Laurel's fingers trembled with anticipation as she and several other students, mostly music majors, worked in the band's practice facility to ensure that everything would go smoothly during the halftime show. Everyone was almost loony with excitement because both teams were still undefeated; this game would be huge in determining who would win the Southeastern Conference's Western Division!

"Thank goodness, it's a home game!" Orion whispered in her ear as he, one of the few non-music majors selected to help out, tore past her with a pile of sheet music under his arms.

Grinning at his back, she thought of how difficult playing in Tuscaloosa could be, and called, "Ohh, yeah!" Turning back to her work stitching up the rips in the band uniforms, she muttered anxiously, "Come on, Tigers. We've gotta win this one!"

Due to shaking fingers, she prinked her palm, "Ouch!"

"Hey, Laurel!" a freshman boy called from the doorway, "You got two visitors outside."

Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Laurel repeated, "Visitors?"

"Yeah, some guy and a lady; they said they're your friends."

Laurel shook her head, not understanding; an uneasy feeling instinctively rising in her chest, "Who are they?"

The boy shrugged, repeating, "They said they're your friends and they have an urgent message for you."

"Well, thanks," she replied with a tinge of sarcasm and a sigh; her confusion and worry mounting. Was it her dad? Was he hurt? Was he dead? She'd be lost without him. He was her favorite person in the whole world.

Leaving the uniform unfinished, she jogged down the hall and out onto the quickly deserting street; almost everyone was heading into the stadium or to a local bar to watch the game. It seemed strange that someone would come now, just before kickoff, to talk to her.

Unless it was an emergency.

"Laurel?" a deep voice said behind her, pulled her mind away from the thoughts that terrified her.

She spun around to face a big raw-boned rugged-looking man and scruffy-looking woman dressed in a redneck version of LSU's campus security uniforms and stopped short.

These people weren't friends. She'd never seen them before in her life.

"Wh-who are you?" she asked, shaking her head in confusion; her mouth went dry as she looked them over, instinctively knowing that they weren't connected to the university at all.

The man's sly smile was patronizing, "Laurel, Laurel, you don't recognize me, honey?"

"What about me, sweetheart?" the woman spoke with a fake sugariness; she took a step forward, reaching for Laurel but the college sophomore instinctively jerked away.

"Naw, naw, you're not gonna do that now," the man said, suddenly pulling a taser out of his coat.

Laurel's eyes widened but the strong surge of electricity hit her before she could scream and her limp body toppled over.

When she woke up a few minutes later, she found herself bound in chains, gagged, and buckled into the back seat of a large pick-up truck as it drove through the streets, headed in the direction of Tiger Stadium. Through the darkened windows, no one would suspect them of being anything more than a family headed to the big game.

The woman, sitting in the passenger seat, was staring at her. "Now, if you'd just been a good girl, Trevor wouldn't have had to do that, honey," she said, rubbing Laurel's knee, "You just be a good girl now or he'll have to do something worse." She smiled fondly at the man behind the wheel, "My big brother can't stand misbehavior."

"Wh-who are you?" Laurel asked shakily, "What do you want?"

The woman gave her a triumphant smile, "Ohh, I'm sorry, honey! What bad manners we have." She slapped her brother's arm, laughing hysterically, "Can you believe it, Trevor? We forgot to introduce ourselves!"

Trevor shook his head, giving his sister a small diabolical smile, and a wink, "Dad would have our hides for being so impolite."

"Yes, but daddy's not here," the woman said, sniffing emotionally, her voice suddenly turning cold and hard.

"Nope, he ain't," Trevor answered, his tone as dark and cruel as his sister's, "But, we're gonna rectify that real fast, aren't we Portia?"

"Yes, we are," she answered, turning around to rub Laurel's knee again, an evil gleam of triumph in her eyes, "Yes, we are."

"Who are you!" Laurel demanded forcefully, her fear making her angry.

