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John leaned against the side of the SUV with his arms crossed and watched Blake stride up the cement sidewalk to the two-story, dilapidated Cape Cod. The house had seen better days. Its paint was no longer white but dingy gray, peeling in places to reveal weather-worn siding underneath. The windows were all intact, but some were missing one shutter while the others were missing both. The front porch sagged with age, and the railing was long gone, leaving posts where it used to sit. Trash collected along the base of the front porch, banding together in the dirt like so many tumbleweeds, and any grass that had once graced the small, postage stamp front yard had given up, strangled out by crabgrass and weeds.
John kept one eye on Blake and one eye on the front windows, his hand near his holster with his 9mm. He didn't like the fact that Blake was going to the door alone, but Blake had been adamant. How he intended to get the inhabitants of an alleged crack house to talk wasn't clear, but John stayed alert near the SUV, ready to intervene if necessary.
The front door cracked open and a face peered out cautiously, providing the only opening Blake needed. He never broke stride as he slammed the door open with his shoulder, driving it into the person inside. He reached around the door, ripped a shotgun out of the man's hand, and tossed it outside into the barren yard as he disappeared into the house. The door slammed shut and John blinked at the speed with which it had been accomplished, his lips curving into a reluctant grin.
He was still grinning about ten minutes later when Blake came out the door again, strolling down the sidewalk and ignoring the shotgun laying in the yard.
“He wasn't here,” he said, coming up to the SUV and going to the driver's door. John nodded and turned toward the passenger's door. “But they told me somewhere else to try. It's a few blocks away.”
“Just like that?” John asked in disbelief, getting into the SUV.
Blake slammed the door and started the engine, glancing at him with a grin.
“I may have...encouraged them a little,” he said with a shrug, pulling away from the curb.
“What makes you so sure Lorenzo was at a crack house, anyway?” John asked.
“I've been studying these guys for over three years. I know them like I know my own family,” Blake answered. “Larry hasn't had time to run the tox screen, but he said the marks on the inside of Lorenzo's arm are consistent with a needle. I don't need the tox screen to tell me Lorenzo fell off the wagon again.”
“Ok.” John nodded and watched out the window as they rolled through a stop sign and into another depressed neighborhood of old, deteriorating row homes. “You said he was diabetic. Could it be from insulin?”
“Lorenzo takes insulin pills, not needles,” Blake replied. “Besides, you don't inject insulin into your arm. Don't you know any diabetics?”
“No,” John answered with a grin. “And I'm not much of a fan of needles, so I wouldn't know where they stick themselves.”
“Better watch your sugar intake, then,” Blake warned. “Lay off the soda pop.”
“Did you just call it...soda pop?” John demanded.
“Yeah. So?”
“Do me a favor and never say that again,” John told him. “I can't work with someone who calls it pop.”
“What do you call it?”
“Soda,” John said emphatically. “Just soda.”
Blake glanced at him as he pulled over in front of a gray row home, flanked on either side by an empty lot where the neighboring houses had long since burned down.
“You need to learn to not sweat the small stuff,” he told him. “You'll have a heart attack before you're forty.”
“I live in Jersey,” John retorted. “If I only have a heart attack, I'm in good shape!”
Blake chuckled as they got out of the SUV, glancing around as they slammed the doors.
“Think they know you're coming?” John asked, looking at the forbidding gray house.
“Undoubtedly,” Blake answered.
“Want company this time?”
“Nope.” Blake started up the sidewalk. “You just watch my car.”
John opened his mouth to toss a smart comment back, but the words died on his lips as the front door of the house swung open and two immense Latino men stepped onto the cement stoop. They crossed their arms over their barrel chests and scowled at Blake, standing shoulder to shoulder and blocking his advance.
“You sure about that?” John called.
“Yep!”
Blake rolled his shoulders and eyed the two behemoths before him, sizing them up. He smiled.
“You can make this easy on yourselves and just tell me what I want to know,” he told them, speaking in Spanish just to be sure they understood. They looked surprised, but then grinned in amusement and uncrossed their arms. Blake let out an imperceptible sigh. “Or we can all get our workout in for the day,” he added in resignation, flexing his hands.
