A/N: This is probably the shortest chapter I have written for this story, but it felt right to end it where I did. Thanks be to KyleRay, LeeMarieJack, floralisette, Murakami no Kitsune, and Alice of Scots for the kind reviews. Onto chapter three!

Eliot moved into the open space previously occupied by two men he determined were not Nate's kidnappers. One of them, Sam, had taken Nate's earbud, but the hitter was still curious to what else they had seen. The phrase four empty juice pouches came to mind. He searched for a door or other opening.

Hardison pushed at one of the IV stands, which looked out of place in the otherwise empty warehouse. "Creepy," he murmured.

Sophie sat against a wall, holding her head in both hands. She couldn't believe that Nate was missing, couldn't wrap her head around the possibility of never seeing his stupid, arrogant, handsome, brilliant face again. When Eliot had called her, she had hoped it was one of Nate's tricks. Hell, she had wanted it to be so she could properly chew him out. But now...

She just wanted him safe.

Eliot found his door... and immediately backed out of it. The look on his face was one Hardison never thought he'd see the hitter make. It wasn't blind terror, but something that spooked the hacker even more. It was the quiet resignation of a man faced with something he couldn't fight.

"What is it?" he asked, startling Sophie from her thoughts. Eliot just shook his head.

"Don't go in there," his voice sounded strained. Curiosity not just tickled, but poked sharply with a stick, Hardison moved towards the door. "Hardison," Eliot said with deadly calm. "I swear to God, if you take another step, I'll dislocate your arm."

"What is it?" the hacker repeated, but stalled. Eliot muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "four empty juice pouches". "What'd you say?"

"Nothing good," Eliot said a bit louder. "Come on. Let's pick up Parker and get the Hell away from here."

Whatever he had seen, scared him. And that scared Hardison.

Eliot made them wait inside as he checked to make sure the two men had actually left. The vintage car was gone. Eliot gestured to his team in the shadows.

"Parker, the coast's clear," he said, loud enough for his voice to carry. She didn't answer.

"Parker?" Sophie called, getting an uneasy feeling in her chest.

"I can't really talk right now," Parker breathed over the comms.

"Oh no," said Sophie, looking at where the car had been parked.

Hardison pulled a hand down across his mouth and chin. "Please don't tell me you're in that car."

"Yep."

"Hold on, Parker, we're coming for you," Sophie said, walking briskly for the van. "Just keep your head down and don't get caught."

"No."

"'No?'" Eliot asked, too shocked to say anything else.

They heard the thief sigh. "Just trust me on this. You work on finding Nate, I'll stick with the Impala guys."

They really couldn't do much about it, besides running down the two men in Not Lucille, grabbing Parker, and hauling ass out of Nebraska. The more Eliot thought about it the more he started liking the idea. He reminded himself that they came here to find Nate and, damn it, that's what they were going to do.

An odd expression crossed Sophie's features. "When did she get so bossy?" she asked the boys.

"When you left," Eliot said at the same time Hardison replied with, "About right after you ditched us."

"Oh."

A sneeze tickled Parker's nose. She held her breath, managing to smother the sneeze before it happened. The floor of the backseat smelled much worse than the front, she noticed. And the jackets she was lying under probably hadn't been washed in several months. Ew.

Thankfully, neither of the two men had payed attention to the back seat or the blonde woman hiding in it; they had just tossed something in the trunk and drove off.

Parker wasn't one hundred percent sure what her plan was. Or if she had a plan. But something about this felt right (or, at the very least, not wrong). Whatever happened, she was unwilling to give up the journal, and gripped it tighter with every bump and turn in the road. She even considered taking out her earbud so the others wouldn't hear about the creatures described on the pages. She felt oddly protective of the knowledge.

She hoped her boys would never find out about them. Hardison would have a heart attack of joy, if there was such a thing. Eliot would probably just punch something.

The thief turned her attention to the Impala guys. They were arguing about the music, which was currently loud, fast, and angry. After a few minutes, the driver gave in and switched the cassette for another. The next song that played was loud, fast, and mildly frustrated. The man riding shotgun looked happy with the change; Parker couldn't understand it.

"So what's Plan B, Sammy?" the driver asked, turning down the music. "Go door to door?"

Sammy snorted. "Sure, let's just ask the tight knit community if they've seen their friends or family dragging unsuspecting victims into their basements. That'll go over well."

Parker smiled against the plaid thing next to her face. She decided now would be a good time to de-comm herself. She slowly pulled the earbud out and tucked it in her pocket. For later, she promised.

The driver yawned. "I guess tomorrow means more research. Friggin' research."

"Oh come on, Dean, it's only," Sammy glanced at his watch, "ten, no need to wait for tomorrow." Dean groaned.

"The only thing I'm researching tonight is the local attractions. And by that I mean-"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Sammy hastily interrupted. Parker frowned, she didn't know what he meant. "Haven't you run out of desperate women yet? Two weeks is longer than you usually play in the same sandbox." Oh.

It was Dean's turn to snort. "Please, I haven't even made it through the unsatisfied housewives."

Sammy shook his head. "I can't believe we're related."

That was a new development. She had assumed they were just creature-hunting partners or something. Like Agent McSweeten and Agent Taggart, but with knives and church water. Parker examined the backs of their heads, the only parts of them she had seen so far. One head rose above the other and nearly brushed the ceiling. It moved when "Sammy" talked so she assumed it was his. The driver's head was obviously Dean's. They didn't look like brothers, she thought; they acted like how Eliot and Hardison did, and they weren't related. Though Hardison did call Eliot "bro" a lot.

Huh. That was a lot to think about.

Maybe they were cousins.

The Impala drove under street lights, informing Parker they had reached a town. She figured it was Wiggins Peak (local bank showcased a I-850 Glen Reader from the '80s, Parker estimated a heist would take her one minute and fifty-two seconds in and out) based on how long they had been driving. She had memorized a map of the area on the drive from the airport.

From their conversation, she learned that the local motel was closed indefinitely after an inspection had found bedbugs. Parker wasn't aware bedbugs were real things. Dean was particularly upset at having to stay at a Bread and Breakfast.

"Why?" Sammy asked. "Mrs. Franklin has pie and everything."

"It's the principle of the thing, Sam," Dean thumped the steering wheel. "And her rat hates me."

"Maybe because you threw your boot at it."

"It was eating my jacket!" Dean exclaimed. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Uh, not throw your boot at it? Just a thought," Sam added. Dean stewed moodily and gunned the engine.

"Bite me."

He pulled into a small parking lot next to a two-story gingerbread house. It looked like a gingerbread house to Parker, anyway. She took a deep breath as the Impala was carefully parked as far away from the three other cars in the lot as possible without being in the neighbor's yard. Now came the hard part.

This is gonna suck.

She sat up.

"Hi," she said.