A/N: Thanks for all of the reads, favorites, and reviews so far! I know I can't meet all of your expectations, but I hope you have enjoyed the ride! We're nearly there - but of course, our teams haven't met quite enough trouble yet, so here we go...
Later that afternoon, an SUV followed a smaller car as it pulled up behind the strip mall where Smith's empty bakery was located. Hardison's van was already parked at the far end from the property in question, and the drivers of the other two vehicles parked next to it. Parker leaped out of the back of the SUV, almost before it came to a full stop, excitedly bounding for the door. Sophie and Nate were slightly slower, exiting after the ignition cut off. Reese and Eliot were right behind them as they also made their way inside.
The industrial kitchen was dim and quiet, and the group's footsteps echoed softly as they headed towards the front of the restaurant.
"Hey hey, y'all," Hardison called in greeting from across the room as they pushed through the swinging door. He was standing on an old painter's ladder in the far corner, a pair of pliers in one hand and his other above his head, holding the tangle of wires that dangled from an old gray security camera. "We're just finishing up here. This place'll be wired tighter'n Alcatraz in a minute."
Studying the screen of his phone, Finch limped over to join the group from the other side of the room. He glanced up and nodded in greeting at the newcomers. "Our two friends should be here soon. Smith received a text from Mr. Spencer's phone asking to meet here, and we sent Kiernan one that appeared to be from Smith. Both responded in the positive, and both agreed to meet here at four pm exactly."
Hardison jumped down from his perch, having finished up with the device on the wall. "Which means both should be arriving in ten minutes… unless they're those type of people who have to be early to everything, in which case we will have much less." He caught the look Reese was giving him and unsuccessfully tried to hide his involuntary flinch.
Reese smirked. "Anything wrong with being early, Hardison?"
"No, no, man. If you wanna be twenty minutes early for everything in your life, it's cool. It's cool." Hardison shrugged. "Waste perfectly good time, if you ask me, but you know, whatever floats your boat. It's fine."
"For the love of - Shut up, Hardison," Eliot growled.
Heading off the oncoming storm, Nate cut in, "So the whole place is wired to go?"
"Yes," Finch responded. He nodded to where Hardison was retrieving an open laptop computer from the counter. "And Detective Fusco will be joining us shortly. As long as everything goes according to plan, he will be able to put both of our friends under arrest to wrap things up for us."
Hardison turned the device around so the others could see the screen. It was divided into six segments, each displaying a portion of the restaurant's interior. "We can see and hear anything that goes on in here," he said proudly.
"Hey look; it's us!" Parker pointed excitedly. She leaned in closer to the screen to study one of the images of their group, then turned in the direction from which the feed seemed to be coming. Her quick eyes darted back and forth, then she skipped over to the corner where Hardison had been moments before. She swung herself up on the top of the ladder and stood on the top of it, stretching on her toes to study the camera. "And this'll record everything that happens?" she asked, almost skeptically.
"Trust me; even a mouse couldn't get by these babies," Hardison grinned at her.
"Oh. Okay." She shrugged and effortlessly leaped backwards to the floor. "Let's go; I wanna see it on the big monitors!" she told the others, grabbing Hardison's keys from the counter and heading for the door into the kitchen. "I just press the big red button, right?"
Hardison frowned worriedly and quickly followed on her heels. "Do not mess with any of my equipment, Parker!"
Sure enough, before long, a car pulled up in front of the building where Hardison and Finch had just installed the cameras. The seven team members were huddled in the back of Hardison's van, watching the monitors mounted on one of the van's interior walls. Hardison and Finch were both seated, Hardison with his keyboard in front of him, controlling all three screens; each was currently split into two, each displaying live feedback from the cameras. As for Finch, his laptop was sitting open on the table, although it was idle while he kept an eye on the video feeds.
The vehicle parked, then the door opened and Kiernan stepped out. Through the feed from the camera mounted above the building's door, the team could see him glance around the parking lot before heading inside. He disappeared from the first feed, but then reappeared on several of the others, different angles showing from each of the cameras.
"Smith?" he called, turning in a circle to take in the empty room.
