Previously…
– Sarah and Matt learned that Tori had made it through her surgery following the car accident, but her unborn child had not. They anxiously awaited news on Marcus, who was still in surgery.
– Diego Barrera’s men kidnapped Brent and Molly, locked them in the trunk of a car, and set the vehicle on fire — but thanks to Rosie’s hunch, the authorities got to them in the nick of time.
– Rosie finally came face-to-face with her ex, drug dealer Diego.

The red and blue lights of a squad car slap against the tree trunks and mountainside, as the vehicle’s siren continues to shriek. Two pairs of headlights jut out into the night, casting beams of brightness askew over the dark road. Shaken from the thankfully minor crash, Rosie Jimenez holds up her service weapon as she moves carefully toward the car that struck hers.

“King’s Bay PD!” she calls out. “Arms in the air!”

It is with relief that she watches two arms move into the air on the passenger side of the other sedan. But then the owner of those arms comes into view.

“Rosie,” he says, his voice so familiar, so sleepy and ominous. “Come on.”

“Diego.” Her body shakes with equal parts fear and fury, and she struggles for a moment to maintain her hold on her gun. “Give it up. It’s over.”

For a frustratingly long time, there is no response, simply Diego holding up his arms as he smirks at her through the darkness.

“Who else is in the car?” she shouts. “Step out with your hands in the air.”

“He’s unconscious,” Diego says.

With her weapon firmly trained on her ex-boyfriend, Rosie side-steps her way toward a better vantage point. She sees a male figure slumped over the steering wheel, motionless, with no sign of a deployed airbag to be found.

She plants where she is, aiming the gun at Diego over the top of the car but still able to see if the seemingly unconscious driver makes any sudden moves.

“He’s unconscious,” Diego repeats. “You gotta get him help.”

“I’m not moving until you get on the ground with your hands behind your back,” she says. “So if you want to help your buddy, get moving.”

“Nah. Doesn’t sound like the way this is supposed to go.”

“I can do this forever, Diego. Get on the ground and we can–”

“I said no.”

She sees his hand move toward his waistband and cocks her own gun reflexively.

“Hands up!” she yells, steeling herself to pull the trigger.

But he is too quick, and before she knows it, Diego has a handgun pointed right back at her.

“What’s that you said about doing this forever?” he asks cockily.

Sarah Fisher Gray sits in one of the stiff, too-square chairs in the waiting area outside the emergency room of King’s Bay Memorial Hospital. Normally, at a time like this, she would be thinking, moving, doing — but the news that was just delivered has knocked her into stunned inactivity.

“That was our grandchild,” she says. “Our granddaughter. And now she’s gone before we even got to meet her.”

“I know.” Beside Sarah, Matt Gray lets out a loud, tortured sigh, the kind that is trying in vain to release all sorts of agony out of his body. “I know.”

For a long moment, they are both silent, absorbing the weight of this life-altering news. Telephones ring and footsteps clatter somewhere behind them, but that activity might as well be in a faraway universe, for as distant as it feels.

Matt rubs Sarah’s back with his palm.

“We’ve got to focus on Tori right now,” he says. “She’s gonna need us. And they’ve got her stable–”

Sarah turns to him with a sharp look, her eyes flashing something that scares Matt more than a little. “She’s going to be devastated when she wakes up.”

“I know she is. And…” His words trail off into nothingness as the weight of the night’s events crash into him like an avalanche of bricks all over again.

“Marcus, too,” he says. “We’ve got to pray he comes out of the surgery okay.”

Sarah lifts her head enough to glance around. “Mia and Jake will be here soon.”

“Yeah.”

It is a simple word loaded with so much dread; Matt has been hoping against hope that they’d receive positive news about the teenager’s condition before his parents arrive. But he knows that there is nothing he can do about that besides hope. At least on that front.

“Can I borrow your phone?” he asks abruptly.

“What? You have yours,” Sarah says, more than a little snappishly.

“I don’t have the number I need to call.”

