Author's Note: Wow guys, thanks for the warm welcome! I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this story. Here's the next chapter!

Chapter 2

By the time Danny and Chin arrived at McGarrett's hotel room, Agent Martin in tow, it was four o'clock in the morning, and the crime scene team had all but finished with the room. Danny walked in first, ducking under the police tape, pulling on gloves. Chin stopped beside him, and whistled as he took in the room.

"Whatever happened, it looks like McGarrett put up a hell of a fight," Martin told them with some appreciation, nodding as he made his way further into the room.

"He would," Danny snapped at him, still angry with the FBI agent. But he walked further into the room, looking at everything.

The room was well and truly trashed. The bed was ripped, clothes were strewn all over the floor, the TV was on its side, a huge crack in the screen. The lamp was in pieces, there were two holes in the wall, two chairs broken and every piece of electronic equipment was gone, except the broken television and lamp. But more importantly, there was a massive pool of drying blood on the floor at the end of the bed.

Martin had been right: it was too much blood to lose.

Danny ignored it as best he could, looking around for the head crime scene tech. "Cole, what you got?"

The slightly built, older man walked over, letting his camera fall onto his chest. "Not much," Cole answered, shrugging. "Despite the mess, these guys cleaned up after themselves. I've taken samples of the blood from the carpet. There was also blood in the TV screen, and on the bed side table. We're rushing them through now."

"Any indications of who that was?" Martin asked, motioning towards the blood pool.

Cole shook his head. "There were a few hairs, brown and short, but nothing more. Besides..." He paused, giving a sigh before looking at Danny. "Detective, this is a hotel room. Any hairs, fingerprints... they'll pretty much be useless. With so many people coming in here day in, day out, there'll be traces of visitors from months ago. Cleaners don't do that great of a job, especially in a place like this."

Danny nodded. "I know. But see what we can find. If we can link anyone at all to this motel room, it's a start."

Cole nodded and left while the three men surveyed the room. Martin was shaking his head. "Someone had to have heard something."

"No doubt," Chin told him with frustration. "But on this side of town, no one calls the cops. No one wants to get involved."

"Well they're not going to have much choice," Danny decided. "Get HPD to knock on every door, someone had to have seen or heard something."

He walked over towards the cupboard, carefully avoiding the blood-stained carpet. "What do we know about what Steve was doing before he missed his first check-in?"

"Not much," Martin told him. "He was keeping on with the jobs this guy, Church, gave him. Debt collecting from junkies mostly." Yeah, Danny hadn't been too thrilled with that undercover job. "But he was worried. He said he thought Church was getting suspicious, that Church kept mentioning how the cops knew things, right in front of him."

Danny paused, his whole body tensing.

"What?" Chin demanded, turning to look at Martin at the same time as Danny did. "Why weren't we told this?"

"McGarrett asked us not to," Martin told them, meeting their eyes easily. "He said it would only make you worried, and he needed you focused."

"Of course he did," Danny muttered, believing the story. He turned back to the cupboard. "But if his cover was blown, why did he come back here? Why not just head straight to us, or HPD? Why not call us, let us know he was in trouble?"

"Maybe he didn't know," Martin offered. "He only thought they were suspicious. He didn't think they knew. That's why he didn't pull out when I offered it."

"No, McGarrett would have known if they knew," Danny said with confidence. "And he's not an idiot. If he came back here with his cover blown, it was for a -."

He cut off, suddenly seeing the graffiti scratched into the back of the cupboard. He moved closer, opening the door all the way. He gave a small laugh. "Like, I said, if he came back here, it was for a reason."

Chin and Martin moved closer, the FBI agent frowning at the cross scratched into the back wall of the cupboard, and the message underneath. "Lord, help me find Grace? I think it's a stretch, Detective. This just looks like -."

"Wasn't Lord McGarrett's undercover name?" Chin reminded him with a small, relieved smile, even as Danny stepped into the cupboard.

"And, Grace is my daughter, Agent Martin," Danny told him. "This is a message from Steve. For me. In case he got into trouble and needed help."

He grabbed the flashlight from the still doubtful agent, and switched it on, searching through the entire cupboard. It wasn't easy to find, but Danny knew Steve hadn't wanted Jones' men to find this. But there it was, a hole carved into the back corner of the panels holding up the shelf. A hole so tight Danny could barely squeeze out the piece of paper and the flashdrive. He chucked the flashdrive to Chin before he opened the piece of paper.

