Dedication: To my sister Nita, who on this day, August the 15th, in the year 2005 AD, called me to tell me that she had just seen a terrific show for the first time this past weekend- Navy NCIS -"and that guy Tony is cuuute!" (I know you guys know all this already) It normally takes me at least a couple of years to get her involved with any new show. (Ask her about catching up on 4 seasons of CSI. She's lucky someone invented Netflix.) Now if I could just get her to watch Stargate SG1… I wonder how long it will take her to catch up with 7 seasons of boxed sets…) Love ya little sis!

Summary – In a long law enforcement career, you can make quite a few enemies. One of the team has just such an enemy and a team member will pay the price. (This story will have a little plot twist that I don't think we will ever see in the show, but it was one of those plot bunnies with fangs and claws – you know the ones – tenacious little buggers.)

Rating – PG13 for some cussing in this chapter – but tell me you wouldn't swear if you found yourself in a similar situation… and as with all of my fics – it's a slash free zone.

Disclaimer – The PTBs own all the rights, but I can dream…

Sins of the Father – Prologue

The floor was damn cold. He knew this because it seemed that he was lying face down on somebody's floor. Not to mention that his cheek, stomach and feet were in direct and icy contact with the unfinished cement surface. As initial perceptions go, this didn't seem too bad. An instant later, bad – very, very bad - perceptions came to take over. His head was thrumming like the drum rift of a particularly driving AC/DC song.

Great. Now he had a headache and the particularly noxious melody of Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap was bouncing around in his head. Pushing himself up on shaking arms, his hand drifted up to rub at the ache. He couldn't say why he was surprised when they made contact with the sticky dampness soon coating his fingers.

Suddenly, he wished that all head wounds resulted in amnesia. He'd been cold-cocked with a shovel just outside of Warner's house. Raising both hands to his head, the agent tried to sort his thoughts through the pounding in his head. Blood. He'd found blood on the rear bumper of the car. Unexpected. He was turning to go back to the SUV to collect an evidence kit to take a swab when the lights went out. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have known right then that things were not as they had seemed and been on his guard.

With tunnel vision, he spied an open door on the opposite side of the room and knelt in readiness to stand when something yanked at his ankle as he planted his leg to stand. The unexpected check threw off his balance and knocked him on his butt. Falling over sent a lance of pain through his head that instantly immobilized him. He retched violently what little food had been in his stomach. He dragged himself back to the wall. Taking stock of the situation, he didn't like what he saw. The open door mocked him. He was tethered to a metal ring in the floor with five feet of frustratingly sturdy looking chain. Most of the buttons had been ripped off his shirt – probably in a search for weapons. They'd taken his gun, belt, jacket and shoes. Not to mention the knife that he kept tucked out of sight.

Kidnapping made no sense. And it was damn cold. And they'd taken his jacket. He loved that jacket. Now he was really pissed…

TBC…

Author's note: Hmmm, well we know that it's a he… Go ahead, guess…I hope I gave you some good clues.