Too much

By now, Reese was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk. It was not his usual posture when discussing issues of importance, but during Nate's whole update, his facial expression hadn't changed much. It would almost seem as if he was distracted by something else, and not nearly as interested in the topic at hand as would have been expected.

He sighed once and tapped his fingers together thoughtfully near his chin, squinting slightly at Nate. The pause that followed was a long one. Garret? Out on the field? On a case where a young woman's life was at stake? On the surface it would seem to be a ridiculous suggestion, not to mention dangerous.

Reese cocked his head, allowing the pause to continue even longer until he finally straightened and dropped his feet back to the floor. "Okay. Do it. Take Wyatt and Garret and get the girl out." He stood and picked up a file. "I'll stay late, so call if you need backup. I expect a full report when you're back." Obviously heading for a different task, he aimed for the door, and gave Nate's shoulder a light tap with his filing folder on his way out. "Be safe."

Back out on the main floor, Garret waited impatiently outside Nate's cubicle. There was no way Reese was gonna agree to this. Jason hadn't fought it. Wyatt was on board and ready to go. But Reese? It would take a miracle. 


Luke wrapped his arms around Angel and gave her a long, tight hug. He hated this. He hated all of it. The Agency. The torture. How it affected the people he loved. Would it ever end?

Several hours of tortured silence ensued. By evening, those who were anxious were physically tired just from continuously checking in to see if anything had changed. But nothing had. No phone calls. Nothing to be seen other than Travis working at his ropes. No new threats. And no new intel from the Elite. Con himself was weary, but rarely moved from his seat at he table. Even during and after supper, he didn't leave his post...


Travis' hands had blistered, trying to cut through his ropes with the tiny sliver of wood. He wasn't sure how long he'd been working on them, but it had to have been several hours. He didn't know how close he was to triumph, when the rope suddenly grew slack. His eyes widened. He'd done it.

"Ohhh, he just got himself loose." Con's gaze remained glued to the screen. This was the first change I'm hours.

Lane was quick to come back over and watch, abandoning his partially-esten supper. "Come on, Travis," he whispered.

The ropes slid to the floor and Travis carefully leaned down to untie his ankles from the chair legs as well. His concentration was on the adjoining room though, where the guard was. So far, so good. He glanced at the window. It was his only route without being seen. But he had to be quiet.

He wasn't quiet enough, however. A floorboard squeaked under his weight, giving him away, and the guard wasted no time in sprinting to catch him.

Travis made it to the window, but barely had time to shove aside the curtain before he was grabbed from behind and yanked back into the middle of the room. Tripping over the chair, he tumbled to the floor, caught himself, and shot towards the door. But the other man was just too fast. "Get off of me!" Travis yelled as he was grabbed again. "Let me go!"

"Not on your life!" The guard struggled to keep a hold on him, reverting to giving him several punches to the ribs and gut.

Travis doubled over just to have another fist hit him on the face. Let go for a split second, he turned on his captor.

Lane had drawn closer to the screen, seeing and hearing everything. Never had he felt so utterly helpless. "No!" he yelled. "We have to stop him!"

Con got to his feet. "There's nothing we can do," he replied calmly. "He'll be okay."

"He is not okay!"

Travis fought with all his might, and despite not knowing much defense, he did finally manage to get in a couple of his own blows, but it only served to make the guard even madder. Eventually, he was knocked to the floor and absorbed several harsh kicks, finally forcing him to curl up in a ball and cover his head.

"We have to do something!" Tears filled Lane's eyes and he just about knocked over Con's laptop.

"Just calm down," Con urged. "It's going to be alright."

Once Travis felt a small break in the onslaught, he uncurled to crawl towards the doorway.

The guard laughed. "You really think that's gonna do it?"

By now, Travis' face was a bruised, bloody mess, and he couldn't feel his left arm. Squinting at freedom, he pulled himself along the floor, just to be stopped yet again. This time with a blow to the back of his head. He didn't even have time to think before his world went dark.

