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Joss isn't sure how long she was unconscious, where she is or how she got there. What she is sure of is that she's in big trouble, no-one knows where she is, and whoever dressed the gunshot wound in her shoulder wasn't a proper doctor because she was already bleeding through the thick pad of gauze that had been hastily taped over it.
Trying to wriggle into an upright position doesn't do anything but make her head swim and black spots bloom infront of her eyes, beckoning her back into the oh so tempting comfort of passing out once again, because God it hurts, her wrists and feet are bound and she's pretty sure that she's never been so scared in her life.
It's the last thought that rallies her a little. She's not some pathetic victim for Chrissake, she's a Detective. She's the one kicking ass and taking names. Taylor... Oh God Taylor. If they came for her then what if they come for him? One man might have shot her and abducted her, but she knows a mercenary when she encounters one and mercenaries have to be hired. The masked man hadn't said a word and she hadn't recognized him so it couldn't have been a personal vendetta- if it had been then what would be the point if she didn't know who it was getting revenge? Swallowing hard she closes her eyes for a few moments and takes several deep breaths. Listening to the sounds, or lack thereof around her. Ok she's alone. That much is obvious even before she opens her eyes and looks around the small room that she's being held in. The floor is vinyl, a faded green and worn down to the cotton in some places. The concrete walls are bare of nothing but mould in the far two corners nearest a tiny barred window. The door... it looks sturdy enough but the lock is the traditional kind – from the smell and the sense of decay that permeates her temporary prison she's pretty sure she's the youngest thing in here. If she can get to the door then she might have a chance at picking the lock. She might have a badge and a gun now but when she was fifteen she had an attitude, no love for the law and a reputation amongst her friends of breaking into the local gym with nothing but two hair pins so that they could play midnight basketball.
Perhaps ten minutes of wriggling against the plastic binds that tie her wrists and ankles and any surge of hope has bled out along with more blood than she can afford to lose. She's managed to get to the door but she can't get up easily, and even if she could she can't reach the lock even if she did have something to pick it with. The small bit of wire that she'd found tucked under the floor covering took all of two seconds to crumble in her numb fingers. Lifting her arms makes the memory of childbirth seem like a walk in the park and so she sits down before she falls down. Yelling herself hoarse has done exactly nothing. That's both a blessing and a curse. Obviously she's somewhere way off the beaten track. She can't even hear faint traffic noise so where the hell is she?
Slumping against the damp wall Joss curses herself for a fool. She hadn't even thought twice before opening the door to her home when there was a knock upon it. James, usually known as Jamie was one of Taylor's friends – she knew him, knew his mom. When he'd called and asked if he could drop off a book that her son had left him the last thing she had expected to see was a masked man holding a gun to his head and his eyes wild with terror.
She didn't do too badly given the circumstances she supposes. She'd grabbed the gun and knocked the boy sideways. He'd ran like a jackrabbit and really, at least she could be happy that Jamie had gotten away. The fight had been short and brutal. The man had been big, well trained, and although she hoped to hell that when she had hit him over the head with the lamp she'd given him the mother of all headaches, once he'd shot her things went fuzzy very quickly – he probably hadn't even needed to punch her to knock her out.
Whoever it was didn't want her dead, she thinks. She hadn't had a chance to get remotely near her gun. There's a reason that she's still alive and she's not entirely sure that she wants to know the answer to why. The one thing that she can cling to is the hope that somewhere out there there is a tall man in a black suit with grey eyes looking for her, and the knowledge that by doing so might get him killed too hurts more than the bullet in her shoulder.
"James Kenyon." Harold's fingers have been tapping out their own chaotic rhythm on the computer keyboard for so long that when he speaks it's almost a surprise to John. He'd gotten back to the library within minutes, and while he was unsure as to what his employer or friend felt about the Detective his agitation was unmistakable. As was his he imagines. What is the point of The Machine if it doesn't predict exactly this sort of event? What was the point of him if he couldn't prevent it from happening? And this isn't a random number, this is Joss. Out there alone unarmed, alone, and he absolutely is not going to think about the blood on the wall because it's hard enough to keep it together as it is.
