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AnniKay

Sam/Mercedes/Puck

Disclaimer: I own Nothing…Murphy, Falchuk, and Brennen along with Fox and others own this fandom and all the characters there in…Anything you recognize obviously belongs to them

Summary: As Commune and their friends begin their junior year of college they begin to understand that they are taking their first real steps into their future.

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Boredom Busting Fic Rec
The Comeback Kid by grimeysociety
(MCU Fic)

Chapter 12

Gaslighter (The Chicks)
Corbin Richardson Point of View

I was, by nature, a very patient man. One did not amass the level of wealth I had cultivated without having the ability to wait for the correct time to seize an opportunity. Still, I was actually finding it difficult to hole to my timeline as we were rapidly approaching my end game. Thankfully, distractions were always readily available. In that instance, the distractions came readily. The first was even altruistic. Nicholas decided to end his relationship with Arielle Harris-Tucker. He was able to find an unimpeachable cause for the breakup almost too easily. The reality was that Ms. Harris-Tucker was vehemently against Nicholas's desire to have children, even through the use of a surrogate. Unfortunately, we both knew that should Nicholas have left her understanding that as the cause, she would have the leverage necessary to create a stink that would be more impactful on his life than he, or I, wanted at that time. So, instead, he had his lawyers draw up a prenuptial agreement so aggressive and punitive that no woman in her right mind would have signed it. Surprisingly, Arielle was actually less insane than I had though. The prenup gambit worked and Arielle took that bait, she broke up with Nicholas without pitching a public fit. Since she did not raise much of a fuss, he was kind enough to allow her to keep the condo he had purchased as a vacation home for her in Isabela del Mar, Puerto Rico. I thought it was a bit too kind. But honestly, for Nicholas, the two hundred thousand dollars he spent on the place was recouped in two good hours of work.

I had, of course, provided my friend with a sympathetic ear. After a suitable time of mourning the end of that relationship, we gave it a month just for appearances sake. Nicholas had realized that what he felt for Arielle was never love, not in any lasting manner. He loved himself and his newly realized duty to his father's line far more than he could ever have loved her. When an appropriate amount of time had passed, I threw a small soiree. My beautiful Toccara was nice enough to invite several of her model friends that we both felt were suitable for Nicholas. By the end of the evening, Nicholas had already formed an attachment with a beautiful young woman who he found perfect. I had to agree. She was perfect for Nicholas' needs. Bianca Silverman wasn't primarily a model. Nor was she very interested in maintaining her secondary career. She had used modeling to pay for her education. Each of her two appearances on the same show that had rocketed Toccara into the mainstream had paid for her bachelor's degree in secondary education and her master's degree in educational curriculum development. Best of all for Nicholas, she wanted to be a mother very badly. She hoped to have several children and wanted to have her first within two years. Nicholas was certainly on board with that. Ultimately, her dream was to be able to successfully juggle being both a mother and a teacher. She had even obtained her National Board Certification as an educator so she would be able to teach anywhere she chose to live.

That certainly appealed to Nicholas since he never cared to live in the same place for longer than five to seven years. Perhaps best of all for Nicholas, Bianca was openly bi-sexual and, given what Toccara had been able to glean from conversations with the other model over the years, enjoyed dominant masculine lovers and very tiny, very submissive female lovers. According to model scuttlebutt, Bianca had been forced to let others take a few opportunities that, at six foot one, with a curvy yet thin figure, regal features, and the golden skin and long curls that spoke to her Black mother and White father, she would have been perfect for by bruising from an evening of sex rough enough to satisfy the twenty-something young woman.

I was a bit surprised when I discovered that I liked Bianca as well. She not to my tastes, but she was well educated and well spoken. Yet she had a certain level of the unexpected to her. As was evidenced by the tussle she'd had with a Broadway actress several years before. Toccara said that of the women present that night, Bianca was the one she most liked and could stand their lives running adjacently. It seemed funny to me that Toccara never stated that she wanted a long term relationship, the secondary candidate for my true Nubian goddess simply made statements that could be taken as assuming that we were going to be together for a very long time. I allowed it. After all, her comments suited my plans perfectly.

Nevertheless, even given the distractions provided by helping Nicholas and grooming Toccara, I found myself gladdened that my months of planning and almost two years of obsessing were coming to fruition. Rachel Berry had proven herself to be the most useful idiot I'd ever encountered. Data mining the want to be pop star had been well worth the restraint it took not to have her removed from the world before she could even accidentally reproduce. It would have been no great loss to the world and her fathers had already replaced her. Through information gleaned from her inauspicious rantings, I'd found it necessary to change my plans dramatically. Originally, in deference to my former colleagues in the music industry, I had planned to abscond with my precious chocolate prize after the last show of the tour, which was scheduled to occur near the end of November in Toronto. The Berry bitch had let slip that Mercedes Jones was fluent in French. She'd been taking the language since she was very young and spoke it like a Parisian native. I was, at best, conversant in business French, but I would not be able to have the necessary control I would need in a Canadian city known for being culturally and linguistically diverse.

However, I was fluent in idiomatic Mexican Spanish, as well as several other dialects within the Spanish language. Given that the tour only had a single stop in Mexico, I knew that I needed to pull my planning forward an entire month. I was able to find the appropriate number of men who were willing to handle moving the precious cargo from the soccer stadium to a private airfield nearby. There were many available to choose from and I fully planned to utilize decoys to further muddy the waters. Moving things forward had proved propitious as it meant that none of Mercedes' extra eyes in the shape of her extraneous friends would be with the tour for that stop as they may have been for the one scheduled for right before Thanksgiving.

