Rating: M for hanky panky, bad language and bad guys. Oh, and violence, sex, and the like.
Notes: Thanks to questions like "whatever happened to that story?", I have been inspired to revise and repost. With more stuff, more Buck, more Ezra, more Vin, and the rest of the guys.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to Tracker Girl for reminding me that I (a) hadn't worked on this story in a long time, and (b) that I still had this story out there. Yay! Feedback at work!
Feedback: Talking to the author makes the author happy and more productive. Think of it like positive reinforcement. So, in other words, hell yes I want feedback! Good, bad, indifferent--heck, if you want to talk about your gerbil, go for it! That said, let's move on.
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"Rattlers"
Chapter 1
The light was blinking on Ezra's answering machine when he limped into the townhouse. He glanced at the flashing light, then shook his head as he bypassed it to head into the kitchen. Behind him he could hear Buck stomping up the steps to the front door, carrying Ezra's overnight bag from the hospital. He toed off the cordovan loafers before stepping into the kitchen, not caring where the shoes lay on the wall-to-wall carpet. It had been a weekend spent in the hospital and, sometime during his enforced bed rest, his car had disappeared from behind the warehouse where he'd been shot.
Stolen. He grimaced as he reached atop the refrigerator and pulled down a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort with his left hand. He really must try harder to stay out of the path of large caliber ammunition. If only to save himself from having to be given another ride home from the hospital in Buck's truck. And from having the fashionably inadequate sling cradle his right arm.
"Ezra, you have a message on your machine."
Ezra glanced at Buck, who had just wandered past the machine on his way to the kitchen, as he poured out two glasses of the liquor from the bottle. He handed one to Buck, not bothering to comment on Buck's powers of observation. Buck winked and sipped the whiskey before glancing pointedly at the machine and turning his own attention to the contents of Ezra's refrigerator.
Fortified with Southern Comfort, Ezra padded back to the phone and hit the message key. At least he hadn't found a pair of panties in Buck's glove box during the drive. He shuddered at the thought as he ran his still limber fingers through his chestnut hair, waiting for the message to play.
"You have one message. Saturday. 7:14 a.m."
"Damn, Ezra, but you're popular."
Ezra sipped the whiskey and waited, glancing at Buck, who had one arm draped over the refrigerator door. The man reached in and pulled out a plastic-wrapped sandwich and began to unwrap his morsel. Ezra shook his head in resignation. And prayed that his mother wasn't on the way for another visit.
"Mr. Standish?" His green eyes narrowed. The voice was definitely not that of his mother. "This is Detective McKenna, Denver P. D. I apologize for the earliness of this call but--um--we found your car." The woman's voice sounded rich even through the machine's tinny speaker. "And the thief." The last was said with a note of--what? Celebration? Concern?
Ezra smiled, imagining his unseen caller. Obviously female. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that much out, though. Brunette? Blonde? Redhead? He frowned as he mulled over her words. His car was found. Found? It didn't sound good. He imagined another round with the insurance agency and grimaced. And he'd just been fantasizing about an unseen woman. Strike that--an unseen woman cop. He definitely needed a vacation. Maybe Mr. Larabee would give him time off for good behavior.
Buck had wandered out of the kitchen to stand near Ezra while the message had been playing. "I don't get calls from cops that sound like that," he grumbled between bites.
Ezra glanced at his team member. "That is because you do not drive my car. Now hush."
The woman continued, heedless of the comments of the two men. "A 'Mr. Larabee' reported your car as 'stolen' on Friday and we received a call from the University of Colorado's campus police about a car fitting yours on Saturday morning. Today. In any case, the car thief is right now in Four Corners General Hospital's intensive care...it's a long story." The woman sighed, pausing in her explanation.
Ezra winced in expectation. He could imagine how long the story might be. And he could imagine what condition his car was in if the thief was in intensive care. He was not in the mood to deal with public transportation again--not after being shackled to a bus for hours.
"Sir, if you could get back to me with any information on why someone would put a rattlesnake under your driver's seat, I would appreciate it."
