A/N: I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it.

The Eye Of The Storm

Puck was already dialing her number when he pulled the car up to the curb. She answered after the first ring, shouting at him that she was on her way down before he could even get a word in. He shouted something back at her, ending the call and rolling his eyes. Fucking Santana. He had no idea why he had even agreed to drive her to the airport. She had a limo and her own private plane for God's sake, but she had said 'please' and saying that word was a big fucking deal for that girl, so whatever.

He stared at the entrance of the Cinderella (only Finn would name a hotel after a Disney princess), keeping an eye out for the Latina. What the hell was taking her so long? Finally, he spotted her walking through the double doors toward him, her suitcase trailing behind her. She had a scarf wrapped around her head and was wearing oversized sunglasses that covered almost half her face. He stifled a laugh as she tossed her suitcase into the backseat before getting in next to him up front.

"Looking good, Santana," he teased her, looking her up and down. "You running from the law or something?"

"Shut up, Puckerman," she hissed, looking left and right to make sure that no one else had recognized her. "No one but you and my assistant can know that I'm leaving the country."

His laughter ceased upon hearing her words and the expression on his face became one of concern.

"Why not?" he questioned curiously, making no move to start the vehicle.

A million possibilities ran through his mind then, but one stood out in particular. He dared not make the accusation though. (It was one hell of an accusation.) When she narrowed her eyes at him (he could tell even behind the shades), he knew she had read his mind.

"No, I did not kill my own fiancé!" she shouted, unable to believe that the thought had even crossed his mind. "I cared about, Finn. Besides, what would my motive have been?"

Puck shrugged, the car keys still clasped tightly in his hand.

"Money?" he suggested, the look on his face a serious one. "Come on, Santana. I know you cared about Finn, but you were with him for his money."

"His money would have been mine had I married him," she reminded him, tearing her sunglasses from her face.

She was starting to lose patience with him now. She had to be at the airport in about an hour and here he was wasting her time with unimportant nonsense. Puck held her gaze for a moment, pressing his lips together in consideration. He supposed she did have a good point.

"Alright, fine," he agreed, starting the car now. "Want to tell me what's going on then?"

"My PI found Brittany," Santana explained, slipping her sunglasses back on and keeping an eye out for the paparazzi, who had been following her around like vultures since the funeral. "I'm going to Mexico to find her."

There was a moment of shocked silence.

"He found her? In Mexico?" Puck repeated, unable to process the news. "What the hell has she been doing in Mexico?"

(He ignored the fact that Finn had been killed there.)

"No, she's heading to Mexico, from Barcelona," she corrected him, glancing at her watch every so often to check the time. "She's done quite a bit of traveling since high school. She's a nurse, you know."

Puck turned his head to the side to look at her incredulously, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. He wondered how many more surprises were in store for him today.

"Brittany? A nurse? Are you fucking serious?" he clarified, unable to believe that the blonde had the smarts for the job.

This was the girl who had thought that the capital of Ohio was 'O' in high school! He was taken aback when Santana hit him, the action having caught him off guard.

"Yes, I'm fucking serious," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "Brittany's smart. She just never really applied herself in high school. That's all."

"Yeah, sure," Puck echoed, shrugging his shoulders and letting the topic slide. "Whatever. So, you're going to track her down in Mexico and then what? Why did she leave so abruptly anyway?"

"No clue," Santana lied, not about to have an in depth discussion about this with Puck.

Puck could tell she was bullshitting him, but he was in no mood to call her out. He had been up all night debating whether or not he should give Rachel a call, see how she was doing. Fucking Amy. Getting him all worried about the petite brunette. She was probably fine.

"At least tell me why you're being so secretive about leaving the country," he requested, running a hand tiredly through his mohawk. "You owe me that much."

"I'm a prime suspect in Finn's murder, Puckerman," she enlightened him, leaning back into her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. "Leaving the country? Not such a good idea."

"Wait, how do you know you're a prime suspect?" he questioned as he pulled up to the curb, wondering why the police had yet to talk to him.

He was the best friend, right?

"Also, I think people are going to notice you're gone, Santana, unless you hired a doppelganger or something," Puck added, giving her a pointed look.

"What are you trying to say, Detective Evans?" Santana challenged him, narrowing her eyes. "I was in the country the night Finn was supposedly killed."

"I know," Sam answered, hating that he had to question her in the first place.

Santana still kind of intimidated him, but he was here on official police business. He needed to remember that he was the one in charge here.

"I am merely pointing out that you are a woman of resources," he finished, getting up to leave. "Thank you for your time and stay in the country, Miss Lopez. You're a prime suspect in the case."

With that, he left, leaving Santana fuming. What was he insinuating exactly? That she had hired someone to do the deed? That she might have snuck onto a flight to Mexico, killed her fiancé there, and then come back in time for lunch the next day?

That presumptuous son of a bitch.