It takes a few seconds, but Sarah gets it. With a resigned nod, she uses her thumbprint to unlock her iPhone and hands it over to him.

Matt’s hands are still shaky as he places the call.

“It’s Matt,” he says, unable to believe that this night has led him to this point. “You need to come to the hospital, Zane.”

—–

Elsewhere, in a quieter part of the hospital, Claire Fisher’s body is weary with exhaustion as she spins the combination lock to open her locker. She has been running on adrenaline ever since she came upon Tori and Marcus in the wreckage of a car crash, but now — after a full day of work, the disappointment and nervousness over Brent standing her up at dinner, the rush to help Tori and Marcus, and the pain of having to relay to Sarah and Matt that the baby did not survive — she feels it all hitting her hard.

Still in her light-blue scrubs, she takes her purse from the locker and sits down on a bench. She can hear two nurses gabbing elsewhere in the room, but their chatter about the weekend does little to penetrate her consciousness.

When Claire looks at her phone, however, her heartbeat spikes again. She has a slew of missed calls and text messages from Christian.

Instinctively, she springs to her feet as she reads the texts and then plays the voicemail from Brent’s son. The tale of what happened to Brent tonight — being beaten trying to save Christian from members of the drug ring, then being kidnapped along with Molly — sounds too insane, too unreal, to have been happening all this time while Claire simply thought Brent was caught up with a case. It is difficult to reframe her night to picture all that happening to him, let alone that he might still be in danger.

The worst part is that there is nothing she can do. Her first instinct is to call him, but she knows that it won’t do any good.

Instead, she punches Christian’s contact info.

“Hi, Christian,” she says as softly as she can, reminding herself that this is a scared teenager and not some emergency personnel. “I just got your messages. Has there been any news about your dad?”

—–

The cold air hits her lungs in a rush, shocking her into consciousness.

“Help!” Molly Taylor gasps as she shoots to a seated position. Catching herself too late, she braces for her head to slam into the closed trunk of the car — only it never does. And despite the world seeming like a thick soup around her, she can see that she is outside, out of that trunk and back in the regular world. Smoke and emergency lights fill the air. She can feel damp grass beneath her.

She breathes in sharply again, then coughs.

“Easy, Mrs. Taylor,” a man in EMT garb says as he places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’re okay.”

“I am?”

Everything continues to swirl around her, edges imprecise and movements dragging. She can make out the shape of a car — the same car that came into her driveway earlier, she thinks, but now with plumes of dark, thick smoke billowing from it.

“Brent,” she says as soon as the thought hits her.

“Commander Taylor is right here,” the EMT tells her. He directs her attention to her other side, where Brent lies in the grass. Another EMT holds an oxygen mask over his face.

“Is he okay?” she asks.

“We need to get both of you to the hospital. But the worst is over.”

Molly coughs again and watches Brent lying there, so still, his chest barely rising and falling at all.

“He has to be okay,” she manages to say though another cough. “He has to be.” She reaches over and takes Brent’s hand, and as reassuring as it is to touch him, he feels so cold and limp that all she can do is cry.

—–

Rosie and Diego aim their guns at one another.

“Put it down,” she says. “You don’t need shooting a cop added to the charges against me.”

“Charges against me? What’d I do?” Diego asks. She sees that smirk again, and she hates herself for ever having found something so foul, so nasty, sexy. Even if that does seem like it was another lifetime.

“Come on, Diego. The drugs. Kidnapping Commander Taylor and his ex-wife. Setting that car on fire–”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Then why were they brought here? We only found them because one of your men mentioned coming to Black’s. Kind of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sweet you remember Black’s Pass so good.” Diego’s voice slithers and snakes through the air, just like the wisps of smoke curling down the mountain road. “We had some good times at that cabin, didn’t we?”

Rosie stares back at him, as he points the barrel of a handgun right at her, and almost wants to laugh. Almost. His brand of love was always so based on her being there for him, supporting him, doing him favors, and she was young and dumb enough to think that it was an honor. No more.

