Winston's cell rang as he headed back to the van. He'd left Clinton with his uncle at SFPD, along with the security footage from the apartment block, and when he spotted Guerrero's name flash up on his cell phone, he quickened his pace, eager to get behind the wheel so he could get moving and find Chance.

"Guerrero-"

"I got a lead from the doctor," he interrupted. "Grimes' wife inherited a property out by Half Moon Bay. I'm heading out there now."

"How can you be sure that he's even there?"

"Grimes let something slip in one of his sessions about his wife inheriting her grandfather's old house and he said it was a safe place for him. Something about there being no cell coverage so They can't spy on him."

"They? Who are 'They'?"

"The Navy, the government, the little green men, who the fuck knows? Doc says Grimes has had some kind of psychotic break. He's paranoid, and right now he'll be looking for somewhere to hole-up, out of sight. The doc recons that he sees Chance as a threat and is probably planning to interrogate him."

"Okay, what's the address? We'll meet you there."

"I can handle Grimes, but I need you to run interference with NCIS. The doc says that Grimes is batshit crazy. If he gets one whiff of the Navy or the cops moving in on him, he's likely to panic and kill Chance."

"They'll want to talk to the shrink-"

"Taken care of, dude. Just need you to keep them chasing their tails so I can get Chance out before they show up and fuck things up."

"You didn't…?"

"Relax. The shrink's with me. I figured he might as well make himself useful. If he can't talk Grimes down, he can at least provide a distraction."

"NCIS are still gonna head to his office though," Winston said. "They might be able to get something from his records."

"Also taken care of. They'll need a warrant to get the records, and by the time they get it a small electrical fault will have fried the doc's hard drive and started a fire that will have burned up any paperwork lying about the place. Just make sure you send them anywhere but Half Moon Bay. I'll take care of the rest."

"But how am I supposed to-"

"Improvise."

Winston swore as Guerrero hung up on him. He could track down the address of the house in Half Moon Bay from what Guerrero had told him, and part of him wanted nothing more than to high-tail it over there to help Chance, but he couldn't deny that it was more important for him to deal with NCIS.

"So?" Ames asked. "Has Guerrero found them or what?"

"He's got an address. He's heading there now with the shrink."

"Well let's go! What are you waiting for?"

Winston sighed and turned the key in the ignition. "We're going back to the apartment block. You think you can sneak back in the way you came out?"

"Yeah, but why would I want to?" Ames asked, puzzled.

"Because Bethany Hicks had a little run in with Lieutenant Grimes in the hallway and she overheard him talking about heading for the docks. She needs to be back in position in the building to give NCIS a hot tip about where to find Grimes."

Ames frowned, "So Grimes is heading for the docks? Why don't we-"

"No, we just want NCIS to think that's where he's heading so Guerrero can… Ah, screw it. Just get back in the building and make sure they start looking for Grimes at the docks. Okay?"

It was a forty minute drive out to the property at Half Moon Bay, so it was inevitable that at some point Heatly was going to try and initiate a conversation. He seemed to take his abduction fairly well, especially considering that he was familiar with Guerrero's reputation; but the fact that he was cuffed to the passenger seat, along with the presence of his distraught secretary in the trunk, was added incentive to keep a cool head. He was still a psychiatrist though, so whether it was out of professional curiosity, or more likely in an attempt to try and manipulate the situation to his benefit, he tried to draw Guerrero into conversation.

"If Grimes has reached the point at which he is openly acting on his on his delusions of persecution, there may be little I can do to influence him," he said, once Guerrero had ended his phone call.

Guerrero shrugged, apparently indifferent to what the doctor had just said. Heatly waited a while, giving him a chance to reply, but none was forthcoming. Guerrero kept his eyes on the road and maintained a speed a hairsbreadth below the limit.

Heatly tried a different approach. "Facing Grimes alone may not be the best way to help your friend. Although the presence of law enforcement is likely to push him into doing something rash, trying to take him out on your own is suicidal. You'll be of no use to your friend if you're dead."

