The phone buzzed in Marty's pocket as Kensi sped down the freeway. He furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar number before answering.

"Deeks," he barked impatiently.

"Marty!" a female voice greeted.

Deeks wracked his brain, trying to place the caller. "Amanda!" he exclaimed finally. The LAPD lab tech and he had gone out twice before he stopped calling. "What's up?"

"I…don't know how to ask this," she started hesitantly.

He had no patience for a booty call now. "Amanda, can you call back later? I'm in the middle of something."

"I know," she backpedaled.

"Wait—you know?"

"Just listen," the tech pleaded. "Sheriff Alan Miles told me to run a DNA match against a swab and an unknown sample."

Deeks switched to speaker phone. "Any idea why?"

"No, he was super enigmatic."

"So?"

"Well, he didn't know that I can not only match samples, but look up unknowns. The sample came up as a familial match to him…but it also matched you."

"And?"

"It means you have a kid with his daughter."

Marty's mind went into overdrive. "Amanda, when did you get that sample?"

"About an hour ago, why?"

"Long story. Did you send him the results?"

"Not yet."

"Good," Deeks sighed. "Don't tell him."

"Marty, what's going on?"

"Alan kidnapped my kid, Andy Townsend," he explained grimly. "Looks like he hadn't given up on the idea of paternity after all."

"Paternity?" Amanda grimaced audibly. "Gross."

Deeks sighed. "Yeah, well, that's not even all of it. Do you know where he is?"

"No, he left in a hurry."

"Can you call him?"

"I guess…" she thought aloud, "I can tell him there was something abnormal in the results."

"Do that."

Kensi pulled a highly illegal U-turn as Deeks patched Eric in. He didn't even wait for a greeting, blurting out his report.

"Eric, I need you to trace the following number: 555-7629."

"Tracking…" Eric narrated. "Okay, it's a burner cell; it looks clean."

"Can you trace it?"

"I need a live call."

"I can give that to you," he confirmed. "Amanda, you still there?"

"Yup!"

"Great. I need you to call Alan now."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Call him from your cell, but keep us on the lab speakerphone. Keep him talking for as long as you can."

Amanda took a deep breath. "Okay."

The phone rang distantly, echoing on the speakerphone. Alan picked up. "Hello?"

"Yes, sheriff?" Amanda's voice shook slightly, but she kept her head. "I ran the test you requested."

"And?"

"The results were inconclusive."

"What do you mean inconclusive?" His voice reverberated with controlled impatience.

"The sample was contaminated."

"Contaminated? How?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she replied tensely. "There are a number of factors, like, did whoever took the sample wear gloves? What did the subject eat for lunch? Did he brush his teeth?"

Every suggestion infuriated the sheriff even more. "What does that even matter?"

"Well," Amanda became more confident. This was her area of expertise. "Anything in the mouth can mess with the sample."

"Is there any way to get a good sample?"

"Blood samples are more reliable," she continued.

Deeks winced. The only way someone would get blood from Andy was over his dead body.

The sheriff laughed. "Blood?"

"Blood," she confirmed.

The line clicked; the sheriff had hung up.

"There you have it," Amanda sighed, her breath shaking as she came down.

"Thanks; lay low until this is over," Deeks ordered.

Kensi's phone vibrated, indicating a text from Eric.

1212 Sycamore Lane.

Pedal to the metal, the SUV screeched into action. "Eric, we're on our way."

Kayla hated waiting. She itched to do something—anything. Her eyes flickered to the shelf where she hid her berretta.

No, Kayla, she reminded herself. No one will die today.

Pat was much better at the waiting game. She had raided the fridge, switched on the TV, and was currently engrossed in The Price is Right. With nothing better to do, Kayla grabbed a soda and joined her.

Both women jumped as a phone went off—Kayla's. She dove for the coffee table, nearly knocking over Pat's drink.

"Marty?" she asked frantically. "Any news?"

"What does 1212 Sycamore Lane mean to you?"

"That's my home…I mean, that's where I grew up. What about it?"

"That's where your dad is. We're headed there now."

"I'm coming too," she insisted.

"Hell, no," Deeks growled. "You need to stay away."

Kayla scoffed defiantly. "Like you can stop me."

"You're right, I can't stop you. But I want you safe."

"And I want Andy safe!"

"I want him safe, too!" Deeks yelled. "But I can't focus if you aren't safe!"

"I can help you."

"Absolutely not!"

Kayla sighed and hung up. "Stupid son of a bitch," she muttered before looking Pat in the eye. "You coming?"

"Where?" Pat's face was unreadable.

"1212 Sycamore Lane."

Deeks leapt into action the moment they arrived at the house, directing officers around the perimeter. It was odd, seeing Kayla's childhood home. From what he could tell, it the outside was well kept. The grass was green and cut, the siding clean and painted. For a house without a woman in it, it was clear to Deeks that a service was responsible for the upkeep. The view through the windows was obscured by copious amounts of dust and dirt. There was no way to tell if anyone was even inside.

Jocelyn greeted him from her post with a grim smile; he returned it appreciatively.

