Miami, Florida
July 18, 2003

Andrew Bilkins was enjoying getting a full night's sleep, since he was currently between operations, when his pager went off. He blinked open bleary eyes, fingers scrabbling for the pager as his wife, Melinda, grumbled something under her breath. They'd been living in Miami since the joint operation with the DEA to take down Carter Verone since Bilkins had been intending to transfer after the truck jacking case. FBI relations with the LAPD had soured quickly with the loss of evidence for the case and the fact that Sergeant Nick Tanner had blamed Bilkins for the fact that Brian had flipped on them. It had been best for everyone if Bilkins was somewhere else, and Melinda had family in Miami.

He picked up the pager with clumsy fingers and then muttered a curse under his breath, rolling out of bed. "Andy, what is it?" Melinda slurred out, lifting her head from the pillow. Bilkins smiled at the sight of her bleary, brown eyes and messy, dark hair, leaning over to kiss her gently on the forehead.

"Nothing serious, honey," he reassured her. "Just work."

"Mmmkay," she mumbled, already dropping off to sleep again as she burrowed further under the sheet.

Bilkins' smile faded as he grabbed his cellphone and headed out of the bedroom, already dialing the correct number. In the short time he'd come to know Monica Fuentes, he'd come to respect the fact that she didn't jump at shadows. If she was using the emergency pager code then she'd encountered a serious problem. The phone rang once and then he heard ragged gasps on the other end of the line. "Monica?" he questioned, wondering whether Carter Verone had bought his way out of prison already or not.

"Bilkins, thank God," she choked out. "Brian's been grabbed by a lunatic."

For a moment Bilkins' mouth moved soundlessly. Then he said, "I need you to go back a little for me. What exactly happened?"

"I'll explain when you get here," Monica told him, voice calming. "I don't want anyone overhearing what I have to say."

"Okay," Bilkins said. "Tell me where."

"I'm at a coffee shop called Cool Beans. It's two streets over from Dark Magic."

"I'll see you soon," Bilkins reassured her before hanging up the phone.

The FBI agent crept back into he and Melinda's bedroom, using the light of the moon that drifted through cracks in the curtains to navigate. He dressed quickly and slipped out, navigating his way through a maze of still packed boxes. Melinda was still setting up the house to her satisfaction so the unpacking process was an ongoing one. The garage was a different story. Melinda had named it his domain and Bilkins had set it up to his specifications within two days. He could make his way through the garage blindfolded, which was good considering it was pitch black and the guy who'd owned the house before Andrew and Melinda had installed the light switch on the opposite side of the garage from the door that connected it to the house.

Instead of crossing for the light switch, Bilkins hit the gently glowing button that opened the garage door and walked blindly towards his car. The street was quiet as he pealed out, making sure to shut the garage door before breaking all speed limits heading for the main road. He knew the coffee shop Monica was talking about because it was frequented by all types of law enforcement. He'd spent a couple afternoons in the shop himself, getting to know his new colleagues. The shop was a half an hour from he and Melinda's new home, but Bilkins intended to get there sooner. He liked O'Conner, despite himself, and Monica was already a good friend. Bilkins had too few friends in Miami to allow them to be hurt.

Monica was sitting in the back of Cool Beans, close to the counter, when Bilkins entered. Her face was pale as milk and the cup of coffee trembled in her hands. The few cops that were hanging around this early in the morning were eyeing her with concern, but so far no one seemed to be willing to approach her. Bilkins quickly crossed the linoleum floor to stand in front of her. "What happened?"

"Brian asked for help investigating Dark Magic," Monica told him, glancing around almost nervously. "I agreed, if for no other reason than to keep him out of trouble." Her fingers tightened around the cup and Bilkins gently took it from her. "I talked to the bartender while he talked to the dancer that the owner was talking to. We found evidence of something fishy going on behind the scenes." Monica pulled in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes for a moment. "Brian was going to turn it in to the police tomorrow morning. We were getting ready to head in for the night when we noticed someone following us. That's when I started to put the emergency code in."

"You said Brian had been taken," Bilkins prodded, placing the coffee cup on the table, and Monica nodded.

"The man started shooting at us. Brian pushed me in front of him and we ran for cover. I made it. Brian didn't. One of the shots clipped him and the guy grabbed him."

"Can you describe the man who took Brian?"

"Yeah," Monica said, folding her hands beneath her chin. "He was tall, probably six foot one or two. His hair was short but I'm not sure what color it was. It had to be light coloring, but it could have been blonde or light brown for all I know. He was wearing a black jacket that he probably ditched right after he grabbed Brian, but he had a light colored sweatshirt underneath." She lifted her hands to brush her hair back, looking exhausted. "That's all I remember."

