Operation Formosa

Disclaimer: NCISLA characters belong to Shane Brennan. All original characters and this story are mine.

Chapter 9

She knew that they were keeping something big from her. She'd seen it in Mick's eyes a long time ago and she saw it in his eyes when she'd lost Greg and Carrie. Fear knotted inside her stomach as she laid awake in a strange bed. Callen laid asleep beside her, his breathing was steady and it had deepened, she knew it was safe for her to climb out of the bed. Since she and Max had moved in with him and Michael, Callen had slept the whole night through. It had surprised him at first, as it wasn't something that he was accustomed to. But after five months, he'd revelled in the good nights sleep. Now it was her turn to lay awake, where sleep refused to take her under into the unconscious bliss.

She quietly padded her way down the hallway and found her way out to the front verandah. She sat quietly swinging on the seat and looked out over the garden, the moon eliminating a soft hue over the trees and plants. She found peace on that swing. She wasn't sure why it soothed her so much, but all throughout the day, she found sitting on that swing seat provided the peace she sought. Being left in the dark over a case was never her strong suit. It was her best friend and his wife whose lives were in danger, as she tried to direct her attention to their children for distraction. Callen had done a great job with the children and with her, before he headed off for the mission. However, what went on after that remained a mystery. She should be thankful that Mick and Mel were safe and had returned home with Ella and Thomas. And she was, but she needed to know what really went down. Why were they taken and by whom. Mick's answer to her question which she had directed to Callen had taken her by surprise. It also proved to her that he was protecting her. But from what?

When Callen awoke at six the next morning, he was surprised to find the bed beside him empty. He felt the sheets and frowned at how cold they felt. They should be warm from Bronte's body. He climbed out of the bed and he went in search for her.

After scouring the house, he found her asleep on the front verandah. With a cardigan pulled up over her slim body, she was fast asleep. She looked peaceful, just how he liked to see her when she didn't worry about things. He also loved to see her laugh. He'd managed the day before to get her to laugh from his silly antics with the kids, which he was thankful for and he hoped that it provided the much needed distraction from reality. He let her be and entered the house to prepare the coffee machine and breakfast. Max and Michael would wake up soon and they would be hungry. Especially after all the running around that they had done the day before.

It was good for them to just play, he acknowledged. No toys were required, although a ball was always handy to have around to throw, kick and bounce. Yesterday had been a turning point for all of them, he realised. Bronte had been forced to finally tell him the last of her secrets and he saw now when he looked at her, the peace it had given her. He knew there had been something that she had kept from him over the past six months, but he hadn't been able to put a finger on it. And he'd finally let go around the kids. He relaxed and enjoyed the pleasure of fatherhood and he loved every moment of it. He hadn't felt eyes watching him, assessing on how he was doing bonding with his son, or with Max. Although both boys were easy to get to know and were well behaved, he'd held back. He wasn't sure on why yesterday was any different, but maybe it was this house, as Hetty had mentioned to him the night before.

"Good morning, sleepy heads." He signed to Max as he greeted his son at the same time. He threw a pancake over his head from the pan and cheered when it landed on a plate. He poured more pancake mix into the pan and delivered another pancake over to Max, one he'd made already. He was greeted with smiles from both boys who poured maple syrup and blueberries on their pancakes. The boys tucked into their breakfast and drank the milk he'd poured out for them. He felt hands wrap around him from behind and knew that Bronte had woken.

"Morning, beautiful." He turned and caught her up into a dance as he moved around the kitchen to place the next pancake onto a plate. He leaned down and caught her lips in a morning kiss.

"Morning." She noted that he'd slept well and that he was in a good mood. It gave her hope that she was worrying for nothing. But with all that she'd been through, she couldn't shake the worrying that continued to fester inside her. "This looks good."

He handed her the pancake and coffee.

"Thanks, G."

"You're welcome, Bron." He narrowed his eyes and noticed the bags under her eyes. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

Bronte shrugged. "I have no idea. My brain refused to shut down."

Callen placed the pan back down on the stove top and took her properly in his arms. He lifted her chin up to look at him.

"What's bothering you?"

"I don't know, G. This last case that I've been left in the dark on, for starters. Why won't you tell me about it?"

Callen looked over her shoulder towards their sons and then returned his attention back to her. "There's nothing to tell you. You worry too much."

"For good reason." She turned and watched Max and Michael place their plates in the sink and head for the bathroom to clean their teeth. She faced Callen again and frowned.

"I know when I'm being kept in the dark, G. Now spill, I'll only read your reports about the case anyway."