He felt Kensi's presence at his side. "You okay?"

Nodding, Deeks set his lips grimly. "I'll be better when this is over."

Kensi squeezed his shoulder in silent affirmation. Circling his finger, the SWAT team fell in line behind him. Everyone was clad in Kevlar; SWAT completed the outfits with helmets and masks. Deeks, on the other hand, wore his NCIS-emblazoned vests, spare gun strapped to his thigh. Kensi gave him a nod; the team moved forward.

BANG!

The sound echoed along the cul-de-sac, setting the entire team running for the perimeter.

BANG!

Again, the gunshot tore through the air. The door opened, revealing Alan Miles, shotgun in hand.

"I want to talk to my daughter!" he declared.

Deeks grabbed the loudspeaker from an officer. "Never going to happen, Alan!" he called back.

"I won't speak to anyone but my daughter!" Stepping back into the house, he slammed the door behind him.

Cursing under his breath, Marty turned to Kensi.

"Well?" she asked.

Sam and Callen peeled up in the Charger, running up to Deeks.

"Any progress?" Callen asked.

"He insists on talking to Kayla," Kensi supplied.

"Then let him talk to me!"

Every face whipped around to see Kayla duck under the police line. Deeks ran up to her, grabbing her arm.

"What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay away."

"I can help!"

"No!"

Kensi touched his shoulder. "Deeks," she breathed, eyes insistent.

Years together as partners made it easy for him to decipher her unspoken entreaty. Sam and Callen, too, looked at him sharply.

"No!" he repeated. It was more protest than order.

"Marty," Kayla breathed, squeezing his hand, "I can do this."

His jaw tensed, eyes flashing. "Okay." The word ripped from his lips as if it killed him.

Kayla nodded, releasing Deeks.

"You're wearing a vest."

"Marty, I've been trained for this."

"It doesn't make it any easier."

A cop supplied the vest as Kayla removed her coat—her favorite, Marty's green jacket. He took it from her reverently. It was her security blanket. She nodded at him; he didn't remark on the pallor of her face. Finally dressed in the vest, Deeks pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Stay safe, baby," he sighed, placing a chaste kiss on her lips.

"For you?" she laughed, "Always."

"I'm here, Alan!" she called, stepping in front of the barricade. "You wanted to talk to me."

There was silence, then the door opened slowly. The sheriff stood at the ready, shotgun cocked against his shoulder.

"Kayla?"

"Come on, Alan, you aren't going to shoot me."

The gun wavered in his hands, but he didn't lower it.

"Why won't you call me dad?"

Kayla bit her lip. "You know why. No father treats their daughter the way you treated me."

The earpiece buzzed in her ear. "Kayla, you need to be nicer to him."

Cursing under her breath, she smiled tightly at Alan. "I heard you were under investigation."

"You care?"

"Of course I do, dad."

"There, you called me dad!" he exclaimed.

"Dad, where's Andy?" Kayla pressed.

"I just want us to be a family."

Kayla furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"You left me and took my son with me."

"Dad," she bit the name out like poison, "Andy is not your son."

"Yes, he is, and I'll have proof within the hour."

"How?" she demanded. "Where is Andy?"

"I'm running a DNA sample."

Once again, Marty's voice buzzed in her ear. "He ran the DNA. It came up negative."

"Dad," she repeated the name to establish a tenuous connection, "we got the results—they were negative."

"What do you mean? The tech said it was inconclusive."

"She lied."

"You're lying!" he accused. "You and your idiot boyfriend!"

"Dad," she sighed, "Andy is Marty and my son."

"No! You were only mine! No one else had you!"

The majority of the cops on scene gagged, realizing what they were talking about.

"You're wrong. I slept with Marty the night before I left the academy."

"You're lying."

"I hadn't been taking my birth control; I didn't think I'd need it."

"No."

"Yes," she breathed. "Andy is Marty's son."

Alan shook; the gun slipped from his shoulder. Kayla took the opportunity to move forward slowly.

"He may not be your son, but he is you grandson," she pleaded. "Please, where is he?"

"I just wanted to have my family again," he sighed, tired.

"I know." She reached out, taking the muzzle of the gun in her hand. "We are a family."

One step more, she thought, and I'll have him.

"But you won't let me. Why?"

"Because you hurt me." Kayla took the gun, holding it away from them. An officer ran forward, retrieving it.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, reaching for her.

Deeks tensed, but Alan simply wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Kayla remained stiff in the embrace. "I forgive you."

For a moment, the lie hung in the air. It nearly killed her to say it. The tension could be cut with a knife.

"Good," Alan whispered in her ear.

Quick as a flash, he whipped her around and pressed a gun—where did he get that gun?—to her temple.

Deeks slapped himself in the forehead for missing the spare weapon tucked in the small of the sheriff's back.

"Alan?" he yelled. "Alan, let her go!"

"Why? So she can lie to me some more?"

"She's not lying!"

"I just wanted to be a family!"

"I believe you!" he called back. "But that's not going to happen."

"Let her go and we'll talk."