It was only a moment later that Smith appeared on the outside feed as well. Kiernan seemed to hear the engine as it purred to a stop in the lot. Impatiently waiting, Kiernan stalked towards the door, then crossed his arms and stared out at his partner. Smith didn't seem to suspect anything was amiss as he walked lightly across the asphalt towards the front door. When he pushed inside, the expression of surprise on his face was hard to miss, even from the slightly-grainy video feeds on the van's monitors.
"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed.
Kiernan scowled. "You texted me, remember? I have better things to do with my day than to show up at some decrepit old restaurant because you want to talk about our business arrangement."
"What?" Smith blinked. He reached for his pocket and came up with his phone. "I didn't…"
"Oh, don't," Kiernan scoffed. "Just because you're upset that your clients are all leaving, don't try to screw me over. I'm not the one hiding exorbitant fees in the fine print so I can throw poor families out on the streets after taking their life savings!"
Smith snorted in derision. "No, you just sell whatever uninspected drugs you can get your hands on for as much as you want. And write off the consequences and deaths as collateral damage!"
The team members in the van exchanged glances.
"Well," Nate said slowly, "that was easier than we thought."
"Maybe not," Reese interrupted. He had been studying the far monitor, with its feed of the parking lot, and had noticed something while the others had been focused on the meeting between their marks.
Finch leaned over to squint at where Reese was pointing. "Oh my…"
"Let me see," Parker demanded, putting a hand on each of Hardison's shoulders and leaning over him to get a good look. She frowned at the screen where a third vehicle had now pulled into the front lot, parking off to the side where it wouldn't be visible from the restaurant's interior. "Who is that?"
The man in question had just shut the driver door. He was of average height but stocky, with muscular arms and a stern set to his jaw. Moving to the back of his SUV, the man leaned against it, crossing his arms and impatiently staring at his watch.
Reese frowned in concern. "Ex-army. I'd bet he's a mercenary now that he's out." There was a brief pause as the others looked over at him, and he shrugged. "He has a very distinctive stride."
"He's right." Eliot grinned in approval.
"Oh boy; now we've got two of 'em," Hardison muttered. Even so, his fingers flew across the keyboard as he turned down the volume on the security feeds to better concentrate. He entered a command to take a screenshot of the man's face, and a moment later, a window popped up on his screen. He sucked in a breath. "Okay, I got it. Looks like that's a Harrison Turner. And you're right," he nodded at Reese, "this guy has an impressive resume - if you're looking to hire a former member of the armed forces who now specializes in any security job you're willing to throw his way."
As soon as the man's name had appeared on Hardison's monitor, Finch had turned to his own, and his rapid typing yielded results before Hardison was done reading off what he had found. "Turner also is a person of interest in several homicides over the past few years… since he's been out of the army, it would seem," Finch reported. "He's even listed in multiple case files for accidental deaths, but only as a person of interest, and it appears nothing was ever proven against him."
"Definitely an unscrupulous mercenary if you ask me," Eliot commented.
Before anyone could add anything else, another car pulled up next to Turner's. Three men exited, carrying themselves in a similar fashion to what Eliot and Reese had pointed out about Turner. The small group huddled together for a moment as Turner appeared to be giving instructions.
Reese looked at his partner. "Finch, the number… what if he's both?" he asked cryptically.
"What number?" Parker demanded impatiently. "What does math have to do with any of this?"
Nate sounded slightly less impatient but just as interested. He raised an eyebrow at Finch. "We need to talk," he said. He had been wondering about their temporary teammates during their time together so far; the story about the two men being unconventional police consultants just seemed… well, wrong somehow, even though he couldn't put his finger on exactly why.
But Sophie brought everyone back to the present moment. "We can work out the exact 'why's later," she said worriedly. "Right now, we should probably be concerned about the small army headed inside."
"Right." Finch and Nate both nodded.
"We've got 'em, Nate," Eliot stated firmly, swinging the back of the van open. Reese was right on his heels.
Even as they did so, Smith and Kiernan seemed to have noticed the men headed for the door and were now arguing even more heatedly. The feed was still muted from moments before, but Smith looked very nervous, his demeanor having changed from a confident businessman to something reminiscent of a cornered animal.
Nodding, Nate looked over at Sophie and Parker. "You two go head off Smith."