"That's okay," Bilkins told her. "It's a good starting point." He slipped his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it to type in the correct number as Monica lifted her coffee and took a sip. Her face remained blank even though Bilkins was fairly certain that the drink was ice cold.

"FBI, Miami office," a crisp, female voice said on the other end of the line.

"This is Agent Andrew Bilkins," he said, rattling off his badge number. "I'm reporting a kidnapping in conjunction with a possible case and requesting a team be sent out immediately."

"Just a moment, Agent Bilkins," the woman told him. He waited patiently as Monica continued to drink her coffee, trying not to worry. Brian had a habit of coming of trouble unscathed. His luck would hold out until the FBI figured out what was going on. A minute later, the woman came back on the line. "Where is your current location, agent?"

"I'm standing with a witness at Cool Beans, the coffee shop, just down the street."

"I'm dispatching a team to your location now," the woman told him. "Please stay on the line."

Bilkins nodded, even though the woman on the other end of the line couldn't see her, and turned to Monica. "There's a team coming." Monica nodded, spinning her cup slowly on the table.

A sleek, black car that came out of some action movie pulled up in front of the coffee shop and a Hispanic man stepped out of the passenger side. He was followed by an African American man that likely towered over everyone he encountered slipping out of the driver's seat. The two were dressed in suits, although the Hispanic man's clothing was rumbled, and they stepped in sync as they moved into the coffee shop. "Agent Bilkins?" the African American man asked as Bilkins informed the woman on the phone that the agents had arrived before hanging up. "I'm Agent Stevenson, this is Agent Hernandez. We were dispatched to your position by HQ." They both held out their badges and Bilkins looked over them carefully before nodding.

"We understand that you're reporting a kidnapping," Hernandez said, opening the conversation. Bilkins nodded and directed the agents towards Monica. She could tell them more than he could.

"Where are you going?" Stevenson called after him.

"I'm going to do some digging into a club," Bilkins called back. He knew as well as anyone that time ticked down fast during a kidnapping case. If they didn't find Brian soon, there was a good chance he'd be killed. Especially if the kidnappers found out that he'd been a cop and worked for the FBI. Despite all the trouble that Brian O'Conner had dumped in his lap when he'd let Toretto go and skipped town, Bilkins liked O'Conner. The kid had a good heart and all the makings of a good cop, or an excellent criminal. It would be horrible to see all that potential go to waste. Besides, O'Conner annoyed Markham, who was no less annoying off duty than he had been on the Verone case. That was reason enough to keep the ex-cop around.

Dark Magic wasn't all that difficult to find, even if Bilkins didn't frequent the Miami club scene. The federal agent wasn't all that surprised to see a woman with short, dark hair waiting for him outside the club. "Agent Bilkins?" she questioned and he nodded, glancing at her badge. "I'm Hilary Harper."

"I've heard good things about you," he told her and Harper smiled.

"Stevenson told me that you'd gone to check out a club and Ms. Fuentes gave us the name of it," she told him. "I figured you might want some backup since this case has already gotten a former cop grabbed." Bilkins nodded and led the way into the club.

The interior of Dark Magic was mostly empty, harsh fluorescent lights brought up so that the janitorial staff could see what they were cleaning. One of the men still working, likely one of the bouncers, approached them. "Club's closed," he said, voice cool as he blocked their way.

"FBI," Bilkins said as he and Hilary Harper held out their badges for his inspection. "We need to speak to the owner."

"And to Holly Johnson if she's still here," Harper added. The man glanced at the badges and then nodded, gesturing another man over.

"Andy, take one of these agents to see Miss Johnson if she's still around. I'm taking the other one to see the boss," he said. Andy nodded and Harper followed him towards the back. The bouncer then turned to Bilkins and said, "Follow me."

The bouncer led the way to a hallway behind the bar, rapping on a thick, oak door. "What is it?" an impatient voice called.

"Someone from the FBI wants to talk to you," the bouncer replied.

There was a long stretch of silence and then the voice from inside called, "Send him in." He sounded distinctly nervous.

The bouncer opened the door and Bilkins stepped into a messy office. Papers were strewn across the desk and a bookshelf was in complete disarray. The man behind the desk appeared just as rumpled as his bookshelf, sandy blonde hair sticking up at odd angles and his eyes were tired and red. He stood and offered Bilkins a hand. "Agent Bilkins, FBI," he said, showing the owner his badge instead of shaking hands. "Are you the owner?"

