First of all I would like to thank all of y'all that reviewed: I've never gotten so many for one chapter ever! I hope this chapter suits you all as well as the first. Keep 'em coming people…Please!

The next morning started early for Calleigh: 1:00 a.m. to be exact, when she was awakened by a bout of vomit. Rushing to the bathroom, she barely pulled her hair back in time before she emptied her stomach contents from the last forty-eight hours – which consisted of very little – into the toilet.

As she sat up slowly, trembling, her thoughts mercilessly landed once again on Eric. Pouring herself a glass of water, Calleigh couldn't help but feel some resentment towards him, reminiscing two nights previous when about this time she was experiencing same symptoms. True, he had held back her hair and soothed her as she threw up, but Calleigh couldn't believe that he had bought that flu crap. Perhaps it was unfair of her to think that, considering that they had tried to be as careful as possible, but she couldn't help it. Deep down, she had to admit that part of this was her fault. She had had the perfect opportunity to inform him of her suspicions, but she didn't; had lied to him as easily as he had lied to her.

After brushing her teeth, and as she was settling back into bed, a new thought struck her: Had she told him, would he be lying here beside her, his large bronze hand caressing her stomach rather than her small pale one? Would he be kissing her to sleep, rather than nursing his own wounds…wherever he was? For the countless time, Calleigh felt a couple of tears roll down her cheek before willing them away. For the sake of her child, this little being inside of her that she already loved beyond her own life, she had to remain healthy and at least somewhat relaxed. Pretending her own arms clasped around her midriff were Eric's, she snuggled into his pillow and attempted to sleep.

*****

The first peek of the sun's rays poked at the curtained windows of the van in which Eric was lying lifelessly in the back of. As he aroused sluggishly, a slow, yet very present, throbbing issued throughout his body. His brain would not cooperate in remembering the events leading up to this until he had regained full consciousness; all he remembered was a lot of pain, darkness, and now a sudden urge to escape from the musty back seat.

Which would be so much easier if not for the duct tape around his wrists, ankles, and mouth.

Suddenly his CSI instincts decided to kick in, and he began to search for some kind of sharp corner to break his confinements. His eyes scanned the area for a moment before he found what he was looking for. A jagged edge protruding near the door, which served an unknown purpose, was the perfect object. His first attempt to sit up fully was deterred by a shooting pain in his right tricep. He gasped and strained his head to look at the wound. Through his ripped shirt he could see welts and bruises which, he realized painfully, covered the vast majority of his body. Highly doubting that these were the cause of such pain he searched further up his arm to quickly find a gash about ¼ of an inch deep and three inches long. The memory of how he had obtained this injury, however, was pristine: Calleigh. Calleigh's bullet. He had been speeding away from the horrific scene when suddenly a bullet had whizzed through the windshield and grazed his arm. Eric had been sure that Calleigh had not meant to hit him, no matter how angry she was, and was positive when their eyes met. That look of disbelief, of shock, hurt more than the bullet had. It all had happened so fast, the next thing Eric knew he was crashing the little Audi in the middle of the Everglades at the sound of high-powered firearms and their bullets making loud "pings" ring off the silver car.

As he replayed the events sequentially in his head, new ones started to recur. There were three men, all at least five years younger than him and about fifteen pounds heavier in sheer muscle, which was saying something considering his toned physique. As he was thrown and bound in this very van, their intentions for him became clear. They wanted Horatio, plain and simple, but needed an insider, someone who already had his unwavering trust. Eric refused without hesitation. He couldn't do anything like that to anyone, much less Horatio, his friend, his brother…

This obviously hadn't settled well with the men. One beating and several insults later, they tried a different tactic. Two of the men were sitting in the back with him while the other drove…wherever they were going. One of them opened a briefcase and pulled out a photograph, one from a professional camera, but it was obviously unnoticed by the models: he and Calleigh. More specifically, he and Calleigh kissing outside of her front door. Eric remembered that night. He and Calleigh had gone to dinner and she was wearing one of those "little black dresses" that had his mouth watering for her the moment she had slipped it over her head. It had merely been a couple of nights ago, the same one when she had caught the flu.

Lost in his own world, he was brought out of it by the realization that these devils knew about their relationship. And if they had been watching very long, they knew that he would do anything for that woman. God, Calleigh. He prayed over and over that she was okay. Apparently he was so entranced by the thought of her safety that he failed to hear and therefore answer a question.

And now here he was, attempting one of the riskiest things of his life. This time, as he raised himself to a sitting position, he tried to put the majority of his weight on his left arm.

Right as he began to move to the pointed object, there was a loud snore that definitely didn't come from him. Straining his neck to see the front of the vehicle, Eric saw his captors resting beside boxes of guns that he couldn't identify off the top of his head. He knew enough about them, however, to know that he would not live to remember their official title if he was hit by one.

Mindful to move slowly so as not to rock the van, Eric scooted slowly to the object, trying to at least puncture a hole in the tape, but was more successful and ripped the entire binding. Without hesitation he quietly removed the silver tape from his lips and ankles before finally testing the back door. Miraculously, it was unlocked.

With a final look at the men, Eric considered taking the guns, but they were too close to them, and it would make too much noise. He instead opted for one of their personal hand guns lying about three feet from Eric. Tucking it into the waistband of his pants, Eric stepped out of the van and softly shut the door, hoping with all his might that his captors were heavy sleepers. For some of the most dangerous people in the world, these in particular weren't very smart.

Looking at his surroundings for the first time, he knew exactly where he was when his feet hit soft sand and heard the crashing waves of the sea. The sound of the water was lulling him into a sense of familiarity; the ocean had always been his haven. He also knew that the salt water would be useful to clean the grazer on his arm, but he couldn't risk it. He needed to get out of here, fast.

There was beach for as far as he could see in both directions, and about 100 yards inland was a forest-like area. He chose this place to run, where he could have a clear view of the tire tracks that the tide had not washed away, and possibly find a road. Eric sprinted as fast as he could to the brush.

Once inside, his pace went to something between a jog and a sprint. Eric kept up the speed for about fifteen minutes, guessing he had covered roughly two and a half miles. Not much compared to what the Russians could cover in their van, especially since he was running through trees instead of flat land. Still, between the little light of dawn and the shadows of the trees, he had somewhat of an advantage.

Suddenly he heard the revving of and old engine and angry yelling in Russian. Shit. He hadn't any way to cover his footprints. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on one's take of things – for him, Eric knew exactly what they were saying.

"Find him! If you see him, kill him!"

And so the games began.

AN: So I know that if Eric was captured by the mob, the chances of them falling asleep, with guns and the doors unlocked, are, like, zero. But hey, this is fanFICTION! Anything is possible if you just believe! Oh yeah, review угождать! (that's please in Russian.) Corny, I know. Um, sorry; excuse my rambling!