A ringing telephone propelled Danny out of his drunken slumber. He held his head in his hand, feeling as though he were still swimming underneath a river of booze. He could certainly smell it… as well as the light scent of perfume, which was odd considering that there was no lovely woman lying beside him. Groaning fitfully, he reached over and padded the dresser in hopes of coming across his cell phone. When his sense of touch failed him, he opened his bleary eyes and looked around.

He was in his bedroom in his apartment. Though foggy, his memory slowly began to assist him. He gradually remembered the drinking, the Jack Daniels, Tony's attempts to curb his alcoholism… Terribly confused as to how he'd gotten home and into his bed, he noticed his chest was bare and he was still wearing his pants from last night. His shirt and tie were slung over the La-Z-boy in his bedroom, and his shoes were on the floor beside them.

But there was little time to contemplate. Climbing to his aching feet, Danny found his cell phone beside his tie and answered it on the last ring.

His voice sounded like it had been put through a meat grinder. "Agent Taylor."

"Danny. It's Frank."

Falling back down on top of his rumpled bedcovers, Danny held the space between his eyes between his fingers. It felt like a gigantic bubble of alcohol had become lodged inside his skull. "Frank, it's…" He leaned over to check the clock. "It's six a.m…" Danny realized. "What're you doing calling me?"

"I know. I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't important." There was a pause, and Frank cynically asked. "Rough night last night?"

"Is it public knowledge already?"

"Call it a lucky guess." The air over the phone was quiet; Danny guessed he was calling from home. "You read the paper yet this morning?"

"I haven't had the luxury." His headache bombarded at full force as he made his way through his disordered apartment. "Did my night make the front page?"

"No…" Frank said. "Someone else's did." Danny unlocked a series of locks on his apartment door and grabbed two fresh-printed newspapers off of the ground.

Danny frowned, holding the cell phone between his shoulder and ear. "Times or Post?"

"Times."

Grumbling, he let the Post slap back onto the ground and opened the Times to the front page. "President Bush Cites 'Personal Reasons' in Announcement." He groaned. "If you called me at six in the morning to discuss politics, I'm going to make you very uncomfortable next we meet."

"Dig deeper," Frank said. "Try page C12… New York Region."

Doing as requested, Danny leafed through the paper while walking inside to his kitchen. He scanned the headlines and was about to put down the Times, when an article towards the bottom caught his eyes.

'Juvenile Escapes from Northeast Detention Facility'

Just like that, he sobered. With wide eyes Danny slammed the paper down on the table. Though unable to take in the entire article in one glance, one very familiar name stood out amongst the paragraphs.

Jordan Coliandri.

Danny groaned, shaking his head. "Oh, no…"

"Oh, yes," Frank said. "By midnight last night she was out of there."

He couldn't seem to read the paper fast enough. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice growing louder. "How'd she get out? Where is she?"

"They don't know how she got out," Frank said slowly. "And they don't know where she took off to."

Though terribly hung over from the night before, he forced himself to focus. His drunken stance disappeared. His voice changed. Now, he was only interested in hearing the facts. "It's been six hours," he said, all business. "There's not many places she could go without someone noticing her." A sudden thought hit him. "She'd never go anywhere without Jason. Get your men to St. Luke's. That's where she'll be."

There was a short pause before Frank said, "Keep reading."

His brow furrowing, Danny furiously searched through the paper, fearing what he might uncover, but knowing he needed to find it. He was about to ask Frank to clarify what he meant by that, when an article on the following page stuck out through the others.

'Child Abducted from St. Luke's Orphanage' and in small print beneath that 'Local Caretaker Attacked'.

Jason. Danny breathed an angry growl. Dammit, the kid was gone, too. But then he responded to the sentence beneath. Local caretaker… "Rachel," he got out.

"She'll be fine," Frank said. "If you keep reading the article, you'll see that she's being released as early as this morning. One of the kids found her, lying on the floor unconscious. She took a good punch over the head, but it's nothing that won't heal."

Danny fell down into one of the chairs at his table, blank and deflated, barely believing what he was hearing. He stared at the articles. It was like a nightmare, some sort of bad dream that he had yet to wake up from. The emotions hit him all at once. First it was anger, a blinding anger that made him want to hunt down and murder those responsible to get back the ones he loved. Second came the sadness, the misery that sucker-punched you in the stomach and clouded in your mind. Third came the fear. The fear that they might never be found…that someone, something had already taken their lives forever.

Danny found it horrifying…and humbling to think that this was what the people he dealt with felt and experienced every day.

But then lastly as he sat there taking it all in, a final emotion surfaced, diminishing the rest. He looked up, eyes and face holding nothing but determination.

"I can find them," he whispered.

"I know you can," Frank said. He made a noise like he was getting up from a recliner. "Which is why I've made a call to a friend of yours."

Danny was about to ask who, when Frank continued. "Jack Malone. I told him what happened."

Danny took in a breath. "He agreed to take it."

"He did. From what I was told, he should be heading back with clearance from the NYPD. He'll call in the agents by 7."

It was strange and disconcerting to feel so many strong sensations all at once, but sure enough a sudden gratitude surged through him as he listened to Frank. A small smile graced Danny's features as he leaned against the table. "I thought you didn't get to where you were by making friends."

Frank snorted and answered in his thick New York accent. "Yeah, well, don't let word get around. I might have to start being compassionate."

"This mean I get box seats for the Yankees games?"

"Don't push your luck." For a brief moment, Frank's voice became completely and utterly serious. "There's a reason I gave this case to Malone. He's sharp, and he gets the job done. But you're the only one who knows these kids better than they know themselves. You find them, Danny. And you bring them back."

Danny sat up straighter, feeling purpose overwhelm him.

"I will," he promised.

From there, Danny bounded into action. He made himself coffee. He showered and shaved his five 'o clock shadow. He took some aspirin, and he dressed in one of his most impressive suits. Straightening his tie, he climbed into the car, feeling butterflies churn violently in his stomach.

He felt like he was a rookie on his first case again. Jordan and Jason's lives hung in the balance, and it was suddenly up to him and his team to bring them back. Danny had failed at many things in the past few days. He had failed at influencing Jordan into staying off the streets. He had failed at keeping Sr. Rachel calm about the roles her position called her to fill. He had failed at remaining sober, and he had failed at keeping his confidence. Though made strong by the responsibilities being handed to him, part of Danny Taylor was terrified.

However it was important to focus on one task at a time.

First… he would have to face his team.