"Watch your tone, young lady!" Trevor barked, briefly slamming on the breaks to jerk the helplessly tied girl around in her seat, "My sister ain't gonna take that kind of talk from you!"

"Now, now, Trevor," Portia said, patting his arm, "It's only fair that we tell her who we are and why we're here." She turned back to Laurel as she finished, "After all, she ought know just exactly why she's gonna die tonight."

Laurel stifled a gasp under the gag and swallowed hard; her eyes widen in terror despite her inner desperation to remain calm and think clearly, the way her dad would in a situation like this.

Rolling the pick-up to a stop in the shadow of the stadium, Trevor hurriedly unbuckled and unbound her while keeping an eye out for real security personnel; he used his vastly superior his height and weight to make sure that their hostage couldn't break free. Meanwhile, Portia introduced them.

"See, honey, I'm Portia Hastings and this is my brother, Trevor. Our daddy is Zed Hastings." Her eyes flashed with hatred, "You remember him, don't you, honey? Your daddy must have told you about him. After all, your daddy is the one who took him away from us."

She shook her head, as if what she was going to say next broke her heart, "And, now, we're gonna have to take you away from your daddy."

Trevor threw Laurel down onto the dewy grass with a hard thump and she grunted in pain but could do nothing as the hulking man towering over her pulled out his taser and jolted her into darkness again. Just as he pulled the trigger, a wild euphoric cheer rose up from inside the stadium, signalling the start of the game and blocking any chance that someone might hear or see what was happening.

"Perfect timing, Trevor," Portia murmured, satisfied.

"Just like dad," he said with an ironic smile, "Now, Pride is gonna have to live in the same kind of hell that we are." He scooped the unconscious girl off the ground and they crept into the stadium.

Waking up a second time, Laurel found herself lying on her back outside the visitor's locker room; her knees and ankles were tightly tied and but, for whatever reason, her hands were free and she no longer wore a gag.

I guess they figure that no one will hear me, she thought, listening to the rancor above her.

. Looking around, trying to assess her situation, she was startled to see the unblinking eyes of LSU's mascot Mike, a very real Bengal Tiger; he paced back and forth, never taking his eyes off her and she began trembling in fear.

From afar, she'd always thought that he was regal and beautiful but, up close, as the sole object of his attention, it was a different story.

Is this what they plan to do with me, she wondered, feed me to Mike?

Then she realized, with an excited surge of adrenaline, that she was alone.

If I could just get untied, she thought, hope mixing with desperation. She began wriggling back and forth to loosen the chains but, unfortunately, it was all in vain.

If only someone would come down here, she thought mournfully.

Then, suddenly, all her hopes were dashed when her two captors reappeared; their expressions blazing with wanton revenge.

"Let's get this show on the road, sweetheart," Trevor murmured, as he squatted beside her and caressed her cheek with icy fingers. He lifted her LUS sweater and drove the blade of a Bowie knife under her ribs, twisting it when the hilt of the long bladed weapon touched her skin. He did not pull it out.

Laurel nearly gagged with the pain; her mind reeled and stars spun before her eyes.

"My dad taught me to do that trick just perfectly," Trevor whispered, noting that almost no blood leaked onto the concert. The damage done was wholly internal.

Portia, who was squatted next to him, smirked and added, "Daddy taught us both that trick."

Then she pulled out an identical knife and drove it into Laurel's other side, slightly higher than her brother's cut. Like Trevor, she also twisted her weapon when the hilt touched skin and left it there.

Desperately fighting, despite the intense pain and terror she felt, Laurel reached up and punched Trevor solidly in the kneecap. Due to the intense pain, that was as high as her arm would lift.

He laughed hysterically and, without any warning, drove his solid fist into her stomach, "Now, I wasn't gonna do that originally, sweetheart, but you forced me." His voice was hard, "Remember what my sister said about misbehaving?"

