by pebble/scifipony
Fandom: Psych
Characters: Carlton Lassiter, Shawn Spencer
Secondary Characters: Juliet O'Hara, Burton Guster, Buzz McNab, Karen Vick, Henry Spencer
Tags: Adventure, Action, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship
Warnings: Graphic Violence
Chapter Warnings: Semi-Graphic Torture, Blood, Drugging
Author's Notes: Title of this chapter (and most chapters in this fic) is taken from lyrics from "Ligth Em Up" by Fall Out Boy.
He felt chilly. Not cold cold, but still uncomfortably cool. It was such an inane observation, given the circumstances, but it still struck Shawn as unusual. Granted, he was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans — it wasn’t like the bad guys let him grab his shoes and jacket before the whole drugging-and-taking-him-to-a-secret-lair thing — but he shouldn’t feel this chilly, right? Was it because they were in a cement room, or because they were so high in the mountains?
“Okay, Nick, that’s enough,” Miller’s detached voice broke into his thoughts. “Back off.”
Shawn gasped in a lungful of air. He hadn’t even been aware of the fact that his lungs apparently went on strike at some point during the last few minutes, but it was painfully obvious now. He forced himself to take some deep, measured breaths.
The metallic scent on the air as he carefully breathed in and out left a bad taste in his mouth. He tried not to think about it.
“Well?” Miller asked. “Any second thoughts, yet?”
Yes! Plenty. Let’s take a step back and try this over again from the top. Better yet, let's go back to yesterday evening and I'll be anywhere else besides that apartment.
He didn’t answer, though. For one thing, he was still focusing all his energy on getting his lungs working again. For another, he knew the question wasn’t directed at him.
His gaze drifted downward, eyeing the growing dark puddle on the concrete under his feet. The stickiness of it irritated the soles of his feet, making him wish again for shoes. A shudder ran through him as he realized how much of his blood must currently be dripping onto the floor to cause that big of a pool. He could only hope none of it was leaking out of an artery. Was that why he felt so lightheaded? And cold? Where was Gus when he really needed that know-it-all medical expertise.
“I don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing, you sick piece of garbage.” Uh oh. Lassie sounded angry. It usually took quite a bit of effort on Shawn’s part to cause anywhere near that level of hostility in the detective’s tone.
“I already told you.”
Miller’s response was tinged with amusement. He'd been openly enjoying this whole ugly situation. And it was obvious that his enjoyment had nothing to do with actually hurting Shawn — on the contrary, he seemed to barely register Shawn's existence beyond his usefulness as a means to an end. No, his entire focus seemed to be on getting under Lassiter's skin in any way possible. Shawn had no idea what the man's motivation was, but if he was drawing pleasure out of pissing off Lassiter, then the head detective was giving him everything he wanted. Carlton Lassiter had many talents; anger management wasn't one of them.
“You agree to talk to my boss, and this unpleasant conversation can be over.”
Funny, it doesn’t feel much like a conversation on this end of things.
Shawn finally lifted his eyes and glanced over at the two men. They were standing facing each other a few feet away. A cold intensity rested in their eyes as they squared off. Shawn was instantly reminded of two guard dogs circling each other before going in for the kill. Lassie vs Cujo. Which would actually be pretty cool to witness if he weren’t the one currently being used as Cujo's chew toy.
Lassiter’s gaze broke away from his opponent long enough to lock onto Shawn. The unspoken question in that glance was tinged with enough genuine concern to bring Shawn’s own worry flooding back to the surface. He nodded once in response, and Lassiter’s attention shifted back to Miller.
“Your boss can forget it. We put away quite a few corrupt cops this past year. I have no intention of joining their ranks.”
Miller sighed, sounding somewhere between bored and disappointed. “Very well. You may continue, Nick.”
Shawn tensed as the familiar footsteps approached him from somewhere behind his chair. He shivered again, and this time he wasn’t so sure it was due to the cold. Nick had joined them in the cellar after getting his arm bandaged, and he was definitely holding a grudge over that bullet wound. It was thanks to him that the concerningly large puddle of crimson was forming on the concrete under Shawn’s feet. Miller might not be taking any pleasure in making Shawn suffer, but the same could not be said for Nick.
He turned his head slightly as his tormentor came into view. “You know, I'm pretty sure violence is not considered a healthy outlet for anger. I highly recommend some classes on relaxation techniques. Lamaze breathing has done wonders for my friend.”
In hindsight, maybe it wasn't a great idea to provoke the sadist while he was holding a knife.
One large hand grabbed a fistful of hair, forcing his head back, as the other brought the knife to his throat. Unlike every cliched spy book Shawn had ever read, the steel blade digging into his skin was not cold. Although, he was pretty sure that was because of the warm, sticky substance coating it. His stomach churned at the hazy realization that the blood congealing on the knife’s surface was from his own veins.