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Ezra leaned back against the front door of the townhouse, silence surrounding him. Or rather, the absence of Buck surrounding him. After listening to the answering machine message another half-dozen times, Buck had finally announced that he was going home. The obligatory warning about being careful was issued and Ezra ushered his dark-haired teammate to the door.
And now he was all alone. He sighed. There were times when he bristled at being fussed over. Like now. But at least he hadn't been condemned to staying at the Buck and J.D.'s apartment while he recuperated. No, he had been allowed (he cringed at having to be allowed to do anything) to go home to his own bed to rest. Ah, blessed peace, he thought as he discarded the sling.
He slowly began to uncoil the muscles which had been tensed for far too long. Careful of his right shoulder, he undid the knot of his tie and tossed the silk tie over the back of the couch. I'll pick it up in the morning, he promised himself as he started toward the bedroom. He had just finished unfastening half the buttons of his dress shirt when he was interrupted by knocking at the door. He let his left hand drop to his side and turned back toward the front door, his green eyes narrowing. If that's a Jehovah's Witness, I will not be responsible for my actions, he swore silently as he advanced on the door, his left hand already going for the derringer he had discarded on the end table. One shot was better than nothing.
"Buck?" he called as he neared the door. Pain and exhaustion were finally beginning to take their toll on the undercover agent. "I'm fine," he offered as he unfastened the deadbolt. "You can go back home to the CDC," he added as he pulled open the door, a grin tugging at his lips.
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Chris pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose and gently massaged the growing pounding located there. It didn't help. He let his long fingers drop and cracked open his hazel eyes to meet Buck's deep blue ones. "A snake?"
Buck nodded and settled in a little deeper on the couch, a soda resting against his thigh. After leaving Ezra's townhouse, Buck had decided to pay a visit to the team's fearless leader. "Yup. A rattlesnake." He lifted the bottle to his lips and sampled the beverage. "Surprised you didn't get a phone call 'bout it."
Chris shook his head and let his head fall back against the headrest of his chair. "Between our vigils at the hospital and resulting paperwork, I've been 'unavailable,' Buck."
Buck nodded and then shook his head. "Who'd want to use a snake to kill our Ezra? I mean, I can understand a gun...but a snake?" He shook his head again and slowly rose from the chair that had cradled his frame for over an hour.
Chris watched his oldest friend start to pace and sighed. "How'd Ezra take it?"
Buck stopped midstride and lifted his damp soda bottle to press it to his temple. "Just like Ezra does. That damned poker face." He turned his blue eyes back on Chris. "It just don't make sense, Chris. I mean, why would anyone want to kill him like that? It's just so..."
Chris slowly stood and started towards the kitchen. Picking up the phone, he dialed J.D.'s cell phone.
"Hullo?" The voice on the other end of the line was groggy with sleep.
Chris glanced at the clock and silently curse himself. It was three o'clock in the morning. "J.D., it's Chris."
The voice on the other end of the line suddenly became more alert. "Chris. What's wrong?"
Chris sighed and let his hip rest against the kitchen counter. "I need for you to come in early tomorrow morning. I want cross-referencing done on anyone Ezra's been involved in putting behind bars."
J.D. muffled a yawn. "Sure. I'll be in by seven. Anything in particular I should be looking for?"
Chris nodded. "Rattlesnakes. Thanks, J.D. Now go back to sleep. I'll see you in a few hours." He clicked the phone off and turned to Buck.
Buck sighed and set the plastic bottle on the counter. "That's my cue, Chris. I'll be heading home." He pulled on his jacket and offered a crooked smile. "And, before you say anything, I've got Vin pulling babysitting on Ezra's couch."
Chris groaned. "You still haven't forgiven Vin for his last joke."
Buck's blue eyes sparkled. "Revenge is sweet, old buddy. 'Night."
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Vin glared at the wood of Ezra's front door, silently contemplating just how much damage one of his steel-jacketed rounds would do to the wood. It usually took quite a bit to make the quiet tracker start thinking in term of destruction of private property. Being awoken from a lovely erotic dream by the phone ringing in his ear and Buck bellowing commands was enough to have him thinking in such terms. And doing damage to Buck and J.D.'s loft wouldn't give him any satisfaction--no one would notice the difference.
