I know, I know. You been waiting impatiently to find out if Emily did or did not do it. That is the question of the day. You got a fifty/fifty chance of getting it right. Well, I shalt make you hang any longer. Enjoy.

Emily squeezed the trigger and stopped. Reluctantly she lowered the weapon. As much as she despised the man, she couldn't cut him down in cold blood. She wasn't a killer. Silently she watched Doyle hop into the car and drive away oblivious to how close he had come to having his brains splattered across the pavement. She waited for several minutes to make sure he hadn't doubled back before picking up the phone to call Hotch.

Flipping the phone open, Emily hit redial and got nothing. Frowning she looked at the display and was shocked to see the battery icon flashing. As she watched, the image faded and the phone died.

"Shit." Sitting all night outside in cold must have seriously drained the battery but had left enough juice to make one phone call. Disgusted she shoved the dead phone into her jacket pocket.

Indecisiveness tore at her and Emily started to pace. Should she go off in search of a phone or go in? If she went after another phone, how much valuable time would she lose? Too much, she decided. Every minute she was gone, the odds that Doyle would return increased. Reid would have known the exact figure but he wasn't here to ask. This was one of the times she truly missed his random ramblings. Emily had no choice. She had to go in and take the risk that Doyle had left the place unguarded.

The thought of Jack all alone in the building sent Emily scrambling down the fire escape. Darting across the open space, she flattened her back against the wall next to the entrance. Cautiously she tested the door. It was unlocked. Gently turning the knob she eased it open and slipped in. Standing just inside Emily paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light.

Stepping forward Emily found herself in a cavernous room filled with abandoned manufacturing equipment. Upon closer inspection she discovered that it use to be a faucet factory. This room was too big to corral an active six-year-old boy. Jack had to be in one of the offices or a storage room. With great care Emily moved among the equipment, gun gripped comfortably in her hands, making her way toward the offices on the far side of the building. Quickly she cleared the two glass enclosed rooms and the one storage area. Standing next to one of the offices she looked the place over for a second time and realized that she hadn't seen a break room. There must be a basement.

A quick search uncovered the basement entrance tucked behind the storage room. Its door was ajar. Emily put her ear to the crack hearing nothing but the silence of a dying building. With the toe of her shoe Emily nudged the crack wider and ducked through. Pausing at the top she took a calming breath and crept down the metal staircase as quietly as she could. At the bottom, gun clutched tightly to her chest, Emily crouched down and peeked around the corner. Finding the basement area empty she released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding on the way down.

Standing up she took in the room. The wall directly across from her was made of cinder block with no openings except for several high casement windows. To her right was another bare wall and between her and it was a small alcove lined with storage shelves. The space to her left held more promise. There were several doors along the wall but it was the door at the very end that captured her attention. It was sporting a shiny brand new dead bolt. Slowly moving along the wall Emily checked the two doors. One was a closet and the other revealed a bathroom. Stopping in front of the object of her attention, she studied the door from top to bottom looking for any alarms or tripwires. Finding nothing Emily looked at the lock and discovered in was a simple one. All she had to do was to slide the bolt. With her left hand she noiselessly slid the bolt back and moved her hand down to the knob. With a deft twist she threw open the door and burst in with gun drawn and ready.

"Em'ly!"

Emily was caught totally unprepared for the Jack size missile that struck her solidly in the chest.

"Oomph!" she grunted, stumbling backward from the impact. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around the boy as she sat down hard.

Jack tightened his grip around her neck. "Em'ly I knew you weren't dead he told me you were but I didn't believe him I knew he was lying and I told him so the scary man said Daddy lied to me and that he had killed you you came back I said you would I really missed you…" he babbled, words spilling out a mile a minute.

Emily set the gun on the floor and pried Jack's death grip from around her neck. She held him at arms length smiling.

"Whoa, slow down, Jack sweetie. I don't understand a word you are saying."

Jack took a deep breath and started over slower this time.

"I knew you weren't dead. The scary man said you were."

"Mr. Doyle told you that?"

Jack nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I said he was lying and then he said he had killed you. He said he had poked you with a stick." He pointed down at her stomach.

Emily felt her temper flare. How dare he torment an innocent child like that. She instantly regretted not putting a bullet between his eyes earlier.