“Nick,” Miller reprimanded coolly. "Let's practice some self-restraint, shall we? I think Detective Lassiter needs a little more time to make up his mind. Maiming is fine, but no killing."
With a growl of frustration, the man lowered the knife and stepped back.
Shawn took the reprieve as a chance to reassess his situation. Nothing like a knife to the throat to make one crash back down to reality. Shame, too. Now that lucidity was returning, so was the pain. He sucked in a sharp breath as the dull throb in his arms ratcheted up to a more stinging intensity.
He managed to crane his neck enough to get a somewhat decent peek at his arms. Which also wasn't a great idea, as it turned out. He grimaced at the sight of the criss-crossing red lines. Those were most definitely going to leave a mark. Good thing he didn’t wear short-sleeves too often anymore. Scars are considered manly, right? I wonder if Jules is the sort of girl who digs scars.
There was a shuffle of feet to his left before a fist plowed into his ribs. A second blow followed the first almost immediately. He coughed roughly as he tried to draw air back into his lungs. The fist slammed into him a third time and Shawn was fairly certain he felt something shift inside.
Please don’t be broken, he thought worriedly as his ribs ached. Please don’t be broken. Please, no pointy edges that can poke into a lung or anything.
The next hit landed on his jaw, and Shawn winced as his bruises from earlier throbbed in response. A second punch to the face snapped his head to the side from the force of it.
He couldn’t believe in all the years of insane survival lessons, his dad had never once taught him how to handle a situation like this. Passing a lie detector test, check. How to escape from the trunk of a car, check. Identifying the most common types of poison by taste, check. But apparently being tied to a chair and tortured as leverage to make a friend join the dark side was the one scenario Henry Spencer deemed too far-fetched to happen to his son. He would have to rub this in when they got back to Santa Barbara. When, not if. He really didn’t want to consider how slim their chances were right now.
The door swung open and Nick stopped hitting him long enough to see what the interruption was.
It was the thug who’d been shot in the leg, but Shawn couldn’t quite remember his name at the moment — a fact which should probably have him more worried than it did. The guy walked into the room and spoke to Miller, “Boss arrived a few minutes ago. He wants a progress update.”
Miller nodded. He motioned to his henchmen to follow him out of the room. “Looks like you get a little break,” he said over his shoulder to Lassiter. “I’d spend that time thinking about your decision if I were you.”
The two prisoners were left alone and the door swung shut. A metallic click indicated that it had been locked from the outside.
Lassiter breathed out a long sigh, eyes closing for a minute. Opening them again, he squared his shoulders.
“Alright,” he said, “what do we know about these guys so far?”
Shawn wasn’t sure if he was actually asking, or simply thinking out loud. Either way, he needed to talk to keep his own panic down, so he answered, “Well, we know that Miller has some really weird crush on you. Also, Nick needs a few anger management courses; maybe a yoga lesson or two.”
“I was being serious, Spencer.”
“So was I. That dude has some intense aggression issues. It’s not like I shot him out of malnourishment.”
Lassiter frowned for a moment. “You mean maliciousness?” Then the rest of that statement registered and his eyebrows rose. “Wait, you shot him?”
“Of course,” Shawn scoffed, mildly offended. He shifted his weight slightly to the left, trying to take some pressure off his ribs. The new position didn’t help that much. “What, you thought those two guys shot themselves for the fun of it?”
“I assumed you were drugged like I was.”
“I was,” Shawn admitted. “Just not until after the whole shootout in the living room.”
“So, you were awake and free, and it didn’t occur to you to contact someone who could actually be of more help?!”
“Actually—”
“Of all the stupid...” Lassiter began pacing, his anger adding urgency to his speed. “This has got to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Intruders break in and your first thought is to confront them yourself? The police could have made it here by now if you’d used a bit of common sense. What made you think you could actually stop these guys?”
Well, it’s not as if you were being much help at the time, Shawn wanted to point out. Instead, he called out, “Whoa, Lassie! Time out. I did call the police.”
There was a brief pause as Lassiter abruptly stopped pacing. “You did?”
“Yeah. More specifically, I called Jules, but I assume it would have occurred to her at some point to clue the rest of the SBPD in on the situation.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Silence settled between them again, neither really sure what to say next. It was an uncomfortable atmosphere — made worse by the knowledge that Miller and his friends could come back at any moment.
Normally, Shawn was good at breaking the tension. He hated awkward silences and always found something to fill them with. Whether it made the other person laugh or roll their eyes didn’t really matter, as long as it changed their mood. This time, though, he couldn’t come up with anything. He was hurting and cold and tired and scared and a million other miserable feelings he didn’t want to be dealing with. He wanted to go home and pretend none of this had ever happened.
