CHAPTER TWO
Eppes Residence
Pasadena
August 2
1920 Hours PST
"So we still don't know where Langager is at?"
Alan Eppes watched his oldest son pacing across the living room. Don was on the phone with someone at the Los Angeles Field Office, probably David, if he had to guess. Alan poked at the food on his plate. He'd invited Don over for dinner that night, mainly because he hadn't seen his oldest in almost two weeks. The case that he and his team were working right now was a particularly tough one. Don hadn't even shared the specifics with him, and he wasn't 100% sure that Charlie was involved either, which was, as his youngest might put it, an anomaly.
"Yeah okay, David, well, let me know if that BOLO we put out gets any hits, all right? Thanks." Don hung up and let out a breath, running a hand down his face. He slipped his phone into his jeans pocket, but made no move to join his father at the table.
"Everything okay?" Alan ventured after a moment or two of awkward silence. Don didn't move, didn't respond. "Donnie?" He reached out a hand, touched Don on the arm.
His son jumped, shocking Alan. As head of his team, Donald Eppes was focused, in control. To see his son startled by, of all things, a touch on his arm, officially started to worry him.
Or, worry him more. The past two weeks had already put him squarely in the 'worried' camp.
"Dad. Sorry," Don apologized, shaking his head. "I-Sorry."
"They need you back downtown?" Alan asked him.
"Ah, no. No, I'm okay. They're good." Don sat down at the table, but made no move to eat.
Alan dropped his fork. "All right, that's it." His tone made Don sit up a little straighter, and he looked up at his father. "Don, you've been on edge for two weeks. Your brother and I are worried. Charlie especially, he-he feels like you don't trust him enough to bring him in on this-"
"It's not that," Don told him. "All honesty, we could probably use his…the hell were they…pursuit curves, or whatever. But I can't….not with this one."
Alan nodded. "I see. It's that bad, huh?"
His oldest looked him dead in the eye. "I don't want Charlie anywhere near this," he said seriously. Then, he sighed. "And if I tell him why, it's just gonna make him want to help more, and I-"
"Hey, for once, I'm on your side," Alan assured him. "I mean you know how I feel about your brother helping you out. And there are some things I know I'm better off not knowing." He pointed at his son. "I'm more worried about you, and how you're dealing with this."
"I'm fine, Dad," Don told him, but the words didn't match his facial expression.
Alan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I can tell."
The knock at the front door saved Don from calling Alan out on that comment. "You expecting anybody?" Don asked him as he got up from the table.
"No." Alan frowned. "Everybody we know usually just comes in like they own the place."
Don pulled his service weapon from his hip, and, to Alan's horror, flipped the safety off. "Don-"
Don held up a hand and shook his head. Stay there, he mouthed. Alan froze at the dining room table, his heart pounding.
Don walked deliberately across the hardwood toward the front door. There was a second knock as he got closer. His father was right, anybody who knew them, who would've been there at this point in the evening, would've just walked right in-Charlie, Amita, Don, Colby…the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and every instinct he had told him something wasn't right. He couldn't see anyone through the windows on either side of the door.
"Can I help you?" Don called through the door, standing behind where the door would swing open, keeping the door between him and the outside.
"Yeah, actually, you can!" The front door splintered and caved in. Don dove sideways so the door wouldn't hit him, twisting and pointing his Glock straight back at the intruder in the black ski mask who had just come bursting through. The intruder lashed out with a booted foot, catching Don't wrist and the shot went wide, plunging into a wall somewhere in the family room.
"Dad, get the hell out of here!" Don yelled as the guy hauled him up by the collar, pinning him against the wall next to the couch. He drove his knee into his attacker's stomach, but the guy wouldn't let go. Don threw himself sideways, dragging the guy with him. They landed on the couch and rolled off, colliding with the coffee table in front of the couch. The table shattered as they both went through the top, and Don cried out as he felt something in his shoulder wrench out of place as his attacker rolled over the top of his arm. Ignoring the pain as best he could, Don tackled the guy, straddling his waist, and reared back to throw a punch, the muscles in his shoulder screaming in protest at the motion.
"Don."
His hand froze midair as his father's voice interrupted the chaos. Slowly, Don looked up.
Daryl Langager stood behind Alan, one arm wrapped over Alan's shoulders, the other holding a .22 pistol to Don's father's temple. "Heya, Don," he nodded to the FBI agent over Alan's head. "Long time."
"Not long eno-ugh!" Don's attacker used his surprise to heft Don off him, pinning him to the floor, reaching for Don's cuffs off his belt. He pulled Don's arms behind him and Don's shoulder exploded in pain.
"Heard you've been lookin' for me," Langager shrugged. "Looks like I found you first. Nice place. Yours? Your dad's?"
"How 'bout you let me up, I'll give you the tour," Don offered, grunting as Langager's partner pressed a knee into his spine. "Dad, you okay?" he asked, craning his neck so he could see Langager and Alan.
Alan nodded blankly. Don wasn't sure if Alan was hurt himself, or if he was hurt by how rough they were being with him. "You can let him go, Langager, he's got nothin' to do with you and me," Don told him. "You got me where you want me."
Langager raised an eyebrow. "Do I, Agent Eppes? 'Cause you know, I've spent ten years on the run thanks to you. Do you know what that's like? Always looking over your shoulder? Every luggage rack on a car becomes a cop, every knock on the door is a task force comin' to take me back to lockup."
"You were the one that ran," Don reminded him. "Maybe if you and your buddy hadn't decided to knock over that prison transport, or maybe if you'd have stayed in jail the first time, you'd be nice and safe in a five by five cell."
Langager barked out a laugh. "You act like I had a choice. You've taken my life from me, Eppes. No matter what happens, I'm a prisoner." His eyes flickered down to Alan in his grip. "But I know you can help me disappear Eppes, for good. So here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna hold onto your dad for a little bit, while you hook me up with a new life."
"Not…gonna…happen," Don ground out, struggling underneath Langager's partner. The partner responded by shoving Don's head into the rug, pressing the barrel of a gun to his temple. "You take him and the only thing you're gonna be hooked to is a lethal injection," Don swore.
"You've seen my work, Don," Langager said quietly. "You really want that to happen to your father?"
Don quit moving, his blood running cold. He looked up at his father, met his eyes. Alan's face clearly told him not to capitulate to Langager's demands.
"What's to stop you from killing us both right now?" Don asked instead. "You're not normally one to leave a witness."
Langager considered that. "You're right. But, first time for everything." He nodded to his partner. "If you would?"
"No!" Alan Eppes found his voice just as Don's world went black.
