"Our newest client is the family of Trevor Dickson. Trevor Dickson was killed, and his family suspects that this guy had something to do with it."
Hardison hit his clicker and the hotel room television displayed a picture of a middle-aged, distinguished looking white man.
"Ethan Zobelle. The guy's clean as a whistle because he's an F.B.I. informant and, as we all know, the FBI are more than willing to look the other way when someone's providing good intel."
"So how do we know he's a bad guy?" asked Parker, wrinkling her nose as she tried to understand.
"Well, for starters, he has League Of American Nationalist and Aryan brotherhood connections," replied Hardison, hitting the clicker again so that the mugshots of several scary skinheads flashed on the television.
"Neo Nazis fight dirty. This job is going to be a bitch," Eliot commented, sipping his Columbian blend.
"Hold on, my man, it gets better," promised Hardison.
"How so?" Sophie asked.
"Well, for starters," said Nate, standing up and stretching. "He's not your typical Hitler lover. He's a clean cut, successful, white collar guy. He has others do his dirty work."
"So we got nothing on him…." Hardison finished.
"Which makes it time for a little recon." Nate answered.
With their ears planted firmly to the ground, they learned that Zobelle would be harder to pin down than most of their jobs. It took about a day, but when the team gathered in the hotel room in the evening, they had a slightly clearer picture of what was going on. Eliot had even managed to take a few pictures with his phone, which Hardison had uploaded into the computer attached to the television.
"What I've managed to piece together so far is that Zobelle wants to run Charming. But, too bad for him, Charming already has a king," said Eliot, nudging Hardison, who hit the clicker.
The picture on the screen was slightly blurry, but the team could clearly see a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and mustache. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt along with a leather vest, the back adorned with an insidious grim reaper.
"Is he in the Village People?" asked Parker with a giggle.
"No, Parker," replied Eliot, his voice nearly a frustrated growl. "He's Clay Morrow, President of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle club. Not a guy you want to mess with, trust me on this."
"Oh yeah, I ran the name after you gave it to me. Dude did hard time for gun running and was suspected but never charged in a string of murders longer than my arm," confirmed Hardison.
"Wait a minute," interrupted Sophie. "Maybe Clay Morrow's the bad guy here."
"I have no doubt that Clay Morrow is also a bad guy, but he's not our concern on this job. Remember, we're here for Trevor's family, and they're convinced that Zobelle had him killed," said Nate, trying to get the briefing back on track. He looked at Eliot.
"Zobelle has a known MO. He goes into a town where a gun-running motorcycle gang is in charge, and then, through a combination of legal and illegal means, he finds a way to destroy the gang and take over the gun trade, as well as any drug trade. That's what he does," said Eliot.
"I did a little listening in on Zobelle's calls today. He had an interesting conversation with Darby, a local Aryan Brotherhood guy," said Hardison, advancing the clicker once again to display a mugshot of a pissed-off skinhead.
"He also talked to local business and church leaders, all on the up-and-up, although some of his language about race, well, Nana would have some strong words for him. Strong words," repeated Hardison, shaking a disapproving finger for emphasis.
"Yeah, and I followed Zobelle today," said Eliot. "He had a meeting with the head of the Mayans, who are a bitter motorcycle club rival to the Sons. Shortly after that meeting, the Mayans took delivery of a large shipment of semi-automatic weapons."
Eliot shot a pointed look at Hardison, who jumped slightly, like he just remembered he had a role to play in the briefing. He pointed the clicker and jabbed the button. The television screen displayed a grainy picture of a short, stocky man with slicked back dark hair and a mustache. He was standing next to Zobelle, who was wearing a suit and looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
Hardison clicked again and the new image showed men in motorcycle club vests taking large duffel bags from bald, muscular men in suits.
"Best part, of course, is that the Mayans are Mexican," said Eliot with an ironic half-smile.
"So why would a white power guy be all buddy-buddy with Mexicans?" asked Hardison, his eyes riveted to the screen.
"Not sure yet, that's another question we might or might not have to answer," said Nate. "The point is, we still don't have anything but suspicions to tie Zobelle to Trevor's death, do we?"
"Nope." Eliot cracked his neck. "So, much for my grifting skills."
Sophie smiled at him. "Still further than I could have gotten. Amazing what that scowl, long hair, and Southern charm can get you, huh, Eliot?"
"Parker, I think we are going to require a more hands-on approach, raid his cigar shop," said Nate.
"Easy," said Parker, jumping up with a smile.
"Hold on there, Parker. You're going to want to be careful on this one," warned Eliot.
"Why should we be scared of a stupid motorcycle club and an angry white man?" Parker asked.
"Didn't say we should be. I'm just saying I'd rather not tangle with them. This is their territory, for all intents and purposes they write their own rules and well Nazis are nutters anyway. I'm saying use caution."
"Relax, Eliot, Zobelle won't even know that I was there."
Parker was never one to ask for help but something about this Zobelle guy set Eliot on edge. He was slicker than a snake oil salesman and his immoral henchmen wouldn't blink if it came down to shooting Parker. Hell, they'd probably enjoy it.
Parker was insistent on doing this on her own. A simple sneak and grab. She'd said that having him hanging out front would only draw attention. He'd agreed to her face, but could not ignore his own instincts and had discretely tailed her at a distance.
As he rounded the corner into the ally between the cigar shop and another business, he arrived just in time to see Parker's feet disappear up into the garbage chute. Eliot wrinkled his nose. There had to be a better way, in in his opinion, but that was Parker for you. Always able to think up at least forty ridiculous ways to get from Point A to Point B.
He walked across the alley to loiter and sip coffee in an all-night diner called Lumpy's. Why he was even bothering to conceal himself was beyond him. The town practically rolled up their sidewalks at ten anyway. He felt the hackles on his neck rise he looked over to see a tattoed man with close cropped hair backing Parker out the side door, a gun pointed at the center of her chest.
Eliot threw a few dollars on the table and rushed out of the diner. Sticking to the shadows, he ran across the street and into the alley, tackling the guy to the ground. Eliot felt a hot pain bloom though his shoulder. He looked up to see the Mexcian biker who'd shot him.
Eliot punched the skinhead beneath him, then went to handle the shooter. Parker beat him to it, bashing the guy over the head with the wooden top to a shipping crate. The biker collapsed like a cartoon.
"Get up get up!" she ordered and they ran to the car. Eliot collapsed in the passenger seat, his head leaning up against the cool glass as he pressed his good hand into his shoulder. Parker started the car and drove to the hotel, 20 miles over the speed limit despite Eliot's protestations that she would end up getting them arrested.
"What the hell happened you two?" Nate barked in their ears.
"Mean bikers with guns and the polished neo-Nazi with a few kilos of heroin I couldn't get," Parker answered.
-/-
Back in the hotel room, the mood was somber and grim.
"Ok so we're blown," Hardison said, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
"At least Parker and Eliot are. We'll figure out a different way though…in fact, Zobelle's a widower, Sophie might be able to get close to him. We just need to patch up Eliot first," said Nate.
Pain made Eliot float between consciousness and delirium. Blood loss was making him dizzy. No matter how many times you get shot, it still sucks, he thought.
"This is all my fault I wasn't careful enough and Eliot got shot!" Parker cried, pacing.
"Was doing my job it's fine," he whispered, grimacing as Sophie pressed a cloth to his injured shoulder
"It's not fine! I caused you to bleed."
"The bullet made me bleed, not you. Parker, do me a favor look through my Blackberry. Find Tara Knowles and tell her Eliot Spencer needs help…try not to sound too crazy either. She's a pretty tightly wound lady."
-/-
Tara's phone blared from the night stand. She grabbed it before it could wake Abel.
"Not the hospital again…" Jax groaned from her side. She saw the name on the I.D. Eliot and her breath caught. She shook her head to Jax's question and answered the phone quickly.
"Hello…Eliot?" she asked, her voice tentative. She hadn't heard from him in... god, it had to be over a year, maybe closer to two.
Jax leaned up on his elbows, questions evident on his face. Tara had to look away.
"Hi are you Tara Knowles? Eliot told me to call you because I got him shot and now he's bleeding all over the ratty green couch. I'm Parker, by the way." Parker's speech was rapid-fire and Tara closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the important details. The medical training kicked in right away and Tara felt a calm confidence take over.
"Um, ok Parker, is Eliot conscious?"
"For now…"
"Could you put him on the line, please?"
"Hey, darlin'," came the rumbling Southern drawl she remembered so well. She could picture him perfectly, the longish brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and small scar above his upper lip.
"Someone shot you? Why?" Tara found herself asking, even though it wasn't strictly medically necessary for her to know.
"Well, you know me. I always have to play the white knight…"
"That's not funny."
"No, but it's true. I think its just a flesh wound, mostly. Looks through and through but I don't mind telling you that it hurts like a son of a bitch."
"Where are you?" she asked, reaching out for a pen to write down the address.
"At the Orchid motel in Eureka."
"Okay I'll be right there," she said as she hung up. She was out of bed in a flash, pulling open drawers to find something suitable to wear.
"Who's Eliot?" Jax asked, sitting up. "And where are you going?" he added as he watched her dress quickly.
"Eliot's an old friend from Chicago and I'm going to Eureka."
"To fix up some strange man who just calls you in the middle of the night to say he's been shot. I know all about your friends from Chicago. "
"Eliot isn't Josh…not even close. I'm going, Jax. You can't stop me." She began tossing thing in to her medical bag.
"Why?"
"I owe him. And anyway, Jax, I patch up criminals all the time for you. It's no big deal."
"That's different. Those aren't strange men who have your phone number and know you on a first name basis. I'm going with you. No telling what you're walking into."