John watched from the curb as the two gorillas charged Blake simultaneously. The scuffle lasted all of maybe two minutes and when it ended, Blake was the only one rising from the pile of bodies on the ground. John was impressed, despite himself. He moved forward, clapping as Blake brushed dirt and dead weeds off his jeans.
“That wasn't agency training,” he said, nudging one of the unconscious men with his foot.
“No, it wasn't,” Blake agreed with a quick grin. A gash on his forehead above his right eye oozed blood and his lip showed a tendency to swell, but he looked none the worse for it. “Do me a favor and make sure they don't wake up before I'm done in there. As fun as that was, I'm not feeling a round two.”
John chuckled.
“I don't blame you,” he said, watching as Blake stepped onto the stoop and disappeared through the door.
Stephanie hit speed dial and held her phone to her ear, watching as Rachel climbed into the back of the ambulance. Marcus held tightly to her other hand, waving to Rachel from beside Stephanie. Rachel waved back as the paramedic closed the door and the ambulance pulled away from the curb, the lights flashing above.
“I have Marcus Nuñez,” Stephanie said without preamble as John answered. “He's fine. Rachel isn't. She's on the way to the hospital now.”
“The guide?” John asked. “What happened? Where were they?”
“Karl was holding them in a shed behind the maze at the back of the prison,” Stephanie told him grimly, turning to walk toward her Mustang. Marcus skipped along next to her, holding her hand with a death grip. “Jenaro was paying him to keep them in line. He kidnapped Rachel that night after the haunted maze closed, with the intention of having her help control Marcus. He called in Karl when it became apparent Rachel wasn't going to play ball very easily. They were right under our nose the whole time.”
“Wait, so let me get this straight,” John said. “Jenaro kidnapped the boy, realized he needed a nanny and kidnapped Rachel, who refused to...to do what, exactly?”
“Instill the fear of God into him,” Stephanie answered. “I gather Jenaro thought he could control her the way he controlled Jessica. He didn't take into account that Rachel wasn't raised in fear in Mexico.”
“What happened to her?” John asked. “You said she's on her way to the hospital.”
“Karl beat her beyond recognition,” Stephanie told him. “It's bad. I wouldn't have recognized her.”
John remained silent for a long moment.
“How did Karl come into it?” he finally asked, his voice tight.
“Rachel says Karl's been bringing drugs into the area for the Cartel for a while now,” Stephanie replied, walking Marcus around to the passenger's door of her car. “When Gomez saw the museum, he decided to use it, with Karl's help.”
“How did we find them?” John asked.
Stephanie watched Marcus climb into the backseat and reach over to grab the seat belt himself. She smiled at him and closed the door before answering John.
“We didn't. The Black Widow did.”
“That's who called you at the IT building,” John said. “So that's why you took off so fast.”
“I didn't have time to explain,” Stephanie said, circling to the driver's door. “As it was, I got here too late. She was already gone...with Karl.”
John cursed.
“Of course she was!” he muttered. “Hey! Hold on...”
Stephanie slid behind the wheel, raising an eyebrow slightly as she heard a grunt and a muffled thump over the phone. She listened to another thump, then John was back.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Where are they now?”
“I don't know. Where are you?” Stephanie asked, starting the engine.
“Babysitting,” came the cryptic reply. “I'm with Blake. He thinks he can get a lead on Jenaro's location. What are you going to do now?”
“Try to find Kwan,” Stephanie replied.
“Do you need me?” John asked. “I can be done here shortly.”
“No, you go ahead and help Blake. I have a mini-partner for the afternoon,” Stephanie told him, glancing at Marcus. “Be careful. If you guys think you found him, call me before you do anything.”
“Of course,” John agreed. “You know, Lina said she had a tracking dot on Kwan.”
“Oh, I haven't forgotten,” Stephanie assured him. “I've already got three calls into her voicemail.”
“What do you think she's doing with Karl?” he asked after a moment.
“I don't think I really want to know,” she replied honestly. “I just hope she leaves him alive so we can question him.”
“Good luck with that,” John murmured. “If the guide looks as bad as you say, and she knows Karl's responsible, I wouldn't place any bets on ever seeing him again.”
“Stephanie has the Nuñez boy,” John told Blake as he emerged from the house, stepping over one of the freshly-unconscious guards.
