Someone was whispering her name, over and over. Her shoulder ached. And her head. And her back. "Leave me alone," she tried to say. Her tongue felt soft and woolly in her mouth.

"Molly? Thank God. Try to wake up," the voice whispered in her ear.

She tried to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper. "What the hell?" she mumbled.

"Ssshh. Don't talk too loud," the voice behind her said.

She was lying on her side and her lower arm was numb. She looked at the dusty concrete floor that stretched out in front of her. It disappeared into darkness a good twenty feet away. She reached up to push her hair out of her face, but her hand wouldn't move. It was tied behind her. Oh God, her hands were tied. With rope, like before. She frantically started pedaling her feet backwards. She had to get out of here now, right now, out, out, out. She backed into a warm body and started writhing against it. Meaningless mewling sounds were coming out of her mouth. The warm body collapsed on top of her, legs over her legs, chest pushing her torso down. A strong voice sounded right in her ear. "Stop, Molly, stop!" it said.

She stopped struggling, if only because her body felt like a limp dishrag. She slowly wiggled around, rotating under the weight of the other body, until she was finally looking up into the face of Lieutenant Flynn. He looked funny. His eyes were bloodshot and his arms seemed to be missing. There was just his torso pressing down on her.

"Mackie?" she whispered.

He nodded grimly and scooted back from her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He couldn't even meet her eyes. "He got us in the hospital parking lot."

"Does that mean Lieutenant Tao is okay?"

He looked up at her, startled. Then a slow grin lit up his face. "You…" He shook his head. "You're too much." He sat up on his elbow and tried to draw his legs up. A bright yellow rope was wrapped around his ankles. He grunted and sank back down to the floor.

"I can get up," Molly said. "He didn't tie my legs." She levered herself up to a sitting position. "I'll see if I can find a knife."

"No, Molly," he whispered harshly. "You've got to get out of here."

Footsteps echoed in the cavernous room and Molly froze. "Get back down!" Flynn hissed. "Pretend you're still out of it, but not too much."

Molly rolled over to her original position and tried to relax her body. Her heart was beating far too fast, and her breath was coming in short gasps. She closed her eyes and tried to match the slow breaths behind her. Footsteps entered the room. Footsteps she knew immediately, though she hadn't realized what an impression they'd made. Through her closed eyelids she could see that bright overhead lights were being turned on. The steps came closer.

"Tsk, tsk. Still out," a familiar voice murmured. "I should have cut the dose a little."

Molly suddenly remembered the hospital parking lot. Flynn had been upset, but tense as well. He had insisted on driving. They had only walked a few steps from the car when he suddenly shouted at her to get back in the car. She looked at him and saw a red cone appear on his shoulder blade, as if from out of thin air. A tranquilizer dart?

She felt a hard shoe kicking her on the shin. She stirred and moaned a little. Flynn was right. He would get suspicious if they were still completely unconscious.

Mackie seemed satisfied, because he walked away toward the back of the room. Molly listened for the sounds of surgical instruments being prepared, but instead heard large objects being moved around. Something that sounded like an airtight seal being broken. Then Mackie was walking back, rolling something on the gritty concrete floor. A wheel squeaked. Then his steps were retreating and a door closed. She let out her breath.

Scuffling movements sounded behind her. Molly rolled over and saw Flynn trying to sit up again. She pressed her legs against him so he could get some leverage. He grunted and finally pushed himself up. In the bright fluorescent lights his face was pale and his t-shirt, hastily put on that morning, was smeared with dust. Molly sat up and looked carefully at him. "You okay?" she said.

He nodded. "Just a little foggy still."

Molly started to work on getting her knees under her so she could stand. "I'm going to find a knife," she said.

"Don't bother. The room's empty except for some shelves on the back wall." His eyes were looking into the distance behind her. "They're too high for you to reach with your hands tied."

"Should I go for help?" she said. She felt sick at the thought of leaving him here in this tomb.

He shook his head. "There's a cargo door on that far wall, but I can see the padlock from here."

"What about the door Mackie used?" She could see it behind Flynn, at least thirty feet away. It was closed but she hadn't heard Mackie lock it.

