A/N: I apologize for the delay! I can't believe all the follows and faves this story has so far! Thank you all so much! This chapter was difficult to write, so bare with me. It's harder to write Steve than I thought. Again, thanks for all the feedback, and keep it coming! I love to know how I'm doing :)

Chapter 3

Danny couldn't stand still.

The scene around him was frantic, adding more anxiety to his troublesome situation. He paced back and forth over the front lawn, rubbing his sweaty palms against his slacks and raking trembling fingers through his hair. He had to move, had to do something to release some of the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. Lights from the barricade of HPD cruisers lit the front of the house in a flashing disarray of red and blue. The quick flickers caused a nauseating ache behind his eyes.

He wasn't sure where to look. Uniformed officers knocked on doors, interviewing concerned neighbors about what they may have saw or heard. A crime scene unit finished stringing yellow tape around the front of the McGarrett home. Duke briefed a group officers holding notepads and pens, furiously scribbling across the page.

Nothing was right. Nothing was right and Danny was pissed. His anger wove with his worry, twisting his stomach into a thick, heavy knot. His blood felt like magma, jetting to his heart and causing the dampness beneath his arms. His beautiful little monkey, his baby boy—five years old, god damn it—and his best friend of almost ten years had vanished, and Danny could only remind himself that this had happened before.

The concern he felt over McGarrett was familiar. For years Steve was the prime target of Wo Fat, and Danny had spent many sleepless nights wondering if this was the day he'd finally get the phone call that Steve had been gunned down by the cockroach of a man Five-0 had chased for so long. Danny trusted his partner. He knew Steve's strength and skills better than anyone. He worried for his friend, sure, but if anyone could survive an impossible situation, it was McGarrett.

But he also knew life could be a bitch, and no one could be protected from that.

The ground seemed to churn beneath the soles of his shoes. Danny stared at the grass, watching it move as if the earth itself was breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his heart crawl to the back of his throat and beat against his tonsils.

Rick Peterson. That ugly face cut through his mind again and again. He was an ex-partner of Danny's from Jersey who'd kidnapped Grace several years ago as part of some convoluted revenge plot that left Stan with a bullet in his shoulder and Danny with nightmares that still plagued his sleep. Grace had spent a horrifying day locked in a dimly-lit storage unit, alone, restrained to a chair, wondering why it was taking her daddy so long to rescue her.

She been taken by some freak once already. This had happened before. Now, here Danny was again, that same panic choking him, swallowing him whole, wondering why his daughter had to be taken again, this time with her little brother who probably wasn't old enough to truly understand what was happening.

Twice. Twice his daughter had been kidnapped, and he couldn't do a damned thing about it.

Danny stumbled towards his Camaro and braced himself against the hood, wheezing. The air was too hot, his blood was too hot and he couldn't suck in enough oxygen to inflate his screaming lungs. Grace and Charlie, oh god, the kids, and Steve, and the blood on the living room floor, and the bullets in the wall...

He hadn't realized there was a hand on his shoulder until Kono's voice broke through his ringing ears.

"What?" Danny choked out, still panting.

"I said, you need to sit down."

She took his elbow gently, and forced him to turn and lean his backside against the the hood of the car. The world spun, the police lights flashed and flashed, and Danny couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't swallow—

"Danny!" Kono cried. She stepped in front of him, her grip moving to his arms and tightening to keep him from toppling over. "Danny, look at me. Look at me."

He did.

He peered into her brown eyes, seeing the determination, the steadiness. Her calm demeanor was assuring enough for him to manage a deep breath, then another, until he was no longer gasping for air like a beached whale.

"You good?" she asked, her voice as unwavering as her eyes.

Danny nodded. "Yeah," he said, then cleared his throat. The ground had ceased moving, the air had thinned. Despite the temperature, goosebumps pricked his skin. "I'm good."

Kono released her grip from his arms and stepped back. She glanced over her shoulder. "Here comes Chin."

Danny forced himself to his feet. Chin strode out the front door with Lou close behind. The men pushed past Duke and a few other officers who protected the scene. "Please tell me you have something," murmured Danny.

Before he answered, Chin's eyes traveled down Danny's frame, brow knotting in concern. Danny tried to ignore his friend's apprehension. He knew he looked like hell.

"We'll know more soon," Chin assured. His eyes dropped to the tablet in his hands, where his notes were taken. "Bullet casings were recovered from the living room and kitchen area. They appear to be from an M4, but we won't know for sure until CSU can confirm. We're also getting samples of all the blood spatter and rushing them to the lab. Hopefully we can get a hit in CODIS."

