Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Here's the next one of this angsty adventure. We've got a lot of stuff ahead for the Morgan family, and it won't be pretty. However, if you've read any of my other stories, you'll know how my endings go ;) Thank you so much for the reviews, and I hope you'll enjoy!

2 Weeks Later

"James, my friend, what will you be drinking tonight?" Diablo Fuentes boomed as he and his group of drug runners walked into the bar where they were supposed to be meeting. Derek looked up from his spot in the back of the bar. He had been staring at the scratched wood of the table, thinking about the most recent dream he'd had. Or had it been a memory? He couldn't quite tell anymore.

It had been Penelope, Idina, and Fox, the three of them smiling as he set up the camera to take a photo of them on a trip they'd taken to the Grand Canyon when the kids were much younger.

Dream or memory, it was the most pleasant he had felt in a long time.

Nodding to the drug lord, Derek said, "I'll take a scotch, boss."

Fuentes clapped one of the men standing with him on the back. "Diego, go get us a round of scotches," he commanded, knowing the drug runner wouldn't protest.

Before leaving, Diego glared at Derek. He knew the drug runner hated him for slipping into Fuentes' favor after only being a part of the cartel for six months. All Derek did was stare back. He was here to do a job, and if things went the way he wanted, he'd take Diego down with Fuentes when he managed to make some charges stick. He absolutely despised Diego; the bastard frequently bragged about girls he had raped. Because Diego didn't stop at women, he went after teenagers.

If it were up to Derek, he would beat the shit out of this man and tie weights to his ankles before dropping him into the Hudson River.

"Have you done what I have asked?" Fuentes asked after Diego disappeared to the bar. He and the other two men sat down in the circular booth, waiting for Diego to come back with the drinks.

Derek nodded. "Yeah," he said, keeping his face gruff. "The supply will be in from Juarez next week, right on schedule. So will the one mil."

Fuentes regarded him carefully at the mention of money. Derek didn't even squirm, but he swore he saw a glint of distrust in the cartel lord's eyes.

"Wasn't the money supposed to be here this week?" Fuentes asked, leaning back and observing Derek carefully.

By now, Diego had returned to the table with the scotches. Before answering, Derek took his drink from the other man and took a nonchalant sip. He knew what Fuentes was thinking: he seemed suspicious that Derek might have stolen the money. Everything in his body language suggested he thought that, and from what his time in the cartel had told him, Fuentes was notoriously greedy.

Observing his drink, Derek answered, "Not here yet. I told them you'd be pissed, but all they said was it will be here with the shipment."

Silence blanketed the table, but no one cared after a moment. The others began speaking in lower voices, as if the exchange had not even happened.

For nearly an hour, the group talked in the bar, as it grew gradually louder. Derek made small talk, as was typical of the character he was playing in the cartel.

But as they sat, a loud booming voice broke out from right behind Derek.

"Derek Morgan?"

At first, the sound of his name startled him, and Derek forced himself to remain calm. He kept his eyes focused on his drink and the men around him, pretending he hadn't heard him and had no idea who Derek Morgan was. He was James Anderson now, no longer Derek Morgan.

But then he could no longer ignore the obnoxious man hollering his name. He came up and shoved Derek in the shoulder, stepping in front of him so he saw his face. Derek recognized the man as an agent in the New York Field Office, SSA Harrison Jagger. He'd met the man only once, but somehow this guy remembered him.

To make matters worse, the agent was drunk as hell.

Arching a brow, Derek looked up at him. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"What the fuck do you mean who the hell are you?" the agent laughed, his words slurring. "You can't tell me you forgot me. Although it wouldn't surprise me. One of the FBI's BAU most valuable agents probably doesn't remember the simple agents he works with." He snickered. "You have a bit more facial hair than you did the last time, mate."

Derek was well aware the men at the table were staring at him with fire in their eyes, but he knew he needed to keep his composure. With an even voice, he shook his head. "Brother, you really have no fuckin' clue who you're talking to," he snapped, praying the other man would take the hint and fuck off.

Jagger took a closer look at him. "No," he protested. "I know exactly who I'm talking to. You were here several years ago with your team to help with that string of serial rape homicides. I remember exactly who you are."

All of the sudden, Fuentes rose to his feet and stared dangerously at Agent Jagger. His eyes were steely. "Amigo, I'd back off if I were you," he growled. "You're mistaken on who my friend is. If he says he isn't this Derek Morgan, like you claim he is, he isn't that person. So back the fuck off before I jam a knife in your belly and gut you."

The agent's eyes went wide, and he backed up, raising his hands in surrender. His glazed over eyes came to life. "Whoa, there!" he slurred. "Alright, he isn't who I thought he was." His eyes flicked to Derek once more.

"Call yourself a cab, and get on home," Fuentes said, nodding toward the door. His eyes didn't lose their dangerous gleam.

And then he was gone, stumbling off out the door.

Fuentes sat down once again, his eyes finding Derek's. Derek knew that in order for Fuentes to believe him, or respect him at all, he needed to hold his gaze. He refused to back down.