"No worse than what I'm into by being with you. Hurry and get dressed,"
-/-
Eliot looked out the window when he heard the purr of the bike. Tara was slung up on the bike, right behind the Vice President of the Sons of Anarchy motorcycle club.
"Well I could say that I'm surprised, but I'm really not," he murmured to himself.
"So that's Tara?" asked Parker as she came up behind Eliot and watched the girl gracefully get off the bike. She pulled off her helmet and shook out her long dark hair.
"Yeah," managed Eliot, sinking back down onto the couch.
"But who is she? How do you know her?" asked Parker, sitting down next to him. Eliot tried not to gasp in pain as she jostled her shoulder.
"Just a girl I know from Chicago."
"From when we did that first job in Chicago?"
"Well, from then, but from before then as well," replied Eliot, his eyes closing involuntarily. The first time he met Tara wasn't so different from this, only she'd been the one bleeding that time.
-/-
Eliot hated hospitals because they usually meant he'd just gotten his ass kicked. The old bum next to him was crazy as a fucking box of hammers and twice as noisy.
A pretty brunette doctor was trying to calm the guy when he reared up and headbutted her, sending blood flying. The woman doubled over and gasped in pain as the bum swayed on his feet, readying himself to hit her. Eliot walked over calmly and hit a pressure point in the man's neck, causing him to collapse.
"Here, let me help you, ma'am. I'm Eliot." He grabbed a cloth off a nearby tray and pressed it to her nose. "Head back, darlin'."
She did as instructed and soon enough, the bleeding eased off. She straightened her neck and looked at him for a long minute, her eyes weighing him up, unreadable and less friendly than he'd expect, given he'd just helped her out.
"You go around saving women a lot," she asked warily, an edge to her voice.
"Some… it's the southerner ingrained in me. You got a name or should I just call
you doc?" he asked with a lazy smile, turning on the charm. His quick read on her was that she was embarrassed that she'd needed help and the prickliness was to put some distance between them. But Eliot was finding that he didn't want distance. He was intrigued by this girl.
"It's Tara… Tara Knowles," she said, managing a small smile. She put her hand out and he shook it, not at all surprised that she squeezed it more tightly than was necessary. Yeah, this girl was all about control and independence. No doubt about that.
"Well Miss Tara, it's a pleasure to meet you... blood and all. And in my non- expert opinion I don't think your nose is broken." He shot her a crooked grin. "Why don't you let me take you out for coffee?"
"I don't date patients…"
"Oooh ouch," he replied, covering his disappointment with a grin. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fair enough, you can't blame a guy for trying."
Tara thought she seen the last of the easy-on-the-eyes Southerner, but she was wrong. He came back when he sliced his hand cutting onions and asked her out again. And now, just a few days later, the man she'd termed Dixieland Delight was back to have his moles checked. She pulled back the curtain and laughed when she saw him the hospital gown. OK, maybe she'd make him stand up before she shot him down again.
"Dermatology is two floors up, Eliot."
"Well see there's this really hot doctor and I like her bedside manner. What do you say to lunch?"
Tara sighed. "Are you ever going to quit?"
"Not likely," he replied with a smile.
"But I keep saying no."
"Your mouth says no. Your eyes say something else. Something that's not quite yes, but it's sure as hell not no either."
She was surprised by his dead-on read of her, which was both infuriating and unsettling. She thought she had a better poker face than that. She sat down on the bed across from him and cleared her throat. It took three tries for the words to come out.
"It's not that I don't want to... it's just that I'm in a tough spot right now. I'm kind of seeing someone and, well, there's problems there but we're trying to work things out and I just really don't need any more complications right now."
"Ok then come here…" He chewed his gum looking her up and down. "I aint gonna bite ya, Tara. Just come here."
She did as asked. He plucked a pen from her pocket and gently took her hand. After a look in her eyes that nearly made her knees buckle, he wrote his phone number on her palm.
"I know you think I'm just some stranger but if you ever need anything, help or someone to listen or anything else, anything at all, just call me."
-/-
Tara knocked on the door with more confidence than she actually felt. Even with Jax at her back, she was intimidated. She knew that Eliot lived a mysterious and dangerous life. Even though they hadn't talked in ages, she knew that not much would have changed. When the door opened, she didn't expect the prim, proper, and polished brunette on the other side.
"Eliot Spencer is here right?" she asked.
"Yes, right back through here. I'm Sophie." Tara nodded acknowledgement and thanks as she stepped into the dimly lit room. She followed Sophie through a run-down looking sitting room and into a large room. Eliot was sprawled on a ratty couch, looking over at her expectantly, like it had been days rather than many months since they'd last seen each other.
"Heya Stranger…you know blood is not your color," she said, pleased that she'd hit the jokey, relaxed tone she was going for. She could feel her body temperature starting to creep up.
"Haha Tara…"
"I forget how bitchy you can get when you're in pain. Is that the girl you saved?" she asked, gesturing toward Sophie with her chin. Tara set her bag down and began rifling through it.
