Note: This is an updated, edited chapter. The former chapter has been deleted.

Denver Office

Josiah was the first man in the office having beaten even Larabee in for once. Sanchez was a man on a mission. The first thing the Team's profiler had done was power up his computer and research the name, 'Preston Adams III, attorney at law'. Instantly, a slew of public information sources had come up and Josiah had avidly sifted through them all. Twenty minutes later, when Josiah noted the arrival of his boss into the office, he finished his research on the man whom he had chanced to meet the previous evening.

Now Josiah was leaning back in his chair and sipping tentatively from the still steaming cup of coffee he held in one hand while the fingers of the other mindlessly flipped Preston Adams III's business card over and over. After what he had read, there was no doubt in Josiah's mind about what he was going to do with that business card.

The good Lord, providence, or plain dumb luck had placed a labor law attorney in his path at the same time that he was sure Ezra needed but did not have one. He was going to give Ezra Mr. Adam's card and urge Ezra to let Adams represent him at the admin board.

The heavy hand that suddenly landed on Josiah's back made the big man jump and the hot coffee slosh over the mug's lip and onto his pants. Josiah hissed and looked around to see the face of Nathan Jackson looking down at him with what could pass as a contrite expression despite the mirth shining from the dark eyes.

"Sorry, 'Siah!" Nathan exclaimed.

Josiah grabbed some fast food napkins out of his desk drawer and started dabbing at the wet spot that darkened his trouser leg. "What were you sneaking up on me for?" he grumbled, only marginally annoyed at being startled.

"Man, I called your name two times already. What were you daydreaming about?"

Josiah considered his response for a moment before flashing white teeth at his close friend. "Hmm…None of your business: a bit like when I asked you about what you were busy researching the other days and you were mum."

Jackson had the grace to look sheepish. "I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure about what I was going to find – and I'm still not one hundred percent sure."

"Does it have to do with Ezra?" asked Josiah.

"Yeah. It does, and I will tell you, but let me be the one to speak to Ezra about it first ok?" Nathan sat down on the edge of Josiah's desk and looked his friend in the eyes. "Treatment for bee venom allergies have been around for awhile with varying degrees of success, but I found out that John Hopkins has been doing the most cutting edge work to advance venom immunotherapy. From what I read, I think it could be Ezra's best chance of mitigating his severe allergy to bee venom. Problem is, I don't know anyone in Denver who is delivering that same treatment."

Hope filled Josiah's heart and he looked with pride upon the Team's medic. "I knew it! If there is a medical way out of this dilemma, you would be the one to find it." He shrugged then. "If the treatment isn't in Denver then we'll find the nearest one."

"I appreciate that, Josiah. I'll take any help with that too," Nathan said. "One thing though," Nathan paused and Josiah looked at him expectantly. "Just what exactly had your mind on another planet this morning?"

Josiah held out Adam's business card. "This." He handed the card over to Nathan.

Nathan read the card. "Preston Adams III, Attorney at Law, specializing in Labor Law. Sounds expensive, Josiah," the medic noted dubiously. "You know this lawyer?"

"As of last night, yes." Before the others arrived at the office, Josiah succinctly recounted to Nathan the details of his chance meeting with the labor law attorney.

If Josiah was anticipating a reciprocal pleased expression on his friend's face, he did not receive one. Nathan seemed to be maintaining a carefully neutral expression. Josiah raised an eyebrow. "Something troubles you, brother?"

"Doesn't it you?" Nathan challenged.

"No," Josiah answered flatly. He sighed. "Please, say what's on your mind before the others get here."

There was a momentary silence, then, "It's nothing probably." Nathan answered, but the man's soulful, dark eyes conveyed a different message. "It's just…a story with an incredible coincidence." Nathan clasped hand together and leaned forward. "You meet this man and he just happens to be the type of lawyer that Ezra needs at the moment, in a place where the very man in question just happens to have been on his first night out since this whole nightmare began."

"What are you saying, Nathan? I was the one that blocked his car in."

Nathan shrugged. "I don't really know. I don't believe in coincidences, I guess."

"Life is full of strange coincidences, Nathan. Did I ever tell you the one about Edwin Booth, the brother of John Wilkes Booth, the man who murdered Abraham Lincoln?"

"I know who John Wilkes Booth is," Nathan said somewhat peevishly.

Josiah continued as though he had not heard Nathan. "How's this for coincidence: Before John killed Lincoln in 1865, his brother Edwin had an encounter with Lincoln's son, Robert Todd Lincoln." Josiah went into full storytelling mode. "You see, Edwin Booth saved Robert from probable death on a train track at a station in New Jersey."

Nathan's mouth started to open.

It's true," Josiah forestalled Nathan's imminent comment by holding up one hand in a 'hold on' gesture.

"The facts are that Lincoln's son was leaning up against a stopped train when he nearly fell onto the tracks as it started up again," Josiah continued. "Edwin grabbed him by the collar and saved him just in time. Young Lincoln recognized his hero and wrote about the incident, but it wasn't until years later that Booth found out just who he had saved. So you see, Lincoln's son needed saving that day, and who was it that happened along in the nick of time, but the brother of the man who would one day kill the father. How's that for coincidence?" Josiah's grey eyes twinkled.