Leaning down, he brushed her hair off her pale and sweaty face, whispering, "That's just a small taste of what we're gonna do to you tonight. You're gonna die nice and slow."

"You know, we can't keep her here all night?" Portia said anxiously, nagging her brother, "You know that, right, Trevor? The game only last so long and at halftime Alabama will be coming back down this hall."

"I know, Portia, I know," he answered, rolling his eyes, "We'll get her out of here by then. Don't worry so much. Your big bro has a plan." He patted her back and winked, "I just want that ole tiger get a whiff of real blood!"

Then he took her elbow and steered her away from Laurel, "Come on, little sis. We've got to finish loading the truck so we can hide her in the bed when we go. I don't want her messing up my seats with her blood."

Left alone again, the pain of her wounds making her nearly senseless, Laurel sighed with relief; she had one critical thing to do before she died and she needed to be alone to do it.

Gritting her teeth against the agonizing pain, she bent her body and dug her phone out of her pocket; it seemed as if it was all her weakening fingers could do.

But she had to do this; she had to call her dad and tell him how much she loved him.

She pressed the key to speed dial and, with a sinking heart, pulled the phone to her aching lips.

~*0*~

"Roll Tide, big brother!" Lasalle said, a genuinely happy grin plastered on his face, as he and Cade fist bumped after another Alabama first down; it was still very early in the game and no one had scored yet, but Alabama had come to play, "The Tigers are a little sleepy tonight."

He winked and smiled up at the bright starry sky, inhaling the cool breeze that could be felt in the nosebleed section of the rackous stadium, "It's a glorious night!"

"That it is, brother," Cade laughed, his eyes sparkling with equally genuine fondness, "So much for tigers being nocturnal."

"Say, Chris," he added, once their laughter had abated. He knew that he couldn't say it enough, "Thanks for bringing me along tonight."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Cade," Lasalle answered, fist bumping him again, "You're my brother."

Then both men jumped to their feet and whooped because Alabama had picked up another easy first down. "Roll Tide!" they cried again in unison and high-fived each other.

Settling back into his seat amidst the rancor of nearby Tiger fans, Lasalle almost didn't hear his phone ringing. Quickly fishing it out of his pocket, he glanced at the ID and chuckled. He loved teasing Laurel Pride when their teams met on the football field!

"Now, now, little sister, don't be stirring the pot when your team is the one getting cooked!"

"Dad?" her voice sounded unnaturally weak and fearful; it shattered Lasalle's perfect night like a bomb going off.

"What's wrong, Laurel?" he demanded, his mind instantly on alert. Holding his hand over his ear to block the noise around him, he suddenly wished that the whole stadium would shut up.

When she didn't reply right away, his heartbeat increased and he started scanning the stadium for her face in an unrealistic attempt to spot her among the thousands in attendance. He felt frantic until he noticed Cade calmly staring at him.

To have the absolute trust of his older brother was just what he needed.

"Laurel," he demanded again, terrified by her silence, "what's going on? Are you hurt?"

"You've gotta call my dad," she answered, weak but insistent, "I was trying to but I called you instead." He heard her take a raspy breath then cough and choke. "I'm dying," she whispered with a sob. Then she gagged again and fell silent.

"Where are you? What happened?" Lasalle's head spun in disbelief. Dwayne Pride's daughter was essentially his little sister. She couldn't be dying. She was perfectly healthy when she'd visited them at headquarters last weekend.

"They're killing me, Lasalle," she said hoarsely, coughing and gagging each time she spoke, "You've gotta tell dad that I love him and I'm sorry."

The hell you're going to die, he thought, stunned and sickened. Who was they anyway? They would paid if he had anything to say about it.

"Okay, Laurel," he said, as calmly as he could, his training finally starting to kick in, "You've got to tell me where you are. I know you're at the game and I am too." He unconsciously licked his dry lips, "Tell me where you are and I'll be there; you're not gonna die on my watch."