“What, you scared to admit the truth?” Diego taunts her.

“The truth is that you got my dad killed,” she fires back, “and then you left my family and me high and dry.”

“Rosie, I told you, that had nothin’ to do with me.”

“No, just the product you were having me hold for you.” She lets out a caustic little laugh. “Nothing’s ever your fault, Diego. It’s always someone else trying to screw you, trying to get you. But not now. Drop the weapon.”

He shakes his head at her — not so much in refusal as in disbelief.

“Crazy seeing you as a cop,” Diego says in that same lazy drawl. “What happened to you?”

“My father was killed!” she shouts through the night. “Because of you! Everything changed that day — everything!”

Diego doesn’t react. Not a word, not an expression, not even a flinch.

“Now drop the weapon,” Rosie tells him forcefully. “Toss it toward me, put your hands in the air, and get on the ground. Now!”

He glowers back at her, again wagging his head.

“Nah,” he says. “I don’t think that’s what we’re gonna do here.”

—–

Matt stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

“Zane’s on his way,” he tells Sarah, his tone equal parts dread and resignation.

“It’s the right thing to do, now that…” Her words run off into the air, consumed by the tension filling the hospital. “That’s his daughter. He deserves to know.”

Matt flattens his lips into a tight, straight line. “Yep.”

They barely have a beat to let that land before they spot Matt’s brother and his wife hurrying toward them from the elevator bank.

“Where is he? Can we see him?” Mia Davich Gray cries.

“Marcus is still in surgery,” Sarah tells her and Jake. The anguish on their faces is raw.

“We never should’ve let him get in that car,” Jake says, half-muttering. “He’s a new driver, and it’s nighttime, and Tori–”

“He wanted to help her,” Mia says as she places a hand on her husband’s arm.

“Yeah, but she was hysterical.”

Sarah folds her arms. “Let’s just focus on praying for the best for Marcus and Tori.”

“Yeah,” Mia says, but the end of the word is clipped. “What about…?”

Sarah and Matt both shake their heads, tears brimming in their eyes.

Mia lets out a pained exhale as her hands move to cover her mouth. “Oh my god.”

Jake clenches his jaw as he stares down at the pattern on the carpet for several seconds.

“They shouldn’t have been in that car,” he says.

Again Mia touches his arm. “Jake…”

“No,” he says, with more force. His gaze snaps up to find Matt. “This is all your fault.”

“Jake,” Sarah says sternly.

He ignores her and jabs a finger in his brother’s direction. “You took Nicole away from me. I thought you’d changed. But I swear, if you take my son away from me–”

“Enough!” Mia interrupts, grabbing Jake to pull him backward.

“I will never forgive you,” Jake spits.

“Come on,” Mia tells him as she pushes him toward a chair on the opposite side of the waiting area.

Sarah takes Matt by the hand. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria.”

Matt doesn’t move. “He’s right.”

“Let’s go to the cafeteria,” she repeats, squeezing his hand. “Come on.”

Numbly, he follows her to the elevator, but he can feel Jake’s angry stare burning into him even once the doors have closed.

—–

After ensuring that Christian and Caleb are safe and with Paula, Claire promises to alert them if she hears anything at all. She sits back down on the bench and simply stares into her open locker for a very long moment. Not only is she exhausted, but she is now terrified, too.

“Please let Brent be safe,” she says, looking up to the ceiling.

Several more seconds pass as she lets the sound of that sink in. Mere hours ago, she was looking forward to a romantic dinner with Brent; now, she is praying for his life — and she doesn’t even know where he is or what he might be enduring.

“Molly, too,” she adds, suddenly ashamed of her selfishness. Christian and Caleb are as much Molly’s children as they are Brent’s, and Molly has been family to Claire for so long, even if they haven’t technically been related by marriage in many years.

Then she realizes that there is someone else who needs to be filled in. She goes through her phone and is pleased to see that she has Conrad’s number.