"You seem to be very convincing as another person, James," Diego drawled out. His voice had a hint of snark to it, as if he were pleased with Derek being put on the spot like this.

Still Derek's gaze did not leave Fuentes'. "An honest mistake, right James?" Fuentes said in a low voice. "That man was clearly drunk and confused."

Derek nodded. "You got it, boss," he assured Fuentes.

Fuentes remained staring at him for another moment, but then his face broke out in a grin. Turning to Diego, he nodded. "Go get us another round, Diego," he ordered, much to the chagrin of Diego.

XXXXX

Later That Night – Residence of Diablo Fuentes

"Diego, I have a task for you," Fuentes said as he and Diego entered his apartment later that night. He knew Diego was annoyed with him for making him fetch the drinks all night, but the man was also Fuentes' most loyal drug runner. He would do whatever he told him to.

Diego shifted his weight. "What do you need, sir?" he asked.

"I want you to look into our friend James," he said, sitting down on his sofa that looked out over Manhattan. "That agent in the bar looked so sure he was a fellow FBI agent. I want to believe James, but I don't think I can. We have to clear him by finding evidence."

Fuentes would be lying if he said didn't enjoy James Anderson. The man may have been silent and often had a distant look of sorrow in her eyes, but he was a solid man, dependable. But he'd only met him six months ago, and had no way of knowing if he could trust him.

The money from Juarez not being ready yet also gave him cause to think his new follower may have taken him for a fool

This announcement made Diego grin wickedly. "Not a problem, sir," he said. "I'm going to get started right now."

Fuentes nodded, knowing that he would be forced to eliminate James – or possibly Derek – in the most brutal way possible if he was an FBI agent.

He had a reputation to uphold, and even if there were flickers of enjoyment in James' company, he would slit his throat without a second thought if he needed to.

XXXXX

Two Nights Later Apartment of "James Anderson"

"Dad!"

Derek snapped awake, covered in a cold sweat. The sound of Idina's screams echoed in his ears. In his nightmare – it was a nightmare this time, rather than a dream of being reunited with his family – Idina was in the clutches of Diego, who leered over her with a devilish grin that chilled Derek to the bone.

He sat up, rubbing his forehead as he tried to force the dream from his head. His stomach churned, and he wanted to vomit. The idea of his daughter anywhere near the scum that Diego was too much for him to bear. He rose to his feet and went to the small sink to splash cold water on his face.

Nothing could banish the memory of his nightmare from his mind, though.

As he stumbled to his sink to get a drink of water, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket, reading the caller ID. It was Fuentes. After the dream he had about Diego attacking Idina, he had very little energy to deal with the drug lord. Even so, he knew he had to answer it. He needed to prove his loyalty after the bastard Agent Jagger almost blew his cover.

"Hello?" he answered, rubbing his eyes.

"I wanted to believe you," Fuentes' snake-like voice said.

The tone of his voice immediately sent Derek into a whirlwind of panic. "Boss? That you?" he asked, trying to feign confusion.

"You know damn well it's me," Fuentes hissed. "You almost got away with it, James. Although, your name isn't really James, is it? That man at the bar wasn't drunk. He recognized you."

Derek knew the game was over. Something was confusing him, though.

"Why are you calling me to tell me this?" Derek asked, his muscles tensing up. "Why isn't Diego at my door to kill me? Why aren't you here to kill me?"

Fuentes chuckled darkly. "Oh, my dear friend," he said. "I can't kill you yet. You've got the one million dollars I should have gotten today. I want that back. I've found something better to do to you to ensure I get what is mine." He laughed even harder. "You remember that conversation you and I had? The one about family?"

Derek's blood ran cold. He swallowed hard.

"You're silent, so I'll assume you do remember," Fuentes went on. "Well, I'll tell you right now what you're going to do: if you want to see you beautiful family again, you're going to go through a series of challenges to get them back. If you can get through my riddles, and manage to avoid your own buddies at the FBI, you'll save your family. If you don't get me my money in three days time, your precious family is going to die in the slowest, most painful way possible."

"No!" Derek roared into his phone. "You stay away from them! Don't –"

"Try and stop me," he taunted.

Before Derek could say something else, Fuentes hung up. The words he said ran through his mind, a blur of emotions burning holes in his gut. What had Fuentes meant by avoiding the FBI? What had he meant by riddles?

Every muscle in his body felt like it had been electrified by a livewire. Hurriedly, he began packing a duffel bag, throwing in a jacket and several clips for his glock. He needed to get on the road and rush to the house. He could only hope Fuentes had them in DC still, and if he got to Quantico, he could get JJ's help in finding them. Right now, he needed his team.

As he readied himself to rush out the door, a text rang in on his phone. Pulling it out, he opened it. He almost dropped it. The photo had been sent from Fuentes.

In it sat his family, all three of them gagged and blindfolded. A message was attached to it.

Time is ticking.