Author's note: OK slightly longer chapter for you. Hope you like it J

Chapter 7: Two Rings

Hardcastle stared for two rings. Two rings of inaction as his gut tightened and adrenaline rushed through his system. The only calls he was expecting were about McCormick, and much as he wanted to know, needed to know what had happened to him, there was a part of him now that hesitated, that thought maybe no news was better than confirmation of something bad, and his gut had been telling him since the day before that it was something bad. Perhaps ignorance was bliss, perhaps, maybe. . . No! The frustration bit off the thought before he could get any further. He needed to know. He snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Judge Hardcastle?" the female voice at the other end questioned.

The judge felt a surge of disappointment, and he realised that a part of him had been hoping that it would be McCormick himself with some tale about a flat tyre and a gripe about a twenty mile hike to the nearest phone, explaining his absence with a half apology and asking to be picked up. There had been a little bit of hope there, just a little. He swallowed before replying. "Speaking," he said, as he tried to place the female voice that he heard on the other end of the line. He recognised it, had heard. . . but who. . . "Who is this?" He growled out. It certainly wasn't any of the people he'd asked for help, they were friends, colleagues, people he knew well, but this was triggering more recent memories. Dammit he should know!

"Why Judge, I'm surprised you've forgotten me already." The voice replied with a southern lilt and a half laugh in the tone. "Aftrall it's only been a week."

"Melissa Kantwell!" The memory hit like a punch to the gut as anger surged through him, and he was barely aware that he had spoken the name as well. What in all hell was she doing ringing. . .

"See, you do remember me," Melissa said with an almost childlike glee, "I knew you wouldn't have forgotten, when we had so much fun an all. . ."

"Fun. . . ?" the judge spat the word through his anger. "You tried to kill me, you shot my associate, you stole his money, his car. . ."

"And what a beautiful car that is too, real leather seats and an engine that just purrs. . ."

The Judge took a deep breath to calm himself. Melissa was clearly trying to push his buttons, or she was genuinely insane, either way his anger was just playing into her hands. She was enjoying it. "Crimes for which you're going to rot in jail," he said, attempting to bring the conversation back under his own terms.

"I don't think so," Melissa said softly. "I'm not in jail now."

"I know," Hardcastle stated flatly, "but there are three police forces who don't intend to let you stay that way, and once you are back inside no one will ever help you again. Everyone will know that you killed the prison guard who helped you. You'll be lucky to ever make it outside maximum security."

The death of the prison guard was another thing the Judge hadn't told McCormick about, they'd found him shot in the back, the day after the escape. It was another reason why the judge hadn't wanted to even get into the conversation with him. The state McCormick was in he probably would have found a way to blame himself for it. At the very least it would have added to the deep despair the kid was feeling, he never took death well, not even when those who died deserved it.

"But Judge I'm not going back to prison," Melissa's tone had taken on a serious harder edge, "And you're going to make sure of that. You're also going to give me the fifty thousand dollars I lost."

"Now why would I. . ." the Judge began, because since he'd recognised her voice he'd been consumed by the anger, his thoughts focussed on her and her crimes. The gnawing anxiety had been pushed to the background. He had forgotten. . .but now it rushed to the surface, gushing out, pouring cold liquid over his skin, the blood draining away in it's path. He'd paused before she interrupted, her chilling words merely confirming what he already knew.

"Because I have your friend," Melissa stated calmly. "I have McCormick, and, if you ever want to see him alive again, you'll do exactly what I say."

H&MCH&MC

Mark shifted and the pain drove him back to a reluctant consciousness with a groan. He drew in a slow deep breath which pulled at bruised ribs. It was the first thing that registered as he blinked bleary eyes open, the pain, his face, his head, his shoulder, God his shoulder. It hurt more than when he'd first been shot. Then the fear hit, like a knife carving an empty hollow in the pit of his stomach, and, for a moment, he ignored the pain as his head shifted around, frantically looking for the source of that fear. It took several moments for him to realise the room was empty apart from him. He was alone. At first it was a good thought, relaxing him, quelling the fear of his tormentor. She wasn't there, wouldn't hurt. . .couldn't confuse. . . Damn why couldn't he keep his thoughts. . .alone. . . lonely. . .hurting. He tugged his hands uselessly in the cuffs, abraded flesh adding its protests to the many other pains that assaulted his overloaded system. Helpless. . . the thought burrowed through the mound of despair that already sat on top of any emotional response to his situation. Helpless. . .powerless. . .it tapped into his worst memories of prison, those times he didn't want to remember, came back to him only in nightmares, because when he was in conscious control he buried them so deep that they couldn't get out. Those times when he'd been stripped of control even of his own most fundamental needs, frightened, hopeless, helpless. . .He couldn't live this again, wouldn't make it. . . couldn't. . .