"Yeah," the man said, running a hand through his hair. "I run the place."

So this was Jeremy DeWade. He didn't look like much, but his name was on the deed for this place and he was the one that had been preventing people from contacting the police. Looks weren't everything. "I'm here to talk to you about the kidnapping of one of your dancers," Bilkins told him and watched DeWade turn pale.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," DeWade stuttered but Bilkins shook his head.

"Cut the crap. I know that one of your dancers is missing and that you won't let anyone go to police about it."

"That's bullshit," DeWade snarled, lunging forward.

"Sit down," Bilkins snapped and the man hesitated a moment before acquiescing. "Now, about the missing dancer."

"She's not missing," DeWade replied nervously. "I know where she is."

"Oh do you?" Bilkins questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," DeWade said, running a hand through his hair again. Bilkins smiled and sat down across from DeWade.

"Why don't you tell me everything, from the beginning."

"From the beginning?" DeWade asked in a weak voice. He sank down into his chair when Bilkins nodded.

"A couple years back, I started running drugs for a woman named Nadine Wallis," DeWade said, directing his gaze towards his cluttered desk. "I'd just opened up Dark Magic and I was made an offer I couldn't refuse. Everything was running smooth until Verone got involved. He sent his goons in, threatened me, and I caved. I told them everything." DeWade's hand was shaking as he ran it through his hair again. "Wallis wasn't happy. She had somebody grab a few of the girls. She even killed one of them."

"But she was still using you to help move the drugs," Bilkins guessed but DeWade shook his head.

"Not until recently. She wanted to set her business up in the city since Verone was out of the way. I told her that I didn't want anything to do with it, but she wouldn't listen. She forced me into it," DeWade's voice was desperate, pleading Bilkins to understand.

"So she took one of your dancers?"

"No, she got me back in with bank statements. She had all the proof that I'd helped her before and she was gonna turn it in to the FBI if I didn't help her."

"So why'd she take the dancer? Insurance?"

"No, it was my fault." DeWade rested his head in his hands for a moment before looking up at Bilkins and continuing. "I wasn't happy about her forcing me back in, so I made a plan. Her last shipment of product never made it to the proper warehouse. I tipped off local authorities and they seized it before the drivers even got their hands on it. I didn't think she'd find out about it."

"But she did," Bilkins finished. "And she took the dancer."

"Yeah. She wants to trade the dancer for the shipment, but I don't have the shipment. I can't make the trade."

"How long did she give you?"

"Seven days, but that was on the fourteenth."

"Don't worry about it. Just sit tight and the cops'll be around in a minute to take you into protective custody."

"Protective custody?" DeWade questioned, voice going high, but Bilkins ignored him, heading for the door. He had more important things to worry about than the club owner panicking over the idea of protective custody.

Hilary Harper was waiting for him, arms folded over her chest. "Johnson's gone," she told him. "One of the bouncers is trying to get in contact with her."

"DeWade broke," Bilkins replied, trading information with her. "I'm going to call the local police and have him put in protective custody."

"Okay. I'll check in with Stevenson and Hernandez." Harper turned and headed towards a quiet corner of the room while Bilkins pulled out his cell phone. The number of the Miami-Dade Police Department was already programmed into his cell phone for when he, inevitably, needed to work with local law enforcement. The phone rang twice before an alert sounding man answered. Bilkins rattled off his badge information and waited for the operator to check it before putting in his request. By the time he'd finished, Harper had returned and was waiting patiently to tell him what she'd learned. "The police are on their way," he told her.

"Good, then we can meet up with Stevenson and Hernandez at headquarters soon. They're putting together a case right now while Fuentes is with the sketch artist."

As Harper and Bilkins waited for the cops to arrive, one of the bouncers approached them. "Holly Johnson is on the way," the man told them. "Is there anyone else you need to get in contact with?"

"Yes, actually," Harper replied. "One of our witnesses mentioned that she'd been told about another possible witness for the case. A Tony Andretti?"

"Tony took a couple days off, but I'll see if I can get in contact with him," the bouncer told them before walking back towards the back room.

The police arrived before the bouncer returned, two of them standing guard at the front while two more were directed towards DeWade's office to collect him. "I'll stay here to bring in Johnson and Andretti," Harper told him, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face. "You head back to headquarters and fill them in on what you've learned."

"Call in when you've got Johnson and Andretti," Bilkins ordered before heading towards the door. He nodded at the police before he stepped out into the cool night. He hesitated by his vehicle, pulling out his phone again to call Melinda. He needed to let her know that he was working on a case, because he wouldn't be coming home until he was sure O'Conner was safe.