Danny managed a nod, but was disheartened. The evidence was wonderful news, but he needed answers now. It would take hours for the lab to process everything, and time was something they just didn't have.

Lou gestured over his shoulder, where several officers with flashlights huddled around the fuse box. "The power lines were cut, and I'm guessing they had some kind of signal jammer that kept Grace from calling for help. I know that girl is about as glued to her phone as my son; there's no way she wouldn't have made a call."

"You said you found her phone in the kitchen, right, Danny?" asked Kono.

"Yeah," he replied. "It was on the floor in the pantry."

"Okay," said Chin, attempting to establish a timeline of events. "So you leave, Steve takes the kids to the kitchen, they hear the front window break."

"The kids hide in the pantry while McGarrett goes to check things out," continued Lou.

"There's a struggle," said Kono. "One man couldn't take down Steve; there had to be several. A gun goes off, maybe the kids scream and are discovered."

"And now my kids are in the hands of a couple of psychopaths and are being used as leverage for God knows what," Danny finished. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep them from shaking.

"Danny," Chin said, gently, "we don't know that."

"Oh, we don't?" cried Danny. "Are you kidding me? Come on, Chin, you're a better detective than that."

"Let's not jump to conclusions."

"Get real, will you?" Danny threw his hands up and kicked at the ground with his shoe. "You wanna know what happened? I'll tell you what happened: someone wanted Steve, whether it be for information, revenge, whatever—and they were probably getting their asses handed to them before they found Charlie and Grace in the house. Now, I guarantee you, one-hundred percent, that these freaks are either harming or threatening to harm my children unless Steve does or gives them whatever the hell they want." Danny paused, breathing hard, eyes going from face to solemn face. "And Steve'll do it, too. He'll do it. He'll do whatever they ask to protect the kids, and I don't know what scares me more."

Danny once again ran his moist hands through his hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing back emotion. Those damn lights kept flashing flashing flashing, stinging his eyes, flipping his stomach. So many bodies moved around him, so many voices spoke words that were muffled to his ears, and all he could think about was his daughter having to endure this hell again, and maybe this time she wouldn't be so lucky—

"Danny," said Chin, interrupting his thoughts.

Danny spun around. "What?"

He hadn't realized Duke had approached and was speaking to them.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "What were you saying?"

Duke cleared his throat. "My guys just finished interviewing all the neighbors on this block. No one saw a thing aside from the Martins, right across the street."

"And?" Danny pressed.

"The daughter heard what she said were loud popping noises. When she looked out the window she saw two black SUVs parked in the street, and McGarrett's house completely dark."

"Did she get a plate number?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Lou sighed. "So you're saying we have nothing?"

"Unless we get a hit on that blood."

Danny felt the color drain from his face. Before the panic could tackle him, Kono spoke up.

"We should go back to HQ," she said, once again placing a hand on Danny's arm. "We'll check in with the lab, wait for a ransom call, check into Steve's email and phone records and see if he's been getting any threats lately."

"He would have told me if someone was threatening him," Danny murmured.

"Maybe not, if he didn't want to worry you," Lou said.

"It doesn't hurt to look," Chin added.

Danny turned away from his team, the lights, the sounds. He reached into his pocket, feeling his daughter's phone before grabbing his own.

"Danny?" said Kono.

He didn't bother looking back. "I need to call Rachel," he said. She needed to know he'd lost the kids. She needed to know that for the second time in Grace's young life, she was at the hands of a stranger. She needed to know that Charlie was gone with her, his innocence now tainted.

If Steve didn't make it out the situation alive, if someone hurt his kids... God damn it, if someone touched even one hair on their heads, Danny would be going to prison, because he'd hunt down every man involved and empty his entire magazine in their skulls.

Quivering, Danny pressed the phone to his ear.

The naked bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered.

For the past hour, Steve stared at the harsh yellow light. His eyes were bleary and sore, but the irritation kept him from nodding off. He contemplated whipping a shoe at the lone light bulb to get it to the floor, then using a shard of glass to saw away his zip-ties. But what did it matter? He'd free his hands, but with his concussion, could he really disarm and subdue four men without backup? And could he do it without putting the kids at risk? It was too big of a gamble.

Besides, the light was comforting. The situation was frightening enough already; he didn't want the kids to sit in the dark.

