Chapter 7

"Who found him?" Chris poked at a piece of chicken, set down his chopsticks, and picked up the tumbler of whiskey instead. Josiah, Nathan, Ezra, and J.D. had showed up with takeout shortly after the phone call about Sean. Vin was still in the guest bedroom, down for the count.

"One of the construction workers noticed something sticking out of the ground." Josiah grimaced. "Turned out to be Sean's hand. Guess whoever disposed of the body was in a rush, didn't bury it deep enough. That wind storm last night must've stirred up the dirt."

"We're damn lucky it did." Nathan removed the glass from Chris's fingers and looked pointedly at his barely touched food. "Otherwise he'd be covered with two tons of concrete by now and we'd never have found him."

"How's Jim taking it?" Buck asked.

"Ted said he was in Travis's office for nearly an hour, yelling about what a mess this investigation's been," J.D. said, piling kung pao chicken onto his plate and adding an egg roll. "Then he holed up in his office to make the call to Sean's wife."

"Damn. Not a call I'd want to make." Buck exchanged a long look with Chris. "Just another reason why I won't be gunnin' for your job, stud."

"That's a load off my mind."

"Save some of that rice for Vin," Nathan said as J.D. reached for the carton. "His stomach's not ready for the spicy stuff." He looked at Chris through narrowed eyes. "And while we're on the subject, neither is yours."

"Speaking of Mr. Tanner, should I retrieve him before the food gets cold--" Ezra raised an eyebrow at J.D. "--or vanishes?"

"Let him sleep," Chris replied. "I'll nuke it when he wakes up."

"When are you going to tell him?" Buck's voice sounded unnaturally subdued.

It was the question that had been foremost in his mind ever since he'd learned of Sean's death. Unfortunately, Chris felt no closer to an answer. "I'm not sure."

Josiah tipped back in his chair, lacing his hands across his stomach. "Best to do it right away. He's all tied up in knots thinking he needs to save the boy."

"Surely you're not foolish enough to believe that learning he's dead will be an improvement?" Ezra drawled. "Our friend is determined to bear responsibility in this matter. I fear the news of Mr. Donovan's demise will only provide further justification for castigating himself."

"But he'd want to know the truth!" J.D. was wide-eyed with outrage. "You all know how Vin feels about being coddled. He'd hit the roof if he found out we were holding back on him."

Nathan shook his head. "I believe in honesty as much as the next man. But we've got to consider what's best for Vin. He was knockin' on death's door a few days ago, and he's still awful weak. That head injury is nothin' to mess with. Truth be told, I ain't so sure he's up to the shock."

"Not that I don't appreciate all this input," Chris said through gritted teeth, "but I'll decide when and how he's told." He stood and carried his plate to the sink, ignoring Nathan's glare as he dumped the food down the disposal. "Ezra, keep working the streets. Someone's got to have information on who was picking up Westin's tab. Josiah, I want to see the autopsy results as soon as they're available. Lean on forensics if you have to."

"Will do, boss." The big man hesitated, obviously choosing his words with care. "Jim Spencer's not going to let this rest, Chris. He's been making a lot of noise over the fact Vin hasn't given a formal statement yet."

"Jim Spencer needs to take his head out of his ass. Vin wouldn't last five minutes under that kind of pressure. Not to mention the fact that he can't remember a whole helluva lot right now."

"He's pushing Travis to bring in a psychiatrist."

Chris whipped around, dropping his voice to a low growl. "He what?"

"Just graspin' at straws, Chris," Buck said. "He's desperate."

"You knew about this?"

Buck hitched his shoulders. "He mentioned it. I figured it was just blowin' off steam."

Nathan made a soft sound of disgust. "Yeah, well I sure hope no one else is takin' him seriously. There's likely a damn good reason why Vin's missin' those days. Forcin' him to remember--short-circuiting that kind of natural defense mechanism--is just askin' for trouble."

"Don't worry. Vin will be seeing a psychiatrist over my dead body." Chris yanked open the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He flipped the top into the trash can and took two swallows, then pressed the cold glass against his throbbing temple. In the uneasy silence he could feel the others trading glances.

Surprisingly, it was Buck, not Nathan, who spoke up. "Runnin' yourself to the ground ain't gonna help anyone, Pard, least of all Vin."

"I'm fine." The skeptical looks on their faces were really pissing him off. "I'm going to check on him."

Outside the kitchen he leaned against the wall, his head thumping gently against the plaster. Three deep breaths and four swallows later, when he'd reined in the urge to punch something--someone--he continued to the guestroom.

The empty guestroom.

For a split second, Chris flashed on an image of Vin being abducted at gunpoint while the rest of them blithely chatted around the kitchen table. His heart pounded and his hand jerked reflexively to the nonexistent gun at the small of his back. Then investigator mode kicked in and he catalogued the twisted, sweat-dampened sheets, Vin's untouched duffel at the foot of the bed, and the fact that the blanket and his moccasins were missing.

"Son of a bitch." Chris bypassed the spill of light and laughter from the kitchen, grabbing his jacket as he quietly slipped out the French doors to the deck.

The lounge chairs were empty, and Vin wasn't standing in his usual spot near the steps. Swearing under his breath, Chris headed across the yard toward the barn. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spied a lone figure leaning heavily against the corral.

Pony greeted him with a soft nicker, while Peso snorted and tossed up his heels. Vin didn't even turn his head.

"Are you trying to end up back in the hospital?" The fact that he sounded like Nathan fed Chris's temper. "You heard Lorenzo's instructions--no unnecessary activity and stay the hell out of the cold. The last thing you need right now is--"

Oh, god.

Chris caught his breath, his anger choked off as abruptly as his voice when the wan light of the crescent moon illuminated glistening trails on his friend's cheeks.

"Vin?"

"Sean's dead."

So damn capable and self-sufficient, it was easy to forget how young Vin was. The lost, little-boy tone of his raspy voice hit Chris low, in the belly. He turned, pressing his back against the rails to better see his friend's face. "Yeah."

Vin nodded, his gaze locked on the horses as he scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Heard us talking?" Chris asked after several minutes passed with only Vin's ragged breathing to break the silence.

"Had a nightmare--memory. Nothin' concrete, just... somethin' real bad." A shudder crashed through Vin's body like a wave. "Got up for a glass of water an' heard Josiah."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out that way."

"So you were gonna tell me?" The edge to the words couldn't mask the grief.

"Yeah. I was." He waited a beat, then pitched his voice low and gentle. "This was not your fault, Vin."

His friend squeezed his eyes shut, but moisture leaked from the corners. "You can't know that."

Chris slid his hand under the tangled mane at the base of his friend's neck and squeezed. "Yes, I can. Because I know you. And there's no way in hell you'd have allowed anything to happen to Sean if it was in your power to stop it."

"God, Chris." Vin's voice cracked and his breathing turned to choked gasps as he fought back the tears. "I don't... Why him an' not me? He had folks who cared about him--his wife, his parents. It shoulda--"

"Shut up." Chris tugged until Vin sagged against his chest and he felt the warmth of tears on his neck. "You've got people who care about you too, you stupid jackass. Don't ever think otherwise."

When his friend swayed, his knees wobbling, Chris slipped an arm around his waist. "All right, that's it. Let's get you inside where you can lie down."

He wasn't prepared for Vin to pull away. His friend's feet tangled in the blanket and he nearly wound up on the ground. "Damn it, Vin, what the hell...?"

"Can't go back in there. Not yet. I just... The walls are closin' in on me, Chris."

One of the great mysteries of the universe had to be the way Vin Tanner could reduce Chris Larabee to a spineless wonder. He sighed. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that? Come on--at least the barn is out of the wind."

Vin didn't reply, but Chris would have to be blind not to see the gratitude in his eyes. He parked his friend on some bales of hay and rounded up the horses. By the time they were tucked away in their stalls, Vin had regained his composure and some color to his cheeks.

Chris pulled up an adjoining seat, hoping the others had the good sense to leave them alone.

"It was me they wanted."

Chris looked sharply at Vin, but his friend's head was bowed. "How do you know?"

"Remembered some stuff the big guy--Westin?--said."

"Okay."

The silence stretched out, but Chris waited while Vin plucked a sprig of hay and fiddled with it.

"Kept tellin' me... " He sucked in a shaky breath. "Tellin' me Sean's life was in my hands. It was up to me whether... whether he lived or..." He pressed his lips together and tossed the shredded hay to the floor.

"Which is complete bullshit." Chris chased Vin's gaze until his friend was forced to look him in the eye. "You had no weapon, no back-up. They ambushed you, tied you to a chair, and beat the hell out of you. They had all the power, Cowboy. The only thing you could do was hang on until we found you. And you did."

Vin swallowed hard and looked away. "Don't change the fact that if he hadn't been with me--"

"Sean was a federal agent. He put his life on the line every day. It could just as easily have been him they were after."

"But it wasn't."

And what the hell was he supposed to say to that? Chris ran a hand over his burning stomach, regretting the whiskey. He didn't for a moment blame Vin for Sean's death. But he also understood impotence made a lousy excuse for failing to save someone who needed you.

"Chris." Vin hesitated. "There's somethin' I gotta do."

"No shit. You've got to go back inside, eat something, and take your pills."

"Chris."

He rubbed a hand along his jaw, grimacing at the burn of stubble. "All right, all right. What do you need to do?"

"You ain't gonna like it."

"Now there's a news flash."

"I need to go back to the warehouse. To the room where they... where he... I gotta see it."

It was the last thing he'd expected to hear. Chris glared at his friend. "No."

Clenching his jaw, Vin shook his head. "I ain't askin' you, I'm tellin' you. I'm goin' back."

"Are you out of your mind? Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Vin looked like death warmed over, all shadows, sharp angles, and too-pale skin.

But there was defiance written in the tilt of his chin, the set of his mouth, and the fire in his eyes.

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why?"

"When Spencer showed me Sean's shirt--"

"Asshole," Chris muttered before he could stop himself.

Vin's lips curved in the closest thing to a smile he'd seen all day before it quickly vanished. "Seein' the shirt, the...the blood... It triggered a real clear memory."

"I know. I was there. You were practically catatonic--or have you forgotten that part?"

"Will you shut up and listen? The point is that I remembered. And if a little thing like Sean's shirt could do it, I reckon bein' in the place where..." The words caught in his throat and he pulled the blanket tighter. "It could work, Chris."

"It could also push you over the edge!" Chris stood and paced, hoping it would assuage the urge to shake his friend. "Sean's dead, Vin."

"And we don't know why!" Vin snapped. He sagged back against the hay, shaking with weariness and emotion. "I gotta know why."

Cut to the bone, Chris dropped down beside him. "I want to find out who was behind this as badly as you do. But not at your expense. We're not racing to save a man's life anymore. Give yourself a chance to heal."

Vin chuckled, but it was laughter born from tears. "You don't get it, do you? I can't heal, not as long as there's a fuckin' black hole in my head. Not as long as Sean's lyin' on a slab while his killer walks free."

"I still don't like it." When Vin didn't relent, he sighed. "You know, I could just tie you to a chair."

His friend surprised him again by latching onto his jacket in a white-knuckled grip. "Chris. Please."

It was a damn fool idea, all risk and no guarantees. He'd be crazy to even consider it.

And there was no way in hell he could say no.

"We go back to the house, you eat, take the damn pills, and go to bed," he growled. "You don't get at least eight hours and all bets are off."

"Deal." The relief on Vin's face was heartbreaking. "You won't regret it, cowboy."

Ah, Vin, he thought, his throat tight. I already do.

Continued in Chapter 8