Still, he decided as he shifted his bag to a slightly less uncomfortable position on his shoulder, Buck was right. If someone was trying to kill Ezra, then the stubborn undercover agent needed protection.
Enter a tired and cranky Vin.
Vin rapped his knuckles on the doorframe for a fifth time, preparing himself to kick in the door to locate Ezra.
"You can go back home to the CDC," suggested a familiar voice from the other side of the door.
Vin smiled. Ezra was even less of a morning person than he was. And Ezra'd been cooped up in the hospital all weekend. The sharpshooter and the undercover agent shared a loathing of Denver's premier trauma units--a loathing born of almost constant stays.
Long moments later, Vin heard the tumblers of the locks being thrown and found himself face to face with a rumpled Ezra Standish. "Mornin', Ez."
Ezra's weary smile drained from his face. Damnation, he thought tiredly as a groan escaped his lips. He'd known when Buck left hours before that being left on his own was almost too good to be true. Now he knew why. Buck must have arranged for a babysitter, he realized with a pained sigh. "Mr. Tanner. What brings you to my abode at --" he paused to glance at his watch, "three o'clock in the morning?"
"Expecting company?"
Glancing down at the derringer in his left hand, he shook his head. For a moment he debated the merits of shooting the sharpshooter, but quickly decided against it. The cops would just keep him awake anyway.
Vin shrugged at the Southerner's quiet and stepped past Ezra, noting that the Southerner's shoes were lying haphazardly on the rug. He also noted an open bottle of Southern Comfort and a half-full Waterford cut crystal glass resting on the coffee table. He swung his blue-eyed gaze back to Ezra, who was shoving the front door shut behind the tracker. "Finding some comfort from a bottle, Ez? Don't seem like you?"
Ezra raised a sculptured eyebrow, something flashing in his green eyes as he threw the tumblers of his deadbolt home. "Mr. Tanner, either shut up or leave. I am in no mood to justify my actions to you." He glared at Team Seven's sharpshooter. "You are performing an act of contrition for Mr. Wilmington?" he snapped.
Vin's blue eyes narrowed. "Damn, Ez, you get bitchy early in the mornin. Buck told me that someone put a snake in your car. Figured that someone had to watch your back. Now, you can either bitch at me, or you can go to bed so that we can catch the fool who's doing this come morning."
Ezra seemed to take this in and quietly padded out of the room. He reappeared as Vin was dropping onto the couch, the television remote already in Vin's hand. A bundle of blankets, pillows and sheets was tucked under Ezra's left arm.
"Thanks, Ez," called Vin as he thumbed through the TV channels.
Ezra nodded, then shook his head in resignation. So much for being ALONE.
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Buck pulled up the collar of his leather jacket, sniffing the air. A storm was coming in. He smiled slightly and glanced behind him at Chris's ranch, his thoughts on Ezra. The undercover agent would be fine. Ten to one he'd be in the office on Monday morning--doctor's orders be damned. And the world would continue spinning with its proper efficiency. But first, he had an errand to run.
Jogging down the driveway to "Lady," he slid into the driver's seat of his red 1957 GMC truck. The engine purred to life and he pulled out onto the quiet street. As he drove quietly back into Denver, he focused his attention on the road, determined to reach his destination. But, tonight at least, he was going to make a stop before heading home. He had to have a little chat with a certain homicide detective--and the best place to find her on a Saturday night was having a drink with other cops. The GMC truck slid through the darkened streets silently until it finally nosed into a parking spot behind "The Saloon," as he and the rest of the Magnificent Seven called it.
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Climbing out of Lady, Buck glanced around for his target's distinctive car. When he'd heard the voice on Ezra's answering machine, it had been like stepping back in time. In a moment he had been thrown back into his life before he had joined the ATF's "Magnificent Seven." And he had known precisely where to find Detective McKenna's partner.
