Disclaimer: Not mine; I own nothing.

A/N: I am overwhelmed by all of the follows/favorites/reviews. Glad to know there are so many of us who don't mind a little H/C now and again. I wrote this purely for myself, but I'm glad to share.

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"Drop it! I said drop it now!"

The man only sneered and tightened his grip around the young girl's neck. He and his small hostage blocked the only door, and Liz was alone. In the perp's arms, the young child began to whimper.

Liz slipped easily from agent to profiler, strategizing in a moment what a better approach would be. Push him too far, she knew, and no one would walk out of there alive.

"You don't want to do this. Why don't you let her go," she said carefully.

She studied him, profiled him in an instant. Mid 30's, low-level man in the criminal world. The way he held the gun was overanxious and aggressive, as if he had something to prove. No visible tattoos on his sleeveless arms, so he hadn't done any real time in prison. Maybe that's why he was doing this? To move up the chain? She looked into his eyes. There was anger there, yes, but also fear, and fear was dangerous.

She inched a step toward him. "Back off bitch!" the man spat. "I'll kill this girl right here I swear I will." His arm tightened around the little girl's neck as if to prove a point.

Liz backed up. "Ok," she said calmly. Liz looked at the little girl he held. Tears had blistered her face and her blond hair was matted. She'd come into the store for something to drink, that was all.

Only minutes prior, Liz's instincts had kicked in when she saw the man in the security mirrors near the back of the store. He looked shifty, she thought at the time, but attributed his behavior to drugs or mental illness and not bad intent. Liz was tired, having worked until well after quitting time, and had popped into this Stop-n-Go for a half gallon of milk before heading home. She and Tom often opted for cereal in lieu of supper when she got home late, and they'd been out of milk for two days.

She couldn't have been more wrong. In what seemed like seconds, the man had pulled a snubnosed revolver from his heavy coat and shot the man behind the register before Liz had any time to react. He was stuffing bills into his pockets when the little girl at the drink case began to scream. Then, he'd spotted Liz.

Liz didn't know if the little girl had parents outside who might have called the cops or if she had walked to the store alone from a nearby residence, but it was evident that no one else was there. The parking lot was empty, and she doubted the clerk had time to press the button under the counter signaling the cops. So far her furtive glances out the window rendered nothing in the form of backup, a frightening realization.

Liz's previous hunger and exhaustion was now fueled with purposeful adrenaline. It sharpened her focus.

She decided to take a different approach. "Listen," she said softly, closely watching the man's face. "Just drop the gun and let her go." Liz could hear her heart beating as she awaited a response. When he said nothing, she added, "A hostage will add about twenty years to your sentence; you don't want that."

Something registered in the man's face, finally, and he seemed to consider what she said, but only for a moment. She noticed then something that she had missed entirely in her earlier profile. He was sick. His eyes were dark and sunken, and he had a slick sheen of sweat across his forehead. His color was ashen and he was underweight.

Add desperation to the fear, she thought darkly.

Suddenly something flashed across the man's face, something primal. Something lethal. It was textbook fight-or-flight. A second later, Liz heard what had set it off. A police siren, but it was blocks away.

In a moment, she saw him raise the gun. The little girl's eyes opened wide in fear and she was screaming, although Liz heard her as if hearing from another room. Almost in slow motion, she saw the little girl fall as he released her. She fired three rounds into the man, hitting him once, twice. The third bullet hit the door, shattering the glass behind him. Why had she missed, she thought absently. And then she realized that her aim was off because she too was falling. Liz's legs crumpled under her; her right leg twisted at an odd angle. A bloom of pain lit up her vision and then faded to black.

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