A/N: Hi guys! I hope you all are enjoying this story. Sorry about the month wait… what it was only a week? Oh. Well any way, I had a HUGE writers block. Everything I tried to write came out wrong, but I guess this will have to do. Hope you like the chapter!

Chapter Four

I sighed. Isn't anyone in Miami happy that I'm back and not pointing a gun in my face?

My hand was instinctively on my gun, but I wasn't fast enough. One move to un-holster it, and I may die. Death. Black, endless nothing. Or heaven and hell. Holy or endless torture. Which was Tracy in? I shivered. Don't think of that, I thought. I had to deal with the stupid gun first.

The young man seemed to be only 18, and he was about average height, 5'10'', and was wearing a casual t-shirt and jeans. He would've seemed normal if it weren't for the gun he was pointing to my face.

I calculated the alternatives. I knew immediately that he wasn't a killer. Or a good one at least. His hands were shaking slightly, and his eyes were wide in shock, as if he were surprised that he was actually doing this. He clearly had black circles under his eyes, and his hair was messy and oily. Sweat glistened on his forehead, down his face and dropped on the ground. He wasn't a killer. He couldn't be.

I decided in the split second I had that he wasn't going to kill me at that instant. He was hesitant. That was a big hint. He wasn't handling the gun correctly either. Instead of having the left hand covering his right, he was holding the handgun with only his right hand with no supporting arm. This made it easy to disarm. My mouth twitched up in a slight smile. I loved it when they make it easy on us.

I glanced behind his shoulder for a millisecond. We were shielded by bushes, making it hard for me to see the road, and for the people on the road to see us. At least the boy's that smart.

I calculated all of this in a split second. And without another second of hesitation, I struck.

My right hand grabbed his right wrist, moved it to the left, getting the gun away from my face. Still holding his wrist I stepped towards him, turned so my back was to him, and elbowed him. Hard. He gasped and dropped the gun. I caught it and aimed it at him. Well, I thought, that was easy. Man, was I wrong.

Just after I got hold of the gun, a shadow covered me. I spun around, only to be pinned down on the ground by a giant, his hands restraining my hands and his knees on my chest. The air was knocked out of my lungs. The man, even though I'm 6'2, was well double the size of me. His bulky features kept me on the ground, and even when I tried to resist, he didn't budge.

He was wearing a leather bulky leather jacket, and a scar ran across his face. I did not want to know how he got that.

"Hey, boss," the man said, "we got a fighter." Boss? I thought. How is the eighteen year old the boss? But I had more things to worry about. My ribs screamed under the giant's weight, and my lungs could expand only barely, making me have to wheeze just to breath. Blackness started to creep into the corners of my eyes, but I shook it out. Can't sleep now, I thought. He took my gun from the holster, and put it into his inside jacket pocket.

Suddenly, with his hands still pinning down my wrists, he got off of me. Black dots formed in my eyes from the sudden release of pressure, and I took in a deep breath. My lungs ached, and my ribs were sour, but other than that I seemed ok.

The man released my wrists, but before I could do anything, he grabbed his own gun and aimed it at me. I rose slowly, leaning on my elbows, a bead of sweat dripping from my forehead. There wasn't much I could to him. If I threw a punch at him, he probably wouldn't even flinch. Where are Ryan and Natalia when you need them?

"Should I dispose of him, Sam?" the bigger man said, not taking his eyes from me. I swallowed. Jeez, why do I keep getting myself into these situations? Crap, what am I gonna do? Die alone with two psychopaths? No, I thought. No, There'll be another way.

The other, Sam, on the other hand, seemed to be hyperventilating. He was pacing behind the man, rubbing his eyes with his hands.

"This wasn't supposed to happen no one was supposed to find out did Michael tip them no he's long gone did he dispose of the phone calls probably not stupid I should have told him how this can't be happening it was only supposed to be Jane no one else is supposed to die and if we do kill him what would we do with him…" he went on like this, mumbling, pacing and massaging his temples. I raised my eyebrows. He was the murderer? No way. I felt so hopeless. There I was, a cop who was supposed to catch people like him, and there he was, walking a free man. And there was nothing I could do about it. Yet.

"Sir…" the man said, trying to inform him of something.

"There may be others what if the police know and are coming they'll find my prints even if we tried to clean the place and I'm in the system stupid thing to steal from that liquor store I knew that it would bite back at me maybe we can initiate Plan B is the water still cold yes I believe it is but we'll only have a few minutes and even if we do the helicopter may not be ready and then the police may catch us…" Plan B… cold water? I thought.

"Sir…"

"And then we'll go away for life absolutely no chance of having parole and bail and I'll never go to college or get married or have children and have a job oh man what will dad think surely he'll get that I did it for mom right or maybe he'll be angry at me and never forgive me I won't be able to face him but Plan B may be the only way killing him would be far to reckless…"

"Sir…" the man said, glancing at the very paranoid Sam.

"What is it Lane can't you see that I'm thinking?" Sam shouted. A vein popped out from his temple, just like a cartoon.

"Sir, you caught a cop." Sam halted. He looked at me, his eyes wide. A few seconds went by before he said anything.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," he said. Lane bent over and grabbed my badge from my belt. He handed it to Sam.

