Both men were silent as they drove through the small town. This place reminded Eliot of home, a once thriving farming community, now rundown and falling apart in the wake of big corporations. There was no mall, no Wal-Mart, no Starbucks and only one school and medical center.

"We'll start with the house, then the neighbors, school, bar and end with the hospital," Nate stated, making sure to lay the plan out for Eliot so there could be no misunderstanding, no running off and doing his own thing.

"Fine," was all Eliot answered as they pulled up to the farmhouse.

If possible, it looked even worse than the pictures. The porch looked like a slight breeze would tear it clean off, the white paint was more grey than white and had almost all peeled away and to top off the creepiness, several broken windows had been boarded up rather than fixed.

Eliot breathed deeply, trying to subdue the images in his mind. This could have been his childhood home, a place he'd done everything in his power to forget for over twenty years, but now, the memories he'd suppressed overtook him, Lexie playing on his swing made out of an old tyre, laughing and joking with him, happy and smiling, or playing catch in the field by the side of the house. But there were other memories as well. Running and hiding after accidentally breaking a window; being kicked down the front steps or thrown against the tree where his swing resided, just for laughing too loudly or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the last images were the worst, his momma crying after Lexie went missing and the sight of her lying cold and alone in the bathroom while his daddy slept off another bender.

The memories invaded his mind with such a force, he fought to keep them inside, a single almost inaudible groan was all that managed to escape. He did not only remember the fear and pain of being that kid, he felt it all again.

"You gonna be okay?" Nate asked with a concerned look.

"Fine," he replied, getting out of the car and heading towards to house.

"Check out the area, see if you can find out how someone got into the house. The kid's room is the second floor, end window," Nate added, pointed out the little girl's room.

"Fine,"

It didn't escape Nate's notice that 'Fine' was the only word Eliot had uttered since leaving the hotel. He also knew that the young hitter was anything but fine, but he trusted him to be professional and left him to the search as he headed inside.

Eliot stalked around outside, searching for the easiest access to the second floor bedroom that Cindy had slept in. The house's state of disrepair made it impossible to climb to her room without a ladder and there was no way they'd be able to leave the same way if they went in like that. More than likely, they used a door. He turned his attention away from the house for a minute and walked around the surrounding area.

'They had to watch and wait,' he thought, 'they must have found some cover and waited for the right time to snatch her.'

He searched for where he would have hidden and quickly found the best hiding place. Covered with bushes, easy to lay in wait, a short walk through a field to an adjacent road, no need to bring a car too close to the property and arouse suspicion, a perfect view of the front door, Cindy's bedroom and a slightly obstructed view of the back door. If this had been Eliot's job, this is where he would have hidden.

He carefully picked it apart, looking for foot prints, cigarette butts, anything that an amateur might leave behind but was dismayed to find nothing.

"They either weren't amateur enough to leave a trace or were so amateur they didn't find the right hiding spot or it's been three months and any evidence is gone!"

"Hey, who're you?"

Eliot turned, slightly startled and more than a little surprised someone could sneak up on him. He couldn't remember the last time that happened. His muscles tensed, ready to defend himself, but relaxed at the sight of a scrawny teenage boy appearing from the field beside him.

"Friend of the family," he answered vaguely, not taking his eyes off the kid.

"Well I'm family and I don't know you so you're not a friend, who are you?" He answered fiercely, slowly moving his feet, planting them firmly, and squaring up, ready to fight. His messy black hair stood out like a crow's nest and was in stark contrast to his pale skin. The bandana tied around his forehead did little to hide the cut and rapidly forming bruise above his eye.

"You must be Pete?" he asked.

"You still ain't answered the question Mister, who are you?"

"I'm Eliot, your mom and dad came to ask for our help to find your sister."

"There are more of you?"

"Yeah, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Why would you come to help us, you with the police or FBI or something?"

"No, we're not the police, we're nothing official."

"So why are you here?"

"We help people who have nowhere else to turn."

"Police say dad killed her."

"Is that what you think?"

"If he did I'll kill him!" He answered with a growl, his hands curling into fists.

"I get it, Pete", Eliot replied calmly, "just tell me what you remember."

"Nothing," he said quietly, finally shuffling his feet together, relaxing slightly out of the fighting stance, but still ready to go if he needed to, "I wasn't home, I should've been home!" He finished.

"You couldn't have known this was going to happen," Eliot tried to comfort him, knowing the words were useless; they'd never be anything more than words.

"It's my job to protect her," he looked up at Eliot with tear filled eyes, "I usually take the punishment, so she doesn't have to."

Eliot's breath caught in his throat. This kid was him, over twenty years ago, living the same life, dealing with the same issues, doing the same things he did, for the same reasons. Eliot looked at him, standing strongly, holding his ground, trying to be a man and protect his family and was lost for words. He'd never gotten over his past, he'd never moved on; never let it go, so how could he help this kid do the same?

"I get it, kid," he said quietly, "more than you know, but you can't blame yourself." The words sounded hollow, even to Eliot's ears.

"I know he did it, I just want to kill him," he raged, the tears quickly dispersing, a fire replacing them.

"You want to help?" Eliot asked, "then help me find her."

"Why are you so sure he didn't do it?"

"I've met his type before, I've dealt with his type before," Eliot started, trying to avoid the kid's piercing green eyes, "he ain't a killer."

"What the hell would you know?" Pete yelled at him.

"Just trust me kid, this is my job."

"Your job?" he said, a note of distain rising in his voice, "the doctors, the social workers, the police, it's everyone's job to find my sister, to tell me it ain't my fault, to tell me that he isn't that bad, but whose job was it to protect us, mine."

