A/N: Thank you WishfulThinker66, canadice, and Super Gran for reviewing! Your positive and enthusiastic words keep me motivated!
Enjoy! :)
No one in Hicks' office said anything when the video ended.
Deacon put his hands on his hips and hung his head, eyes closed. He willed himself to take slow breaths. He needed a minute to become more composed, or else he'd fly off the handle and compromise his position on the case.
Hicks finally broke the silence and whispered, "Jesus..."
Deacon raised his head and glanced over at Street, who had his arms crossed and couldn't seem to stand still. Looking beyond him, Hondo's expression was downright murderous.
He knew the feeling.
"Cortez, I need you to dig up everything you can on this Miguel Rodriguez," Hicks instructed, skirting his desk to close the video file, to which Deacon was grateful. He couldn't bear to look at it anymore. "Most importantly, his gang affiliation. We need to know who we're dealing with."
"I think we have a pretty good idea of that," Hondo commented, gesturing at the blank television screen.
"What's the plan?" Street asked. "What can we do to help?"
"Right now, I need you all to hang tight," Hicks said.
"You can't be serious," Deacon said.
Hicks shook his head in dismissal. "You're down two officers, and we don't have all the information yet. When the time comes, I want you ready to move in with Mumford's team."
When Street began to protest, Hicks pointed at them. "That's an order."
Staring at the floor and drawing a deep breath, Deacon refused to make eye contact as he stalked out of the room. He heard Street and Hondo behind him, taking long strides to keep up. When he turned the corner to enter their control room, he practically slammed into Luca and Chris.
"Man, where were you?" Luca asked, sporting a small white bandage above his right brow. "We've been looking everywhere for you guys."
Hondo walked past Deacon and tapped on the computer screen a few times. "There's something you gotta see."
Deacon almost groaned aloud. He didn't want to watch that awful video again but felt it was cowardly to consider walking out. Reagan couldn't ignore her dire situation, so he shouldn't either.
Hondo opened the video file and it began playing on the large computer screen in front of him. The others joined so Deacon walked over, rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin. He watched, blood boiling, until the assailant made the small cut on her throat.
Deacon swallowed and looked away. He couldn't just stand here and not act.
When the video ended, Luca stepped back and said with barely checked anger, "I'm gonna kill these assholes."
"Get in line," Deacon responded as he paced across the room and back again, resembling a caged animal.
"What are our orders?" Chris asked, her brow straight with determination.
Street's voice seethed when he answered, "Nothing. Absolutely-fucking-nothing."
Luca frowned. "You're joking."
"No, Hicks was pretty clear about it," Deacon said. "We're supposed to sit tight and wait for more information."
"Is that what we're gonna do?" Luca asked him. "Because, for starters, I know who has her, and I think I know where she is."
Reagan didn't know where to start.
A million questions swirled in her head, but she couldn't ask them all at once, so she stated, "I can't remember the last time we saw each other..."
His expression stayed hard; showed no signs of softening. "You should. It was when Mom died."
"That was ten years ago."
"And yet you've kept tabs on me, but haven't bothered to reach out."
"That's not fair, Tommy. I tried calling for years afterwards, but then your number was disconnected. You never picked up before that. It's a two-way street."
"You're a cop, sis. You could've found me if you wanted to."
"I knew you were associating with the wrong sort, and judging by the lack of phone calls coming from your direction, I got the message. I figured you didn't want your 'cop' sister cramping your style."
Tommy studied Reagan's face with dark eyes that matched her own; their mother's eyes, but his lacked the warmth that hers had held. They both had the same delicate, upward slope on the tip of their nose. Other than those two things, and their thick obsidian hair, his features were completely different, being those of their father's.
Reagan glanced away from his scrutiny. She rolled her aching shoulders and tested the zip-ties once more, which of course didn't budge.
"So what's your plan here?" she asked. "And why me? Surely that's not an accident."
Tommy didn't immediately answer so she looked back at him. He was staring at the floor, and she thought she saw a crack in his tough façade.
"It wasn't my idea," he said quietly.
"But here I am."
He glanced up, no doubt hearing the edge in her tone. Now his gaze sparked with heat. "It's not like these guys take no for an answer."
Unblinking and breathless, Reagan asked, "What'd you do, Tommy?"