Lane watched in horror as his son was rendered unconscious with a swift kick, and carelessly dragged to the far side of the room. Had he just been knocked out? Was he even still alive? "We can't just sit here and watch this!" He went for his phone. "I'm calling them and -"

"No." Con grabbed the phone from him. "We are not going to play into their game."

"Does that look like a game to you?!" Lane's tone had risen to shouting as he ignored everyone else in the room. "They are beating my son to death! Or are you blind?!"

"We can't do anything until we figure out where he is!" Con warned Lane with a pointed finger. "We are going to get Travis out, but you're gonna have to keep your cool."

"Keep my cool? You heartless..."

Con easily sidestepped Lane's fist, and just as smoothly, turned to spin Lane into a headlock while pinning an arm behind his back. Con's size alone made it easy, but he knew exactly how to hold Lane's thrashing form so he couldn't get loose.

"Get off me!" Lane hissed, gasping for breath, and tried to break free. "If this is the kind of help the Elite sends, I'd rather do this on my own!"

Con's expression was grim. "Either I put you to sleep for a few hours, or you calm down. You're going to get your son killed if you keep this up, so pull yourself together and go take a breather." He gave Lane a jolt. "I'm not joking." Slowly releasing him, he took a step back, prepared for more, if need be.

The computer screen went ignored as Travis' ankle was securely shackled to a ten-foot chain that was bolted firmly to the floor. There was no way a splinter of wood could help free him now.

Lane spun around and caught his breath, glaring up at Con, despite being at the disadvantage. Tears of frustration and fear still lingered in his eyes, and he tossed Angel a glance before turning around again. It was nearly impossible, but he walked away and to the adjoining room where he sat down on the couch to put his head in his hands.

Back in the dining room, Con ran a hand over his face and avoided the looks from the others in the room. He'd done what he needed, but he didn't feel good about it. Easing back down in his chair, he stared at the computer screen, and the picture of Travis' motionless form. Though Lane's emotional outburst couldn't be tolerated, he was right about one thing - something had to be done, or the boy wasn't going to survive. As glad as Con was that Travis was a fighter, at this point, if he fought too much, it would mean his death. And already he was very obviously beginning to get worn down. How much more could he take?

A message suddenly popped up on his computer. It was from Scott. They'd located the source of the video feed. Con typed back, you and Dalton deserve a raise. Searching for the location and bringing up an aerial view. It was a farmhouse. Not out in the middle of nowhere, but far enough from other houses that at least they wouldn't have to worry about other casualties. It was about twenty-five miles from the ranch on a dirt road.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he jumped, not having realized Mick had just asked him a question. He quickly turned up his hearing aid. "Sorry. What?"

"Whatcha got?"

"This." Con pointed. "We've got our location."

Mick bent down to see for himself. This was huge progress, and he would withhold his opinion of Con's harsh behavior for now. "What kind of plan do we need?"

"First, we..." Con's sentence trailed off as he received another message from Scott: Dalton discovered 2 more feeds. Surveillance cameras around the property. Can't get in to disable them.

Con sighed deeply before he turned and looked at the several faces that were now staring back at him. Mick. Rosetta. Eric. Sparky. Wes. Luke. They all knew the risks. But they'd been far removed from this kind of thing for a very long time. Years ago, they would probably have gone in guns blazing and taken out whoever they needed to along the way. After all, this was war. But now - with a tighter rein on the Elite - they had to be much more careful. Travis' life was at stake, but they couldn't involve the police, and they couldn't cross too many lines lest the Elite be found at fault and dismantled completely.

But the eyes that stared back at him were expecting him to have answers. To be able to solve this. They were depending on him, which was exactly what he hadn't wanted. But they had no one else. For a moment, the room was silent. He could feel a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. A vision of Dalton being shot flashed through his mind. As did a vision of the thug he'd shot in the back after the fact. He'd messed up that assignment, and messed it up big. And now he was in charge?

