A/N: Warnings for this chapter and the whole fic. Please be aware this is not my usual comedy fic. PM me if you want to know more before reading.
Thanks to Lulu for helping, always :)
Part 3
No sooner had Santana closed her eyes then her phone rang. Brittany leaned heavily into her side as fumbled for the device and held it up to her ear.
"We need to talk," came Will's voice.
"I'm listening."
It was early morning in the lush green park which ran along the bank of the tranquil river Seine. Aside from keen morning joggers a rather sleep deprived and grumpy looking Will Schuester sat on a park bench. His eyes darted around the area searching for someone.
"Can't you come and meet me?" He grumbled into his phone. "I cant see you. Where are you?" he asked, looking around.
"I can see and hear you just fine," Santana spoke into the two way radio in her hand as she watched Will pacing, his irritation obvious, from a rooftop a pertinent enough distance away. "You can tell them to stop jogging now."
Will huffed and signalled the small group of joggers who had run past him three times in the past ten minutes to stop. They halted immediately, one keeling over and gasping for breath looking alarmingly red in the face.
Will tried not to look suspicious as a man spoke through the earpiece in his ear.
'Okay, we've got the signal.'
Across the river from the park a van sat parked up at the side of the road with antennae and a small satellite dish on the roof.
'Localising. Cross checking transmitters.'
Inside the van a couple of technicians sat hunched over a monitor displaying a map of central Paris. The map zoomed in as they narrowed in on the transmission being received through Schuester's handset.
'One square kilometre. Keep her talking.'
"You didn't really think I was going to come down there, did you?" Santana chuckled.
Brittany took the binoculars from Santana and pinpointed Will's scowling face.
"I never liked him," she sniffed. "Never trust a man with curly hair."
A warm smile had crept onto Santana's face as she watched Brittany adjust the zoom and scan the park. It felt good to be out in the field with her partner again, even if that was because Brittany hadn't wanted to stay alone with the rescued girl where her thoughts could run to darker things, and nothing to do with being near Santana. Obviously, because that could never happen.
Santana could understand that. Keep busy. Don't take time to think about it. She should know, after all, that was how she had spent the past nine years of her life.
"He looks pissed," Brittany reported. "Or constipated. I cant tell. You should ask him which it is," she turned to glance at Santana who was trying not to laugh.
"I didn't think you would make such a mess," said Will, interrupting them.
"I didn't have time to worry about neatness," Santana snorted with contempt.
In the streets nearby police cars closed in on the riverside area with their lights flashing.
"I know," said Will. "You have 70 hours."
"I have 56 now," Santana snapped at him.
'Got her,'the surveillance man said through Will's earpiece.
"No," said Will with a sigh. "Now you have none. My chief wanted to arrest you. I convinced him to send you home."
He reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope with Air France logo on the front, holding it up in the air so wherever Santana was she could see.
"Leaves today at two. Courtesy of the French government for past services rendered."
"Give me the radio," Brittany angrily tried to snatch it out of Santana's grasp.
Down below police cars pulled up to a building the surveillance team had located. Officers from four cars jumped out and ran into the building.
"And what about my daughter?" Santana growled, her voice cold.
"I told you!" Will's voice got higher pitched the more frustrated he got. "I work behind a desk now. I take my orders from someone who sits behind a bigger desk."
Santana clenched her jaw. Brittany stood in front of her able to hear the conversation clearly over the speaker. They looked at each other from three feet away as Will raised his voice in anger.
"Come on, Santana! Seven dead bodies, three in hospital, a building destroyed. Total chaos at the airport." Brittany gave a one shouldered shrug at that. "Figgins wanted your ass in chains! It's the best I could do. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, Will. Not this time."
"You cant beat the state, Santana. You know that."
"I'm not trying to beat the state, you know that. I'm trying to save my daughter. And it was a trailer, not a building."
Santana and Brittany watched as police officers swarmed the rooftop of a building a couple of blocks away from them. The police searched the roof until one of them found a cell phone propped up on a chimney pot and positioned next to a two way radio which had been relaying the signal to Santana.
Will spoke into his wire. "Have you located her?"
'Negative.'
He hung up his cut off connection and looked around the surrounding area fruitlessly hoping for a glimpse of his prey.
