"You're still here?" Brannigan lifted an eyebrow as she came around her desk and took a seat in the rolling chair.

Gus sighed, checking his watch as he replied. "Yes. Shawn and Buzz aren't back yet." He made a face. "Knowing Shawn, they'll be at least another half hour because he won't be able to decide on his order."

Brannigan laughed and shook her head. "Well, you're more than welcome to hang out here until they do come back."

As Gus was about to reply, his phone rang. "Speaking of," Gus chuckled, turning the phone to show the screen to Brannigan it was Shawn's caller ID. Shaking his head, he flipped the phone back around to answer the call. "Hey Shawn, can't you decide between chorizo and—"

The moment he broke off mid-sentence, Brannigan's head snapped up from her computer screen. She didn't know exactly what was happening, but something was wrong.

Gus's eyes were wide as he looked at Brannigan. Worry creased his face, and he looked like he might be about to cry.

She raised an eyebrow to prompt him for information, to which he responded by wordlessly setting his phone on her desk and putting the call on speaker.

In between crackles of static, a muffled voice that sounded like Shawn's floated through the line. "Seriously, man, this is a really bad idea. You do realize carjacking a cop was the worst idea you could have had, right?"

Ignoring Gus, whose eyes were even wider than they had been a moment before, Brannigan reached over and hit the button to mute their side of the line. She then turned and gestured to an officer who was just walking by her desk. "We need a trace on Shawn Spencer's cell phone. Now. And get Chief Lassiter."

The man nodded quickly, picking up on the urgency in the head detective's voice.

"Shut up!"

The exclamation from an unfamiliar voice pulled Brannigan's attention back to the call.

"I told you to stop talking."

Brannigan swallowed against the rush of emotions she felt at the realization of what was happening on the other end of the phone call. There was only a minor chance Shawn had wandered off and gotten himself into trouble without Buzz, so, if Shawn was in trouble, that meant her partner was, too.

"Yeah, but the spirits are telling me to warn you," came Shawn's reply. "They don't want you to get in more trouble than you're already in. You haven't done anything too bad yet. We're both still alive. Think about your kid, dude."

Breathing a sigh of relief at the information that Shawn and Buzz were— at least somewhat —okay, she glanced at Gus. His expression was a knot of worry as he listened.

"What?" The shock in the voice was hard to miss, even over the static of the phone line. "How'd you know that?"

"Told you. Psychic."

"He's just tryin' to mess with your head!" someone else snapped. "Ain't no such thing as psychics."

There was a rush of muffled sounds then, as if someone had dropped the phone, before Shawn's voice continued. He sounded farther away somehow, and Brannigan decided he had actually dropped the phone.

"Road work, am I right? Those potholes needed filling in a long time ago. But why are we way out here anyway? Isn't this, like, the worst place for cell reception in the city? What if you need to call your boss?"

As if on cue, there was another burst of static just before the line went dead.

"What in the name of sweet justice has Spencer gotten himself into now?"

Gus and Brannigan jumped, Gus letting out a small yelp of surprise that he quickly tried to cover with a cough.

The chief of police was standing just behind Brannigan's desk. His arms were crossed, and he wore a look that was something of a mix between disbelief and resignation. There might have been a hint of worry, too, but the flicker disappeared before it could be fully identified.

"Shawn's been kidnapped!" Gus wailed before Brannigan could respond. Now it really looked like he might cry.

Brannigan cleared her throat. "Sir, Detective McNab and Shawn Spencer have been carjacked."

"That much I gathered," he replied. The chief sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose as he came around so his head detective could see him as he asked his next question. "Can we track Spencer's phone?"

Brannigan nodded, shoving her emotions over the safety of both her partner and Shawn aside for the moment. She'd have time to deal with them later, after her partner was safe. "Got someone on that already, Chief," she replied. She looked over at Guster and gave him as reassuring of a smile as she could muster. "Don't worry, Gus; we'll find them."

He didn't look fully convinced but gave her a grateful smile anyway.

"Um, Detective?" The uniformed officer from a few minutes before reappeared with a grim look on his face. "No luck on tracking the phone's exact location. We got it down to somewhere on the east side of the city, but then we lost it."

"Send me what you have," Brannigan ordered.

The officer nodded and hurried away.

"Well," Gus sighed, trying to put all thoughts about what might be happening to his friends out of his mind for the moment. "If nothing has changed since I moved, I remember there are a few places out that way" —he tilted his head toward the departing officer— "that have bad reception. Maybe we can start there with Shawn's clue?"

Brannigan was nodding along with him, and she snapped her fingers as a thought occurred to her. "I know of at least one that's had construction ongoing for a while. Everyone complains about it," she added as an aside. "It fits the other location clues we have, plus it happens to be near a bodyshop frequented by suspected car thieves. We've had feelers out on them for weeks under the suspicion the owner might be involved in less than legal dealings." She winked at Gus.