Upon reaching my decision to have my obsession and keep my distraction as well…I'd been following Dr. Becher's mandates to begin 'softening' Tocarra's psyche to make it more malleable for her work. Contrary to established doctrine on the subject, Dr. Becher was very, very specific…I was not to lie to Toccara about small things that were easily verified. Dr. Becher said that it would be counterproductive. Instead, I told her truths that made me seem as if I was the most trustworthy man she'd ever dated. From there it was a simple matter to convince her of my superiority over all her friends, by the expedient use of the truth of how much more successful I was than all of them. Once that was accomplished, it was easy to convince her that the fact that she was with me elevated her above them as well. From there, it was almost too easy to isolate her from her closer friends and begin to shape how she perceived her place in my world. There were obstacles…but I found I had a most unwitting partner in her agent. Apparently, the trips to Celebrity Fit Club, and other fitness based jobs that were suggested in an effort to force Toccara to change her body to be more mainstream had, over the years, already undermined her sense of self-worth enough that I was able to slip in and rebuild her into the image I desired even more easily that I'd estimated.

Thinking about it from a different angle, her agent was not my only assistant in my endeavor. I found her friends strangely easy to sweep aside. Even before I'd officially started the process of eliminating unapproved outside contact, her friends were rationalizing away all the subtle signs of what I was doing. When her manner of dress changed…showing off her incredible body even more… I heard one of her closest friends comment, "She's dressing like that because that's how he wants her to look when she's on his arm. Shit, she makes him look good. He may not be the hottest guy, but he is tall, and he's got all that money. Hell, if he wanted to dress me up, I'd change my style too."

And that was the least obnoxious comment I heard from her so called friends. As I pressed more and more of my preferences upon her psyche, her flirting style evolved. She started to use subtle testing methods that allowed us to find people who found her intriguing while not looking to most of the room as if she were doing anything untoward at all. Apparently, Toccara changing her traditional boisterous flirting style was, somehow, expected if she wanted to become a wife rather than just a girlfriend. I understood that I had a tenuous relationship with sanity, but even I knew that the changes she was undergoing were huge red flags for what was happening in our relationship. Honestly, everything went so smoothly, I couldn't help but feel that I had done Toccara something of a favor, culling her away from the herd of sheep that she called friends. Still, it worked to my advantage, so, it didn't behoove me to complain.

As the time drew nearer, I made sure that all of my secondary plans were in place. At the beginning of October, I surprised Toccara with a vacation to my home in Montenegro. I had, of course, gone with her, but once Dr. Becher had begun her work, she shooed me away. With the softening I had done to prepare my 'girlfriend' for Dr. Becher, the good doctor was sure that Toccara would be ready to take her proper place in my world within three months at the latest. I wasn't happy with the timeline considering that Mercedes was slated to join us near the end of the same month, but I understood that certain things could not be rushed. I told our friends that I'd returned for a business matter and would be joining her again within the week. The truth of the matter was that at the end of the week, I instead headed to my home in Micronesia to prepare for both Mercedes and Toccara to join me there when Dr. Becher finished her work. After I had escorted Mercedes to Dr. Belcher, I would be able to visit the Montenegro house as needed. But I was not an idiot. If Dr. Belcher felt that my presence would lengthen her process, it was in my best interest to stay elsewhere until she said otherwise.

So, while I was unable to be with either of my chocolate delights, I kept myself amused by following the mentions of KAMA in the press. I read the reviews of their tour stops that appeared in the local papers at each city they visited. I had hired a digital news clipping service through one of my shell accounts that was dropped into a miscellaneous Gmail account shortly after our second meeting. I hadn't really kept my hand in the music industry and yet, I knew that Lyor had found a goldmine in KAMA and it wasn't just my obsession with their female lead that gave me that impression. Following the tour in a sensible and sane fashion allowed me to understand the group's practices well enough to concoct a foolproof plan. Thankfully, I didn't have much longer to wait. I was a patient person, but even my exorbitant patience could run out when my desires were so great.

White Flag (Bishop Briggs)
Mercedes Point of View

I was happy to have met the President and the entire first family. It was an amazing opportunity, and it was so enriching that I found it hard to put into words. But I was so happy to have that behind us. We had midterms the very next week. For me, that meant three papers and three exams at Columbia, plus three performance pieces that I had to prepare for Juilliard. That was in addition to two concerts in Canada. I was very grateful that God answered my prayers and the asshole that was my stalker didn't play any of his fucked-up games during that time. I was able to get my papers completed by Monday evening. Then Blaine and I swapped our completed essays for editing. It was such a habit for us that we didn't even think about it. As soon as we finished what we considered our 'final' draft of a paper…we shot it off to each other via email for a last round of edits. Thankfully, Blaine only had two papers that semester. Unfortunately, we only had our psych class together, though…honestly…reading his Environmental Biology essay taught me quite a bit. By Tuesday afternoon, all our papers were completely finished and turned in. that allowed us to concentrate on studying for the actual exams on Tuesday evening and Sam, Noah and I incorporated some practicing of our pieces for our Juilliard mid-terms into the evening practices for the Tijuana tour stop that Saturday night. I was fairly confident that I hadn't bombed any of the tests I had to take…not even my calculus exam. Online classes were useful, but more of a pain in the ass than I had anticipated. Thankfully, one of my daughters ate mathematics for breakfast. Nikki would never cheat for me…and I would never ask her to do so…but she was amazing at helping me understand the theories and theorems. And heck, whether they called them theorems in calculus that was still what they were. Anyway, I was going to be satisfied if I could eek a decent B out of that class. It was a necessity for my major, or I'd have avoided the damn class like the freaking plague.

