Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Lancer.
Part One
The security system on the Lancer ranch house brought him a great deal of irritation. It took extra time to bypass the complicated circuits then to cut through the sturdy locks. His entire schedule was wrecked. He'd hoped to get in and out of the house right after night fell.
Now he'd be lucky to get inside by midnight. And worse, it was getting chilly, his fingers were cramping inside his surgeon's gloves. Even the moon was working against him; it was three-quarters full, gleaming off the white adobe. He shuffled into the shadows near the door. The lack of vehicles in the yard and garage meant no one was home, no one except the target.
Kneeling down by the window, Jed Lewis slid one lock pick into the bottom of the deadbolt keyhole, applying pressure as he turned it. He felt the pins moving the way he wanted. He inserted another tool at the bottom of the lock, pushed up on the pins until they were in alignment and the lock released, allowing the window to open. He lowered himself into the wine cellar. In less than ten minutes, he canvassed the rows of wine casks and bottles. Pulling a sample from the shelf, he slid his finger across the artsy-fartsy label. Wild Horse Noir. It figured the Lieutenant would come up with some fancy shit like that.
He slipped up the stairs and encountered another lock. This one was only for show and he plowed through it in half a minute. Listening, he heard nothing: no radio, no television, no conversation. Getting halfway down a length of hallway, a soft slap of footsteps against tile reached his ears. He ducked into a closet. By the time the footsteps came closer, he was hidden deep within its confines behind an assortment of masculine leather coats. A few smaller garments hung to the side, a distinct female scent tantalizing his nostrils.
A two inch crack in the door provided Jed had an excellent line of sight. A girl came into view. No, a young woman. Pretty in a compact, slim way, she was wearing a terry-cloth robe.
She shook back her long hair, rolling her shoulders. Placing a hand to her neck, she circled her head and stretched, drawing the white fabric tight against her breasts. The more he saw, the more his annoyance faded. He followed her with his eyes, studying her smooth curves, until she left his view. Very nice, but business first.
She'd changed his plans, however, so he waited in the dark until he heard her footsteps again.
~#~#~#~
Scott's stomach growled as the hint of fresh coffee reached him. Teresa entered Murdoch's study, carrying a tray of what he hoped was sustenance. Time had slipped away from him, but it usually did when he was looking over spreadsheets.
"I thought I should see to your welfare," she said, tilting her head, "since you're not going to do it. I have coffee and a ham sandwich, here. And if you're really good, I could probably snag you some of Maria's chocolate chip cookies."
He snuck a glance at the time on his computer screen and grimaced. "It's that late?"
Teresa set the tray down and nodded towards it. "You can consider that your breakfast."
He leaned back in his chair. "All right, all right, I'm going to knock off in a few minutes."
She splayed one hand out on her hip. "Oh, I'm done talking. I'm gonna let your dad do it when he gets back tomorrow with Johnny. But I should tell you though…"
"Now you've already told me, um…I'm working too hard."
"Don't be such a smart ass. Murdoch said he didn't have to have those figures in until next week." She tapped her finger against her jaw line. "You know what I think?"
"No, what?"
Teresa walked to the doorway and turned, giving him a wide smile. "I think you're showing off, Scott Lancer. Seeing just how much you can get done before the Patron returns."
He rose to his feet and bowed. "Well, like my younger brother, I too am an overachiever."
She rolled her eyes. "Spare me."
He grinned. "Teresa…thanks for the coffee and sandwich. Now you go to bed. I'm going to turn in myself in a few minutes, I promise you. Oh, and don't forget Cipriano and I have to get down to the valley early tomorrow morning to see about the frozen semen samples Murdoch ordered." Those were words he thought he would never utter in his life." If we get done in time I'll swing by to pick you up for lunch."
She nodded through a yawn and left, shutting the door.
Scott picked up a pen and the antiquated leather-bound ledger Murdoch used to order his samples, and moved off to an overstuffed chair. Opening the binder, he shook his head as a few receipts fell out to the floor. Murdoch liked to kick it old school as Johnny reminded their father every chance he got. And when it came to computer basics, Scott had to agree with his brother. At least most of the spreadsheets had been transferred to the new Access database Scott had put together. He fought a hard campaign to get that done; the next front to tackle was Murdoch himself—as in getting him to sit down to use the thing. The old man had long ago mastered Google and e-mail, but databases still had him running for his ledgers.
The door behind him slid open on a whisper.
"Teresa, I thought you were going to bed…"
"Scott Lancer?"
He twisted in the chair and sprang to his feet, the ledger forgotten. "Who…?"
"Now, I'm going to real disappointed if you don't remember me, Lieutenant. After all, it's only been what—three or four years?"
"It's your fault we're in this mess. If you hadn't given the all-clear, we would've never tried that pallet drop. You did a shitty reconnaissance and now we're paying for it—Jack's paying for it."