His eyes flitted across the quiet group before his gaze dropped. If he didn't take charge of this and do it now, he would fail this group. They would take charge themselves and get into a whole heap of trouble. And a young man could die for it. Swallowing the fears that lurked in the shadows of his heart, Con lifted his eyes once again, and stood up. With squared shoulders and stern expression, his mere presence demanded respect.

"First, you all need to be prepared. Make sure Stacy is on alert. Pass out guns to those who know how to use them and start making regular rounds. Get your cameras back up and running. Once we have Travis, the Agency may turn on this ranch. No one should be allowed in or out. Shut the gate across the driveway to be sure no innocent stranger wanders in." He looked to Rosetta. "Coordinate shifts so some of you can rest while the others stand guard, then keep tabs on where all the children and babies are so they can be taken to the underground cellar if need be."

These people couldn't risk going out into combat just to be arrested by the police if things went south. But they were very much within their rights to protect their property and families.

"How do we get Travis?" Mick questioned.

Con glanced back at the video that showed Travis still lying unconscious on the floor. "They'll know as soon as someone arrives." His mind worked quickly. He had so few options without other Elite team members. This was far different from leading a team back home. "Let me think - we can't be too hasty."

Sensing the big man needed time to consider the options, Mick gestured to the others. "You heard the man. Let's make sure we're secure around here."

Once alone, Con picked up his phone and dialed. "Yeah, Reese? Con. Yeah. No, I'm gonna need help. This is too much for us to handle..."


Hearing the front door open, Levi whirled around, crumpled up the last piece of paper, and this time he walked to the trash can, also picking up the pieces he'd deposited on the floor earlier. "Hi, Karla!"

Keith also turned for a moment from his work to wave. "Good morning, and welcome." The phone rang, interrupting any further greeting. "I think we shouldn't advertise being open until nine," he mused before turning and answering the call.

Levi grinned at Karla, although her mentioning walking didn't escape his ears. "Well, then you came to the right place." He motioned her over to the little table in the corner. "I wouldn't want you to not be here, so help yourself to some coffee. I hope you like it strong." He offered her a clean mug. "But if not, there's some creamer right there, too." A chuckle escaped. "Depending on the day, we might make a pot in the afternoon, too, so there's always plenty."

Letting her pour herself some coffee, he grabbed a folding chair and brought it over to his desk before sitting in his own chair. Then he jotted himself a new note. Chair. Desk. He thought a moment, chewing on the end of his pen. Most of his pen had teeth marks - all of which were his. It drove his dad bananas. New pens. Chair mat. Desk calendar. "Come right on over," he encouraged. "Have a seat. I'm just starting a list of some things we're gonna need to get you. Oh, and over there's the bathroom." He pointed to the back. "And there's water bottles in the fridge - community property so help yourself any time."

He swiveled around to face Karla once she was seated, and smiled again. "Okay. So. We provide a number of services for individuals or companies who want to advertise their businesses or events. We design everything from logos to business cards to posters or CD cover slips. Anything printed like that, we act as the go-between for the businesses and area printshops. So say, Tilly's Truffles wants us to make a thousand business cards - we do the design work, then send out the job to be printed and delivered to the customer." He paused, closing his eyes in distaste. "And yes, we did deal with a Tilly's Truffles last year. Long, gruesome story. You can read the file sometime, although we were tempted to burn it."

A wry grin emerged as he continued. "So why choose us over some online services? We actually provide some pretty competitive rates, and people like it that we're local. They like it that they can come stop by and talk to us about their projects in person, or call us, rather than doing everything online. Our reputation is super important, since we really are competing with online companies that have basically exploded in the last few years. That means always smiling, always being over-the-top nice to customers on the phone, and never closing a file until they're completely satisfied. To be honest, a good majority of our profit comes from the designing end of things. Anyone can upload a finished design online, but if you really want a poster to get people's attention, somebody who knows what they're doing has gotta design it first. Sometimes we create a logo and the customer takes it somewhere else to create their printed stuff. Their choice, but we do offer some package deals."

