Disclaimer: Really quick. Don't have any ownership of anything to do

with Numb3rs. Ok, now back to the story.

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All in all a good nights work, Jack thought. Everything was going according to plan. He smiled acidly. That to do list of his was getting shorter and shorter. Carefully observing the speed limit, (it wouldn't do to be stopped by the CHP right now would it?) he sped thru the darkness. Windows of the leased SUV all down, the night air came streaming in, cooling him and passing over the insensate form of Kerri, slumped next to him in the passenger seat. He reached over, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. He was not worried that either his touch or the rush of air would wake her. With the amount of sedative both his victims had in them, neither would be coming around for quite some time, no matter what.

Jack was still marveling at how easy it had all been so far. Bidding his time until the slut and her paramour were safely away to frolic in the sand and surf for the day, he'd entered the beach house. Getting in was the easiest part. Roger Kendall fiercely desired re-election. Fawning over Jack like a bootlicker born, Kendall offered the beach house as a periodic escape on several occasions. One of those times, Jack simply duplicated the keys. He hadn't worried about the alarm. Kendall never updated the code and it wasn't activated anyway.

Jackson knew to make sure his intended targets were well dosed with the undetectable drug. He wanted them totally out of it until it suited him for them to be awake. Not sure of what they would be eating or drinking, or how much, he settled for a tried and true delivery system. He knew it would work because he'd used it before, effectively. Laying out every piece of flatware he found in the kitchen, he thoroughly coated every knife, fork and spoon with the compound. Next he doctored the cooking utensils, and for good measure, a fair number of the dishes, pots and pans. Taking his time, he worked methodically, being certain to leave no trace of his visit. There was no reason to hurry. They wouldn't be back until sunset. Finishing up, he retreated to the anonymity of his rented vehicle and waited.

Witnessing the couple's return, watching with the aid of high-tech binoculars, he saw them retreat behind the closed door of the bathroom, locked in a vulgar embrace. His imagination tortured him with the things they were no doubt doing to one another.

"Scream for him now, sweet thing" he told Kerri silently. "You can scream for me later." He had such plans for her, especially after today. Once loverboy was permanently out of the way, Jack would be able to take all the time he wanted with her. Lots of time to do anything he wanted. Things she would beg him to do no more of before he was finished with her. He fondled himself, fantasizing.

Hours later, he saw Kerri Walton's lover emasculate himself by cooking their evening meal. More proof, Jack felt, that the man she'd chosen was no man at all. It was always a woman's place to serve a man, never the other way around. Women constantly needed reminding of who was the master in a relationship. Jack could do that for her. He was good at it.

There, the preparation completed, they began eating. Shouldn't be long now. A scant fifteen minutes later, they were ready for him. Bypassing the recumbent form of Colby Granger, Jack proceeded to the helpless Kerri. He smiled at her terror, evident even in her dazed condition.

"Hello, princess" he greeted her coldly.

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Waking still dizzy and sick to her stomach from the drug inside her, Kerri opened her eyes partially.

"Where…a…am…I? What ha…hap…happened??? C…Col…Colby? Wh…where are you? Wha... what…happened? Colby?"

Why didn't he answer? Where was he? Her confusion tripled. She sat up, regretting it immediately as her queasy stomach reacted. Her head spinning, Kerri forced her body into a sitting position. Opening her eyes all the way, she looked around. She didn't know this place. This room. Where was she?! And where was Colby?! The memories came crashing back. Oh, God. Jack. At the beach house. Colby lying still on the floor. Was he alive?! What did Jack do to Colby? To her? WHERE WAS SHE?? Was Colby alive?!! Please, please let him be alive! She suppressed a sob. In the dark, still groggy, she couldn't tell if she was alone. She decided to test it.

"Colby?" she said aloud.

"No, princess" Jackson Lucern's voice answered. "He won't be attending tonight's festivities."

Her heart thundered in her chest as he walked out of the blackness and into view.

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The unholy whine of the bale crusher dragged Colby from his drug induced stupor by brute force. Coming to disoriented and ill within the confines of the junked car, it had taken him a while to reconstruct the night's events. In stages, he remembered their enjoyable dinner, and then the incapacitating surge of dizziness taking him to the floor, knocking him out.

