A/N: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. I'll try to do better. I hope you all are staying healthy and happy!
Enjoy! :)
Reagan returned to work on Monday with renewed energy. Her job could be so wearing, but family always brought her back to center. They got it. They got how hard a personal life was to maintain; how, meanwhile, other lives hung in the balance—people who needed someone to take notice and give it everything they had.
And give it everything was what she aimed to do.
This week was her last shot. If she didn't come up with answers, the case would go cold and those lives would effectively be over. She wished her job was as easy as a cop procedural on TV—everything tied up with a nice bow in 45 minutes or less.
But this was real life, and sometimes it got a little too real.
After pouring a fresh cup of Whitney's motor oil coffee, Reagan settled behind her computer and got to work. She felt like she had scoured every bit of information at their disposal but knew she was missing something. There had to be a connection…
She decided to go back to the cell phone data they had collected. It seemed as if everyone kept their whole world inside their device. If she was going to find something, it would most likely be there. Starting with social media, she cross-referenced contacts, but was surprised to find no overlapping friends. Los Angeles was a big city, but many online users had thousands of 'friends.' The lack thereof made this case even more confusing. What did these men have in common?
Next Reagan checked location check-ins. Maybe they didn't run in the same circles, but a mutual location would be a decent lead. It took an hour and lots of scrolling to discover that three of the missing men had checked into a computer repair shop all during the same week two months before. Coincidence? She hoped not.
Grabbing her blazer, she left the office and drove her unmarked Ford Edge to the location in question. The Tech Shop was a sizable business sandwiched between a beauty parlor and an insurance office in a well-kept strip mall. As she exited the car, she noticed a sign on the door that said, Stop! Have you tried turning it off and then back on again? Reagan smiled. Their department's IT guy always asked that question first, like an officer reading off Miranda rights. They'd quickly learned to do that first before bothering him, as it usually fixed the problem.
When Reagan stepped into the shop, she was hit with a blast of AC. A young woman with blue hair looked up from the laptop on her desk and subtly gave Reagan the once-over.
"Can I help you?"
Reagan flashed her badge from where it was clipped to her belt. "Detective Kay. I'd like to speak with someone about a few of your past clients."
"I can probably do that. I've worked here since we opened."
"Okay, great." Reagan glanced at the woman's name tag. "Carrie, are you able to access information about these three men?" She listed off the names and Carrie typed like mad.
"The first guy has been in a couple of times. He needed an enlarged hard drive and extra virus protection. Seemed pretty normal. Your second guy only came the one time. Just between you and me, he was difficult."
"What do you mean by difficult?"
Carrie glanced up from her screen. "He was a dick."
Reagan coughed lightly in order to cover up a laugh. "What did he do?"
"He wasn't happy with any of the work we did. His computer was a dumpster fire to begin with—just a shitload of porn—excuse my French, but I thought we'd made good with what we had. I guess not."
"What about the last man?"
"Patrick Hayward? He was a regular. Big gamer. He had his dickish moments, too. Thought he was the next Ninja."
"Who's Ninja?"
Carrie's upper lip curled. "The streamer?"
"Oh, yeah." Reagan had no idea. "So he could be unpleasant to deal with?"
Carrie shrugged a shoulder. "He was okay. Most gamers like to talk to each other; it's like a nerdy little club."
"And he didn't?" she asked, jotting down a few things in her notepad.
"Not with me. Some guys aren't ready to accept that girls like video games, too."
Reagan scoffed.
"Let alone be better than them."
"It's the 21st century. Sounds like they need to get with the program."
Carrie rolled her eyes. "You're not kidding."
"To your knowledge, did any of these men know each other or interact while they were here?"
"I don't think so, but that was months ago. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Patrick in a while. He's seriously overdue for some maintenance."
Reagan closed her notepad and put it away. "That's why I'm here. All of these men are missing and I'm trying to get to the bottom of it. If you remember anything else that could be important, please give me a call." She handed over one of her cards. "Would you be able to get me the names of everyone who worked here two months ago?"
"Sure, no problem." Carrie typed away again and printed a short list of names.
Reagan thanked her and walked back to the car. She closed the door with a sigh. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start.
Upon arriving at work that morning, Deacon headed to the locker room to put away his bag. When he opened the door, Hondo walked in and smiled, opening his own locker.
"Mornin'," Deacon said in reply. "Hey, thanks for coming over this weekend. I know it meant a lot to Reagan. And me as well."
"I only went for her," Hondo said with a teasing grin.
"Even if you were serious, I'd take it. She's been so stressed out about this case. She needed a break."