Nathan smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Okay, you win. I truly do hope this man can help Ezra because this whole rushed board was never right to begin with."

"I couldn't agree more," Josiah wrapped up the conversation as just then Vin, Buck, with JD in tow, arrived.

The boys of Team Seven, minus one Ezra Standish, had been at work for only twenty minutes when the undercover agent strolled in early. Standish wore neither a custom-fitted European suit nor finely-made, designer shoes. Since this morning's informant meet was in a seedier part of downtown Denver, thus his attire was of the kind that would blend into his environment. Worn jeans, dirty sneakers, a shirt with a missing button made up the ensemble. Over that, he wore a non-descript, dark-colored windbreaker, unzipped.

Buck, JD, and Vin, who all were in the process of filling mugs with coffee, turned towards the sound of Standish's entrance. Conversation abruptly stopped. A collective gaze rested upon the Southerner. Standish ignored the singular, peculiar expression that seemed to blossom over each man's face before quickly vanishing.

Ezra astutely guessed the reason behind the expression. To his friends, this scene must seem achingly familiar and as though nothing had changed for Team Seven. After all, Ezra was wearing clothes he ordinarily wouldn't be caught dead in, and the only time he arrived at the office early, which is to say, on time, was on a day when he had a planned undercover assignment or an informant meet. Since joining Team Seven, Ezra had conducted hundreds of informant meets so his arrival in this manner was a routine his teammates were used to.

But just as he had that morning, acknowledged to himself that he was not the same, so too had Buck, Vin, and JD, judged Standish by the crestfallen expressions he observed on their faces. He was an agent about to perform part of his job without the necessary verbal skills on which he relied, and he was admittedly, uncharacteristically nervous, despite the low-risk nature of this particular task. Even so, he would be dammed if he would show his that hand to the others. Instead, Ezra forced himself to smile and nod casually at his colleagues as his eyes scanned the room for the one colleague with whom he actually needed to communicate.

He found him.

Nathan Jackson was at his desk with his broad-shouldered back facing away from Ezra. There was little doubt in the Southerner's mind that Jackson had the expertise to provide the information he needed for the subterfuge he and Robert would employ upon the informant for a successful hand off. Standish made a beeline straight to the medic's desk.

He had a job to do and it was time to get to it.

It was nearing 11:00 am when a shadow fell across the desk where Ezra sat working. The undercover agent knew without looking that it was Josiah Sanchez's giant frame come to stand behind him. Ezra did not doubt that it was only a matter of time before the older man would come over and tell him what was on his mind because earlier, Ezra had looked up at nothing in particular, but his gaze happened to lock with Josiah's. Josiah had looked away and Ezra thought nothing more of it until twice more he caught the older man looking at him with an expression that made Ezra wonder. Curious, but patient, the watched one became the watcher until at last, Josiah apparently decided to let Ezra in on what was on the profiler's mind by coming over to speak with him.

Ezra looked up at Josiah and with a wave of his hand, gestured for the profiler to take a seat in the chair next to the desk.

"Thank you, Ezra," Josiah said courteously. "I've got something for you."

Ezra raised an eyebrow in invitation and in return, Josiah handed a business card to him. Intrigued, Ezra took the card and read the name and profession listed. Preston Adams III, attorney at law was not a name Ezra Standish recognized. He concentrated and was rewarded with a clear, only slightly imperfect question. "What this?"

Josiah smiled slightly. "An answer to prayer – I hope." Josiah commenced explaining how he had come to meet the lawyer last night at The Saloon, and the man's expertise in labor law. "I told him I knew a good agent in need of fast representation for an admin board he's being unfairly shoved in front of." The older man's grey eyes held disapproval. "He's interested in your case and since I doubt if you have had even a chance to think about the board, let alone have a lawyer prep you for one, you might consider Adams."

At any other time, Ezra certainly would have relied on his own judgment and research to select his own attorney, should he ever need one. Hell, he'd needed one years ago to fight against all of the bullshit that the Atlanta FBI had put him through. Ezra grimaced at the bitter memory. He had hired what he thought was the best, brightest attorney his money could find in Atlanta and he'd paid the woman thousands of dollars to represent him during the FBI administrative separation proceedings. In the end, she'd done little for him but take his money and he'd left Atlanta with his FBI career destroyed but no false criminal charges being brought against him – no thanks to his lawyer, and in large part due to his own resourcefulness.

Josiah was right. He'd not yet had the time, nor the energy to find an attorney, and like it or not, he needed one. The board was coming up too soon. If good fortune had placed a specialized attorney in Josiah's path, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Ezra reached for the keyboard to ask a final question before making up his mind, but before his hands could descend to the keys, Josiah's hand dropped on his arm to stop Ezra from using the computer.

"Ask me," the big man said gently, a knowing look in his eyes that conveyed that Josiah was a solid wall of trust upon which Ezra could rely.