Santana and Brittany walked out onto the street from the building they had been using and dropped the two way radio into a bin. They calmly walked to the nearby subway entrance and disappeared off the streets.
Back in the hotel room Santana flicked through the English-Albanian dictionary Kurt had given her, jotting down a few words. She took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes then glanced at Brittany who had been staring impassively out of the window for the past hour.
"Britt-Britt?"
Brittany closed her eyes at the loving name and let out the breath she had been holding in. "You once said I could talk to you about anything," Santana said. Brittany opened her eyes and confirmed Santana's words by inclining her head. "It's just that you're doing that stone cold scary thing."
"I want my baby back."
"I know. So do I. But I want my Britt back as well."
Brittany immediately softened under Santana's concerned gaze.
The girl on the bed coughed and diverted their attention. Brittany rushed to her side and stopped the girl before she could remove her IV drip out of confusion.
"No, no, leave it. Shhh, it's all right," she said soothingly. "It's fluids and medication to counteract the drugs."
Santana stood behind Brittany looking worriedly at the disorientated girl. The girl mumbled to herself then eyed her new captors warily.
"It's alright. It's okay, you're safe here," Brittany reassured her.
Santana held up her leather jacket so the girl could see it for the second time. "Where did you get this? Where did you get this jacket?" she insisted. Without waiting for a reply she held up the photo of Sugar they had printed out. "Did you get it from her?" she asked, pointing to Sugar in the picture. "Was it from this girl?"
The girl's demeanour turned from scared to sad. She whimpered. "I didn't steal it. I was cold, she gave it to me."
"Where? Where did she give it to you?"
The girl looked at them both watching her so hopeful and earnest. "At the house," she said.
"What house?" Brittany frowned.
"The house with the red door." The girl looked down to where Brittany was gently holding her hand. "He said there was a party," she said, quietly.
"And the girl who gave you this jacket, was she in the house?"
Tears filled the girl's eyes and she began to cry. "She was nice."
"I know," said Santana, with a shaky voice. She rested her hand on Brittany's back, needing something tactile to hold on to, a connection of shared relief now that they had a solid lead. "She's our daughter."
The girl began to cry and Brittany leaned over and hugged her.
"We need to find this house," Santana continued to push for answers. "Do you know where it is?"
The girl thought carefully for a moment, calming under the safety of Brittany's arms. "Paradise. The street was Paradise."
"Thank you," Santana looked visibly relieved. "What's your name?"
"Susanne."
"Thank you, Susanne. You stay here until you feel better. The man downstairs at the front desk, his name is Joe. He's a good man and will help you. He can help contact your family, friends, whoever you want. You're safe now. Stay here and rest."
"I hope you find her," Susanne sniffled.
"We will," Brittany promised, letting Susanne go.
"Here," said Santana. "Keep the jacket."
On Rue de Paradise two women with faces which could have been carved out of stone and no one would have been able to tell the difference, stood before a red front door.
"Britt," Santana cleared her throat. "When this is over, we need to talk."
"Yeah," Brittany agreed easily. "We do."
"You know how in the past I may have said something along the lines of 'don't go too crazy in there'?"
Brittany looked over at her, eyebrow raised in question. Without a further word Santana walked forward and pushed at the red door. It opened inwards without resistance. The ghost of a smirk crossed Brittany's face as she followed inside.
Inside, a short passageway led into a courtyard where two men sat at a rickety old table playing dominoes. One weasely looking man with a moustache jumped up to confront them as soon as they sighted the uninvited guests.
"Good morning," Santana said smoothly, walking confidently up to them.
"Can I help you?" asked the man in a thick Albanian accent.
"We're here to see your boss."
"No boss."
Santana pulled out Will's business card and handed it over to the uncooperative man who reached out with a tattooed hand to take it.
"We are doing nothing wrong here," he said after noting the insignia on the top of the card.
Santana held up her phone and waved it in his face.
"Listen up, minion one. I press one button and thirty agents will be here before you have time to scratch your worthless balls. Now, stop jerking around before I close you down for wasting my time."
"Wait here," the man said and begrudgingly trudged up a set of stairs while the remaining man at the table eyed Brittany. Santana glared at him but kept her cool and waited without violent interlude for the sentry to return.