He paused and blinked. "And if I talk too fast, say, 'Levi, slow down!' And if that doesn't work, you have permission to whack me. Gently. Upside the head. Goodness knows my mom has to do that all the time." He drew in a breath, knowing full well that he was rattling on a hundred miles an hour - but he wanted to see how well Karla could keep up without whacking him.

"Okay, so that's basically what we do. Here is the precious book of all things good and evil." He grabbed a bright green three-ring binder and flipped it open. "Eventually I'm just gonna give you time to sit and browse through all this. It lists all our pricing breakdowns for all the different types of projects we handle, then in the back, it's got all our contacts for outsourcing companies..."

He went on to explain things in more detail, answered any questions, and familiarized Karla with their filing system - even though it looked haphazard, they did have somewhat of a system in place that just needed to be helped along a bit. He explained how they wanted her to answer phones and handle calls - whether she needed to pass them on or take messages, and what information to get.

"That sad fern over there is Nancy," he added, once he'd finished yet another long spiel. "She gets water about once a week, but if you know anything about plants..." He laughed. "Feel free." Back at the desk, he sighed and yawned before looking into his coffee mug that had gone dry. He didn't remember finishing it. "So I'm thinking today probably I'm just gonna have you get to know the green book, listen to us take a few calls, and rummage through our files so you get to know things. Then tomorrow, we need to go shopping." He showed her his partial list. "We've got enough room for a desk right over there." He pointed to the wall next to the coffee corner. "So you'll have your own space and can spread out a little. We've got an extra computer at home too, that I'll bring and set up so we can all be connected. Then I can show you how to navigate our record keeping."


A half-eaten pizza sat on the kitchen counter. Now-empty ice cream bowls sat in the sink. A romantic comedy played on the television. And all Rosalyn felt was peace. Curled up in front of Chad on the couch with his arm draped around her and her legs somewhere intertwined in his, she had never felt so warm...so sleepy...so happy. The other two girls were gone for the evening, providing the perfect opportunity for a date night in. And knowing he only had a few days left made this time even more treasured.

Just as her eyes were starting to close for the umpteenth time, the doorbell rang. Giving a start, she opened her eyes wide and straightened up before looking at the wall clock. Odd. No one usually came around during the evening like this. She sighed and glanced at Chad. "Keep the couch warm," she mused. "I better go see who's here."

Yawning, she wandered through the kitchen and to the door, pausing only to straighten out her sock that was almost falling off her foot. When she opened up the door though, she stopped dead in her tracks, her whole body tensing.

Jim looked down at his daughter for several silent moments, his face showing little expression - unless one would look closely enough to see pain above all else. "Rosalyn..."

"What are you doing here?" Her words came out ice cold.

Jim almost cringed at her tone, but straightened up and took a deep breath. "I'm here to see Chad."

Rosalyn's grip on the doorknob tightened. "How did you know he was here?"

"That's not important. I'd like to speak to him, though. Please."

Please? That seemed a new word in her dad's vocabulary. Rosalyn shook her head. "I don't know why you'd think I'd agree to that. You should go." She started to close the door, but Jim reached out with his hand to stop it.

"Would you at least ask him?"

Rosalyn studied his face, unable to tell what his intentions were. Finally though, she let go of the door. "Stay here," she stated firmly. Going back to the living room, her arms were folded around herself tightly, her face strained. "Chad?" She came closer, interrupting the end of the movie. "My dad's at the door. Says he wants to talk to you. I didn't even know he knew where I lived, and I have no idea how he found out you were here." She swallowed hard, fear in her eyes. "You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. I'll tell him to leave. But he wanted it to be up to you, so you do what you want."

Outside in the porch, Jim waited. He'd told no one at the ranch that he was coming into town tonight, but most likely, no one would even notice his absence.