As he pulled into the Saloon's rear parking lot, he scanned the cars for Detective Cahill's car. Like him, she had a passion for classics--it was one reason they'd gotten along so well while they'd both been in Robbery/Homicide. Then he spotted it...a 1957 Triumph TR. Which meant that Detective Bridget Cahill was still at the saloon--under no circumstances would she leave her car. He still wondered how in the hell she had gotten her hands on the car--but he had a feeling that would be an answer she would never reveal to him, even on a bet. He strode toward her sleek midnight blue car and ran a finger over the curving lines...they reminded him of a woman's curves. Bridget's curves, to be exact. He glanced into the cab of the convertible. Nada. But, then again, it wasn't like he expected to find her necking in the back seat. Though, he thought with a wicked smile, the idea had some merit.
Zipping his leather jacket a little higher, he strode around to the front of the saloon. He didn't have to worry about running into anyone from the team tonight. Even Josiah was otherwise occupied--in his case, with a ravishingly beautiful widow. Of course, the real reason why Buck didn't need the distraction of the rest of the team was because he needed to speak with the detective alone. If he knew Bridget Cahill--and he believed that, even after three years apart, he did--she would open up to him. But not if she felt the entire ATF breathing down her neck. Buck chuckled, thinking back to something Ezra had once said--the team's members could be "as bad as General Sherman on a Georgia plantation." With that thought, he pushed open the doors to the Saloon.
The Sunday night traffic in the Saloon was slow...as he had expected. Very few folks were occupying the tables and only a few folks were at the pool tables, the clink of pool balls the only sound other than the juke box. He met Inez's brown eyes as he stepped into the saloon, registering her surprise at his arrival as he waved to her. He continued past her, his eyes searching the bar's shadowed patrons. His blue eyes finally alighted on a group of Denver PD detectives at one of the tables...including Bridget. She was laughing at something that one of her fellow detectives was saying, one hand on the mostly full beer that sat on the table in front of her.
Kate McKenna, the woman whose voice he'd recognized on the answering machine, did not appear to be in attendance. Excellent.
Buck moved back to the bar and motioned for Inez. The dark-haired lady bartender sauntered towards Buck, her eyebrow raised as she watched Buck watching the female cop. "Friend of yours?" asked the Mexican beauty, cocking her head at the female detective Buck was watching.
Buck glanced at Inez and the beer that she had set in front of him. "Old friend," he corrected with a careful smile. "How long have they been here?" he asked.
Inez shrugged and smiled. "Careful, Senor Buck...she carries a gun."
Buck sighed. "Ain't like that, Inez. You know you've got my heart."
Inez clucked at his teasing and started back towards the other end of the bar and the other patrons. "Si, Senor Buck," she agreed affably. "And you know what nunca means."
Buck turned his attention back to the table, his smile slipping as he saw the detectives standing up to leave. He pulled out his wallet and drew out the several dollars for the beer he hadn't touched. Laying the money on the bar, he followed the detectives out of the bar towards their cars. They didn't appear to notice their tail.
"Stop right there, pal."
So much for the invisible tail theory, Buck thought as he halted midstride. Apparently someone had noticed that she was being followed. He raised his hands and slowly turned around, a slight grin tugging at his lips beneath his mustache. Of course it was Bridget. She'd watched all the other detectives leave with their cars from the front of the bar and then headed for the rear. She always parked in the rear. And she'd heard him following her.
"Bridget. Good to see you."
Bridget Cahill slowly lowered her gun as she stepped closer. "Buck? Buck Wilmington?" She was sure that she was right...nobody she'd ever seen or heard could come quite close to the famous (some would say "infamous") Buck Wilmington.
Buck nodded and watched with satisfaction as she reholstered her gun. "Need to talk to you."
Bridget raised a dark eyebrow and glanced up at the starless sky. "Here? It's about to rain, Buck."
As if on cue, the skies opened up.
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The sound of the telephone ringing jarred the sharpshooter out of his dreams. Which was unfortunate, because it had been a dandy of a dream. Complete with dancing girls, trick shooting and a talking monkey. Slowly, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee permeated Vin's sleep-addled brain. He sniffed and then decided that his pillow was awful comfortable. Snuggling deeper into the downy depths, he stretched. His long legs suddenly flopped over the edge of the couch and he landed on the rug with a muttered curse. He'd forgotten that he was sleeping on a couch--not home asleep in his king-sized bed.