"Did he?" Jack asked cocking his head to one side.

"Huh?" Emily snapped back to the present and Jack.

"Did he poke you with a stick?"

Emily smiled at Jack's simplified version of a stabbing. "He did," she answered him truthfully. "I was sick for a while but I'm all better now."

"Do you have a scar like Daddy's?" Jack's six-year-old curiosity kicked in.

"I do."

"Canna I see it?"

"Pardon?" Emily blinked in surprise.

"Canna I see your scar?" Jack asked patiently.

"Umm…sure," she said hesitantly. Emily reached down and pulled up the left side of her tee shirt exposing the now red and angry scar.

Jack reached over and ran his fingers gently over the puckered skin. "Cool!" he said in awe.

Emily laughed. Only a little boy would find the scar, an ugly reminder to her of a brief lapse in attention, absolutely fascinating. She had a nagging suspicion that when Jack returned to school her scar would be the talk of the playground.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," she lied. Over the last couple of days she had put her body through the wringer and now she was feeling the after effects especially around the half healed stab wound. A dull ache emanated from the scar that was being matched beat for beat by the dull ache in her hand. A long, hot soak in the tub was in her near future.

Emily retrieved the Glock and slowly climbed to her feet. Jack watched his eyes glued to the gun in her hand. "What did you do to your hand?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I did something dumb. I got angry and punched a door."

Jack mulled that over. "That was dumb."

"Thanks," Emily said with a light laugh. She ruffled his hair fondly. "You ready to go home man of a thousand questions?"

"Yes." He looked up at her hopefully. "Can you carry me?"

"Oh, Sweetie, you're too big for me to carry and I'm going need both of my hands," she said watching his face fall in disappointment. She hated to say no even though she knew Jack simply wanted to feel safe in her arms.

"Tell you what. Why don't you stand directly behind me." She maneuvered Jack into position and placed one of his hands on her belt. "I need you to hold on to me right here. You're going to be my backup."

Jack scrunched up his face. "Backup?"

"Yes, my backup. That means you are watching my back. Making sure no one sneaks up behind me."

His face lit up in delight and his chest puffed up in pride at being asked to do something really important.

"Can you do that for me?"

"Yup."

Emily smiled in encouragement. "Great. Now if you see someone or something that scares you just tug on my belt. Got it?"

"Got it. Tug if I see anything scary."

"Good. Ready?"

Jack nodded.

Emily took a couple of steps forward when Jack tugged on her belt and said wait. He let go and dashed over to the mattress to scoop up the stuffed red panda. Tucking it under one arm, he hurried back to her side and latched back on to the belt.

She glanced back at him, one eyebrow cocked in amusement. "Ready now?"

"Yup."

"Positive?"

"Yup."

Emily took a deep breath. "Okay. Here we go." Raising the Glock with both hands, she stepped up to the door.

With the gun leading the way Emily and Jack stepped back into the larger room. Pausing, she quickly scanned the room and saw nothing was amiss. Moving slowly ahead she glanced briefly at the doors leading to the bathroom and closet. Seeing them in the same positions she had left them, she focused her attention on the corner that was hiding the staircase. As they moved past the bathroom door, Emily failed to notice that it was slowly opening but Jack did.

Emily felt a tug on her belt. Lowering the gun she peered over her shoulder at Jack who was looking to his right, eyes wide and filled with fright. Emily spun around but before she could raise the gun an object of solid and unyielding force struck her in the head, propelling her backwards off her feet.

"Em'ly!" She could hear Jack crying out for her as she was torn from his grip.

She slammed back first into the hard concrete floor, temporarily knocking the breath out of her. The gun went spinning when her already injured hand hit. Lying on her back, she gasped for air and struggled to keep the darkness creeping up on her at bay. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat and she could feel something wet trickling down her face.

"Em'ly!" Jack's alarm echoed in her ears.

The thought that he was in danger penetrated the fog enveloping her mind. Groaning Emily forced her eyes open to hunt for her missing gun. Spotting the blurry item to the right of her head, Emily slowly rolled on to her stomach and reached out with her right hand. Just as her fingertips brushed the butt of the gun, a boot clad foot slammed down on her hand and wrist, grinding the bones into the ground.