"Not planning on letting him kill me, doc. Besides, I'm not going in alone. You're gonna get him talking, keep him distracted while a make my move."

"Grimes is a deeply disturbed individual, but that won't affect his instincts and training. He is still a SEAL and he's not going to go down easily."

Again Guerrero shrugged, as if taking on a psychotic Navy SEAL was just one of those things that had to be done from time to time.

"And what if you do manage to deal with him? What happens to Mary? And me? You're just going to let us go?"

"Well, that depends on you. As long as you make yourself useful, you and Mary have nothing to worry about. Not from me anyway. I can't say that the Navy will feel the same way though."

"I don't know what-"

"Come on doc, I know you're supposed to be good, but not even you would normally receive payments upwards of five grand per session. The Grimes family were paying you off to keep a lid on just how severely fucked up their son is. Judging from your notes, Lieutenant Grimes isn't just a little shell-shocked, he has full-blown paranoid schizophrenia. He should have been institutionalised until his condition could be stabilised, and you had a responsibility to inform the Navy that he was unfit for duty. You could have prevented his wife's death; at the very least you're looking at a clear case of criminal negligence."

He doctor paled, but didn't reply.

"Of course it would be difficult to make a case against you since all your records were destroyed, but I emailed copies of Grimes' files to a friend of mine. If for any reason I don't make contact with him by midnight tonight, he'll ensure that those files are seen by the right people. But as long as you pull your weight, you have nothing to worry about."

Heatly sat in silence for the rest of the journey.

Chance had no way to gauge the amount of time he'd been held in the garage. It felt like hours, maybe even a full day, but he knew that was more to do with the circumstances than the actual passage of time. Grimes had beaten him with the belt until his back felt like a raw, pulpy mess, and Chance observed the splatter of his own blood hit the concrete floor from time to time. He'd managed to create that distance he needed between his physical and mental state, but although he could watch his blood hit the floor fairly dispassionately, it was not something he could keep up indefinitely.

He still hadn't spoken since he'd goaded Grimes into striking that first blow, but with each lash of the belt against his back, it got harder to remain silent. It was growing increasingly difficult to hold his body rigidly in position to ensure that the noose around his neck didn't draw any tighter, and the immobility was building a slow ache in his joints that, as he'd predicted, only got worse the longer he had to maintain his position kneeling on the concrete floor

The fact that he was being held in what seemed to be a domestic garage led him to believe that he was probably in a residential area, but knowing that there were probably people within shouting distance didn't really help him. If he tried to call out, all Grimes would have to do was give him a shove and the noose would tighten, cutting off his voice, along with his air supply, in seconds. Even if he could have attracted someone's attention, what then? He'd be putting an innocent bystander in danger for nothing. His only option was to keep quiet and wait for Guerrero, so that's what he did.

Perhaps Grimes got tired, or maybe he was bored of repeating the same action with no audible response from Chance, but eventually he tossed the metal studded belt on to the workbench and began rummaging through his holdall again. The brief respite did nothing to help Chance. His back was so raw that without the distraction of fresh blows being rained down on his body, he could feel every heartbeat pulsing through the mangled flesh of his back, building into a unrelenting burning that increased with every passing second.

When Chance saw Grimes retrieve a military grade stun gun from the holdall, he found himself hoping that Grimes had expertise with using the device for the purposes of torture. If he was inexperienced with using a stun gun to inflict pain, rather than to incapacitate, there was a risk that he would apply a prolonged shock that could send Chance's muscles into spasm. If that happened there was every chance that he would be knocked from his knees and the noose would strangle him.

Grimes pulled up a lawn chair and sat behind Chance, letting the anticipation build for a moment. The pressure to say something, to fill that silence was immense, but Chance resisted the urge to provoke him further, knowing that he was only likely to get through this if Grimes maintained some level of control.