"I'm by the locker room," she answered, her voice raspy; she started wheezing, "Lasalle, you've got to call my dad and tell him I love him."

There's no way that I'm telling Dwayne "King" Pride that his daughter is dying when I can stop it, he thought. The mere suggestion was incomprehensible! His mind spun, trying to figure out where she could be.

The locker room? He continued processing the information that she'd given him, In Tiger Stadium?

But that didn't make sense, did it? They wouldn't let just anyone near the locker rooms during a game. His ears strained, trying to pick up any sounds behind her that would tell him where she was; he desperately wished that he had Patton's fancy equipment.

Then his heart almost stopped; was that growling that he just heard? Where was she?

"Laurel, Laurel!" he barked, his fear rising again, "You there, little sister? Talk to me, Laurel!" He did another quick scan of the surrounding bleachers, desperately hoping to spot her and almost came out of his seat when he heard her soft gasp.

"They're coming," she said weakly, then the line went dead.

Lasalle stared at his phone in dazed horror. Someone was killing Pride's daughter and he was the only one who could save her. But where was she? The locker room; that didn't make sense. And what was that growling noise that he'd heard just before she hung up?

Then, suddenly, it hit him like a stack of bricks! The locker room. Growling. Mike the Tiger! He didn't know the particulars of how she got there, but he was suddenly sure of where she was.

Jumping up, he began shoving his way through the crowded aisle and down the stairs, muttering, "I'm coming, Laurel. Hang on, little sister."

"Hey, Chris!" Cade called, from his seat, "What happened? Where you going?

Lasalle barely turned around, "Stay there, Cade. I'll be back. Laurel is in trouble."

Cade nodded, resettling himself onto the bleachers; he followed his brother's mad dash with his eyes. Waiting only moments to make sure that Lasalle won't turn around again, Cade also hopped up and began to hurry through the crowd. There was no way that he was going to let his brother have all the fun!

~*0*~

"Well, well," Portia said, squatting down to caress Laurel's sweaty cheek with her index finger, "What do we have here?" She held up the phone that had tumbled from the exhausted girl's hand, "Trevor?"

"Uh-oh," he answered, shaking his head, "Uh-oh, this isn't good. How many times do I have to tell you not to break the rules, sweetheart?" He swore, then added, "I'm gonna have to punish you for this too."

He stood up and gave her several swift solid kicks to the stomach and chest with a steel-toed boat; her skin, already heavily discolored by internal bleeding, quickly turned gruesome shades of purple, green, and yellow.

Laurel's eyes roll back into her head and she coughed up blood.

"You know, I bet she was calling her daddy," Trevor continued, suddenly stopping his attack and squatting down again, giggling manically, "Did you get a hold of him, sweetheart?"

"I wonder..." Portia added, cocking her head to the side, "Don't you think that Special Agent Pride ought to have some hard evidence? He might not quite believe that his precious little girl is really dying."

"You're pretty smart, little sis," Trevor said, nodding approvingly.

"And don't you forget it," she replied smugly.

"Let's send him a picture," he suggested.

"Ooh, good idea!" she laughed happily, then asked, "On her phone?"

"Oh course."

He took Laurel's phone from his sister's open palm, found Pride's number, and dialed.

~*0*~

"So, tell me again, why is Lasalle sitting in a sweltering stadium, surrounded by thousands of hostile fans, and no doubt, swatting mosquitoes," Brody asked, "when he could be here, watching the game in the air conditioning, and chowing down on Pride's awesome gumbo?"

"Are you kidding, Brody?" Percy asked, giving her an incredulous stare, "You mean that you've never sat in the bleachers, surrounded by drunk obnoxious coeds who could barf on you at any moment?" She shook her head and laughed, adding sarcastically, "Now, I just don't believe that!"

"Believe it!" Brody replied, with a shudder.