He tensed as he recalled the sound of a strange man speaking to Kerri. "Hello princess?" Colby had no idea who the stranger was, but that person was undoubtedly also responsible for he, Colby being trapped in the trunk of the soon to be destroyed wreck. The stranger unquestionably wanted him dead. And what did this unknown man want for Kerri? What had he done with her? What was happening to her right now? He had to get out of this car. He started pounding and hollering as loud as he could, trying to get somebody's attention but only succeeded in yelling himself hoarse. Exhausted but afraid for Kerri and himself, he didn't stop. She was in the hands of a probable rapist and killer. He kept it up, depleting the meager oxygen reserves in the small space. He felt around for anything to pry his way out, but found nothing. He could hear the machine getting close. Very close.

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"I told you we'd be together, didn't I, princess? It's our destiny. Jack and Kerri. Kinda has a ring to it, don't you think?"

"What did you do to Colby? Where is he? Where is he?! What did you do to him?!" Kerri screamed at Lucern, her fear for Colby near paralyzing.

"Ttttttttttt." Jack clucked his tongue. Reaching down, he pulled her to her feet roughly. "Sweet thing, if this relationship is going to work, you and I are going to need some ground rules. Number one is you have to learn to speak to your man with respect."

"You're not my man, you pig!" Kerri spat.

With a growl, Jackson slammed her brutally against the wall. Kerri cried out in pain as the back of her head met the unyielding surface.

"I said 'respect' princess. Don't forget again. Understand?" He waited for her nod. "Excellent. Rule number two. When your man ain't happy, you ain't happy. I'm not happy princess. I don't approve of your present attire. I think I'd like a preview of what I'll be so thoroughly enjoying later." He kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She gagged. He chortled viciously. "So here's what you're going to do. You're going to get out of these off the rack rags" He gestured at her T-shirt and jeans, "and you're going to put on this."

She looked at what he held out to her. Black lace trimmed satin bra, briefs and matching see thru robe.

"After you're properly dressed, you can prepare dinner for me. I'm hungry, and cooking is one of the womanly virtues. I'll allow you to please me there before you please me…elsewhere." He threw the lingerie at her. "You have five minutes to get changed. I'd watch, but, I like to be surprised." He paused at the doorway. "If I need to come back in here, I'll dress you sweet thing, and then, all bets are off. Five minutes." He left. Kerri heard a snick. She was locked in.

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Mac Blukerman was tired, sore and hungry. In the round-the clock, seven day a week, (except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and New Years of course, everybody being way too hung over) operation of Manny's Auto Cemetery and Salvage, Mac was low man on the totem-pole. Which explained why he was here, at eleven thirty at night, loading and crushing car after car into the huge crusher. ("That hummer 'ill do volume work!") his boss Manny like to boast to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. That, and the fact that the only thing waiting for him at home was Charlene. Charlene, who grew more shrill with each passing day, shopped all the time, refused to learn to cook, hated cleaning, never wanted to put out and practically made Mac beg for it when she did. It didn't start out that way, Mac snorted. In the beginning Charlene was hot and ready all day and all night. Sweet and ripe for the plucking. Things only changed after the wedding. That's when Mac realized how much of their dating time included a lot of restaurants and take out. He remembered thinking it hilarious how eager Charlene's daddy seemed to get her married off. Now he knew why. He couldn't even screw around. Charlene might be a lazy, shopaholic shrew, but she was a crazy, lazy, shopaholic shrew. One more thing he only discovered after the wedding. He punctuated his sour reminiscing by grabbing another car for the crusher to mash as flat as his chances of getting laid tonight.

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"Time's up, princess. Come on out and give us a fashion show." Jack entered without knocking.

Kerri, dressed in the skimpy lingerie, covered herself as best she could, shielding her breasts with one hand and holding the thigh length robe closed with the other. She'd decided to play along for now. She didn't want to give Jack a reason to put his hands on her again. She also didn't want to gamble on his volatile mental state. She needed to buy time, wait for her opportunity. It would come, and she'd be ready.

"No, no, no, no. No false modesty, princess. We both know you have no problem showing off that luscious body of yours. Give your man a good look. Come on, now, sweet thing. Do it. Right now!" He flared angrily.