"Sam - I mean, Detective Evans - came by to question me the other day," Santana told him as she got out of the car discreetly. "He told me so and advised me not to leave the country anytime soon. As for the whole hiring a doppelganger thing, bingo!"

"Hold up," Puck sounded, getting out of the car and helping her with her suitcase. "Sam's the one solving Finn's murder?"

"Believe me when I say I was just as surprised as you are," she said, taking the suitcase from his hands, a grim expression on his face. "Look, I know I should probably stay here, but I…I've got to find her."

She looked down at her feet for a moment before locking eyes with him again.

"I can't lose her again," she whispered and any intention that Puck had had to convince her to stay vanished then.

Putting himself in her shoes for a moment (well, not literally because the chick was wearing like six inch heels), he would probably be doing the same, except for the whole doppelganger thing because no one, no one could fill in for the Puckasaurus, seriously.

"Cover for me?" she pleaded with him, mustering a smile.

(The smile was a genuine one.)

"Yeah," he promised her, waving her off. "You have my word. Bring her back, Santana."

Puck watched her leave, getting back into his car. Santana had clearly been given another chance with Brittany. Would he get another chance with Rachel? A sigh left his lips as he drove off into the distance. Neither he nor Santana had noticed that someone had been trailing them all this time.

Sam stepped out of the elevator, heading immediately for the meeting room. He swung open the double doors, turning back to call out to his team.

"Get in here," he demanded, frustrated by how little progress they were making. "Now, all of you."

Everyone immediately scrambled out of their seats, quickly grabbing whatever they thought they would need for the meeting. Sam was a super nice guy, but when he meant business, he meant business. He stood with his back toward them in front of the meeting room for awhile, silent. No one dared to breathe, let alone say anything.

"People, we have been on this case for over a week now and have gotten absolutely nowhere," Sam informed them (not that anyone was out of the loop), turning around and smacking his hands down on the table.

No one flinched.

"We have a solid list of suspects we're looking into," Amy spoke up, being one of the only ones who was ever brave enough to face Sam when he was in one of his moods.

"A list of suspects is not going to cut it," he stressed, trying to keep his cool. "I need someone behind bars. My job, our jobs are on the line here. My supervisor's getting a lot of pressure from the public to close this case, which means I'm getting calls at freaking five a.m. every night wondering how close we are to blowing this shit wide open. Does everyone understand me?"

"Loud and clear," everyone answered in unison, attempting to placate their team leader.

"Good," Sam echoed, calming down a bit and finally taking a seat at the head of the table. "Update me, go."

One by one, they filled him in on their progress, each one anticipating further instructions.

"We dropped by the office and questioned some his colleagues. Mr. Hudson was well liked by most."

"By most? Who were the exceptions?"

"He had a bit of a rivalry with one of the Operations managers, but his alibi checks out."

"Airtight?"

"Yes, sir."

"There was also a rumor about an office affair he had with a Ms. Jennings. Ms. Jennings was Mr. Chamberlain's secretary for awhile. Mr. Hudson under Mr. Chamberlain's orders fired her from the company about a year ago."

Sam didn't like to think that Finn had done something so cliché, but he had been in law enforcement long enough to know that a scorned woman was a dangerous one. Further investigation was definitely required here.

"We're working on tracking her down, sir."

"Good and did you question Mr. Chamberlain?"

Silence.

"We didn't think…"

One hard look from Sam and the two of them clamped their mouths shut, scurrying out of the room to get on with their tasks. He turned to the rest of the team, eyeing them expectantly.

"Amy narrowed down the location where Mr. Hudson was actually killed to about ten sweat shops in Mexico."

So, Finn was killed and later burned in two different locations. Odd.

"Who do those sweat shops belong to?"

Silence.

"I was about to look into that, sir."

Sam sighed. Amateurs.

"Book yourself a flight to Mexico. Take whoever you need with you. I want a firm location of the victim's death by the end of the week. That means evidence people, hard evidence."

Once everyone had left, leaving only him and Amy in the room, his expression softened.

"Sorry," he apologized for being a little short with her earlier. "I'm beyond stressed right now."

"I get it," she assured him, not even batting an eyelash. "So, where were you this morning?"

"Well, I was going to go and question Santana again," Sam answered, still hoping that his suspicion was wrong. "When I arrived at the Cinderella though, I spotted her getting into Puck's car. My instincts told me that I should follow them, so I did, all the way to the airport."

Amy sat up a little straighter at his words.

"Wait," she commented, starting to catch on to his drift. "She was leaving the country when you specifically asked her not to?"

Last night, when Amy had asked her spirit guides for help on the case, she had found herself wandering around inside a sweat shop before three gunshots had brought her to her knees. She had (as was to be expected) awaken from her vision, shaken. Upon compiling a list of sweat shops in Mexico, she had been able to narrow them down to ten likely candidates. She had asked her spirit guides for help again after that, hoping to pinpoint the exact location where Finn had been killed, but they had shown her an unfamiliar symbol with the name Santana scrawled across the top. At the time, both her and Sam had dismissed the clue and assumed that her radar was off because what tie could Santana possibly have to a bunch of sweat shops in Mexico? But now…

"Do you know where she's headed?" Amy asked him and Sam shook his head in response, not having had the time to check.