“Look, Spencer,” Lassiter started, carefully avoiding eye contact as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I... I’m not sure what these guys want. But it isn’t good. If it was a simple task, they would have grabbed any low-ranking officer to do the job. They want something big. Something I can’t afford to give them.”
Shawn’s confusion cleared up as he realized Lassiter was trying to apologize for his decision. He must feel guilty for not stopping what was happening. While Shawn truly considered the man a friend, Lassiter could be disturbingly lacking in empathy at the best of times. This display of concern, while awkward, was touching nonetheless.
“Hey, Lassie, I get it. And… look, I think there are some details you should know about all of this.” He took a deep breath, wincing as the action put stress on his bruised ribs. “These guys are drug dealers. And not some little ‘selling drugs out of the trunk of their car’ operation, either. They have money and lots of it.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know anything about this.” And the anger was back. Well, at least it was an emotion that looked more natural on the detective’s face.
“I didn’t at that time,” Shawn said. He almost defaulted to his usual explanation that the information came to him psychically, but quickly decided against it. If this was going to end the way he was fairly certain it would, he needed to make sure Lassiter had all the correct facts. “When we got here, I took a good look at the house and grounds. Whoever owns this house has a ton of money. It's big and isolated, and there are a way too many outbuildings to be simple toolsheds. Plus, the guy practically owns a fleet of boats designed to look like fishing boats; he probably uses them to get the supply shipped in and out.”
"He could be smuggling almost anything in those boats," Lassiter said. "What makes you sure it's drugs?"
"That drug ring the vice squad has been tracking the past couple weeks. They were stumped as to how the drugs were being smuggled out of the harbor. My bet is on those fishing boats. Plus, that stuff they used to knock us out wasn't your average street drug; they have access to high end stuff."
Lassiter considered that information for a minute before nodding. "Okay, so they're probably involved in a serious drug trade operation. That gives us something to work with." His eyes shifted towards the table, and landed on the blindfold they’d used on him. His gaze quickly shot back to Shawn, scanning him with a look of dawning realization. "Wait, you said you saw the grounds on our way in?"
“Yeah,” Shawn confirmed, swallowing hard. “Pretty sure they’re not worried about me reporting their location to the police when all of this is done. That’s why it really doesn’t matter if you do what they say or not. Either way...”
“We’re both getting out of this, Spencer,” Lassiter said determinedly. “If you told O’Hara about what happened, then it’s only a matter of time before they track down our location.”
Leaning against the chair’s back to ease some of the pressure on his arms, Shawn managed something resembling a smile. “Of course they will. Probably on their way already.”
“Right.” The detective gave a sharp nod. “So it’s only a matter of holding out until they get here.”
“Right. No problem.”
The uncomfortable silence settled around them again. This time, Shawn knew the silence was because they were both thinking the same thing.
There was no way rescue was coming in time.
~~~~~
Gus checked his cell phone for the millionth time as the taxi drove towards the police station. Still no missed calls, voice mails, or text messages. What he wouldn’t give right now to have Shawn call, laughing at him for falling for his prank. He’d be mad, of course, but at least he’d know his friend was safe.
His first indication that something was wrong should have been the fact that Shawn wasn’t waiting for him when he got off the plane that morning. They’d talked during dinner the night before and confirmed that Shawn would pick him up in the Blueberry. After waiting around the airport for almost two hours, and receiving no answers to his heated texts, Gus came to the conclusion that his friend had gotten distracted with a new case and completely bailed on him. It wasn’t until he was climbing into the back seat of the taxi that his phone finally rang. Only it wasn’t Shawn on the other end; it was Chief Vick.
He tapped his phone against his leg as he watched the familiar scenery go by the window. Despite his usual feelings on the topic, Gus wouldn’t object to the taxi driver breaking the speed limit right now. The drive to the station had never been so long.
The chief had given him very few details on the phone. Gus hoped that was because she was busy, and not because the police didn’t have any leads. So far, he only knew the basics of the situation.
The car finally pulled up to the curb in front of the station and Gus flung some money at the driver before grabbing his suitcase and charging up the front steps. He was only peripherally aware of the activity in the bullpen, all his attention focused on the Chief’s office. For the first time in his life, he stormed into the room without Shawn being the one to lead the charge.
“Mr Guster,” Vick greeted him, the concern and stress on her face enough to give him pause. “If you’ll take a seat, I can update both of you at once.”
Gus glanced at the chairs situated in front of her desk and realized Henry was already seated. He quickly dropped into the other chair.
“What’s going on? You said Shawn was missing? What’s—”
She raised a hand to cut off his panicked questions. “I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of information at this time. Detective O’Hara received a call early this morning requesting help at Lassiter’s apartment. By the time she arrived on the scene, the place was empty. We’re following what leads we have, but I was hoping either of you might be able to shine some light on what happened.”
“What can we do to help?” Henry asked immediately. Despite his gruff tone, it was easy to see how concerned he was.
