"Talked to the neighbours, Horatio," Frank Tripp stated in his strong Texan drawl as he walked up the driveway. Horatio stepped outside into the waning sunlight and drew on his sunglasses. "Most of them didn't see much but a couple remember seein' a white cube van driving real fast. No logos on the van and never thought to get a licence plate."

"Did any of your men find a cell phone, Frank?"

Frank looked surprised by the question. "No. Should we be lookin' for one?"

Horatio stared off into the street. "My son's phone. I was talking to him when he was attacked by Ron Saris."

Frank and Horatio exchanged meaningful glances. "You tried calling it back?"

Horatio nodded. "I have. It keeps going to voicemail."

"Must have turned it off. Still..." Frank trailed off as he rubbed his chin.

"We would be able to track it," Horatio finished for him. "If it was turned on."

Frank nodded knowingly, feeling a pang of sympathy for what Horatio must be going through. "I'll have someone monitor the phone anyway. As soon as it's turned on, GPS will be able to pick it up."

Horatio gave him a short nod and Frank Tripp quickly walked away. Horatio's cell phone rang loudly in his pocket.

"Yes," he answered.

"Got the results from the blood sample," Natalia said. "It was easy to do with your son's DNA profile already loaded into the database. It's a direct match, Horatio. The blood is Kyle's."

Even though the news was hardly unexpected, Horatio still cringed with the knowledge. Ron Saris had drawn Kyle's blood, had hurt his son, and for what gain? The blood in his veins boiled with barely concealed anger.

"Horatio?" Natalia said over the seemingly dead line. "You still there?"

Horatio roused himself and forced his way through the conversation. "Yes, I am. Good work, Natalia. Thank you."

"Anytime," she said before hanging up.

Horatio wanted to hurl the phone, to smash it into a million pieces, to hit something, but instead he pocketed the phone and exhaled his anger and frustration at feeling helpless.

"Where are you son?" he asked the darkening sky.

They had moved them to an abandoned warehouse. Empty barrels coated with rust dotted the large structure, but other than that, there was nothing else in the warehouse except for Kyle and Julia, their two beefy watchmen, and the simple table and chairs that the watchmen sat at, playing cards and smoking cigarettes.

Kyle's hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were tied together as well. He sat on the cool concrete and tried to rub his fingers together in an effort to keep the circulation going. The plastic twist ties that encased his limbs were unforgiving. At least the duct tape gag was gone now, but only after receiving a stern warning to keep quiet and hearing about the consequences if he didn't. They were quite graphic in their descriptions of what they could do to him if he so much as made a peep.

Julia was lying on her side, blonde hair spilling over her face. She slept on, despite Kyle's gentle nudges every so often. He was thankful that at least she was breathing and even though he longed for a comforting word or glance from her, he was happy that she was missing most of the situation.

One of the men, Kyle thought his name might be Carl, slammed his cards down on the table in disgust. He rubbed his face with one hand and took a long drag on his cigarette. His eyes strayed to where Kyle sat. He glowered at him.

"What are you staring at?" He asked accusingly.

Kyle said nothing and tried to avert his eyes. Apparently the response wasn't good enough for Carl. He stood up and kicked the chair back, which echoed loudly in the cavernous building. He drew up to his full height, which was massive. Kyle wondered if the man had been a former NFL linebacker.

"What's your problem, punk?"

Kyle steeled himself for what he felt would be an inevitable beat down at the hands of an oversized ape. But before Carl could take another step, the other man, Jones, stepped in front of him and laid a restraining hand on his chest. "Don't touch him," he warned. "We don't get paid until the job's through. And the job ain't finished yet."

Carl glared at Kyle for a few more minutes until finally he snorted and turned his back on them. He stalked away, yelling "I'm gonna take a piss" over his shoulder.

"What's the job?"

Jones turned his head slowly to eye Kyle. "What'd you say, kid?"

"I said, what's the job?" Kyle repeated.

Jones huffed once and stared at Kyle quizzically. Jones wasn't as big or tall as Carl, but what he lacked in size he made up for in his snarl. Jones was darker than Carl, with black curly hair, a moustache and dark eyes framed by thick black eyebrows. His neck was tattooed with snakes that wound around each other and up his to jaw. "Mind your own business, shithead. You'll live longer that way."

Kyle closed his mouth and looked away. He was hoping that maybe Jones would be a bit more sympathetic than Carl, and maybe he could play on his emotions a bit. But the answer he received from Jones told it all; Carl was in it because he liked to see people get hurt whereas Jones was in it for the money and nothing would stand in his way.