Crying out in pain, Emily grabbed at the foot with her good hand in a desperate attempt to move it. The owner of the boot responded by applying more pressure sending a new wave of pain shooting down her arm.

"Look who has risen from the grave," the Irish brogue taunted her.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Emily craned her neck to glare up at Ian Doyle. He gazed at her with a bemused look on his face; shifting the tire iron he had struck her with from one hand to the other.

"Ow!" a male voice cursed.

Emily whipped her head around instantly regretting it when the room tilted.

Doyle's cohort had a meaty hand wrapped around Jack's arm whom was struggling to break free. "The brat bit me," he growled, raising his fist to strike the little boy.

"No!" Emily cried out though it sounded more like a croak. She reached out her good hand to stop him.

Doyle's eyes flickered between the two, watching and contemplating. Dropping the tire iron with a clank, he stepped over and caught the man's fist as it was descending. Moaning Emily rolled on to her side, clutching her broken hand tightly against her chest.

"The lady said no," Doyle said in a low voice, staring into the other man's eyes.

The two men glared at each other for what seem like hours before Doyle's flunky broke eye contact and looked down at the floor. He lowered his fist and Jack wiggled free.

"What do you what to do?"

"This place has been compromised," Doyle answered glancing down at Emily. "If she was able to find us then her team won't be far behind. Time to move."

"What about her?"

"Tie her up and bring her along," Doyle shrugged. "I'll take the boy and meet you at the other address when you are done here." He reached for Jack.

"No," Jack said dodging away. "I wanna stay with Em'ly."

Doyle rounded on the boy, his eyes blazing. "Remember what I said about misbehaving?"

"Jack," Emily croaked. Wetting her lips she tried again. "Jack," she called out with more force.

The boy stopped arguing to look at her. "Em'ly?"

Emily plastered on the calmest face she could muster and spoke in a soothing voice. "Sweetie, I need you to go with Mr. Doyle and to do what he says."

"But," Jack protested.

"No 'buts'. I'm fine. You go and I'll be along shortly. Okay?"

"Kay."

Emily smiled. "Good. I'll see you later."

Doyle came over to kneel before her. "That was very smart of you, Lauren."

She glowered at him and said in a low voice. "You harm one hair on his head and you'll never learn where Declan is."

He gave her another one of his half smiles. "We'll talk later," he said reaching to caress her cheek. Emily jerked her head back causing the throbbing to ratchet up another notch.

Chuckling, Doyle stood up and went back to Jack. "Come along, Jack." He grabbed him by the arm and dragged the little boy out of her line of sight.

With Jack gone, Emily turned her attention to the man remaining in the room. He leered at her before making his way over to the storage shelves and rummaging through them for something he could use to tie her up. With his attention elsewhere, Emily attempted to push herself up into a sitting position but the motion made her head swim and she slumped back onto the floor.

Finding a decent length of rope, he turned to Emily who watched with wary eyes. Slowly she pulled her left leg up to her chest and when he was close enough, she lashed out aiming at his groin. Due to her weaken state there wasn't much force behind the kick and the man easily caught her foot. With a deft twist to her leg he was able to flip her back onto her stomach. Emily bit back a cry of pain when she landed on the injured hand.

Moving quickly for a man his size, he knelt down and placed a knee in the small of Emily's back effectively pinning her to the ground. Roughly he twisted her arms behind her back and secured them with the rope. He tugged on the rope hoping to elicit a cry of pain but Emily refused to play his game.

"Get up," he growled. Grabbing Emily by the arm he jerked her to her feet. "Move."

He planted a hand on her back and shoved her forward. The abrupt change in position sent a wave of nausea sweeping over her. Emily managed a few steps before collapsing to her knees and throwing up.

With a snort of disgust, he roughly hauled her back up and dragged her toward the stairs. Emily struggled to keep her feet under her but the constant bouts of vertigo were not helping. Several times on the way up she tripped and banged her knees painfully on the metal treads. Her captor just grunted in annoyance and tightened his grip on her arm and half carried half dragged her through the remainder of the abandoned building.

Once outside, he slammed her into the side of the truck and held her in place with a meaty paw on the back of the neck while he unlocked the door. Emily feebly struggled against the vise like grip. Door opened, he tossed her inside like a sack of potatoes. Emily's head connected with the opposite door and she lost her tenuous grip on consciousness.