"Football is all about the atmosphere, Brody," Pride said chuckling, "The night air, the excitement and, yes, the obnoxious coeds. It's all part of the experience. You don't get that on the TV."

She wrinkled her nose and he laughed.

"Thanks for the compliments on my gumbo though," he added.

"It's the best I've ever had."

"Amen to that!" Loretta agreed.

"You know, this might be unpopular, but I understand Merri's point," Sebastian said, "My younger cousin threw up on me when I was ten." He wrinkled his nose, "It took me a long time to get over the smell."

"Same here, man," Patton said, giving Sebastian a high-five, "Triple P doesn't do well with vomit."

Laughter engulfed the room, but it was cut short when Pride's phone started ringing; he had a mouth full of gumbo and almost burned his throat trying to shallow fast when he saw it was his daughter.

"Hey, baby girl!" he said jovially, "The Tigers aren't doing too well, are they?"

His happy face paled and turned to stone when he heard nothing but a man's maniacal laughter. "Pride, Pride!" Trevor called, his voice ringing with triumph, "Do you remember me?"

"Trevor Hastings." Pride stated, his tone cold. How did Zed's son get his daughter's phone?

Feeling the rest of the team's distressing eyes on him, Pride had to close his eyes to fully concentrate.

"Where's my daughter?" he demanded murderously.

"Now, now, don't go getting ahead of me, Pride," Trevor admonished, "I was just going to send you a little picture of her. Just a minute now."

"Where is she?" Pride snarled.

"Hi, Pride!" Portia sang out, wanting to make sure that he knew that she was there too.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Ah, there you go," Trevor said.

Pride glanced down at his screen, then turned quickly away, forcibly swallowing the bile that rose up from his stomach. The team, gathered around him in a protective semi-circle, unloaded with the strongest language they knew.

Trevor laughed hysterically, realizing from the background noise that Pride wasn't alone. He spoke darkly, addressing Pride, "You know, this is all your fault. If you guys had left our dad alone, Portia and I wouldn't be in this position. This is all your fault, Pride."

Is that what they'd told Laurel? Pride wondered silently. He shook his head, both knowing and hoping that she knew better.

He wanted to tell them that if anything happened to his daughter he'd hunt them down and spend the rest of his life being their worst nightmare but bit his lip. Long years of training told him that the best way to help Laurel was to not incite them. He couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that she might be beyond help.

He silently motioned for Patton to trace the phone call, sending the computer whiz aggressively pushing his wheels towards his office. Knowing that he had to keep Trevor on phone in order to trace his whereabouts, Pride moved to start a conversation. He forced himself to speak calmly.

"Say, Trevor, could I speak to her?"

Trevor laughed, "I think she's a little beyond that, Pride."

Pride winced sharply and scowled menacingly, hoping against hope that he was lying. He couldn't avoid blurting out, "She better not be!"

Trevor laughed triumphantly again then, inexplicably, he shouted an angry expletive and the line suddenly went dead.

Pride launched to his feet, startled by this turn of events. He whirled towards Patton's office, "Did you get it?"

Though the answer nearly knocked him to his knees, he automatically punched the speed dial button. He had to get Trevor back on the line for long enough to trace that call!

~*0*~

As soon as he saw Trevor, Lasalle knew who was behind all this and why. He hurled a chunk of concert that he'd found in the corridor almost before he identified himself as a federal agent, not wanting to give the Hastings time to prepare for his entrance. In lieu of his NCIS-issued weapon, it did it's job. Trevor went to his knees holding his head.

As Lasalle flew through the air to finish him off, he heard Portia scream and then she was on him, dragging him away from her brother. Her long painted fingernails dug bloody furrows in his arms.

Lasalle broke both her wrists without thinking and rammed his powerful fist into her gut.

"How could you do that, you savage monster?" she wailed, doubled over and gasping for breath, "I'm a woman!"

Lasalle glared at her, "Don't tempt me, Portia!" he snapped, picking up the bloody chunk of concert.