Since I'd taken the midterm during the week, I happily had that Saturday morning of the Tijuana concert off. That fit perfectly into our plans. Thanks to Rangeman and their amazingly huge corporate plane, we were able to fly to Mexico immediately after our last Juilliard class and arrive shortly after twelve thirty Saturday morning, Manhattan time. Warner had flown the stage crew and the stage itself down on Wednesday so they were in place and would be ready for our sound checks. Todrick had texted us when he got there on Thursday. He was certainly enjoying himself. When we got there and checked into our Marilyn Monroe suite, I understood. The KTOWER Urban Boutique Hotel was really, really, really nice. I was ready to kiss Hudson for how lovely that room was. Of course, Noah was the point person for all our communication needs in Tijuana…including tipping out bellhop and personal concierge. We showered off our flight, made love and fell asleep. Fortunately, having slept for most of the flight, we were up early enough to get the entire band and KAMA crew together to drive to the beach for a run and Pilates session. Moss didn't look like the Pilates type, but he was apparently, a man of hidden talents. It was hilarious, of all of us, the one person who had the hardest time with the run was Stephanie Plum. She looked like she was in decent shape…but it turned out that she hated running even more than I did.

After we were tortured for most of the morning, we had brunch and then everyone's work out gear was switched for swimwear. The temps got up to almost eighty, so we all had big fun. We quickly found out that the water was a little too cold to play in. But we still got to spend some time on the beach, so I was happy. We overstayed our welcome a little bit and had to do our soundcheck and run through still sandy as hell. We showered in our dressing rooms and got into our stage apparel with little time to waste. There was a healthy glow to most of our skin as we performed that night. Todrick was on fire during his set. Cassidy kept the crowd hyped up during her set it was great. Given the slightly cooler evening, we were in a modified version of what Bubbie and Kurt called West Coast Alternative One. That meant I was warm enough thanks to some semi-creative layering. I wore the skin colored thick ass body stocking, regular black tights and thicker, lined black tights, under a black romper with floral embroidered flare sleeves that showcased some seriously cute pink and deeper rose roses. Kurt had managed to get his fabulous FIT crew to put embroidery down the legs of the lined tights to match the detailing on the flutter sleeves, so I didn't look ratchet as hell. The hot rose pink, Betsy Johnson, 'two piece', block heeled, sandals matched the darker roses in the embroidery perfectly and the block heels had been reinforced to make sure that I could do all of our dance moves without breaking an ankle or something. The romper had a super deep neckline that was 'held together' with a black tie. So, under it, Bubbie had sewn a bra the same color as the shoes into the body stocking. I thought it was scandalous…but Puck and Sam LOVED it.

Noah and Sam were just happy that Bubbie and Kurt had put them in shirts the same shade of deep, dark green as the sparse amount of leaves in the embroidery. The shirts were slightly different in their cut and Sam's was buttoned up while Puck's was open showing off the black tee, he was rocking underneath. Puck's jeans were dark washed blue jeans while Sam's were actively black. Sam loved it whenever he got to wear one of his pairs of cowboy boots and Mexico was a perfect venue for them. Puck was in black moto boots. Our first set went smoothly, but as soon as we took the stage, after Cass's set and our apparel change, I began feeling unsettled. Something was wrong and I couldn't put a finger on what. The set changes all went smoothly. There was nothing specific that I could see that seemed out of place. The audience was loving our performance. They sang along to Bailamos and Ahira Quien when Sam and Noah gave them their amazing, respective covers. Everyone swayed and sang with Santana and Xena when they killed Besame Mucho. And yet…I wasn't able to shake a vague feeling of approaching badness.

The weirdly ominous feeling never left me. It came to fruition just as we were returning to the stage for our final encore. All hell broke loose. There were alarms going off, a small earthquake or something shook the stadium. A stream of Spanish came over the speakers…I may not have been able to speak much Spanish…but even I could translate the word 'bomba'. Suddenly we were being hustled back off stage and out the back of the stadium by large, though unfamiliar, men in black. When I had seen all the extra security all evening, I assumed that Ranger had brought in some extra men given that this was the only show where I was handicapped by the language barrier. There was so much noise and commotion that Noah, Sam and I got separated by the insanity of people trying to evacuate the arena. It didn't take me much time at all to realize that I couldn't see any of our stage crew. I had grown accustomed to never being left alone with strangers. They had decided that amongst themselves and we all knew the very good reason. No sooner had I turned to ask where the others were, than I felt my left arm grabbed and the sting of a needle sinking into my skin. It wasn't instantaneous as it seems on TV. I had twenty to thirty seconds, maybe as much as a minute, to try and fight. I managed to kick one of the assholes in the dick. Another caught a punch to his throat. Then my vision grayed out to darkness, my body went limp and I knew nothing.

