A/N: A brief commercial pause to recognize my wonderful betas, Alice I and FraidyCat.

Chapter 15

Charlie glanced up idly as Decker spoke. "Yeah."

The agent was seated across the aisle on the small jet, one row back, and had put his cell phone to his ear. Charlie turned back to his laptop screen, and rubbed his forehead wearily. The jet was quiet, and the roar of the engines and the wind was muted, but the background noise, on top of the long night before, was making him drowsy. He was glad his part in this job was over, glad to be getting back to LA. It would be good to see Don – it would be dinnertime when he landed, maybe they could grab a bite somewhere, have a beer, catch up…

Those thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Decker appeared in the aisle next to him. He hadn't even realized the agent had stopped talking; he'd tuned out the conversation. Decker sank into a seat across the aisle, his expression sober. "Dr. Eppes, there's been a development that you need to know about."

Charlie turned toward him, trying to read his expression. "Yes?"

Decker paused uncomfortably for a split second. "That was Dave Maxwell. He just informed me that your brother is missing, and presumed kidnapped."

Charlie's mind went blank, and the roaring sound of the engines suddenly seemed to increase, filling his ears, his brain. "Wh-what?" he stammered.

Decker looked at the pale face, the stunned expression, with sympathy. "He didn't show up for a meeting as planned this afternoon. His team got a call a short time later that indicated he was being held. We think Walsh and Moran are behind it, and that they're trying to get information on you and Willy from your brother."

Charlie's eyes left Decker's face, and his head turned slowly until his gaze was resting blankly on the carpeting in the aisle. No wonder Don hadn't answered his phone – he had probably been taken, was being held even then…He felt suddenly nauseous, and he swallowed, and looked back at Decker. "How do they know it's Walsh and Moran – how do they know it's not some kind of joke?"

"The team said the voice on the phone sounded like Sean Moran."

"That's impossible," protested Charlie. "Sean Moran is in a state hospital for the criminally insane."

Decker shook his head. "He escaped this morning." He wouldn't have thought it possible, but the young man in front of him turned even paler. "Don had been at your home, and they found his SUV still there, and signs of a struggle. Walsh is actually in L.A. right now, and he and Dillon Moran have disappeared. We have orders to take you to a safe house as soon as we land." He put a comforting hand on Charlie's arm. "They're doing everything possible to find your brother."

Charlie looked at him, a trace of hope dawning on his face. "They have leads?"

Decker face fell, and his mouth twisted ruefully. "Not yet. They're working it." He gave Charlie's arm a pat. "I know this is hard, but try to relax. There's nothing we can do here. We'll tie in and get an update when we get to the safe house."

He rose and went back to his seat, leaving Charlie to stare numbly at his laptop. Relax? How in the hell was he supposed to do that? His stomach was in a knot, and a sick weight pressed on his chest. Don had been kidnapped by men who had already tried to kill them both, and would think nothing of ending his life. Worse yet, his brother had been taken because of him; because of the case he was working. Charlie had a sudden flash of insight into what Don had been feeling when he had been kidnapped – the feeling that he was responsible – that it was his fault. He understood all of it now – why Don had fought to keep him from consulting. It was, without question, the worst feeling in the world. His brother would die, and it was his fault.

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Dillon put a restraining hand on Sean's shoulder, and regarded the agent in the chair. "Enough."

Don Eppes slumped forward against his bonds, his head rolling, barely conscious. Sean had attacked him in a meth-induced frenzy, kicking, punching, beating mercilessly until his own hands bled – to no avail. Eppes was refusing to talk, and had most likely gone past the limit where he could speak coherently, even if he wanted to. Sean pulled back reluctantly, breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching. "I want to kill him. Let me kill him – for Tommy."

Dillon shook his head. "We still need him." He glanced at Walsh. "I think it's time to go to plan B."

Walsh nodded. "I agree." He glanced at Don's face, bruised, bloody and already swelling. "A picture would be appropriate, I think."

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A buzz in Charlie's pocket startled him out of his despairing musings, and as he pulled out his cell phone, he frowned in confusion at the unfamiliar number. He flipped the phone open and answered, fumbling a little. "Charles Eppes."

"Listen carefully. Hang up, get somewhere that you can talk, and call this number back."

At the words, Charlie's heart gave a frightening contraction, and his jaw dropped. The voice was unmistakable – he recognized it from his phone meeting a few weeks ago. Jason Walsh. The phone went dead, and he said into it, "I think you have a wrong number," and lowered it from his ear with an unsteady hand. He put the phone back in his pocket, unclasped his seat belt, set his laptop aside, and rose slowly. Decker was eyeing him curiously.