"F.B.I!" Hotch shouted as he, Reid and members of SWAT stormed down the stairs.

When Emily failed to call within an hour he feared the worst. He quickly diverted Rossi and sent them racing to the industrial park. Gathering up the SWAT team and JJ, he rushed to meet them. Once there, Hotch divided them into three teams to simultaneously

search the buildings Emily had mentioned.

Standing in the center of the room with Reid while the SWAT team cleared the rest of the basement, Hotch heard through his earpiece first Rossi and then Morgan saying their respective buildings were empty.

"Agent Hotchner," the team leader said as he came up, "we found something I think you should see."

Hotch nodded and turned to Reid. "Take a look around out here."

"Sure." Reid watched as Hotch followed the man to a room at the far end.

He started to circle the room slowly, eyes carefully studying the floor. In the shadows he found a tire iron.

"Odd place to find one," he observed as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves. Kneeling down, Reid picked it up gently by one end and slowly turned it. He frowned when he found a reddish brown stain on it. Quickly he scanned the surrounding area and found what he thought was more stains. He was about to lean in closer when Hotch marched grim faced out of the other room.

"Jack was here," Hotch said with barely contained anger. He held out a bag with the National Zoo logo on it and a bunch of drawings. "There's paper and a box of crayons in there."

Reid gulped and said nervously. "I got something."

"What?"

"I think there was some sort of scuffle over here." He held up the tire iron. "There is blood on this and," he pointed down, "on the floor." Reid paused and then took a few more steps. "Hmmm…looks like some one threw up over here."

"Do you think they came from two different people?"

Reid shrugged. "Hard to say but the way I see it is that whomever was hit with this tire iron is probably suffering from a concussion. Vomiting is one of the symptoms."

"Contact Garcia and have her send over a Crime Scene Unit to take samples. We need to find out whose blood this is."

Reid nodded and fished his phone out of his pocket.

"Find anything?" Rossi asked as he descended the stairs.

Hotch showed him what he had found. "This was where Doyle was hiding with Jack but it looks like our diversion might have spooked him."

Rossi bent down to study the small pool of blood. "Any sign of Prentiss?"

"None. I sent Morgan and JJ with SWAT to canvas the surrounding buildings."

Reid came over to stand next to the kneeling Rossi. "Whatever happened here didn't occur too long ago. The blood has barely begun to congeal."

A glint of metal caught Rossi's eye. He stood up and moved over to the wall. "Hello," he said and used a latex glove to pick up the gun. "A Glock 26 with no serial number," he observed.

"Doyle's?" Reid asked.

Rossi shook his head. "It's probably Emily's. I can't see her coming in here unarmed. That would have been suicide."

"How did she get it through customs?"

Rossi smiled at the boy genius. For someone who was so smart at times he could be so naïve. "She didn't. Odds are that she bought it off the street." He slipped the gun into his pocket.

Reid's eyes widen in surprise. "That's evidence."

Rossi looked at Hotch. "Did you see a gun?"

"No, I didn't."

"But, but…" Reid stammered.

"Reid, the last thing we need to do is to get Prentiss in trouble for carrying an unregistered gun. She's got a bigger problem right now."

At that moment Morgan and JJ entered the basement. "No sign of Doyle, Jack or Prentiss," he announced. "You find anything?"

Hotch quickly brought the two up to date on everything they had discovered omitting the Glock.

"So where does this leave us?" JJ asked.

"In the same mess we've been in for the last two days," Reid answered.

Hotch crossed his arms and frowned at the floor. "I can think of three possible scenarios. One: Prentiss found Jack and they are now hiding because Doyle is after them. Two: Doyle took Jack with him and she is in hot pursuit."

Morgan shook his head. "If either of those had transpired why didn't she call you?"

"Maybe Emily couldn't get a signal or her phone died," JJ suggested. "Burner phones can be highly unpredictable."

"Prentiss would have found a way," Morgan countered.

"Agreed," Hotch said. "That leaves us with the third scenario. Doyle has both of them." He paused, not wanting to voice his next thought.

Rossi did it for him. "If Doyle has Emily then Jack has become expendable."

Looks like Emily has gotten herself into quite a sticky situation. Tune in next week to see if she can get herself and Jack out of it.