The man looked over his shoulder, most likely checking that they were still alone. He lowered his voice as he said, "They aren't stupid. They have connections. And that guy on the computer? He can find anything."
"They found out your sister's a cop."
Tommy nodded. "I've been trying to get in with them for a while. This is what it took."
Reagan's mind went on hyper speed through the events that brought her here: the break-in, Luca getting beaten, waking up cold and isolated, to the video that almost ended with her beheading…
"You're a pig."
"Igualmente," he snarled, which she knew meant 'likewise.'
Reagan shook her head. "What would Mom think of you? After everything she did for us."
"She's dead, so what does it matter?"
"Familia, Tommy. Apparently that means nothing to you anymore."
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "These guys are my family now. They take care of me."
Reagan laughed. "Really? I've known you your whole life. I can see it in your eyes, little brother."
"See what?" he asked with another sneer.
"Fear."
Deacon couldn't believe what Luca had just said. "How can you possibly know all that? You didn't give me much to go on earlier..."
Luca pointed at the computer screen. "The video. They gave themselves away."
Hope bloomed within his chest. "Tell me everything you know."
Luca smiled and Deacon knew that look all too well; it meant he was excited to get down to business. "Hondo, roll it back."
Deacon wasn't thrilled to watch that damn video again, but if it brought them closer to helping Reagan, he'd do anything.
"This tat," Luca said, indicating a marking on the lead gang member's forearm. He swiped his fingers to zoom in and the grainy image refocused to show the number thirteen. "It stands for 'the M,' because M is the thirteenth letter of the alphabet."
"The Mexican Mafia," Deacon said knowingly.
"Exactly, and this guy has another giveaway." Luca moved the image so that it stayed zoomed in, but now on the assailant's hand.
Street squinted and leaned in closer. "He's missing a finger."
"Bingo," Luca said, opening a separate window on the computer. He typed in the name Carlito Lopez and a rap sheet popped up, showcasing an angry mugshot. "I put this guy away during my first week as a traffic cop. While in holding, he got into a fight with a rival gang member. Got shanked pretty good and lost his finger trying to defend himself, but repaid the other guy by gouging out his eye. It was a fucking nasty mess so I've never forgotten it."
While they all cringed, Chris read over the rap sheet. "Then I think we have a problem," she said, and locked eyes with Deacon.
"What?" he asked, his anxiety ratcheting up a notch.
"He's suspected of killing two cops within the past year." She paused, letting that sink in. "They were found with their heads cut off..."
Deacon couldn't breathe. He just stared, jaw clenching and unclenching.
Finally, he sucked in a lungful of air.
Their timetable had suddenly moved up.
He directed his attention back to Luca. "You said you know where she is?"
"Yeah," the other man said quickly, switching screens again so they were back on the video. "This piece of machinery in the background—it's an old-time loom. My mom worked in a factory in the 70s that used these big machines. They're pretty unique so they tend to stand out, or at least to me they do."
Chris added, "Lopez's record says that a lot of the gang resides in Pico Rivera."
"So we need to figure out which buildings used to be a textile factory," Hondo said, taking over at the computer. He brought up a map of San Marcos and the surrounding area. He put in their search parameters. Then they waited for the results.
Reagan wished someone would get her a pair of pants, or a blanket. Something. Her ass had gone numb a long time ago from where she sat on the cold cement, but the shivers were getting out of control. The contortion of her arms didn't help either. She could feel that her wrists had been rubbed raw from her restless movements.
Tommy had locked her back in the closet after she'd called his bluff. He didn't seem to appreciate her perspective, but he also hadn't denied it. She still couldn't believe he'd willingly put her in this position, but then again, their relationship had been non-existent in the past decade. He probably did see these savages as his 'hermanos.' Though, a true brother would never ask their sibling to put a loved one in danger just so they could earn a spot in the 'family.' Maybe he didn't consider her a loved one anymore...
Pushing that depressing thought aside, Reagan thought of Deacon. What was he doing right now? Had he watched the video? Probably. She knew their romantic affair had put them directly into the position he'd feared. Of course, he would have pulled out all the stops to help any one of his team members, but if they were in opposite places right now, she would be having panic attack after panic attack while knocking down every door in LA.
Reagan wished she could perform mental telepathy. She wanted to tell Deacon she was okay—for now—and that she knew he'd be coming soon. She had no doubts about that.