"Good morning, Mr. Tanner. Morning calisthenics?" Ezra drawled.
Vin slowly got to his feet, muttering under his breath. Straightening, he pressed his palms to the small of his back, wincing. "You gonna share that coffee?" he asked hopefully. Ezra didn't make the pot as strong as Vin liked, but at six o'clock in the morning he was not about to split hairs.
Ezra motioned to a second cup resting on the counter beside him. "Already poured. I trust that you are my means of conveyance to our place of employment?"
Vin grinned as he sipped the coffee. There was a hint of chocolate in the brew--a decadent beginning to a Monday. "If you mean that I'm giving you a ride to work, then, yeah, Ez, I'm giving you a ride."
Vin took a glance at Ezra and tried to hide his wince. The team's undercover agent looked a tad more worse for wear than his friends was used to seeing him. On the positive side, gone was the ruffled man who'd greeted Vin only hours before. The only indications of the latest upheaval in Ezra's life were faint red lines in the whites of his eyes and a pale shadowing beneath that same emerald gaze.
However, for Ezra, it was the equivalent of a full-on fiasco for him to be anything but his dapper self. Maybe Ezra looking like death warmed over had something to do with that phone call, Vin pondered as he headed toward the shower.
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"J.D., just where is Buck?" Asked Nathan, leaning forward in his chair.
J.D. heard the ding of the elevator and moments later watched a freshly laundered Buck Wilmington striding towards them. "Right there."
Nathan and Josiah shared a look and turned back to their work. Combing the hardcopy files of pending and closed cases for a suspect who'd like to see Ezra dead was like looking for a needle in a needle factory. At some point, almost everyone they'd gone after had tried to kill Ezra. That not one of them had managed to kill Ezra must be a credit to the undercover agent's guardian angel, thought Nathan with a sigh as he glanced toward Ezra's desk.
Of course, Ezra had shown up for work this morning. Never mind the doctor's orders that everyone on the team seemed determined to ignore on a regular basis, thought Nathan in annoyance.
And Ezra had been on time, with a grumpy Vin heading straight for the coffee pot.
Ezra was seated in front of his computer, industriously tapping on the keyboard when Buck strode up. The long-legged agent dropped into Vin's chair and fixed his dark blue eyes on Ezra. "You doin' okay, Ez?"
Ezra looked up from the computer screen at Buck, his green eyes shadowed. "You had Vin sleep on my couch last night."
Buck nodded. "Chris thought it might be best to give you some protection." Which wasn't really a lie, he decided. He'd just beaten their fearless leader to the punch. Nope, not a lie at all.
Ezra nodded absently and turned his attention back to the document he was typing. "Find out anything?" he asked nonchalantly.
Buck offered a tired grin. "Found out that I'm not invisible," he replied with a soft chuckle.
Ezra glanced at Buck, momentarily wondering if Buck actually thought he had super powers. It might explain a few of the ladies' man's exploits, thought Ezra with a sigh. "Invisible?"
Buck nodded and started to explain, only to be interrupted by an impressive stream of profanity erupting from Chris's office. Buck started, blue eyes flashing to the office door.
"BUCK!" Chris stomped out of his office and turned his hazel eyes on his oldest friend. "In here now!" A moment later Team Seven's fearless leader had disappeared back into the office, the door slamming behind him.
Buck slowly raised himself from the chair and glanced at Ezra, who had suddenly become deeply engrossed in the paperwork that had accumulated during his hospital stay. "Coward," he whispered, heading toward Chris's office.
Ezra glanced at his friend's receding back and sighed, shaking his head. "Good luck."
Moments later Buck stood before Chris's closed door. He rapped his knuckles lightly against the doorframe.
"In. Now. Buck."
Buck opened the door and slowly entered the office, his blue eyes wary. Chris didn't ordinarily lose it--okay, so, maybe he lost it on a regular basis--but never quite this explosively. "Chris. Good buddy. What's the problemo?"
Chris glanced at the two women seated before his desk, directing Buck to do the same. "I have a couple of visitors. I'm assuming that you all know each other?"
