As a reward for sloshing thru the last chapter with none of our heroes present, this chapter has at least one of returning.
It had been a rough case; the team had gotten the bad guy, but not before innocent a bystander was injured. Callen detested when that happened and afterwards he would replay the case in his mind, over and over, trying to see if there was something he could have done to prevent the tragedy. Sleep had eluded him for most of the night while he pondered the closed case. When the horizon started to lighten and he was already awake, he decided to take a run before heading into the office; maybe it would help clear his head. His new sneakers were still in their box, in the bag, sitting on his floor. He supposed he'd better break them in before his ninja boss and her muscle-bound cohort noticed he hadn't worn them yet. He was sure there would be some sort of retaliation and frankly he was not at all curious to find out what it might be; Hetty was diabolical when it came to getting even. Round one, buying the sneakers had been traumatic enough; he really did not want to see round two.
Digging them out of the box, he slid them on his feet and tied them up. Boy were the laces long, he mused. Why'd they put such long laces on a pair of sneakers? His mind, always looking for the angle, determined he had enough leftover lace to tie someone up. Not that he was paranoid, but he couldn't help wondering if this was some new secret weapon of Hetty's namely, shoe handcuffs. Shaking his head, he made a big floppy bow and then to cut down on the overhang, double-knotted the loops. The laces still seemed a bit long to him but he didn't know what else to do so he ignored them and headed outside.
When he got outdoors he saw that dawn had barely broken and he contemplated a jog through his neighborhood but then, since it was turning out to be such a beautiful day, he changed his mind got in his car and headed for the beach. At this time of the morning it would be easy to find parking along the ocean. Besides, he rationalized as he drove away, if his new sneakers hurt he could take them off and finish his jog barefooted along the sea's edge.
After parking in a small lot, he got out the car and did a few stretches to loosen his muscles. It was shaping up to be a warm day and for a second he debated about leaving his t-shirt in the car and jogging in only his shorts. Then he remembered the last time he tried that, and quickly nixed the idea; apparently five bullet holes and a few additional assorted scars were considered unusual in LA. Hard to believe that his scars were more interesting than the piercings, tattoos and supplementary paraphernalia that others sported. But his scars had attracted too much unwanted attention last time, so he decided not to forgo his shirt and deal with the heat.
Starting out slowly, he headed north up the trail, gradually picking up speed until he attained a respectable pace. It was a beautiful day in LA and the early morning surfers were out in force on the spectacular white crested waves. Since it was early, the jogging path was relative free of other runners. Callen allowed himself to be lulled into a light trance that was driven by the rhythmic slap of his new sneakers on the path. The agent was probably about 2 miles into his constitutional when the cadence of his run was disturbed by an unharmonious note. The slap-slap of his soles pounding the pavement was accentuated by a new a swishing sound. Looking down, he saw that his stupid laces had come untied. Sighing, he stopped and attended to the arrant objects. While tying them, he once again wondered why they were so long. If he had a knife on him he would have cut the dumb things but he didn't so he re-tied them and then double knotted the droopy bunny ears. Damned if he knew how they had undone them the first time. With his laces firmly secured, he hoped, he resumed his run.
At the 3 ½ mile mark, the slippery devils once again freed themselves from captivity requiring another stop and tie session. When it occurred again at the 4th mile, Callen was seriously contemplating taking them off, ditching them in the nearest trash receptacle and finishing his run bare-footed. But a hand on the blacktop path told him that would be stupid move on this hot day, so he re-knotted the laces and convinced himself it was only a one mile back to the car; surely they could stay tied for that long. He spent that last long mile cursing Hetty, Sam, Michelle, the manufacturer of the sneakers, the company that made the laces and anyone else he could think of that might be associated with these eel-like devices.
Arriving at his black car, he noted that there were a few more automobiles than when he had first parked. Glancing down at his feet, he cursed; the damn laces were untied again. Preoccupied by his wayward laces, Callen failed to notice the gentleman passing within ten feet of him until he felt two barbs sink into his skin and he found himself face-down on the blacktop, incapacitated by a Taser. Callen was unable to control his muscles and his assailant was able to easily approach the fallen agent and jab a syringe in the side of his neck. The world grew fuzzy and out-of-focus and soon Callen was unconscious.
His captive quickly zip-tied the agent's hands behind his back then patted him down discovering Callen's wallet, keys, phone and weapon. A quick perusal of the wallet showed a small amount of cash, a few credit cards and a driver's license in the name of Tom Chapman. Opening the car door using Callen's key fob, the man tossed the wallet, gun and phone onto the passenger-side floor before relocking the Mercedes. The keys he stuffed into his own pocket.
Half carrying, half dragging the prone man across the asphalt, he headed for his vehicle where he proceeded to manhandle Callen in the trunk. Slamming it with more force than was necessary, the captor quickly glanced around to see if his actions had been noticed by any passersby. Deciding that the coast was clear, he climbed in his car and drove away.