Thanks so much again for all the kind comments :)
On we go ...
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Four-thirty PM, and traffic was at its worst. Jason's left leg jiggled anxiously, urgency sparking through him, threatening to ignite at any moment. He fought against the rising panic, against the pit in his gut that nearly tipped him over the edge. He attempted to measure his breathing - failed. Attempted to will himself calm by focusing on the frantic swish-swish of the wipers against the van's windshield – failed once more.
God damn it, Spenser, you'd better not be dead.
He wasn't really cursing the kid. It was fear talking. Every possible worst-case scenario he could imagine was tumbling through his mind, taunting him.
They still didn't know why Clay had been taken, and whether his father was behind it. Their boy could be unharmed - or he could be in pieces. They could get there in time – or they could be too late.
Or, it could be a dead end, which would admittedly be worse.
Jason's gaze shifted across to Ray, who was driving. His 2IC expertly navigated traffic, expression set in fierce concentration, lips pursed. In the rear mirror, the rest of the team were visible, rigid and silent - Trent next to Brock, who steadied Cerb between his knees, and then Sonny and Vic in the row behind them, gazes locked on the congested road ahead.
The atmosphere in the van was an elastic band, stretched to its limit – ready to either slingshot or snap.
Davis had given them the directions to the warehouse. Blackburn had pulled some strings, had given them the all clear to go after their boy. They had suited up in record time, flown out the door and straight into one of the base's vans, leaving the parking lot in a screech of tires.
Jason clutched his phone, palms sweaty and knuckles white. Davis and Blackburn had remained on base, monitoring the intersections around the warehouse. They would call if there was any sign of the van with the blue stripe.
Jason's chest felt tight, his throat painfully constricted. What would they find, once they arrived?
"We'll find him," Ray offered quietly, as if sensing Jason's heightened anxiety.
Jason had no doubt that they would. He just wasn't sure he was prepared for how they would find Spenser.
It had been pointed out to Jason - by his daughter, of all people - that he might have just a little bit of a soft spot for Clay. He'd denied it, of course. But Emma had a knack for realizing things, long before they'd even appeared on his own radar, and it hadn't taken long for him to reluctantly admit that she was right.
Clay wasn't simply a kid he'd drafted nearly two years ago. Nor was he just a shining new hopeful, destined to follow in Jason's footsteps as Bravo One someday. Jason felt a type of parental protectiveness towards the younger man, almost matching what he felt for his own two children. Perhaps it was because Ash Spenser had done such a lousy job as a father, and the position was wide open. Perhaps it was because in Clay, he saw a younger version of himself. Whatever the case, it had started well before Clay had officially joined Bravo – beginning as a small spark, rapidly growing in intensity each day since then; unexpected but not entirely unwelcome.
Jason stared out the rain-streaked window, mind drifting back to that terrible morning, back when Clay was still in Green Team – the first time he'd felt an ounce of protectiveness towards the kid. The teams had gathered in the base's cafeteria, listening to Adam speak about Brian Armstrong's tragic death, shockwaves rippling through them.
In front of his brothers, Jason had remained stoic. He'd muttered harsh words about lessons and loss. But as he'd stood to leave, his gaze had traveled across the room to meet Clay's, and he'd halted in his tracks, barbed demeanor crumbling.
There, before him, wasn't the cocky, overconfident pipe-hitter he'd come to know; but a young man who'd been abandoned by far too many people in his life, looking terribly vulnerable and alone.
Perhaps it was the father in him, Jason reflected, that had carried his gaze past Clay's well-worn mask, to see the lost boy hiding behind the bravado. And he'd resolved, then and there, not to allow any other team to draft the kid. Not under any circumstances. He'd offered Clay a small parting nod - a silent promise. And Clay had returned the gesture, completely unaware of Jason's private resolution.
Now, as he scrubbed a hand over stinging eyes, emotions threatened to overwhelm him. It was one thing to lose a team mate in the heat of battle – it was another, entirely, to lose them at home, where they should have been safe.
Double checking the map coordinates, he chewed his lip as he glanced at the dashboard clock. They were still ten minutes out.