The memory hit like a sucker punch. "Jed Lewis? How did you get in?"
Jed smiled at him. "So you remembered after all. Big place stuck out in the middle of nowhere, not a lot of people around. You might want to upgrade your security system sometime soon."
"What are you doing here?"
"Not even gonna invite me to sit down? Pretty rude for a man like you, but I guess getting older makes us all change, one time or another. And still others don't get a chance—to get old, I mean." He slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a nine-millimeter.
"What the hell are you talking about? What's the gun for?"
Jed caressed the barrel. "Nice, isn't it? Just like we used back in the day with the 83rd. I got a man who remembers those days, Lieutenant, even if you don't. In fact, you and I are gonna meet him. He's waiting right outside town. The name 'Cassidy' ring a bell?"
Brilliant white muzzle flashes arced across the nose of his 'copter. Where were those intermediaries now when they were getting their asses shot out from underneath them?
Nine-zero had realized the trouble and was backing off the target. More bullets traveled Cassidy's way and the pallet shifted as Dan tried to pull up. The steady hum of the rotors changed to a distinct whump, whump as the blades slowed. Scott could almost see each individual blade and knew they weren't going to make the climb.
"Dan, punch the load! Punch the load! You're starting to oscillate!"
Yoro. The Tolupan village in Honduras. Scott hadn't thought of his last mission in a while, at least not in his waking hours.
Jed peered at him. "That's right, Lieutenant Cassidy. Maybe you do remember, huh?" He waved his free hand toward the French doors while the pistol remained pointed at Scott's heart. "Shall we go?"
Scott's eyes cut to the glass doors behind the desk, measuring the distance.
The gun cocked. "Uh-huh. You wouldn't want that pretty little thing who brought you coffee all mixed up in this now, would you?"
Scott froze.
The French doors opened. A stocky man with a shank of black hair covering his forehead appeared, his gun looking just as deadly as Lewis'. "What's the fucking hold up? We need to get out of here."
Jed leaned over and snatched up the sandwich, taking a big bite. "Come on in, Ric. I was just convincing Mr. Lancer here that he wants to leave with us. Nice and easy, no fighting, no shouting." Lewis gestured to the side of the room where Ric stood. "Let's go."
Scott exhaled a silent breath and walked to the doors.
Jed's voice came from behind him. "And maybe after we get you all fixed up, I'll come back and see what that little Miss has to offer."
Son-of-a-bitch. Scott half-turned, but the barrel of Lewis' pistol was thrust between his shoulder blades, forcing him through the doorway.
He was hustled out to a waiting car beyond the fence line and pushed into the back seat. Jed Lewis crammed the gun against Scott's belly, insuring he would stay in place. As the lights of Lancer dimmed behind them, Scott felt relieved. One situation down—Teresa was safe now—just one more to go.
The car slipped and swerved going around a hairpin curve. Ric didn't seem to mind as he yanked the car from side to side, gaining speed. But with Jed it was a different matter.
Jed's gun against his side eased up with each sharp pull of the steering wheel. "Goddamnit, Ric. Slow down. I'd like to get there in one piece."
Scott braced himself to avoid hitting the side window. "By all means, let's get to Dan Cassidy safe and sound. What's this all about Lewis?"
"My brother died in the jungle, singing your praises. He was a fool, considering you were the one who killed him. And as for Dan, well, you'll just have to wait and see."
"Listen Jack, I'm sorry for getting you into this mess."
"Don't be. We all take an oath and know what could happen. I wouldn't want to fly with anyone else and that's the honest-to-God's truth. Don't be pussying out on me now. Remember what we said after that trouble the last tour in Iraq? We check…"
"…each other's six."
"Damn straight, L-T."
Scott slumped in the seat. Jack Lewis. He hadn't allowed himself to think of his crew chief.
The old beater shimmied, swinging close to the edge of the curve. Jed bent forward to punch Ric's shoulder. Scott leaned, pushing all his weight into Jed, sending them both crashing against the far window. The pistol swung up towards his cheek. He ducked as it went off, shattering the back window. Ric stomped on the brakes and the car swerved to the opposite bank, screeching and sliding towards a tree.
Scott didn't wait for the car to stop, pushing open the door and jumping away. He hit the asphalt with a heavy thud and rolled clear. By the time Lewis and Ric were shouting to each other, he was up on his feet moving out. Taking a quick look around, he started down the trail—away from Lancer.
A loud pop came from the direction of the car. The force of the bullet slammed him forward and he tripped over heavy undergrowth. Even as fire erupted in his shoulder, he couldn't quite believe he'd been shot. He touched two fingers to the worst of the pain and felt the stickiness of his own blood.
Lewis and Ric were gaining, their voices too close. The beam from a flashlight arced out. Skirting it, Scott slid into the woods.
TBC