#zipties

Twenty-six hours.

Twenty-six hours since Andy McNally has woken up, zip-tied and gagged on the floor of her kitchen, the back of her head screaming as she forced herself into a sitting position, witnessing the chaos and devastation across the kitchen and living room, as well as the large blood pool that now seeped into the carpet.

Her vigilante neighbours had called reported shots fired, and when her address came over the radio, practically the entire division had responded, finding Andy struggling her bonds.

Sam Swarek, however, was nowhere to be found, the last sighting of him from a neighbour’s door cam, showing five men leave Andy and Sam’s house, Sam carried out and shoved into the back to the car.

It had been twenty-six hours, and they had nothing. Everyone they could think of had gone through the scene of the crime, documenting the trashed up place, trying to find any speck of evidence to identify their assailants, but these were professionals.

McNally could have told them that already – the break-in was fast, brutal, and highly efficient. They’d jumped on her first, as she was cooking, Sam already unconscious when he’d been dragged to the living room, but had stirred awake as the four were working to further subdue Andy.

Sam had began to crawl towards one of the shelves, towards a hiding spot for his spare gun, when one of their assailants clocked him, and Andy felt something whack her across the head, knocking out her lights.

What had they done to you?

And what did they want from us?

Traci had taken Andy to the hospital and stayed with her, trying to convince her to stay overnight for observation, but McNally was not heaving any of it – Sam was missing.

Oliver Shaw had coordinated the search for Sam, and Andy was thankful that he had taken the initiative to call up those on holiday as well as retired officers too. It was all hands on deck, all of them.

And yet, nothing.

It was like Sam Swarek had disappeared off the face of the planet.

In one of the most surveilled cities in the world, that was damn right impressive.

“Oliver, please, tell me you have something, anything?” she asked, approaching Oliver’s desk for probably the tenth time that hour.

Oliver looked up, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep – Sam’s abduction had happened as he was coming of his own 12 hour shift.

“Patrols are still checking all drivers matching the description of the vehicle on the door cam at checkpoints. CIs are being utilised, and BOLO is out on Sam’s truck too. Traci dumped the cell towers at your home, found two burners. Trying to locate them but they’re off. Nothing yet, McNally.”

Andy just nodded, heading to Traci, hope fading with every passing second.

“I’m, I’m going to go home, Traci, just to pick up somethings, and then I’ll be back.”

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll, I’ll see you in an hour.”

Sam walked out, mindlessly heading towards her car, taking in a deep breath then instantly regretting it when the cold winter air attacked her lungs. She shivered.

Are you cold too, Sam?

She turned a corner, annoyed at herself for parking so far away from the entrance to the precinct, when…

Sam’s truck.

Her heart froze. It couldn’t be – Sam’s truck was gone, taken by one of the men for reasons unknown. There was a BOLO out for it, with every single cop in the city looking for his truck and it was just… here?

How could it be?

Why would they bring it back?

Every single thing she was taught in the rulebook, she ignored. All she could think about was the fact that if Sam’s truck was here… he could be too.

Illogical? Probably? It was more likely it was filled with explosives, bought back to the precinct to strike at the heart of the force. But Andy couldn’t think about it.

She had to get to the truck, she just had to.

She broke into a run, breaking through the passenger side window – sorry Sam – and peeked inside, disappointed to find nothing.

The truck bed!

She headed back around, surprised to see the cover over it – that hadn’t been there yesterday.

She fiddled with the cover, pulling it back, spotting nothing out of place at first until she climbed onto the bed itself and pulled back a smaller cover.

A strangled gasp left her.

Sam.

He had been bundled up under that cover, his body contorted at an unnatural angle, he too bound like she was, in nothing but the flimsy joggers and shirt that he was in when the attack had happened.

Had he been here all day?

The temperatures had hit well below freezing late at night and in the morning now, and Andy wouldn’t even step foot outside the house without being wrapped in at least three layers, if not four.

Sam had just the one.

She reached for her knife, cutting the ties and rolling him onto his back, fingers interlaced around his wrist, waiting.

He was alive.

“HEY!” Andy yelled at two officers out smoking, “Call for medical, and someone go and get Shaw and Nash!”

The two instantly obliged, and Andy went back to looking over her spouse’s injuries – the black eye, the blood down his shirt and in his hair, what looked like a gunshot to his leg, a gash of sorts across his stomach.

“What happened to you?” she asked, peeling off her own coat and draping it over him, before grabbing the hand closest to her and cupping it in her own.

His hand was ice cold.

“Sam, Sam, can you hear me?” she breathed out as Shaw and Nash appeared, both confounded by the fact that Sam was found in their own backyard.

How the fuck had they missed that? Oliver thought.

Who were these people, bold or stupid to leave a detective on death’s door in his own truck, outside his own precinct? Nash thought.