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: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
"I Hope You Dance" by Mark D. Sanders/Tia Sillers
"Orrin... who is it?" Evelyn Travis sat up and blinked at the digital numbers on the clock. She turned on the lamp on her nightstand. She knew by the ashen complexion of her husband that it was bad news. Her first thought was of their family and an accident.
"Mary? Billy?"
Orrin shook his head and flipped the top off a pen and pulled over a tablet of paper to write on.
"Yes, this is he. Who? Yes, I know who you are. I recognize your voice from CNN." He began to write and felt his stomach churn. His wife rose and went into the bathroom, leaving him alone. With every word he heard, he felt a knife-like pain in his gut.
"When? Tell me all of it..." He wrote down every bit of information the caller gave. "You called the F.B.I.?"
"Oh, yeah, I had that pleasure," Pete growled. "Some prick named McClendon. He actually yawned on the phone. He didn't give a rat's ass... pissed me off. I can't get the sight of those bodies from my mind and he was pissed off 'cause I called again."
"Again?" Orrin frowned. "You called him before?" He nodded and continued to write down notes, his anger rising. When this investigation was done, McClendon would be history.
"Listen, Agent Travis, from what we've read online... it sounds like those two agents were damn good. I'm very sorry... to have to tell you this. Jack's got the videos cued up. What's your email? We can send it..."
"Thank you." Travis was still in shock and gave the information. He also got the phone number of their service. "I'll be in touch." He immediately dialed Washington, to the main office of the F.B.I., and relayed the information. "Yes, I understand. How long before the bodies can be brought back?" He nodded, continued to write. "I see..." he sighed deeply. "Thank you, Mitch, I'll call you later today."
"Orrin?" She came out of the bathroom and walked around to his side of the bed. The phone was still in his hand, now filling the room with dial tone. She eased it out and returned it to the cradle. He looked up then, his eyes full of raw agony. "What?"
"A God-awful mistake I hope," he managed, his voice wavering. "That was a reporter. He was one of two journalists in the Sierra Tarahumara Mountains...."
"Where?"
"...a remote area in Mexico..." He stood. "I need a drink."
She followed him downstairs into the den where he poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey. He tossed it back, turning the glass in his fingers. Impatient now, she moved forward, took the glass from him and set it down.
"What?" She demanded, taking his hand. "For heaven's sake, Orrin, talk to me."
"They found a... decayed remains... the first one near a river bed... they followed the river and found wreckage... and two more bodies. One charred beyond recognition... they had badges..."
"No," she denied, her heart wrenching. "No, Orrin... Oh, my God, no..." She began to sob, falling into his arms. She knew both agents well. She cared for them, considered them family. She'd prayed all this time for a miracle.
"I have some phone calls to make. Go on back to bed. I won't be up for a while yet."
"I'm sorry, Orrin." She kissed his cheek.
"So am I, Evie." His voice broke and he rubbed his eyes. "They weren't just two of the finest men I've had the privilege of working with... they were special. They were family."
After she left, he went to his study to begin the phone calls. But he didn't call the team. That wasn't the type of news you break over the phone. He eyed a photo taken a few months back at a charity event for the hospital Rain Jackson worked for. The seven men were in tuxedos and looking very dapper. Chris was to the far left and naturally, at his right hand, was Vin Tanner. He was glad that Chris found Vin, even if only for a brief time. The quiet Texan had brought peace to the troubled agent.
"Dammit to hell, J.D., turn that shit down!" Buck complained of the loud music blasting from the youth's radio. The music went dead so fast, he stuck his dark head out of the cantina, still holding an empty cup. Nathan and Josiah were standing behind J.D. Ezra had just arrived and looked perplexed. Then Buck saw the reason why. He didn't have to hear the words. He knew by the haunted look in the older man's eyes. A sobering reflection which left his own tone flat and cold.
"They're dead, aren't they?"
"What?" J.D. blurted at Buck's words. His wide eyes going from Wilmington's ashen face to Orrin Travis's. "Is that right? No, they can't be. Chris isn't dead... Vin..." His small voice trailed off.
"Can we go in the conference room?" The graying division head walked by, pausing briefly and resting a single hand on Buck Wilmington's slumped shoulder. In all his years of service to the government, over forty now, he'd never seen such raw agony as was reflected in the dark blue eyes. He watched the bottom lip disappear into a tense bite and nodded. Then the mustached agent's eyes clenched shut and an anguished whisper slipped past the firm lips.
"God... both of them..."
"When?" Ezra asked, eyeing the folder the older man held. Orrin motioned to the conference room and they all filed inside. Ezra waited for the agonized Wilmington. Buck moved past him and took the vacant seat on the end.
"Yesterday afternoon, late... two journalists in the Sierra Tarahumara mountains found... a corpse in a bad state of decomposition by a riverbank. I think you're aware of the intense heat in the area and the wild life."
"Oh, God..." J.D.'s stomach lurched and he swallowed his breakfast as it came back up.
"There was a badge on the... remains." He paused, eyeing each horrified face. They'd worked so hard, using their own time, to find their missing friends. That made this even more heartbreaking. Tirelessly, they had called Mexico and tried to track down any leads. "It was Vin Tanner's."
"No!" J.D. remained in denial. "Vin's the toughest... nobody could..."
"Easy, son." Josiah moved behind the distressed younger man who was fighting hard to remain still. He rested his hand on the faded blue denim shirt.
"They followed the river and found wreckage... and more bodies... one with another badge was badly burned..."
"Ah, fuck!" Buck pushed his chair back and stood up. "Not that way... not after Sara and Adam..." He shoved away from the table and glared accusingly at Josiah. "Some God you have..."
"How many bodies?" Ezra remained outwardly calm, but the vision of Vin Tanner being eaten by animals caused a nuclear meltdown in his gut.
"What the hell difference does it make?" Buck roared.
"How many?" Ezra persisted, drilling Orrin.
"Three."
"Well," Nathan struggled, "then it might not be them. Four Savages... Vin and Chris... a pilot... there's four people unaccounted for..."
"I told you!" J.D found new hope. "They're not dead."
"Hold on, J.D.," Josiah warned, "I know that area. It's brutal. There are few roads, fewer towns and little help. Even if they did survive, with the heat, snakes and wildlife, no medical help... they wouldn't be able to..."
"They're not dead!" Dunne stood, and Orrin did as well.
"Mr. Dunne, take your seat!" Travis ordered. "Josiah is right. Also, only a part of the plane was found. It apparently broke apart before the forced landing. Even if this isn't Chris and Vin, we may never find them."
"I'll find them!" Buck vowed, eyes flashing. "If it fuckin' takes the rest of my life, I'll bring them... ho... home..." He blew out a long breath, clenched his frustrated fists and felt a hand on his back. He nodded silently to Ezra and took the bottle of water he offered.
"Are there photos?" Standish guessed and the other man nodded.
"They were downloaded an hour ago...." He saw Buck and Ezra walk over and kept his fingers on the folder. "It's grisly..."
"I'm not a rookie, Orrin," Buck noted of the many different crime scenes he'd encountered.
With a nod, the senior agent slid the folder over. Buck remained passive, eyeing each photo without emotion. Ezra blanched and backed up slightly.
"Sweet Jesus..." he swallowed hard, eyeing the horrific shots.
"Don't!" Buck advised, standing before J.D. Nathan and Josiah moved quickly past, each as torn up as the southerner was.
"I'm not a kid, Buck, I carry the same badge you do." J.D. wiggled past and made it only through the first photo. It was unimaginable; a bug infested, rotted chest cavity with Vin Tanner's badge. Josiah shoved the gagging young man over the trash can and Ezra took the half bottle of water from the spot where Buck had been .
"It will take awhile before they can be flown to Fort Bliss," Travis noted of the airbase in El Paso. "For confirmation. It's in a bad place, tough to get to... and the Mexican government is playing hardball." He keyed up the computer and downloaded the film the journalist sent.
"Why?" J.D. asked, pale and shaking. "They're Americans and..."
"The plane was Mexican and so was the pilot. They want to investigate. We have to proceed carefully. I'm flying down to Chihuahua with representatives from the F.B.I. and the State Department. We'll meet with the Mexican officials and get it ironed out."
"I'm going with you..." Buck said, but he knew better. He averted his eyes when the charred corpse came into view.
"I'm going alone. You have jobs to finish here. I know how shaken you are. Finish your reports and take the day off. The F.B.I wants DNA samples from Vin and Chris. I'll need some hair."
"Vin's..." J.D. paused, his heart wrenched. "I'll get it... I have a key to his place. I've been getting his mail and taking care of the plants."
"Why don't we meet at Chris's?" Ezra suggested. "I think we should be together."
"Yeah," Buck said. "I need some air. I'll be up later." He slipped his hand in his pocket and took out a ring of keys. He slipped one off and handed it to jade-eyed southerner. He and Vin each held spare keys to Chris's house. He didn't say another word, just headed outside. He needed air.
"Buck... wait up!" J.D stood to follow, but Nathan stopped him.
"Let him go, J.D., he's hurtin' worse than all of us. Him and Chris go back a long time."
He didn't see the nasty glares of the pedestrians he bumped into. He didn't hear the loud horns honking when he crossed against the light. He didn't hear the loud curses from drivers he walked in front of. He was only aware of two things, the clear green eyes of a warrior and the soft, drawling laugh of the bounty hunter who saved his soul. That was Vin Tanner's finest bounty.
He found the small church easily and dropped to his knees in the back pew. His Catholic upbringing came back and he began to recite a rosary. As the prayers drifted above, he found the ivory face of the Lord above the altar. His prayers ended and his questions began.
"Why?" His shuddering whispered accusation floated over the cold church. "Why them? All the scum that's walkin' around... I don't understand? Unquestioning faith..." He denied of his roots. He collected his thoughts, rose, blessed himself and left. His long strides took him to the parking lot at work and his car. A half hour later, he was at the first of his destinations. He walked slowly, his mighty heart constricting with every painful step. He couldn't face her... he was ashamed.
He finally stopped and knelt down, gripping the smooth marble of the stone. As he ran his hands over the marble wings of the angel, he let the tears fall. He sobbed without abandon, angry tears that fought hard to be born.
"Why?" he screamed at the clear blue sky. Finally, the shuddering stopped and he swiped his eyes. He stared hard at the scattering of letters and traced each one with his hand. He took a rose from the grave and marveled at its texture. Without fail, once a month, the florist brought them. Chris set it up that way. He touched the pink bloom to her name and his voice broke.
"I'm sor...ry... S...ara..." he whispered in agony over his broken vow. He'd pledged on her grave the day of the funeral to be her eyes and ears. To keep the man she loved so deeply, safe. "I failed..."
He crushed the rose, welcoming the pain of the thorns buried in his fist. Somewhere deep inside, they pierced the mighty Wilmington heart... and he bled.
Except for Buck, the numbed team plodded through their paperwork. After agreeing to meet at The Saloon at five, they scattered at noontime, each seeking their own chapel of grief. Nathan went to his wife, breaking the news gently and supporting the sobbing woman in the ER where she worked. Ezra went to the mountains, seeking out Vin's favorite spot and mourned in the cathedral the tracker loved best. Josiah went to his cabin, tossing his bulk into chopping wood, clearing brush and cursing the wisdom of God. J.D. went to Vin's place, pulled on the tracker's Avalanche jersey, embracing the scent still clinging to the fabric. He put on an Eagle's CD, called Casey to come over and grieved in her arms.
"Ezra?" Josiah pressed against the left side of his ear and pushed the phone closer to his right. "Where have you been? We're gonna head up to Chris's."
"I'll meet you there." The southerner shoved the half-eaten sandwich across the kitchen table. It soured in his stomach. He rubbed the bridge of his nose , pressing the headache back down
It had been the worst day of his professional career.
"You seen Buck?" the preacher asked. "We can't find him."
"Not to fear, I'll find him. We'll see you up there. Is Orrin coming?"
"Yeah, he's gonna try to call the reporter back at nine. He wants us all there."
"Until later," Standish signed off, threw the sandwich away and grabbed his jacket. He paused by the door where a black and white five by seven photo in a malachite frame sat. He picked it up, smiling at the two men on the far left. They'd taken a ski weekend and the photo was in the Swiss-style lodge. They looked so healthy and vital, skin pink from the cold air and eyes shining.
"What a fucking waste!" he lamented, eyeing Vin Tanner's wide grin. Vin and Buck were the two he felt closest to. Losing the Texan would leave a horrid wound inside. The leader's cool green gaze burned into his soul as well. He sighed, replaced the photo and nodded. "I shan't forget either of you... "
"You get hold of Ezra?" Nathan wiped his mouth and watched the somber profile of the team's eldest.
"Yeah, he's gonna find Buck."
"Where?" J.D. drained his Coke, his face ashen and lined with grief. "I've looked... we've looked everywhere."
"Brother Standish does have a gift for finding the elusive," Sanchez noted, watching the owner of the bar approach. Her pretty eyes were red and swollen.
"Can I get you anything else?" She paused behind J.D. and rubbed his back.
"No thanks, Inez." Jackson stood up. "Don't worry, we'll find him."
"Until I see him..." Her voice trailed off, thinking of the handsome rogue's face locked in agony.
"I know," Jackson hugged her. "He's strong... he'll be okay."
"He's got four brothers to hold him up," J.D. vowed, taking her hand. "If he calls you..."
"I will let you know," she vowed, letting out a shuddering breath. "I can't believe they're gone..."
"We don't know for sure," Dunne persisted. "It might be a mistake... they can't be dead."
"J.D...." Nathan started, but Josiah shook his head.
"Leave him be, Nate. You know how he looked up to Chris. I'm sure being at Vin's today wasn't easy."
J.D. slid behind the wheel of his car and sighed. He gripped the wheel and felt the hatred rising again. If they were dead, and he didn't want to believe that. It was too final... to difficult to comprehend. He glanced at the plastic bag on the passenger seat. He lifted it, fingering the comb through the clear plastic. The long strands of brown hair burned his hand. Going through Vin's things was hard. The aura of the Texan was everywhere. Vin was a good friend and they'd done so much together. He felt a huge hole inside where Tanner's smile should be. He put the bag down and turned the ignition. The numbness from his heart quickly spread, engulfing him.
The conman slid from behind the wheel of his silver Porsche and squinted. He adjusted his sunglasses and zipped up his cashmere jacket. He approached slowly, wincing visibly at the raw agony on the handsome man's shadowed face. His eyes were the worst. Usually a bright blue, sparkling with mischief, they were dull and riddled with anguish. Ezra waited several moments, then saw the face finally turn towards him. He wished it hadn't.
"How'd you know?" Buck whispered, his throat raw.
"Logical deduction," Ezra moved a little closer and saw the signs of the raw, cold day. "It's freezing out here. My car is still warm." He'd had the heat on during the ride up to this spot on the mountain. Buck nodded and staggered, finally settling inside the southerner's car. Ezra joined him, turned the ignition out, releasing the heat. Then he offered his antique silver flask. "... and we've looked everywhere else." His haunted gaze went to a flat rock and he watched the sun setting over the mountains. Orange ripples fanned across the lake and gave this spot its heavenly aura.
"He loved it here," Buck whispered, before sipping the fine brandy.
"I know," Ezra agreed of Vin Tanner's church. This spot, with an unequaled view and far from the noise of the city, was where he renewed his soul.
"Did anything else... turn up?"
"Not yet. Orrin is meeting us at Chris's. Why didn't you turn your cell phone on?"
"I didn't want to hear voices," he repeated simply. "I went to see Sara... to apologize." He took another swig; this time the liquid wasn't as hot. "I spent a lot of time there with her. I went to that warehouse where me and Chris first met..." he chuckled painfully, recalling the magic moment during a raid. "I didn't think we'd last six months together. He was the best friend I ever had..."
"I know," Ezra sighed, eyeing the haunted profile. "For what it's worth, Buck, he admired you. More than all of us, for that great heart you are gifted with. He told me once that he envied your capacity for guardianship."
"Guardianship?" Buck found a weak smile.
"My word, not his." Standish found his own waning grin. He found the voices from the radio disrupting and moved to distinguish them.
"At least they were together." Buck eyed the spot again where Vin Tanner had loved to perch. "I can't imagine either one..."
Ezra had his hand on the radio dial, attempting to turn it off, when Buck stopped talking. He started to push it off and his wrist was gripped.
"Don't!"
Frowning, he turned it up and watched the dark-haired man gasp audibly, as if someone punched him. The blue eyes darted and filled again as the words caressed the air.
"God..." Buck rasped, clenching his eyes shut, recalling the first time he was at this very spot and how this song was tied to that moment.
"A vivid memory?"
"Yeah... that first weekend in June, after Vin came. He disappeared after lunch and we went huntin' for him." He smiled then and relayed the story to Ezra.
He and Chris were riding in Buck's SUV, looking for the Texan. The song came on at the same time they spotted him. He didn't see them and that made the difference. But he saw the light shining from Chris Larabee's eyes and the easy wide smile that was born. A pure light that died with Sara and Adam's tragic deaths. Vin Tanner restored it and it gleamed brightly.
"I hope you never lose that sense of wonder.
I hope you get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger.
May you never take one single breath for granted.
God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed.
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens.
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance.
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance....
I hope you dance."
It was about two months after Vin joined the team. Having sampled the beauty around Chris's ranch and ridden the horses, he became a frequent visitor. It was a Sunday in early summer and the sun was set like a diamond in a cerulean sky. Deciding to take a swim in the water, the sharpshooter, who they thought was on the shy side, was basking in the sun... in his birthday suit.
They'd been searching for quite some time, on a lonely stretch of private road on Chris's property. Unable to drive on the narrow road any further, they pulled over and got out. Then they heard the whooping call and splashing sounds. They jogged down the dirt path and grinned. They watched him splash and swim, hooting and hollering the whole time, then shake the water from his shaggy head. Then he disappeared into a cluster of rocks, laying himself out to dry. The music drifted from a radio the Texan had with him.
"Fuckin' Texas lizard," Chris grinned from the inside out and right to his eyes.
It was the first time he saw that look, the 'Vin' look. He found himself grinning as well, seeing Chris Larabee reborn. The drawling, raspy-voiced sniper from Texas had a profound effect on the blond.
They quietly made their way up to the rocks, grinning at the slender man sunning himself. Buck lowered his voice and snuck up behind the unassuming skinny dipper.
"State trooper, boy, you're under arrest."
Ezra's laughter drew him back and he chuckled as well.
"He damn near jumped five feet, skinned his knees and his ass. Cursed me up one side and down the other. He had curses I'd never heard of. Chris was laughin' so hard I thought he'd pee. Of course, that made Vin even madder. I thought I'd never hear that sound again" He sighed then as another verse came on the radio.
"I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance.
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances, but they're worth taking.
Loving might be a mistake but it's worth making.
Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter.
When you come close to selling out, reconsider.
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance.
And when you get the chance to sit out or dance.
I hope you dance."
Ezra saw the change as the smile fell. Buck's face grew somber and he eyed that burning orb as it fell lower, giving his face a golden tone. After swallowing twice and collecting his scattered emotions, he spoke, his voice full of wonder.
"Later, Vin disappeared again. I came up alone and saw him," he pointed, his hand trembling, "right there. It was sunset and as beautiful as you'd ever seen. Ezra, the look on his face... I got no words, especially them eyes..."
"Poetry... pure poetry," the southerner agreed.
"I asked him about that look which went way beyond bliss and peace." The mustache curled up over a warm smile. "He turned to me and said 'Bucklin, I'm honorin' Him fer sharin' his majesty with me..." He choked up then, his mind's eye seeing Vin's soulful blues gazing at the celestial heavens. "It was the first time he called me that."
"Let it out, Buck," Ezra saw the other man's white teeth chewing on his bottom lip in an attempt to hold back a sob. The eyes were burning and the face was a mask of pain.
"I... asked... him..." he swallowed it down, "What did you call... me...?" He took two large breaths as the sun slipped lower. "He said... Bucklin... in tone like I should know what he meant. Then... he... smiled... Ezra, you never saw the likes of it. He cocked that shaggy head and said 'Anybody can have them a Buck, I got me a genuine Bucklin'."
"He was quite a linguist." He saw Buck laugh, then break into a wide grin, "..and..." he goaded.
"...and then he smacked me, got that cranky Tanner face on and cussed me out. Said the boys hadn't forgivin' me for interruptin' their sunbath... said they were all fired up..."
"Spoken like a true Tanner." Ezra took the flask and saluted.
"The first time... that day we watched Vin splashin' and hootin' like a fool boy in that water, that song was on the radio. Chris said... and he had that wide smile and the light comin' from his eyes... he said..." Buck's voice cracked. "Look at that, Buck, he's celebratin' life'" The rogue smiled then, his heart warm. "Chris's voice... he was in awe, Ezra."
"Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, our drawling nomad found home," Ezra noted, handing the flask back.
"After that, whenever that song came on, Chris's eyes would drift back to that place and he would get that same look on his face." He lifted the flask then, drawing up the pure angelic smile Vin gifted him with at that sunset. "Thank you, Vin Tanner, for teaching Chris Larabee to dance again."
"I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens.
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance.
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance."
"All right... all right..." Inez turned her bedroom light on and padded to the living room door. She held a solid marble rolling pin and peeked through the keyhole. "God... oh, my God...!" She unlocked the bolts and threw the door open. "Where have you been? You never heard of a phone? What the hell is the matter with you?"
He lifted his face then and she lost her heart. He opened his mouth to speak and no words came out. Two slits of blue peered at her through red rimmed lids. His lips trembled, his hands shook and he took a shuddering breath.
"I'm sorry..." he croaked. "I didn't want to go home... alone... tonight."
"Oh, Buck!" She opened the door wider and he stumbled into her arms. "I'm so sorry..." "It hurts, Inez... Jesus God, it hurts..." he choked, so glad for her support. He staggered inside the dark room, following the path towards a small light. He sat on the bed, dropped his head into his hands and broke. He felt her sit down beside him, her small hands on his neck and back, rubbing them.
"Why?" he whispered painfully, finally seeking out the beautiful dark eyes. "Both of them, Inez... why?" He dropped his head on the soft shoulder and finally let it out.
"Shhh...." she soothed, rocking him in her arms and stroking his hair. "I have you, Buck... I'm here."
And she stayed. Long after he fell into an exhausted sleep, she pulled his shoes off and got him stretched out on the bed. Then she curled up next to him. She pulled the blanket over them and smiled when his arm moved protectively in his sleep, drawing her near.
"Do you know," she whispered, drawing a finger over his cheek, "how much I love you...?" She kissed him softly and snuggled closer, vowing to mend that broken heart.
The dizzying pace of the flight stole his breath. He swooped low over majestic waterfalls and lush green trees. The sun winked at a hint of silver, sending him even lower. He paused over the first body, blinded by the light from the badge. Then the rotted flesh moved and a hand came up.
"...Bucklin..."
The raspy voice sent him back into the sky, this time at an uneven pace. The trees hit his face as he swooped down again. Through the twisted metal of the plane, a charred body moved. From the blacked sockets, two green eyes popped out.
"I needed you..."
"NOOOOOOO!"
'Madre Dios!" Inez sat up, flipped on the bedside lamp and then jumped from the bed. The scream was followed by a thud as Buck hit the floor. He was crawling, trying to escape.
"Buck... no... oh my God..." She caught up to him and knelt down, tapping his face. "Buck, wake up..."
He blinked and gasped, sat down and shook all over. Finally the soft voice brought his dazed head up. With thick confusion, he eyed the room and then zoned on the beautiful face in front of him. The pretty dark eyes were full of concern... and something else. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused, his mind working. Then he heard the words of her heart again and he sighed. He reached a trembling hand up, brushed the long, silky hair from her cheek and marveled at the incredible soft texture of her skin.
"I thought..." he whispered, his hand on her cheek. "...it was a dream..."
"Perhaps it is," she pressed her cheek into his palm. She raised her hand and found the back of his neck. "and I don't want to wake up." She pulled his face closer and kissed him softly. She groaned when he returned it, stronger and more defined.
He broke away, dropped his head and sighed again. The grisly images of Vin and Chris returned. He scrubbed a hand over his weary face and felt his eyes burning again.
"Come," she offered, stood and helped him up. "You will sleep and I will watch your back. No more bad dreams."
"I need a drink." He rested against the headboard, pressing his fingers over the headache building behind his eyes. He felt the bed move and squinted, then felt a glass pressed to his hand. "Thanks..." he sipped the whiskey too quickly, it burned a slow path inside.
He was at that maddning waystation just past exhaustion. When you're so tired, you can't sleep. Despite the light going off, he couldn't rest. He turned left, then right. He punched the pillow in frustration and flopped onto his belly. Then two small hands began to massage his back. The firm fingers worked magic, right up to his neck. He felt the tension leave and surrendered, just as the soft body pressed close.
"Sleep."
He sighed at the feathery voice tickling his ear and let himself go. There were no more nightmares. When the new dawn came, he'd be ready. He'd shed his last tear and would bury the grief deep inside. He polished his armor and readied himself for battle. He would find his two friends and bring them home. Even if he had to go through the whole Mexican government to do it.
The strong aroma of coffee tickled his nose and pulled his eyes open. Lethargy that comes with grief cloaked him heavily. For several minutes, he remained in the bed as the images of the day before repeated. Sighing deeply, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, forced his limbs to move and headed to the bathroom.
Inez turned the flame down on the stove where an omelet was busy heating up. She wiped her hands on a towel and made her way toward the ringing telephone.
"Hello?"
"Inez, it's Josiah. I got your voicemail," he said of the message left a half hour before. "I was down the hall. Is Buck okay?"
"No, his heart is broken," she whispered, still seeing those bruised eyes. "He's in the shower. I'll have him call when he gets out."
"Tell him Orrin's trying to hook up another line with those reporters again," he noted of the lost transmission from the night before. "We're shooting for eight a.m... in the conference room here at the office."
"Okay, Josiah." She paused and thought of the handsome man in her shower. "We'll stand by him... get him through this, yes?"
"Count on it, darlin'," he returned, gently hanging up the phone.
"Wake up, dog!"
Chris blinked into the near darkness as a large bulk hovered over his bunk. He didn't need any light. The smell was enough to kill an average man.
"Fuck off, Savage."
"You listen to me, blondie," Bull growled, grabbing the other man's collar and hauling him upright. He slammed the still healing and half asleep body against the wall and curled his face up in anger. "You'll do as I say. I'm not taking any more shit from these greasers. We're gonna be near the river today and once it gets dark, I'm getting the hell out."
Chris shifted his weight, pulled his eyes open and slammed his fist into the other man's groin. He followed up with another fist to the throat, sending the larger man to his knees. He leaned in, using his forearm around the massive throat.
"First of all, let's get one thing clear. You don't fuckin' tell me what to do. Second, we'll go when I say. With a plan... you try runnin' without one and they'll shoot us both down, you stupid son-of-a-bitch. "Chris panted, his ribs aching and his side throbbing. "And finally, you ever touch me again and it'll be the last fuckin' thing you do, got it?"
"Get off me!" Bull sneered, trying to break free. "Okay, wiseass, we'll wait. You sweet talk that little Mexican piece of ass you're so fond of and ..."
"You must have a whole lot of air between your ears," Chris growled, placing his knee on the other man's back and forcing him further onto the floor. He twisted an arm behind Bull's back and pulled hard, hearing a soft gasp of pain. "You ever make the mistake of talking about her again and you won't be walking straight fora week. Don't breathe near her, don't look at her and don't even think about her."
The 'discussion' was interrupted when the door opened and two guards appeared. A gun pressed against his throat brought Chris back to his feet. The barrel shoved hard into the soft area above his collarbone and he pushed it back.
"Yeah, okay..." he backed off.
"Eat... we leave in ten minutes," the second guard said as Maria entered.
Chris immediately put himself between her and the other three males. He couldn't hear what the two guards were saying, but he knew it was filthy by their leering laughter. Bull heard them and began to laugh, causing the ATF man to release a low growl and curl his fist's up. The guard's gun appeared again, but it was the soft voice from behind him and a small hand on his arm that stopped his actions.
"They are not worth it, Chris. Come and eat..." she implored, waiting for the guards to leave. He was in pain, his eyes reflected that. She helped him sit and gripped both shoulders, until his damp head nodded. She lifted the cloth over the dish on the table. His hand rested briefly on her cheek and that made her smile.
"You are just like the knights I read about in my fairytale books as a little girl," she teased, watching the lean man sit and pick up a fork.
"I'm not that noble." Chris ate quickly as Bull joined them. "What?" He saw something in her dark eyes when he looked up.
"Tomorrow, we will be turning away, leaving the area close to the river. The road will turn..."
"I told you, pig!" Bull argued, pointing a spoon in defense.
"There's too many guards, we'd never make it," Chris returned but thought on her warning. "If weget further inland, we'll never get out."
"Maybe... I have an idea," she implored. "Juan is leaving later today for a meeting with two of his lieutenants. There is trouble... with the government. There might be more fighting in the next few days. He won't return. We'll meet up with him at the new camp tomorrow afternoon."
"How many guards?"
"Well, some will leave with him... others to ride ahead to prepare the new camp. I'm guessing... maybe six or seven here. I have taken something from my father's bag. It's a strong sedative. I can put it in their food. If I time it right... just as the sun sets..."
"Okay, that might work," Chris mused.
"There's no 'might' about it, Larabee," Bull hissed, tired of the manacles, hard work and having the Mexican guards telling him what to do. "We're doing this tonight. If she's right, we're gonna be shot down..."
Reluctantly, the blond head nodded. He finished his food as the door opened and the guards returned.
"Time's up, gringo dogs."
Sighing, he shoved his boots on, buttoned his shirt and waited for the manacles to be put back on. The sun was barely yawning, but it was hot already. It would be another brutal day in the heat. Thinking of how sick he'd been the day before, he hoped this day would be better. He'd need all the strength he had to conquer the river... and then there was the iron leashing him to Bull Savage. He eyed the dark blue of the morning sky as they were forced ahead.
"I didn't forget, Vin," he whispered, thinking on his vow. He'd make Bull Savage pay for the torture he'd put the Texan through. He'd pay... and with his life.
Buck paused in the doorway, squared his shoulders and ducked inside. He'd had breakfast with Inez, thanked her again and left his heart with her. He saw her in a new light at dawn. Once this mess was settled, he intended to court her properly. He wanted to take it slow and easy, seeing so much in the beautiful dark eyes he'd nearly drowned in them.
J.D. saw him first, moved over and embraced him lightly.
"You should have called... I was worried."
"Yeah, I'm sorry, kid," he admitted, nodding to Nathan.
"You would have kicked my ass if I didn't call in..." the youth countered.
"I can still kick your ass," Buck teased. "Hell, you ain't got much of one..."
"Casey don't think so... she likes my ass..." the dark-haired youth tossed back defiantly, glad for a little of the old Buck Wilmington returning.
"Reminds me that I have to talk with that little girl!" He winked and then shook Ezra's handin a silent heave of gratitude. The other man merely nodded, patted his shoulder and moved toward his own seat.
"You look better, brother," Josiah stated, recalling the sad, withdrawn figure at Chris's the night before.
They'd shared stories, filling the night with both sorrow and mirth. Buck had been a shadow, lurking in the corner, huddled and alone. They weren't able to speak with the reporters. The connection was too poor. Today, however, was a new story. Orrin was already speaking to Pete DiTullio, and now that Buck had arrived, he stood up.
"Hold on, Pete, I want to put you on a speaker phone. Larabee's unit is all here. Nathan Jackson, John Dunne, Josiah Sanchez, Ezra Standish and Buck Wilmington. Gentlemen, this is Pete DiTullio. I'm sure you're familiar with his work. He and his partner found the remains."
"How'd it go down?" Nathan said. "I'm Nathan."
"Well," Pete sipped his coffee, watching Jack emerge from the pool and amble over. He flicked his dark eyes to the chair and nodded. The other man hurried, taking the time to towel off and then sit. "We've been hearing rumors for weeks about the rebels planning a hit on a government facility. Juan Xavier is the leader of the strongest arms of the rebel faction. He's a former army leader and a very smart and dangerous man. We've been just behind them for months now and hope to find out where their new base camp is in the mountains. That's where we were headed the day we found the American kid."
"What American kid?" J.D. asked. "I'm John... J.D."
"A couple weeks back, we found a kid... an American... not far from the falls. He was hurt, dazed... had no idea where he was. We took him to San Pedro to the clinic there."
"How old? What did he look like?" Buck interrupted. "Buck Wilmington."
"Early twenties," Pete declined more coffee. "Clean shaven... head, too. Light eyes... tall... well-built..."
"Had to be Arlee or Troy..."
"Savage?" Pete nodded. "That fits... I found a cell phone number in the dead pilot's pocket. I called and got Lincoln Savage's voicemail."
"Where's this kid? I want him..." Buck stood up and placed both fists on the table. "Why didn't you call it in? Two weeks... dammit to hell..."
"I called it in right away," the dark-haired journalist defended. "Don't bust my balls, chief, okay? You want to be pissed off, talk to that F.B.I. prick, McClendon. I called him that day... I thought the kid was missing. Cold-hearted, son-of-a-bitch... he pissed me off. Not only didn't he return my call that day, but when I talked to him last night to update him, he was annoyed that I bothered him. That's your tax dollars at work... what a waste of space."
"MCCLENDON!" Buck roared, springing to life. "GODDAMMIT! I'M GONNA FUCKIN' KILL HIM."
"Buck, take it easy!" Nate grabbed the irate collection of flesh and bones and held on. "Let him finish!"
"We have a number... a toll free one... to use down here for missing persons. It tracked to his territory. I got his number too, from the operator and called him personally. He never called back."
"Buck," Orrin silenced the pulsating wall of anger with one steely, Larabee-esque gaze. He waited until the mustached man shook off the dark-skinned agent's grip and regained control. "What about the plane?"
"We only found the front piece," Pete supplied. "They forced landed... the rest could be down river or you might never find it. There were two bodies on the plane and the one further down the river. When I heard that voicemail, I connected the badges to Tanner and Larabee. I'm really sorry..."
"Thank you," Orrin nodded.
"Did the authorities find any other bodies... over the last two weeks?" Josiah asked. "Are there any unidentified dead?"
"Not that I could track. I'm sure they're checking on that now. Missing American Feds make them jump," he noted of the army.
"Can you send me a likeness of the man you picked up?" Orrin asked. "If that's either Troy or Arlee, that means it's possible Bull or his brother are still alive and I want them. " He didn't hide his strong intent.
"...maybe Vin and Chris..." J.D. offered.
"We'll know soon enough," Pete sent back. "I heard on the radio this morning that the army has moved into the area, taking over the crime scene."
"I hope they don't fuck it up..." Buck worried, not liking the foreign government taking over.
"I'm meeting with the F.B.I in Silver City today, then flying to Chihuahua with the director and other personnel from the government. This is a sticky situation and we need to be careful."
"I didn't tell McClendon about the phone number," Pete said, then relayed it. "Maybe you guys can track the calls. I sent you everything we found so far. We're moving on today. Rumor has it Juan Xavier has a big meeting going down."
"Thank you," Ezra said. "This American you found, who we'll presume to be a member of the Savage clan and I do mean that..." he paused, sipped his coffee and continued, "Where is he now?"
"Jack, my partner, took him to the clinic in San Pedro. It's run by a Dr. Lorico. His leg was broken and he was banged up good. It's not a hospital, so whatever treatment he did get would have been slower."
"Is he still there?"
"That, I don't know, but I will find out and call you back. He was as of yesterday afternoon. I called... I thought maybe he knew something. Some nurse confirmed only that he was a patient and the line was bad. I'm sure by now the army has contacted them. It's the closest village to the wreck."
"Great!" J.D. sighed. "There goes our interrogation."
"Our?" Josiah raised an eyebrow.
"....figure of speech." The youth raked a hand through his dark hair.
"If your travels in the interior create any new leads, you'll call?" Standish winced at the burst of static on the line.
"Yeah, give me some cell phones," DiTullio asked, copying down several numbers. "Okay... I'll be in touch. I feel tied to those guys. I can't get that sight out of my mind... I hope to hell it isn't them."
"Join the club, brother," Josiah said as they signed off.
While the others discussed the information, aired verbal assaults on Eric McClendon and J.D. left to track down that phone number, Buck moved to the window. Once Orrin left, he intended to get his own flight to Silver City. He'd find Eric McClendon and have his own 'discussion'. If the arrogant F.B.I man had notified them that day, things might have been so different. What if Vin and Chris had been alive? What if whichever Savage was found knew where they were? Two weeks... he shook his head in disgust. He had to play it up, make Orrin think he was under control. It took all the strength he had to quell the lava flowing in his gut.
Eric McClendon would be sorry he pissed off Buck Wilmington.
The desert spread out underneath him, grower larger as the plane drifted down. The meeting with the F.B.I. team assigned to the case wasbeing held ata hotel near the airport. That way, they could board their flight, make the connection in El Paso and then onward to Chihuahua. They were to meet with the Ambassador to Mexico, representatives from the president, and General Tomas Santiago, the head of the Mexican army. It was his men that were protecting the crime scene.
Orrin Travis's mind wandered yet again as it had during the flight. The men, for the most part, would be fine. Chris Larabee trained them well. They'd do their jobs, honor that badge that meant so much to him and not let him down. Except for one tall, blue-eyed maverick named Wilmington.
He sighed and clipped his belt as the plane began its final descent. He'd spoken to the younger man alone after the conference call. He looked awful and the director granted him leave. Buck nodded and wandered away. J.D walked with him to the parking lot. The senior agent suspected the youngest on the team needed to talk alone with Wilmington too. The lack of any emotion was worse than a fiery outburst. He wondered about the smoldering inside of Buck Wilmington.
What Travis didn't know was that while meetings with the Denver ATF, FBI and Justice Department representatives kept him from flying out until 1 p.m., Buck Wilmington left at 11 a.m., taking only enough time to change his clothes. He wanted a meeting with the F.B.I too. A private one with Eric McClendon.
Vin leaned back against the tree, hidden in the dense area near the rushing river, and sighed. He wiped his face with a remnant of a tee shirt, doused by river water. His head hurt so much, he couldn't see straight, let alone think. He wanted to rest... to sleep... to get away from the throbbing pain in his skull, but it was not to be — not yet.
With an arm weighted heavy by fatigue, he lifted the canteen and drank a little water. His lunch was back a few miles, spewed on the side of the road. He kept his burning eyes on the spot where Kevin disappeared. They had to leave the car a few miles back, having spotted army vehicles.
They had an argument then. Vin wanted to approach the guards and ask for help. But hearing his cousin's reasons made some sense. They weren't in America and had no idea if these soldiers were friendly or not. What if the guards detained them for questioning? How could that help their missing family members? Worse yet, what if these soldiers trumped up charges and they ended up in jail?
So it was decided they'd follow carefully on foot, try to find out what they could and pick up information that way. It was a slow process, his head injury caused him to manuever awkwardly. His cousin's casted left leg gave him an uneven gait. But he was able to move fairly well on the injured leg.
That was how he came to rest against this tree. His legs got this far and turned to rubber. Kevin sat him down, left the backpack of food, water and tools from the Jeep and headed up river. A soft hiss took his eyes left. Kevin's face appeared. The hand beckoned to follow.
With leaden limbs, he went on all fours and pushed with all his might. He staggered, righted himself, took a deep breath and parted the red wall of pain that surrounded him.
"...one st...step... at... a... time..." he murmured, keeping upright.
"There's a body," Arlee said, grabbing the wavering man and slinging an arm around his shoulder. "You have to be quiet... there are soldiers all around. I think..." he paused, real grief in his eyes, knowing from the tattered clothing it was his own brother's body. "...it might be... Chris..."
"No!" Vin started to protest, then a hand clamped over his mouth. Two angry eyes warned him soundly.
"Look, I don't like it any better than you! You keep it together... or we'll end up dead. These are mean men... brutal killers. This isn't Main Street USA, okay? "He saw the damp head nod and let his hand go. "Come on..."
"Nothing yet?"
"No, Padre, sorry."
Father Carlos sighed, pushed the untouched plate of food away and fingered the cross on his neck. Guilt weighed heavy on his normally broad shoulders. Now, they slumped in worried defeat.
A blood red sun began to leave the sky. His old eyes trained on it... then took in the meager collection of buildings. He was sitting outside the small clinic at a tiny table, weary from far more than the full night and half day put in with the laboring new mother.
Upon his return to town, he'd been shocked to discover his young friend was missing. No one at the clinic could recall exactly when they'd last seen him. No doubt, Kevin Lincoln had persuaded the confused 'Chris' to accompany him on a trip to find their family. But why? Why sneak out in the dead of night? What did he fear?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and nodded as Dr. Lorico stood up. They'd been sitting outside, the physician taking a break. He'd had an emergency surgery that afternoon and needed to check on his patient.
"I called this morning at first light, when the phone lines came up. The local magistrate," the doctor noted of the small police office responsible for a large part of the impoverished area. It was not close by and they were understaffed. "He took the report and passed it on to his men. He also notified the surrounding towns. I believe he was going to call the American Embassy as well..."
"Thank you..."
"You did nothing wrong..."
"I shouldn't have left him..." Father Carlos felt a stab in his gut when the lost sky eyes appeared in his mind's eye. He opened his hand, still feeling that lost soul's grip in it when he'd been so ill. He had become the young American's lifeline... in a storm of doubt and pain. Now, the line was cut... cut sharply and too severely.
"You had no way to know!" The physician needed to go but felt awful for his friend. "Would it be better for the woman and child to die?"
"No."
"Well, then, you have faith in that cross you wear so well. He is protecting your young friend..."
"I hope so," the priest sighed, raking a trembling hand through his hair and felt that nagging doubt grow stronger. "Because I feel something is very wrong..."
He remained in that spot, meditating and praying long after the sun went down. He was so lost in thought, he didn't see the two men approach. He startled and jumped slightly when a hand rested on his shoulder.
"Sorry, Father," Pete DiTullio apologized for clearly upsetting the older man. "Is Dr. Lorico around?"
The pair of journalists drove back to San Pedro from Vincente to check out the status of the possible murderer, Arlee Savage. From here, they could regroup, both updating the ATF men and following Juan Xavier's next move.
"He is inside... with an ill patient, recently out of surgery. Why?" He recognized the pair having seen them around town quite often.
"We need to ask him about an American he treated... Arlee Savage. Do you know if he's still here?"
"Arlee Savage?" He wrinkled his nose. "No, that is not a name I know. Wait! American...?" He stood up, gripping the brooding, dark-haired man's forearm. "What did he look like? Please, I must know. I found an American, badly injured. He nearly died. I tended to him... he became special to me. He disappeared last night... with the American that was here... uh... uh... Kevin Lincoln..."
"Is this him?" Jack Lynch handed him a photo of Arlee Savage taken off the Internet.
"He didn't have any hair..." The priest moved his fingers over the hair in the photo... "Yes... I think that is him."
"How about these blokes?" Jack shuffled the photos, producing one of Tanner and Larabee.
"Chris!" He exclaimed, tapping the photo of the long-haired man. "That's him!"
"Easy, Padre." Jack eased the man back down, not missing his severe trembling. "Take a good breath, then... that's a good lad... Where did you find him?"
"Vin Tanner," he read the name and description. "...uh... near the river... he had no memory of what had happened to him. He has amnesia... I called him Chris. He wore a medal, a silver one of St. Christopher... he was very attached to it."
"But he was alive?" Pete said, "When you left him?"
"Yes... I took him back to my church. He was gravely ill... too severely injured to be moved. His skull was exposed... a horrid laceration. His leg... too... but there were other marks... signs of torture."
"That fits..." Jack nodded, recalling the information that they'd been sent by Nathan Jackson.
"Father, what about Tanner? When did you last see him?"
"Uh..." He rubbed his eyes, unable to get the pleading sky blue ones from his mind. "Last... uh... yesterday. I brought him here... to meet... the other one... He was very convincing. I met this 'Savage' earlier... he was grieving... upset... looking for family members. He claimed 'Chris' was someone named 'Troy'. That they were cousins. He said... 'Chris' was my friend's brother. They were traveling with Kevin and his father... Something happened... but he couldn't remember. He described my young friend so well... right down to those blue eyes."
He paused, painfully recalling those emotive orbs. "The trip to town was too much for Chris and he passed out. The doctor examined him... the wound is serious and he needs to rest. There was an emergency... a mother in labor... up the mountain. I had to leave him here... I only returned this afternoon. Dr. Lorico told me they left sometime last night."
He read the rest of the information on the paper and an icy knife traveled through his bowels. He looked up, saw the ashen faces of the two journalists and his heart sank. Suddenly, the gravity of what had transpired slammed into him hard. He had given that trusting soul right into the hands of the enemy — the brute that tortured him.
"Oh... My... God..." he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. "He trusted me... What have I done?"
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