Kerri reluctantly dropped her hands to her sides, deliberately refusing to look at him.

"Oh, very nice! Very, very nice indeed!" His lewd appreciation made her want to vomit. "Oh, princess, you look good enough to eat! Matter of fact, why don't we make you the dessert course?" He motioned her out of the room, seizing a handful of hair to smell as she squeezed by, not wanting to touch him.

"Kitchen's that way" He pointed down the hall. "Time to do your duty. Well, part of it, anyway."

She went quickly. The kitchen was her home turf. Friendly territory. There might be something she could use.

He followed, bouncing along on the balls of his feet, enjoying the view. He spared a moment to think about loverboy. By now, Colby Granger should be part of L.A.'s metal landscape. They'd probably never even find his body. Good thing I remembered that interstate car theft case. The owner, Manny Sandoval, picked up the place for a song after his brother-in-law got busted for running a chop shop out of the scrap yard. Now, Jack recalled, Sandoval had the place churning twenty four hours a day trying to make a go of it, including crushing old junk cars. After removing every item from the autos that could possibly be of any use, of course. "Too bad they'll never know about the little investment I made in the business tonight" Jack gloated to himself. "The look on that toad Sandoval's face might actually be worth it."

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TWO HOURS AGO…

"Alright, pretty boy, where did you get to? Hum?" Clarence muttered under his breath. Back in his car after a long, unpleasant day of dodging the FBI's attempts to talk to him, he fired up the GPS locator system. Back when he was taking orders from the ice queen one of the first things she'd told him to do was keep an eye on her brother.

"He can be a simpleton if left to his own devices for too long. He bears watching." Alison Lucern Gerrard had commented bluntly to Clarence.

A common failing with rich people, in Clarence's opinion. Especially when they hadn't earned it themselves. Typical. Some schmuck goes and busts his hump minting the family fortune and building up the family name. Then, no sooner do the descendants get themselves born, than they start screwing the pooch. Jack Lucern and his sister were no exception. Good thing they both had irrevocable trusts to fall back on, being cut off from the clan coffers and all. Dumb with two D's that pair.

Once online with the system, he set about trying to locate his current paymaster. He didn't really care if Jack got himself sent up the river, but Clarence had done prison (not in the good old USA). He didn't plan on doing it again. If Jackson Lucern was about to take a flying foray into Stupidville, Clarence wanted plenty of lead time, so he could get clear.

The way it was set up, the program tracked Jack's movements everywhere. (Switching it from Lucern's Lexus to the rental involved a few hairy moments!), but it was working just the same. "So, what have we been up to today, Junior? Dare I hope you've spent the day huddled with your lawyers, trying to think of some way to keep the feds from tying your tallywacker into a knot?"

Studying the readout for a few minutes, Clarence was puzzled. Lucern had spent the better part of the day someplace called Rincon Point? Rincon Point? Where had he heard that name before? Rincon Point. Rincon Poi-

Aw, crap. Now he remembered. Rincon Point was on the last surveillance disc he turned over to his wacky employer. The lady D.A. Jackie boy was so hot for and her FBI honey were there. Lucern had followed them. Uh Oh. Why do I think that's a bad thing? Clarence asked the universe. He resumed from the point Jack's electronic tag showed him leaving Rincon Point and heading back for L.A. Mr. Perfect Haircut was on his way back to the city right now. Clarence could pick him up once he arrived and keep an eye on him from there.

It took some doing, but he managed it without too much trouble. Lucern was driving a leased steel blue Land Cruiser. With his GPS helper, Clarence was soon tailing along four vehicles behind, with Jack totally clueless. Odd, it looked like pretty boy had company. That didn't fit, all lathered up over Miss Thing like he was. What gives with the unidentified broad? Then he had another uh oh moment. Pretty boy's female company. Kerri Walton. Had to be. Not her idea either, Clarence figured. And where was the Fed sweetie pie, huh? Just how stupid did you get today, Jackie? Kidnap a federal prosecutor and kill an FBI agent stupid? Huh? I think I'm gonna stick with you until I get some answers.