Sonny must have sensed his impatience, because the gruff Texan piped up from the back. "Get me an RPG, I'll clear us a God-damned path."
Normally someone would have had a comeback, attempted to diffuse Sonny's fieriness.
But not today.
Brock, normally reserved, broke through the heavy silence that attempted to engulf them once more. "Screw an RPG," he growled. "Get me a fucking tank."
There was muttered agreement, and Jason didn't argue.
It felt like they were moving in slow motion, though they were traveling as fast as they possibly could to get to their boy.
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Mateo came to with a splitting headache, and a fire in the pit of his stomach. He coughed, his throat bruised, and rolled, quickly pulling himself up onto hands and knees.
Taking a deep breath, he braced against the wall, and then straightened slowly. Turning, he surveyed the empty shackles where Clay had been restrained, not at all surprised to find them hanging loose upon the floor, a piece of roughly cut rope discarded beside them.
Anger boiled within him. His breath came jaggedly through his nose. He'd been a fool, underestimating the younger man. He kicked himself for not killing Clay sooner.
Pushing off from the wall, he turned to where Ash Spenser had sat, not expecting to find anyone there either.
But, there was someone there.
Mateo faltered, his heart skipping a beat. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing.
Clay Spenser, his right wrist cuffed to the wall, sat glaring at him through the dim light of the small room.
Mateo reflexively took a step back, ensuring there was ample room between himself and the young SEAL, not wanting a repeat of Clay's earlier attack.
For a moment, they silently regarded one another.
Mateo's mind finally caught up, and he allowed a small, bitter laugh. "It seems you were right," he stated, voice hollow. He nodded to the locked cuff. "Your father really doesn't care for you at all."
Clay didn't respond. His breathing was hitched, and more than one cut trailed blood down his bruised and battered torso - crimson lines ending at the waist of his jeans. There was a chilling numbness lining his expression. His blue eyes shone with anger and ice.
Mateo's gaze flicked between Clay, the keys on the floor, and the door. It was puzzling, that Ash hadn't killed him. The soulless bastard had had the chance, and yet he'd fled like a frightened rabbit, throwing his son to the wolf. Was this another trap? Mateo decided to take his chances, and cautiously made his way out of the room.
Beyond the doorway, Ash was nowhere to be seen. There were no sirens in the distance to indicate that the older Spenser had notified the police, and both Mateo's vehicles were still parked where he'd left them.
The man had, indeed, run. Like the coward he was.
A heavy sense of failure threatened to overcome Mateo. He swallowed down his frustration at having lost his one chance to avenge his wife and son. Closing his eyes briefly, he begged their forgiveness.
Opening his eyes, he blinked back hot tears. He would see them both again soon. This long, painful road would end today. It had to. It had been long enough.
His gaze darted back towards the room where Clay was held. He knew what he had to do. He'd come this far, and he needed to finish what he'd started. If he couldn't have both Spenser's, then at least one was better than none.
Moving quickly towards his van, Mateo popped open one of the back doors and removed his dart gun. There was barely a full dose left. His eyes skipped to his hand gun. He hadn't wanted to use the single bullet for either of his captives, but, things hadn't exactly gone to plan …
The rain hammered hard against the warehouse roof.
Mateo took a moment to weigh his options, and to decide what to do.
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Sonny noted the EMT's standing by, a block back from the warehouse, and his stomach threatened to drop through the floor. Normally, he was fired up going into an op, ready to kick down doors and bust some balls. But this was different.
This wasn't an op.
They weren't overseas.
This was Clay.
They pulled up to the warehouse, hard and fast. Jason gave the order and they wasted no time spilling from the van, weapons aimed and ready.
Sonny fell in behind his team leader. Brock was up front, Cerb on leash. The canine tugged towards the building's main door, nose to the ground.
At Jason's order, Trent quickly set the explosives. They breached the entry, and fluidly poured into the main part of the warehouse.
The first thing Sonny noticed was the parked van - white, with a blue stripe. Jason order Vic and Ray to check it over, whilst the rest of them continued towards a door at the rear of the building, barely missing a beat.