Click Click Boom (Saliva)
Ambient PoV

On the night of Saturday, October twenty-fourth, two thousand-fifteen, the arena at Estadio Caliente in Tijuana Baja California in Mexico was shaken when four different small improvised explosive devices were detonated in different parts of the of the soccer stadium. Two, simultaneous command IEDs, both constructed with small amounts of dynamite and nitroglycerine and larger amounts of pentane, exploded on opposite sides of the stadium. They had been hidden in the bottom of trash cans centered equidistant between the bathrooms and the concession stands. These two bombs caused very loud explosions that sent shivers of movement throughout the entire front portion of the building. It set off the earthquake alarms and, at first, it seemed to have caused large amounts of damage. Later it would be revealed that though both explosions had caused fires that burned bright and hot, neither had caused much structural damage at all. However, both devices had acted exactly as intended. Creating an evacuation scenario that sent the over twenty-five thousand concert attendees rushing for the nearest. Minutes after the first devices went off, another explosion took place outside the front of the venue. That explosion created added havoc by destroying several police vehicles and making it almost impossible for services to arrive quickly to help the frightened concert goers as they tried to escape the smoky building.

The final IED was actually the largest and the one most designed to cause damage. A large Igloo cooler concealed the explosive device. The cooler was hidden in the midst of the stack of refreshment coolers next to the craft service table where the stage hands road crew and the promoter provided security guards as well as a few Rangemen were gathered as their services were not yet known to be needed. The fact that it was the last bomb to detonate saved the lives of several of the promoter's security guards and all of the Rangeman employees as they had all rushed to go check the safety of their primary clients as soon as the first boom shook the building. Unfortunately, a few of them were not completely out of the blast zone, so they were unable to escape injury all together. But none were seriously injured. The injured Rangemen were even able to help with the triage of the injured and the evacuation of the KAMA and Warner personnel. As soon as Cassidy, Dee, Trina, Todrick, his dancers and background singers, and all the uninjured roadies were assembled at the rendezvous point near the tour buses, Bobby drafted 'Moss' to help him with the wounded while Ranger, Tank and Lester returned to the locker room area to assess the situation and find the missing members of the KAMA stage crew as well as the three members of KAMA themselves.

Finding the dressing rooms and locker rooms empty, they made their way to the stage, entering the arena from the side of the stage closest to the craft area, Ranger, Tank and Lester were angered to find first Artie, Justin and Dave unconscious on the ground near the edge of the soccer field. Seeing the trio, it was easy to surmise that Dave and Justin had hurriedly carried Artie off the stage, believing that his chair on the grass would hinder their evacuation efforts rather than helping. Nearer the stage, the Dam Bros, Arjun, Simeon, Jackson and Joseph were fighting their way back to consciousness. They had been further from whatever knockout gas or drug cloud they had all been incapacitated by. There, the army vets, found Artie's wheelchair. The dancers and background singers that were his friends had wanted to ensure that the guitarist and promising filmmaker would have his dignity and independence restored as soon as possible. Not seeing any of the women that sang and danced with the men on the ground was causing the trio of security professionals to begin to feel the first inklings of worry rather than just anger.

Ranger signaled Lester to remain with the unconscious and semi-conscious band members while he and Tank continued to search for their 'primaries'. The stage was clear, however, upon heading down the stairs furthest away from KAMA's buses and their dressing rooms, gave them a clearer and even more troublesome picture. Noah Puckerman and Sam Evans had not been taken down by a gas or drug. At least not entirely. Both young men had bruised knuckles and looked as if they had tried to stop whoever had ultimately taken not only Mercedes but every female who had graced the stage with KAMA. In total, thirteen women were now missing, including both Hudson and Stephanie Plum. That moment, all the veterans realized that not only was the clock already ticking, but the anticipated game had completely changed.

Ranger Manoso had personally called each of the parents or emergency contacts of the missing women of KAMA. The first call from Ranger had gone out to the family of his missing primary. Benton Jones was awakened by the ringing of his home phone at four AM Eastern Standard Time. In those next few minutes, he came far too close to fully being able to understand how Burt had felt when the mechanic had gotten that late-night phone call not all that long ago. As soon as the security expert disconnected to make his next call, Benton was out the bed rousing the entire household. Soon enough the Lopez, Pierce, Abrams and Motta's homes received similar notification and were in similar stated of manic packing and decision making. Within minutes of ending a call no parent ever wants to receive, Don Motta was back on the phone making the necessary arrangements for immediate travel down to Mexico. As he accomplished that feat, Sue was on her phone unfortunately waking Shelby and Dave to ensure care for their younger daughter. Shelby was a true friend and she and Dave rushed over to pick up Jeanie and her necessities so Sue and Don wouldn't lose any travel time. Sue was calmly packing for herself and her husband. The cheerleading coach and principle was far less worried than many of the other parents. She had not only seen the ruthlessness in many of the young women who had been kidnapped, she had personally nurtured their aggression herself. In fact, when it came to Lopez, Sue almost felt bad for her kidnappers.

The next calls Don made were to the Jones, Evans, Altmans, Lopezes, Pierces and Abrams…he explained that a private plane would be awaiting them all at the Allen County Airport that would take the fourteen parents to Tijuana. "We'll be able to board at seven thirty. Though, we won't be able to leave until a quarter after eight." Benton tried to express his gratefulness, but Don Motta cut him off. "There is no need for gratitude, Benton. We both know that if you had the connections to arrange this flight, you would do so for me, even if Mercedes was safe and sound. Besides, your daughter has treated Sugar like family for the last two years. That makes you all family to me. There is no debt between family."

During Don and Benton's conversation, a fully packed Sarah arrived with George and Rebekah, both of whom were carrying overnight bags and backpacks. Jake followed them in with his backpack and his WMHS Titan red duffle bag. The teenager would be taking care of Triple S while their parents were in Mexico helping to search for Mercedes and their other family and friends. He would get back up the next day in the form of Ryder Lynn. Ryder's parent and their Coaches Bieste and Fisher were also going to stick their heads in when the boys needed their help. Ryder and Jake were mad as hell that their friends and family were in danger, but both were more than a little relieved that it had happened after they'd taken the ACT earlier that same day. They both knew that had they been as worried and angry as they were in those hours, they would have bombed the important test. While the two teens were capable of handling the three tweens for what they all hoped would be a day or two at most, Hiram and Antwan were more than happy to take care of Mara, Maea and Sloane. Both men remembered how much help the Joneses and Evanses had offered them when they needed them…how could they do any less.

