Neal reached for the bill when it came, his other hand going for his wallet.

"I invited you," Sara pointed out. "I should get that."

He laid cash out, shaking his head. "It was just good to see you again. Well worth the price of lunch." There was actually more he'd wanted to talk to her about – things he needed to say – but the information she'd brought had made other discussion seem unwise.

Hopefully after they talked to Peter she'd agree to dinner.

They walked past the wrought iron fence surrounding the terrace and Sara raised her hand to flag down a cab…

Neal grabbed her arm, leading her the other way.

"What, you want to walk all the way?" she asked.

"Something about the number on that cab," he said. "It's been by at least three times."

"Maybe looking for a fare?" But her voice held a trace of hesitation now too.

"Maybe. There was just something off about it." He headed them toward the intersection, turning south. "We'll go a couple of blocks up. More traffic there."

But they hadn't even made it half a block before there was the sound of heavy footsteps behind them, getting closer fast.

With a quick glance at the street to verify there were no vehicles coming, Neal headed toward the other side, Sara's hand still firmly in his. Sure, it was possible someone was just in a hurry, but…

The footsteps followed them.

Their best bet was still to get to a busier street, somewhere with more people, more cover. And now he was really glad that Sara had dressed down, because the shoes she had on now had much more sensible heels for moving fast than the fashion footwear she often favored.

He could feel the tension in Sara's body, radiating through her hand. But her grip on him was firm, and she kept up with him easily. Panic definitely wasn't something that came easily to Sara Ellis.

The footsteps coming even closer could be cause for just a little worry though.

He picked up the pace to an easy jog, Sara keeping pace at his side. He felt her tug his hand, gesturing to the right. Two blocks down there was a traffic light, lots of businesses. She was thinking about the same thing he had been. It probably would have been a little closer to continue the way he had been heading, but he had already started to follow her. And either way, the closer they got to more trafficked areas, the safer they'd be.

That's when he saw the two men coming out of an alley in front of them, heading toward them. And the footsteps behind them were coming closer.

Sara pulled his hand again, heading across the street. She had started to run, and he was in step with her.

That's when the black SUV came racing up from the side street, cutting right in front of them.

By the time Neal pulled Sara back the way they had come, the two men who had been following them had caught up. The two from the alley were there as well, cutting off one possible escape route. In fact, they were cut off on three sides.

Almost as one, Neal and Sara turned toward the fourth – last – option. But that was quickly blocked by a dark green van. The side door slid open and three more men got out.

The noose closed quickly. The only possible option Neal saw was a narrow alley on the west side. If they could get in there, their pursuers would all be behind them. Which gave them a chance – assuming the alley wasn't a dead end.

He tightened his grip on Sara's hand, using his other hand to reach into the pocket of his suit coat. His fingers found the buttons on his phone, and he pulled up the first speed dial number, hoping that Peter hadn't gone to a meeting, or otherwise gotten occupied to where he wouldn't have his phone on.

Hoping he could actually get the call connected without looking.

It was going to be close getting to the alley, and for a brief moment he really thought they were going to make it. But one of the men from the van was quicker. Fervently wishing he'd had a chance to get some of that self-defense training, Neal lowered his shoulder and bowled into the man at full speed. It knocked them both off balance, and he felt his grip on Sara's hand slipping away.

As he fell to ground, grappling with the attacker, he got a brief glimpse of Sara dropping her bag, the expandable baton in her hand.

But there were too many men surrounding them – too many for just the two of them to fend off. He heard Sara cry out in frustration as she was grabbed from behind. The man he had tackled was on his feet again, and another had Neal in his grip from behind. He struggled for all he was worth, felt the second man's grip loosen for a moment.

It wasn't enough, as a third man joined them, and Neal doubled over, gasping in pain after a huge ham-sized fist buried itself in his gut.

The van pulled up closer, and out of the corner of his eye, Neal could see them dragging Sara toward the vehicle. Then another blow hit him, and everything went blurry as he struggled against the pain.

He could feel himself being dragged toward the van, and his muscles refused to cooperate in trying to do anything to stop that. But when one of the men holding him stopped to pick up his hat, Neal got one hand free. He managed to get his phone out of his pocket, dropping it into a planter at the foot of some steps.

Neal heard Sara cry out again, and he looked up just in time to see one of the men press a Taser against her neck. Her limp body was tossed into the back of the van even as his captors dragged him closer.

He heard the crackling sound of electricity just a quick moment before another man used a second Taser against him. The shock coursed through his body…

He was unconscious before his body hit the floor of the van next to Sara.