Sonny's heart pounded with his every step, eyes darting around, scanning for movement down the barrel of his gun. Cerb eagerly led them on, whining as he pulled his leash, causing Sonny to feel a churning mixture of dread and hope as they approached the metal door.
Jason hesitated a moment, hand grasping the handle. He cast a quick glance behind him, eyes locking with Sonny's. None of them felt at all emotionally prepared for what they might find on the other side. But they had to know.
Sonny swallowed painfully.
The door was unlocked, and Jason threw it open. They rushed inside with weapons raised.
Sonny's mind took a moment to process the small room. He blinked around at the damp-smelling, dimly lit space.
It was empty.
No sign of Clay.
His heart plummeted.
Cerb's whining increased in intensity, and all their eyes fell upon the dog as he sniffed and nudged a pair of chains. The chains were bolted to the wall, open cuffs at the ends. There was blood on the floor.
Sonny felt his stomach roll.
"Clay was here," Brock stated certainly, observing his dog's reaction.
Jason crouched down, eyeing the blood. It wasn't much, some spatters here and there. But any amount was unacceptable, if it belonged to their brother. "It's reasonably fresh," he stated, touching a drop with a gloved finger.
Ray appeared in the doorway, paled slightly at the sight of the restraints and the blood. "Van's empty. Engine's cold. Hasn't been driven in the last few hours."
Metal clinked, and Sonny turned to see Trent toeing another set of restraints on the opposite wall.
"No blood here," the medic reported, scanning the floor. "Doesn't mean these ones weren't used though. Could have had Ash on this side, Clay on the other?"
The thought made Sonny feel ill. His mind whirled, as he tried to work out what could have led someone to lock father and son in a room together like this. He shook his head clear. "Question is, where the hell are they now?"
"Guys!"
Vic's shout had them rapidly exiting the small room. They gathered where their rookie was crouched, a few feet from the parked van.
"What've you got, Lopez?" Jason asked, moving to crouch beside him.
Vic looked up at the others, pointed to some drops of liquid on the concrete. "Oil," he stated.
Sonny stepped forward, eyeing the drops. "Motor oil?" From the looks of it, it was as fresh as the blood in the other room.
Vic nodded. "There was another vehicle here. Recently."
Jason pushed up from the floor, face stony as he drew his phone from his pocket. He motioned for the others to head back to their vehicle. He swung his eyes around the empty space one last time, before jogging after them, phone to his ear.
Sonny glanced back towards Jason as they neared their van. The rain had eased to a drizzle, wet gravel crunching under their feet as they exited the warehouse. Jason was speaking low and fast into his cell as he walked.
Clay had been here. And someone had left with him, possibly only mere minutes before Bravo had arrived. How cruel that they had come so close to finding their brother, only to have him snatched away again. Whether Clay was still alive or not wasn't a thought that Sonny was ready to entertain. Urgency pulsed through him. They needed a new lead, and they needed it fast.
"Check the footage from the closest intersections, see if you can find anything," Jason commanded into the phone as he hopped up into the front passenger seat beside Ray. "They can't have got far."
Ray revved the engine to life.
"Let the EMT's know to follow us." Tension weighed Jason's tone. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Our boy is most likely hurt."
Sonny felt his knuckles tingle at the words, thoughts flashing back to the blood on the floor.
Jason blew out an unsteady breath. "We need to find him. Now."
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Davis was used to working under pressure. She was also used to shifting gears at short notice, rolling with the punches. Plans rarely went to plan, and part of her job was trouble shooting under difficult – sometimes near impossible – circumstances, finding a way forward when no obvious path presented itself.
Normally, she excelled at her job. But today, her confidence was wavering. She'd worked plenty of high stakes ops, and yet, today the stakes seemed even higher.
This wasn't an op.
They weren't overseas.
This was Clay.
Blackburn was breathing down her neck, phone to his ear. Bravo had found the warehouse empty, and Jason was close to losing his shit. Blackburn's tone was clipped, commands tight, as he ordered her to check the traffic feed from the past hour from the intersections close by the warehouse. She didn't take his bluntness personally. She could only imagine what Jason was saying on the other end. Both men were seasoned operators, experts in what they did – and yet, today the cracks were showing, their emotions seeping through the seams.