Much had been accomplished in very little time. Three and a half hours after Benton was awoken by the ringing of a telephone, every parent was aboard a large private jet on a Lima, Ohio airfield. They were going to find their daughters and support their sons during the search. Then, well, the bastard responsible had better hope and pray that law enforcement got their hands on him before a single soul seated on that plane.

The men of Rangeman were nothing if not efficient. Within an hour they had managed to get the injured local security guards, catering staff and roadies off to the hospital. The core team had gathered up their uninjured crew and teammates…and those who'd only needed a band-aid…and returned to the boutique hotel to share knowledge and begin their search. They all knew that time was of the essence. "Penelope has already compiled all the footage she was able to pull from the security cameras at the stadium as well as the web cams that we put up in the dressing rooms and backstage areas. She is going through it…but it may well take some time. There are a lot of cameras and she's going back twelve to eighteen hours on the internal cameras." Derek Morgan gave his report succinctly. "What we do currently know that there were at least four large, white vans labeled as if they were ambulances outside the northern back exit of the arena. They were loaded quickly with thirteen very much human sized black packages and hauled ass within minutes after the craft station bomb went off."

Tank shook his head. "Dave came to first. As they were making their way into the tunnel to take them back to the dressing rooms, an aerosol mist rained down on them. It made their heads swim for a while then it was lights out for all of them. The other guys tell similar stories. Puck and Sam were sprayed with the mist by men they though were additional Rangeman security. Darcy was right to change our logo. I know that at first I bitched about the cost, but the muthafuckers had on black cotton tee shirts with the old blocky Rangeman logo. They divided and conquered because the girls didn't even see that they were in danger."

Junior chimed in next. "It's not clear if they are just being opportunistic or if they actually have something to do with tonight's bombing…but the American Identity Movement, a Neo-Nazi-slash-White supremacy cult out of the Dallas, Fort Worth area has taken credit for the bombs." He rolled his eyes. "They are the same group that was protesting KAMA's relationship outside the Fort Worth concert this summer. They've gained a new public face. They tapped Chadwick Evans and has him speaking the racist garage they love to spew."

"Chadwick Evans?" Morgan asked in some confusion.

"Sam's cousin on his father's side. They've never actually met because Sander hasn't spoken to any of the bigoted Evans in years." Artie said as he rolled in with Dave and the rest of the KAMA and Rangeman contingent that had needed to be looked over by medical personnel. "Every time he pops his head out of his Tennessee hovel, Mercedes rage cleans the entire brownstone." Everyone could see the strain on his face even as he tried to make light of a bad situation.

Just as Artie finished his explanation, Hector and Grunt stalked into the conference room Rangeman had commandeered for the rest of their stay. Their hands and pockets bulged with mounds of easily recognizable clothes and shoes. "These were tossed into the center of a round-about about a mile from the concert venue. We found both Mercedes and Hudson's tracking bracelets. If the kidnappers tossed the ladies jewelry or any tech they had on them, it was long gone by the time we got there." Grunt explained. The seriousness of the situation was too dire for the usual teasing about his unique voice.

"So, they have the girls…our girls…all of whom are now pretty fucking close to being naked, and therefore tracker-less. What the fuck do we do now?" Sam spoke up from where he and Puck were hanging onto their sanity by the slimmest of threads.

Ranger caught both of the younger men's eyes. "Hudson and Mercedes each had two trackers on them. One they knew about and one that they didn't. But both were fairly easy to find and ditch. Stephanie has six. The chances of them finding all of them or being able to force her to ditch all of them is so slim as to be statistically impossible."

"Wait, Cede has two trackers? Her bracelet and what else?" Puck's confusion was mirrored in Sam's face.

Grunt smirked. "The diamond she wears in her nose when you guys are on stage. But since she doesn't wear that to classes, one of the simple diamond studs she wears to school more often than not." He was proud of his deception. "But given that the trackers are already popping up completely stationary in different locations around the city. We will need to get the local LEOs to run them down…but it is doubtful that the jewelry wasn't immediately either ditched or sold to a fence who has already redistributed the wealth."

That simple honesty sent Sam and Puck a bit deeper back into distress. Ranger shook his head. He knew that he had to nip that in the bud…despair was the enemy of progress. "We know exactly where to start. They had four vehicles. That means they divided the girls up. Without crossing the border, which would be ill-advised to say the least, that give them six options within a reasonable radius from Tijuana."

Lester shook his head. "No, it gives them five. Only a true moron would try to take them out of the city they were kidnapped from, even on a private plane at the local international airport. Hector or Grunt can check the flight plans for anything that seems like it could be our guys, but it would be a waste of manpower to go there in person."

Ranger gave a supercilious nod of acknowledgement as to the intelligence of his cousin's statement. "So, we are looking at the individual airfields with easily bribable management. Meaning all of the private airfields in Mexico." Ranger summarized.

"I know why they took Cedes. I don't like it…but we knew it was a possibility. She is that Richardson asshole's obsession. But why take the other girls?" Justin asked the room at large.