"Your weapon?" He asked upon returning.
"You're holding it."
He reluctantly accepted their word and indicated for them to follow him up the stairs.
Brittany observed everything she could as they were silently and swiftly led to a rooftop and across to another building. She knew Santana would be doing the same and both strained for a sign of any women in the building. Inside the next door two men were in a room off to the left playing cards at a table.
They crossed a stairwell and Brittany looked back to glimpse one man going up the stairs and another one down to the level below. That brought the count to six men so far.
Finally they came to a kitchen with another four men sitting around the table in the centre of the room strewn with dirty dishes. Their guide threw the business card onto the table so all the men could see it.
Two trained killers against at least ten men. Five each. The odds weren't even fair, Brittany sighed. This would be a pushover.
"Black, one sugar," Brittany said, flashing a sunny grin to the Weasel as he walked over to the coffee pot. He looked uncertain for a moment but pulled out an extra cup.
Santana noted the identifying tattoos all the men wore on their hands. Moon and stars. All the men were young in their late twenties/thirties and all looked strong and powerful.
"What is it that you want?" One of the seated men asked them as Santana did nothing to hide her gratuitous look around the kitchen.
"We're here to negotiate the rates," said Santana.
One man with a jagged scar down the right side of his face got up and walked away from the table to the door they had just come through, effectively trapping them in the room.
"We already negotiate the rates with Mr Tanaka. Why are there two of you?"
"Mr Tanaka has moved to another division," Santana explained patiently. "And my partner here is retraining. We're here for the renegotiation."
The Weasel handed Brittany her coffee and she plonked herself down at the table in the vacated seat helping herself to a couple of sugar cubes and stirring them into her drink. The men all watched in various degrees of puzzlement at her casual nature. To the uninitiated she seemed unaware she was sitting in a nest of dangerous vipers.
Santana noticed the Weasel making eye contact with one of the men and considering he might be their leader she began her investigation.
"Allow me to explain ourselves," said Santana with a friendly smile as she noted one of the men hadn't removed his hand from under the table, and considered him probably armed.
"Nice coffee," said Brittany.
"We have you under satellite surveillance 24 hours a day," Santana began as she slowly walked around the table.
Scarface looked out of the window up at the sky as though expecting to see a spy satellite hovering overhead. Santana was going to bet he wasn't the leader of the pack either with that level of intelligence.
"We hear everything that you say and we know everything that you do."
Brittany peered closely at each man in turn sitting around the table much to their further distraction and unease.
"Do you have any idea what it costs just to change the angle of the lens on a satellite orbiting 200 miles above the earth? And those costs, gentlemen, if I can call you that, have gone up. Our costs go up, your costs go up."
One of the men glared unashamed daggers at Santana's words. Another possible contender for leader.
"It's perfectly logical," Santana smirked at him. "By the way, which one of you is Hunter?"
"Why do you want to know?" asked the Weasel, immediately defensive.
Santana gave him a dirty look."Because, dumbass, I was told that Hunter from Tropoja was in charge."
"We are all Hunter," one of the men said with a grin.
"And we are all from Tropoja," said Scarface.
Santana laughed, much to their surprise. Brittany caught Santana's eye and smiled. Only two men at the table hadn't said anything yet. Chances were one of them was Hunter.
"If that's the game you want to play, boys. The price just went up ten percent."
The Weasel flashed a worried look at the man with the concealed weapon.
"If you are trying to extort us because we are immigrants," the Weasel began to bluster," we know the law!"
Santana stared at him in disgust. "Listen up you weasely sack of-"
Brittany caught everyone's attention again as she clinked her coffee cup as she pushed it away from her and it hit the sugar bowl. Santana took a moment and regained her temper.
"I am extorting you because you are breaking the law. Now which charge would you like to be arrested for?" She looked around at the men as though expecting an answer. When Scarface opened his mouth to speak she held up a hand to silence him. "That was a hypothetical question, genius. Will it be drugs? Kidnapping? Prostitution? Take your pick." She shook her head resignedly. "You come into this country, take advantage of the system and think because we are tolerant we are weak and helpless." She paced around the room, her faked agitation palpable. "Your arrogance offends me, and for that, the rate just went up another ten percent."