At the thought, Gus swallowed hard and darted a look at Lassiter. "We, uh, had a run in with a similar shop during one of our cases years ago." He took a deep breath. "I hope it doesn't bring up any… bad memories for you, Lassiter."

Lassiter leveled a look at him.

Gus gulped. "Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm just a little worried about my best friend, and my worry tends to express itself in… funny ways."

"Uh huh," Lassiter snorted, but his huff was tempered by similar worry— even if he would never admit it.

The thought occurred to them both at the same time.

"O'Hara."

"Juliet!"

Gus looked wide-eyed between Brannigan and Lassiter. "She's back in San Francisco. I'm sure Shawn promised to check in at some point but I don't know when or when the last time he talked to her was and what if he's fine but what if he's not and she probably should know but then she might kill me she does have a gun after all and I let something happen to Shawn and—"

"Guster!"

The shout along with the snap of fingers from Lassiter pulled Gus out of his spiral of worry. "Snap out of it, Guster. You have a job to do."

"You're right," Gus replied quietly, fingering the arms of the chair he was currently occupying.

"Now, I seem to recall you were about to go check out a lead on the case?" It was more of an order than an actual question.

Brannigan was immediately on her feet, Gus following her lead.

"I'll call O'Hara," Lassiter continued, his eyes softening. "I am the chief, after all, and I was also her partner for years." He straightened his blazer. "I owe her at least that much."

Nodding, Gus reached for his phone sitting on the desk in front of him. "Thanks, Lassie. I know you and Shawn don't always get along…"

Lassiter shook his head. "Much as I would like him out of my station for good, this isn't the way to do it. And he is missing alongside one of my detectives." He turned for his office. "Call me as soon as you learn anything."

"Wait, aren't you coming with us?" Gus asked.

The chief shook his head. "No need. I've already got my best people on it." Then he turned and walked back to his office.

Gus blinked. "Did he just…?"

"Yes sir!" Brannigan chirped. "Come on, Gus!"

Gus was right on her heels but could barely keep pace as they rushed to the parking lot.

Their captors had driven to a warehouse in a deserted industrial neighborhood, where the gunmen had unceremoniously dumped Shawn and Buzz in a back room, locked the door, and left them alone. Unfortunately for the captive duo, there were no windows, and the only door was locked tightly— and multiple attempts to open it had done no good.

As he finished circling the room again to check for anything he might've missed the first five times, Shawn swiped a hand under his nose where beads of sweat had started to form. The hot, stale air was feeling heavier and heavier the longer he spent in the room. He swallowed hard and flopped down on the ground next to Buzz— wincing when his dreary surroundings spun for a minute. He had to close his eyes and concentrate very hard on breathing slowly to avoid losing what little food he had in his stomach.

And then, as if it hadn't been about to empty itself mere seconds before, his stomach growled. Shawn wrinkled his nose in frustration. He'd left his phone under the seat of Buzz's car where it had fallen, mostly because he couldn't retrieve it without giving himself away. But there was also a chance leaving it in the car might help the SBPD find them. No phone meant he couldn't check the time to know how long they'd been held prisoner, not that he needed it. Based on the noises his stomach was making, he was pretty sure he was going to starve to death before anyone returned. He never had gotten those tacos.

"Sorry, Shawn."

"What?" he asked in confusion, turning to look at Buzz next to him.

Buzz gave a wry grin. "Couldn't help but hear your stomach. I'm sorry we weren't able to actually get breakfast like we'd planned."

"What? Buzz," Shawn countered, "you might've been the one to park on that street where we got carjacked and kidnapped— adult-napped? cop-napped? —but it's not like you were out there waving a big sign that said, 'Take us!' And besides, your car was at least the sixth most exciting one out there. I'm kind of shocked they went for it."

He shifted and suddenly caught a whiff of something that smelled like… stale onions? No, but not actual onions, more like… what was that? Processed onion powder…

Oh great. He lifted his shirt to his nose to double-check and couldn't help but roll his eyes. The Funyuns. From when Gus had made him spill them at the station. So now his stomach was growling even more at the smell of food when there was none to be had. Not really his best day overall.

"But if they hadn't seen my badge, we wouldn't be here right now," Buzz continued. "So I feel like it's my fault." He sighed and then hissed in pain as it aggravated his injury.

Shawn glanced over in concern. He'd been able to perform a little first-aid with what they had on hand— which wasn't much, but hopefully he'd at least been able to buy a little more time before infection set in. All those lessons from his dad over the years were paying off— although he was never going to actually admit that to Henry. Turned out the times his dad pulled out food coloring and corn syrup and staged various triage scenes in the backyard had come in handy after all. But again, Shawn wasn't about to eat his words and admit that. His dad didn't need another ego boost.

"You good, Busby?" he asked, trying to gauge if he needed to be concerned.