"Who was that?"

"Wrong number," Charlie managed, avoiding his eyes. "The restroom's in the back, right?" Decker nodded and looked back down at the file he was reading, and Charlie moved slowly past him, on lead legs.

He stepped into the restroom and locked the door, hastily pulled out the cell phone and dialed; his heart pounding. "It's Charlie Eppes," he said when the line connected.

Walsh's voice came over the line. "If you value your brother's life, you will follow directions, and speak to no one. Can you be overheard?"

Charlie froze for a moment; Walsh's second sentence not registering. "I want to speak to Don." he stammered.

"Get a grip, Dr. Eppes." Walsh's voice was harsh, impatient. "Can you be overheard?"

Charlie collected himself, just barely. "No. No one can hear me."

On the other end, Walsh frowned as the sound of the jet engines drifted over the line. "Where are you?"

"I'm on a plane," Charlie hedged. The noise would make that obvious, but he wasn't about to reveal where he was headed.

"You're returning to LA?" Charlie hesitated, and Walsh spoke angrily. "Listen, Eppes, we have your brother. You need to be straight with me, or he pays, do you understand?"

Charlie's felt his gut twist. "Yes. I'm on my way back."

"Does that mean you finished your analysis?"

Charlie paused for just a moment, thinking furiously. If Walsh realized that they were already done – that Dave Maxwell already knew that Walsh was a part of this, then he would have no reason to keep Don alive. "N-no. I gave their consultant some direction. He's doing all the work – he has a lot do yet. I couldn't do the work myself – conflict of interest."

Walsh pondered that for a moment, and he glanced at Moran, who was watching him intently, listening to the conversation. He originally was going to simply have Eppes tell him where the safe house was; he hadn't thought that the professor might not be there any longer. He still needed that location, so they could take out the other consultant, but they would now have to take care of Dr. Eppes in LA. "I need to know where he is."

Charlie could feel desperation rising inside. He needed to gain leverage somehow. He spoke firmly. "Not until I know my brother is safe. I need to see that he's been released; then I'll give you what you want. You'll have to wait until I get in to LA tonight. I land at around 6:30 p.m. your time."

Walsh could feel rage and impatience welling up inside him, and he fought it down. The professor was trying to gain control of the situation, and he needed to get it back. If he played along, however, he could manage to take care of the professor, too. "Very well, Doctor," he said, his teeth clenched, "you listen to me. When you land, you will call me, and I will direct you where to go. You will tell no one – we will be watching, and if we see that you are accompanied by anyone, your brother will die. If they have men assigned to you, you will need to ditch them. Do you understand?"

Charlie felt his momentary bravado fading. "Yes. I understand. Can I talk to him?"

Triumph glinted in Walsh's eyes as he heard uncertainty return to the professor's voice. He was back in command. "Later. When you land. In the meantime, I'll send you a picture. Call this number as soon as you are free."

The line disconnected, and Charlie stared at the phone blankly, his heart thumping, his mouth dry. It beeped, showing an incoming picture, and Charlie opened it immediately, biting back a moan. It was Don, but he was nearly unrecognizable; one eye swollen shut, his face battered and blood-streaked. There was a pounding on the door, and he shakily closed the picture and tucked the phone in his pocket, as Decker's voice came from outside. "Dr. Eppes, are you all right in there?"

Charlie glanced in the lavatory mirror, and a pale, bruised, wide-eyed apparition stared back at him. He composed his features as much as he could, opened the door and looked out. "I just wasn't feeling very well. I'm okay now." He pushed past Decker, unsteadily, head down.

Decker watched him make his way to his seat. Truthfully, the professor didn't look very well, but then he wouldn't either, he reflected; if he'd just been told his brother had been kidnapped. He glanced at his watch. Another hour and a half, and they'd be in LA.

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Colby regarded Megan through the glass of the conference room, frowning. She was seated at the table, her elbows propped on it, her face in her hands. He stepped forward and pushed open the door, and she immediately straightened and dropped her hands. She was dry-eyed, but she looked exhausted, traumatized. His face softened. "Are you okay?"

She nodded; then shook her head. "Yes. No – I don't know." She rubbed her face with one hand, and looked up at him, with desperation in her face. "I just can't do this anymore, Colby. First, Charlie, now Don. I can't do this."