'They're both psychopaths,' Kyle surmised.

Something flopped next to him. Kyle craned his neck around. Julia's arms were twitching violently. In a matter of seconds, her entire body was wracked with spasms, jerking wildly out of control. "Mom!" Kyle screamed. He tried to turn and only ended up falling to his side in the process. "Mom!" He called again.

Jones was staring at the seizing woman with a mixture of bafflement and curiosity. Kyle noticed the expression and his anger instantly got the better of him. "Help her!" He ordered the man.

Jones seemed to snap out of his trance and shot a quick glare at Kyle before getting to his knees to flip Julia onto her back. He pinned her arms down, and while it may have slowed the convulsing in her torso, her head continued to smack up and down against the concrete.

"Get something underneath her head!" Kyle yelled.

Jones swore underneath his breath as he let go of Julia to retrieve his leather jacket from the back of his chair. He waddled up the brown coat and placed it behind her head. A few minutes later, the seizing slowed, then stopped altogether. White foam dripped out of the sides of Julia's mouth.

Kyle panicked at the site. "Is she choking?!"

Jones flipped Julia onto her side and checked her pulse. "It's just saliva you moron," he chastised.

"What happened to her? Why is she doing that? What did you assholes give her?"

At the last question, Jones snapped his hand back and belted Kyle across the mouth. Kyle's head snapped to the side under the assault. His bottom lip split; Kyle tasted blood on the tip of his tongue.

"You keep talking like that, we'll give you the same thing," he warned.

Floodlights surrounded the house where Julia and Kyle were last seen, illuminating the dark night. Horatio refused to leave the scene, determined that somehow his answer to their whereabouts would be found there. He wasn't entirely wrong.

His cell phone rang. He picked it up, was about to automatically answer it when he stopped. The caller ID said Kyle. Horatio snapped his fingers at Calleigh and Ryan, who had stayed with him to process the scene more thoroughly. The two glanced at each other and came loping over.

"Kyle?" Horatio tentatively asked.

"Does it sound like your whiny brat?" Ron's voice answered back.

Horatio closed his eyes against the moment of anguish that followed from hearing Ron instead of his son. "Ron, where is Julia and Kyle?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Ron said. He paused, enjoying the game he was playing with Horatio. "Is it hell, Horatio Caine? Not knowing what's happening to your own blood?"

"You are walking a very fine line here, Ron. Don't push me," Horatio warned.

"Push you, Horatio?" Ron barked into the phone. "Right now, I own you! You got nothing here Horatio, you get that? Nothing! No bargaining chips, nada. I hold all the cards and you got squat." Ron's laugh was harsh.

"What do you want, Ron?" Horatio finally asked.

There was silence as Ron took a few deep breaths. "I want to help you, Horatio."

The statement took Horatio by surprise, but he didn't have time to reflect on it long as he looked over at Calleigh and Ryan, who were running the GPS trace on Kyle's phone from a laptop in the back of the Hummer. Calleigh was hunched over and staring intently at the screen while Wolfe chewed nervously on his thumbnail over her shoulder.

"You listening Horatio?" Ron's voice sneered from the other end. "I want to help you. I want to help you see how powerless you are. That no matter how righteous you think you are, someone else can still pull your strings."

"This conversation is pointless," Horatio commented. "Either give me something useful or quit wasting my time."

Ron sputtered unintelligibly before catching himself. "You must really not value the life of your son to talk that way to me."

"We both know you're not going to kill my son now. You're too much of an egomaniac for that. You need your show."

Silence pervaded the next few tense moments. Ryan was watching his boss carefully.

Finally, Ron snorted into the phone. "You just got everyone figured out, don'cha?"

Horatio refused to be goaded into the conversation any further. He stayed silent. He knew that would infuriate Ron, who loved the sound of his own voice.

"Fine," Ron announced. "Have it your way. Tomorrow at noon, we'll do an exchange. I give you Kyle and Julia, you give me cash, freedom, and safe passage to Cuba. 7 million ought to do it."

"That's not very much in today's economy," Horatio commented.

"Who says I'm spending it in this economy? I'll give you more instructions tomorrow. Don't do anything stupid Caine. Remember what's at stake."

The phone went dead. Horatio held the phone out in front of him for a moment, before flipping it shut. He glanced at his two subordinates, who stared firmly back at him.

"We've got him," Calleigh announced.