Peter glared at the empty desk by the doors as he stood just inside his office, his phone held to his ear. But, just like the other three times, the phone rang several times, and then Neal's voicemail greeting came on.

"Neal, wherever the hell you are, you'd better get your ass back to the office now!"

It would have been more satisfying to slam a phone receiver down at the moment, but he had to content himself with stabbing at the end button on the cell phone much harder than necessary.

Everyone else was already waiting in the conference room to discuss the Westmore case, and he turned his attention to that. Dealing with his wayward consultant would have to wait.

When consciousness returned, the first thing he noticed was that his head hurt. Then he noticed that pretty much everything hurt.

Slowly, trying not to give away that he was waking up, Neal started to take inventory. The pounding in his head? Probably a combination of after effects from the Taser shock, and the fact that he was lying on his side, his head bumping against bare metal. Probably in a moving vehicle – it felt like they were moving, and that would explain why his head was bumping up and down.

Hadn't there been a van? Yeah, a green van. He was on the floor of the van.

Moving down, it hurt when he drew in a deep breath. Right, the guy with the huge fists had hit him, more than once.

His legs were a little numb, probably from the way he was positioned, but he didn't want to move just yet. A little testing led to the conclusion that his feet were unrestrained.

That might have been good news, except his next test showed that his hands were, most definitely, restrained. The good news was that it felt like regular handcuffs, and he could work with that. The bad news was that getting out of the cuffs would be virtually impossible without giving away that he was awake.

Sara…

He knew his own condition, more or less. And he could smell the almond shampoo she liked, so she must be close.

Very slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes just a crack. Sara was right in front of him, facing away, her hair inches away. She wasn't moving, but he didn't know if that meant she was still unconscious from the shock, or if she might just be biding her time like he was.

Neal closed his eyes again, letting his other senses take over. Beyond the scent of Sara's shampoo was something else… Diesel? Yeah, it smelled like diesel.

Something shifted behind him, and there was a soft grunting noise accompanying the movement. There was at least one person behind him, apparently also on the van floor. So he must be facing the front – which felt right compared to the vehicle's movement.

A warbling sound from the front – someone's cell phone ringing. "Yeah. We've got them… Should be there in about five minutes… Got it."

Five minutes…

How could he possibly get his own cuffs off, overcome at least two – probably armed – men, free Sara, and get them out of the van in so little time.

The answer was, he probably couldn't – but he had to try. Trying to stay as limp as possible, he waited for the next bump and used it to roll partway onto his back. He didn't want all of his weight on his hands, but he needed something to block his movements.

There was no reaction to the movement, so he carefully felt around his wrists. The cuffs were on fairly tight – too tight to simply slip. He could probably dislocate his thumb and slip one ring off, but doing that without reacting to the pain would be pretty difficult.

That left picking the locks – and to do that, he needed a pick. He flexed his fingers, trying to work past the tingling that lying on his arms was causing. The digits still felt heavy, clumsy as he started trying to remove one of his cufflinks. Byron had definitely known how to make the most of his accessories, and if he just had time…

"Hey, are they still out?"

The question came from up front, and it meant that someone in the back moved to check their hostages. Rough hands grabbed his shoulder, rolled him all the way onto his back. Neal managed to maintain his charade of unconsciousness – but now his hands were trapped.

And the five minutes were ticking away.

He felt a body lean over him; definitely didn't smell as good as Sara. But the man was apparently checking on her.

"Both still out cold, Joe."

"All right. We're almost at the meet-up point. Ryan's already there – he'll take care of that tracking anklet. Then we'll head for the rendezvous."

The van bounced up and over something, and Neal was jostled against the man who was still leaning over him. He forced himself to stay very still.

Then they stopped, and the side door slid open; he could feel the sun shining in on them.

Someone pulled the leg of his pants up, exposing the anklet. "You got the right key for this?"

A new voice answered. "Yeah, it should be one of these. But you tell Cy this was never part of our deal."

"Your deal is whatever the boss tells you it is."

There was some indistinct mumbling, and Neal felt hands pulling at his ankle, turning his foot. And then there was the soft click of the lock disengaging. The weight of the anklet fell away.

"Just toss it," one of the men from the van said. "He sure ain't gonna need it."

"How long do those shocks usually last?"

"Different for every person. But might as well give them the drugs so we're sure we won't have any trouble at the next stop."

Neal felt hands grab him, pull him up. His suit coat was pulled down off of his shoulder, and then he felt the needle.

Shit…