Scanning the feeds as quickly and thoroughly as she could, Davis batted away the new worry she held for her friend, as well as the blow of getting the boys to the warehouse too late. From the small parcels of information Blackburn had relayed to her, she'd gathered that there was evidence suggesting Clay was hurt, and that he had been moved very recently. Much to her dismay, the van with the blue stripe had been left behind. Now, it appeared, she was searching for a new needle in a new haystack.
Alpha One and Two hovered stiffly nearby, offering support and hastily helping to search the traffic feeds.
"Come on, come on, come on," Davis muttered, feeling each precious second tick away, amplifying her sense of despair.
She could hear Jason barking down the line at Blackburn. The commander pinched the bridge of his nose, holding the phone slightly away from his ear.
They were doing the best they could.
It wasn't enough.
Out of the blue, an alarm went off, catching Davis off guard. It took her a moment to work out where it was coming from. Her eyes locked on a message flashing on the screen of the laptop Derek was sat at, and her breath caught in her throat.
"The fuck is that?" Derek exclaimed, throwing her a look.
Blackburn shouldered his way in, lowering the phone and ordering Jason to stand by.
"Ash's car is on the move," Davis relayed, feeling her stomach clench, a thousand possibilities flying into her mind. Her gaze darted between it, and the traffic feeds, as she debated what to do.
Blackburn made the decision for her, roughly disconnecting the laptop with the tracker alarm and handing it to Derek. "Go," he ordered, nodding to Alpha's 2IC.
Derek didn't hesitate, Full Metal also pushing up from his chair and grabbing his things.
"Someone is driving that car," Blackburn stated. "We need to know who."
"On it," Metal nodded.
Davis didn't watch them leave. She trusted the two men with her life, just like she did any of her Bravo boys. She could trust them with Clay's life as well. Her attention locked back on the traffic feeds.
Closing her eyes briefly, she drew a steadying breath. Blackburn leaned in beside her and offered a grounding look. It was a look that reminded her that she was capable of anything – a silent vote of confidence. If there was something to be found on those traffic images, she would find it.
Blackburn informed Jason that Ash's car was on the move, and that Derek and Full Metal had left to pursue it. Davis could hear the explosive cursing that erupted from Bravo One's end of the line, and she imagined Jason demanding that his team also follow the vehicle.
She clicked through images, all from the past hour. Frustration and failure threatened to crash over her once more, but she ignored it.
And then - something caught her eye.
Davis froze.
Mentally stumbling, she clicked back an image. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards once more.
"Huh," she breathed, feeling her heart skip a beat.
Hastily she ran the plate of the vehicle that had caught her attention.
Her heartrate picked up as her search returned a result:
Emmanuel Garcia.
Davis twisted to face their commander, hope swelling. "Same surname," she stated, pointing to the search results for the vehicle registration. A residential address was listed, and Blackburn wasted no time relaying it to Jason. "Could be a coincidence," she continued. "But I doubt it." She flicked back to the traffic images, pointing to the vehicle in question – a black sedan, nothing obviously remarkable about it. But …
"You seeing what I'm seeing?" She asked, raising a brow.
Blackburn caught on straight away, spearing her with a weighty look.
The sedan had been traveling away from the warehouse. As it had passed through the nearest intersection, it had both its tail lights. But by the second intersection, only two blocks later, one tail light was out.
"If I had to bet," Davis stated, "I'd wager someone's in that trunk."
Blackburn blew out a breath. Clapped her on the shoulder. "Someone who's trying to send a signal," he agreed.
Davis' heart pounded in her ears. They could only hope that it was Clay. Her eyes flicked to the image time stamps. "Black sedan's got a fifteen-minute lead," she reported, hurriedly trying to trace the vehicle's path. From the direction it was traveling, it appeared to be heading towards the residential address listed for Emmanuel Garcia.
Blackburn straightened, directing her to track it to its destination - although she was already on it.
"Step on it," he ordered Jason down the line. "They're not getting past us this time."