They nodded their agreement and followed the direction Reese and Eliot had just gone. Instead of heading for the back entrance, however, they turned for the SUV that Nate had parked shortly before. Parker turned the key in the ignition and they sped down the strip towards the service entrance for the bakery.
"What about Kiernan?" Hardison wanted to know.
On screen, Kiernan seemed to be pleased with the turn of events. Finch moved to the seat Hardison had vacated and turned up the volume on the feed.
Kiernan was currently snarling at Smith. "I believe these men are here for you. It's been nice doing business with you, partner."
And with that, he turned on his heel and pushed through the front door, nodding in greeting at Turner as he passed the four men. He didn't even notice when another two cars screeched up to the restaurant.
As for Smith, he hadn't even waited for the front door to close behind Kiernan before he turned and fled through the kitchen.
Parker applied the brakes as Smith flew through the service door. The fugitive saw the SUV screeching to a halt in front of him, and he stumbled in surprise as he tried to change directions on a dime. His eyes were wide in panic.
"Get in if you want to live!" Parker yelled through her open window.
In the passenger seat, Sophie nodded her agreement and waved urgently at the man. Not waiting to be told twice, Smith flung open the back door and jumped in. Parker threw the transmission in drive and peeled away before the door had even closed behind him. Smith sat back against the seat, breathing heavily, but quite visibly relieved to have made his escape.
Sophie turned around in her seat before Smith could get too comfortable. Leveling a stern gaze at him, she spoke up in her best New Yorker accent, "Okay, Mr. Smith. Let's talk business."
"I…" he hesitated. "Who are you again?"
"Detective Fusco, NYPD," Parker threw over her shoulder, even as she kept driving.
"Now," Sophie said firmly, "either you tell me everything or we turn around and let you deal with those guys."
Smith gulped and visibly paled. "Okay, okay, okay." He held both hands out pleadingly. "I'll talk. Just don't turn around!"
Meanwhile, Eliot and Reese had split up, one going around to the front entrance and the other to the back. Both paused momentarily as Hardison's voice came through their comms.
"Uh, guys, there's another two cars pulling up outside with bad guys," he announced, sounding very worried. "Reese, Kiernan's rounding the building, headed your way."
There was a grunt and a small thud. "Got him," Reese replied simply.
"Uhhh, you might wanna hurry up," Hardison urged. "Eliot's just about through the kitchen… Eliot. Eliot, hang on a second."
"Shut up, Hardison," Eliot growled, storming through the door from the kitchen to the front room. He took in the four men who were now scowling at him from their place in the middle of the room. "Hey, guys," he greeted casually.
One of the men, a hulking blonde with a scar along his right jawbone, sneered as he looked Eliot up and down. "Is it just you, little man?" he spit out in a clipped Russian accent. "I could take you down in my sleep."
"Well, good thing you're awake, then," Eliot returned calmly.
The other muscle were also leering at the intruder, and several cracked their knuckles in anticipation. Eliot just quirked an eyebrow, then before any of the men could respond, he struck like lightning. The Russian didn't know what had hit him, but he suddenly found himself on the hard tile floor, the room spinning around him.
Eliot looked back up at the remaining members of the group, who were now advancing on him. "Come on, guys. I don't have all day."
Just then, a stream of light spilled across the floor from the front door as it opened. Glancing up, Eliot's jaw hardened at the sight of the four muscular newcomers. "It's just a party today, isn't it?"
Turner and his two remaining men looked surprised as they turned.
"Did Kiernan double-cross us?" Turner demanded, looking between the others as if they could provide an answer.
The leader of the newest arrivals raised an eyebrow. "We're looking for a Kiernan. You seen him?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hardison exclaimed. "You mean both our guys hired gangs to take out the other?"
Eliot looked around the room, sizing up the other occupants. "You're a genius, Hardison." As the men all turned back to him, he raised his hands. "Hang on now. I'm sure we can work something out."
"Nate!" Hardison exclaimed. "Kiernan's getting away!" He had been keeping an eye on all of the feeds as the action unfolded inside the restaurant, and he worriedly watched as Kiernan stumbled to his feet and rubbed his jaw. The man then looked around himself furtively before turning to head for his car.
Nate straightened his shoulders. "No he's not," he replied, heading for the door.