What happened between the Rangemen in the room seemed to be a non-verbal game of 'not it'. For some reason, no one really wanted to be the one to enlighten him and add to the worry already permeating the room. Finally, Junior bit the bullet. "Human trafficking." He spat in disgust. "Hudson, Kelli and Brittany would probably bring in the biggest bucks, but if offered in the right markets, each one of those women could easily bring in upwards of a hundred grand easily. Which tells us that either that rat bastard Richardson is hoping to recoup some of the money he has had to spend pursuing his obsession or the henchmen he hired decided to make as much as possible for the job. No matter which one it is…we are getting all thirteen of them back."

"How?" Noah, Sam and Artie all asked miserably.

Ranger truly understood how they were feeling. He looked over the bruises blossoming on both Noah and Sam's faces. "I have been where you are more times than I want to look back and think about. But I got my Babe back, each and every single time. I will not rest until she is back at my side and Mercedes, Santana, Brittany…all the women who were taken tonight are back by your side too."

The younger men and civilians in the room took some comfort from the truth and determination ringing through Ranger's words. Into the ensuing silence, Morgan's phone rang. "Babygirl, what have you got for me?"

"For you…oh my Chocolate Thunder…the question would need to be 'what could you ask for that I would actually say no to'. For the case…not much in the way of good news. I did a thing and was able to access Tijuana's traffic cam grid. Which, kudos to them, is a beautiful and slightly scarily invasive grid that most US cities can only hope and dream to achieve. Anywho, I was able to pick up the vans where they dropped the Dean Koontz like pile of clothes, shoes, bits and bobs. They tried to shake me by splitting up and taking four different roads, but I did manage to follow all four vans. Thanks, in no small part to extra eyes of Darcy, Haja and Brantley. The baddies drove into a huge parking garage at a condo complex. We watched all the footage we could, and the vans never left. However, about twenty minutes after the vans pulled into the garage, a massive vehicle fire was reported at that same location. Wanna guess how may and what preliminary reports of make and model say?"

"Shit. They moved the girls and torched the fake ambulances." Morgan cursed.

"Right in one, Mon Coeur. We've gone over those twenty minutes at both entrances to the garage three times. Noting comes out bigger than a Fiat Palio Adventurer, which is a smaller SUV, or a Honda City which isn't that much bigger than its American cousin the Fit." She broke then next bit of bad news. "They had to have separated the ladies down ever more. Given the number of vehicles to leave that garage in the twenty minutes they had, we could be looking for as many as thirteen different cars. Each girl in a different car. The good news is that the team is on their way to you guys now. JJ used her pull in the state department to get the clearance they needed to move ASAP."

Morgan smirked slightly at Ranger who gave a gracious nod of approval and hid his own small measure of annoyance and greater amount of relief at the extra manpower and pull having the federal agents would give them. "That means it is time to call in the local policîa too."

Ranger looked to Hector, who disappeared like a puff of smoke. Hector knew that he was the best choice. He spoke the language like the native he technically was. He wasn't 'former' US military and he definitely wasn't spec ops personnel who often ran unsanctioned missions into the country and who had made enemies among not only the drug cartels, but in the policîa too. Hector would be the Rangeman point of contact with the local LEOs until one of the feds got there to take over that duty.

As soon as that decision was reached, Daniel called in to Sam's phone. "Sam, Noah…I'm putting together a statement. Primarily because I'm losing my goddamn mind sitting here not able to do jack shit to help. Anyway…we need to shift the blame away from KAMA for the injuries incurred tonight in the bombing. Ideally, it would be great if we could put that shit exactly where it needs to go, onto that muthafucker, Richardson's, big ass head. Can I name names, or should I keep it subtle?"

"Keep it as subtle as humanly possible. In fact, do everything to make it seem like you actually believe the White supremacist group's bullshit. Right now, Richardson has twelve hostages he couldn't care less about." Tank summarized succinctly. "I get that you need to cover KAMA's asses so deep pocket seekers have to pass them by, but we don't want to send the stalker into a panic."

Morgan agreed. "It's never a good idea to give the Unsub too much advance warning. Can you reach out to JJ? She'll be able to help you with making hearts bleed without pumping too much of our information out onto front street."

"I'll do that. Noah, Sam I know you're hurting, but just hold on. Dani and Uncle Benton, they are coming. So are your parents, the girls' parents and Artie's. They will be there as soon as they can. Bubbie wants to come, but we…"

"No!" the single word seemed to be wrenched from the very depths of Noah Puckerman's soul. "Tell Bubbie and Nikki to stay there. I don't want them anywhere near these assholes. I want them and Beth and Shelby to have extra Rangeman protection." He took a deep breath. "I know that Bubbie is going to want to do something to help. If she has to move to feel useful, she can take Niks and her guards to Lima…grab David and Shelby and Beth, and whoever is still in Lima of the siblings…they all stay at our house. Finn and the Ohio crew can come and give backup to the Midwest Rangemen around their classes. But the main thing she needs to focus on is keeping the girls safe."

Ranger cosigned Puck's emotional response with pure logic. "Any of the hostages he currently has would be far more compliant if either girl enters the picture. Keeping Nikolette and Bethany out of enemy hands is of the upmost importance."

Daniel ended his call with the contingent below the border leading the search for their missing family and friends. He threw himself into doing what little he could do in that instance to help his family. After contacting Jennifer Jareau and getting her opinion on his revised press release, he sent it out to all the major news organizations with active entertainment or international desks. But he wanted to do so much more. With that as his inspiration, called his Uncles and brought each of them up to speed as well as calling Ruth Mayzer to let her know everything that he knew. Then he called his father and woke him up. Bryant Harris still had a lot of residual guilt about not helping to buffer Mercedes from the family, so his son knew that he would want to do whatever he could possibly do to help her in that moment.