“Do either of you know if Shawn was working on a case that could be related to this?”
Gus shook his head. “We didn’t take on any private cases this week because Shawn was helping with that gas station murder, and I was getting ready to leave town for a pharmaceutical convention.”
“Could he have taken on a private case after you left?”
“Not unless it was late last night. We talked on the phone twice yesterday, and the second call was at dinnertime. If he’d gotten any new cases during the day, he would have said something. Even when Shawn works a case without me, he likes to talk to me about it. In detail.”
“Henry?”
The older man shook his head. “Sorry, Karen. I haven’t seen him all week.”
Vick nodded, clearly disappointed. “So you don’t know why he would have visited Lassiter that late at night?”
Gus jumped in, happy to finally have some useful information. “Actually, he was spending the night there.” At the confused looks sent his way, he clarified, “Shawn’s been staying with me since— uh, well, since he and Juliet broke up. But I had to go out of town, so he somehow convinced Lassie to let him stay at his apartment.”
“Why didn’t he just stay at your place?” Karen asked.
“Really? Would you let Shawn stay at your house unsupervised?”
“Okay,” Henry interjected. “That still doesn’t answer why they were attacked or where they are right now. What’s the next step?”
“Detective O’Hara is taking point on this investigation,” she told him. “She’s checking out a few possible leads.”
Gus frowned and leaned back in his chair. That sounded eerily similar to the non-answers he’d seen Vick feed the press whenever they were stalled on a case.
“I want to see the crime scene,” Henry said.
“You know I can’t allow that.”
“Karen—”
“No, Henry,” she stopped him. Her tone made it clear that she was speaking to him as both his friend, and the head of the police department. “This investigation is too important, we need to work quickly and without any slip ups. I can’t allow civilians — and ones related to the missing person — to get involved in this. I’m only going to say this once: you and Guster are not allowed to touch this case. I promise we’ll keep you updated on our progress. Is that clear?”
Henry eyed her, arms crossed in front of him. She met his gaze evenly. After a tense minute, Henry nodded and stood. “Keep me updated,” he said roughly, before walking out of the room. The unspoken ‘Find my son or else’ reverberated loudly in his wake.
The chief turned to look at Gus, waiting for his answer.
“Understood, Chief,” Gus said with a nod.
As he left the office, he couldn’t help the guilt that preyed on him for conceding so quickly. Logically, he knew the police would be faster and more efficient if allowed to work unhindered. But he also knew that if their roles were reversed, Shawn wouldn’t rest until he’d found Gus and brought him home safely.
~~~~~
The room was quiet. Too quiet. It was unsettling. Other than Shawn’s labored breathing and the sound of his own pacing, there was nothing to break the silence. If they were under a house, there should be the sounds of footsteps or muffled conversations, but there was nothing. Not even the hum of an air conditioner.
Reaching the opposite wall, Carlton spun on his heel and headed back across the room. At this rate, he’d end up wearing down the floor enough to escape that way. What was taking them so long, anyway? It wasn’t that he was particularly anxious for their captors to return, but this limbo of waiting was becoming unbearable.
Finally halting his agitated movements, Carlton sank onto the cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture he’d ever sat on, but it really wasn’t too bad, considering. What worried him was that these people had put the cot in here in the first place. It would seem to imply that their stay wouldn’t be a short one. The fact that there was only one cot further emphasized that only one of them was actually wanted here.
He glanced at where Shawn was sitting, still tied to the chair in the center of the room. He was facing the door, so Carlton couldn’t see his face, but he had a feeling the psychic was getting as antsy as he was.
Despite their earlier conversation, guilt continued to gnaw at Carlton’s insides. It was his job to protect people. Now he had to sit by and watch someone being hurt because of him. And not a random person, either. They might not get along often — or at all, really — but Shawn was still a member of his team, and over the years he’d begun to reluctantly consider the man a friend.
The lock on the door clicked a moment before it swung open. Lassiter sprang to his feet, surprised he didn’t hear them coming down the stairs.
“Sorry for the long wait,” Miller remarked casually as he entered the room. He was followed by several of the other gang members. “Had some last minute scheduling arrangements to take care of.”
“Oh, don’t mind us,” Shawn joked lightly. “If you have better things to tend to than mercilessly torturing your houseguests, we can come back another time. Just call the office and make an appointment.”
Miller walked over to the table and set a small carrying case on it. He opened it and began messing with something inside the case, but Carlton couldn’t see what it was. After a minute, the man turned around to reveal a hypodermic needle in his hand. The grin on his face formed ice in Carlton’s stomach.
“What is that?” he asked coldly.
“Let’s call it added incentive,” Miller said.
“Okay,” Shawn broke in, “I’m really not liking the sound of that.” He tried to peer over his shoulder to see what they were talking about, but couldn’t get a good angle. “Someone want to clue me in?”