The pain from his shoulder drew his attention and he tried to shift backwards to get more comfortable but the move just sent fiery spikes running up and down his back and he gasped, all thoughts gone as he focussed on controlling the pain.

H&MCH&MC

"What. . .What have you done to him?" Hardcastle struggled to get the question out through suddenly dry lips as the fear coiled his gut into a mound of knotted tension. Melissa Kantwell was a stone killer, and she had him. . Dear God, she had him.

"Fifty thousand dollars," Melissa repeated ignoring the question. "By six o'clock tonight, and keep the police out of this, or I will kill him."

"How do I know you haven't killed him already?" The Judge asked almost afraid of the answer. "Let me talk to him."

"You'll see him when I have the money." Melissa replied, trying to sound confident.

"No," Hardcastle's own reply was driven by fear and frustration and anger. "I want to speak to him now or you won't get a cent from me, and if you hurt him I will personally hunt you down and. . ."

"If I let you speak to him you'll get me my fifty thousand?" Melissa interrupted, this hadn't been in her plan, not that there was ever much by way of planning in what she did. She just did, she'd let Arvin Lee and her husband take care of most of that, as long as she got what she wanted, she didn't much care how it happened.

"Yes," the judge said, a certain amount of relief flooding his system. If she was going to let him talk to McCormick then at least he was still alive. "Let me talk to him and I'll get you your money."

Melissa considered for a moment, there was a phone in the motel room and she was fairly sure she'd had a good reason for not using it, for walking the quarter mile to this gas station to make her ransom call, but she supposed if she was quick. . .and if it got her her money, then it would be worth it. "Expect my call in an hour," she stated, "and I still want my money by six."

"OK I'll. . ." the line went dead. It was a long moment before the judge moved. He didn't want to wait an hour. He wanted to speak to McCormick now, wanted that reassurance now, not an hour from now, not a minute. . . the hand holding the receiver had dropped to his chest but he still hadn't replaced it. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment letting out a long breath as he tried to quell the bubbling emotions, the spiralling fear and anger and frustration. He didn't have time for this. There were things he had to do, things he needed to get moving on if he was going to save McCormick. He dropped his other hand to disconnect the phone, checking he had a dial tone before punching in a familiar number. "Frank. . ."

H&MCH&MC

McCormick had drifted into a state halfway between sleeping and waking, the pain settling to a level he could almost ignore as long as he didn't move. His thoughts drifted in a sea of fear, not quite registering, not quite not there, his consciousness searching for somewhere safe from this world of nightmares but there was no safety, not here. The sound of the key in the motel room door was enough to pull him back. He turned his head to watch a smiling Melissa enter the room, and cold fear ran down his spine.

She walked to the edge of the bed with a slow swing of her hips, sucking a soda through a straw. She stopped and stared down at him before sitting, and he tried not to flinch away as she dropped down onto the bed beside him. She lowered her drink. "That Judge of yours doesn't trust me," she stated, dropping her free hand to run a finger suggestively up from his abdomen to his chest, grinning wider at the discomfort the action caused her captive.

"He doesn't trust anyone," McCormick tried to distract himself from the soft caress that Melissa used as a weapon.

"Well he seems to think that I've killed you already," she moved her hand round tracing gentle patterns on his skin, running her fingers around the bruises she'd caused when she'd pistol whipped him, following the sharp outlines. "Doesn't he know that would be such a waste."

"Since the first time we met you were going to shoot us both and leave our bodies in the desert, I don't think that's much of a stretch, no" McCormick replied, trying to inject some of his well practiced sarcasm into the comment, but the strain showed clearly in his voice. He was trying hard to ignore the soft touches, but he knew that he couldn't move to escape them, knew that even trying would mean more pain.

Melissa put her drink down and shifted to straddle him again, sitting over the top of his thighs. Her other hand joined the first "Aw that was Arvin Lee, he didn't like you none," She moved her hands round, slowly, softly caressing, losing herself for a moment as they trailed over his muscular torso and then down to his waist. "But I like you." She pushed her hand into the top of his waistband and stopped, staring into his eyes. "I like you a lot."

Mark did his best to quell the rising panic that the unwanted touches brought about. Each time she went a little further, got a little closer to. . .He swallowed hard, registering the blush that was further heating his already fevered skin. "Don't," he said softly, "Please don't. . ." He shook his head, breaking away from her gaze.

Melissa laughed, so much better than teasing Arvin Lee, here she had all the power. She hopped off the bed and picked up her drink. "You know even if the Judge does pay up I may keep you anyway, my own pet race car driver."

NCISNCIS

"Did you have to call in the FBI," the Judge asked Frank Harper as he watched his home being invaded by a seemingly endless stream of black suited men, some carrying equipment.

