The Colonel Vs. The Parson's Lawyer Chapter 1
Slightly alternative universe with Col. John Casey, Chuck Bartowski, Sarah Walker, Morgan Grimes, The usual Buymorons, and Pastor Annie Coburn, Casey's fiance. Her church structured was burnt down in an arson set by The Boogie Man, and she is assigned three brothers to help her reconstruct it: John Casey, Chad Shelten, and David Dixon. But what happens when a fourth appears, the mischievous and slightly inebriated Jayne Cobb?
Team Bartowski has just finished another if not bloody, successful undercover mission to recover several stolen items of art from the National Museum of Art, in Washington, D.C. that were traced to Nazi sympathizers still living in South America. Morgan Grimes, his forehead bandaged with steri- stripes, was staggering slightly as he and Casey stumbled into the Echo Park Courtyard. John held up the bearded gnome and then pretended to push him away.
"Grimes, you would trip over a rat turd if you weren't looking." Casey grumbled, but he steered Morgan toward their apartment door, limping slightly as his own leg's past wound was aggravated again. They were followed slowly by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bartowski, Sarah's right arm in a cast, and Chuck hobbling with crutches, a cast on a broken ankle. The four spies stopped in front of their respective doors, and then as if on cue, turned to look at each other.
"Good job, Team Bartowski." Chuck mumbled, his jaw still aching from the deadly right hook Herr Schluter gave him.
"Not smoking a victory cigar, yet, Bartowski." Casey growled, and having unlocked the door, pushed his small partner through. He looked once more at Chuck, trying to gauge how hurt he really was, but he caught Chuck's quick thumbs up. He nodded curtly, turned and went in to take care of Morgan.
"I'm not even eating my regular bowl of victory rocky road ice cream," Sarah sighed and the couple also went inside, leaning heavily on each other. Chuck leaned in for a sweet kiss, and then growled in Casey manner, "I'm not even trying to make my regular victory pass at my incredibly sexy but deadly wife tonight."
Sarah swapped his shoulder, and in spite of all the aching in her body, she laughed, grimacing as her arm was jarred. "Well, Mr. Carmichael, perhaps this deadly wife has a few tricks up her sleeve as to how you can keep your leerable passing skills honed." She dragged him, even with his hobbling into their bedroom and laughed again when his left eyebrow went up, and he asked, "is 'leerable' a real word, and better yet, can I practice doing it?"
Morgan had gotten waylaid by the soft couch, but before he could sink into its depths he was hauled up by his fatigue shirt, and thrust toward the stairs to his bedroom. Casey dutifully undressed the man, down to Grime's Scooby Doo boxers, hitting Morgan's hands away when the new spy tried to argue against John's help.
"Take my help, moron. I don't give it away readily, and come tomorrow morning we are back at the six miles hikes you love so well."
Grimes groaned loudly, but it turned into a soft moan as he snuggled down into the blankets. Just as John turned away, Morgan reached and caught the tough man's wrist.
"Thank you, John. You saved my butt, again, back there." Morgan sleepily said.
John grunted, and pried Morgan's fingers off slowly, but then patted Grimes back. "You did good, Morgan."
John stood slowly, and nearly fell as the hitch in his calf muscle ramped up, but when he glanced down to see if Morgan had noticed his pain, the man was already asleep. John humphed at the sleeping man, a little jealous of how easy rest came to the new spy.
The Marine slowly went in to his own bedroom, stripped off his dirty clothes, tossing them into the hamper, and headed for the shower. He put the temperature up as hot as he could stand, and he stood under the spray, letting the close calls and the botched intel run down the drain like his dirt and blood. He leaned against the shower walls, letting the pulsating spray ease the cramps in his leg, and he groaned again as the pain receded under the heat and wetness of the water. He must as dozed off just leaning there, because the spray was now cold, and he startled awake. He turned off the shower, toweled off, and limped naked into his bedroom. Pulling a pair of black silk boxers given to him courtesy of Parson Annie, he smiled and smirked at the soft t shirt he pulled over his head, a shirt Annie had also given him for his last birthday. It read boldly "Guns don't kill people, SIN kills people." He glanced at his phone by the night stand, and was surprised that he was disappointed that it showed no voice mail from Annie. He glanced at his alarm clock, and realized that at 4a.m., she probably was also tucked away sleeping like Morgan, up in the small apartment in a rural town in the Pacific Northwest.
He crawled slowly into his beloved California king size bed, and reached for the pain meds in the night stand. Rarely did he need them, but Ellie had given him a stash for emergencies, and with the way his leg was feeling he decided it was an emergency. He dry swallowed one of them, and began to put the bottle back when he saw the small Bible Annie had gifted him with. He needed a reassurance that his fiance was still somehow connected to him, so he slowly opened the Word. There, several passages were highlighted, and his eye caught some ancient verses in a book called Song of Solomon. There were even small red hearts around them, and he smiled as his mind's eye say the laughing, vibrant, caring woman so unlike him, and yet already so much a part of him. In the dim of his night lamp, and the early light just beginning to filter through his bedroom window, he read these words:
Song of Solomon 1: 16 You are so handsome, my love,
pleasing beyond words!
The soft grass is our bed;
17 fragrant cedar branches are the beams of our house,
and pleasant smelling firs are the rafters.*
"Beloved" Annie's neat writing was in the margin. "I can not wait until we indeed enjoy our love in all ways God blesses for us, at our cabin in the Capital Forest. Come back to me soon, and safely."
John smiled deeply, the pain receding. Whether that was the medication or Annie's special words of love, it did not matter. He picked up his phone and sped dialed his fiance. When she did not pick up the cell, he left a short message: "Parson, I think I like the Song of Solomon. And I know I love you." He clicked off his cell, and before he really counted to ten, he drifted off in a deep, and surprisingly peaceful sleep.
Pastor Annie Coburn's office was now housed temporarily at another church's facility, and her secretary, Terry, was printing off their church newsletter when someone knocked on the office door. She glanced sternly at the temperamental copier, and shook her finger at it.
"You had better behave, or I know someone who will shoot your guts out." She growled, and then giggled at the mental picture of Pastor Annie's Colonel blasting the copier to kingdom come with one of his many BIG guns.
Her laughter was brought up short, however, when she opened the door and was staring at a 6 foot 4 inch man, built like a block, dressed in a gray double breasted Armani suit. He smiled brightly, though she noticed his facial expression did not reach his sky blue eyes. A dangerous vibe was emanating from him, but he thrust out his hand, and shook hers curtly.
"Pastor Annie Coburn, I presume?" he asked as he pushed his large frame into the small office, looking around and studying the various books and office supplies, his eyes narrowing, taking it all in. He turned, and again the thousand watt smile gleamed out of his handsome face.
"Oh, I am sorry sir, I am Pastor Annie's secretary. Is there something I may help you with?" Terry moved to behind the desk, so they were separated by the wood. The man brought up a large attache case, and set it softly on the table.
"Please forgive my assumption, ma'am. I didn't get your name?" He asked as he folded himself confidently in the seat straight in front of her. Even sitting, he towered over Terry, but he noticed she didn't seem intimated one bit.
"I did not say, Mr. ?" Terry said suspiciously, and she did startle when he reached into his jacket, but he pulled only a business card from his inner pocket. He smiled cheerfully again, and then thrust the card at her.
"Pastor Annie's secretary, my name is Marcus Hamilton from the law firm of Wolfram and Hart, Seattle, Washington, division. You see, the architects your church hired to draw up plans for your new church facility have now brought a suit against Pastor Annie and your church for $3 million, for defamation of character and libel."
Terry gasped at the news, and the edges of Hamilton's mouth twitched slightly as he finally knew he had ruffled her feathers. He leaned over the desk and got within four inches of her face.
"Now, secretary, you will tell me where is Pastor Annie Coburn right...this...minute." His eyes flashed cold, and Terry promptly sent up a swift prayer for courage, and reached for her phone.
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