The armed man at the table next to Brittany looked extra highly pissed at this news.
"Now," Santana snapped at them. "Do you want to get down to business or I can keep going all night."
Santana could swear she heard Brittany mutter, "That's what she said."
"How much?" asked the grumpy looking man.
"Twenty percent and you have my word it wont go up for a year."
Grumpy said something to the Weasel in Albanian and he sulkily pulled a tin off a shelf on the far wall and set it on the table in front of him. As Grumpy counted out a pile of cash from the tin Brittany stirred her coffee and scrunched up her nose at the taste.
"How do you say 'sugar' in your language?" she asked one of the quieter men at the table.
"Sheqer," he replied.
"Sheqer," she repeated.
Grumpy handed Santana the wad of cash and she fanned herself with it. "You've made a very good investment, gentlemen. See you in a month."
Brittany got up from the table as Santana tucked the cash into the inside of her jacket. As she pulled her hand back she held a piece of notepaper.
"Oh," said Santana as though she'd just remembered something else. "A friend gave this to me," she said. "It's Albanian. You mind translating it for me?" She handed it to the one remaining man who they had yet to hear speak. He took the paper and laughed as he showed it to his friends. Santana cocked her head to the side her eyes burning into his skull. He turned and handed the paper back.
"It says – good luck."
Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck.
The temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero. His voice matched the voice of Hunter on Santana's audio recording.
Santana stared death at him, the sweat on her face from the stress of playing her role had turned cold. Brittany gripped the edge of the table staring hard at the sugar bowl.
"You don't remember me, do you?" Santana's voice was low and dangerous. Everyone in the room became alert and Hunter looked at her with a puzzled frown.
"We spoke on the phone two days ago." The men exchanged wary glances while Hunter looked wary. "I told you I would find you."
She could see the recognition dawn in his eyes and as he tried to extract his concealed gun she grabbed the back of his neck and smashed his face down into the tabletop, crushing his nose in and knocking him unconscious. She looked over her shoulder and intercepted a lunging Scarface by aiming a roundhouse kick at him. He flew backwards into the door-frame an awful cracking noise could be heard as his skull connected with the door frame.
As soon as Santana went for Scarface, Brittany lifted her side of the table and flipped it over sending it and its contents flying at the remaining two men about to leave their seats. They fell to the floor in their haste to escape while the Weasel ran to get a weapon from the shelves.
Brittany grabbed the nearest man as he scrambled up off the floor plucking the combat knife from his hand and stabbed him in the chest. The other man scrambled up from the floor and went for her with a gun in his hand. She gripped his arm and swiftly stepped behind him, slashing his throat then lifting his arm gripping the gun to fire at the Weasel who was pulling a gun on Santana.
"What? That's not fair," Santana gasped. "I only got two."
"Got to be quicker than that, babe," Brittany said with a smirk. "Five left. Get behind the door." The sound of heavy footsteps pounded through the building as the remaining men closed in on the sounds of chaos. Still holding the dead man held to her chest Brittany fell to the floor holding his arm pointing towards the door. She lay still as the two men who had been playing card in the first room they'd passed earlier ran down the hallway towards her directly in her line of sight. They paused for a moment in the doorway to survey the massacre of six apparently dead bodies strewn all over the kitchen in different stages of death until Brittany shot them from the ground where she was cunningly disguised as a dead body.
Santana stepped out from her hiding spot behind the door and shot a third man who was following shortly behind the first two while Brittany disentangled herself from the corpse on the sticky linoleum. She recognised him as the leery man who had been playing dominoes in the courtyard out the front. Asshole.
In perfect tandem Santana stepped out into the hall with Brittany at her elbow covering both sides of the hall as one unit. They silently moved to the stairwell then Santana shoved Brittany into a vacant room just off the stairs and ducked in after her. Footsteps thundered up the stairs to their level and a man ran down the hall they had just vacated heading for the kitchen. Santana took aim and shot him in the back. Another man ran down the stairs from the level above them and Brittany leaned over Santana and shot him in his left knee. He tumbled screaming down the stairs until Brittany finished him off with one more shot.
