her, looking around the familiar office. Today was the first time he'd set foot in here in about a year and a half. It still looked exactly as he remembered it. He realized, with a pang of sadness, that if the situation weren't so dire he would feel maybe a little excited about being in this office. It still felt like his home turf, even after running his own team in a different office for eighteen months.

The people who worked here had been his best friends, and still were. David still kept in regular contact with all of his old teammates. They were like a second family to him. And now he was back in Los Angeles and he wasn't leaving until Don, one of his own family members, was found.

He almost laughed bitterly out loud at that thought. The chances of finding Don alive weren't good.

Didn't matter, he told himself. He had a job to do. And this case was a kidnapping case, not a murder case, and would be run as a kidnapping case until hard evidence told them otherwise. Time to get to work.

TBC