Buck glanced at the strangers and swallowed. Yup, he thought with a sinking feeling, I know both of them. "Morning, Kate." He paused and met the other woman's eyes. Eyes that had seen him out of her front door only an hour earlier. "Morning, Bridget"
Bridget slowly rose, her expression unreadable. The fist that shot out and caught his jaw startled him more than it pained him. He shook his head, cradling his suddenly aching jaw as Raven started to massage her reddening knuckles. "Good morning, Agent Wilmington." She glanced at Chris, not missing the humor flashing in his hazel eyes. Turning to meet her partner's blue eyed gaze, she gathered the tattered bits of her pride about her. "Kate, I leave this in your capable hands. I have a witness to interview," she grated out. "And, now, if you'll excuse me." She didn't wait to be excused, instead stepping past a still-stunned Wilmington, McKenna and Larabee to stride out of the office.
Buck glanced at Chris and Kate McKenna, his blue eyes narrowing. "Back in a minute," he ground out.
Chris nodded, dropping back into his chair, silently wondering if Nathan had a cure for a sudden headache as he met the bemused gaze of Kate McKenna
The sight of Buck Wilmington barreling out of Chris's office after the petite brunette didn't really strike anyone as odd. He jogged down the hallway toward the elevators, his nostrils flaring as he caught her scent. She hasn't gotten far, he thought, slowing as he reached the elevators. He had just reached her when the elevators swept open. Bridget started to step forward but was quickly stopped by the fashionably dress blonde barreling out of the elevator.
"Ezra! Where's my baby boy!" shrieked Maude, hustling past a bemused Bridget.
Bridget stopped to watch the older woman push past Buck and disappear towards Team Seven's area. She met Buck's eyes quickly and stepped into the elevator, but not before the dark-haired ladies' man slid his frame into the car. "If you don't want a broken jaw, Buck, I'd steer clear," she warned, her tone decidedly frosty.
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Ezra's head shot up at the frantic tone of his mother's voice. Maude was here? He hastily glanced around for an escape route but it was too late.
"Ezra! I had to get a phone call from some female police officer that someone had tried to kill you with a snake!" Maude screeched, her voice rising with each word.
Ezra winced. "Mother. How good to see you. I wasn't..."
Maude raised a hand to cut him off. "Don't even start that with me, boy. I called you this morning and told you that I would be here." She dropped into the chair at the side of Ezra's desk and fixed her blue eyes on her son. "Now, explain to me why I am a suspect in an attempt on your life."
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Buck watched Bridget from across the elevator car, wondering how to get back on the petite woman's good side. It was definitely safer than her bad side. "I can explain," he began.
The brunette raised a dark eyebrow. "Save it, Buck. Damnit, I should've known you were up to something when you tracked me down at the Saloon last night. Old times, my ass. You were, pardon the pun, pumping me for information."
Buck shifted nervously. Alright, he'd had ulterior motives when he'd tracked down Bridget Cahill. But that was before the skies opened up, drenching them both, and sending them careening towards her house. "And you didn't give me anything I could use."
Bridget's green eyes narrowed further still. "That's not the point, Buck. You used our past to...to..." she paused, finally at a loss for words as the anger burnt out.
Buck sighed and edged closer to the brunette. "Would it make a difference if I said I'm sorry?" he asked.
Bridget looked up at the lanky smooth-talker. "You are a miserable bastard," she announced softly.
Buck smiled softly. "Guilty as charged. And I think that I still owe you dinner," he offered. Somehow he'd shifted closer to the younger woman.
"I think you owe me more than that. I still haven't told Kate about our little conversation last night."
Buck winced. Part of the reason that he'd gone to Bridget instead of Kate was that Kate was a helluva lot meaner when it came to revenge. And using her like he'd used Bridget...well, there'd be a lot more sore than just his jaw. "And you've got no intention of involving your partner, right?"
The elevator finally came to a halt and Bridget offered him a thoughtful expression. "I would, but I think you'd enjoy a threesome way too much." With that parting shot, she sailed out through the lobby, leaving a slack-jawed Buck Wilmington in her wake.
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TO BE CONTINUED...