"No, it was the blonde…where's the biker? He trust you with me?"
"I'm within earshot. He can hear me scream…now le'ts have a look…Don't you look!"
"Why not?"
"It's weird when people watch me stitch them up. And remember, no fainting."
"I'm a man I do not faint. That's for old ladies and Scarlett O' Hara. Ow, by the way."
-./-
Jax stood against the wall in the sitting room, trying to be unobtrusive. A lithe and pretty blonde was inspecting him as she slowly inched her way toward him.
"Is all that leather hot?"
He just looked at her a second before answering. "Not really. You get used too it."
"Parker, stop bothering the biker," Sophie admonished with a tinge of fear.
"But Sophie, he's kinda cute," the girl replied with a pout. She reached out and ran a light finger over the patches on the front of his cut. Then she closed the distance between them and smelled him.
"Likewise, darlin'" he said, slightly disarmed by Parker's strange behavior. He managed his most charming smile for Sophie's benefit. "Don't worry, miss. I'm not as mean as I look."
"Jesus Christ, Tara!" Eliot yelled from the other room.
"Well if you wouldn't be such a cave man and let me numb you up we wouldn't be having this problem," Tara replied, her voice loud enough for them to hear in the next room.
Jax cringed a little in sympathy for the guy because he'd been there before. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his eyes sweep over the room, taking in the odd assortment of people.
Besides the pretty Parker and the well-put together Sophie, there was also a tall, skinny black dude hunched over a computer and disheveled middle-aged guy who looked tired and annoyed, his hair sticking out in seventeen different directions. When they'd arrived, he'd caught a glimpse of Eliot at the window. He looked like the kind of guy who knew how to handle himself in a fight. For the life of him, Jax couldn't figure out why this group of people would be together.
"So. Why are you guys here?" he asked Parker.
"Helping someone out…"
"I have a lot of connections in this area. Maybe I can help?"
"The Dickson family. Their son, Trevor, was killed."
"Parker!" warned the middle-aged guy, sounding exasperated.
"What? That Mayan shot Eliot and they're rivals, remember? He'll be helpful."
"I'll see what I can drum up…I think the Dickson kid's big brother Trent is in Chino."
-/-
Tara taped the bandage in place and stepped back to admire her handiwork.
"Okay so keep the wound clean. Take the antibiotics AND the pain killers and I'll be back to check in a few days," she said, using the back of her wrist to smooth back some hair that had fallen into her eyes.
"Thanks, doc," replied Eliot, the soft expression on his face more than just a reaction to the painkillers that she'd forced him to take.
"We take care of each other, right?" she said, her voice nearly cracking with the weight of memories.
He nodded and she watched him for a minute, wondering if he remembered the same things that she did about their time together.
-/-
Tara didn't want to rely on this perfect stranger for safety, but she had seen Josh tailing her to and from work the past few days. She was pretty sure he was sitting outside her house now with night vision binoculars.
"Creepy ass crazy fucker…" Tara murmured to herself as picked up the phone and took a breath. Letting it out, she dialed the number that she had memorized.
Soon, a gruff voice filled her ear. "Go."
"Um, is this Eliot spencer? I feel awkward calling but it's Tara and you said…"
"Where do you live? I'll be right there."
"167 West Evergreen Avenue, apartment 3."
"Lock your doors and windows. I'll be there in fifteen maybe less," he said briskly before he hung up.
Tara was left looking at the receiver in her hand. "Okay... I sincerely hope he's not nuts too. Lovely. Now I'm talking to myself. Bring on the fourteen cats that I'll have to dress up for formal dinners."
When Eliot pulled up, he immediately spotted the standard unmarked cars that various law enforcement agencies used. It was sitting at an odd angle and a good distance away from Tara's place, which was odd and put him on high alert.
He strode up to the grey stone building and quickly climbed the five steps to the front door. He found the buzzer for Tara's apartment and pressed it. The intercom clicked and before she could say anything, his Southern manners kicked in.
"Tara, it's me, Eliot. Let me in."
There was a buzz and he pulled open the heavy front door, taking care to make sure that it closed and locked behind him. He climbed the stairs to the top floor, where Tara's apartment was the only one. After a brisk knock on the door and some reassuring words, he heard locks snicking out of place.
The door creaked open. She looked tired and scared. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun and she was wearing sweats and a tank.
"Hi, honey," he smiled gently and watched her relax fractionally.
"Hi." she moved back and let him.
"So, where's the problem…" he stood at alert.
"You'll probably think I'm crazy but…"
"No I won't," he answered quickly.
"Ok, well... remember how I told you I was involved with someone and we were trying to work out the problems? Well, they weren't getting worked out and I tried to break up with him. I think the guy is stalking me now and I can't get the local cops to do anything because Josh is ATF."
"Do you have a gun?" he asked.
"Yes, but I don't like them," she said as she headed toward the small kitchen that was attached to the living room.