"You're not going through that," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Her heart started to pound again and she turned to scan the rest of the room. There had to be a way out of here. Her eyes caught on the object to her right. A rusty old wheelchair holding a large bundle wrapped in blue. The bundle was shapeless, but there was no mistaking what it was. It was facing them, about fifteen feet away. Molly opened her mouth.

"Look at me, Molly," Flynn said sharply.

Molly barely managed to stifle the scream. She turned toward Flynn. His dark eyes grabbed hers. "You don't need to look at that," he said. "There's something I want you to do."

She shut her mouth and nodded.

"I want you to rotate your wrists back and forth just a little bit."

His eyes never left hers. She held onto the strength in them and slowly moved her wrists in their tight binding.

"Okay, did that make the rope feel tighter or looser?" he asked.

Molly wiggled her arm. It had to be her imagination, but the rope did seem just slightly looser. "Maybe looser," she whispered.

"But not tighter?"

She shook her head.

Flynn let out a sigh of relief. "Keep rotating them," he said. "Not too hard, just a little at a time."

Molly worked her wrists back and forth. "Are yours getting looser?" she asked.

He shook his head. "He used nylon on mine. All they're doing is cutting up my skin. But I saw earlier that yours looked like cotton, an old clothesline or something. He must have run out of good rope. And he doesn't seem to know how to tie the kind of knot that gets tighter as you work on it."

"How long will it take?" she asked.

"Don't worry about that," he said. "Tell me about your dog, Bandit. What breed was he?"

Molly stared at him. He was watching her, waiting for an answer. "He-" She stopped to clear her throat. "He was a mutt," she finally said. "My parents let me pick him out at the shelter." She twisted her wrists a little more. The rope was becoming damp with her sweat.

"You were an only child, right?"

She nodded and told him about how lonely she had been before Bandit came along. She had begged her parents for months to let her get a dog. She dressed the poor thing up in scarves and ribbons and hair scrunchies, and he always put up with it.

They exhausted the topic of Bandit and moved on to Flynn's own problems with loneliness and alcohol, how much he missed his kids, how important AA had become to him. It was the only place where he could fully let down the guard he kept so firmly in place at work.

"How's the rope?" he finally asked. His tone was casual, but the tightness in his jaw gave him away.

"So-so," she said. "Looser, but nowhere near loose enough."

"Turn around and let me see."

He was silent for a moment as she showed him her wrists. "It's almost there," he said.

"You are such a liar."

"No, really. Just keep working at it."

Molly continued to work at the rope. "That…thing…over there. It's dripping," she said. There was a small puddle under the wheelchair.

"It's thawing," Flynn said.

"Thawing?"

"Yeah, there must be a walk-in freezer in here somewhere."

"What the hell is it?"

"Wait. I'm going to try something. It's a little gross, but don't freak out." She heard him spit several times and her wrists dampened. "See if that helps," he said.

She moved her wrists in the now wet rope and felt the right side stretch out. "Oh my God," she said.

"That's it. Keep going. Not too hard," he muttered as he watched her.

She focused on moving her right wrist, which was starting to become raw. "Is it a body?" she finally asked.

"I think it's his mother," Flynn said.

"Are you kidding?"

"It makes sense. He wants to prove to her that he made it. He wants her to see how good he is."

"Are you saying he's going to do an operation in front of her?"

"Maybe. But that doesn't explain why he's thawing her out first." He paused. "She kept telling him to save her, right?"

"Yeah, but he failed."

"Maybe he thinks he still can. Maybe he thinks if he can give her the right transplants she'll be cured."

"That's crazy!"

"Yeah, it is. Are you surprised?"

Molly felt the rope give a bit more. She could almost squeeze her right hand out of it, if she could just fold her thumb in a little further. Then Flynn's words sunk in. "God! Are you saying he's going to remove our organs and give them to her?"

"No, Molly. You're almost free. We're going to get out of here. Just pull a little harder."

Molly gasped as her hand slowly pulled through the rope, every inch of skin stinging.

"Quick. Get mine undone." His voice was tense.

Molly scrambled to get behind him. His wrists were bleeding under the bright yellow rope. She pulled frantically at the knots. They were tight and slick. "Dammit!" she said as one of her nails split to the quick. "They're too tight!"

"It's okay," he said steadily. "Just go see if there's anything on that shelf you can use."