"We'll see about that," Alan whispered in Kayla's ear. "It's fun, holding you like this."

"Shut up," she spat.

He nipped at her ear as she felt the bile rise in her throat. "Just like old times, right?"

"Is this how you treat family?" she spat back.

"You always were a bitch."

Deeks glanced at Kensi. His partner's face mimicked his disgust.

Kayla's skin crawled, but her patience was growing thin. "Yeah, well, you were always an asshole."

"You see," he rambled, "I have nothing to live for. No job, no son, no daughter. You hate me. Andy hates me. I'm about to go on trial. My life is over."

"Come on, Dad," she pleaded, "just let me go. We can talk about this."

"No. The talking's over."

Alan's grip tightened around her waist; he pressed the gun harder against her head. Deeks recognized the change in tone. Dark, dead, cold. The sheriff was about to make a move.

"Kayla…" he warned.

Kayla understood; she had heard that tone before. It was now or never. Alan's hand shifted against the gun. She nodded—a shift nearly imperceptible to anyone else, but Deeks understood.

A gunshot crackled through the air. Kayla froze. Was she dead?

But no, Alan slumped against her, bullet hold in the center of his forehead. Shaking, Kayla laid him on the ground. Blood poured from the back of his skull—the hole was bigger than a softball—and she gagged.

Marty's arms were around her, pulling Kayla away from the body. He whispered in her ear, quieting her, soothing her. His hand smoothed her hair, the other caressed her back.

"Hey, hey, hey," he crooned, walking her away from the scene. "It's okay. I'm here."

"Andy!" The realization hit her like a sack of bricks. Their one link to Andy's location was dead.

"It's okay; we'll find him," he reassured her, but he was just as uncertain as she.

"Will we?"

But just as she asked, her cell phone rang. She pressed talk, but it took a moment to greet the caller.

"Hello?"

"We have you son."

Kayla's face went whiter—as if it could—and Deeks grabbed the phone from her.

"Listen, you son of a bitch. The sheriff is dead. So if you don't want to dig yourself a bigger hole than you're already in, you need to hand over my son—yes, my son—and I might consider a deal."

A sick smile stretched across Marty's face and Kayla could tell the kidnappers were easily intimidated.

"So, where's my kid?"

Andy could tell something was wrong. The kidnappers' voices were hushed; despite the blindfold, he could tell they were huddled in the corner.

"We could still make money from this!"

"Just let him go; we're in enough hot water as it is."

"Look, the original plan was ransom. We can still go with it. You agreed to it!"

"I didn't know the dad was a cop!"

"You can bow out, but I'm making the call." The phone beeped. "You can make the money, or you can bail. Your choice."

The younger one sighed. "Fine."

Andy tried to make out the phone conversation, but the older kidnapper went outside. The call didn't last long, but when he reappeared, all confidence was gone.

"Dude, we have to get out of here." From the sound of shuffling around the room, Andy could tell he was gathering their things.

"What? I thought you said we'd make some money off this!"

"The sheriff's dead, and the kid's dad is dead set on finding us. We need to move."

"What about the kid?"

"Leave him. They'll find him soon enough."

Within minutes, his captors were gone, peeling away in their vehicle. Andy breathed a sigh of relief through the gag. Stretching his jaw, he tested the fabric. The material was rank and coated in grease. Though his mouth was small, the gag still left him some wiggle room. Fighting his gag reflex, he pressed his tongue against the fabric, chewing it forward at the same time. After what seemed like an eternity, he spat it out.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned his attention to the zip ties securing his hands to the chair. Even without sight, he could tell he lacked the strenth to break the plastic, so he began sawing the restraints against the chair's wood. It was slow going. His wrists smarted as the ties cut through his skin. Blood seeped through the wounds, but he kept on.

Ah! One arm broke free and he wripped the blindfold off. He glanced around frantically. The boathouse was a veritable cornucopia of tools to cut himself loose, but they all were out of reach.

The blaring of sirens filled the air and Andy's hopes soared.

"I'm in here!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, but the sound was drowned out by the sirens.

Boots pounded on the dock and he screamed again. The muffled sound made its way through the thin boards of the boathouse. Kayla pulled Marty's old jacket closer, listening. He had told her to wait with the EMTs back at her father's house, but she would have none of it.

"Cut the sirens!" Deeks ordered. The officers obeyed instantly. "Andy?"

"Dad!"

Deeks rushed toward the sound. "Andy!"

It was like a sick game of Marco Polo. "Dad!"

The door was locked, but Deeks kicked through the rotting wood, Kayla right behind him. There, in the center of the room, sat Andy.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, waving his freed hand.

Kayla rushed past him, as Marty did a visual sweep of the room. Satisfied, he tucked the gun into his leg holster and rushed to Andy's side.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Kayla cupped his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

One eye was markedly blackened, but the marks on Andy's knuckles showed that he had given as good as he got. "I'm fine, Mom," he sighed happily.

Deeks grabbed a filet knife and cut Andy loose. Once free, he collapsed into his father's arms. "I got you, Sport, I got you."

Kayla embraced them both as mother and father sighed with relief.