"I don't either, but start carrying it. I can't be everywhere." Eliot sat down as she fluttered around her kitchen, nervously making tea.
"I know you can't. And thank you for coming tonight."
"Don't worry about it. What's this guy's name?"
"Josh Kohn."
"So where did you meet him?"
"I met him a coffee shop the crazy creeped in slowly. Would you like some?" she held up the pot.
"Sure…Ok so I'll readily admit that I don't know what your type is, but it doesn't seem like you give off the vibes that would attract nutcases."
"I liked Josh because he was the exact opposite of someone else."
"I've been there." The teapot whistled. He was quiet as the tea steeped.
"Thank you for all of this."
"No problem. I'll be here anytime you need me."
"Why?" she handed him a mug and sat down in the loveseat to his left.
"Simple. Because I like you." He smiled at her. There was something warm and slightly disarming about the man in front of her. She'd bet he used it to his advantage more than once.
Tara blushed, wondering if she should return the compliment. Instead, she busied herself with stirring her tea.
"So," said Eliot slowly, like he was trying to figure something out, "if this kohn guy is supposed to be the exact opposite of some other guy, that guy must be an axe murderer to make him look better."
She laughed. "I wouldn't go that far."
"And where am I, on this continuum of axe murderer to creepy stalker?"he asked, flirting just a little.
"Some where in the middle maybe…"
"Sounds about right…So I think I'll put some cameras up, tiny ones. to see if I can catch the dude so you can get a restraining order… I know it's just paper but it's still something. In the meantime I'll stick by you."
In the ensuing weeks, they became close and learned things about one another. Much to Tara's delight, Eliot loved to cook. Her waistline, however, wasn't delighted. She learned he was tidy, almost to an OCD level, and that he studied things like sounds and body language like he was Raymond Babbit or something. He was very vocal about his love for the Dallas Cowboys, but could admit they had a tendency to suck.
The things Eliot learned were surprising as well. Tara wasn't really very girl at all. Except for a little make up, she was almost utilitarian in her approach to dress. She was very precise and decisive in every part of her life and yet her bedroom maintained the look of being hit by a tornado.
She didn't do things like "Dance it out" like aimee had done when stressed and instead preferred to do needlepoint to keep her dexterity. If it was a particularly bad day, the stitching took on a jerky rhythm. Tara loved her chick flicks, though, which was why he was watching Notting Hill instead of the game.
"Now see this guy is what my grandmother would've called touched in the head," Eliot said.
"How so?" She was intrigued by his sudden outburst.
"Come on, he has a woman that looks like that standing there, asking him to love her, which is kinda pathetic, if you think about it, because hello you're too beautiful for the British dummy…But anyway, he just turns her down. You don't turn a woman like that down… unless you are seriously fucked in the head. When a woman like that asks you…well you … you know... you at least think about loving her."
"Would you love me if I asked?" The words were out of Tara's mouth before she could stop them and they hung in the air like a physical thing.
All the sexual tension they'd been avoiding, the slight and sly touching in her tiny kitchen, the heat that burned between them that they ignored, the attempts to keep their friendship on the up and up. He inched toward her.
"You'd have to define 'Love' for me but-" His face was near hers now and he was going to kiss her. Her eyes drifted closed as his phone beeped. Moment ruined. Eliot reached to the coffee table and grabbed his phone.
He listened for a minute and then smiled. "And we've got Federal Agent Creep on film."
With the restraining order in place and Eliot around, Kohn backed off some. So Eliot took a job. Tara would feed his cat Ruffles, who had been named by his niece Sarah, and would pick up his mail, which was curiously addressed to at least six different men. Eliot Spencer, Drew Haltom, Caleb Martin, and so on.
Eliot had never really told her what he did for a living. It was a mystery. She knew long periods of silence from him and the occasional injury came with the territory. She was thinking about his mysterious job and background as she unlocked his door and disarmed the security system.
She was startled to see him standing shirtless at his kitchen island changing the dressing on a long, deep laceration that ran down down nearly the whole length of his side.
"Jesus Christ Eliot! What happened to you? Here let me. It looks infected. Are you ok?"
"A mean Sudanese guard with a machete. I'm fine, even better now," he said, managing a smile. "How are you?"
"It's gotta hurt."
"It does…but I'm in good hands," he hissed as she cleaned him up.
"Well, we take care of each other, right?" she said as she smoothed antibiotic cream over the cut
"Right," he replied, reaching out with his good hand and running a light finger over her cheek.
-/-
Jax didn't trust them even though Tara seemed to have no problem trusting the guy who looked like he'd walked out of Redneck Weekly. Jax didn't really care why they were there and it didn't matter that he didn't trust them. He would help them because the sooner they got what they came for, the sooner they'd leave. Besides, they had a common enemy.
He was curious about Tara's past with this guy, but she wouldn't budge, insisting that her life hadn't stopped moving because she'd left Charming. Jax had bit back the retort that he'd shot her moving past and they'd entered an uneasy period of silence on the whole matter.