Like his nephew, Ethan wanted to do whatever he could to help. So, he and Amanda made the decision to offer Ruth and Nikki a sleep over that evening. It would give Puck's ladies some extra protection and had the added benefit of getting Rangeman protection on their own two children as well just in case. It also had the added benefit of giving Ethan some one to verbally spar with to take his mind off the worries for his favorite niece. In Newark, Bryant Harris tried to think about the best manner in which to help without stepping on any toes or inadvertently harming their search. Grateful that his vegan friend was a very early riser, Bryant called in a favor he was owed from a friend. He had known Cory Booker for several years and considered the younger man to be a good friend. He knew that Booker didn't yet have the political capital of Diane Feinstein or Chuck Schumer…but his seat on the judiciary committee and the foreign relations committee would certainly prove invaluable to seeing justice done if extradition did become an issue. Bryant and Nadia were in the process of closing on their Manhattan apartment and in the early hours of that October Sunday, Bryant desperately wished that the move had already been completed. Being nearer to the KAMA offices or his brother and family would have at least given Bryant something to do other than fret and worry.

Further down the eastern seaboard, Christophe Harris found himself having similar thoughts. For years, he'd kept his head down at the family reunions hoping that none of his, rather conservative, family members would figure out his secret. He hadn't visited his younger sister and her family as often as he should because one thing that Danica Harris had always been great at was seeing through bullshit and ferreting out secrets. He had never missed sending a gift to any of his nephews or his nieces for Christmases, birthdays or other milestones. But he'd kept himself removed. In the early morning hours of an October Sunday, he was filled with regret and remorse at that choice. He found himself praying to a God he rarely called on, for the safe return of the niece he was certain he had to thank for his ultimate acceptance of himself and the happiness it had brought him. He prayed for the safe return of her band mates, knowing how deeply she would feel it if something happened to any of them. Unlike his brothers and sister, Christophe didn't have any DC connections. However, he spoke fluent Spanish and he owned a vacation home in Cabo. Even more than that, he had had several short-term relationships with several locals who had connections to the less clean side of Mexican life.

Despite it being before the ass crack of dawn, Christophe knew that his friend, Jimena, would be awake. She was a dancer, hostess and bartender at Splash Cabaret in Cabo San Lucas and kept late hours. She also had a brother who was far, far more in touch with the Black Market in Mexico. "Mena…my niece Mercedes was kidnapped from her concert in Tijuana. They took a total of thirteen girls and women. I can only think that they are planning on selling them. But I need to help her."

A string of Spanglish cursing followed. "Let me call, Antonio." She finally said quietly. "I will let you know what he can find out."

"Any information you can get for me. She's in both more danger and less than the others that were taken, her security team knows who wants her and who hired the team that took her and her crew. But he'll be in a hurry to get her. So…"

"So, the pendejos will be more careful with her, but she will be taken out of the country as quickly as they can." She summarized easily. "I will call you back."

Thankfully, it didn't take her very long at all to do so. "Antonio's crew isn't involved in this. They handle drugs and guns…but Nio refuses to touch la trata de esclavos. He may not be the best man…but he is above that nastiness. These people…they are a Tijuana crew. It is a big money job. They not only got big money on the front end…but they're getting fifteen percent of the money from the sale of twelve of the women. Talk to her people. Let them know, if they are looking around the Juana…they're beathing the wrong bushes. The crew was told to take them to six different airports in four different states. Nio couldn't find out more than that. The crew may actually be down one for oversharing. But…I hope that it helps. You may want to check with Nancy Nesto…he will be more help to you than I can."

Christophe barely said goodbye in his rush to find the phone number for either of Mercedes' husbands. He was sure her phone was either lost, stolen or packed among her things in an empty hotel room. Only after he shared every bit of information he was able to glean from his contacts as well as a contact on the more legal side of Mexico, a very closeted member of the Policía Federal Ministerial, the Mexican version of the FBI. Ernesto Bucio was married with children and super Catholic. However, once a quarter, he could be found in the dance halls of Cabo searching for a lover far more masculine than his respected wife. Christophe had known him for over a decade. After he spoke with Puck, Sam and Ranger, he used his land line to call the man that Jimena had pointed him toward. "Nesto, I gave your work information to some very important people in my life. They need your help. Please, help them. If you do, I promise that I will make sure that your daughter, Valentina, can come to the US for college even if I have to adopt her myself."

Ernesto may have been stupid enough not to realize that his wife knew every secret he ever thought to keep and simply pretended otherwise to ensure happiness for her family…but he was not by nature a stupid man. "The missing Rockstar case? We were just brought in for a briefing. Your FBI should be landing in Tijuana in a few hours. My capitán, he is sending four of us to work with them. I am among them."

"Mercedes, she is my niece. There are twelve other women who were stolen with her. They are someone's nieces, daughters, sisters, they are important to Mercedes…they are important too." Christophe was shocked to hear himself say. He knew that he was a selfish man. He rarely extended himself much, even for his family, though that had definitely changed in recent years. But still, he was surprised that he cared so much for the other girls that were taken as well.

Ernesto heard something from his acquaintance…his sometime friend…that he had never heard before, a sincere fear. Christophe Harris had always had a boldness to him that seemed to fly in the face of fear. But he was scared for his niece and her entourage. "I will make sure that they are found. I will not rest until they are home safe, my friend." With that promise, Christophe finally felt that he had done all he could to help in that moment. Feeling exhausted, he took a PTO day, had a hot shower and went back to bed.