“Wonderful!” Blake exclaimed, a big smile breaking over his face. “How is he?”
“She says he's fine. The guide was with him, but she's not so good. They took her to the hospital. Steph said she's beaten up pretty bad.”
Blake glanced at John as they walked toward the truck.
“Jenaro?” he asked.
“No. Karl Didinger, the missing night guard,” John told him.
“So you got back two of your witnesses,” Blake said, climbing into the SUV. “That's good news!”
“Well, not exactly,” John replied, getting in next to him and reaching for his seat belt. “We have the guide, but not Karl.”
“What do you mean?” Blake demanded, starting the engine.
John glanced at him.
“It's complicated,” he murmured, wincing inwardly at his response. It drove him insane when Damon or Alina said those words, yet here he sat, using the same phrase.
Blake raised an eyebrow.
“That seems to be an ongoing theme with you guys,” he observed.
John nodded glumly.
“I know,” he agreed. “Don't hold it against us. It's not our fault.”
“I've noticed that too,” Blake said with a chuckle.
“Where are we headed?” John asked as Blake pulled a U-turn and hit the gas.
“An old abandoned factory near the train tracks,” Blake told him. “I found an informative, if not very bright, witness who was there when Lorenzo stopped in. Our witness remembered that a friend of his got kicked out of an abandoned factory, along with some other squatters, not too long ago by some mean Mexicans. Turns out Lorenzo mentioned this old factory that night.”
“That's convenient.”
“Isn't it? That's not all. According to my new best friend, Lorenzo was alive and well when he left the house, all accounts paid and no one unhappy with him. In fact, it seems like he was something of a hit with them all.”
“And you trust this information?” John asked, looking at Blake doubtfully.
Blake nodded.
“He was too far gone to make it up,” he said.
“So, where's this abandoned factory?” John asked.
Blake glanced at him.
“Along the train tracks, about ten minutes from here,” he said. “He said it's a ways back from the road, but you can see what's left of the roof through the trees.”
John frowned thoughtfully.
“I might know it,” he said slowly. “If it's the place I'm thinking of, the train goes right by it. It's a shell of a building, over-grown, and it's been empty for years. It's uninhabitable. Jenaro can't be staying there.”
“Well, it's all we've got,” Blake said. “Let's see if it leads anywhere.”
Stephanie rubbed her eyes and picked up her cell phone from where it vibrated on her desk. Marcus sat in John's chair, playing on Rob's iPad, and sipping hot chocolate that another agent had bought him from the vending machine. The kid was in spoiled heaven, soaking up every second of fussing attention he got as people stopped by to congratulate Stephanie on finding the boy.
“Hello?” she answered, glancing at her watch.
“Three voicemails?” Alina asked, sounding amused. “One would have sufficed.”
“I wanted to make sure you got the message,” Stephanie retorted.
A soft chuckle came from the other end of the phone.
“Oh, I got the message,” Alina murmured. “I'll send the tracking software to your phone. I've already unlocked it so you can access his location. Just install it like any other app. It will alert you when he's moving. He's at an urgent care clinic in Mt. Laurel right now.”
“Any idea why that might be?” Stephanie asked.
“At a guess, I'd say he needs urgent care,” Alina retorted dryly.
“Funny.” Stephanie stretched and reached for the cup of coffee on her desk. “What about Karl?”
“What about Karl?”
“Is he in need of urgent care, too?” Stephanie demanded.
“Oh, I don't think urgent care would do much good,” Alina answered, sounding downright cheerful.
“Lina, I need to bring him in!” Stephanie hissed, lowering her voice. “Am I going to need Larry to do it?”
“Is that your ME?”
“Yes.”
“Not just yet.”
“Thank God!” Stephanie breathed a sigh of relief, but Alina's next words made her head drop onto the desk with a thud.
“But I can't guarantee how long you have.”
“For the love of...where is he?” Stephanie asked tiredly.
“In his apartment. You'll want to take the medics with you,” Alina told her cheerfully.
“Did you at least find out what you wanted to know?” Stephanie asked. “I know you didn't take him just to avenge a complete stranger, even if she was brutally beaten.”
“Oh, I got everything I needed,” Viper answered softly. “He's all yours now...what's left of him.”