"Yeah." Hondo cleared his throat. "It looked like you two had a moment, by the grill. I don't mean to pry, but is that all that's going on?"
Deacon glanced at the picture in his locker: Reagan walking hand-in-hand on the beach with both of their children; the same beach where they'd shared her house before expanding their family from two to three. He then looked around, confirming that no one else was in the room.
"Do you remember when Reagan ended up in the hospital a few months ago?"
"That perp who attacked her?"
"Yeah. Well, we didn't know it at the time, but she was pregnant. She miscarried."
"Man, Deke, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
"No one did."
Hondo's expression softened. "Why not? Why wouldn't you say anything? You lost a child…"
Deacon winced before he spoke, trying to contain his emotions. "We were afraid it would turn into a manslaughter charge."
Hondo's anger rose up momentarily. "That asshole should be charged."
Deacon shook his head. "Not him—Reagan. We were afraid the department wouldn't see her side—that she didn't know." He closed his locker and leaned against it, facing the open expanse of the room. "At the end of the day, she still has to live with it. And that's bad enough."
"I still think you should talk to somebody, for your own sake. Maybe Wendy?"
"No, I can't risk involving her." Deacon looked at Hondo and smiled sadly. "But I really appreciate being able to talk to you about it."
Hondo reached out and they exchanged a half-hug. "You can always trust me, man."
At that moment, Street and Luca walked in.
"Hey, guys, what'd we miss? Everything okay?" Street asked as the two men separated.
"Yeah, it's all good," Deacon said, pasting on a smile. He missed the doleful glance Hondo sent his way.
Luca unzipped his bag as he said to Hondo, "I didn't see Jess in her office. Is she back from her trip?"
Hondo refocused and pasted on the same smile. "She is! I think she's got meetings all day."
"I know Reagan was bummed not to see her this weekend," Deacon said, and then paused in thought. "Actually, we're free tomorrow night. What would you all say to drinks at O'Malley's?"
"I'd say hell yeah," Street answered, with Luca agreeing.
"What about you and Jess? Could you make that work?" Deacon asked Hondo.
The man nodded. "Count us in. But are you sure you two want to spend a free evening with us?"
Deacon lifted his shoulder and gave Hondo a wry smile. "We won't be there all night."
Later that day, after receiving word from Commander Hicks about a situation in Baldwin Hills, the team mounted up and headed out. When they rolled up in Black Betty, Deacon noticed Captain Cortez standing beside one of the LAPD's surveillance vans. Figuring that she must have been pulled from her meetings, he had to wonder what kind of situation they were about to tackle.
She must have noticed their vehicle, because she started to head their way. As they exited, Hondo approached her first. The couple didn't kiss, and Deacon wasn't surprised. None of them were supposed to mingle or show intimacy on the job—even if they were married.
"What've we got?" Tan asked, glancing at a dilapidated house behind the van.
Before she could respond, gunshots rang out from the house, along with the sound of breaking glass. They all ducked and listened as a man began to shout.
"You fuckers need to find my brother! What're you waitin' for?"
"Good question," Street said to the others. "Why aren't we moving in on this guy?"
"We have reason to believe that he has hostages, and he claims the doors are rigged with explosives. Problem is we can't get him to confirm any of it. Anytime we try to drop off a phone to negotiate, he starts shooting," Cortez stated.
Hondo scowled. "Well we've got to make contact."
"Do we know who his brother is?" Chris asked.
"One of the responding officers heard the name Gage Brooker."
Something in Deacon's mind reacted to that name. "He's missing, right?"
Cortez frowned. "Yeah. How'd you know?"
"He's one of the guys we've been hearing about. That's Reagan's case."
"Do you think she might have better luck with this guy?" Cortez asked.
Deacon sighed, the feeling uncomfortable in his chest. He really didn't want her in this nutjob's vicinity, and Hondo must have seen it because he said, "We'll keep her safe. You don't need to worry about that."
Reluctantly, Deacon pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Reagan's number. It rang so many times, he didn't think she would answer, but at the last moment, she did.
"David?"
"Hey, I'm on a call right now and I think we could use your help," he began, trying to suppress his fear of her being in harm's way.
"I know."
He opened his mouth to continue on about Gage Brooker, but her words stopped him. "What?"
From behind him, he barely heard Street say his name. When the other officer's voice became more insistent, Deacon spared him a glance. Street simply pointed at the nearby broken picture window. When Deacon spun around, his fear could no longer be controlled, because Reagan stared back at him, her phone held to one ear, and a shotgun at the other.