"That's ten," she whispered closely into Santana's ear, her breath sending a shiver down Santana's neck.
Cautiously they stepped out into the hall only for Santana to step back, pushing Brittany with her body into cover as the door to the rooftop opened. An unfit bald man barrelled puffing into the building. He raised his gun in vain as Santana shot him twice in the chest.
Silence reigned in the building but both women kept their weapons drawn as they climbed over the bodies in the stairwell and made their way upstairs.
They stopped outside the first room on the top floor. Santana put her back to the wall and covered the still hallway with her pistol even though the house was now silent and death reigned on the floor below them.
Brittany could feel the tension radiating off Santana in waves as she reached for the door handle. She gripped it tightly and paused to ready herself, finding some relief in Santana's presence. They exchanged a long silent look both realising the fact that something truly devastating might be beyond the door. Finally, with grim determination, Brittany turned the handle and pushed open the door.
Blessed relief and then a pang of guilt washed over them as they found that the girl in the bedroom wasn't Sugar.
Santana moved closer to check on her. The young girl couldn't have been much older than Sugar. Her hair was dull and greasy indicating she'd been captive awhile, her eyes were wide and glassy. She had been handcuffed to the bed frame by her wrists and puncture marks dotted her exposed arms.
"She's dead," Santana mumbled.
Brittany tugged her backwards out of the room and they shut the door behind them, leaning against the wall, catching breath and calming nerves.
With a sudden burst of furious energy Santana ripped open the next bedroom door. Another girl lay there, her eyes closed and also tied to the bed. Not Sugar. Her chest rose slowly. Still alive.
Brittany ran to the next room. Not Sugar.
The next room, a girl with long brown hair was turned away from them on the bed. Brittany stepped quietly up to her but she knew even before she brushed the girl's hair out of her face. Not Sugar.
Santana tore open the next door. A couple of steps behind her Brittany's heart almost stopped as she registered the look of horror on Santana's face. She pushed her aside and entered the room. Her throat choked up and she spluttered a strangled, "No!", upon finding her daughter's best friend, Kitty, handcuffed to the bed. The teenager's eyes were open but glazed over and beginning to turn a milky colour. Her restrained arm was dotted with needle pricks and a syringe lay on the floor next to the bed. Vomit coated her chin. Brittany checked her for a pulse then, without saying anything aloud, reached up and closed Kitty's eyes. As she brought her hand away she caressed the girl's cheek.
At the sound of a strangled sob she was up and over to the door where Santana was struggling to breathe with shock. Brittany took her in her arms and held her close as she shook. Under her arms Santana was rigid with tension, every muscle strained to the maximum. Her hands gripped onto Brittany like claws of iron.
"I know," Brittany whispered in a hushed voice.
"Britt," Santana choked out through a clenched jaw.
"I know..." She held her until Santana got on top of her breathing again and she felt some of the tension ebb away.
In a cosy windowless room, where the bare walls trickled damp from the ceiling, a lonely dull lightbulb did its best to light up the gloomy space. In the centre of the room sat Hunter from Tropoja, with his hands tightly bound behind his back and his legs handcuffed to legs of a chair.
"Wake up!" Santana slapped him hard across the face. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"
He regained consciousness in this uncomfortable position, his eyes fluttered open and the pain of his smashed in nose he'd received from head butting the kitchen table made him groan.
"I need you to be focussed."
His eyes focused on Santana standing in front of him rubbing two metal rods together. She held one out in each hand then lifted them up to shoulder height and stabbed them down as hard as she could straight into Hunter's thighs. Leaving him to scream in agony awhile she walked over to her partner at the doorway and tugged Brittany out of the room.
"Britt, go and check on the girls, see if they're okay. I'll take care of this."
"Santana, I've done this before. Don't forget who I am."
"You got out a long time ago, for the better. I don't want you to do this. Britt, please," she pleaded. "Not this time. Those girls need-"
Brittany slammed her back against the wall with fire in her eyes. "That bastard took my daughter," she spat in outrage. "Do not-"
"You got out," Santana said desperately. "You don't have to do this. You shouldn't have to do this ever again. You were smart enough to get out."