Ranger Manoso was not a happy man. His primary was snatched from under his very nose. Even worse, the perp had also stolen twelve other women he considered to be his responsibility. One of whom was his woman. He may not have visually shown it, but he was pissed off. He sent Puck and Sam, and the rest of their crew, up to their rooms to get cleaned up and try to get some rest. The minute the room was clear of non-Rangeman personnel, he let loose with a string of expletives in six different languages. His entire plan of action needed to be completely restructured. He was glad to have the information Christophe Harris had provided before he'd sent his men out. But the new information left him feeling as if he were truly caught flat footed. As it stood, he was not sure that there would be enough men to do what would need to be done. To err on the side of caution, he called the Trenton, Miami and Boston Rangeman offices and had each send two partner pairs, stating emphatically that at least one of each pair needed to be fluent in Spanish. "Not conversant, fully fluent." That would give him an additional twelve Rangemen to add to the sixteen that were already in Tijuana. It would also add an additional six lines of communication. He also spoke with Silvio who was doing the real time monitoring of the only one of Stephanie's trackers that was still considered active. The tracker itself was a slender coil of silicon and germanium that was hidden inside a small, tortoise shell hair comb that Ranger had hidden among her mass of brunette curls when he had French braided down the long locks for her that afternoon.

Tank approached Ranger to begin constructing plan C or D. However, they were interrupted when Woody came in leading one of the Warner roadies. "Ranger, this is Hank Schmidt. He asked to talk to you."

Ranger simply raised an eyebrow and Hank spilt his guts. "I think I know who did this and I think it is partially my fault. I know this guy. Corbin Richardson. He's an asshole of the rich as hell variety. I owed him a favor and he's my brother's boss so I couldn't say no. But he was grilling me for information on Mercedes. He said it was because he wanted to get KAMA on a new label he was starting. But the things he was asking…it just seemed like it was shit that won't help him to pull KAMA from Warner. It was really personal shit. I don't really like the man and he was asking shit that wasn't any of his business and shit I didn't really know any way…so, I stopped even trying to tell him the truth. I told him what he wanted to know. just sort of twisted so he wouldn't think that I was lying even if he found out that I was wrong, ya dig? Like I told him that she was allergic to nuts. Everybody on the tour knows that it is Puck that's allergic to the things. Anything stupid thing I could think of to tell him that wasn't true, I told him. Anyway…one true thing I told him was how much she really actually cares about her people. To be honest, I didn't really want to tell him shit, but he has my balls in a vice, ya know. Anyway, I thought he was just being his usual asshole self, making me jump through hoops for his entertainment. But while I was getting stitched up, he called me, and he already knew about the kidnapping. Claimed he wanted to make sure I was okay. But he hates my ass, and the feeling is completely mutual, ya dig. There was no way he could know about the kidnapping. The explosion was on the news already…but I didn't see anything about our missing ladies. But that son of a biscuit eater, he already fucking knew. So now, I think he took Mercedes, and he took the rest of the girls because she will do what he wants to keep her girls safe, ya dig?"

Tank gave the man an assessing look. One that had caused many a skip to begin praying. "You've been helping a man to get personal information on a young lady and only now put together that it was probably not with the best of intentions?" he sounded incredulous.

"I'm not smart. Jimmy…he got the brains; I got the brawn. Dumbest thing I ever did was decide that I was too much of a man to listen to my brother when I knew he was always smarter than me and always wanted nothing but the best for me. I should have listened to him when he said just take the charges, do the time and when I got out go home and get a regular job…our uncle at the hardware store would have given me a job. Maybe if none of his daughters wanted to take over, he's have given it to me when he retired. But I didn't listen."

Tank let the roadie talk to himself for a moment before pulling his attention back to the matter at hand. "You admit to helping the enemy with intelligence gathering, whether you admit that you knew what his endgame was or not. Wy should we believe that you have had a change of heart, now? Tank thought he was being reasonable.

Hank Schmidt was scared to the point that he was worried that he was going to wet himself as the big Black man growled at him. "I don't know what to say to make you believe me. I just know…I know that I've never been overly fond of myself, but I can still look myself in the eye. I wouldn't be able to do that ever again if something bad happened to any one of those girls. I couldn't live with myself."

Tank eyed him up and down. "We'll bring everything you can tell us to Sam and Puck and see how they want to proceed. I can tell you right now, if anything bad does happen to any of those girls, you won't have to try to live with yourself."

When Woody brought him over to a table to get his statement and pick the man's brain about the stalker, Hank sank gratefully into the chair and sang like a canary.

I thought that this would be a nice Halloween Gift.
Then Zeta decided that I didn't deserve to have lights or internet for a day or so.
I hope that any readers who may have been impacted by either hurricanes, fires (or did we have tornadoes recently? There have been so many disasters I'm having trouble remembering.)
Anyway, I hope that this chapter finds you in good health.
And in a prosperous enough condition to put reviews in the inbox of people like me...
See this is my story you decided to reeeeeaaaaddddd.
(Sorry Hamilton has been getting me through this quarantine.)

Anyway...when this didn't make it out in time for Halloween, I thought it would make a great celebration for the Biden/Harris victory.
So, now...My anxiety is high as all get out and I just need some happy. (Stupid Electoral College)

So please READ, REVIEW & if you want to do so while listening to Riley's EP...hey that's even better.
TTFN,
Anni