Steve swallowed a yawn. He looked down at Charlie, who'd fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago. The boy had pulled his legs close to his chest and rested his head over Steve's lap. Steve ran his fingers gingerly through Charlie's hair, studied the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slight twitch of an eye or a finger as he dreamed. He was at peace, seemingly eluding nightmares and retreating to his own serene world. Steve wished Charlie could stay asleep until the ordeal was over, until Danny broke down the door, the team on his six, and swooped the kids into his arms.

Grace leaned her head against Steve's shoulder, fiddling languidly with the ties around her wrists. Occasionally, Steve turned and pressed his lips against her hair, but he doubted she needed the comfort. She'd hardened, forcing herself to be strong for Charlie's sake. Steve could see the brave look in her eyes, and his chest swelled with pride. She was so much like her dad.

Danny's detective skills had influenced Grace well. As Charlie had dozed off earlier, Grace explained that when their captors forced her and her brother into their vehicle, they demanded the kids keep their heads down. Grace didn't dare sneak a peak at her surroundings, since one of the men sat right beside her. She did, however, attempt to count the turns. As well as keeping tracks of the lefts, rights, and stops, Grace counted how many seconds it took to get to one turn to another. Now, after all the terror she'd endured, most of the numbers escaped her. The one certainty was being on a straight road, driving fast, for about an hour. Oahu wasn't a big island. Steve was positive they were somewhere on the North Shore.

It was a great deduction. If Steve could somehow contact the team, he could at least give them a general location. He'd praised Grace for her smart thinking, and couldn't wait to tell Danny about his daughter's cleverness.

The light overhead flickered once more. It was accompanied with heavy footsteps from upstairs.

Steve sat up straighter. Grace's breath hitched in her throat as she also jolted to attention. He hated to do it, but he placed his bound hands on Charlie's shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

"Hey, buddy, wake up," he said, softly.

Charlie wined and rubbed at his eyes. When he realized his wrists were still tied together, he whimpered again and snuggled closer to Steve.

Above, there was the slamming of a door. More footsteps.

"Charlie, sit up," Steve said, shoving his hands beneath the small body. He forced the squirming boy upright. "Listen to me, buddy. Go sit with your sister and stay very quiet, okay?"

"Do you think the bad guys are going to come down here?" asked Grace, pulling Charlie into her lap.

Steve glanced at the basement door. As if on cue, the clacking of a swinging padlock was heard, followed by a jingle of keys. Steve scooted forward, positioning his body several feet in front of the kids. "Don't say anything unless I tell you to, understand?"

Grace nodded. Charlie pressed his face to his sister's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Everything's going to be fine," Steve whispered.

The door swung open.

At the top of the staircase loomed the blond man from before. Moonlight backlit his frame, giving him the appearance of a featureless shadow. The gun at his waist winked. He descended the stairs slowly, and though Steve couldn't see the man's face in the dark, he could feel the stranger's eyes fixed intently upon him.

The man reached the final step and was illuminated by the yellow glow of the light bulb overhead. His face was a stone slate, eyes hollow and cold. Steve racked his brain, trying to determine if he'd known the man before.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you know who I am?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated. "Am I supposed to?"

The man smirked. Steve noted that he'd changed from his previous all-black attire to a plain shirt and jeans, giving the appearance of a casual citizen.

"Jack Warner," he introduced, his voice emotionless. "Maybe you don't know me personally, but I'm sure you've heard of my friends."

He stepped into the light, just a few feet in front of Steve, holding out an arm. There on his right wrist was a muddled black and gray tattoo, so amateurishly done it was nearly unreadable. Nonetheless, Steve recognized it immediately. It was the insignia of a local gang known as the High Aces, notorious for weapon and drug trafficking.

Steve worked his mouth, thinking. The Aces maybe didn't have the knowledge of well-seasoned criminals, but they had the equipment and the connections to pull off white-collar crimes. Still, Steve was undeterred. He'd found himself in worse situations before, and Jack Warner didn't seem any different from any other wannabe badass.

"Okay," Steve finally said. On his knees, restrained wrists resting in his lap, he bore his gaze into Jack's. "So let me guess what's going on here: I put away a few of your buddies, and now you're out for revenge." He shook his head, feigning disappointment. "I gotta say, Jack, that's not very original."

Behind him, Steve heard Charlie shuffle on Grace's lap. He winced when he saw the man's eyes flick to the kids. He kept talking, hoping to recapture Warner's attention.

"Listen," said Steve. "Whatever it is that you're planning on doing, it doesn't need to involve the kids. They're innocent in all this. They have no idea what's going on."