Apparently Torture 101 was covered in SEAL training though, because Grimes did know what he was doing. He started with Chance's bare feet, applying jolts that were excruciatingly painful, but not enough to induce convulsions. Silence was no longer an option, as each jolt of electricity ripped through the soles of his feet and sent bolts of pain up his legs and through his body, forcing an involuntary grunt from his lips. Grimes took his time, letting Chance recover for a few seconds before reapplying the current, alternating from time to time between his feet and his fingertips. The repeated shocks were exhausting as well as painful, and Chance found it harder to focus on the idea that help was on the way. He was unable to concentrate on anything but willing himself to get through the pain, one second at a time.

Chance was beginning to experience involuntary tremors in his legs as his body struggled to hold up to the stress of staying upright despite the punishment it was receiving, and Grimes, ever the attentive torturer, returned the stun gun to his holdall and stood watching him for a moment.

"What do they want me to do?" Grimes muttered to himself, as he stared at Chance as though he were a particularly troublesome crossword puzzle. "He doesn't talk. He has nothing to say anyway, because I know, and they know that I know. Perhaps he isn't the test. A distraction? A decoy? But they know that I know…. I know that they know that I know…"

Chance wasn't particularly reassured by Grimes' little conversation with himself. If he decided that Chance was not integral to whatever test formed part of his paranoid delusion, he may decide that there was no point in keeping him alive. Grimes shook his head, and seemed to reach some kind of decision.

"What, you're giving up already?" Chance asked, trying to provoke a lucid response. "You were doing okay for a while there."

Grimes responded by kicking him in the gut, and Chance had to force himself to absorb the blow and not give into the natural urge to double over. He needed a moment to catch his breath before he could try speaking again, but when he caught the distant look in Grimes' eyes, he realised that he held no further interest to him, and talking to him wasn't likely to get him anywhere. Grimes even seemed slightly bored as he picked up a can of gasoline and unscrewed the lid.

Chance knew that his time was running out and there was still no sign of Guerrero, but rather than focus on the hopelessness of his situation, he found himself contemplating what his reaction would be to being too late to save him. It would be spectacular, that was for sure, but what if Guerrero was careless in his vengeance against Grimes? Not so long ago Guerrero's emotional response to the mere threat on Chance's wellbeing had resulted in him behaving rashly and getting himself hurt. If Chance were actually killed, he doubted Guerrero would have the presence of mind to ensure that he had a workable exit strategy after dealing with Grimes, and NCIS would eventually track down their location. Chance had faced his own mortality too many times before, and in terms of karma, he felt it was inevitable that he would one day meet a violent end, but the thought of being responsible for Guerrero's demise was something that truly frightened him.

It was more for Guerrero's sake than his own that he tried to talk to Grimes again.

"You've served your country well, Lieutenant Grimes. That has not gone unnoticed by -"

Chance's words were cut off abruptly when Grimes sloshed gasoline into his face. He managed to close his eyes in time to avoid being blinded, but the harsh fumes still made his eyes stream and sting. Only a small amount went in his mouth and he managed to spit that out as Grimes emptied the rest of the can over his body. As it hit the broken skin on his back, the gasoline burned like acid, and Chance bit down on his lip to stop himself from crying out as the pain and nausea threatened to induce another blackout.

Grimes tossed the empty gas can on to the workbench, and retrieved a book of matches from the side pocket of his holdall. Chance recognised the logo on the matchbook as one belonging to a bar Ames had once dragged the team into after the completion of a case. Guerrero hadn't been impressed by the bar's tourist-friendly ambiance, and when Chance remembered the expression on his face as Ames handed him drink in a hollowed out pineapple, complete with a sparkler and miniature pink umbrella, his heart ached with the thought that he'd never get to that murderous look on Guerrero's face again.

Grimes was about to strike a match when an unfamiliar voice called his name, startling Chance and dragging him out of his memories, back to the garage and his immanent death.

"Lieutenant Grimes, please put down the matches."

"Doctor Heatly?" Grimes seemed to have a little trouble adjusting to the sudden appearance of his doctor, but in his confusion, he dropped the matches, much to Chance's relief. "How.. Why… What are you doing here?"

"It's time for us to talk, Lieutenant Grimes. I'm here to help you decide your next move."