Codename: Kryptonite

Chapter Thirty-one

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I swear, I'm gonna tie a bell on that man!

You can't turn your back on him for one fucking second!

"Excuse me?" Gabriella demanded of Richie. She was absolutely sure he hadn't said what he'd just said. The look Richie gave her clearly asked if she was deaf. "You did not just say he wasn't here."

The look on Richie's face screamed 'what the fuck'. "Yeah, I did."

"Where the fuck is he then?" Gabriella demanded. After coming in from the meeting with Nate, Gabby had gone to take that much needed and well deserved hot shower. When she'd finished in the bathroom, she'd come back into the living room, only to have Richie tell her that her charge was gone.

"The guy at the front desk called up," Richie patiently explained. "There was a package that Kidd had to sign for."

"And he just went?" Gabby really couldn't believe that it was possible for someone to be that hard-headed. Well...maybe. "Of course he did," she spit out through clenched teeth, while stomping off toward the front door of the apartment. She checked her gun and chambered a round before slamming the door behind her.

"It was just the lobby," Richie told the empty room, a grin flirting with the corners of his full lips. "What could possibly happen to him in the lobby?"

That joke would come back to haunt Richie way too soon.

Wasting no time, Gabby sprinted to the stairwell. She didn't have time to waste waiting on the elevator. All the way down to the ground floor of the building she cussed Jon, calling him every name imaginable except the one his parents had given him. As she ran down the last flight of stairs, she growled, "With God as my witness, if the fucker is down here and everything is hunky-fuckin'-dory, I'll probably kill him."

Everything wasn't hunky-fuckin'-dory, Jon wasn't in the lobby, and she wasn't going to have to kill him. When Gabby stepped into the lobby, Vincent had replaced Oscar at the front desk and stood staring at her like she was a mad woman. And, she could admit she probably looked like one, as she quickly scanned the area looking for her wayward charge. Where the fuck was he?

When she was only a few feet from the front desk, she asked Vincent, "Where is Mr. Bon Jovi?" She tried to sound casual, and wasn't sure she'd pulled it off.

A puzzled frown crinkled the older man's brow. "Mr. Bon Jovi? I haven't seen him."

"He didn't come down to sign for a package?" she asked, trying to remain calm.

"A package?" Vincent shook his head. "There isn't a package here for him."

A chill raced down Gabby's spine and permeated every cell in her body. "You didn't call up to the penthouse and tell Mr. Bon Jovi there was a package requiring his signature?"

"No, miss," Vincent answered, clearly puzzled.

"Well, then, I guess I won't have to kill him," she muttered to herself as she hurried to the elevator. Her day just went from 'not too bad' to 'totally fucked up' in six seconds.

Vincent finally got over his stunned surprise. "Wait, Miss Gabriella, there's a note here for you." He scurried out from behind the desk and rushed toward Gabby with his hand outstretched, an envelope clutched tightly in his fist.

"For me?" Gabriella stared at the envelope in his hand, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew without even opening the letter what it was.

Stretching his arm out toward her again, offering her the envelope, Vincent asked, "Aren't you going to take it, miss?"

The envelope looked like a viper to her, but she took it anyway. "Thank you, Vincent," she replied woodenly as the elevator doors dinged open.

The doors slid closed on Vincent's smiling face, and Gabby looked down at the envelope in her hand. Might as well get this over with.

Unconcerned with preserving evidence, given the fact that fingerprints would be impossible to trace since the sender probably wasn't in any database yet, Gabby tore open the envelope.

Miss Prince,

I believe you have something of mine. I have something of yours. I propose a trade.

You will receive further instructions shortly.

She sighed. The type written note was exactly what she'd expected. Now, she needed a plan.

*~*~*~*~*~*

"What the fuck do you mean - 'He's been taken'?" Richie demanded.

"Taken. Ya know, kidnapped, abducted, held hostage," she paused briefly, "forcibly removed from the premises." She raised one eyebrow at Richie's stunned expression. "English is your first language, right?"

"Fuck you," he growled. How could she be so calm? He watched as she crossed the room and flopped down on the sofa, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. "Aren't you going to do something?"

"I'm trying," she replied calmly. "I'm trying to ignore you."

"Ignore me?" Richie sputtered. "Aren't you going to do your JOB?" He didn't wait on an answer; he just went on in a rant that would make Jon proud. "Oh wait, if you'd been doing your JOB, this would've never happened to begin with."

Gabriella sat up to glare at Richie. She seriously considered pulling her gun on the guitarist again. "I was in the fucking shower," she said dangerously soft. "I've warned him repeatedly what would happen if he didn't follow the rules that I laid down. I warned him to STAY IN THE APARTMENT. If he wasn't such a rule breaker we wouldn't be having this conversation." Then her glare turned positively icy, and she growled, "I was beginning to like you. Don't make me shoot you."

A wise man would shut up and sit down. But, Richie's 'brother' was in danger, and he was anything but wise...or calm. "Tell me you have a plan, " he demanded. "Tell me that you're going to get him back. Tell me that you're going to do something other than sit there and 'try to ignore me'."

"I'm trying to come up with a plan," she told him, leaning back to once again contemplate the ceiling. "It would help immensely if you'd shut the fuck up."

Richie looked like he'd swallowed a bug. Honest to God, the woman was exasperating. His stunned expression slowly turned to a scowl, and he just stood there glaring at her for a full minute while she still sat looking at the ceiling. He finally flopped into the chair facing her. When he couldn't remain silent any longer, he asked, "And why aren't we calling the police, exactly?"

Raising her head up off the back of the sofa, she gave him a patronizing smile. "Aw, aren't you cute, thinking on your own and everything."

"While that comment is bitchy to the extreme it does not answer the question at hand," he responded dryly.

Her lips twisted into a wry grin. "Call the police? And tell them what exactly? A man from the future has kidnapped our friend...oh no reason officer, it's just that our friend is going to run for president in about 20 years and win. He will be a very popular president, to everyone except the right wing conservatives that have a problem with who he wants to put on the Supreme Court. Oh yeah, that's gonna go over real well." Having made her point, she let her head fall back onto the sofa again.

Richie really didn't want to admit she was right. "Well, there is that."