Clarence followed along, wondering at Jack's peculiar route. He expected pretty to head for the townhouse. Instead, the big SUV stopped in front of someplace called Manny's Auto Cemetery and Salvage. Honking, Lucern waited and then drove inside after the gate trundled open. With it closing behind him, it left his babysitter unable to follow. "What are you doing here, Jackie boy, huh? What brings you to a dump like this?" Clarence speculated out loud.

Lucern reappeared after about twenty minutes, looking like he'd had a strenuous workout, and way too pleased with himself. He ducked to stay out of the headlights but saw enough to confirm Kerri Walton was indeed Jackson Lucern's traveling companion. She looked asleep, no, passed out. Drugged? Possible. Very possible. So, rich boy has the Walton woman doped unconscious in his truck and no sign of the boyfriend. None at all. Clarence, followed the Land Cruiser again, thinking furiously. He couldn't get the salvage yard out of his head. Always in operation with klieg lights blazing the place must be really popular with the neighbors. Not to mention the huge industrial car crusher. The thing must make enough noise to wake the dead. If I'm Jackie boy, Clarence mused, and I've got a kidnapped lady lawyer whacked out on the seat next to me, I don't really want to draw attention to myself. I especially don't take time to visit one of the more undesirable attractions in the city. Several blocks away, he could still hear the machine at work, making that godawful racket. Yet Lucern obviously planned his little drop in. Why? Shouldn't be this hard to figure out. After all, pretty wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Think of the dumbest thing you'd do, he told himself, then multiply by a hundred. A few seconds later, when it finally hit him, Clarence swore. "That stupid, stupid…" How many times did he have to tell them? The feds might come after you for breaking the law, but a good attorney could tap dance you out of all but the worst of it most of the time. Mess with one of their own, however, kill one, and they never let you up. Not that it mattered if the FBI took Jack Lucern down right along with his sister, but, technically, he still counted as Clarence's meal ticket. Become the wife of some four hundred pound tattooed member of the Aryan Brotherhood in federal supermax for taking out an agent? Because of Jackson Lucern? Not in my golden years, pretty. No way. Good thing he had hands free. "Get me a number for the FBI in Los Angeles." Voice activated, the smart phone did his bidding.

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Saturday night, almost ten thirty, David Sinclair thought, and here I am, still at my desk. The rest of the team had started their weekends hours ago. Even Don had departed, murmuring something about plans with Robin Brooks. Liz Warner left looking decidedly forward to the evening. David suspected a hot date. As for Nikki, Ian Edgerton was in town. Enough said. He didn't even want to think about how much fun Colby must be having, holed up in surf city with Kerri Walton. "I'm the only dateless sucker still here wrapping up reports. Just me, myself and I." His day started by interrupting a car jacking on his way to work. It continued with a nasty encounter with a hostile defense attorney from yesterday's court appearance. Just to complete the trifecta, his dinner date cancelled pleading a family emergency. At last, it was time to call it quits. His 302's were a vision of perfection. A pizza, a couple of beers and maybe some UFC. "I'm going over the wall" he said to his desk and phone and stood up. Before he could get away, the phone rang.

"I knew it! I knew I didn't move fast enough!" He considered ignoring it but reluctantly reached for it anyway. "FBI. Agent Sinclair" he answered.

"Hello, Agent Sinclair. Don't talk, just listen. It's a matter of life and death and your partner probably doesn't have the time to spare."

David had no idea who he was listening to. "Who is th-"

"I said listen! If you want to save your buddy's life, you need to get to Lacinta and Morris. To a place called Manny's Auto Cemetery and Salvage. Your partner's trapped in a car headed for the bale crusher. If he's not already dead, he's about to get that way real soon. So if I were you, I wouldn't screw around thinking this was a joke or trying to trace the call. Just get there!" CLICK!

David's mystery caller was gone. He took barely a second to process what he'd been told, then ran for the elevator, collecting two other agents still in the office as backup.

