Oliver looked on amazed as his witch dipped a little backwards, his hand still had a light grip on her upper arm. To an onlooker it would seem like they were in the midst of a slow dance. Oliver kept on watching as her lips uplifted themselves into...
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Jonathon was an old enemy, once a businessman; Emma's employer; later a person she began to date for some time... only to find out his vile face hidden underneath. His connection to the mafia was half of the cake, the other half was the revelation that he'd employed and dated Emma just with the purpose of getting her shares in her late father's company. Adding to his list of offenses, Jonathon tried forcing himself on Emma, thankfully Brandan arrived in time and thrashed him black and blue.
Later, Oliver and Brandan exposed the man. His true face was revealed - to the world and to the cops. Jonathon's pristine forefront as a decent businessman was over for good. He was ruined, and then, he became a runaway criminal.
And now, he'd returned.
Yes, apparently, it was now confirmed that it was none other than Jonathon who was behind the children going missing.
Anxiously, Oliver paced back and forth in the living room at Brandan and Emma's palace like home, painfully aware of the missing chirps and hollers of Sarah and Sammy that graced it last time when he was here. "Damn it, can't you trace him yet? What kind of FBI hot-shot you're, Fredrick? Do something!"
Fredrick, the FBI officer who'd helped them before in many such issues - business related and personal, narrowed his eyes at Oliver. "What makes you think that we're not trying our best? My team is scouring the entire city since two days and one night now, without a minute's break."
Brandan stood stiff by the window, eith shadows underneath his eyes and jaw covered with stubble that hand't seen the face of a razor since the last two days. He stayed quiet, in deep thought.
Oliver could almost see Brandan's mind twisting it's screws, battling between thinking out a place where Jonathon might have taken his kids and running out again to spend hours after hours out at the streets and alleys and at every damn place to find them out.
"We need to think like him," Brandan's gruff voice said, his shoulders stiff. "Like Jonathon. Oliver, you've spied him before."
Oliver came forward. "I did. It initially caused his exposure and ruination."
"Any idea where that rat can be hiding at the moment?"
Oliver's brow crinkled, his eyes flicked sideways trying to remember every detail of the jerk-face. His head still had a little buzz from all the vomiting he'd done in the plane, but the far greater concern, the worry and adrenaline shoved that buzz away successfully. "All that flashes my mind about Jonathon is his mastery in a good escape, alongside his black mind, of course. He's a sly basta*rd."
Fredrick shuffled on the sofa. "He's not left the city, every way out is blocked with tight search parties. Even a leech can't get away without getting detected in some way."
The now prominent vein on Brandan's temple visibly ticked. "Your informers have been saying Jonathon and his men have been seen at least at seven different places until this morning?" It was more of like a point stated rather than a question or a random comment.