He came forward and sat beside her, and she didn't wait for him to reply. "It's not just this – I've been struggling with the job for a while. But lately – having to head up the investigation into Charlie's kidnapping, and now with Don gone…," she trailed off, and shook her head dejectedly. "I feel like I'm letting him down. We have no clue as to where they are – nothing, and I don't know where to go from here."

"You aren't alone," Colby reminded her. "We're all assigned to this, not just you. There are a ton of people working this."

She smiled at him, sadly. "I know. It's just that I know Wright has me in charge of the team in Don's absence, and I feel responsible." She sighed. "I used to think I wanted my own team – now I'm not so sure. I think I care too much about the people I work with to be able to do this job right."

Colby sent her a subdued smile. "Since when is that a crime?" he asked. "If you ask me, you do just fine."

She looked back, gratefully. "Thanks." She glanced at the clock. "Charlie will be landing at Burbank soon with Agent Decker. You and David were going to meet them at the airport, right?"

Colby nodded. "Yeah."

Her face turned pensive again. "Make sure you get Alan's cell phone number from him. I need to call him, and let him know what's going on. I have no idea where he even is, except that he's out of town."

Colby nodded again and rose, squeezing her shoulder. "Hang in there. We'll get him back."

She watched him go, then straightened her shoulders and stood. She felt drained to the point of lifelessness, without the energy to think straight. Somehow, though, she needed to find the strength to do this. She couldn't let Don down. She lifted her head, set her jaw, and walked purposefully from the conference room.

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Don groaned as his one good eye flickered open, and he shifted on the cold tile floor. For a moment he couldn't remember what had happened, why he hurt so badly, why he was lying in this awkward position on the floor, but as the figures of Jason Walsh and Dillon Moran registered on his retina, his situation came back to him. Not a good situation, not a good one, at all.

He must have passed out in the chair, he reflected. They had dragged him to a spot on the floor between some pallets loaded with boxes; they rose on either side of him, like towers. His hands were bound behind him, and his feet were secured also; he was lying on his side, facing the center of the room. That portion of the room was empty of boxes; it contained a table and two desks, and was spotlighted by a single row of lights hanging from the ceiling. They shone down on Moran's and Walsh's features as they sat at the table, making them look harsh and ugly. The light was waning outside; fall twilight came early, and it was already dark inside the warehouse. He could see no sign of the other men – the Hispanic man or Sean. Boxes were stacked around the center of the room on pallets, in tall formations casting inky shadows, and behind them lay darkness, and more boxes.

He could feel the pain of his injuries, aching, throbbing, unrelenting. His face hurt, his chest hurt, his lower left leg was pulsing with pain. It had been kicked, he remembered, forced back against the chair, and he had felt something give – a bone maybe? He was sure his ribs had been fractured, and it felt difficult to breathe.

Sean Moran came into view suddenly from behind the boxes, still pacing with frenetic energy, and he approached the table. "It's six-thirty," he said impatiently. "The professor's supposed to be here – he's supposed to call, right?"

Walsh regarded him with undisguised irritation, but Dillon spoke calmly. "Patience, Seanie-boy. He's probably just landing now, and we need to give him a chance to get clear. He'll call."

"I get him, too, right?" Sean said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and scratching his arm. He grinned. "I'm gonna beat the crap out of him too, and then I'm gonna kill 'em both. He's comin' here, right?"

Dillon nodded. "Yes – Jason instructed him to come alone. You can help us get what we need from him. I'm sure he'll be a little easier to crack than his brother."

Don felt his gut twist at the words. Walsh must have talked to Charlie – he didn't remember that; he must have been too out of it when it happened. Surely Charlie wouldn't listen to them, he thought desperately. He had to know that in spite of what they'd told him, he needed to bring in help – to call in the team. In the back of his mind though, he knew he'd set a bad example. When Charlie had been kidnapped, his brother hadn't let him know where he was when he had the chance, because he'd been afraid that Don would come for him alone. Don knew that showing up solo was something that Charlie would think that he would do – how had he put it? Something about "going all Superman on him." He could only hope that Charlie would have the sense to know that this was different – he wasn't a trained agent, and he would be facing several captors, not just one.

Inside though, he had an awful fear. He'd just taken the beating of his life in order to keep them from knowing where Charlie was, and he was now facing the possibility that his brother, out of a misplaced sense of heroics, might come to them. "Don't be stupid, Buddy," he whispered to himself, and it occurred to him that it might be the first time he'd used that phrase. "Please, don't be stupid."

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End Chapter 15