Thanks LOADS to Laurzz for her help on which way to go with this.
"No!" Kieran shouted wiggling out of the man's grasp. The man ignored him and threw him into the back of the van. Kieran hit the ground hard, wincing as his arm scraped across a jutting piece of sharp metal on the side of the van.
The man bent to pick Jilly up, but she stepped back from his touch. "I can do it myself," she said, scowling.
"Pretty stubborn, aren't you?" the kidnapper murmured, thrown by her determination.
Jilly planted her hands on the bumper of the truck and hoisted herself into the truck, scrambling to climb into it. She settled herself down next to Kieran, who was busy wiping blood from his arm, a concentrated look on his face.
Finally, the kidnapper dropped an unconscious Lindsay in the trunk of the car. Her hands were bound, unlike Kieran and Jilly's, and a trickle of blood fell from a cut at the edge of her hairline.
"Alright, everyone," the kidnapper said briskly, "we ready?"
Kieran and Jilly glared at him.
"My, we've got a full boat today," the man grinned as he slammed the trunk shut. "But not for long," he added quietly to himself as he locked it behind him and climbed into the driver's seat of his van. He gave a quick glance to Lindsay's SUV, parked neatly in a spot near the back of the grocery store parking lot.
He shut the driver's door of his van after climbing into the seat and picked up the sheet of paper with numbers from Lindsay's address book he'd copied down just before dropping her phone off the George Washington Bridge onto a barge. Whistling Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, he pulled out of the parking lot and sped out onto the empty street.
"Anything?" Flack called from the entrance of the alley. He walked towards Danny, who was kneeling at the end of the alley, a blank expression on his face as his eyes bored intently into something on the ground. "Danno? Anything?"
Receiving no response, Flack walked to where Danny was kneeling on the ground. He followed Danny's eyesight to a small smudge of blood on the asphalt. "Danny," he said, resting his hand on Danny's shoulder.
Danny jerked away from him and walked calmly over to the SUV. He pulled out his kit and snagged a q-tip from it. He methodically swabbed the stain and hopped back in the car. "Let's go," he grunted.
Don got into the driver's seat and started the car. "Danny, it doesn't –"
He was interrupted by the ringing of Danny's cell phone. Danny quickly answered it without checking the ID.
"Linds?" he asked anxiously.
"Do you have a daughter and a wife?" the voice asked.
"Who the fuck are you?" Danny asked calmly.
"I asked a question."
"Yeah, I got a daughter and a wife."
"I believe I have them here with me."
"Oh, thank God," Danny sighed. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Is there a little boy with 'em? Bout five years old, black hair –"
"Blue eyes?" The man asked.
"Yeah, that's him," Danny smiled, tapping Flack on the arm. "Listen, are they OK? Can I talk to my wife?"
"They're fine right now."
"What?" Danny said, his face clouding, "Watcha mean, right now?"
"You can have one of them back. I only wanted your wife anyways, but if she matters more to you, then I can take your daughter instead."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Danny asked, sitting up in his seat. He gripped the door handle so hard his knuckles turned white.
"The kids go together, of course. You can have them both, or you can have your wife."
The man's voice chilled Danny down to the bone. It was so patient and quiet, Danny could have been talking to him about stocks or breakfast nutrition. "Look man, I don't know what you're talkin' about. Just put my wife on the phone."
"She isn't quite conscious at the moment."
Danny shivered visibly. His eyes narrowed. "Tell me who you are. Right now."
"I'm just a friend of your wife's. Or, I will be, anyways, if you chose to take your daughter back. It's really up to you."
"Put my daughter on the phone."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, either. I'm going to have to hang up soon –"
"No, please, no, just put her on the phone –"
"I'll call you back in an hour. I'm sure you're going to have it traced. I'd advise you not to; it won't matter if you do. You won't be able to trace me. You can leave me your decision then, and I'll get down to business. I don't usually do this. You should feel grateful."
"You touch them," Danny said, his voice shaking with anger, "If you so much as lay one hand on either of them, I will tear you limb from limb."
"I'll call you later."
With a click, the man was gone.
Danny sat at the table, his hands folded in front of him. He stared at his cell phone. The clock ticked another minute. It had been exactly fifty-eight minutes. One second. Two seconds. Three. Danny looked over at Adam, who smiled weakly, hands poised over his keyboard. Danny followed the wire from the computer to his cell phone.
"Danny," Flack said hoarsely.
"Shut up, Flack," Danny grunted.
"I'm not gonna beg," Don said, "But the kids … they can't last on their own. Please, just –"
"I said shut up, Flack," Danny said. He had absolutely no desire to think about anyone 'lasting on their own.' He wondered if the man holding his wife and daughter hostage was aware that there were four hostages. Did the man know that he was making Danny chose between his children, even if one of them was unborn? Did Don know that he was asking for Danny to do the same thing? He thought about that little baby, no more than three months old, sitting patiently in Lindsay's belly. And Jilly, who'd been ready for school thirty minutes early that morning, jumping at the door with one hand on the knob, giggling and chattering excitedly to Danny about some turtle named General Grant.
Danny's phone rang ominously.
Danny slowly opened the phone. "Hello?" he said dully.
"Hello. Have you made your decision?"
"Can I just ask how you got this number, if my wife didn't give it you?" Danny asked.
"Your daughter offered it up. Don't try to waste time, now. Who are you going to save? The children or your wife?"
Danny rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "I want the children."
Don visibly relaxed, breathing out and slumping in his chair, tension eased from his body.
"Meet me in two hours. I'll text you an address."
"Wait –" Danny called out, and found himself listening to a dial tone. He looked up. "Adam? Anything?"
Adam shook his head. "His signal's bouncing all over the place. All over the world. It's amazing. I've never see a system so incredibly –"
"Shut up," Danny grunted, picking up his phone. An address flashed across the screen.
"It's gotta be one of them," Danny said firmly.
"You can't be sure of that!" Mac returned, hoping something would ring some sort of bell in Danny's head. He had a wild look about him, torn completely in two. "Danny, you have to pull yourself together. For all of them."
Danny glanced into the interrogation rooms, looking at a bewildered Greg Moody sitting patiently on the hard metal chair. "You saw his apartment. The pictures he had of her? They were –"
"They were old. Not recent," Mac broke in, "He hasn't been stalking her. You don't have reason for this. We can't hold him. No more than we can hold Calvin Potts."
Danny glanced down the hall towards the room where Calvin Potts was undergoing a thorough investigation by Flack. The shouting could be heard even from where Danny and Mac were standing.
"Danny, this isn't going to fix anything," Mac said soothingly, "Just by punishing the people who've wronged them doesn't mean they're going to come back. We could be doing something better in the time we have –"
"But it's something," Danny said desperately, leaning against the wall, "It's worth a shot. Please, Mac. We gotta hold 'em until the uniforms are done searching their apartments. If it's one of them, Mac, if one of these guys did this, then I can't – I can't –"
"It won't be your fault," Mac said gently, "You did everything right in dealing with these two. There was nothing more you could do in that area. But please, Danny, consider something else. There are other explanations. Other people that could have done this."
"I'm just making sure," Danny said, watching Stella enter the interrogation room holding Potts.
With a half an hour left to the time limit, Paulina raced into the precinct, still wearing her white chef's coat over blue jeans. White flour streaked across her cheek, her green eyes were glossy and a bit wild. Finally spotting Flack, who was talking hurriedly on the phone at his desk, she raced over.
Flack looked up and, seeing her, yelled something into the phone and hung up loudly. "Paulie –" he said, standing up quickly.
She stopped in front of him, twisting the bottom of her coat. "I …" she started, then took a deep breath and swallowed. "Your friend Sheldon called me, said you were interrogating someone and couldn't talk to me. He said … Donnie, he said …"
Flack placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, wishing he could do more, and caught her gaze as she tilted her head up to his. "I'm working on this, Paulie."
"Are you going to fix it?" Paulina asked, her voice harsher than she intended. "Because, Donnie, I can't live without Kieran, I really, really –" She stopped, covering her mouth with her hand as tears dripped down her cheeks.
Don sighed. "It's … a really delicate situation, Paulina. I ain't gonna lie. But Danny's in charge on this one." Noticing her start to speak, he quickly added, "I trust him with my life, Paulie, and with Kieran's. Whatever he does, he's thinking about Kieran, as well as his kid and wife."
Paulina searched his eyes, scrutinizing him for signs of doubt, signs that he was trying to make up something to comfort her. She could find none. "OK," she whispered.
"Sit down, all right? I'll drag over another chair and you can stay with me while I work on this. And when we gotta go, I'll call you with updates. And I'll bring him home. I will. I promise."
She nodded solemnly and sat down in his chair, her fingers tightly balled around the ends of her sleeves. "Can I do anything?" she asked hoarsely.
Don shook his head as he dragged over another chair. "It's fine. I know you want to, but we got this covered. It's my job. I know how to do this."
Danny put his gun in the glove box. He steadied himself, taking several deep breaths. "I'm ready," he whispered to Flack.
He didn't dare look over to where Flack was sitting, crouched down low in the passenger's seat of the SUV, his lanky legs bent awkwardly in the nook below the dashboard. Flack held one earphone to his ear, testing Danny's wire taping device.
"Be careful," Flack murmured.
Danny got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He didn't want to hear anything Flack had to say, really. All he could hear, no matter the words, were desperate pleas to a problem Danny had no desire to sort out.
He walked into the warehouse, headed right for the center of the echo-y, large room. Dark shapes were placed around the building, and Danny felt like he was four years old again, finding monsters in the shadows. For the first time since he'd made the decision, Danny regretted having called off having back-up. There were pianos everywhere – in boxes, out of boxes, on their sides, lined in rows. The room sang with potential music.
"I –" his voice faltered. He cleared his throat. "I'm here," he finally called to the empty room. Somewhere, a piano string vibrated menacingly with the frequency of his voice.
A dark shape slunk from the shadows, wearing a white mask over his face and long, black, leathery gloves. He was clothed entirely in black, every possible identifiable mark covered by some sort of fabric. Danny had no idea what race he was, his scars, his birthmarks. He could accurately judge that the kidnapper was a man from his stance, and that he was no more than 5'7". He glanced at the feet, suspecting maybe a size seven or eight.
"I changed my mind," Danny said to the man.
"About?" the man asked calmly. There was something chilling about his voice. It was cordial, though not cold at all. It was conversational, amiable. He sounded like any ordinary stranger on the street. This conversation, where four lives hung from every word traded, was nothing more than a business transaction to him.
"I want you to give me all of them. My wife and the kids. I'll do whatever you want – any amount of money, I can get it. You can even take me instead. But give me all of them." Danny stared at the spot where the man's eyes would be.
"You can have the children or your wife. There's no room for negotiation," the man said, sounding almost amused that Danny would consider there to be a choice. "You have thirty seconds to chose."
"I want them all," Danny said firmly. He knew he couldn't kill the man now, though he desperately wanted to. This man was the only one who knew where Lindsay and the kids were.
"You can't have them all."
"You know what to do," Lindsay whispered, watching the scene from the tiny window of the van. She glanced nervously at the box behind the man, hidden from Danny's view by a large, baby grand piano. "You know what to do." She wiggled in her restraints, tugging at the biting line of the wire holding her wrists together. The thin metal cut sharply into her wrists. She winced, feeling blood running down the slice of the wire. She watched as Danny pleaded, as he begged for a different choice.
"You know what to do," she repeated, praying that the words would travel from the car to his ears.
"Just take me instead," Danny begged, "Let 'em all go." Tears of frustration slipped down his face. "Don't make me do this."
"If you don't chose," the man insisted, "They'll all die. Five."
"No, please, no," Danny begged, "Take me."
"Four."
"You can't fucking do this!" he shouted, filled with anger.
"Three."
"I'll do anything," he pleaded, washed with desperation.
"Two."
"No," he cried, already mourning.
"One."
"Jilly and Kieran. Give me the kids," he said, visibly sobbing.
The man smiled. "I thought so," he said, and kicked open the door to the box to his right. Jilly and Kieran stumbled out, blindfolded, their hands and feet free.
In the car behind Danny, Flack hated himself for his tears of relief. In the car behind the kidnapper, Lindsay cried them unabashedly.
The two kids were removed of their blindfolds, and Jilly set off at a run for Danny, crying for him. Danny fell to his knees, holding his arms out to her. He hugged her as he checked her roughly for any signs of harm. He tried to pull himself up, but found he couldn't, filled with weight of things he could not do.
Kieran stood by them awkwardly, searching the vacant lot for his father. Danny reached out and hugged him, too, kissing his head.
"Let's go to your dad, OK?" he whispered to Kieran. Kieran brightened and smiled.
"Go," the man commanded, "You leave first. I still have your wife, Detective Messer, remember that if you try to send anyone after me. I will not hesitate to kill her."
Danny picked up Jilly, took Kieran's hand, and turned away from the man, walking steadily towards the car at the edge of the property. He opened the backseat, hustled the kids inside, and got into the driver's seat. He glanced at Flack, crouched down in the passenger's seat.
"Thank you," Flack whispered.
"Not now," Danny responded hollowly, and gunned the engine. The car tore away from the vacant lot. Danny couldn't tear his eyes from the rear-view mirror, watching the car holding his wife recede into the distance.
"Daddy," Kieran shrieked happily. Flack leaned over the center divider and pulled Kieran into his lap, hugging him tightly. He wiped his drying tears on Kieran's hair, kissing his head and thanking God that he was there with him. Kieran clutched at Flack's arms, his little fingers digging into Flack's coat.
"Are you OK? He hurt you?" Don asked, voice pained.
"No," Kieran said, "but I hurt my arm," he said solemnly. Flack touched the long graze on Kieran's arm, checking it over.
"We'll take you guys to the hospital first, OK?" he suggested, "Danny? Hospital?"
"I'm goin'." Danny said distractedly.
"Daddy?" Jilly asked.
"Yeah, sweetheart," Danny said, focusing on driving to the hospital.
"He said to give you this." She wiggled forwards and handed a glossy photo to the front seat. Flack took it, his eyes widening.
"Danny," he said quietly, "it's him."
"What's who," Danny grunted.
Flack handed Danny the photo. The car screeched to a stop. Jilly uttered a high-pitched "oof," while Kieran settled for a low "ow."
"The man who's been killing the Women in the Park," Danny said dully, ignoring the honking horns around him, "He's going to kill her. We have three days before he kills her."
"Danny," Flack murmured, "Focus on the kids. Not this. The kids need help."
Danny gave no sign of movement, staring sadly at the picture of Lindsay, from the neck up, holding a recent copy of the NY Times. Her eyes were blindfolded, and a bruise circled her cheekbone. Danny's finger softly stroked the mark, attempting to ease it away. He brought the picture closer to his eyes, squinting at it, angry that it became only a bright patch of colored pixels, and not his living, breathing wife.
"Danny," Flack said softly.
Danny laid the picture down on the center console and pressed his foot to the gas, screeching off towards the hospital.