"We do this together. We got in together, I wanted us to get out together. Now, we do this together." She let go of Santana's collar and stomped back into the room. Santana slid down the wall a few inches, winced, and then followed.
"Are you focussed yet?" Santana shouted in Hunter's face.
Hunter strained against the pain but his ties held him tight. He watched wide eyed as Santana hooked up a crocodile clip to each rod embedded in his legs. His eyes followed the wires on the end of the clips which ran along the floor and over to the light switch panel at the door. Brittany leaned up to the wall next to it.
Santana caught his attention by shoving the photo of Sugar and Kitty at the airport in his face. "Where is this girl?" She said clearly, pointing to Sugar.
Hunter's face twitched with pain as he breathed heavily while looking at the photo. HE stared at Santana and then spat in her face.
Brittany glowered at him.
Santana almost reverently tucked the photo safely away and then pulled out a handkerchief that had seen better days and wiped her face. Once she had finished she balled up the cloth and in a flash was stuffing it into Hunter's mouth. He struggled helplessly, gagging and grunting while Santana turned to Brittany and nodded. She took a large step back as Brittany reached up to the light switch and flicked it on.
The light bulb dimmed and brightened, flickering as the power it now had to share coursed through Hunter's body. Every muscle in his body was rigid as electricity flowed through him. Brittany and Santana watched coldly until his eyes began to roll and then flipped the switch off before he could lose consciousness.
"You know," Santana said as she rolled her shirt sleeves up to her elbows. "We used to outsource this kind of thing, but what we found was the countries we outsourced this to had unreliable power grids."
Hunter hissed in pain. His bleary eyes moved warily from Brittany by the switch to Santana who was pacing in front of him.
"Sometimes you'd turn on a switch and the power wouldn't come on for hours. Tempers got short, patience ran thin, and then people would resort to pulling fingernails, acid drops on bare skin, you get the drift. The whole exercise would become really messy and kinda unnecessarily gross. But here, Hunter from Tropoja, you'll be happy to hear that the power is stable. Here, there's a nice even flow. Here, you can flip a switch and the power stays on all day." She stopped pacing in front of him and smiled. "Good old Paris."
She pulled the cloth from his mouth. "Where is she?"
Hunter gasped for breath then eyed Santana up and down with a defiant sneer. He spat in her face again.
Santana didn't blink, she just remained standing in front of him staring him dead in the eye. Hunter began to hyperventilate as she stuffed the cloth back in his mouth. As soon as she let go, and stepped back again, Brittany flipped the switch once more.
Santana wiped her face with a sniff and then walked over and leaned against the wall mirroring Brittany's stance. In front of them Hunter shook uncontrollably in his chair.
"You come here often?" Brittany asked.
"I was thinking... You and Sugar should come over for dinner sometimes. Like a weekly thing."
"Yeah, I like the sound of that," said Brittany. "We'll see."
Hunter was now tilted so far back in the chair that his feet were no longer on the ground. Brittany casually turned the power off with a flick of her finger.
"Now I don't have any more time to waste, Hunter from Tropoja."
Hunter was sobbing as well as one could with a mouth stuffed full of handkerchief. Sweat and tears streamed down his body and his veins and sinew stood out on his neck.
"Give me what I want or I'll introduce you to some authentic Lima Heights hospitality where the lights stay on until they cut off the power for not paying the electricity bill."
She pulled the cloth from his mouth again. Hunter gasped for air and squeaked as he tried to breathe.
"Where is my daughter?"
He coughed out the words. "We don't keep virgins, we sell them." His voice was hoarse. "Lots of money."
"You sold my daughter?" Santana said in disbelief. She didn't think she could experience any more disgust with these people but here they were doing it again. "You sold her?" He nodded tears scattering onto the floor. "To whom?"
"I don't know," he rasped.
Santana immediately grabbed his face and stuffed the cloth back in. He gagged and mumbled until she took it out again.
"What?"
"Saint-James," he said, slumping in the seat.
"Saint-James? Is that a person, a place?"
"Person," Hunter gasped. "Jesse Saint-James." He breathed out, exhausted. Santana glanced over at Brittany.
"Where can I find him?" she asked.