"Oh, I'll come with you," Finch followed a little more slowly, then turned to command over his shoulder, "Call Detective Fusco and let him know we'll need more manpower than originally expected." Then the bespectacled man swung the door shut behind himself and left Hardison alone in the back of the van.
"Sure," Hardison groused, reaching for his phone. "Leave Hardison to do the secretary work, why don't ya? Not like I can't take on anybody. Shoot, man; I can take on just as many guys as dang Eliot can, thank you very much."
"I'd like to see you try," Eliot snapped.
Rolling his eyes, Hardison punched a series of numbers in his phone, muttering to himself under his breath as he did so.
He watched the feed on the screens as Reese pushed through the door into where Eliot was facing off against the large group of opponents.
As half of the men spun to meet this new threat, Reese reached into his belt and retrieved his handgun. He ignored the glare of disapproval from Eliot and held the weapon pointed downward at his side. "Now, fellas," he said, looking between the four men currently staring him down, "we can do this the easy way, where you all walk out of here, or the hard way."
"Oh yeah?" the man on his far left - a short, red-headed man - asked. "And what's that?"
"You don't," Reese said simply.
In reply, the redhead charged, and Reese simply raised his gun and fired at the man's knee.
The man fell, screaming in pain as he clutched at his injured joint. His buddies paused for just a moment before rushing Reese, and all three began throwing punches at the same time. Reese slammed a fist into the neck of the closest adversary, then, as the man groaned and stumbled, he spun and delivered a side kick into the abdomen of the second man. He heard footsteps behind him and barely avoided a rushing tackle. In his avoidance of the ambush, however, he had to leave his right side unguarded, and a lucky blow from one of his attackers sent the gun to the floor, where it skidded across the room towards the vacant counter.
Across the room, Eliot was also taking on multiple opponents at once, throwing a one-two strike to the throat of one man, then barely blinking as he ducked a roundhouse kick and kicked out with his own foot in the back of the man's knee. Taking advantage of the man momentarily scrambling on the floor, Eliot planted his left foot and swung with his right, connecting with the man's face and knocking him back onto the floor. He noted with satisfaction that the man was not moving beyond a small groan, even as he met his next opponent head-on. This time, the man managed to connect a punch of his own, and Eliot growled in disapproval as he felt his lip split. Ducking another punch, he kicked out, which the man deftly avoided before swinging in for a kick of his own.
Eliot intercepted, grabbed the man's leg, then held it to the side, keeping it high enough that it effectively put the man out of action. At the same time, he reached out quickly and grabbed a third opponent's shirt, pulling the man in close enough for a hard head-butting that resulted in the man falling in a heap on the ground. Then he twisted the leg he was still holding, thrust it to the side, then threw a series of punches that sent the man reeling against the wall. But instead of collapsing, the man simply advanced again, this time with a quick enough succession of swings that Eliot had to move quickly to avoid further injury.
Both men noted when one of the smaller, less well-built fighters extricated himself from the fracas and bolted for the kitchen, but then the more pressing matter at hand called all of their focus back to their remaining opponents.
Hardison had just disconnected his call when quick movement on the far monitor caught his attention. It was the feed that displayed the inside of the industrial kitchen, and the hacker's eyes widened as he noticed the man running for the back door.
"Oh shoot, y'all!" he exclaimed, leaning in for a better look. "Uh, uh… Eliot. Eliot! John! Y'all, there's somebody getting away."
"Then do something, Hardison!" Eliot snapped in between the thumps and grunts coming over the earpieces.
Shaking his head as if he were trying to clear an imagined vision, Hardison stared at the monitor. "Come on, Hardison; think, man," he told himself. Just then, he saw the back door of the restaurant fly open. Then with a sigh, he jumped into the driver's seat and gunned the engine.
With a grunt of disapproval at the loss of his weapon, Reese turned and struck out with a solid fist, both hearing and feeling the connection it made with the man's jaw. The man stumbled, dazed, and Reese followed up by jabbing the heel of his hand directly into the man's nose. Ignoring the noise of pain and blood streaming from the man's nose, he elbowed the side of the man's head and kicked another opponent in the knee at the same time, knocking the first man to the ground and the second into the wall. The man bounced off the wall and ran back at Reese, yelling in determination with both arms outstretched. Reese calmly sidestepped the charge, directed another downward kick as the man on the floor attempted to jump up, then turned to intercept the charging man's next attempt.