"I'm none of those things," Eliot said quietly, talking a step forward, reaching out a hand in a feeble attempt to comfort the broken boy in front of him. "I'm a retrieval specialist. I spend my life dealing with thieves and liars and your dad may be a lot of things, but he wasn't lying when he said he didn't know what happened."

The simple touch, a little gesture did nothing but enrage the young boy further.

"Get your hands off me," he growled, shrugging off the hitter's hand and reaching out to push him away, "you have no idea what it's like to be me," he continued, advancing on Eliot, seemingly not caring that the stranger was much larger and stronger than he was, "You don't know what it's like to be pushed around and told you're nothing," he pushed Eliot again. "People have come before, they've said they can help and done nothing," the anger in his voice was rising steadily, "he's charmed every single one of them til they went and left us here. I know he did it and they don't care," he yelled, pushing Eliot again.

Eliot was trying to stay calm, trying to remind himself that this wasn't someone he could fight, this was a fifteen year old kid who was hurting, but he knew his control was finite and it was rapidly running out.

"Mr. Retrieval Specialist, what makes you think you're better than me, that you know more than me? I may be just a kid, but I live this every day. Don't come down here with your fancy car and your pretty boy attitude and tell me I'm being stupid, who the hell do you think you are?" he finished, pushing Eliot once more.

"I used to be you," Eliot said quietly, fighting the urge to push him back.

The words were spoken so quietly Pete was sure he'd misheard.

"What?" he asked just as quietly.

Eliot took a deep breath before looking Pete square in the eye and repeating himself.

"I used to be you, Pete," he said a little louder.

Pete looked at him with wide eyes, an expression of wonder on his face.

"How?" he asked quietly.

"I was you, about twenty or so years ago." Eliot started with a sigh, "I had a sister, she went missing," he explained, stumbling slightly over the words he'd never spoken aloud, "the cops assumed my dad did something to her so didn't look too hard," he continued, "he was a drunk, just like yours, couldn't keep a job, married to a girl he got pregnant in high school and spent all his time telling us we ruined his life."

Pete looked at Eliot in shock, unable to believe this strong, long-haired stranger really did know what he'd been through.

"The night that Cindy disappeared your mom was admitted to the hospital, if she's anything like my mom she only escaped because he was passed out drunk and if that's the case, there is no way he would have had time to kill her and get rid of all the evidence."

"Shit! Did you ever find her?"

"No, but I've never stopped looking."

Tears filled Pete's eyes once more as he looked away from Eliot and began kicking a rock at his feet. He wanted to trust the man in front of him, wanted to believe that he could help. After all, he'd been here before, but the doubts were niggling in the back of his mind. If he couldn't find his own sister, how could he help now? On the other hand, no-one else even cared, so what did he have to lose? But trust was not something that came easily to the bruised and battered boy.

"What makes you think you can find my sister?"

"We're good at what we do, we'll find out what happened, we're already chasing down a few leads." Eliot finished, his voice rising again, the professional taking over once more, "now you gonna help?"

"What can I do?"

"You got any good hiding places around here?"

"You're standing in it."

"Nowhere else you can hide where you get a good view of the house but not be seen?"

"Round the back, near the barn, but you wouldn't see much of the front of the house."

"Can you show me?"

"Sure."

They walked quietly to examine the other hiding place, but just like the first, no evidence anyone had been there.

"So what now?" Pete asked.

"We'll keep asking questions, see if we can find anything the police missed."

"Can I come with you?"

"That's not a good idea." Eliot said cautiously.

"But I want to help," he said defiantly, "she's my sister, I need to help find her."

"I know you do," Eliot replied quietly, "but what we do is not always safe or legal, you need to let us do what we do."

"It was my job to protect her; I need to help find her."

Eliot took a deep breath before continuing, "I was just like you, thought it was my job to protect my sister and just like you I feel like I failed, but bringing you into my world is not safe. You need to be here for Cindy if we find her."

"Promise me you'll find her."

"I promise we'll do everything we can."

"That's just a fancy way of saying no."

"I want to find your sister, gives me hope that maybe mine is still out there somewhere and maybe one day I'll find her, but I won't lie to you, I won't promise you something I can't absolutely deliver, but I will do everything I can to find her."

He rested his hand on the boys shoulder and was not surprised to feel his muscles tense under the slight touch, but was please that he didn't push him away this time. He could tell that Pete wasn't used to a touch of comfort and Eliot wished he could do something more to help, but that wasn't his job here. They'd find the girl, and then he'd deal with the dad.

"So the house is a dead end," Nate said as he arrived back at the car. "Nothing missing but the teddy bear, the place is a mess; it would take a miracle to find any evidence in there!" He concluded with a sigh, "What about you, find anything? Possible entry point?" he asked, turning to Eliot.

"Found a pretty good hiding place to watch the house and see the kid's room, but no signs anyone was there."

"Well it's been three months; we can't expect to find much physical evidence."

"I met the other kid; he thinks his dad did it."

"And you're still sure he didn't?"

"I told you, he may not be a nice guy, he may beat the shit outta his family, but he's not a killer, I've known killers, I've killed, this guy is not them."

"Not even in a rage?"

"That's when most people kill, but they feel remorse or guilt afterwards, eats them up to the point they confess or do something stupid. This guy didn't do it. Trust me Nate, he didn't kill her."

"Okay," Nate replied, "let's get moving, I want to talk to as many people as possible before we check in with the others."

"Fine."

Nate sighed as the monosyllabic responses resumed and he knew this was going to be a long afternoon.