"Let's check that now," he suggested, leading the way out of the meeting room toward her desk.

Once Amy had found the information they wanted, she turned to look at him, a grim expression on her face. Neither or them had wanted Mexico to be the destination.

"Mexico," she murmured, double checking the destination. "What are we going to do?"

Sam stroked his chin in thought, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips.

"We keep this quiet for now," he instructed her, looking around the office to make sure that no one had overheard him. "I'll follow this lead myself."

He didn't want to accuse Santana of something so horrible, but if she had murdered Finn, Sam was going to make sure his old classmate ended up behind bars.

Quinn stepped out of the shower, a content smile on her face. After a long day of filming, all she had wanted was a steaming hot shower. She wrapped the fluffy, white towel around her body, leaning over the sink to wipe away the fog on the mirror with her hand. When she turned around, she let out a shriek, hugging the towel closer to her skin.

"Finn, we agreed to be friends," she reminded him as he burst into laughter at her reaction. "Friends do not sneak up on their friends in the goddamn bathroom!"

"Okay, okay," he echoed, leaning casually against the bathroom wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "I was thinking we could go to a movie tonight."

Quinn smiled at his suggestion, but shook her head.

"I would love to, but I have to be on set at five in the morning," she told him, looking at him apologetically. "Tomorrow night though. I promise."

Finn pouted, hoping that that would soften her resolve. Over the last week or so, Quinn and him had been spending a lot of time together. He had always missed her, but he had never realized how much until recently. Sometimes there were moments where they felt something between them, but each time, one or both of them would brush off the familiar feeling, stepping cautiously back into the friends zone. Outside of that zone lay dangerous territory, a fact they were both well aware of.

"Please?" he begged of her, clasping his hands together. "I'm bored out of my mind here."

Quinn rolled her eyes, walking past him into the bedroom.

"Finn, we have been hanging out all week," she told him, slipping into a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt. "We have to start helping Amy with the case. Have you remembered anything since our last phone conversation with her?"

He sighed, taking a seat on the bed, his fingers to his temples.

"I'm really sorry, Quinn," he apologized, disappointed in himself. "I'm trying, really I am."

She went to sit next to him, not wanting him to feel bad. She knew this was probably hard for him.

"Here," she sounded, reaching into the side table drawer and taking out the picture again. "Are you sure you don't remember anything about her?"

Quinn was baffled that he had no memory of Ms. Jennings, especially since he had met her long before his departure to Mexico. Plus, how could you not remember the woman you had an affair with? When the blonde had first heard the news from Amy, her heart had dropped. For one, she had never thought of Finn as the cheating type and for another, the thought of him with any other woman killed her.

"I'll try again," he promised her, reading her mind.

He stared down at her picture, muttering her name a few times under his breath, hoping to jog his memory.

"Okay," Quinn announced, leaving the photo next to him on the bed and giving him an encouraging smile. "I'm just going to get a cup of water. Be right back."

She strolled into the kitchen, grabbing a cup out of the cupboard. Her mind wandered as she began to fill the cup with water, ending up pouring some onto the floor.

"Shit," she swore, backing up from the counter to get a mop.

As she did, she lost her footing, grimacing as her behind landed on the ground. Her cup shattered to pieces beside her, having taken the object down with her in her poor attempt to regain her balance. The commotion had Finn running to the kitchen to make sure she was okay. As he rushed down the hall, his surroundings began to fade and when he stopped, he found himself in an unfamiliar place. This was not Quinn's kitchen and Quinn was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a man leaning over a very pregnant woman. His back was toward him, thus concealing her identity. Next to her were pieces of shattered glass. Was that the crash he had heard earlier? No, impossible. He stood still, silent, his head spinning with confusion. How did he get here? Where was he?

And then the man spoke and his voice was more than familiar. It was him. He was the one leaning over the pregnant woman.

"Dana," he heard himself say, slight panic in his voice. "I need you to let go of my hand for a moment, okay? I need to call an ambulance."

Dana (Jennings, Finn realized) shook her head at him, tears streaming down her face.

"No," she stopped him, gripping onto his hand even tighter still. "There's no time. He's coming. Now."

And then Finn found himself in the right place again, kneeling down next to Quinn, holding tightly onto her hand.

"Finn, are you okay?" the blonde questioned in concern, having heard the name Dana on his lips. "Who's coming? Who's he?"

Finn swallowed hard, hesitating in his answer. Had he really had an affair with his boss' secretary and gotten her pregnant while he was dating Santana, but in love with Quinn? Damn, he was a jackass.

"The baby," he murmured finally and the face Quinn made in response absolutely crushed him. "Joseph Christopher Jennings."