"You know I did, Milt. We have an escaped bank robber, federal crime, who crossed state lines before killing a prison guard, also a federal crime, and that's before we even get to McCormick's kidnapping. Just count yourself lucky that a couple of these guys owe me a favour and are keeping us in the loop."

Hardcastle wiped his hand across his face. "I know, Frank, I just don't like not being the one calling the shots. I mean what if Mark. . ."

"We'll get him back, Milt," Harper assured his friend. "He's been in tighter spots before."

"I don't know," Hardcastle shook his head. "You haven't met this woman. She's clear Looney Tunes and then some. She could. . ."

"Judge Hardcastle, Lieutenant Harper," Agent John Gorman approached from the front door. "We're all set up on the phone sir," he addressed the Judge directly, "If she keeps to her promise to call back in an hour, she should be calling in a few minutes; hopefully we'll be able to get a trace."

Hardcastle nodded grimly and followed the FBI agent into the house.

H&MCH&MC

Melissa picked up the whole phone and checked the cable, there was plenty. She flicked it out from behind the dresser and carried the phone over to the bed setting it down beside Mark. "Now I want you to tell the judge that you're alive and well," she said, leaning a little over the phone, her hand resting on the receiver. "And don't you get no ideas about letting him know where you are." She moved her other hand across and placed it over his wound. "Because if you do you'll regret it."

"But I don't. . .Mark clamped his mouth shut, breath escaping heavily through his nostrils as he rode out the latest stab of pain as she once again pressed against the torn flesh. He had been trying to tell her that he couldn't tell the Judge where he was because he didn't have a clue, apart from the fact that they were in a motel room somewhere. Didn't she know that he didn't know where they were? He looked up to see the pleasure in her eyes and realised that even if she did know she wouldn't care. It was just another excuse to hurt him for her entertainment. He stared as her lips moved, and it took him a moment to process the fact that she had asked him a question.

"Do you understand?"

He nodded quickly, before she decided his lack of response was another reason to hurt him.

"Good," she smiled, "Then let's give the judge a call."

The judge was sitting at his desk. His phone had been moved so that it sat in front of him. He nervously rubbed his thumb across his other hand, Frank stood just behind him in the window and they both stared at the phone. He knew it was several minutes past the one hour deadline that Melissa had given him, his eyes had flicked up to the clock often enough that he could almost count the seconds, except that each one was ticking by more slowly than normal. He was just about to turn to his friend to express his frustration, his fear that the lack of a call could only mean that McCormick couldn't speak to him because. . .when the phone rang. He let it ring twice again. This time he would have snatched it up straight away but he was waiting for Agent Gorman to give him the signal, and he in turn was waiting for some indication from his technicians that they were ready for the trace.

Gorman placed his hand on the second phone his men had installed and gave a final glance round to check that everyone was ready. He looked at the judge and gave the nod, both men picking up simultaneously. There was a slight click as the tape recorder began recording.

"Hardcastle," the Judge said sharply into the phone.

"Judge," Mark's voice was weak and raspy but still identifiable.

Hardcastle was slightly taken aback. He had expected Melissa to answer, his tone softened instantly. "Hey McCormick, can't let you out of my sight for two minutes without you getting into trouble." If he'd expected a sharp reply he was disappointed.

"S. .sorry Judge, she. . .I. . ." Mark tried to sort through the confusion of things that he wanted to say. Just hearing the Judge's voice sparked a little hope in his soul that he would make it out of this, or never see the man again, never get to tell him how much he meant to him, how much he. . ."

"It's OK McCormick we'll get you out of this," the Judge said, breaking into the obvious confusion, fear driving tears to the edge of forming in his eyes, the kid didn't sound good, didn't sound good at all. What had she done to him? "Are you all right?"

No! Mark's mind screamed, I'm not all right, I'm hurt and I'm scared and I'm trapped and I'm helpless and she's going to hurt me more. Please don't let her, please. . ."I'm. . I'm OK," he answered, barely forming the lie, because a part of him didn't want to admit that truth, didn't want to show weakness to the one man he actually trusted himself to show weakness in front of. Hardcastle sounded worried, he didn't want the Judge to worry; worrying him wouldn't do him any good. Letting him know the truth wouldn't do either of them any good, better to protect him, better to do as Melissa wanted because then she might not hurt him again, might not. . . "Don't worry about me, I'll. . ." The tears almost escaped as Melissa pulled the phone away from him and he lost his connection with hope and sanity.

"I'll call back with the ransom instructions," Melissa stated into the phone. "6 o'clock, and remember no police or else." She looked down at Mark, "Now say goodbye to the Judge." She pushed the earpiece of the phone down hard into his shoulder grinding it in as he let out an agonised yell. Satisfied she dropped the receiver back into its cradle, the Judge's own anguished cry of 'McCormick!' cut off as she did so.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .