The house was large and secluded, set in grounds that were planted with mature trees. It was a favourite setting for both corporate retreats and house parties. Right now, the circular driveway was full of activity, with women stepping into various expensive cars. They all had a similar look – beautifully groomed, dressed to the nines and with immaculate make-up. It was clear that money was no object in their lives. Parked a safe distance down the road, Sam surveyed the scene through binoculars.
"They don't exactly seem to be in a panic," he commented. "How about we go take a closer look?" There was still a chance that Deeks was still there, still there and in one piece. And if he was, Sam was going to take him apart, piece by piece. And then take him out for a beer. Maybe even two.
The stream of cars exiting the pillared gates impeded their progress, but eventually, they managed to turn in to the driveway, just ahead of a Mercedes sports coupe
"Leaving so soon?" Callen asked casually, leaning out of the car window with a charming smile. "My girlfriend said this was supposed to last till afternoon."
The well-preserved blonde flicked her perfect hair dismissively. "The instructor bailed on us yesterday. We hung around, hoping he'd come back, but he's a no show. Pity, because he was cute and he sure filled those shorts of his. But this is LA, and pretty blonds are a dime a dozen." She shrugged and drove off.
"Nice lady," he said wryly, overwhelmed by her concern, and then accelerated up the drive. The time for subtlety was over. It was now time for action, so they went into the house with guns drawn, unsure of what, or indeed who would greet them. They went through all the rooms methodically, calling out warnings, exercising extreme caution – but they were greeted only by empty spaces, mocking their concern. Only one room bore any traces of an inhabitant, with a familiar travel bag sitting in the corner and a brief array of toothpaste, razor, soap and shampoo in the adjoining bathroom.
"You've got to hand it to Deeks, he knows how to travel light." Sam pulled open the dresser drawers and took a cursory look. "It doesn't look as if anything's missing." It didn't look as if the room had been searched either: everything was too neat and tidy.
"They took him by surprise." Callen slammed his fist into the wall, welcoming the sudden pain. "You think he's still here?"
"There's only one way to find out."
There had to be something they'd missed, or at least some clue as to the missing detective's whereabouts. And if they had to turn the house upside down to find it, then that was what they would do. So, starting on the upper floor, they went back through each room, searching painstakingly, then down the curving staircase to the ground floor, retracing their steps with precision. It was in the hallway that Callen finally spotted a door, papered to blend in almost perfectly with the rest of the décor, so cunningly concealed that they had completely overlooked it last time around. Opening it, he discovered a row of wooden steps leading down.
At first sight, it appeared to be a perfectly normal, albeit obscenely large, wine cellar, now sadly denuded of its former contents: just rows of racking stretching across the width of the room, dusted with a generous helping of cobwebs. Once they made sure there was no-one lurking in the shadows, Callen switched on the light and a bare bulb illuminated the scene.
Sam scanned the room quickly, mentally calculating the size. "It's off. This is too narrow by a good twenty feet." He started to prowl around.
Callen dropped his gaze down to the floor, where recent footprints stood out clearly in the dust. "Four guys. And they were half-dragging a fifth man." He hunkered down and examined the tracks. "The fifth one had bare feet, I'm guessing." What was more natural than for a man teaching a yoga session to be without shoes?
They followed the trail of prints around the side of a large bay of racking, and were faced with another door. This one was reinforced with metal, and had a large padlock securing it shut.
"Probably originally used as a secure store," Callen commented, as Sam took out his gun and fired, disintegrating the lock into smithereens. Pulling the heavy door open he took one look before pulling his phone out.
"Hetty? We've found Deeks. Get the paramedics out here now." His mouth was set in a thin, fixed line and his eyes were haunted as he walked into the room to where Callen was kneeling down in the dirt, desperately trying to find a pulse. Deeks was pale, far too pale, and there was a thin trickle of viscous blood tracing down from one side of his mouth.
"Come on, Deeks. Don't do this to me," Callen muttered, gently moving the unconscious man's head to one side and placing his fingers tentatively on his neck. It was there – thin and thready, but a pulse nevertheless. That was probably about the best that could be said. He looked up at Sam, a look that held a mixed of triumph and fear.
"Shit." Sam crouched down and surveyed the damage. "They really worked him over, didn't they?" he shook his head sadly and laid his hand gently on the younger man's forehead. "He's burning up, Callen."
"I know." Callen sat back on his heels , but kept hold of Deeks' hand, his fingers absently stroking it, easing over the bruises and swollen tissues. He lifted it up slightly, noting the damage. "Looks like he put up a decent fight. I reckon these injuries are at least a day old." He pushed down the anger that was rising in his chest. He didn't want to think what the rest of Deeks' body looked like, but he could guess. This had all the hallmarks of a professional beating, designed to do serious damage. He ran his free hand over the back of Deeks' head and felt the large contusion and hair that was sticky and matted with blood. "Looks like he's got a head injury too. Which would explain why he's not exactly with us." The fact that Deeks hadn't moved at all was seriously worrying Callen.
"They left him to die here," Sam said bluntly. "They left him lying here for a day, like he was some damned dog they hit on the freeway. Like he didn't matter." His voice was getting louder as his emotions came to the fore. Of all the things Sam hated, and there were many, not being able to protect his team from harm ranked right up there at the top of the list.
"He matters. And we'll get them." Callen brushed the hair back from Deeks' face and winced as he clocked the bruising and disfigured jaw. Was there no end to the catalogue of injuries inflicted on him? "I promise you, Deeks, we'll get them."
"Where are the paramedics?" Sam was straining to hear the approach of sirens. "They should be here by now. So where the hell are they?" His angry voice echoed around the squalid chamber and Deeks' eyes fluttered open.,
"I knew you'd come," he whispered, through parched lips in a voice that was thin and weak, and with none of the light-hearted jest that normally accompanied his comments.
"Of course we came," Callen soothed, and gripped his hand a little more tightly.
Deeks looked up, and essayed a parody of his normal grin, made even more grotesque by the misplaced jaw. "Thanks. Tell Kensi…" his voice faltered as another barrage of pain engulfed his abused body and he shuddered as he tried to ride it out.
"Tell her yourself," Sam said. "What do you think we are - your messenger boys?" He bent down and stared into Deeks' eyes. "You hang on, okay? You just hang on." He spoke very slowly and clearly and Deeks looked at him wearily.
"It hurts," he admitted. And he was so tired, so very tired of all the incessant agony. It would be so easy just to slip back down into that pleasant dark void where nothing mattered at all. Only Sam was talking again and Callen had hold of his hand in a death grip and they just wouldn't let him go, they were forcing him to stay with them. So Deeks tried to choke down the agony, even though he was screaming inside. If he could have gritted his teeth, he would have, but the shattered jw made tht impossible, and he would rather die than have them hear him cry out like some kid. NCIS agents didn't cry; NCIS agents could cope with anything. Only he wasn't an agent, he was just the guy from LAPD, with a law degree instead of some impressive service background.
Callen saw the way Deeks' eyes started to roll back in his head and tightened his grip. "Stay with me, Deeks. You're not going anywhere." He bent his head down as the injured man's lips began to move, straining to hear the words.
"Tell them… tell them I love them. And I'm sorry."
"You are so clever!" Kensi enthused. "Rolling over and then trying to do baby push-ups. Just like you've seen Daddy do. Won't he pleased when he comes home and you can show him?" Okay, maybe describing her son's efforts to raise his head and shoulders up from the floor as 'push ups' was a slight exaggeration, but still - it was pretty amazing. The only thing that would make this day any better would be to walk out of the centre and find Marty leaning against the car, trying to appear unconcerned, but with that look on his face; that look that only she knew.
Densi gurgled happily and attempted to clap his hands together, sending his besotted mother into further paroxysms of delight.
"You are the cleverest boy in the whole world," she informed him solemnly. "And that's because you take after me, isn't it? You look like your Daddy, but you're Mommy's boy really, aren't you?"
"Better not let Marty hear you say that!" Suzie was an officer with LAPD: she'd known Marty for years, and she and Kensi had struck up an immediate friendship at the baby classes. They were able to bitch about the job, the demands it placed on them and share their wonder that motherhood was even more challenging that apprehending criminals.
"I'm safe – he's working out of town for a couple of days." Kensi screwed up her face.
Suzie raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Like that, is it?" She looked sympathetic. "So, how have you been managing?"
"Put it this way – he should be back tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. So I guess I'll survive until then." Not that she was counting down the hours or anything like that.
"How about we go for coffee?" They'd found a coffee shop that actually welcomed children, rather than merely tolerating them and it was fast becoming an after-class routine. Suzie pushed her stroller through the door and went out into the brilliant sunshine.
Kensi was about to say 'yes' when she saw Hetty walking towards them. "Maybe next time. I'm actually meeting a friend from work today." The hairs on her arms began to rise, despite the warmth of the day.
Suzie smiled, chucked Densi gently under the chin and went off to her car. Meanwhile, Kensi stood stock still and watched as Hetty walked towards her, with slow, measured strides.
No. Don't say it. Clutching Densi to her chest with one hand, Kensi held out the other in a defensive gesture, almost as if she was trying to ward off bad luck. Don't say it, Hetty. Please. If Hetty didn't say it, then it wasn't true, it hadn't happened. But she knew. She had known from the minute she saw her boss walking along the street with that singular the expression on her face. You promised me, Marty. You promised me.
"I'm sorry, Kensi." Hetty took hold of her arm and her touch was infinitely gentle. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news."
Kensi clutched hold of Densi so tightly that he squeaked in protest. "It's Marty, isn't it?" Her voice was low and level and her heart was breaking. Love was hard. It hurt, she knew that. She just didn't know love could hurt this much.
"It's Marty," Hetty agreed sadly. She began to speak and Kensi stood and looked down at her baby, at the son Marty adored so much and who was the double of his father, and wondered how she could possibly find the strength to go on when her world was crumbling all around her.
I've tried to reason with evil plot bunny, I've even tried to bribe him. But to no avail. He's now lying on his back, nibbling his claws and whistling "Que Sera, Sera". What can I do? I'm mere pawn in his paws.