“Conrad, it’s Claire Fisher,” she says when he answers on the second ring. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Is everything all right?” he asks, clearly alarmed. “Did Brent ever turn up for your dinner?”

“No–”

“Are you at the hospital?” he cuts in, realizing what else her call could mean. “Did something happen to Bree?”

“Bree is fine. I was driving home, and–” She stops herself, knowing that explaining what actually brought her to the hospital will only further confuse an already confusing situation. “Christian just called me. It’s Molly and Brent.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t really know. Some men tried to kidnap Christian — they think it’s related to a case Brent has been working on — and things went completely sideways, and they took Brent and Molly instead. The police have a lead, but we don’t have any more info yet.”

She hears his loud sigh crinkle over the phone line.

“I’ll let you know if — when — I know anything more,” she says. “All we can do right now is hope for the best.”

“I am,” Conrad says, sounding agonized. He hesitates before adding, “Do you know how this happened? Why Molly and Brent were together?”

Claire swallows hard. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to voice that thought, or its implications.

“Brent was dropping Christian off before dinner,” she explains. “It happened outside Molly’s house.”

“Okay. That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Claire agrees, though very little about any of this actually does.

—–

Rosie tries as hard as she can to conceal her shaking while she and Diego point guns at one another over the smashed hood of the car. The police car’s siren continues to wail through the air.

“You don’t get to call the shots right now,” she says. “Finally.”

“Believe that if you want, baby,” Diego replies.

“Don’t call me ‘baby.’ And toss me your weapon now!”

“You gonna make me repeat myself?” He cocks his head to one side. “Seems like there’s another way to end this for good.”

Rosie does what she can to slow her breathing.

“Aren’t you gonna ask what that way is?” Diego taunts her.

“I don’t want to know.”

“Think you can guess. You were always a smart chick, Rocio. Sometimes too fuckin’ smart.”

Rosie closes her eyes for a split-second. Maybe this really is it. Maybe this is how it was supposed to end all along.

“Then do it,” she says.

That actually gets him to flinch with surprise.

“All I ever wanted out of this was justice for my dad,” Rosie continues. “All these years, I thought that meant catching you, putting you behind bars.”

Stone-faced, Diego listens, never taking his aim off her.

“But maybe this is what justice looks like,” she says. “I’m the one who let you keep your stash at the house. If I hadn’t done that… my dad would be alive today. So go on. Put me out of my misery. Get me that justice. It’s the least you can do.”

They stand there, facing off and frozen. Rosie feels a strange warmth coming over her. It takes her a moment to recognize it as peace. Finally. Peace. She always thought that she’d find peace once someone paid for Manuel Jimenez’s death. She just didn’t think the person to pay would be her.

But now, it all makes sense.

“Do it,” she says through gritted teeth. “Shoot me.”

Still Diego doesn’t move.

“Shoot me!” she screams, her voice rising up to match the siren.

She doesn’t drop her gun, but she braces for the impact. As an officer, she has thought many times about what it would be like to take a bullet, in hypothetical ways, but now, she has no idea what to expect. She sees Diego bracing, too; it surprises her how difficult it is for him to do this, once push comes to shove.

But he draws in a sharp breath through his nostrils, and Rosie again closes her eyes, ready to accept her fate.

Then she hears the siren coming toward them. Instinctively her eyes open and her head snaps to look up the mountain road, where she sees an ambulance coming toward them. The headlights spill over the crash scene and her standoff with Diego. She watches him lower his gun.

“Do it!” she screams through the cacophony of light and noise.

Diego’s arm lifts again — and, within an instant, Rosie hears the gunshot. Her entire body tenses as she waits.

But instead, she watches Diego fall to the ground. The gun clatters over the pavement as his limp hand loses its grip.

The ambulance skids to a stop as Rosie stands there, trembling, watching a pool of blood spill out from beneath Diego’s head.

END OF EPISODE 976

Is Rosie’s nightmare finally over?
Will Molly and Brent both pull through?
Is Jake wrong for blaming Matt?
Talk about it all in the comments below!

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