Callen sucked in this cheeks as he mulled over how he was going to tell her. "We've already written up our reports. They've been sent through to Vance. He wanted them ASAP, seeing it's related to the operation he's been overseeing for the past four months."

Bronte furrowed her brow and set her chin taut, annoyed. "You've what? Now I know that you're hiding something from me." She let him go and stormed off for the bedroom.

Callen watched on and knew that this was going to be harder than he thought. He hoped that it didn't cause grief in their personal lives. He cleaned up from breakfast and grabbed his car keys. He found her in the shower as he entered the bathroom to clean his teeth.

"Are you going to be ready to drop the boys off at Ron and Andrea's or do you want me to return to pick you up after?"

"You take the boys over and come back to pick me up. I'll need to do my hair and makeup after this."

He nodded and exited, leaving her alone in her thoughts.

The Mission

The day involved a new case that kept them busy for most of the day, which Callen was thankful for. Bronte brooded at her desk, keeping her focus on the paperwork that she hadn't dealt with since she'd left for D.C. a few days earlier. He could see the line in her forehead of concentration over her work and he hoped that it was all that kept her focus and not the Formosa Cartel. But what Callen didn't know was that Bronte had spent a great deal of the night thinking and trying to piece together things. From her time in San Francisco, when she first saw that look in Mick's eyes, to New York, when she lost her husband and daughter and then to yesterday. She already knew that the Formosa Cartel were to blame for Greg and Carrie's deaths and that Mick had been involved in bringing them down for revenge. So she at least had a start on trying to figure things out. But that was all. She delved into files from everything that she could find on the cartel. She brought an image up of the Formosa family and her body shivered at the sight of them. None of them looked like they would have been a loving family. How could they be when they killed for a living? Not just with their guns, but through the drugs they distributed into the U.S., killing young men and women, some of them still boys and girls. Young lives lost from a drug that this cartel dealt in for money. With everything that she could find on them, her stomach continued to churn.

It was the son of Luis Formosa who caught her attention. His eyes were dark and evil and stared out from the screen at her as if he was seeping into her soul. She looked at the report to what his name was and furrowed her brow. Adán Formosa. It was the name of the man who had gunned Greg and Carrie down. In the past, she'd been kept away from ever seeing the face of their killer. A tear escaped as she looked the man in the eyes. Although it was only a photo on the screen, the man made her body shudder. She fisted her hands tight as she tried to control the anger that surged through her body. She googled his name and found a news report, declaring that the the son of the Formosa Cartel, who had taken over the reigns of the family's business had been killed in Los Angeles the day before. Details of his death had not been released but a representative from the D.E.A. stated that it was a result of long ongoing investigation into the Cartel's import of cocaine into the country.

Relief washed over her. Their killer was dead. But it was the sketchy details that had her look up over at Callen who sat at his own desk with his back to her that had her wondering. Did they kill him yesterday? Was he the one who had kidnapped Mick and Melissa? Why was it that so many people dear to her had died or had been kidnapped by this cartel? She shook her head and stood up from the desk. She needed to clear her head. She shut her laptop down and walked to the firing range. She loaded her weapon with a fresh set of bullets and fired at the imaginary target. In her mind, the drawn figure on the sheet of paper was Adán Formosa. Now she had an image in her mind and she used that image to fire her weapon. Anger surged through her body as she fired her weapon, until all bullets had been discharged.

"I think you killed him the first time. I assume it was a him." Callen leaned on the back wall behind her and revealed to her that he had watched her.

Bronte turned and glared at him. "Why are you in here? Don't you have a case to work on?"

He picked up on her annoyance in her tone, but chose to ignore it. "Because I'm worried about you. Something's eating at you and prevented you from sleeping last night. I wish that you would talk to me, Bron." He remained where he was, knowing that she would only push him away.

"Huh! That's funny, you know, coming from you. When you tell me about yesterday's case, then I will tell you what's bothering me." She pressed the button for the sheet to move forward and replaced it. Once it was back into position, she reloaded her gun and fired again. Every muscle in her body screamed in anger as she fired the bullets into Adán Formosa's head and heart. She had killed him twelve times already, but she was determined to keep killing him until the anger left her. She continued to go through the actions of clipping in a new sheet and reloading. Callen watched on until Sam entered and dragged him away to chase up a lead.

Once alone, she crumbled and cried into her hands. Her body shook as her grief over what she had lost and almost lost took hold of her. She hated this man more than any man she'd ever encountered. She knew she was being unreasonable with Callen shutting him out like that, but she couldn't help it. She needed to know the truth. Why had Adán killed Greg and Carrie and kidnapped Mick and Melissa? She'd worked it out that he was the one behind it, and she was determined to get to the bottom of the truth.