In the next room a cell phone rang. She leaned her ear toward the crack at the bottom of the door and listened to the garbled voice. Then she heard, "Get the cop."
Deacon got into position across the street from the abandoned textile factory, his team at his back. Mumford's team was lining up behind the building—he couldn't see them—but he knew the other sergeant would soon give the go-ahead through their earpieces.
Back at HQ, Deacon had grabbed Luca and given him a big, smacking kiss on the top of his head, thanking him for having a wealth of random knowledge that would (hopefully) bring Reagan to safety. He couldn't believe how quickly they had turned this one around. Hicks had been a little reluctant to sign off on it in such a short amount of time, but the commander couldn't argue with Luca's assessment, especially when Cortez's info on Miguel Rodriguez had backed it up.
"Team two in position," Mumford said.
"Roger that," Deacon replied. "Both teams, move in."
He took point, leading his team toward the front entrance. He kept his head on a swivel, but there didn't appear to be anyone guarding the place, which he thought was odd. They reached the plain metal door and Deacon silently motioned Street forward. Street turned the knob and then pushed it open, stepping aside to let the team move in ahead of him before taking a spot at the rear.
Deacon's rifle light illuminated the shadowy space as he swept it back and forth. They reached a doorway and he paused, waiting for Luca to tap him on the shoulder. He turned a corner and cleared a small closet. Hondo moved to the front and they progressed to the next room, where a strip of overhead fluorescent lights cast a harsh brightness over the large workspace. The room held various pieces of machinery, which Deacon now knew to be looms.
What caught their attention, though, was the camera set-up straight ahead. Automatically, they knew they were in the right place—but where was Reagan?
That sinking feeling deepened when Mumford and his team entered the room from the back and shook their heads.
"Where the hell is she?" Street asked, voicing the question for everyone.
"Maybe they moved her after they made the video..." Mumford suggested, but even he sounded doubtful.
"Uh, boss, we've got something over here," Chris said from the other side of the room.
Deacon didn't like her tone; it meant he was walking toward something bad. He came around one of the old machines and stopped in his tracks.
A significant puddle of blood stained the dirty floor, with smears and a single handprint leading toward a side door he hadn't noticed before. The smears turned to drips right before the threshold, like the injured person had regained their footing enough to get outside.
Mumford joined them, along with the rest of both teams, and then promptly went out through the side door.
Deacon wanted to help investigate, but was fixated on the bloody handprint. He pushed his rifle out of the way so that it hung at his side, and kneeled.
"It's small," Street said from behind, startling him.
Deacon glanced up and they locked eyes.
Too small to be a man's. The words went unspoken between them.
"Deke, we've got a body out here," Mumford said through their earpieces.
All of the air was expelled from Deacon's lungs. He saw the same expression of terror on Street's face.
He pushed up and followed his team outside, praying with every ounce of his soul that he wasn't about to encounter Reagan's lifeless body.
Street made it there first and stopped. He looked back at Deacon.
"It's not her."
Deacon released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
He walked closer and stared down at the body of a middle-aged Hispanic male. A neat hole in the man's forehead instantly told Deacon he'd been shot.
Before anyone could say anything, Deacon's cell phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and the caller ID said 'RESTRICTED.'
With his heart pounding, he answered, "Hello?"
"Sergeant Kay, has your commander met my requests? Because you're running out of time."
"How'd you get this number?" he asked, speaking low.
"Officer Cassidy gave it to me."
"Where is she? Before I do anything for you, I want proof of life."
He heard Lopez sigh, assuming that was who he was talking to.
"David…" Reagan said, her voice strong. Maybe she wasn't hurt, but the use of his first name made him think otherwise.
"Reagan! Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"It's okay, we'll get you back—"
"You have your proof of life," Lopez said, cutting him off. "And you have one hour. I want that plane and my lieutenant. No cops, no tricks. Get it done."
The line went dead.
"Did you talk to Cassie? Is she okay?" Luca asked, beating everyone to the punch.
Deacon looked at his phone and then to the group of people waiting for answers. He nodded, but the movement was slow, as the wheels in his head were spinning.
"So what do we need to do?" Street asked now, his gaze searching.
Deacon glanced around, tucked the phone in his pocket, and sighed.
"We need to break Miguel Rodriguez out of jail."