Warner's hand fell to his waist, where it curled around the grip of his pistol. "I'm not going to decide what happens to the kids. You are." He began to pace, four steps to the left, then four to the right, eyes cast down as if in thought. "If you cooperate with me and answer all my questions, I won't lay a hand on them. You have my word."

Steve couldn't get a read on the man. He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, let's get on with it, then. What's so important that you need to tie me up in a basement?"

Warner stopped his back and forth walk abruptly. He turned on his heel, smirking menacingly. "Where are my guns, Commander McGarrett?"
"Well, gee, I don't know. Where'd you put them?"

Apparently Mr. Jack Warner didn't have a sense of humor. Steve barely got the sentence out when the man's hand came up, still gripping the pistol, and cracked across his jaw. Steve nearly toppled over, immediately tasting blood on his tongue. He heard a gasp from Grace and a whimper from Charlie.

"You know the name Samuel Ulani?" asked Warner, giving Steve no time to recover.

Steve spat a wad of blood onto the concrete. "It rings a bell, I guess."

"You and your team put him away three months ago for possession of illegal firearms with intent to sell."

"I mean, I put a lot of people away three months ago. It's kind of my job." His jaw now throbbed in rhythm with his aching head. "But yeah, I think I know your man."

"He's not one of us. Those guns that were confiscated? They belonged to me."

Steve thought back, recalling the day he watched Danny slap a set of cuffs over Ulani's wrists. HPD had investigated a robbery where a suspect was found with a stolen gun. As part of a plea deal, the suspect gave up Ulani's name. Five-0 was called to track down Ulani and bring him in for questioning, but when Chin kicked in the man's front door, Ulani was no where to be found. Eventually, Kono was able to locate a storage locker registered under an alias. The entire unit was lined with handguns, a few semi-automatics, and enough ammo to supply an entire SWAT team. Steve had devised a stakeout, and in just twelve hours, Ulani arrived and was promptly taken into custody.

In a way, Steve felt pity for the man. Ulani wasn't evil, and probably couldn't hurt a fly—he was just dumb enough to supply weapons to people who would. He never admitted how he obtained the guns, just that he was gaining a reputation on the island for being the go-to guy for discreet supply.

If Jack Warner was looking for the guns, he was out of luck. "Listen, man," said Steve, "those guns get stored away in an evidence locker that even I don't have access to without—"

"I don't care about those guns," growled Warner. He holstered his pistol. "Samuel Ulani got caught with Nerf guns compared to what I'm missing. Ulani got word of where I kept my gun cache and robbed me blind. The thing is, he only got caught with the kiddie stuff. My heavy artillery was never confiscated."

Heavy artillery? Steve was at full attention. Was Warner talking more automatics? RPGS? Explosives?

"The man knows where my guns are, Commander." Warner crossed his arms over his chest, glowering down at Steve as if he were scolding a child. "And I think you do, too."

Steve's heartbeat quickened its pace. He had no knowledge about any missing guns. Would Warner believe him when he told the truth? Should he lie, and stall for time? Normally, he wouldn't be worried, but any decision he made could impact Charlie and Grace. He needed to choose his words carefully.

"Well?" Warner pressed.

Steve's mind reeled. "Look, I don't know where your guns are, okay? We confiscated what Ulani had in his possession, but that was it. No one knew he had another stash of guns. If we'd gotten word of that, you can bet we would have been all over it. It seems to me like the only person who knows where your guns are is Ulani himself."

Steve held his breath, hoping his honesty would pay off. Warner sighed through his nose and turned, running a hand over the back of his neck, clearly pondering the situation.

"That's all I know," Steve assured. "We only heard about what was in the locker. Nothing else."

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry your little plan didn't work out, but there is nothing more I can do for you. Now keep your promise and let the kids go."

"I said, shut up."

Warner spun, and this time took a swing into Steve's gut. The air rushed from his lungs and he toppled onto his side, mouth gaping but unable to inhale.

Charlie immediately burst into tears.

Sputtering, Steve turned his head to the kids huddled against the wall. Charlie wailed while Grace shushed him softly, holding his head against her chest. Her eyes were wide with fear as she undoubtedly remembered Steve's warning of staying quiet.

Steve finally sucked in a mouthful of air. He struggled to sit upright, heat surging through his chest. He balled his hands into fists to keep from lashing out. Warner had taken Steve and the kids for this? For information about some missing guns Five-0 had never heard about? He couldn't believe the stupidity. Obviously the man hadn't thought anything through.