His murderous look and tone wilted her will and she sunk to her knees. Her father and brother had always said that Christopher Lasalle was a lightweight but, right now, he looked as dangerous as the Tiger behind them.

Mike, lying in a half-crouch with his ears pinned back, gave a soft snarl, revealing his long sharp teeth; he clearly didn't like the loud angry noise and violence around him.

Moving quickly, Lasalle tied Portia's hands behind behind her back with a stray jockstrap; it made her furious.

"A jockstrap!" she howled, "Are you kidding me?"

"Shut up, Portia!" Lasalle thundered.

Though dazed from the hit he'd taken, the sight of his sister being cowed into submission by a federal agent roused Trevor. He grappled through his coat and found his taser. Aiming it at Lasalle, an evil grin settled over his features.

Suddenly, to his amazement, he found himself pitching forward and the taser was knocked from his grasp. Then another man was on top of him, punching his face until he saw nothing but blood. Just before he blacked out, Trevor thought he heard Lasalle's voice.

"Cade! What are you doing here?

Still breathing heavily from his run from the top level of the stadium to the locker room, Lasalle could only stare at his brother in shock, "I told you to stay put!"

"I'm sorry, Chris, I really am," Cade answered, looking down, "I just wanted to help." He glanced at Laurel, "That girl is my sister and you're my brother," Then he asked with trepidation, "Will she be alright, Chris?"

Having been busy with the Hastings siblings, Lasalle's mind hadn't processed how badly Pride's daughter was injured; to see her lying there was a living nightmare.

He scrambled to check her vital signs, hoping against hope that she was still alive, and nearly collapsed with relief when he detected a faint pulse. He didn't dare remove the knives without a doctor's advice.

And he definitely didn't turn around to look at the agitated Tiger.

Suddenly, a Baton Rouge PD officer burst onto the scene, his gun drawn. "Hands up!" he snapped.

Whoa, whoa," Lasalle said, not daring to look at Cade, "I'm NCIS." He started praying that Cade would keep his mouth shut and, more importantly, the officer wouldn't ask about him.

The officer raised his eyebrows, nodding at Lasalle's Crimson Tide t-shirt, "You look like a thug from Alabama."

"Then take a look at this," Lasalle shot back, flipping up his wallet to reveal his badge, "Then call an ambulance; this girl needs help now!"

The officer's face paled and he nodded dumbly, pulling out his phone. Then he ran away to alert officials knowing that, with halftime approaching, the visitor's locker room had suddenly become a crime scene.

Lasalle concentrated on Laurel. "Hang in there, little sister," he said softly, "Help is on the way."

Her eyes fluttered open on hearing his voice, making him beam. "Did you call my dad?" she struggled to whispered.

"Shh, little sister," he murmured, "You're gonna be fine now."

"Call him, Lasalle," she said, her voice catching as she coughed and spit up blood.

Only then did Lasalle notice Laurel's phone blinking on the concert. When he looked closely, he saw that Pride had called fifteen times in the last five minutes.

Over thirty-six hours later, the team and Cade were gathered in a Baton Rouge hospital waiting room, anxiously awaiting word. Laurel was finally out of a marathon surgery and Pride had gone to be with her in the recovery room. They'd hadn't heard anything for over an hour.

A nurse appeared in the doorway, looking over them curiously, "Is one of you Dr. Wade?"

"I am," Loretta showed her ID.

"Mr. Pride would like you to come back."

Loretta nodded, gently reminded the team that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "I'll let you know," she said.

It did nothing to calm them.

"Dwayne," she asked, as she pushed open the door, "how is she?"

"Not awake yet," Pride answered softly, his face gray and eyes haunted, "I've seen corpses in better shape than this. They said it was a miracle that she made it so long. If Chris and Cade hadn't gotten there…" He couldn't bring himself to finish.