They now stood waiting outside room 105 of the Orchid Motel. He raised his hand to knock when the overly perky blonde swung open the door before he could.
"Hi cute biker…got any intel? Will you take me for a ride later… that looks fast… fast and fun like a big safe full of diamonds but on wheels," she said, speaking quickly.
He looked at her oddly. Okay, cute but a tad weird, he thought to himself. Tara walked in behind him as Parker let them in. He turned a chair backwards, straddling it as Tara shocked him by sitting on the arm of the couch next to Eliot. She gingerly moved his tank top to peer at the injury.
"Any pain or excessive itching?"
"Nope, doc," he replied as placed a hand on her knee, which caused Jax to bristle but he reminded himself to keep his jealousy under wraps. Dude was probably just hepped up on painkillers and not thinking clearly.
"Good. I'll clean the wound and change the dressing in bit, but first I'll let Jax fill you all in on what he found."
All eyes turned to him and Jax cleared his throat. "Okay, so I had my tech guy check records. Trent Dickson is in Chino for assault with a deadly weapon, but he must have some info on someone because he's shopping around a plea bargain. I got two visitors passes so you can check it out for yourselves."
"Why are you helping?" Eliot asked.
"Mostly to get rid of you." Jax replied coldly.
"Jackson!"
"Let the man feel the way he feels Tara." Eliot replied
"I'll wait for you outside, Tara," said Jax, trying to ignore the way Parker pouted at not getting her ride.
"I'll take you on my Harley when we get home Parker," Eliot told her.
"You have one?" Parker brightened.
"I do and I'll take you…just stop leaving fortune cookie crumbs on my couch and you have a deal."
"Come on lets go to the bedroom unless you want to give your friends a peep show," Tara teased
"Okay, Parker and Hardison, go to Chino and Sophie and I will scout out Zobelle," Nate ordered.
-/-
Hardison carried himself with a confidence Parker couldn't say she possessed. Simply put, this place freaked her out. They sat down across from a man who resembled a homeless tic tac. She would let Hardison take the lead on this one and try not to look too terrified.
"So your father commissioned our…company to exact revenge for your brother's death and we've heard through the grapevine that you have pertinent information," said Hardison, folding his hands on the table in front of them.
The man swept a dirty lock of brown hair behind his ear. His teeth revealed the fact that he was a meth user.
"After my mother died, my father became obsessed with the fact that Trevor and I wouldn't fall to drug addiction like she had. It was obviously too late for me but Trev, well he wanted to be a part of something, a brotherhood, more of a family than what we had, and my old man well, he was grasping at straws just to keep Trev's feet on the ground."
The guy paused and looked away. Hardison let the silence stretch for a minute, then prompted the guy to continue with his story.
"When Zobelle rolled into town, looking all bright and shiny and on the up and up, Trevor thought he'd found the perfect job. A delivery boy… Trev found the drugs accidentally, a package ripped and he saw the heroin blocks. He was going to tell the sheriff but Zoebelle found out through some girl that Trevor was seeing. And he had my brother killed. Simple as that."
"Do you have any proof?" asked Hardison.
"The gun Weston carries has a flaw in the barrel. I know because the guy that sold it is my cell mate… Anyway when the bullet fires, it becomes nicked on the bottom due to the flaw. ME finds it he's got Weston and Zobelle can't loose his mindless robot of a killing machine now can he? Look I don't know what my father wants from all this. All I know is if you all aren't careful, a lot of people will die."
"Dickson your time's up." a guard called and the man left, leaving Parker looking on, confused and unsettled.
-/-
Sophie shuddered as she looked into the cigar shop window at Zobelle.
"Slimy little wanker, isn't he?" she stated.
"Use the disdain to your advantage. Remember you're widowed and childless because of the Niners," Nate told her, his hand on the door.
"I do my research. You needn't remind me, Nathan." She looped their arms together. "Amanda Preston, at your service."
The corner of her mouth titled up as she squared her shoulders and in they went.
The dim lighting of the shop made it seem oppressive and archaic despite the polished and expensive looking antique furnishings. Sophie took in a rich, sweetly scented breath of air and exhaled before separating herself from Nate, who played like he was perusing the cigars.
Sophie strode straight for the target. "Hi I'm Amanda Preston and I was told this shop is frequented quite a lot by the townspeople. I was just wondering if I could leave some of my support group flyers with you?"
"A support group for what?" Zobelle asked.
"The victims and families of gang violence…My family was killed in that grocery store shooting in Oakland between the Niners and their rivals."
"I'm sorry for your loss. I'm a widower myself."
"Thank you. I'm sorry for your loss also."
"Why did you come to Charming?"
"A fresh start... that and my friend Stephen Downing is putting in a new Starbucks in Eureka, so we're checking out the local business economy. It would be so much better if it weren't for all these gangs. Don't you agree…Stephen come introduce yourself to…"
"Ethan, Ethan Zobelle," he said, with a creepily charming smile that nearly made Sophie shiver.