"What does it say?" Martin asked, looking between the two pieces of evidence. Obviously he had never seen them before. Why would Steve hide evidence from the man?

Danny tried not to study him suspiciously. "Has a name and an address. Keone, 13 Panui Street."

Martin frowned. "Keone? He was working with McGarrett. Driving for him. But he doesn't live on Panui Street, that we know of."

"Could be two different things," Chin suggested, looking at the piece of paper over Danny's shoulder. "This Keone could have some information on McGarrett. And Panui's all business. Maybe this business has something to do with Jones."

"Or maybe it's where Steve was taken." Danny looked up, feeling that anger coming back. "Either way, I say we check it out." And he made for the door.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on Detective," Martin cried out, grabbing him. "Let's think about this."

"Think about what?" Danny demanded, spinning back. "Think about how my partner might be at this address? About what he might be going through, right now, as we speak?"

"No," Martin told him stonily. "About how if McGarrett isn't there, and by raiding it we tip Jones off that we're close, he'll kill McGarrett, close up shop, and fly under the radar for the next six months until he sets up somewhere else, and keeps smuggling in children for his perverted buddies. We cannot move until we know who Jones is, and have enough evidence to send him to hell."

Martin let go, but continued glaring at the hot-headed detective. "Jones, and all his men, they are ruthless, Detective. They don't care about anything except making money and staying out of prison. We need to go about this carefully. We cannot tip off Jones that we're getting close. You wanted to do this your way, remember. With careful investigation. Well, in this case, your way is best, and the way more likely to not get your partner killed."

He looked around to include Chin in his next words. "I also want the two of you to remember something. This is not just about McGarrett. This is also about this bastard smuggling in dozens of children a year, children who are usually found dead. We cannot let Jones get away, just because we were focused on rescuing McGarrett."

He turned back to Danny, holding the detective's gaze again. "And I think your partner would agree."

With that he walked out of the door, not once looking back. Danny took a deep breath, not looking at Chin or the HPD officers who were trying not to be caught watching.

"He's right," Danny said quietly. "Dammit, he's right." He wiped his hair back. "Get HPD to put a plain car on 13 Panui. And they are not to move from their position unless they are replaced. We'll go back to headquarters, see what the flashdrive says. And see if we can find this Keone."

He couldn't see a thing, and they had cranked up the heat.

At least Steve hoped that was all it was. The air was heavy, he was sweating like crazy, and he didn't feel like he had a fever. No, they were trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible, and he had to admit, closing him up in this dark box of a room, and sticking the heat on 90 or above... it was making him uncomfortable. It certainly didn't help the dizziness from the blow to his head.

He shifted on the chair, before testing the length of the chains holding him in place. He had done it before, and he knew the results – they didn't stretch very far – but he was bored and sore, and he needed to distract himself from the pounding in his head and face, the dizziness, and the thought of the probable concussion he had.

Thinking about his team didn't work. By now they would know he was missing. He had been a little preoccupied to check in with Martin in the last day, so they would be looking for him. He just hoped Danny found the note, and the flashdrive. With that, they could take down Jones, if they could find the bastard. He just hoped Danny could do it. No, he knew Danny could –

The door opening sent a welcome cold breeze his way, and he shivered, even as he winced at the light. A few guys quickly set up two big, construction spotlights, and switched them on so they hit Steve's face just enough to impede his vision. But Steve barely noticed them, glaring at Church instead, as the man walked in carrying Steve's laptop from the hotel room. The other men quickly disappeared, shutting the door behind them, trapping the heat, and the light.

"I have to admit," Church began. "I did not think you would last this long. I thought you would cave under a few punches, for sure."

Steve barely stopped himself from snorting. A few punches? One eye was half closed, and all he could taste in his mouth was blood. A rib or two was cracked, maybe broken, and he was sore all over. A few punches barely covered it.

Church gave him a moment, waiting for a response, then grinned when Steve didn't answer. "Still nothing? So what am I meant to call you?"

"I'm trying to come up with a name that means, 'you're screwed'," Steve spat at him. "But I've got a bit of a headache, brain's not working right."