Miller calmly walked around to the front of the chair. Shawn’s eyes widened as they zeroed in on the needle.
“Yeah, no thanks. I pass. Definitely passing on any needles,” he tried to joke, but the desperate edge in his voice caused Carlton’s own anxiety to double.
He tried to shift away as the needle came closer, but Nick stepped up behind the chair and grabbed Shawn’s shoulders to hold him still. Carlton lunged forward. The other two thugs must have anticipated this because they immediately grabbed him by the arms, preventing further movement. He tried to wrestle out of their grasp, but it was too late. The needle jabbed into Shawn’s neck and the plunger was pressed down.
Removing the needle, Miller motioned to Nick that it was okay to let the go now. The others likewise released their hold on Carlton. Miller strode back over to the table and began packing everything back into its case.
“What is that?” Carlton asked again, his voice hoarse.
“Several things, actually,” he replied. “One of the advantages of having an operation such as ours is that we have a chemist on staff. He’s the artist who designed this little concoction. I don’t pretend to know the specifics as to what all went into its creation, but I do know the intended results.”
Nervousness ratcheting up another several degrees, Carlton glanced over at Shawn. He hadn’t moved much since being injected. Even more concerning, he wasn't talking. He looked ill.
“At its base, it’s a very potent stimulant,” Miller continued. “There are several other substances in there as well, but the end result is that it acts as a sort of enhancement agent for the nervous system. Takes all the senses and turns them up to eleven.”
A weak laugh escaped the prisoner in the chair. “You have no idea how ironic this is.”
Miller glanced at him in confusion, and Carlton shared the sentiment. He had no idea what Shawn was talking about.
“I don’t think you’ll find it so amusing in a few minutes,” Miller warned. “Now, granted, you are the first human trial of this stuff, but I’ve been told that this particular test batch has the tendency to cause some very unpleasant side effects.”
“Can’t you use a simple truth serum like every other cliché Bond villain?” Shawn complained with a groan. “Whatever happened to the tried and true methods of torture?”
“Trust me, we’re not interested in making you even more talkative.”
“So,” Carlton cut in, “what does any of this have to do with that favor you wanted from me?”
Miller started to respond when a quiet moan from Shawn interrupted him. Smirking, their captor said, “I think your friend is just finding that out.”
He walked back towards the center of the room and Carlton followed close behind. He was severely tempted to punch the smirk right off the man's face, but knew it wouldn’t be a wise decision with three other armed men in the room. Instead, he focused his attention on his fellow prisoner. Shawn was looking decidedly worse. Under the layer of bruises, he was alarmingly pale. His breathing was coming out in weak gasps and a sheen of sweat coated his skin.
“Spencer?” the detective questioned.
“Ugh,” Shawn moaned again. “Okay, I take it back. You easily beat Bond villains in the creative sadism department.”
“Spencer, focus,” Carlton ordered gruffly. “What’s happening?”
Shawn winced. “It’s like being me, but dialed to a thousand,” he said softly. Which really didn’t tell Carlton anything. Before he could demand clarification, though, the psychic squeezed his eyes shut and let out a low whimper. “Okay, I need the off switch on this thing, like, now. Lassie?”
The small plea tacked onto that last word tore at Carlton. He turned on Miller with an angry snarl. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”
“Merely your cooperation, Detective. You see, we’re on a strict schedule and we can’t afford to wait around for days while we gradually wear down your resistance — and your friend’s sanity — so this will hopefully speed up the process. I told you it acts as a stimulant for the nervous system. What you seem to have forgotten is that the pain centers are connected to the nervous system.”
A quick nod from his boss and Nick was springing forward eagerly. Carlton moved to intercept him, only to be once again held back by the other henchmen.
The criminal grabbed one of Shawn’s arms. Wrapping his hand around the limb, heedless of the badly torn flesh under his grip, he squeezed hard. The reaction was immediate as Shawn shouted in pain and frantically tried to squirm out of his hold. Nick grinned and clenched his hand even tighter, digging into the still-open knife wounds. Blood trickled over his meaty hand, dripping down to join the stains already on the floor. Shawn kicked one of his legs in his tormentor’s direction. His aim missed by quite a large margin.
Nick finally let go, wiping the blood onto the front of his victim’s t-shirt. He stepped back and shot Shawn a smug look as he watched the younger man drag in one pained breath after another.
Unsure what to do, Lassiter cleared his throat. “Spencer?” He didn’t know what to add to that inquiry. Asking if he was okay seemed more than a bit asinine right now.
“You know you can end this at any time, Detective.” Hearing Miller's voice right now would have set Carlton off anyways, but the undisguised delight in that taunt just added fuel to the fire.