-/-
"So they just deserted us, huh?" Tara said smiling.
"Yeah I'm the muscle. Not good for much else and not even good for that right now," he said as he stiffly removed his shirt and sank into the couch with a groan.
"You were useful for a lot of things back in Chicago…chef, light bulb changer, protector, friend." She gloved up and began her work.
Eliot closed his eyes and sighed softly while she worked. After a few minutes, he asked a question. "So that's the guy I used to see in your eyes?"
"Well since we're talking about it, yes. And who was the girl I used to see in your eyes then?"
"Her name is Aimee," he sucked a breath through his teeth as she cleaned the wound.
"Looks better. You heal fast."
"Job requirement. He make you happy?"
"He does."
"Good you deserve it."
-/-
Eliot heard a knock at his door. Striding to it, he looked into the peephole and saw Tara standing there ,looking stiff and uncomfortable, fear tinged in her gaze.
He opened the door. "Tara?"
"He threatened me. Found me in the hospital parking lot and cornered me and said that if I didn't stop seeing you, then it would mean bad things for you."
Eliot reached over, yanking her to him on sheer reflex. "Screw that," he mumbled into her hair.
"So, he does have something on you?" she stared at his shirt pocket steeling herself for the worst.
"I'm no boy scout, doc." In that moment, Eliot knew for both their sakes he needed to find an exit strategy.
-/-
"So what have we found?" Nate asked, looking around the hotel room where the team had reconvened after their afternoon missions.
"Well it seems that Trevor did in fact find the drugs on accident and then, being an upstanding citizen, he is decided to go to the po-po, who would've probably gone to the motorcycle gang," Hardison took a sip of his orange soda, slinging his arm on the back of the couch, his fingertips dangerously close to Parker's pretty blonde locks. Eliot smirked. Sometimes that boy was bordering on desperate. You could practically see his need to touch her as though it were a physical being in the room.
"Well why would he do that. Go to the Motorcycle People I mean? That's what I didn't get," Parker said.
"Because Parker, the motorcycle people keep the town drug-free in exchange for running their guns," Eliot said. Everyone looked at Eliot oddly.
"I did some background I wanted to make sure Tara was safe with that guy. So I borrowed Hardison's computer."
"Hey Man! I told you to quit touching Bessie."
"Oh chill it's in one piece, ain't it?"
"Ok fine whatever. The point is, Trent knows that Zobelle had Trevor killed. He thinks the ME could find proof of this on the bullet, but that proof, even if it can be found, would only point to Zobelle's right-hand man, Weston, who's not gonna roll on his boss. So, after everything, we got no hard proof on Zobelle. We're in deep this time and I just…don't know," Hardison finished
"We need to cut our losses," Eliot said plainly.
"No we can do this." Nate argued.
"Not unless we want a whole mess more problems," said Eliot.
"We can take Zobelle for money, but not much else. Nate maybe Eliot's right!" Sophie said.
"You don't know who you guys are dealing with. The guy Tara was seeing in Chicago was an ATF Agent. He followed her down here and then a few months ago, he magically drops off the planet. That's no coincidence. Even the good guys are bad here! I'm out of commission and I can't protect y'all. Its all gonna blow up in your face, Nate!"
"We have to do something for The Dickson family," insisted Nate stubbornly.
Eliot sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He shrugged and let out a slow, deep breath. "I'm going for a walk."
When he came back, Jax Teller was in their little living room, sitting backwards on a chair and addressing the group. Eliot caught the tail end of what he was saying.
"So, if you want to scam the guy, I'd use the San Fernando Valley chapter of the Devil's Tribe to do it. They're dumb and fairly harmless…I hope you take the bastard for all he's worth, even though I have my own brand of justice for the fucker."
"So you are going to use a little diddly squat MC to get his money? How's that going to work." Eliot asked, sitting down.
"Well, Zobelle likes to go into towns and bust up motorcycle clubs, right?" said Sophie. Eliot nodded his understanding.
"So, we tell him that we want to do the same and get him to fund us," continued Nate.
"And then we run off with the money instead," said Parker, her voice gleeful and her eyes bright.
"It lacks a certain amount of finesse, but sounds like it could be a viable exit strategy," admitted Eliot, his eyes on Jax.
-/-
Eliot came home to find Tara sitting on his couch watching Will & Grace reruns.
"Hey doc, your TV broken?" he smirked.
"Nope. Josh is sitting on my front porch. Your place was my best option."
"Lovely."
"Yeah. Are we them?" she asked, pointing at the TV.
"Well for starters I'm not gay, so there's that. And you aren't crazy and you totally wouldn't sleep with Nathan," said Eliot, sitting down next to her and letting his arm stretch out along the couch behind her.
"Oh god no. The voice would freak me out too much for dirty talk."
Eliot laughed.
"You know I was finishing up a job today and well I kinda ended up at a hospital, not yours, not nearly as nice as yours-"
"Why?" asked Tara, her forehead wrinkled with concern.