Not taking his eyes off his sleeping daughter, he continued haltingly, "The-they say that sh-she'll recover in time," A few tears streaked down his rugged cheeks, "But, I just wanna see some hard evidence of that."

Leaning in close, he whispered in her ear with urgency, "Wake up, baby girl, wake up!"

"She's a tough girl, Dwayne," Loretta reminded him, gripping his shoulder reassuringly, "just like her dad."

He tried to smile, for her sake, because he appreciated her, but he couldn't quite get there. Instead, he found it easier to ramble.

"I called Linda; she's on her way from Texas," he said, "She'll be here in a few hours." He wrung his head in shame, "This was her biggest fear. That I'd bring my work home with me. This is what cost me my marriage."

"Dwayne," Loretta rushed to push back the darkness, "Dwayne, don't do this. It's what they want. Don't let them win." She wrapped her arms around him, practically forcing him to return the hug.

"I always took pride in not letting my work affect them," he continued in anguish, "This is my nightmare too."

"Dad?" Laurel's groggy voice whispered, instantly blowing away his tortured thoughts.

"Baby girl!" he cried, suddenly euphoric. He caressed her cheek with trembling hands and happy tears streamed down his face..

"Thank the Lord!" Loretta sighed, giggling with relief.

"Dad," Laurel stated, trying to lift her hands up to him; they felt heavy and she dropped them only inches off the blanket.

Thankfully, he instantly understood and reached for her. "I'm here, Laurel," he reassured, "I'm here."

They stayed that way for at least ten minutes, just staring fondly into each other's eyes, until Loretta finally roused herself and said softly, "I need to get back out there and let the others know she's awake."

Pride winced, hating to leave Laurel, even for a moment, but he thought that he should be the one to tell them.

"Laurel,," he said, "I need to go thank Cade and Christopher." He squeezed her hand, "They saved your life, baby girl." He looked at Loretta, then back at his daughter, "Loretta will stay with you and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Laurel nodded the best she could, "Only if she holds my hands."

""You got it, Laurel," Loretta answered, as Pride handed her his daughter's hands, "I won't let go until he's back."

Pride watched them for a minute, a smile finally touching his mouth. Then he slipped out the door.

Everyone in the waiting room let out a collective sigh of relief when Pride appeared the doorway; his being there surely meant that all was well.

"She's awake now," he said, "Talking and holding our hands." He sighed, half out of relief and half to steady himself, "There's work ahead, but she's awake."

"Thank God!" Brody murmured, beaming happily. Sebastian flung his arms around her in happiness and lifted her off her feet, making her laugh.

Pride turned his focus to Cade and Lasalle, a smile dawning broadly over his features. "You two," he said, pointing at them, "did good work tonight."

Lasalle beaned and winked, "Well, nobody messes with Chris Lasalle's family."

"Chris tied Portia up with a jockstrap," Cade volunteered, hoping that wasn't inappropriate to say; all the tension was starting to get to him and he wanted to lighten the mood.

A round of laughter raced around the group and Lasalle's face twisted in a cute lopsided smile, "I just used what happened to be available."

"Aw, that woman deserved that!" Patton stated.

"Sure enough did!" Percy agreed.

"The Baton Rouge PD took Portia to prison," Lasalle informed Pride, since the conversation had touched on the Hastings, "and Trevor is somewhere in here, I think." Looking dark, he added, "He got a regular room though."

"We'll worry about that later," Pride answered, by way of acknowledgement, making a mental note to check on the Hastings tomorrow.

"I just want to enjoy breathing easier right now," he continued, stepping forward and gesturing for a group hug, "Because, between my daughter and the people here tonight, I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Author's Notes: The two things that I enjoy the most about NCIS New Orleans are the family bond that the characters have and their SEC football banter so I wanted to combine them.

And, yes, for those that don't know, LSU's mascot "Mike" is a real Bengal Tiger that they set next to the visitor's locker room during games. They also have a student in costume.