"I don't know," Hunter sobbed. "I don't know, I don't know." He kept shrieking the words as Santana walked over to Brittany. He called after her desperately as she reached the light switch. "Please, not that! Please! I swear, I don't know."
"I believe you," Santana said quietly as she put her jacket back on. "But you upset my wife." With that, Santana walked out of the room leaving him alone with Brittany.
Hunter gulped and watched Brittany through tear filled eyes. She gazed back unblinking and betrayed no emotion. He breathed out a huge sigh of relief when she pushed herself away from her leaning post on the door-frame and turned to follow Santana.
As she exited the room, Brittany reached up and flicked the light switch on then walked off down the hall.
The lights throughout the building flickered as Hunter convulsed alone in the room. The electricity crackled and sizzled through him until his screams ran out and a couple days later the power was eventually shut off.
Will entered his apartment with a bundle of groceries under his arm still dressed in his work suit and tie.
"I'm home," he called into the apartment as he hung up his coat.
"Papa! Papa!" His children came running to greet him and he gathered them both up in a big hug.
"Hello, my darlings," he kissed them both in greeting and smiled happily as they led him into the dining room where his wife was laying out the table for their evening meal.
"That smells delicious," he said as he caught the scent as he entered the room.
"Look who dropped bye," Emma greeted him happily with a kiss.
Will turned the corner curiously. How he managed to keep a straight face he would never know but he managed to smile and sound sincere as he greeted their guest with a kiss on the cheek.
"Santana, what a pleasant surprise."
He couldn't however hide his surprise at seeing Santana's companion.
"Brittany?" Brittany smiled but her eyes remained cold as Will leaned over to kiss her too.
"Will," said Brittany in greeting.
"I didn't know you were back," he said worriedly as his smile faltered. Uh, I mean, back in town."
"Oh well, you know how it is," she shrugged. "When Santana told me she was coming to Paris I simply couldn't resist tagging along."
"The children waited up for you," Emma informed Will. "If you tuck them in maybe we can eat before the food gets cold. Santana, would you do the honours?" Emma asked, handing her a bottle of wine.
"I'll just be a minute," said Will as he herded his children to bed. He hurriedly tucked them in and kissed them goodnight making sure to shut the door completely behind him. He hurried to the bathroom and reached in the space under the sink and pulled out a gun. He tucked it in the back of his belt under his jacket and made his way back to the dining room where Santana and Brittany were now seated at the dining table which Emma had set for four.
"I was just saying how nice it's been since you left the old job for the new one," Emma caught him up on the conversation. "Home every night for dinner, get to see the kids more."
Will sat down in his place and occupied himself for a moment by rearranging his cutlery,
"Yeah," said Santana. "Must be nice coming home every night and seeing your kids..." Will paled. "Knowing they're safe."
"The Pierce's have been thinking about relocating," said Emma as she served out plates.
"Oh really?" asked Will.
"They've been visiting houses."
"Wine, Brittany?" Emma offered.
"Yes, please," said Brittany, her lip quivered at the sight of Will's hands shaking as he took the bottle to pour the drinks.
"Find anything interesting?" Will asked as he tried not to spill the rich red on the spotless white tablecloth.
"As a matter of fact we did," said Santana. "Over on the tenth arrondissement on Rue Paradis. People there know someone who works in your office. A Mr Tanaka. Do you know him?"
"Oh, Ken?" Emma interrupted. "I call him Mr Nervous. I'm always worried he's about to have a messy problem." She shuddered at the thought. "How about a toast?" proposed Emma with a happy smile as everyone received their wine. "To friends."
Brittany lifted her glass. "And to family."
"True friend's, and family," Santana raised her glass to Will.
Will half heartedly moved his arm in a gesture that if you squinted could be construed as a toast. Santana stared at him while he kept nervously glancing over at Brittany. Emma passed Brittany a dish of vegetables while Will and Santana stared at each other.
"We got to the bottom of it, Will," Santana broke the façade. "We know everything. I hope you're not involved in this shit."
"What's going on?" Emma asked nervously.
"This is not the time or the place," Will said, his eyes fixed on Santana.
"Are you involved?" Santana asked.
"What are you talking about?" Emma said, sounding worried now and well aware of the tension racking up.