"It seems legit," Lane noted. His mouth twitched up in a smile. "Never caught a real cop before. Got a fake one once, with forged credentials and everything, but never a real one." I shuddered. What's this guys hobby, murderi… Oh wait, I thought. I winced. This is not gonna be pretty.

Sam began to pace again, fingering my badge. "Killing him is too reckless. The police already know about this storage building and they'll find evidence of us, even if we tried to clean it. What about the Plan B?" he asked, glancing at Lane.

He shook his head. "No offence Sam, but Plan B is the worst plan I've ever heard of."

"No, no. I've changed the plan. No direct contact. We call from the disposable phone. That's how we negotiate with them."

"But sir, we don't know whose coming or what their number is," Lane questioned.

Sam kept on pacing, thinking of a plan. Suddenly, he stopped pacing and looked at me. "Lane, tie him to a chair." Lane glanced at me, than at Sam. He shrugged and hauled me up to my feet. Pressing the gun to my spine, he urged me forward.

"If you even try to escape, I will shoot you, and your spine will never work again, got it?" Lane whispered into my ear. I ignored the threat and walked on. I remembered what to do in a captive situation. Minimal eye contact. Do not speak unless in dire events (like, I don't know, the captor has anger management issues and is about to shoot a woman). Do not answer captor's question unless someone else's life is at risk.

We arrived at the storage's door. Lane nudged me with the gun. "Open the door." I obeyed, and soon we entered the very cold storage building. Lane, still holding on to me, grabbed a chair from a corner. He shoved me in it and grabbed rope from his pocket. Interesting, I thought while he was binding my feet and hands. He brought tools for a kidnapping. I could picture his morning. Lane would say, "Let's see. Got my keys, wallet, phone, gun, rope, knife, and gloves. Ok, I'm good to go." I shook my head slightly.

"Lane!" Sam called. Lane looked at me, than trudged off to Sam, who was waiting by the door. Sam went on to explain something to him, pointing at directions. I strained my ears to hear, not exactly successful.

I fidgeted in my restraints, testing them to see how strong they were. It was tough rope, I'll give him that, and the knots were tight, but even though Lane seemed experienced enough, he didn't pat me down. I kept a pocket knife in my pocket. Hey don't judge me. Who knows when you need it?

I cringed as the rope tugged on my skin, scratching it and causing it to bleed. I cursed silently. Stupid ropes wouldn't budge. If there were a way to get the knife…

Ryan's Hummer…

Their ears were filled with honking of horns and the sound of the engine running from hundreds of cars. They were crammed in the middle of traffic, on one of the busiest highways in rush hour. At this time everyone was rushing to work or to send their kids to school, making Ryan and Natalia's time to the storage facility double. Ryan grumbled something like 'should've taken local' and honked his horn impatiently. "Jeez Ry," Natalia mumbled, "patience."

"Don't call me Ry," he responded, his face turning into a slight pink.

"Aw, is little Ry Ry blushing?" Natalia said in a baby voice. Ryan's cheeks turned bright red, and he ducked his head down, embarrassed. Natalia chuckled lightly. Why didn't I think of saying that earlier? she thought. "Hey, Ryan, what do you think the holdup is?" she asked. Ryan shrugged, and tried to sit up taller to see over the traffic. Fortunately, the cause of the traffic was nearby.

"What the…" he started.

"What is it?" Natalia asked eagerly. She rose up from her seat. She saw a police car flipped upside down on the side of the road. Multiple other police cars surrounded it, as well as an ambulance. "Jeez what happened?" she asked to no one in particular.

"Maybe we should…" Before Ryan could finish his sentence, his cell phone rang. He picked it up and immediately put it on speaker. "Hello?" he said.

"This is Horatio. Ryan, I have some news about Mr. Michael Putman."

Natalia raised her eyebrows. I hope they found him, she thought. She remembered that they had put out a BOLO for his car, an old, black Toyota Camry. She thought that it would have taken them longer to find him.

"Ok, what's the news?" Ryan asked.

"Michael claims that he didn't murder Jane Nathanson, and that he knew nothing of it."

Natalia scoffed. "Well then how does he explain why he ran away?" she asked, knowing that all murderers say that excuse.

"Well Ms. Boa Vista, he said that a caller from The Fisherman Storage had told him to drive away the morning of the murder and that they would pay him 5,000 dollars in return."

Ryan whistled. "Well, can he prove that?" he asked.

"He provided us the money. All of it was accounted for. We're sending it to the lab to be analyzed right now."

"Wait so if the callers from the storage facility made that call, then they would be the murders," Natalia said. "Oh shoot." She got out her phone and dialed Jesse's number.

No response.

She tried again.

No response.

"Jesse's not answering," she said, panicking. Ryan cursed and turned on the sirens.

"H, we're heading to the storage building," he said. Horatio said that back up was on the way, and hung up. Ryan honked his horn, and gradually moved forward. The cars attempted to move to the side of the road and to the side lanes. But out of all the noise the sirens were making and Ryan's honking, they didn't see the car that was speeding their way down the empty lane. And soon, the two C.S.I's found themselves tumbling on the road, just like the police car on the other side of the road had.

Well, that didn't come out as well as expected, but I hope you liked it! Please review!