Church just chuckled. "The moment I met you, I thought you'd be fun. I didn't know how fun." He opened up the laptop, showing Steve the log in page. "And because I think you're fun, I'll give you three tries. Password?"

Steve looked past the laptop, up into Church's face. "Not happening."

Church nodded, like he expected nothing less. "Password."

"Go to hell."

"Last chance," Church warned. "What's the password?"

Steve somehow managed to grin. "Fuck you."

Church snapped the laptop shut, shaking his head, stepping back to knock on the door. "Well, can't say that I didn't ask nicely," he said as the door opened again. Church handed the laptop off to someone and walked back towards Steve, two men dragging a tub of water and ice in behind him.

Steve automatically began to steady his breathing, knowing what was coming. It was going be bad, he knew. But he could handle this. This was basic training for a SEAL. Almost.

Church seemed to sense something as he unchained Steve's handcuffs from the chair, but he didn't stop, didn't pause. Just heaved Steve to his feet and then pushed him forward and down, onto his knees. Steve winced at the thump, but he just kept breathing deeply, ignoring everyone around him.

The chair was moved from behind him, and the tub shoved in front of him. It certainly looked cold. He knew what to expect. Icy needles stabbing his face, and the sensation that the cold was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. The overwhelming urge to breath.

Church sat down in the chair so he was facing Steve. "One last chance," he offered, as the two men grabbed a hold of a shoulder each. "Just tell us the password."

Steve didn't say a word, and Church sighed, raising a finger. McGarrett grinned, and then he was being pushed down, head first into the ice and water.

It was worse than he had prepared himself for, the cold searing his skin as his head entered the water. He clamped down on the instant urge to breath, just telling himself that he could do this, he had done this in the SEALS, had been prepared for the worst that water could offer. He just stayed calm, refused to struggle, didn't kick or push. He just had to stay calm. They wouldn't keep him under forever. They wouldn't. He had to stay calm, not panic, even if his heart was beating a million miles an hour and his lungs were already crying out for air, emptying slowly of oxygen. He just had to stay –

He was being pulled up and as soon as he was free, he heaved in a lungful of air, giving a small cough, before looking up at Church with the same shit-eating grin he had been using earlier.

Church was looking at him with a suspicious gaze, as if he were only now getting some idea of what he was up against. But he didn't say a word, just raised a finger again. Steve took a deep breath and then it was ice needles and shock and the need for air. Distracted, he needed to keep distracted. Like the distraction of the water slowly turned red with his blood. Like the idea of the looks on their faces when they found out he had stolen everything the FBI needed to nail Jones after he had blown his cover. Like the way his lungs felt like they were screaming for a breath – No – his heart pounding away viciously in his chest – don't think about that! – trying to pump around more and more oxygen when it was getting less and less –

They pulled him out again, and he gasped desperately for air, trying to fill his lungs. They didn't give him enough time, sending him down again, and he felt a small surge of panic through his gut. He shoved it away, knowing he could handle this, handle the cold, handle the torture, he was a SEAL, he could handle anything.

Except his lungs were empty, his face ached, and he so desperately wanted to take a breath. He held on, knowing his body was quivering and denying that it was all he could do not to kick and push and waste more oxygen. He could wait them out. They weren't going to kill him. They weren't.

Then he was being pulled out again, and he took a deep breath as soon as his head was free. Except suddenly he was being pushed down again, as he was taking air in, and it wasn't air, it was water filling his lungs. He couldn't stop the cough, or the second breath that followed, and suddenly he was drowning. He kicked, except his feet were still chained to the floor. So he tried thrashing, accepting that he was well and truly panicking, except he was drowning, and they weren't pulling him out, no matter how hard he pushed against them. His lungs were screaming and the world was going black, and they were killing him!

Suddenly he was out of the water and on the ground, and he heaved, eyes closed, coughing, vomiting the water out, feebly trying to replace it with air. And slowly the world came back into colour and sound, and he could hear Church laughing.

"Good to know you are actually human," the man chuckled, even as the two men grabbed McGarrett's arms and hauled him upright once more, in front of the tub. Steve glared at his captor, trying to get his breathing under control, even as panic flittered through the depths of his stomach. Church nodded, still smiling. "At least now we're getting somewhere."

And he raised his finger again.