Meanwhile, ducking to avoid another attack, Eliot's gaze happened to land on the gun that had skittered under the counter when Reese was forced to drop it only a few moments before. He then turned his attention back to where the man was waiting on him, with fists clenched. Eliot lunged forward, shifting his weight at the last minute to swing his foot and sweep the man's legs out from underneath him.
"Stay down," Eliot grunted with one final swinging punch downward that was powerful enough to knock the man out completely. He started to relax as he surveyed the scene, using a hand to brush his hair aside as he turned towards Reese.
Behind him, one of his opponents who had regained something of his senses in the last few moments shifted, slowly getting to his feet with a look of pure rage in his eyes. Eliot barely had time to raise his fists before the hulking form of hired muscle was on him.
The man literally body-slammed Eliot, driving the hitter back against the counter. Eliot could feel his back hitting with a bone-jarring thud that reverberated up and down his spine. He grunted and shook his head to clear it, but in that short moment, the man drove a fist into the side of Eliot's head. The blow blurred Eliot's vision and dropped him to his knees when the man stepped back. Eliot drew a sharp breath as he hit the floor, the impact vibrating through his knees as he connected with the tiles. His arms spread out belatedly, trying to break a fall that had already happened.
As he started to push to his feet, his opponent drove a kick into his ribs, and Eliot's breath left his lungs in a painfully forced whoosh. The black around the edges of his vision made him narrow his eyes, and he planted his palms on the floor firmly to assist in getting to his feet, only to be met with another solid kick. Things went black again, but just for the briefest of moments. When Eliot's eyes flew open again, his opponent was still moving as he turned towards the fight still going near the door. Eliot growled as he took in the scene of Reese still exchanging blows with two opponents while this third gorilla of a man advanced on them.
Eliot shifted to stand, fully intending to charge into the fray - woozy or not - when he suddenly registered an object brushing against his left fingertips. He tilted his head, realizing just as his eyes met the object that it was the gun Reese had lost moments before. With a grunt of displeasure, Eliot curled his fist around the grip, just as his opponent reached the others.
Everyone jumped a moment later, when the crack of a gunshot echoed through the restaurant and through the team's earpieces.
Eliot didn't even wait for the man to hit the ground before he launched himself at one of the two hired muscle still standing. His anger at being dropped a moment before was now channeled through his fists, and his newest opponent was motionless on the ground in a matter of seconds. He then looked over to where Reese was delivering a sharp blow to his own last opponent with an iron fist.
Reese glared around at the men rolling on the floor, dazed and in pain, then directed an approving look around the room, where Eliot's similarly-downed opponents lay. The two fighters exchanged silent nods of approval, then Eliot reached down and retrieved the handgun from the floor where he had tossed it just prior to his last charge. He frowned at it, then turned the pistol around to return it to Reese.
"Not a word," was all he muttered.
Before Reese could respond, the front door swung open and Fusco strode inside. "Ah, glad you could leave some fun for me," he commented sarcastically, taking in the numerous men on the floor.
"I think we've got a couple out back for you, too," Reese remarked, jerking a thumb towards the back door.
"Oh boy." Fusco's tone was anything but excited. "What is it with you people? Can't we ever just have one case where the wrap-up doesn't require assistance from the EMTs?"
As if on cue, Nate and Finch walked inside. Nate waved a hand at Fusco. "Ah, hello, Detective. There's, uh, a guy out there who might need an ambulance."
Finch took in the looks the other three were giving them and simply shrugged. "Yes, he had a run-in with a metal pipe in the alley. Nasty accident."
"Uh-huh." Fusco sighed. "You know, there's a reason I prefer working with Carter." He rolled his eyes in a tired, long-suffering way that spoke to the number of times he'd found Reese at a similar scene. "Dare I ask what happened here?"
Reese just smirked. "They had a disagreement with the service."
"Oh sure. And I suppose that guy I just cuffed out back had a disagreement with that service van he was lying next to?"
Eliot hid a smirk of his own as he and Nate exchanged glances.
"Oh yeah!" Hardison's sudden exclamation made the others start slightly, and Finch visibly flinched as the other man continued. "Age of the geek, baby! Whoo! Come on, now!"