Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
Buck turned onto the two lane road that led to the hospital, when a unmarked van took a sharp turn and nearly hit him.
"Jesus!" he swore, using his fast reflexes to avoid harm's way. He guided the car through the unfamiliar parking lot, following the signs for the Emergency Room. Once parked, he ran into the entrance to the pinched face woman behind the cubicled glass. He knew, without a doubt, she was the one who Vin tangled with. He pulled his badge out and held it up, tapping the glass with his free hand.
"Can I help you?" she asked dully, not impressed by the badge.
"I'm Wilmington, Denver ATF. I was talking to another federal agent, from a phone near here. It sounded like somebody tangled with him. Where are the phones?"
"Over there!" she replied crossly, answering her phone.
Buck followed the bright pink fingernail to a small alcove. His long strides cut the distance in half. He eyed the empty area and frowned.
"Vin! Vin!" He picked up the sharpshooter's worn leather jacket and got a bad feeling. He pulled Tanner's wallet from the pocket and found it full. Robbery wasn't the motive. He saw the bathroom, checked it, found it empty and went back to the phone bank. His dark blue eyes scoured the area, then his heart sank. He squatted over an area near the vending machines, by a large trash dumpster. His fingers touched a red fleck, which was not yet hardened. Blood. "Shit!"
He ran back to the desk and into the cubicle. That got her attention and she hung the phone up.
"You can't come back here, we have rules!"
"Rules? I got rules too! I need security here now! This jacket belongs to that missing agent and there's blood over there. I want the exits sealed. He was waiting for news about another federal agent, Christopher Larabee. He was brought in several hours ago. This," he issued harshly through clenched teeth, flipping Vin's federal identification badge from his wallet into her face. "...is Vin Tanner. Do you remember him now? You've been yanking his chain all night. He was hurt too... What the hell is the matter with you? All he wanted was status on Larabee's condition. Now he's missing and you had a hand in that."
"I didn't... I wasn't... you're out of... line..." She stammered, watching the two security guards appear.
"Trouble here?" the taller one with gray hair asked.
"You bet your ass there is!" Buck roared, flashing his badge and showing the man Vin's ID. "I'm Buck Wilmington, a federal agent from Denver. I was on my way here, when I got a call from this man, another agent. He was waiting for word on our boss, Chris Larabee, who was brought here injured. Not only wouldn't anyone help him,... for hours apparently," he paused to glare at the tight-assed clerk, who stared right back. "...while we were talking, somebody hurt him. I found this," he showed the jacket, "and blood near the phone. I want him found and found now! You think you can manage that without fucking up!"
"Look Pal!" Stan Langley put both hands up, clearly seeing an explosion about to occur. "I'm very sorry that your friend wasn't given help when he asked for it. We'll do all we can to find him. Mike," he turned to the other guard, "Get on the horn to the switchboard, have them overhead page this ... uh..."
"Vin Tanner!" Buck hissed, hands riding on his lean hips.
"Tell him to come to the ER stat. If he doesn't show, we'll call downtown, " he noted of the police, " and get some help. After you call, check the parking lot good. Now," he turned to the smug clerk behind the desk. "You give this gentlemen whatever information he needs about his friend. Did you see this man?" he showed her the photo.
"He was here," she managed. "He was rude, offensive and tried to attack me. He was probably high..."
"Rude?" Buck's voice rose a full octave. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you!," Buck seethed, "Lady, you're not only rude, you're incompetant!" He issued harshly, towering over her, "...and a stupid fuckin' screwup to boot."
"That's enough!" Langely put himself in front of Buck, pushing him back. Then he turned to the clerk. "When's the last time you saw him?"
"About an hour ago? I don't know." She snapped, "This room's been full all night, I'm all alone down here. If he wasn't so impatient and waited his turn..."
"Impatient!" Buck roared, "he was here for five damn hours!"
"Alright," the guard paused, as the operator's voice boomed, with the request. "We'll wait a few minutes to see if he shows. Could be he's wandering around here."
"Could be he's dead or lyin' hurt somewhere too, no thanks to you!" Buck roared
Both men turned when a slim Oriental doctor approached. She paused in front of them, eyeing them sharply.
"I don't know what this problem involves, but you have to keep your voices down. There are sick people back there and this is a hospital."
"Sorry, Doc," Stan said, "This man is a federal agent from Denver. He had one friend admitted here last night with an injury of some kind. Another man, his partner, was waiting down here for status, apparently, all night. He is now missing, there was some sort of altercation by the phones. Do you know anything about a patient named... Larabee?"
"Yes," She nodded, "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to him."
"Go on, Wilmington," Stan advised, "I'll keep looking for your friend and keep you posted."
"Thanks," Buck muttered, following the doctor. "How is he?"
"Ready to be released. He suffered a concussion. We gave him a full skull series and everything was negative. We sutured the laceration on the back of his head and monitored him for several hours. He's been vomiting and has a severe headache. He'll need to be watched, he shouldn't be alone. He could suffer blackouts. He's been stuperous on and off all night."
"Yeah, I'll stay with him, it won't be the first time." Buck paused, hearing a familiar bellow. "Looks like he's awake now."
"You need to calm down, Sir!"
"I am calm! answer me!" Chris yelled, regretting it immediately when the harsh words pounded into his tender skull with vengeance. "Shit..." he hissed, grabbing the rails of the bed. He was sitting on the side, trying to leave. He opened his eyes to find the same unsympathetic nurse shoving him back onto the bed. "You must have been the validictorian at the Nazi Nursing Academy!"
"If you don't get back in that bed, I'll have the resident order restraints. Is that clear enough!"
"Do you starch your underwear, Lady?" he hissed, shoving her back. "I'll talk real slow, try to catch up, okay?" He was beyond angry, for hours he'd been asking about Vin Tanner. It was as if he was speaking Greek. "I had a friend who was hurt too. Vin Tanner. For the fiftieth fuckin' time, I'm gonna ask you again." he said low, slow and lethal. Then he stood up, despite the room tilting and towered over her, his eyes hot and hard. "What the Hell happened to him!"
"Thank God,!" she put both hands up, watching the resident approach. "He's all yours Doctor Chieu."
"Sit down, Chris," Buck ordered, "That pretty ass of yours is hanging out and you don't need pneumonia on top of a concussion."
"Bu..ck?" Chris whispered, letting the taller man ease him on the side of the bed. "Where the hell did you come from?" He kept his eyes shut, and one hand on the strong man's forearm. Somehow, with eyes closed, he wasn't as sick to the stomach. "You gotta find Vin, Buck. He got hit by a car... they won't tell me a fuckin' thing."
"You just settle down, okay?" Wilmington pulled his arm free and massaged the tense naked blond man's neck. "You stay!" he said sharply to the nurse who was trying to flee. "I want some answers. Is that true?"
"I'm a nurse, Mister, not a PR person," she snapped, "You ever work an ER overnight? I don't have time to pee let alone play detective. We had no admit under the name Tanner. He," she jerked her head towards Chris, "...didn't want to hear that. He had a head injury and most likely was mixed up."
"Did you check out front?" Buck said with quiet heat. "Did you even ask someone else, an aide or orderly to check? Vin Tanner was out there, waiting for over five hours." He unleashed his anger, still hearing the wavering, worried Tanner's voice on the phone. "He didn't know if his best friend was alive or dead. Some fuckin' system this hospital has."
"I'm sorry, Mister Wilmington," The doctor offered sincerely. "I came on duty at three a.m. I didn't know anyone was waiting for him. His chart said he came in alone. His ID was from out of town, we thought he was a tourist that got mugged. He wasn't coherent when I spoke with him and I've had several other patients to see. I'm very sorry for the mixup."
"He's okay!" The room stopped moving long enough for a few words to cut into the slamming pain in his skull. Vin was in the waiting room. "He wasn't hurt?"
"No, Chris, he..." Buck started to relay.
"Thank God," Chris sagged, hitting the pillow and running a hand over his face. "I thought they were keeping..." he opened his eyes and his paled. "I thought he was in the morgue."
"Damn," Buck sagged, wondering how to continue.
"I'm sorry," the slim doctor apologized to the upset patient. "I signed your orders, you're free to go. I left instructions..."
"Yeah, fine," Chris managed, "Buck, get me clothes and..." he frowned then, head jerking up and eyes too bright. It suddenly dawned on him that the blue-eyed Texan was not standing with Buck. His green lasers zoomed in on the worn brown Tanner jacket Buck clutched. "Where is he?" he saw something in the other man's features that took his stomach through the floor. "Talk to me, Buck,"
Buck let out a long exhalation and motioned for the two woman to go. "He'll need some clothes."
"His coat, shoes and socks are in there," the nurse pointed to a plastic bag. "His wallet and personal items are at the desk, I'll get them."
"Connie, get a set of scrubs for Mister Larabee." Doctor Chieu advised, nodding to Buck as she left.
Finally, they were alone. Chris stood up, ignoring the dizziness and nausea and grabbed the rogue's arm hard. "Where's Vin!"
"I don't know, Chris. They got security looking for him. He uh... called me on my cell phone, I was just up the road. He was angry... upset... worried about you. They didn't tell him where you were. He waited out there all night... alone."
"GODDAMMIT!" the blond bellowed.
"During the call, he spotted somebody. Somebody he knew... I heard sounds like a fight, then dialtone. I got here and found his jacket and some blood by the phone." He winced, expecting a loud, colorful curse. Chris wasrigid, silent and white with worry. "I... uh... I'm sorry, Chris..."
"Not your fault, Buck," Larabee took a short breath and tried to steady his jangled nerves. "What did he say? You thought he knew the man?"
The nurse came back with his things. He signed for them and climbed into the scrubs. "Well?" He asked, pulling his boots on. He let Buck help him into the coat.
"I wrote it down, it didn't make any sense to me, here..." He handed his notes over. His own stomach sunk as he watched what little color Chris had, drain right out of his face. He grabbed him hard and sat him down, when the leader's knees buckled. "I'm gonna get that doctor!"
"No," Chris answered in a shaken but stable voice. He raised his face to the concerned dark blue eyes of his oldest friend. "He's not here... somebody grabbed him. Those guards won't find anything..." He took several minutes to regroup, then started for the door. "I'll check with them, you get the car." He turned to Buck, his eyes full of pain and anger. "They're gonna hurt him, Buck,' his voice was soft and steely, "and that's gonna be their first," He paused his steely voice full of determination, "...and their last fuckin' mistake."
Ten minutes later, with the phone number of the head of security in his pocket, Buck pulled out of the parking lot.
"Where to?"
"First, the hotel, I need to shower and get some breakfast. Then we'll go to the Saloon."
"Chris, I don't think that's a good idea," Buck misunderstood.
"It's not a social call," he snapped, wincing as the harsh sunlight scored his aching head with fury. His stomach was upset and he felt like shit. "I'll explain... Did you talk to Lily? Did you bring it?"
"Yes and no..." Buck replied, "Let's get you cleaned up and eat. Then we'll compare notes, okay?"
Geoff Trent enjoyed the music on the radio, as he eased off the expressway headed out of town. It didn't take long before he was in the heart of the bayou. Large cypress trees touched the sky, the dense, thick folliage teemed with wildlife. With two precision turns, he was on a small, narrow road, heading into the thick of the swamp. It was the perfect place for his plan. The cajuns who lived out here, disliked strangers and kept to themselves. Even if Tanner managed to get loose, nobody, besides a local, could find their way back to the main road. The van slowed, taking the bumps in the narrow road. Nearby, alligators roamed, looking for breakfast. He pulled up beside an old truck. To the naked eye, the building appeared to be an old, roofless ruin. But Trent knew better. Thanks to a drug bust a couple months prior, his 'interrogation' of the suspect led to this place. Long abandoned a century and a half ago by pirates, it was a perfect place to hide.
Inside the stone ruin, was a passage that led below. In the subterrean area were three rooms, one with iron manacles on the wall. This would be Vin Tanner's new home.
"You're early," Cletus Fowler moved past the window, to the back of the van. He jerked the handle open, peering inside. He used his metal hand to tug the prisoner's ankle hard, pulling his legs out of the van. He grinned as the muffled, unintelligent sound that emerged from the slack lips. He knew it hurt and smiled at the confused, blue blinking eyes. "He's awake."
"No, he's not," Trent answered, moving behind the stuperous man. "He's floating in a sea of Valium. Let's move, I have to get back," he lifted Vin Tanner by the underarms, supported him and jumped out. He moved in front of the sagging man, watching the eyes trying to work. The lips opened again and disoriented grunts emerged on a long trail of saliva. "Welcome to your new home, Mister Tanner, I hope you'll like it." He cupped the hollowed cheeks with his hand, watching the golden brown brows furrow and the eyes smolder weakly. "You would be well advised to save that temper. You'll need all your strength to survive. Let's move," he lifted the upper body and Fowler took the legs. They moved through the ruin, to a spot on the floor secured by a metal ring. Fowler gave a tug and the passage opened, revealing a pair of narrow wooden stairs.
The rooms had been cleaned and readied for their usage. The smallest room held provisions, a table, chair and radio. The second room had several iron manacles on the wall and the third larger room was vacant, save for a custom made chair from South America and a table, bearing the 'tools of the trade'. At the back of the room, was a door that led to the area to be used later in the questioning. They laid the pliant body on the floor on his back. Trent cut the bonds on Tanner's ankles and nodded to the table.
"Get that orange suit and that black bag." he issued, tugging the zipper of the worn jeans down and easing the pants off the willing patient.
Vin Tanner. That was all he knew. His name was Vin Tanner. He didn't know where he was or where he'd been. His past was a blurry, thick place full of murky, untelling clouds. His distorted vision tried to make sense of this place. Cold and dark, that was all he knew. The face appeared again, mean and ugly, distorted like the rest of his world. He couldn't understand the words being spoken but felt the cold, icy hands of fear stroke his bones. This was a bad place and he was all alone. He was rolled on his side, his tender skin shivering as it hit an icy hard stone. Someone was tugging at him, he felt silky fabric on his legs, before he was tugged upright. He saw a new face, equally distorted but much meaner. A killer's face... no soul... no remorse. He tried to call out, to say something, but heard only animal grunts as a thick wad of spittle ran from his numb lips. The killer smiled and laughed at him, then he felt himself hauled to his rubbery, spaghetti legs. He jerked weakly, furrowing his dull eyes in anger, as the killer groped him hard between the legs.
"Fowler!" Trent hissed, "just adjust the snaps, don't fondle him!" he ordered, "...and be careful with that metal hand, I need him alive." He tugged Tanner's arms into the sleeves of the orange jumpsuit, fastening the snaps on the chest and shoulders. They could be undone to allow access to his skin, but that would come later. They sat him down on a restraining chair, which he got in South America. It was a very effective tool in interrigation. He knelt down, rummaged through the black bag and pulled out thick, soft leather boots. He slid them onto the prisoner's naked feet, before securing the thick bands on the chair. The would hold his ankles, calves, shins, knees and thighs in place. The center of the chair was empty, just the legs and buttocks were on wood. He slid thick, black leather mittens on Tanner's hands, before securing the wrists, arms and shoulders. Fowler got the bands across his chest and hips, leaving only his head free.
"What now?" Cletus asked, holding the strange black leather hood with his good hand.
"Nothing," Trent answered, gripping the mangled locks of the victim. He yanked hard, slamming the head to the back of the wooden chair. He saw the eyes flicker in fury and a the mouth opened again, grunting like a animal. A large flow of saliva emerged, which he wiped with his sleeve. "Mustn't be sloppy, Mister Tanner." he cajoled, using his free hand to cup the hollowed cheeks. He leaned in, letting the wide, dazed blue eyes see him close. "Can I call you Vin? I know after the rather 'intimate' get together later, we'll be good friends. I hope you come to like your new home, it even has a pool out back," he laughed, Fowler joined him, already having seen the 'alligator pool'. He gripped the prisoner under the jaw with his right hand and tugged the jaw open. The heavy tongue rolled out and he slid the rubber nozzle onto it. The reflex was instant and Tanner began to suckle. The confused eyes seemed relieved and the grunts changed as well, as cool water came through the hose. He slid the hood in place then, careful to secure the nozzle. Thick earpads blocked all sounds and the dense hood blocked all sight. He secured the neck and forehead straps then and stood back. His little lab rat was now bound tighter than a mummy. The water bottle was secured on a rod over the headpiece and the black nozzle ran along the side of Tanner's face, into his mouth. "Make sure that bucket is emptied before I return," he noted of the container for urine under the chair.
"You're leaving?" Fowler's voice rose in alarm
"This is phase one," Trent noted, "Unable to hear, see, speak or feel, the victim is totally disoriented. It makes him much more compliant later. I'll be back in eight hours and we'll chat with Mister Tanner then."
"Eight hours!" Fowler complained, "I gotta stay in this tomb for eight hours?"
"No," the leader took the large lantern with him to the bottom of the stairs. "He can't move or speak, he'll be fine. Just be back by one p.m." With one last look at the man who would at last provide the key to the fortune, he turned and left, leaving him alone in the dark.
"What happens at one?" Cletus asked, rubbing his metal hand in anticipation.
"Phase two... interrogation," he paused, "then fire and ice," he noted of the effective use of water and electical current.
While the two villians left the scene, far below the victim waited. Cold, confused and alone, he moved weakly against the restraints. He sensed nothing, all sensation was block out. His heavy tongue worked the rubber nozzle again, gaining water as a reward. His chest rose and fell in syncopated rhythm, as he took careful breaths. His muscles would tense up, anticipating the use of force or the killer's hands. Then nothing came and he'd relax, tug on the nozzle and tense up again, waiting for a beating that never came. The exercise tired him and he dozed off, wondering what hell he'd be left in. As he faded away, one face cut through the thick mud in his brain. A clear set of green eyes and sun-kissed hair. Where are you Chris?
"Chris?" Buck tapped the body sitting on the bed, lost in space. The slim man jumped and let out a long burst of air. "Did you hear me?"
"Huh? No, sorry..." the blond tried unsuccesfully to deflect the horrid images that were in his head. Vin being tortured, abused or beaten by a killer.
"The police said we need to wait twenty-four hours before we can report him missing. I talked to Orrin, he'll spring Ezra and Josiah, they'll be one the next plane, on their own time. Officially, they're out sick for a couple days. You gotta eat, Chris..."
"Yeah," he agreed, knowing in order to fight for Vin, he'd need to be strong. The hot shower helped and he slipped into a change of clothes. Tugging his jacket on, he eyed crumpled blue tee shirt in the corner of the room. He picked it up, the sweaty tracker's scent still clung to it. He fingered the white lettering and recalled the youthful smile his friend wore, when he was gifted with it. Where are you Vin?
"Chris?" Buck held the laptop and the open door in the hotel room. Like his friend, he immediately got a bad feeling when he met Nigel Bates. While Chris showered, he'd walked in the garden out back, trying to find what Vin was so attracted to. Now, they were headed to Ryan McKenna's bar. Chris filled him in on the way, about how he met the McKennas. He didn't hide his distrust and disdain when he mentioned Geoff Trent.
"I got no proof, but I'd swear he is behind this," the concussed man noted, as they parked down the street.
"Well, he couldn't have killed Vin straight off," he tried to reassure, "he wants him for something... or some reason. Maybe ransom?"
"No, why Vin?" Chris denied, entering the eatery and seeing Ryan signaling to move to the back room, a private area.
"Hey, that's Ryan McKenna!" Buck exuded.
"I already told you that!" Chris was annoyed.
"I didn't connect it," he noted of the star NFL player "... how 'bout that!"
"Ryan," Chris nodded, moving past, "This is one of my men, Buck Wilmington. I'd trust him with my life."
"My kind of guy," Ryan noted the emphasis Larabee used. He knew this man well enough to know that not just anyone would suit that role. "I'm sorry about Vin," he waved to a table laden with sandwiches and mugs of hot coffee. "Seamus, this is..."
"Me ears are still workin'!" The old man boomed, eyeing the newcomer. "Yer a big lad... did ye ever think about puttin' on the gloves?"
"Actually, I did box when I was younger, football, basketball..." he prattled, shaking the old man's hand. "nice to meet you, Sir. Ryan," he gripped the younger man's hand. "I was a big fan..."
"Thanks," he nodded, "help yourself."
"Where's Cait?" Chris said, "she shouldn't be alone, Grace either."
"I know, I'm moving them here until this is settled. Cait went to get Brie,"
"She doesn't know?" the blond took a bowl of hot chicken soup and a crusty hunk of hot bread.
"That you two had an accident, yes, that Vin is missing, no. Here they are..."
"Chris, are you okay?" Gabrielle moved quickly, placing her small hands on either side of his face. "Have you been having dizziness? Blurred vision... you should be resting..."
"Thanks," he said sincerly, squeezing her hands. "Sit down, Brie, we need to talk..." Before he could continue, the sound of Buck's throat clearing brought his head around. In different circumstances, the look of pure rapture on the other man's face would have brought a laugh. "Oh, sorry, Buck, this is Doctor Gabrielle Marquette. She rescued Vin the other night. Her house is where I called you from. Brie, this is Buck Wilmington, my oldest friend."
When she came into the room, the rogue felt all the air leave his lungs. She was perhaps the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. So taken by the pale cocoa-skinned beauty with large blue-green eyes, he nearly missed her companion.
"It's a real pleasure, Doctor, and I've never meant those words more..."
"Thanks Buck," She smiled at the tall, handsome man, "Vin warned me about you. I think his exact words were 'Stay clear o'Bucklin', he's got a hundred hands!" she drew out the drawl. Then she frowned and looked around the room. "Where's Vin?"
"Uh..." Chris started to reply, when Buck's voice broke in again.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed, backing up as the other beauty embraced Ryan McKenna, before bending to kiss Seamus.
"Ah... tis like the mornin' sun risin' all over again," the old man proclaimed. "How's me finest jewel?"
"You spoil me, Seamus," Cait hugged him from behind, "and Grace is fine, she's at school."
"Buck, this is Caitlin McKenna, Ryan's sister-in-law. Her husband was Max McKenna, the writer. He was killed right after the Moreau estate hired him to research Louis's claim of his mother's lost child." The leader explained.
"She... Chris... it's... like... she's Sara's twin!" he babbled, unable to pry his eyes away. He saw her flush and felt bad. "I'm sorry, Mrs. McKenna, I didn't mean to stare."
"It's okay, Buck and it's Cait, welcome," she shook his hand. She didn't move away, when he picked up the heart-shaped locket. "It looks just like Sara's!"
"Yeah, I know Buck," Chris hissed, still having a hard time with the lookalike.
"Sorry," Buck winced, seeing a flash or old pain in the green eyes.
"Quit saying that every five seconds and sit down, will you!" the blond ordered.
"Where's Vin?" Brie repeated, sitting next to Chris and staring at him hard. "Oh God... the car that hit him... Oh God..." She began to tremble and shake, until the man next to her held her.
"No, Brie, he's not dead," Chris reassured, gripping her from the side. "At least I hope not... Buck..." He sipped a mouthful of coffee and began to eat, feeling very weak. He heard Buck speak of the incident at the hospital.
"You think Geoff is involved, don't you?" Cait asked quietly.
"I do," Chris reaffirmed, "My instincts are usally right and their screaming that he's dirty. I feel it in my bones. I hope for his sake, I'm wrong. Because if he took Vin... he'll end up in intensive care if he's lucky!"
"He's one mean dude," Buck noted of the information J.D. found, "Too many 'accidents' of suspects in his custody or after their release. Did you know his birth mother sued Louis Moreau? She claimed he was the father. He wasn't of course, but..."
"...but maybe he feels that money is his and Cait is the brass ring. Jesus," Ryan shuddered, "I never trusted that bastard. Not since you made the mistake of going out with him. You're not seeing him anymore!"
"You're not my father and I'm over eighteen, thank you very much!" Cait's anger rose, giving her a very attractive flush of color.
"I won't have him touching you!" Ryan spat back, "and if he as much as looks at Grace, I'll twist his balls into knots!"
"Ye'll watch yer tongue, there's women in the room!" Seamus roared, slamming his walking stick hard on the floor. "Have ye no manners? Have I not taught ye better."
"Watch where you swing that cane!" the younger man warned, then turned to Cait and Brie, "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too," Cait admitted, placing her smaller hand on his larger one. She felt a small charge of electic current as she touched his skin. "You're right... he scares me sometimes. But... I can't just cut him off. He'll get suspicous. I'll think of a way to distract him."
"I can think of one," Chris said, "and it's clipped to my belt," he noted of his gun.
"Chris..." Buck warned. "That won't solve anything. Finish that soup, so we can get on with this. You need to rest."
"If he had a silver hand..." Ryan muttered, taking Cait's hand under the table and caressing the palm.
"Ryan, we've been all over that. You were badly injured. There was not monster with silver hands at Max's accident."
"What?" Chris blinked, shoving the bowl aside and looking at the handsome man with black hair and piercing blue eyes intently. Ryan's head came up slowly and he saw both Chris and Buck exchange a curious look. "What did you say?"
"Silver hand?" Ryan repeated, raking a hand through his wavy, black hair. "Okay, it's like this." He spent five minutes, giving the history of the case Max was hired to investigate. Cait filled in some blanks spots, from information Max told her in private. "So that night," Ryan continued, "Max left the estate. He was excited and worried at the same time. Somewhere in that garden, he found Isabella's journal and proof postive of that missing baby."
"Babies..." Cait corrected, "It's so surreal... So you think Geoff had something to do with Max's death?"
"When I got there," Ryan picked the story up, "Max's car was starting to roll off the road. He wasn't moving, he was unconscious, slumped over the wheel. I tried to stop it and fell. The last thing I saw, after the car blew was a silver hand... a man's hand."
"Was it a silver car?" Buck asked, thinking on Vin's words.
"Yeah, why?" the other replied.
"...cause that's the one Vin talked about today. He said that to whoever fought with him, that he knew he killed the Larabees and a man in a silver car. How'd he know that?"
"I told you about the dreams, Buck, about Philippe... it's all that psychic shit he's hooked into." Chris paused, as Brielle filled in the gaps. Then he looked up, hearing Buck's exasperated voice.
"Jesus, Chris, he wasn't saying 'metal man'..."
"No," Chris whispered painfully, "he was saying 'metal hand'." All of his air was stolen from his lungs and a roaring pain filled his head. Both fists balled up in clenched fury as the tidal wave crashed into his body. He sat back in the chair, panting in agonizing rage as the truth flowed through his veins. His face screwed up in unmasked hostility. "That bastard... killed Sara and Adam. All this time... I thought it was a dirty cop, because of the Scanlon trial. Son-of-a-bitch!" he slammed both hands on the table and stood up, every inch of skin bursting with pent up rage. "They were murdered! God..." he shoved his body away and out the door. Through the small window in the room that showed the yard behind the property, they watched him pace, his curses slamming silently into the glass.
"No," Buck held onto Brie's arm, when she tried to run after the tormented soul. "He needs to get that out of his system. A few months before Sara and Adam died, Chris testified against four cops who were on the take. He... we... thought they went after him that day. Sara never drove Chris's truck. It was a natural conclusion. Someone forced her off the road. The only witness was a kid on a bike. The first cop on the scene found him, with a passerby heard him speak once. He said 'metal man' before he died. He was looking at the silver badge on the cop's chest. We thought..."
"That he meant the killer was a cop, because of the badge," Ryan noted, "He saw the silver hand too. My God... this man is a monster."
"He made his last mistake," Buck said slowly, watching Chris slow down outside. "You just wait until that man," he pointed to the window, "realizes that the monster who murdered his family, now has his best friend."
They saw it then, Chris stopped pacing, his head shot up, eyes wide and full of naked fear. Then the green orbs turned hot and steely. The lips curled into a snarl as the enraged face met Buck's through the glass.
"No!" Buck spoke, moving to the door, just as Chris crashed through. He grabbed the walking lava flow hard, shoving him against the wall.
"Get off of me, Buck, I'm gonna find Trent, rip his arm off and use it to beat the truth out of him."
"You ain't gonna do any such thing!" the taller man roared, using all his muscle to contain the raging inferno. "You're gonna stay clear of him, understand? He's got muscle in this town and we got no proof. "
"He's got Vin, Buck!" the leader hissed, eyeing his friend hard.
"Don't insult me," Buck said with contained ire, "You know damn right well how I feel about that boy." he paused to take a steadying breath, "You go after Trent shooting fire and we'll never see Vin again. I don't gotta tell you how many bodies end up 'gator food in the swamp. Understood!" He waited, "Chris, I want your word. We get proof first. I'll tail him... Josiah and Ezra will be here this afternoon. We'll get him, Chris!"
"Alright," he sighed, as the room began to spin around. "Aw, shit..."
"Chris... Chris..."
Buck's voice seemed so very far away and he didn't even remember falling. His last and only thoughts as he sunk into the blackness, were of Vin in the sadistic killer's hands.
"I got him," Buck said, easing Chris onto a bench by the door.
"Use me bed," Seamus called out as Ryan moved to help Buck. "It's right up those stairs. The lad needs to rest."
"I want to check him out," Brie finally found her voice, trying to control her fear. The soft-spoken Texan had taken a good grip on her. She followed them upstairs and waited until Chris was in bed and covered up. She dismissed them and took his pulse and vital signs, before moving to the window. She saw the tourists going by and absentmindedly rubbed her fingers on her lips. They still burned from his kisses the night before. She ache to have those arms around her again and to fall into those blue eyes. Where are you Vin Tanner?
"Thanks for the hand," Buck said as they returned to the room below.
"No problem, we're in this together. I want that bastard too, he killed my brother."
"Speaking of which," Buck said, looking at the photo on the wall of a small child. A child bearing an uncanny resemblence to his godson. "She looks something like Adam did..." he murmured, "Is she safe at school? Would he take her as leverage?"
"He so much as looks at her and I'll rip his heart out." Ryan vowed.
"No arm... no heart... ain't gonna be much left for me to do!" he joked, taking a breath. "You get her from school and bring her here. I'm gonna check back with the hospital and then pay a visit to Trent's boss. I'll be back later. Here's my cell phone number," he handed the other man a note.
"Be careful!" Cait warned, "both of you." She walked with them, snagging Ryan's arm in the darkened doorway. He turned to her and kissed her lightly on the lips, relishing the sweet taste. "Cait... I... I..." His fingers cupped her face, softly caressing the silky skin.
"I know, Ryan, I'm sorry too. Go on..."
"Lad!"
"What?" Ryan turned back, eyeing his grandfather.
"Ye watch yer back... ye bring me jewel home safely."
"I will Old Man," he smiled, putting up his fists in a mock-boxing stance, "I learned from the best..." he winked and left.
From a car down the street, a figure watched the two men leave. He picked up his phone and dialed Geoff Trent. "It's Bates, McKenna and a tall man with a mustache just left the Saloon. No, Larabee wasn't with them. He's who? Wilmington? Oh, another Fed? You sure you know what you're doing. Yes, of course I understand! I'll take care of it now. Very well..." He shut the phone off and started the engine.
It was nearly noon when Buck Wilmington found himself amidst the clamor and clatter of a busy downtown police precinct. He backed up against the dingy gray painted walls, when two patrolmen blew past, leading an unruly, swearing biker in cuffs. He eyed the controlled chaos and zeroed in on a crusty-faced man with gray hair behind a raised platform. He walked over, his own badge in his hand.
"Good Morning, I'm Buck Wilmington of the Denver ATF, I need to speak with whoever is in charge."
"Marty, get Halpern's office on the horn and tell them we're holding Raymond Flinch." He dismissed a younger officer, nervously shuffling through papers. He then turned back and eyed the young man before him. "So how can I help you, Pal?"
"Is the Captain around?" He eyed the narrow hallway behind the tight-lipped sergeant, which led to a spill of offices.
"Hold on..." He picked up a phone and dialed, "Cap, there's a Fed out here... no not one of ours, ATF... Denver." He nodded twice, handed the badge back and hung the phone up. Totally disinterested, he jerked he head towards the hall. "Third door from the left."
The tall agent found the door and worked his lean body through a network of old brown wooden desks, littered with files, overcrowded in-boxes and harried detectives. Several sets of eyes regarded him suspiciously as he entered. Before he made it halfway through, three large men stood, blocking his path.
"Easy, fellas, I'm on your side," Buck put both hands up defensively. "I'm looking for Captain..."
"Novelli," a gruff voice barked from behind the human 'wall'. "The cities not paying you ladies to stand around!"
With that the wall departed, and Buck found the man he sought. A few inches shorter than himself, about fifty with graying black hair. He wore a wrinked blue shirt with a short spanse of gray hair peeking through the spot where a tie should be. The eyes were black and wearing the look that only comes from seasoning.
"Buck Wilmington, Denver ATF," He flashed his badge and eyed the overcrowded room, complete with cracked walls, water stains on the ceiling and a musty smell. His foot brushed against something and he looked down to find a loaded mousetrap. "Nice..."
"Beverly Hills, we ain't," the brusk Captain read the other's eyes well, "But I only work with the best. What can I do for you?"
"Can we go inside?" Buck nodded to the beveled glass window over a door bearing the name Captain Dominic Novelli. Once the door was closed and they were alone, Buck took a seat. "Thanks for seeing me, it's about a friend of mine, another ATF agent. He disappeared this morning a few blocks from here from the ER." He slid over the photo of himself and Chris flanking Vin and J.D. The younger men were without helmets in their hockey jerseys, following a big win. The two played for an adult league in Denver. "He's the one on the left with long hair. The blond is our boss, Chris Larabee. They were jumped in an alley last night... Chris was kept overnight for treatment. I was on the phone with Vin, coming from the airport, when he had a fight with someone. I talked to the security team there and one guard remembered a dectective from this precinct taking a man from there. He matched Vin's description. We can't find him. I have reason to believe that this cop is dirty... and up to his ass in murder."
The dark eyes glinted with fire and the middle-aged man leaned forward, tossing the badge back. It hit Buck in the chest, at the same time the words did.
"Who the fuck are you to come into my house and talk shit like that!" He rose and walked around the desk, leaning over the stranger. "Gimme one reason why I shouldn't toss your lying ass outta here."
"I'll give you two," Buck replied simply, staring hard, "Geoff Trent." He got his answer when the dark eyes shut and a deep breath was forced through the clenched teeth. He liked the tenacity this man had and could sense he was honest. He watched while the policeman walked to the window and eyed the street below.
Twenty five years on the force and all he had as a reward was a wall full of citations and an ulcer. Trent. He knew from the moment the arrogant shield was assigned to his division, that it would come back to bite him in the ass. He came with too much baggage and the other men didn't trust him. Now, here was his own doubts about the newest member of his squad surfacing yet again. He sighed, walked to the thermal coffee carafe on the file cabinet and poured two mugs.
"So talk..." Novelli finally said, handing the younger man a cup and sitting on the edge of the desk.
A soft breeze fluttered nearby, sending a cool kiss to his face, as the curtains sang. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, not yet surrending his burning eyes. They remained safe, snuggled behind his lids. Another breeze, the curtains danced impatiently and he rolled sideways, groaning as his splitting head reminding him he was awake. He flinched and pulled back, as a tiny finger pried his left eye open.
"Are ya dead?"
His vision cleared enough to see a small face, short dark hair and eyes a color all their own. A child... a familiar face... his aching body and foggy head spoke one name.
"Adam..." he croaked, blinking sharply as the sun cut through the room, hitting his face.
"That's a boy's name!" the tiny tot huffed indignantly.
He rubbed his eyes and saw the face clearly this time. An orchid jumper with a white blouse. The fog cleared a little more. This was Cait's child, not his. "Sorry..." he groaned again, covering his aching face with his hand. His clucked his tongue across his dry mouth, which needed quenching.
"I got Blue Bug Juice, ya want some? Ya can't tell Mommy cause I ain't supposed to be drinking it this early. She's say's it's junk and my insides will rot out. Can that happen? Poppy lets me drink it... it's our secret. I love Poppy, he tells me stories and rocks me in his chair and we go on walks and... do you have a Poppy?"
"What?" Chris rasped in a dry, painful voice. The painful parade of verbs and nouns were stomping on his tender brain. He saw a blue tinged line around the purple lips as a carton was shoved in his face, bearing a blue and purple label. "No..." he denied the offer and tried to close his eyes again. A tug on his sleeve and a pat on his cheek, drew his eyes open again. The face was closer this time, just inches away.
"Were ya drinking the Devil's water?"
"Huh?" Chris managed, squinting at the pretty little girl.
"When Uncle Wyun gets dead like that... with his eyes all scrunched up and his mouth sounding funny... Poppy says he's been at the devil's water. Did ya come down that road too?"
"Road?" Chris whispered, trying to figure out if he was really awake. He turned onto his back, letting the soft mattress grip is lean body. The bed depressed and the imp sat next to him, peering at him intensely.
"...ten miles of bad road... that's what happens to Uncle Wyun's face when he has Devil water. So did ya?"
"What?" Chris made a face, braced his arms on the bed and tried to sit up.
"Here," She jumped down and tugged on his arm. "I'll help ya, Mister Grizzly."
"Thanks, Kid," he muttered, finally sitting up. He eyed the immaculate room, which was spacious and well appointed. If he didn't know it was 2002, he would have thought he was lost in the past. Most of the mahogney furniture, old time radio, pictures on the wall and other appointments in the room, bespoke the 1940s' and 50's.
"This is Poppy's room." She answered his questioning looks.
"Seamus?" Chris guessed aloud and the dark head bobbed. "He got water up here?"
"We'll get some," she trotted off to an open door at the far end, which was a bathroom. A few minutes later, she returned, bearing a large mug of water.
"Thanks, Kid," he grunted, took the cup and drained it. The memories were coming back. Vin was gone and Trent was behind it...along with the murders of three innocent people. He recalled the conversation in the kitchen and the pain in his head. He blinked, realizing that the child was prattling away next to him, clutching an antique doll.
"...I sneaked up here when the grownups weren't looking. Mommy is talking to Uncle Wyun and boy is he mad."
"He's got good reasons."
"He doesn't want Mommy to go... I don't either..."
It wasn't the words, as much as the way they came out, that caused Chris to ignore the pain in his head. He studied the pensive profile of the little girl sitting next to him. Those pretty eyes were now full of fear... a dark fear.
"Go where?"
"...with him... to have dinner tonight," she hissed, "They don't know I heard..." she paused, clutched the doll even tighter. Her purplish eyes were wide and her lips formed into a tight line. "We don't like him.... Miss Emily is afraid of him."
"Who?" He managed to keep his voice steady, even though he knew the answer. He looked hard at the small child's face and felt his gut clench.
"Geoff... Mister Trent." Grace whispered, her chin quivering. "He makes Miss Emily's belly hurt... a lot."
That is when the cold fear in him slashed out in a rage. A long dormant instinct, once so lovingly cherished, now roared back to life. His green eyes glowed like coals and he swallowed hard twice, putting down bile. Keeping his voice calm, he moved from the bed and knelt down in front of the terrified child. It was the parent in him, that aired every father's worst fear.
"Did Mister Trent hurt you... uh... Miss Emily?" He corrected, recalling how she used the doll to speak for her. "Did he ever..." he had to pause and get a breath, his body rippling in waves of anger. Images of that beast hurting a child.... "...uh... touch you... bad... or hit you?" He held his breath and felt his guts churning, for perhaps the longest minute he could recall. Then the pretty face raised, doe eyes damp with tears.
"No," she said in a hushed voice. "I.... we stay away from him. But Miss Emily knows he's bad. He looks at her with skinny eyes... the bad men always have skinny eyes. It makes my... her belly hurt awful bad when he hugs and kisses Mommy. Sometimes he looks at Mommy funny... his eyes are funny and that makes Miss Emily mad."
Chris sighed a huge air as relief soared through his body. Then something she said struck a chord in him.
"How does Miss Emily know Mister Trent is bad?"
"The pretty lady...." she stopped and shook her head, clutching her doll. "I'm not s'posed to tell, it'a a see..kwit..."
"A secret?" Chris thought for a moment, "it must be an important one, for her to trust you with it. She must be a good friend."
"She's not my friend, I only sawed her once... at the big house."
"Big house?"
She sighed heavily, playing with the doll's dress, "We went there for breakfast... he took us." She rolled the word 'he' off her tongue like it was poison. "It was a big fancy house with a big garden in the back. I wanted to see the garden and he hollered at me. He said I was 'rupting the adults and I'd be sorry. Mommy didn't hear him... his eyes were all mean and I got scared and ran up the stairs. I got lost and couldn't find Mommy. I tried and tried and it was dark and I was crying. That's when I met the pretty lady."
"The Sauville House?" Chris said outloud and saw her nod.
"She's got yellow hair like you and a long dress. She helped me find Mommy. She kept moving and I followed her. Then I found the door and opened it up."
"You were stuck in a room upstairs? That must have been scary."
"Yeah, it was," she shuddered, clutching the doll. She relaxed, liking his warm voice. She held out the doll, so he could see her. "That's where I got Miss Emily... from the pretty lady."
Chris looked at the doll closely and thought of Isabella Moreau. The child's clues fit, a pretty lady with blond hair, a long dress. He studied Grace's face carefully, "Did she talk to you?"
"Kinda... but it was funny like... scratchy and fuzzy... like she was whispering..." she thought hard. "She said, 'Hush little one, dry your tears'. Then she moved and moved and I followed her. Right before we got to the door, she stopped and pointed. That's when I found Miss Emily. Then the pretty lady said she'd help me protect Mommy from the bad man."
"She said that?" Chris was doubtful.
"...she said..." Grace rocked the doll, recalling the event, "Me and Mommy were both her 'angels' and she'd protect us from him." She clutched the doll again, thinking of how the sinister man scared her. Her lip quivered and tears splashed from the eyes. "I don't want to think about that no more..." she choked. "...I never told nobody..."
He tipped the downcast chin up with one finger, watching the tears spill from her eyes. He brushed them away, giving her a half smile. "I'll keep your secret, Grace. I'll protect you and Miss Emily from the bad man, okay?"
"I'm sorry," she hiccuped, rubbing her eyes. "I ain't a baby, I'm not supposed to cry."
"It's okay to cry, Grace," he replied, "I had a little boy once, named Adam. Sometimes he would get upset when he cried to. His grandmother would tell him that was okay, that his eyes needed washing anyway." He thought of Lily rocking Adam. "Miss Emily's lucky to have such a good friend."
She thought for a moment, hugging the doll to her neck. The slid off the bed and hugged the startled man. She kissed his cheek and looked up at him. "Miss Emily... she... we... she... could she be your friend too?"
"Sure," Chris smiled, ruffled the dark curls and shook the tiny doll's hand. "Can I have a promise?"
"What kind of promise?" She cocked her head.
"That if Mister Trent ever hurts you... Miss Emily," he corrected, "or touches you or scares you again... you tell your Mommy, or Uncle Ryan or Poppy, okay?"
"Okay," She agreed, shaking his hand. "If you want, you can have the rest of my Blue Bug Juice," she offered the fruit drink, "it might help your face some... 'specially your eyes. They're all twisted up funny..."
"Thanks," he declined, "I think I need aspirin and something cold to drink." Before she could reply, he heard Cait's voice from outside the door.
"Grace? Are you up here?"
"Uh-oh," the imp whispered, running for the back of the room, "Don't tell on me!" She asked, slipping through a small opening to what Chris assumed was a back stairwell. He was halfway to the door, when the concerning mother's head popped inside.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, Cait," he reassured, rubbing his eyes. "You got any Tylenol?"
"Yes, and lunch is ready. It's after one p.m. and Buck just got back, he has news. Come on," she led the dazed man to the stairs.