Carlton used to think that he disliked all criminals more or less equally. Someone breaks the law, they deserve to be punished for it. Plain and simple. But, right now, he felt an entirely new level of hatred for this inhumane creature. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to permanently wipe the smirk off this monster’s face. He would gladly face the consequences for his actions if he could accomplish that one goal.
“What do you say?” Miller asked lightly. “Time to end your friend’s suffering?”
His jaw clenched hard. He knew what his answer was, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. As much as he hated appearing weak before his foe, how could he callously condemn Shawn to even more pain?
As if in response to his thoughts, Shawn slowly lifted his head. Hazel eyes sought his out. Carlton’s chest ached as he looked into those piercing eyes and saw, surrounded by the pain and fear, forgiveness.
A silent conversation passed between the two captives before Carlton turned back towards Miller, meeting his opponent’s gaze straight on. “Forget it, you psycho. My decision hasn’t changed.”
~~~~~
A yawn escaped as Juliet stood and stretched. She’d spent the last hour and a half meticulously going over the crime scene reports which were starting to trickle in.
Apparently the guys in the lab were willing to bend a few rules to get these results back ahead of schedule. As the detective in charge of the investigation, Juliet knew she should probably not be condoning that sort of rule-breaking. But she had no intention of reprimanding them for it. Lassiter might be an abrasive personality, but his fellow officers still had a ton of respect for him. And Shawn was one of their own whether he carried a badge or not. Everyone in the department was going above and beyond in their efforts to bring their missing members home.
“Detective?” Buzz peaked his head around the corner. “We’re ready with that security camera footage, if you’re ready to take a look at it.”
With a grateful nod, Juliet pushed away from her desk. She detoured long enough to snag another cup of coffee on her way to the video room. At this rate, she was going to have a monster of a caffeine crash when this investigation was finally over.
In the room, there were three screens set up with grainy security videos. The first screen showed the front door of the apartment building, the second screen showed the back alley, and the last one had a view of the gas station down the street. Several chairs were set up in front of the screens, one of which was currently occupied by Dobson. Juliet and Buzz quickly took the other two seats.
“What have we got?” she asked, getting straight down to business.
Buzz pointed to the center screen with the view of the alley. “This is where they made their getaway. It looks like they had a fourth gang member waiting in their van.” He pressed play on the screen as he explained, “This is from 1:36 AM, exactly four minutes after Shawn’s phone call.”
On the screen, a large service van pulled into the alley and stopped in front of the building’s back door. In the poor lighting, it was hard to make out what color it was, but it had a logo for a plumbing company painted across the side. As soon as the vehicle stopped, three men exited the building and beelined straight for it. Between the low resolution video and the deep shadows, there was no way of making out any distinguishing features.
Juliet’s breath caught as her eyes fell on the unconscious bodies being carried into the van. She wished the footage was clear enough to get a better view of them; as it was, she couldn’t tell how badly injured either of them might be.
Buzz paused the video as soon as the van pulled out of sight. He turned to the gas station footage and hit play on that one. Immediately, the kidnappers’ vehicle came into view. It drove past the station at a perfectly normal rate of speed, obviously wanting to avoid attention. It was gone a moment later.
“What about their entry into the building?” Juliet asked.
“It wasn’t caught on any of the cameras,” Dobson informed her. “They didn’t pass the gas station on their way in. Either they were taking different routes to confuse us, or they’re not headed back to the same location they came from.”
“And they entered the building by going up the fire escape to Detective Lassiter’s window,” Buzz added, “so none of that was caught on camera, either.”
Finger tapping against her lips, Juliet let her eyes scan over the two paused screens. It wasn’t much. Large, dark van with a plumbing logo that was probably fake. Four kidnappers, all large in build, but no other means of identifying them. And no clue as to where they would be heading next. They’d been investigating this case for twelve hours and still had nothing tangible. If he were here, Carlton would be putting his fist through the nearest wall.
Rubbing a hand over her forehead, Juliet sighed. “Okay, they were heading away from the apartment along Newport Drive. They passed the gas station heading East. Are there any traffic cameras along that stretch of Newport?”
Buzz nodded. “Not many, but Officer Barnes is making a list so we can put in a request for that footage.”
“Add Garden Street to that list,” Juliet said. “It’s only a few blocks away and leads right to the 101.”
“Any reason to suspect they’re heading that way?”
“Only a hunch,” she admitted. “But they didn’t have a lot of time between their exit and our arrival on the scene. It makes sense they would have taken the highway as the quickest route out of that area. Plus, it explains why none of us saw the van on our way to Lassiter’s building; they were heading the opposite direction.”
With a nod of understanding, Buzz quickly scribbled that down on his notepad. “What should our next step be, Detective?”
A feeling of wrongness squirmed through Juliet’s gut at hearing that question directed at her rather than her partner. Forcing the feeling down, she said, “Gather that traffic camera footage as soon as you can. Dobson, I want you to check into that plumbing company. It’s probably fake, but we have to be certain. Get Rodriguez to call around the local paint shops in case they had the logo painted professionally.”