After his bad experience with the Atlanta lawyer, Ezra desperately wanted to hear Josiah affirm his belief that the attorney he'd just met was indeed a competent one. Ezra tried to visualize the words that composed the question in his mind before attempting to speak, just as he'd practiced over and over. Standish breathed in and slowly exhaled before speaking, "Well, this competent for you working here?" Ezra anxiously studied Josiah's face for any indication that he'd been understood.

Josiah frown lines deepened and his long face looked studious.

Ezra waited while his anxiety levels steadily rose.

"Competent, competent…" Josiah's deep voice repeated softly, puzzling out Ezra's question with that one single word. Suddenly, Josiah's face broke into a wide grin and he placed a meaty paw on Ezra's shoulder. "Yes, Ezra. I do believe Preston Adams is a good attorney." He chuckled low in his throat. "I'm not a gambling man like you, but if I were, I'd place my money on him. Is that what you want to know?"

Ezra's rising anxiety levels plummeted and a small smile graced his face. He nodded his head and successfully answered, "Yes". Ezra paused, then he held up one finger in a 'wait a minute' gesture. "Thank…you."

"You're welcome." Josiah smiled and rose to his feet. "Okay then. I can coordinate a meeting as soon as possible. I'm sure Chris wouldn't mind if he came here and you two can meet in one of the conference rooms." He waited for Ezra's affirmation before strolling back to his desk.

Shortly before lunch, Ezra checked the time. Noting the hour, he began collecting his things. It was time for him to take Agent Robert Norton over to meet with the King Street Boyz informant, Bulldog, at the Koffee Kup, an establishment of dubious cleanliness in the rough part of downtown Denver.

With Nathan's input, Ezra and Robert had smoothly hashed out the details on how they would handle Ezra's communication challenges. It would be folly, Ezra knew, to disclose to the criminal informant that his language skills had been drastically impacted by an injury to his brain since it was uncertain if, and to what degree, he could recover. Even if he never returned to being an undercover agent, but stayed on as an ATF agent in some other capacity, it could prove dangerous to have so obvious a disability mark his true identity to future criminal elements with whom he make come in contact. For a smooth transition, they needed a plausible cover and for once, Ezra Standish had been stumped on how he and Norton could pull it off. That was until Ezra had consulted with Nathan Jackson.

Jackson, with his knowledge of medicine, had come to Ezra's rescue by giving him a plausible, temporary medical reason for why Standish could not speak and thus needed his computer to communicate. Per Nathan's suggestion, Ezra would feign having recently undergone surgery on his thyroid. He would claim that the surgery had been successful, but he'd had some respiratory complications and the breathing tubes used had caused some damage to his vocal cords. One vocal cord had been left temporarily paralyzed.

Nathan, with his strict seriousness and diligence had carefully coached Ezra in how to present with his fictitious infirmity. "Look, Ezra," the medic had instructed, "you have to lose your vocal pitch. Take a lot of breaths whenever you speak and whatever you do, act like you can't speak loudly." When Ezra had indicated his understanding, Nathan leaned forward, "Oh, and one more thing: since you're going to some greasy pit joint for food, you won't even have to fake choking or coughing when you eat or drink anything there," the medic added with a smile.

Standish had thanked Nathan for giving him a plan that would make it easy for him to explain why he would speak little and type much. At day's end, the informant would have no reason to believe that the agent's infirmity was anything else but a temporary inconvenience for which another agent needed to fill in. Subterfuge and technology together would be the tools of choice for the two agents in order to conduct business.

Now that it was time to go, in his heart, Ezra felt confident that he had done all he could to prepare for the meet's success. He also knew, just as every agent did, that even the most mundane criminal element interaction had the potential to go sideways with an untimely introduction of a chance, wildcard element.

Just then, Ezra heard familiar footsteps and voice that brought him out of his musings.

"Ezra."

Standish stood up to see Chris Larabee coming towards him.

Ezra stopped. He squelched his impatience to get things underway and schooled his features into an expression of polite inquiry.

Larabee seemed to catch wind of Ezra's mood. The dark-clad man shook his head. "I ain't gonna ask if you're ready for this. I know you are."

Ezra's glance slid towards his computer. The temptation to type out his response was strong, but he ruthlessly pushed it down. He took a deep breath and concentrated on his words, "Just meet", he answered with an accompanying open gesture of his hands intended to affirm the sense that today's meeting carried relatively low risk.

By Ezra's estimation, the worst that could happen in the actual introduction was that Bulldog take a dislike to Norton and refuse to work with a new ATF contact. On a more personal level, a breakdown in communication would be humiliating. But Ezra could not afford to dwell over much on that point. Obtaining both time and location for how the King Street Boyz would meet the Mendoza Cartel, to hand off the stolen weapons, was crucial. However, in the end, either Bulldog had the information or he did not.

Chris' steely eyes and expression left no room for failure. "We need that information, Ezra. Those weapons can't be allowed to pass into the cartel's hands."

"I schniffle when." Ezra acknowledged. Time to collect Robert Norton. Without bothering to look at Larabee to judge the accuracy of his response, Ezra gathered up the clean laptop, keys to a beater from the motor pool, and cheap jacket under one arm, before giving Larabee a two-fingered salute with the other hand, turning and departing the bullpen.

Chris stared after him. See you later.