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The last car, Mac thought, wedging himself back into the cab of the machine. Manipulating the claw, he grabbed the last piece of metallic flotsam. With this one out of the way, he could, at last, call it a night. With any luck, Charlene would be asleep when he got home. Since he wasn't getting any tonight anyway, he just as soon not have to listen to her penetrating voice. He'd have been done already, but he had to stop and take a leak. The single time he'd simply hopped out and gone whizzing by the old junkers, Manny'd gone ballistic, threatening to fire him, screaming about how it looked unprofessional! Unprofessional? In a scrap yard?! Jeez! But if he lost his job, Charlene would not only tear him a raw, red new one, she'd rub salt in it. Probably on her way to the mall. So, in the interest of self preservation, Mac left the cab of the forklift, with its claw excavator, used to lift the cars onto the crusher's bed. He walked all the way up to the office and used the cramped, none to clean bathroom. Taking his time allowed him to work in an extra break. Then, pushing it as far as he dared, he even snuck in a cup of coffee. When he figured he couldn't put it off any longer, he sauntered back out to the forklift to get done with the last car. He made sure to reinsert the ear plugs Manny insisted all his employees wear out in the yard. He'd hated the things from the beginning, still did, but Mac had to admit they worked good. This car munching beast made more noise than Charlene when he came home toasted. The claw lowered, seizing the car by its roof, slowly shifting into position. Dropping the old heap with a clatter, he watched as the hydraulics closed the cover and the crunching began. One second everything's normal. The next thing he knows, he's staring down the spank me end of a nasty looking gun in the hands of a seriously annoyed black guy. The dude was yanking the plugs out of Mac's ears with the other hand. Mac was thus able to pick up what the guy was yelling. His eyes were big as dinner plates as he froze.

"-SHUT IT OFF! I SAID SHUT IT OFF NOW!! NOW!!! DO IT!!!" The angry gunman was bellowing.

Mac thawed, leaping for the shutoff on the crusher. Within a few seconds, an eerie silence fell over the scrap yard as the customary clanging of the powerful machinery died. Mac, swallowing hard, couldn't take his gaze from the weapon.

Pissed off man produced a badge. Just to give himself something else to look at, Mac gave it a peruse. "Federal Bureau of Investigation" it said. What? What the heck was the FBI doing at Manny's? Clean and above board, Manny constantly swore on the heads of all his children, by both his wife and his girlfriend. NO MORE FUNNY STUFF. NONE. So, what gives? Whatever. It had nothing to do with him! An absolutely one hundred percent law abiding citizen, that's me, he thought. I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear! Fully prepared to grovel to stay out of jail, it took him a few seconds to realize the other man was still yelling instructions at him.

"Get that car out of there! Get it out! Move it!" the agent ordered.

Still petrified, Mac shakily did as he was told, although it was a lot harder getting something out of the crusher than putting it in.

Once the heap landed in the dust, the agent with the gun and the attitude

ran over to it, using the flat of his hand to beat on the squished trunk.

"Colby?!! Colby?!! Answer me! You in there?! Come on, man, answer me!! COLBY!!!" David put his ear to the trunk's surface, praying for a response.

Mac shoved to the side and under watch by another agent, just about got the vapors when one came from the vehicle accompanied by frenzied pounding.

"David! David! Get me out of here! Get me out!" More pounding.

Sinclair looked around for a way to pop the trunk open. He spotted a pile of rebar. He and one of the other agent's each grabbed a length. Working together, they pried and pulled at the mashed down lid until it sprang up. Gasping for air, shuddering with relief, Colby Granger lay entombed.

"Did I ever tell you that you have best timing in the world?" Colby joked weakly as his partner helped him climb from his would be final resting place.

"Yeah, well I almost didn't. Somebody, I, I don't know who tipped us off you were here, about to be turned into a pancake! Colby, what happened? How'd you get here? You're supposed to be in Rincon Point with Kerri!"

"David, he's got Kerri! We gotta get to her! We gotta find her right now! We gotta find her!!" Colby, barely able to stand, clutched at David's shoulder for stability.

"Come on, we gotta go! WE GOTTA GO!! He's got Kerri, man! He's got Kerri!"

"Who's got Kerri, Colby? Who?! Whoever put you in here?! And where are they?! Where are we going?!!" David asked in response.

Colby stopped stock still, gaping at Sinclair in horrified realization. He didn't know! Kerri was at the mercy of someone who had none, and he didn't know how to get to her! HE DIDN'T KNOW!!!

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