The two officers nodded and hurried from the room to carry out their orders. Juliet’s shoulders sagged as the door swung shut behind them. She closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths before also leaving the room. A brief moment to regroup was all she could allow herself right now. The clock was ticking, and they needed to find a lead soon if they were ever going to bring Carlton and Shawn home safely.
~~~~~
Years of police work had taught Carlton how to keep track of the passing time under most circumstances. Whether the hours felt dragged out by a boring stakeout, or sped up by the adrenaline of a shootout. Because of this, he was fairly sure it had been almost two hours since he’d last spoken — when delivering his final decision and choosing not to spare his (sort of) friend from even more pain.
Two hours. Add to that the hours they’d been left alone in the cellar, plus the length of time spent during the first torture session. Since they’d arrived at the house not long after dawn... by his calculations, it should currently be late evening.
As much as he hated to admit defeat, the lack of a rescue by this point meant the police had no idea where they were. Which meant they couldn’t go on crossing their fingers and waiting for the cavalry to charge in. They needed to start working on their own escape plan. And, as painful as it was to acknowledge, Carlton wasn’t the creative problem-solver in their group. That role was usually filled by the man slowly losing consciousness in front of him.
Carlton shifted his weight, his feet feeling numb from the hours of standing still. He supposed he could go sit on the cot again, but it felt wrong to take comfort when his fellow prisoner was being tortured in front of him.
One of the main problems he saw in any attempted escape was the fact that Shawn didn’t look capable of moving under his own power. He was covered in bruises from the repeated beatings and, given his labored breathing, Carlton would be surprised if his ribs weren’t damaged as well. Between that, the blood loss from his arms, and the effects of the drug in his system, it didn’t seem like he’d be ready for a run to freedom anytime soon.
The roster of who was present in the room had changed several times over the last couple hours. The one annoying constant was that there was at least one armed guard present at all times. Well, that wasn’t the only constant. Nick, despite his injured arm, had stayed in their cell the whole time. He’d finally taken a break from tormenting Shawn himself, letting one of his buddies take over while he stood off to the side, smoking a cigarette and watching with obvious enjoyment. Carlton had to agree with Shawn’s previous assessment; the man had some serious issues.
The door swung open and Miller sauntered in, flanked by two of his lackies. His usual smirk had been replaced with an impatient frown.
“As I mentioned before,” he began without preamble, “we’re on a very tight schedule. My boss is tired of waiting. It’s time to wrap things up here.”
Shawn coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood before rasping out, “Well, sorry we’re being such an inconvenience to you. Usually when we’re kidnapped, the bad guys have the foresight to clear their calendars first. Something to keep in mind for next time.”
An irritated growl from Nick was the only warning before the huge man lunged forward. Yanking his victim’s head back with one hand, he used the other to crush his smoldering cigarette against the base of Shawn’s throat.
The guttural cry was enough to snap Carlton out of his momentary shock. Before he was even fully aware of his actions, his fist had connected with Nick’s jaw, sending the man sprawling. He stepped over his downed target, raining down one blow after another as he unleashed all of his pent-up anger on this scum. He'd barely gotten in a few good punches before other hands were grabbing him from behind, hauling him off of the downed man.
He was dragged back towards the table, two men holding his arms firmly behind him so he couldn’t wrench himself free.
Nick staggered to his feet. His hand came up to rub at the place on his jaw where the beginning of a nasty bruise was already forming. He glared at Carlton, who met his gaze evenly.
Shawn stared at the man’s jaw for a moment before looking at Carlton with pure awe and pride. “Wow,” he managed, voice wrecked from the blistering burn on his throat. “You pack quite a punch, Lassie. Remind me to be more careful about getting on your bad side in the future.”
“Shut up, Spencer,” Carlton hissed, but Nick was already turning his murderous gaze back on the psychic. The idiot really couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his own life.
“Okay, everyone, take a breather,” Miller said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Focusing on Lassiter, he continued calmly, “Since you obviously don’t intend to change your mind on this, we’ll have to adjust our plans accordingly. The loss is yours, really; we would have paid you enough to make it well worth your trouble. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here tonight. My men will drive you back to Santa Barbara in the morning.”
“You expect me to believe that you’re going to let me go?”
“We don’t want a dead cop on our hands. Way too messy to cover up a thing like that. As far as the police know so far, you were kidnapped from your apartment by unknown assailants. When you return unharmed and with no useful information to offer them, they’ll eventually be forced to close the investigation. Especially once you explain that your kidnappers were actually former clients of Mr Spencer here, seeking revenge for a perceived injustice.”
“And you think I’ll go along with that?”