The injury had turned out to be not as bad as Shawn had assumed based on the heat of the moment during the carjacking-turned-carnapping incident, but it was still a gunshot wound, graze or not. And Shawn wasn't exactly an expert on these things. After all, his training had involved a non-toxic, ingestible blood substitute— a fact which preteen Shawn had made good use of and nearly driven his father insane with.

"Just fine, Shawn," the detective chirped.

Brannigan had to be rubbing off on him, Shawn decided, because there was no way he was actually that chipper at the moment. Then again, he mused, tilting his head, this was the same man who had been back at work and concerned for Shawn and Gus's comfort after his mailbox blew up and took his eyebrow and three of his toes with it. Yeah, Buzz and Brannigan were a good match.

"Shawn?" Buzz apparently had caught the way Shawn had winced when he'd tilted his head. "Are you okay? You got hit pretty hard back there."

Making a face, Shawn gave him a meager thumbs-up. "I've been better, but I think I'll live." If he'd been feeling better, he would have made some joke or misused a word just so he could say he'd heard it both ways, but now didn't feel quite like the time. As it was, the light made his head pound, sounds made his head pound more, and coming up with words made it pound even more than that.

All in all, this was not a good day.

Buzz reached over and gave Shawn's knee a sympathetic pat. "Yeah, concussions are no fun," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but we need to figure out a plan here. We can't just wait around and see what happens," he added grimly.

Shawn took a deep breath, not wasting the energy trying to hide the wince. "Right. Well, I did call Gus when we were in the car," he offered. "The call connected, and then I stuck it under the back seat."

The information drew a grin from Buzz. "That's why you were asking those specific questions on the ride over," he realized. "Great thinking, Shawn."

If he hadn't been feeling so lousy, Shawn would have appreciated the compliment a lot more.

"We might stand a chance if only one or two of the carjackers come back," Buzz continued. "We need to be ready to move if they return." He turned to look directly at Shawn.

The way the detective's eyes darted up and down told Shawn that Buzz was sizing him up to see if he was really up to the task. 'Smart,'  Shawn thought hazily, swallowing to tamp down on the nausea. 'It's what my dad would have told me to do.'

"Do you think you can do that?" Buzz asked, a little more quietly than he'd been moments before, and Shawn realized the other man must have picked up on that green-around-the-gills look Shawn knew was splashed across his face.

Somewhere in the back of his head, no doubt summoned by all the reminiscing of childhood "lessons," Henry Spencer's voice spoke up. 'Come on, kid. Being miserable in a corner right now is not an option. If you want to get out of this, you need to think like a cop, not a civilian. There will be time for coddling later.'

"Gee, thanks," Shawn grunted under his breath.

"What was that?" Buzz asked.

Shawn gave a careful, single shake of his head. "Oh nothing. Well," he continued, pushing the annoying voice in his head aside, "they'll have to show up at some point. They would've just shot us at the scene if they'd wanted to kill us, right?"

The unspoken thought of the second carjacking victim flashed through both of their minds.

"Right," Buzz nodded. "And when they do, we need to be ready to take them down. Think you can do that?"

Shawn sniffed, feeling the hot air stick in his chest. "As long as you can promise me the little one will show up so I can have an unfair advantage." He grinned wryly, partially to try to reassure Buzz and partially to hide the wince of pain. This was all a lot harder to do with a head injury than the movies made it look. "I just can't guarantee any amazing feats of daring-do if it takes much longer," he added grimly.

That was when they heard voices from the other side of the door.

"Huh, guess I should have said that sooner."

Buzz tilted his head and put a hand up to motion for quiet, with which Shawn immediately complied. The detective pushed himself up from the floor with a pained grunt that he quickly bit down on, then quietly made his way over to the door.

The voices were growing louder now, and Shawn could make out two distinct voices. It was the skinny, nervous one from before— Punchy —and another voice Shawn didn't recognize.

And neither sounded happy.

"You brought them here?" the new voice was saying. "They can't be here! We're having a safety inspection this afternoon! What is wrong with you?"

Punchy responded, but his tone was too muted for Shawn and Buzz to make out the words…

There was a rattling from the other side of the door just before it burst open.

Shawn had been so intent on trying to listen in on the conversation that the sudden bang of the door being shoved open made him jump and let out a small… exclamation of surprise. Definitely manly in nature.

The pain that flashed up into his head obscured his vision for a moment, and when the room finally came back into focus, he glanced over to see that Buzz had stepped back with his hands raised.

Well that wasn't how this was supposed to go.

But all he had to do was look at their captors to see the gun each of the men held to know why. There was no chance Buzz could take them both on, not with the way he was clearly feeling the effects of his injury— small or not. Shawn was simply too far away to be of any real help. One or both of them would end up shot if they tried anything.

"Let's go," the unnamed one growled, gesturing with the barrel of his gun. "We're leaving."

Shawn raised a hand. "Um, any chance you're taking votes on destination? Because I'd like to suggest the boardwalk. It's nice out there this time of year."

If looks could kill, Shawn wouldn't have made it past the end of his sentence.