AN: Sorry it took so long to update. The next chapter is split into two parts and I will upload the second part tomorrow as Chapter 10. Please read and review!

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Harm's POV

It was too many houses. Over 200 houses in the DC area corresponded with Peterson's previous pattern. The local PD and NCIS were trying to hit as many houses as they could. Time was running out for Meg though.

Harm would be out there in a second if he could, but until they had any solid evidence of her whereabouts the Admiral was keeping him at JAG. He shuffled through another lot of files. Harm knew them all off by heart. There was nothing more he could do. He picked up a pencil and began to write.

Meg,

I don't know if you'll ever get this letter, or if I'll even give it to you. At the moment you are missing. NCIS and the Metro police are searching houses in hope of finding you. They are not hopeful. To tell you the truth Meg I am also giving up hope. It has been five days since you went missing. I have felt every second of it.

I miss you something crazy Meg.

I am beginning to realise my feelings toward you. I think I may love you. What a realization to come to when you may be out of my life for good. If we find you Meg I promise to quit flying and come back to JAG if the Admiral will have me. And if you say yes to a relationship between us. If the Admiral is his stubborn self and refuses to take me back, I will take any work I can to be near you. Just please Meg come home.

Harm

He carefully put the pen away. Folding the letter carefully he put it in his front pocket. There it would stay until he found her and she was able to read it herself. Otherwise it would go down with her in her coffin. But Harm would do anything in his power to avoid the latter.

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Meg's POV

It's funny, when you have a gun in your face all you can concentrate on is the other person's eyes. The gun itself is only the instrument that will be used for your timely ending on this earth. The persons hands, the part that will carry out the deed. But the eyes of that person are windows to the soul. They give away true feelings.

Meg didn't speak at all. She had begged and pleaded, cried and screamed. Nothing had changed James's mind. So she gave up. Looking at death in the face, Meg accepted it on some level. James's eyes were as cold as ice, slightly detached from what he was about to do. He saw her as a job, a necessary part of his master plan.

Her fingers clenched into a fist. Was this how it would end? Was this how it ended for her farther in Vietnam? He would have gone down with a fight. But she was so weak, cold, and trapped. There was nothing she could do. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

James stepped forward. "I'm sorry about the inconvenience. Your hero won't get here in time." He lowered the gun a little as he spoke. "I pity him when he finds your body. "

Meg's eyes shone with unshed tears. She quietly fingered the ground around her searching for a useful weapon. Her fingers brushed her cooking utensils. Her cup and bowl. Not useful. Spoon, maybe? It was the best she had. Her fingers curled around it. James may threaten her, but her own pain was bearable. Causing Harm pain on the other hand was non-negotiable. She would do anything in her power to avoid it.

James brought the gun to her forehead. Meg flinched away from him. He laughed and fired. Her eyes squeezed shut preparing herself for death.

Meg whimpered. Her eyes flew open. Nothing had happened, no pain, no blood. James grinned at her. "So sorry sweetheart, no bullets." The empty shell fell to the floor. It clattered, the sound filled Meg's mind. She was still alive.

He carelessly lay the gun down on the box he had previously been sitting on. He began walking around the small cellar. "Enjoying your time down here Lieutenant?" He was taunting her. "I notice you seem to have a peculiar hatred against, tiny, enclosed spaces. It must seem like hell down here. And after five days… well it must seem a pity that the gun didn't contain bullets." He was ranting, trying to provoke her, but ranting nonetheless.

Meg eyed the gun. It was useless to threaten him with, it was empty. But it was the closest she had come to a real weapon within her reach in her entire time in captivity. If only she could reach it without attracting his attention. She remembered the spoon, maybe a luck blow? After all he had no gun.

He turned his back on her. "I have come to realise…" Meg reached for the gun. She quickly lifted it to hit him on the back of the head with the butt of the rifle. There was a cracking sound. Her hand hurt like crazy, James made a whimpering sound and fell into a heap on the cold floor.

She stood there shocked. Had she killed him? She couldn't have. Leaning over she felt for a pulse. Definitely one there, which meant he was alive. Meg felt in control again. Decisively she searched his pockets for something to contact JAG. He stirred. Her fingers stilled. Meg anxiously gazed at his face. She felt a smooth metallic item with her fingers, grabbing it she fished it out. A phone! She unlocked it, no passcode. She stood up and dialled Harm's familiar number. "Come on Harm. Pick up Damnit." Meg gripped the phone to her ear.

Distantly over the speaker Meg heard a "Hello…?" Just the sound of his voice brought a lump to her throat. "Who is this?" Meg forcibly swallowed.

Shakily she said, "Harm, its Meg. Can you come pick me up? I've got myself into a bit of a fix." Then her world went black.

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Her head hurt. Thumped along with her heart. Meg couldn't hear anything around her. Where was James? All she could see was black. How long was she out for? She tried to reach forward, painfully chaffing her hands against rope bonds. Damn he must have tied her up. The room started coming into focus. James was gone, as was his gun and cell phone.

His cell phone. Had Harm got her call? Judging by how hungry she was it had been quite some time since she had made the call. If he hadn't found her by now the chances were slim. He must have traced the call and be on his way. Unless James had moved her location. But the cellar was still the same; which meant he wasn't that smart, or he underestimated whoever she had called. But Harm would trace it and find her. Wouldn't he? Meg allowed herself to succumb to sleep, and hoped her head would stop hurting and allow her to think straight sometime soon.