“I’d strongly advise you do,” Miller said, tone lowering threateningly. “If you want to keep your friends and family safe. You can’t protect all of them at once. How will you feel when your partner is ‘accidentally’ caught in the crossfire the next time you go to apprehend a criminal? Or your wife is the unfortunate victim of a hit and run?”
A deep growl escaped Carlton’s throat as his hand twitched at his side, reflexively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “You dare touch either of them and I won’t stop until I’ve rounded up every member of your pathetic band of low-lifes.”
“Well, I certainly wish you luck on that endeavor,” Miller returned lightly. “Though I'd be interested in hearing how you intend to find me when you don’t know any of our identities, the locations of any of our bases, or if we're even still in California right this minute.” He glanced at his watch with a sigh. “As enlightening as this experience has been, I need to get our Plan B put into action. So if you’ll excuse me...”
“What about Spencer?” Lassiter asked.
Miller shrugged. “Apparently we overestimated his importance to you. To protect our cover story, his body will be found in a few days.” He shot a look at the battered psychic, grimacing in disgust. “It will probably have to be a closed casket funeral.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved what looked to be the same syringe as he’d used earlier, only it had been refilled at some point since then. Tossing it to Nick, he said, “Here, Nick, have a blast. Be sure to clean the body when you’re done. We can’t have it traced back to us.”
Carlton’s throat tightened painfully as desperation clawed at his insides. It was happening too fast. They needed to escape now, but there was no opening. Too many guards, too many weapons. Shawn was still firmly secured to that chair, and in no condition to make a run for it even if he were free. This was it. They were actually going to kill the irritating little moron right in front of him, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. With the thugs still holding Carlton's arms behind him, he couldn’t even manage a token protest.
Grinning, Nick emptied the dose of clear liquid into his helpless captive. The stimulant seemed to do the job of dragging Shawn back towards full consciousness. Carlton couldn’t help thinking it would have been better if he’d stayed incoherent for this.
Now that he had Shawn’s attention once more, Nick drew out his knife and leaned in to finish the job.
The psychic recoiled away from the blade. Still being restrained, he only managed to move a few inches, but he continued to press his back into the chair as if he could melt through it to escape. “Whoa!” he called, voice cracking. “Easy there, Gossamer, let’s talk about this, okay? No need to get all stabby.”
The point of the blade came to rest on his sternum. It pressed forward, the tip barely breaking skin as a tiny rivulet of blood trickled down.
“Okay,” Shawn said, desperation tinging his usual sarcasm, “I get it. Lamaze breathing is out. But I still stand by my earlier statement of this being an unhealthy release for aggression.”
Nick’s anger boiled to the surface again, replacing his calculated movements with one vicious swipe of the blade across Shawn’s face. His cry of pain caught in his throat. Carlton shouted some incoherent protest but was firmly held back from charging in again. Shawn ducked his head as his body instinctively tried to curl in on itself protectively. Carlton’s current vantage point prevented him from getting a good look at the damage, but he could see a worrying amount of blood dripping onto the psychic's lap.
Apparently the monster wasn’t content to leave it at that. He reached around and grabbed one of Shawn's bound hands in his own, clenching hard. A sickening crunch filled the air as the bones in one of the fingers gave way. Nick shifted his grasp to the neighboring finger and twisted hard, a second crack putting that one out of commission as well. The snap was followed by a choked sob, the sound wrenching at Carlton’s resolve.
“Stop it!” Carlton demanded hoarsely. He turned his head to face Miller. “You said yourself, there’s no need for this anymore. Just stop it!”
A third finger was grasped roughly, but this time Nick paused, allowing a moment of tense anticipation before slowly applying pressure. The scream that bounced off the cellar walls chilled Carlton to his core and covered the sound of the finger finally cracking under the pressure. Pleased at the reaction he’d gotten, Nick twisted the broken fingers backward, grinning as another agonized scream filled the room.
Carlton felt something cold and hard take up residence in his chest. This was a moment he wasn't going to be able to come back from. He knew that even before he opened his mouth. But it didn't matter. He couldn’t watch this horror show any longer. His principals could go walk off a pier. This was a civilian, a teammate, and a friend that he was watching slowly die in front of him.
“I’ll do it.”
It was spoken so quietly that it didn’t fully register on any of the room’s occupants at first. When it did, everyone paused to stare at him in surprise.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll meet with your boss. Just… just stop.”
A victorious smile spread over Miller’s features, and Carlton hated himself for putting it there. “That’s good to hear, Detective. You’ll see, working with us will be far more rewarding than your previous job.” He motioned to the other men to let go of Carlton’s arms. “We’ll leave you to get some rest. The boss will fill you in on the details in the morning.”
They filed out of the room, Nick looking clearly frustrated that he was being pulled away from his fun. The door swung shut, and the lock clicked into place again.
Carlton sunk onto the cot, head dropping into his hands. What have I done?
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