She ran to the shelf and reached up to feel along the top. Grit, some loose screws, a piece of cardboard, and then her hand felt soft fabric. Her totebag! She had been carrying it to the hospital, and there was a nail file inside. She pulled the bag off the shelf and turned to show it to Flynn.

A key rattled in the lock of the door on the other side of the room. It had apparently been locked all along.

She shot Flynn an agonized look. He pointed to the wheelchair. "Get down!" he hissed. "Be his mother! Be his mother!"

Clutching the totebag, she dived down beside the wheelchair, out of the line of sight from the door. She didn't understand what Flynn was telling her to do. All she could think about was hiding from Mackie.

Mackie walked in wearing his favorite green scrubs. "So, Lieutenant, you're awake! Excellent! I want you to see…Wait? Where's the girl?"

"She got out of here, you moron. You couldn't even lock that cargo door properly."

Mackie spun around and yelled at the door. "It's locked! I didn't mess up!"

"Sure," Flynn said, "now it is, but it wasn't twenty minutes ago. You better get out of here, Mackie. The FBI will be here any minute."

Molly moved slowly to the back of the chair to stay out of sight as Mackie spun back toward Flynn. She was feeling around in her bag, looking for anything that might work as a weapon. Could she kill with a nail file? Mackie started shrieking. "I'll kill you, you bastard!" Molly peeked around the side of the chair. Mackie was holding something shiny in his hand. A scalpel in a bright silver handle. He started toward Flynn, who was trying to back up.

Molly pitched her voice high and cried out, "Save me! Save me!"

Mackie froze. Slowly he turned around, eyes wide, and stared at the chair. "Ma?" he said hoarsely.

Molly's hand closed over something cold and hard in her bag. "Why didn't you save me, Stuart?" she called again.

Mackie shook his head. "I will, Ma, I will. Let me just get you a new kidney." He turned back toward Flynn, who had been creeping toward him, and raised the scalpel. "I'll save you, Ma!" he shouted.

Molly's first shot was high, but it stopped Mackie with his arm raised. She could hear Andy's voice as it had been on the firing range, telling her to grip with both hands and squeeze.

He watched the barrel of the gun quiver in her hands. He had been about to kick Mackie's legs out from under him, but he froze and let Molly try the shot again. She'd only had an hour on the range. Nowhere near enough time to get comfortable with that gun. He sent a silent prayer to his higher power.

Bang!

The shot was still ringing in his ears when Mackie fell, blood pouring from his chest. The gun clattered to the floor, and Molly subsided beside the gruesome wheelchair, wrapped her arms around her knees, and buried her face. Flynn scooted in that direction, pausing to feel Mackie's wrist and grab the scalpel on his way over. It was hard to do much with his hands tied behind him, but he was pretty sure Mackie was dead. If that wasn't a heart shot, it was damn close.

He leaned his shoulder against Molly's and let her shake for a while. He fumbled around with the scalpel behind his back, but all he managed to do was cut himself. A hiss of pain escaped his lips. Molly raised her head and looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Then she suddenly wrapped her arms around him; hell, wrapped her whole body around him and clung for dear life.

He was not entirely satisfied with the situation, and he mumbled into her ear, "Hey, you think you could get me loose?"

She started laughing and crawled around behind him. Several agonizing seconds later his wrists were finally free, and he was able to turn and put his hands where they needed to be, deep in her dark hair, while he kissed her soft, sweet lips.

Epilogue

"You should have known I was tougher than that," Tao said. His face above his hospital gown wore a genuinely hurt expression.

"You know what a pessimist I am, Mike."

Tao looked down at Andy's right hand, which was linked casually with Molly's bandaged left. His eyebrow raised skeptically, but he didn't say anything. He scooped another spoonful of orange jello into his mouth.

Provenza spoke up from the corner of the crowded room. "Well, it was a dumb trick to fall for, Flynn, but at least you had someone intelligent around to bail your ass out."

Flynn chuckled. "Yeah, it was a new experience for me, Provenza."

While Provenza sputtered, Flynn wrapped his arm around Molly's shoulder. She slipped hers around his waist and leaned her head on his chest. The hard edges of his gun pressed against her side. She listened to his heart beating under his soft sweatshirt and knew she had finally found her family.

The End