"Emma," Brittany took it upon herself to explain. "Your husband takes bribes from a sex trafficking gang who kidnap, drug, rape and sell young women. Would you pass the carrots, please. Now, answer the question, Will," Brittany said softly.
Somehow that gentle voice was more frightening than Santana's death glare levelled at him across the table. He placed his napkin on the table, his hands shaking with nerves. He tried to steady his breath before his piss poor explanation.
"My salary is X, my expenses are Y. As long as my family is provided for I can overlook where the difference is coming from. That is my entire involvement."
"What about my family?" Santana asked, coldly.
"I told you that I would help you as long as it didn't cause trouble for me."
"Who is Jesse Saint-James?" Santana asked him.
Will remained silent staring grimly at the bowl of carrots in front of him.
"I'm getting real tired of this, Will. If you don't tell me I'm just gonna go take this glass of wine, great choice by the way Emma, and sit over on your comfy couch with my feet up while Britt speeds this up."
Will jumped up from his seat brandishing the pistol he had concealed under his jacket. Santana remained still apart from raising her eyebrows at the development and leaning back in her chair casually. Brittany frowned and pouted. Emma gasped.
"I don't know and I don't care!" Will shouted at Santana. "I am driving you two to the airport!"
"Will!" Emma looked stricken.
"Shut up, Emma!" He waved the gun between the two women. "Lets get going!"
"I'm not finished yet," said Brittany, swirling her wine around in the glass.
"Yes, you are."
Santana and Brittany stood simultaneously.
"No, we're not," Santana said with a snarl. She held out her hand and dropped a handful of bullets to the table where they clattered uselessly. Wide eyed Will began to frantically pull the trigger at his fingertip but his gun clicked uselessly. Santana pulled out her own gun and aimed it at him.
"That's what happens when you sit behind a desk Will. You forget things." Will dropped his gun and grimaced with frustration as he stared at the gun now pointed at him. "Like the weight of a gun that's loaded and one that's not."
Brittany pulled out another pistol and casually aimed at Emma and fired. The bullet hit her left arm and Emma jolted backwards off the chair to the floor with a cry.
Will went to run to her immediately but decided to freeze in place as Brittany pointed the gun at him.
"You asshole," he yelled.
"Jesus, Britt," said Santana under her breath.
"It's a flesh wound," she explained. "But my daughter is missing, Will, and if you don't tell us what we want to know the last thing you will see before I make your children orphans is the shot between her eyes. Now, Santana asked you a question. Jesse Saint-James?"
She pointed her gun at Emma again. Emma stared at her holding her arm tears running down her face. "Sorry," Brittany mouthed at her while Will grabbed at his hair in desperation.
Santana brought her gun up to Will as well.
Will typed away at his computer with Santana breathing down his neck. Behind them on the couch Brittany wrapped Emma's arm with bandages.
"I'm sorry," she said as she gently tied up her arm in a sling. "I didn't know what else I could do."
Emma stared at her her face blotchy and covered with dried sticky tears noticing the fear and worry in Brittany's eyes only a mother could.
"I'm thinking about getting a divorce," Emma confided in her, her words shaky.
"He is an asshole," Brittany nodded. "Friendly tip. Don't divorce him if he's your soulmate."
"How could he do something like that?" Emma sobbed.
"There," said Will, sullenly, as the police file on Jesse Saint-James came up on the computer screen with a photo and address.
"You could have made this a lot less painful if you had been more concerned about my daughter and less about your goddamn desk."
"How long has Brittany been back in the game? Why weren't we informed?" Will had the nerve or stupidity to ask.
"None of your damn business," Santana snarled then pistol whipped Will in the face as went for her. He slumped onto his keyboard. Brittany hoped he'd wake up with the keys imprinted on his face.
Outside the Schuester's apartment building Santana and Brittany strode along the street intent on their destination following the route marked on Santana's phone.
"Three minutes for him to crack like a crispy piñata, you were right," said Brittany.
"Still got it," Santana blew on her nails.
"I thought he'd last at least five. It was kind of pathetic."
"He might have if you hadn't been there. I don't think he ever got over the Tangier incident when it comes to you."
Brittany shrugged, "I am awesome."
Santana smiled at her. "C'mon, lets go. Can't keep the kid waiting."