Winter Kill

Disclaimer: M7 characters are not mine and are only used for fun and mayhem.

A/N- this story began last Nov. needless to say I'm thankful to a wonderful Beta like NotTasha who not only is helpful with suggestions and encouragement but doesn't give up on me or my stories. All mistakes are all mine.

Also- title totally stolen from C.J. Box. His 'WinterKill' is next on my list to read in his series but the title just seemed to work for me and my inability to come up with one of my own. No copyright infringement intended with it's use.

Hope you enjoy the story.

The shivering woke him. The bone rattling shudders assaulted his body and shook him to the core. He was freezing.

Blinking sluggish eyes open, Ezra stared at the brilliant clear blue sky above him. A single tree branch reached into the view, barren of leaves and swaying in the chilly breeze, its finger like tendrils stretched high. Rushing water flowed somewhere close by as the numbing cold seeped up from underneath him.

Twisting his head, his pillow of leaves rustled noisily. Pain assailed him, the dull throbbing headache spiking in intensity as dizziness washed over him.

What had happened?

Where was he?

Why was he here?

Questions raced as he struggled to sit up. His fingers sunk into the frost-covered dirt. He looked down at the icy mix and blinked again, rubbing his numb fingers on his thighs.

His mind started to clear with the movement.

Brennan.

Glancing around Ezra found the other man, curled into a near fetal position, shivering as uncontrollably as he was.

"Brennan." Standish's voice was harsh and raw. "Brennan, wake up."

He could see the bruise at the other man's temple and tentatively reached up to examine his own head. He winced as he made contact with his own injury. That explained the headache.

Carefully, slowly, he forced his cold, cramped limbs to move. He awkwardly scooted closer to the FBI agent and lightly shook him. "Brennan."

Brennan grunted and roused quickly, defensively moving away from Ezra. In one movement, he went from curled on the ground to crouched and ready to pounce on any threat. He swayed dangerously.

Ezra reached out to steady him, but Brennan swatted his hand away. "Get away from me."

Surprised, Ezra backed off and pushed himself to his feet, testing his balance as he went. When he was sure he could stay upright he looked at Brennan again.

"What happened?"

"That's what I should ask you," Brennan shot back angrily. "What the hell were you doing on my case?"

Ezra controlled his anger and kept his face expressionless. "Your case?"

"You're such a damn hot dogger, Standish." Brennan pushed himself to his feet so he could face Ezra. "Why anyone still keeps you around is beyond me."

Standish watched Brennan swipe at his mud-covered jeans for a moment, noting the constant shivering. Brennan was dressed as he was, jeans, a button down shirt and loafers. None of it the correct attire for tramping around in the Colorado woods in January. They were in big trouble.

Concentrating, Ezra wrapped his arms tightly around his torso and glanced around them, squinting in the sun. The rushing water was a nearby stream, just a few feet in front of them. They needed to stay out of that. To each side, the trees thickened, while behind them a sheer hillside stretched upwards. They were left with two options; they could either go down to the left…or up to the right.

"This all your fault," Brennan accused, obviously impatient with Ezra's silence.

"I believe you are the one that showed up in the middle of my case and blew my cover." Ezra kept his voice level. Shouting at each other would get them nowhere. He wasn't sure what happened. He'd been undercover on the Little case for over a week, living in Maxwell Little's mansion and trying to find the evidence needed to bust the man on weapons smuggling. This morning he'd walked into the man's study and found Brennan sitting opposite Max. He'd immediately recognized the agent from previous cases when their ATF and FBI teams had worked together. He had managed to hide his reaction, covering by taking a sip of coffee, but it wasn't enough.

Brennan, shocked at Ezra's arrival, had blurted out a confused, "What the hell are you doing here?"

It was too much for Ezra to recover from. Brennan hadn't been undercover. He'd been sent by the FBI to question Little.

The next thing Ezra remembered was waking up in the wilderness.

"I was there to question Little," Brennan spit out. "I didn't know you were there."

"What'd you think I was doing there?" Ezra questioned.

"I don't know. Maybe you're working with the man."

Ezra's anger flared, but he made no move at Brennan. Good Lord, when was Atlanta going to stop haunting his career and reputation? He was sick of it.

"It doesn't matter now." Brennan glanced around. "He let us go."

Huffing at the other man's statement, Ezra shook his head. "He dumped us in the woods with no supplies, no coats and no way to call for help."

"Better than killing us outright."

"No, because it's so much better to die slowly from hypothermia." Ezra couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Geez, you're a wuss," Brennan turned around. "If we head north," he pointed up the sheer hill.

Ezra closed his eyes. "You're not getting up that hill in those shoes."

"I can damn well try," Brennan yelled. "What's your idea?"

Looking around again, Ezra tried to figure out where they were. He'd been in the woods many times since joining Team 7. Vin had a habit of taking them on 'educational' hikes at least once a year and as much as Ezra griped and pretended to hate them…he tried to pay some attention. This though, he glanced up at the clear sky. He had no clue.

"Either we go West or East. Stay out of the water, follow the stream one way or another. It's got to lead us to some recognizable landmark."

"You hope."

"Yeah, I do."

"Who made you boss anyway?" Brennan complained as he dragged his hands through his black hair.

"You asked my idea, I was giving it. Fighting is not going to get us out of here. We need to work together."

"I'm not doing anything with you."

Ezra opened his mouth to say 'fine' when Brennan jerked back suddenly, the top half of his head exploding in a spray of bone and blood.

"Brennan!" Shock and horror rocked through Standish even as he knew there was no saving the FBI man. It was too late. He hadn't even heard the shot.

Another shot hit the ground right beside Ezra's feet followed by another that nearly caught Ezra's left arm.

"Shit."

Willing his sluggish legs into motion, Ezra weaved between trees. Three more shots followed, hitting trees and leaves around him. His feet slipped and slid on the leaf-covered ground, his loafers offering no traction but he managed to stay upright, grabbing trees and pulling himself up and deeper into the woods.

There was no time to register the horror of what just happened, only the reality that if he didn't run he would face the same fate as Brennan.

So he ran.

Sitting at his desk with the morning sun shining brightly through his office windows, Chris was feeling good. It was a beautiful day, despite the cold. It was clear and the sun was out and it was Friday. The week was almost over and all they needed to do was get through this day and maybe, they could relax a little bit this weekend.

He flipped open the folder on his desk, figuring he ought to get some work done. Inside the plain manila folder was Ezra's latest report.

Standish.

Worry tickled the back of his neck. Larabee wished Standish was out of the Little case already. He'd been on the inside for nine days now, and that was too long for Larabee's comfort. He didn't like being this much out of contact for this long. Too many cases had gone wrong that way. Thank god for modern technology though. At least the regular reports and check ins via cell phone and internet helped belay some of Chris' concerns. Problem was, you couldn't read Ezra's expression through an email or hear the tone of his voice in a text.

Sure, not many people could do either of those when they were standing face to face with Standish, but Larabee could…the team could.

Skimming over the pages, Chris managed a smile. Damn, but Standish was good at his job. There was a list of dates that Standish had managed to lift off Little's computer. It wouldn't be long now and they'd have locations as well, then they could set up a sting, take the man down and get Ezra home.

A knock on his door had Chris looking up. "Yeah,"

Concern filled him at the look on Vin Tanner's face. "What?"

"Got company, Cowboy." He gestured over his shoulder. "Fibbies."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Flipping the folder closed, Larabee leaned back in his chair. "Bring 'em in."

He watched the two FBI agents file into his office, followed by Vin. Tanner stood back and out of the way and neither of the men in dark suits even recognized his presence in the room. Larabee didn't bother to stand.

"How can I help the FBI today?" He managed to keep the disdain he felt for the entire bureau out of his voice.

"I'm Darren Peters and this is Mark Dorsey."

"We need to discuss the Little case," the one introduced as Dorsey told him.

Leaning forward, Chris' eyes narrowed. "What about our case?"

"We sent one of our men in to question Maxwell Little yesterday, late afternoon. We haven't heard from him since then. We thought with you having a man inside right now, maybe you could…"

"You knew we had a man inside?" Chris felt his anger and worry deepening.

"Of course," Peters answered as if it was logical they would know.

"And you sent your man in anyway?"

"It was unrelated to your current investigation," Peters explained. "Brennan was questioning Little about money laundering allegations. Has nothing to do with your man."

"But now your man is missing?"

The two agents exchanged a look before Dorsey reluctantly answered. "Yes. Agent Brennan never reported in after his chat with Little."

Vin slipped out of the office.

Chris stared at the two agents in front of him. "What do you think happened?"

"We don't know. We're hoping if you could contact Agent Standish, maybe he could tell us what happened between Brennan and Little," Dorsey explained.

"You know who we have inside?"

Neither man answered.

"Damn it." Chris stood. "Wait here."

He left them sitting there and hurried to Vin's desk. Vin was bent over his phone.

"Anything?" Chris asked.

"Just sent a 911 text to him. Let's give him a minute to answer." Vin looked past Larabee at the FBI agents in the inner office. "What do you think?"

"I think we've got trouble," Chris admitted. He looked around the outer office. Buck and JD were in records getting a file for their next case. Josiah was in a meeting with Team 3 and Nathan was getting re-certified for his advanced first aid training. They were all over the place but he knew with one phone call they'd all come running.

"Damn."

Vin stood. "He's not answering his text. He always answers a 911 immediately."

"Call him direct."

Chris waited as Vin tried the call and knew immediately that it didn't go through.

"Straight to voice mail."

Ezra never turned his phone off when he was under. If he did, he always found a way to forewarn them.

An icy fear crawled up Chris' spine. Ezra was in trouble.

TBC...