"Another number or a suspect?"
"A witness I believe, Mr Reese." Harold turns awkwardly in his seat, scribbling down the address of his quarry on a bit of scrap paper before handing it to the taller man. "Security cameras from the front of Detective Carter's apartment building went down this morning, and although I've tried to hack into the footage preceding this it appears that they are using somewhat outdated methods to record the activity in their domain."
"Outdated?" Reese keeps his voice studiedly calm.
"VHS tapes. I'm surprised that the system still works. The wiring alone must be... If I could acquire the tapes then I might be able to ascertain who took her, but that is going to take time. "
"We don't have time. You said we have a witness, Finch."
"That's right." Harold turns back to the screen. With a couple of taps on the keys a fuzzy picture pops up, a couple more and it sharpens to reveal red-headed teenaged boy's profile. "This is James Kenyon. Fifteen years old, good grades, on the basketball team with Detective Carter's son and with a clean sheet when it comes to engaging in nefarious activities. This picture was taken from a Subway's restaurant at six twenty seven. Two minutes later..." His fingers flash across the keyboard and another grainy picture appears. In it the silhouette of a man with a dark hooded sweatshirt seems to be grabbing the boy. "So far I have been unable to ascertain his abductor, but if we cut to twelve minutes later we can see him from the security camera of the garage below Detective Carter's establishment. That corresponds with this..." A blurry image of a big white SUV with no license plates fills the screen. "It was taken nine minutes later. The boy seems to be running away. The suitcase that is being put in the backseat of the vehicle is big enough to hold a..." Harold hesitates for a moment. "Person of Detective Carter's size." He needn't have bothered with dancing around the subject. The word body hangs between them as tangible as if he'd said it out loud.
"Whoever it was used the kid as bait to get Carter to open the door."
"It would seem so." Finch frowns at the computer. "I'm not getting anything from the vehicle, if she was even transported in it, but since it's got no identification it's going to be reported sooner rather than later. It's not turning up on any traffic cameras so I'm thinking that they've abandoned it somewhere and switched to new transportation."
Reese processes the information and considers several courses of action before deciding upon one. James Kenyon obviously has intelligence regarding what has happened, he needs to keep Taylor safe, and if the two are friends then it makes sense to take Joss's son with him when he collects the other boy. He knows that he intimidates people – it's what makes him so good at his job usually, but he doesn't want Kenyon just saying whatever he thinks he wants to hear. From what he's seen the kid wasn't a willing party to any of this. Rattling him even further would make things more difficult, and at least Taylor, angry though he might be is someone he knows and would be more willing to confide in and help.
"I'll pick up Taylor then James and question them. Get on the trail of the SUV and I'll follow it once I've got what I need from James." Grabbing his jacket and shrugging it back on, the sense of purpose is at least a faint balm to his low level panic. "I'll bring Taylor back here afterwards; there's no way he's going to sit quietly when his mom is missing, at least if he's with you he can feel like he's helping."
"And what pray tell am I supposed to do with young master Carter while you are away?" Finch said eyes so wide that they looked owlish behind his spectacles. "Trade Pokemon cards? Discuss the prejudice against Hufflepuffs in J.K. Rowlings oeuvre?"
"To much information Harold." John re-loaded his Glock and tucked a couple more magazines into his pocket. The rifles under the shelf that held the British Encyclopedia were tempting, but if it came to that then he'd need to come back and prepare a considered assault plan anyway.
"You're trusting this, all of this knowledge. Everything that we do with a child." Harold's tone isn't accusatory, he sounds genuinely interested.
"You trusted it to a violent drunk who could kill you without raising a sweat," John points out. "Of the two of us the kid is a safer option. We'll be back as soon as we've got answers. Maybe order take-out, he didn't get dinner."
A/N wow, thanks for the response to chapter one guys, really appreciate it. This will probably be a 10 chapter story (I'll try not to go as nuts as I usually do on multichapter fics). Rating might go up later but I'll provide a warning if so. When it comes to violence and bad language one person's "T" rating is another's "M" so if you think I've crossed the line then let me know and I'll change the rating.