"Stuff blew up and what-not. Don't ask… Anyway I found this," he said, pulling a bright pink flyer from his back pocket. He paused for a minute while she unfolded the flyer.
Tara glanced at the words on the page, catching Charming, St. Thomas, pediatric surgeon. The words started to swim in front of her as Eliot's voice continued, soft and gentle.
"It's not that I don't like our arrangement. I do . But it's not safe…I have enemies who can and will hurt you just to get to me and Kohn has the power to make sure I spend a lot of time in the slammer. "
"I…I can't go home."
"Why not?"
"I'm not that person anymore…and Charming never changes. It's permanently stuck in the Sixties…"
"People who say they can't go home again are really just lying to themselves because they are scared."
"And you know this from experience?"
"Maybe…"
-/-
Eliot wasn't good at goodbyes. He rarely stayed in one place long enough to need them. He was trying to think of how to put his feelings into words while mounting the stairs to her place. When he got to her floor, he saw her door kicked open. Kohn had her cornered, looming menacingly over her.
"It'd be real wise of you to leave now." Eliot said, deadly calm. Creepy little ATF boy turned slowly.
"And if I don't?" he asked, smirking.
Good, Eliot was spoiling for a fight and would be more than happy to deliver it. It was so much better when it was justified.
"I'll make you," said Eliot, looking at Tara, trying to tell her without words to go to his truck and stay here. She didn't move though, pinned in place with fear. Eliot hated to have to do this in front of her, but he'd make sure it happened quickly and that she didn't get hurt.
Kohn unholstered his gun and raised it lazily. "I don't know if you realize this, if you're a betting man at all, but the odds are firmly in my favor."
"Don't underestimate me, you crazy fucker. You'll regret it." The words were barely out of Eliot's mouth before he lunged at Kohn lunged and grabbed his arm. He twisted it hard behind the guy's back and the gun fell away. He slammed Kohn into the brick wall, face-first. Turning him around, Eliot landed a few good punches before Kohn crumpled.
"Wasn't even a challenge…been sitting behind a desk too long dude," said Eliot. He took Tara's hand and pulled her out of the apartment.
-/-
The ride to the airport the next day was tense and silent. Because what could they say to each other really? They weren't the I'll-miss-you-I-love-you're-my-best-friend types. Even if all of those things true, they couldn't say them.
Now they stood at the gate to the outside world, looking every bit like a couple with their relaxed hug-like pose.
"Eliot, I don't know how to thank you." She was staring at his chest again, unable to look him in the eye.
"Hey," he said as he tilted her chin up ."I don't need thanks. That's what friends are for."
He kissed her soundly but chastely on the mouth. She fell into it a little kissing him back a moment as her flight was called. She took a deep breath as they pulled apart.
"So this is it," she murmured
"Looks that way."
"El, I…"
"This won't be the last you see of me, doc. Count on it."
"Final boarding for flight 305 to San Francisco," announced the loud speaker.
Tara picked up her carry-ons.
"Bye, Eliot."
He stood looking relaxed with his hands in his front pockets but she knew better. He was coiled as tightly as a rattler on the inside.
"Bye, Tara."
-/-
Much to Eliot's amazement, the job went off without a hitch. They'd got the Dicksons their money and he, for one, would be really glad to get out of this nasty ass motel room. However, he wasn't so thrilled about leaving Tara. He'd forgotten what it was like to have her around, what addiction she could become. Now she was sitting next to him, her cool hands busy testing his injured shoulder.
"That hurt?" she asked.
He turned his head so that his mouth was inches from hers, his hair nearly tickling her face. His voice came out in a low growl. "No."
"Good." Her hand slid down his arm, securing his wrist. "Gimmie range of motion…hold it out and now up and down…and around in a circle…How do you feel strength wise?"
"Fine just stiff. You ever wonder what if about us?"
"You never showed up here." It was said lightly, but Eliot sensed the anger.
He smiled at her. "I'm here now. I said you'd see me again, I just didn't say when."
"Well assuming you did track me down. The mystery is over. I always knew I'd be this weird little family's mobile doctor." She smiled at him. "You're happy Eliot and try and remember that's a good thing."
"Jax really makes you happy?"
"Umm humm," she replied, busying herself with dropping things in her bag. Eliot reached out and grabbed her chin, tilting it up so she was looking him in the eye.
"You're sure?"
"Yes, Eliot, I'm sure." He held her gaze for several seconds, reading it. Then his hand dropped away and she thought she caught a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes.
"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Thanks for bailing me out."
"What friends are for, right?"
"Right," he said, turning away.
Eliot watched as she left. He loved Tara, but he could never tell her that. He was just glad he had been able to love and protect someone without destroying them in his wake, like he had with Aimee. Tara was a road not taken, but sometimes in life he guessed, you weren't meant to take every little detour.
AN: I own nothing. hope you liked it Review!