New story for me…I hope you like it. Hope to update every few days.

A thunderstorm loomed in the distance, but for the moment it was a bright, sunny Miami day. This neighborhood was quiet, almost deserted at this time of day. Michael and Sam crept, guns drawn, around the edge of the cookie-cutter, suburban house.

"Do you hear anything?" Sam asked.

"No, it's a little too quiet," Michael replied.

"You ready?"

"Let's go, Sam."

On the count of three Sam kicked in the front door and Michael leapt in to sweep his gun over the place.

"Clear."

"Any sign of Fi?"

"Not yet," Michael told him, looking around. "But this is where she said her meeting was yesterday and I haven't heard from her since."

"I'll check the basement and back bedrooms if you get the kitchen and the master."

They split up and continued to slowly and systematically search the house. Michael swept the kitchen but it looked like it had not been cleaned in years. He headed down the hallway towards what seemed like the master bedroom. There was a sliding glass door with a broken lock and signs of people living there…beer cans and fast food bags, a bare mattress and some dirty clothes.

"Fiona?" He called. "Fi?"

He carefully opened another door, which lead into a bathroom. It was empty, but bloody towels sat in the sink and a trail of blood led over to the bathtub.

"SAM!" Michael screamed down the hallway.

Holding his breath he pulled back the shower curtain. Bile instantly rose in his throat and he dropped to his knees.

"Fiona," he breathed. She was curled up in the tub, arms and legs bound, blood pooled and crusted beneath her. There was blood in her hair where it looked like she'd been knocked with a bat or a gun or something else hard and unforgiving. One of her ankles was swollen and purple even though it was still strapped in to her high-heeled sandal…signs of a struggle.

And then there were the cuts, strategically and evenly placed down her exposed arm and leg…signs of an interrogation. Someone wanted her to talk, but given the number of cuts, clearly Fiona had held her tongue.

Michael dropped his gun and gingerly reached out to brush fingertips against her cheek. He let his fingers trail down to her neck and hoped against hope to find a pulse. She was cold and still but she was alive.

"Mike!" Sam rushed in. He skidded to a stop when he saw her. "Jesus! Is she…"

"She's alive. Help me get her out."

Between the two of them, they lifted her gently out to the mattress in the bedroom. Michael pulled out his knife and sliced quickly though the tape around her wrists and ankles. They shifted her so she was laying flat and Sam started to work on removing the shoe from her injured ankle. Michael used his fingers to probe for more injuries. He found a dislocated shoulder and some cracked ribs.

"Her shoulder's out. I'm gonna try to reset it while she's still unconscious. Watch out just in case though," Michael warned.

"I've got it," Sam positioned himself to hold down her legs and other arm just in case.

Michael prepared himself, counted to three and quickly popped the joint back into place. Fiona groaned and tried to pull away from him.

"Fi!" Michael called out to her, brushing her hair back and holding her face so that she would see him. "Fiona. It's me. You're okay. Fi. Look at me."

She moaned and scrunched up her face in pain before her eyelids fluttered briefly. "Michael?" Her voice was almost inaudible.

Tears leapt to Michael's eyes and even Sam had to look away to collect himself. "Yeah, Fi. It's me. And Sam. We've got you. You're gonna be okay."

She kept her eyes closed, but sighed. She opened her mouth to speak, but "hurts" was the only thing audible.

"I know, Fi. I know. We're gonna get you out of here. Okay? Just relax." He kissed her forehead and blinked brightly before turning to Sam. "How are we going to get her out of here? I don't want to hurt her any more than she's already hurt."

"Well," Sam said. "I've got an idea, but you're not really going to like it."