Steve chuckled bitterly, struggling to speak through clenched teeth. "Why are you even thinking about this, Jack? These kids have done nothing to you. They are not involved in this whatsoever. How about you man up and keep your word?"

"What did you say to me?" hissed Warner, seizing Steve by the collar.

Charlie cried louder.

Maybe it was the concussion, or maybe it was the rage building inside him, but Steve couldn't bring himself to back down. He'd been with Jack Warner for all of ten minutes and was already sick of him. "I said," Steve gritted out, "be a man and show some decency for once in your life."

He'd expected the punches, but he didn't count on them being so strong. His brain rattled against his skull, and the next thing he knew he was on his back staring at that damned light bulb.

The sight of Steve being injured made Charlie scream, and Grace began rocking him in her arms, stifling her own cries of alarm.

Warner breathed hard and gripped fistfuls of his hair. "Will you shut that kid up?"

"He's a kid," Steve sneered, lisping from an inflating lip. "He's scared, of course he's going to cry. What do you expect?"

"Just make him shut up before I lose my cool."

"Let him out of here and you won't have to listen to him any more."

Warner roared and whipped out his gun, aiming it past Steve. "I won't have to listen to him any more if I just shoot him."

"No!" cried Grace, hugging her brother closer.

Steve had trained on hostage negotiations, knew all the tactics to calm a dangerous man with nothing to lose. Seeing a loaded gun pointed at Danny's kids made all that knowledge vanish. His anger was instantly replaced with alarm, the sense of urgency so strong he was nearly frantic. He broke into a nervous sweat and hopped to his feet, positioning himself between the gun and the kids.

"No, please, Jack," he stammered over Charlie's cries. "Jack, listen. I can still help you, okay? We can look into the missing guns. I can help you find them." He held up his hands as a sign of surrender. "I'll do whatever you want, Jack, whatever you need. But you can't hurt the kids. I know you're not the kind of person who would do that. You can't hurt them. Please."

Warner's face was flushed with impatience. Keeping the gun raised, he turned his head to the stairwell. "Ricci! Get down here, now!"

Almost instantly, the basement door opened on it's squeaking hinges. The man with the scar emerged, stomping heavily down the stairs with a pistol in his grip. He looked to Warner, then to Steve, and finally to the wailing child in the corner.

Warner gestured with his gun. "Get that kid out of here."

Steve's heart skipped a beat. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to refrain from lunging forward and tackling Warner to the ground. "Jack, no, you don't have to do this—"

"Ricci, get that damn kid out of here!"

"What am I supposed to do with him?"

"Jack, please, please, I'm begging you—"

"I don't care, just make him shut up before I shoot!"

The commotion fogged Steve's already dizzy mind. Warner reached out and pushed Steve to the floor, where he landed hard on his knees. He turned just in time to see Ricci pry Charlie away from Grace's protective embrace.

"No, stop!" Grace pleaded. She looked desperately to Steve. "Uncle Steve, make them stop! Please!"

Charlie fought back, writhing and kicking and screaming, his face red and wet. Ricci clamped his arms around the boy's small body and lifted him effortlessly.

"Hey! Stop!" Steve made an instinctive grab for the man, but Warner blocked him with a swift kick to the ribs. With a gasp, Steve once gain found himself splayed across the floor, black dots invading his vision. "No, no, no," he murmured around wheezes. "Charlie!"

Ricci marched up the stairs and flung open the door. Charlie clawed for the door frame, screaming for his uncle and sister, but was ripped away and pulled into the darkness. His cries were muffled from upstairs.

Steve rolled onto his back. Warner stared down at him, eyes wild.

"You son of a bitch," Steve growled, chest heaving. "Don't you dare hurt him. Do you understand me? I will kill every single one of you if you touch him. I will kill all of you."

Warner ignored Steve's threat. He rubbed at his temples and began pacing again, clearly agitated. Charlie's screams still echoed from upstairs, and behind him, Steve heard soft sniffles from Grace. He eyed Warner's pistol. Maybe he could do it. He shuddered at the thought of shooting a man in front of Grace, but Charlie was in danger. He didn't have a choice.

Steve readied himself to make the grab. His jaw ached from the punch, his rib cage felt bruised and damaged, and every blink made the room tilt.

Damn it, he couldn't do it.

Woozy and swallowing down nausea, Steve collapsed forward.

"I need to think," Warner muttered, starting for the stairs. "You will get my guns back for me, McGarrett, so don't go anywhere."

Without so much as a glance his way, Warner stalked upstairs. As the padlock clicked into place, Steve realized that Charlie's sobs could no longer be heard.