Cletus Fowler eyed the clock, flexing his good hand. Trent was late. It was nearly one thirty and he was itching to get at Tanner. The prisoner was awake, again. He could tell by the frantic movements of the Adam's apple. He stood in front of the unknowing man, letting the metal fingers of his custom made prostheses flicker in anticipation. The naked flesh on the supple throat was crying out to him. He moved his hand closer so it almost touched. The Adam's apple bobbed again and he nearly crushed it.
Vin felt the ache in his legs returned and his head was like thick pudding. The streams of cold sweat left his body in a rush causing the material to cling to him. He felt it running down his face and neck. He sucked the rubber nozzle again, but nothing came out. His heart started to hammer and the pressure in his bladder caused his head to pound. His brain was about to burst. Where was he? How long had he been here? Was he awake? Was he blind? Why couldn't he hear? Was this real or a dream? He strained against the bindings again, unable to move. What did they watn? Would they kill him? What if nobody returned? Time was something he couldn't sense anymore. Had it been five minutes, five hours or days? Frantic, he tugged at the nozzle again, seeking the need to feel something. Water, that which sustained life, had deserted him too. Sighing, he sagged, gave in and flushed with shame as his bladder emptied.
Fowler stood back and grinned, struggling hard not to laugh. He held his metal hand around the sensitive area expelling waste and was tempted to crush it. So easy... too easy... he pulled back and waited for the warm stream to end. Then he bent down, picking up the urine bucket. He eyed the empty water bottle attached to the nozzle leading into Tanner's mouth and got an idea. Give him a taste of his 'own medicine' so to speak. He bit back a laugh and retreated, taking the bucket outside to toss away. He was in the doorway, when the van pulled up and Trent exited.
"Time to party!" Fowler grinned, leading the way downstairs.
Chris, Ryan and Buck sat around the table, forming a plan. While Novelli was sympathetic, there was no tangible proof that Trent was involved, or that Vin was missing. Officially, they had to wait twenty-four hours.
"You think he believes us?" Larabee quizzed the other ATF man.
"Yeah, he's on our side, but Trent covered his ass. He's off duty today, but there was an incident report called in. He claimed the kid he took from the hospital was a local named Ricky Shaw. A small time dealer..." he showed Chris a copy of a mug shot of a slim young man with long brown hair. "...claims he read him the riot act and let him go. He said he spotted the kid harassing folks in the parking lot and followed him inside. The guard at the hospital couldn't ID Vin for sure"
"That's bullshit!" Chris snarled.
"Where is he?" Ryan asked. "Did Novelli try contacting him, asking him about Vin?"
"No," Buck sat forward, seeing Chris to burst, "Hold on, Chris, he's got a reason. Internal Affairs has suspected for some time, he was dirty. They got a couple men investigating him. Plus, if he does have Vin and we put pressure on, he'll disappear and we'll never find him. Our best bet is for him to think he's got the upper hand."
"Where do we start?" Ryan asked, eyeing the others.
"At the beginning," Buck replied, eyeing the clock, "Josiah and Ezra should be checked in by now. They'll cover things at that end. Ryan's gonna tail Caitlin..."
"Beginning where?" the weary blond asked.
"All this came to a head during that storm, right?"
"Yeah, I guess..." Larabee agreed.
"Okay, you two were having lunch, right? Was he okay then?"
"He's was wired... too much sugar... his damn leg was jiggling, he couldn't sit still. I told him to get lost for a half hour, until I finished."
"So he came back and then acted strange."
"No," Chris shook his head, "he didn't come back. I ran outside, it was pouring, the wind was howling, it got dark. I saw him stagger out and followed him. I caught up to him outside Brie's house and..."
"...stagger out where?" Buck interrupted.
"Uh..." the green eyes rolled to the side and shut, as he mentally hit the replay key in his mind. He raised his left hand and pointed, seeing Vin dart out from a doorway. "There.... from ... a... doorway... near the... corner."
"That's where we start!" Buck exuded, standing up. "Maybe Trent saw him there... or did something to him. Hell, he could have drugged Vin... or maybe he tried to take him then and Vin got away."
"Something happened," Chris agreed, "scared him good... he was traumatized. Okay, let's go. Ryan, we'll check in later." He saw Caitlin enter the room, carrying a small pink knapsack. "Buck, get the car, I'll be right out." He waited until they were alone and turned to the two McKenna's. "Caitlin, can I ask you something about Grace?"
"Sure," She paused, taking out the child's books from the pack, "What?"
"Where did she get Miss Emily?"
The startled mother paused, eyebrows furrowed and then she frowned. "Why would you ask that?"
"It might be important."
"How?" Ryan hand shot out, taking the small one of the widow's.
"Something she told me has me curious," the blond imparted.
"It was right after I met Geoff, he took us to Sunday Brunch at Sauville House. She got lost... I was scared to death. We looked all over for her for nearly an hour. Then she just reappeared on the third floor. She was holding the doll, apparently they stored some old toys and other things that belonged to Isabella in an old nursery up there. Grace was hysterical, she cried so hard she threw up. The manager was embarrased, I think, that she got lost so easily and feared bad pubilicity. She didn't want to give the doll up, there was several dozen people gathered by this time, watching, so they told her to keep it. Why?"
He sighed hard, rubbed the back of his neck and chose his words carefully. "You both need to talk to her, reassure her fears. That doll is her security blanket and she has good reason to hold it close. She's worried about you, Cait. She's too small to carry that around."
"I know," Cait sighed, moving to stand behind Ryan. She rubbed the back of his neck and felt a tingle go up her back. "We are going to talk to her about a lot of things, thanks for your concern, Chris, I really appreciate it."
As they made their way to the restaurant, Buck saw an unnerving calm on the other man's face. He'd have expected cursing, glaring or even a few death threats. But this placid face scared him.
"Chris, snap out of it, we got us a Tanner to find." He tried, then saw Larabee's face slowly turn.
"What if we.... don't." He almost bit the words off, "Buck, what if he's already..."
He couldn't say the word and was still numb, when the door opened and he climbed out. Buck waited patiently, standing by his side. How the hell was he so good at that? He took a shaky breath, rubbed some of the fear from his eyes and nodded, as the hand gripped the back of his neck.
"We're gonna find him, Chris, alive." Buck said quietly, "You got my word on that."
"Wilmington's word's as good as done..." he shot back, as he always did. He saw that winning smile then, the one that was legendary.
"You bet your ass, it is," he issued, releasing the other's tense neck as they started on the road to solve the mystery.
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