* * * * * * * * * *
Author's Notes: First, I want to thank everyone for the wonderful feedback. It was quite a surprise, considering this is my first M7 fic ever. You guys really made my day! I'll do my best to get the rest of the parts posted soon.
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"So, are you enjoying your stay?" the man asked, an ugly sneer on his face.
Chris Larabee glared up at him through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. "Fuck you, Jarvis!" he snarled.
Raymond Jarvis laughed. "You really must work on your social skills, Larabee," he said. "You won't win any points with that kind of attitude."
"I won't need any points when my men get their hands on you," Chris said icily.
Jarvis chuckled smugly. "What makes you think they're even looking for you?"
"I know my men," Chris said simply.
"Ah, but I know something you don't," Jarvis said, wagging his finger at Chris.
"And what would that be?" Chris demanded.
Jarvis looked at him for a moment, debating whether or not he should tell him. He had been enjoying Larabee's defiance, knowing that his men's continued absence must be gnawing at him. Still, the complete loss of hope when he heard the truth, should be well worth it. He broke into a broad grin.
"At this very moment, your men are running around like the proverbial chickens with their heads cut off, looking for your murderers." Jarvis waited for the information to register. At the shocked look on Chris's face, he laughed again. "That's right, Larabee. Your men think you and the hippie over there are dead -- blown up in that wreck of a jeep. Why else do you think I had my boys yank that tooth out of your head?"
Chris grimaced, remembering how the goons had tied him to the table in the outer room and pulled his rearmost right upper molar out with a pair of rubber-coated pliers. He was never going to complain about getting Novocain shots again.
"I even made sure there was a witness. Of course the bodies weren't yours -- just a couple of homeless guys with the right age, build, and blood types."
"You bastard!" Chris snarled.
"Oh, it gets better," Jarvis snickered. "The witness just happened to be your undercover man, Standish. I waited until he got close enough to see your bodies before I blew them up. Though, he never got close enough to see that it wasn't really you. And with the rocket fuel I added to the mix, there won't be anything else left to dispute that it wasn't the two of you in that jeep."
Chris lunged at him but was halted by a kick to his chest, imparted by one of Jarvis's two thugs. He fell backward, the shackles that encircled his wrists clanking on the cement floor.
"I've been keeping an eye on all of your men," Jarvis continued, as if Chris had never moved. "My men have had them under constant surveillance for the past few weeks. It was quite amusing to see the grief-stricken looks on their faces after your 'deaths'. All except Standish, that is." Jarvis shook his head in puzzlement. "We lost track of him right after the explosion last Saturday. He's a slippery son of a bitch, isn't he?" he said with a chuckle. "Of course, it's not surprising that he disappeared, considering the way the rest of your boys laid into him."
Jarvis walked over to where Vin lay motionless on the floor. Nudging him with his foot, he continued his monologue. "You see, the rest of your 'magnificent ones' blame Standish for what happened to you. Wilmington beat the crap out of him when he arrived at the scene. It was rather entertaining, I must say."
He paused and looked Chris in the eye. "I have to leave for a few days to attend to some business. When I return on Monday, we'll conclude our little game. I'll let you think about the many ways that I might kill you. Oh, and in case you get any ideas about trying to leave this party early, Walter here has a small parting gift for you."
The large man to his right smiled evilly as he drew out a large handgun. Aiming carefully, he fired first at Vin and then at Chris, hitting each man in the thigh. "That should slow 'em down, Mr. Jarvis," Walter said with a laugh.
"I'm not completely heartless," Jarvis said, tossing them several packages of Twinkies and Ring-Dings. "I wouldn't want you to expire from hunger before I return."
Chris shot him the most evil glare he could manage.
As Jarvis left the room, he tossed over his shoulder, "There will be no cavalry coming to the rescue this time, Larabee."
Chris rolled on the floor, reaching for his wounded leg as best he could with his hands cuffed behind his back, finally giving up the futile effort. He clumsily tore a strip off the bottom of his shirt and, with much difficulty and cursing, crawled to Vin's side and tied it around the bullet wound in the other man's leg. His own wound would have to wait. It worried him greatly that Vin had not even reacted when he had been shot. Chris placed a hand on his friend's forehead then leaned against the wall helplessly. The news that Jarvis had imparted dashed any hopes he had of being rescued, leaving it up to them to escape on their own. Considering their current physical conditions, it was a daunting prospect.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was late afternoon when Ezra finally awoke. Sleepily, he turned over, then sucked in a breath as a bolt of pain shot through his back. "Damn." He was long overdue for one of his pain pills and his body was making sure he knew about it. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Ezra carefully pushed himself upright and eased off of the bed to his feet, making his way toward his luggage and the pain relief that resided within.
After a shower, Ezra felt somewhat refreshed and decided to visit the small cafe on the ground floor of the hotel. He hadn't eaten in more than twenty-four hours and, though he wasn't particularly hungry, he decided he should comply with at least one of the doctor's orders. The painkillers had begun to kick in, and Ezra was able to dress quickly, donning a faded pair of jeans and a soft cotton sweater.
As he sat sipping his cup of coffee, Ezra unfolded the newspaper he had picked up in the gift shop, freezing when he saw the pictures on the bottom half of the front page. Slowly, he lowered his mug to the table and stared at the images of his two late associates. The bombing was apparently still front-page news and Ezra forced himself to read the accompanying article despite his churning emotions.
The police had made little progress on the case and Ezra knew the frustration had to be weighing heavily upon his teammates, almost as heavily as the guilt that weighed upon his own head. He could almost picture them, hard at work and foregoing food and sleep in their pursuit of the perpetrators of this heinous crime against two of their own. His expression hardened and Ezra decided that it was time for him to join the pursuit in his own fashion. He had a few resources that not even the others knew about and figured it was time to call in a few favors.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Dammit!" Buck shouted, launching his fist at the wall. The plaster gave way under the blow, leaving a gaping hole in the wall once he removed his bloody hand.
"Shit, Buck!" Nathan said as he hurried toward his injured friend. "That ain't helping anything."
"I know," Buck said, blowing out a frustrated breath. "I really thought we had the right guy."
"So did we, brother." Josiah squeezed the other man's shoulder comfortingly. "But he has an airtight alibi."
They had spent hours that day interrogating Harold Stiles, the suspect they had apprehended the night before, until his lawyer had arrived, complete with alibi. They had been forced to release him and had even been threatened with false arrest and brutality charges.
"We're back to square one, and we've wasted all damn day on a dead end," Buck said angrily while Nathan dabbed antiseptic on his knuckles.
"We'll get 'em, Buck," JD said encouragingly. "We have to."
"Yes, you will. But not like that," the humorless voice of AD Travis said from across the bullpen. "You boys are just lucky that we could get Stiles on parole violations, otherwise we could be facing one hell of a lawsuit." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I want the bastards who did this just as much as you do, but we have to do it by the book. You wouldn't want to catch up with them and then have to let them go due to a technicality, would you?"
"No sir," JD said.
"Putting your fist through the wall isn't going to help much either, Agent Wilmington," Travis said pointedly.
Buck looked up at the Assistant Director sheepishly. "Sorry sir. I guess I got carried away."
Travis studied the men before him. All of them had dark circles under their eyes and looked as though they hadn't slept or had a decent meal in days -- which they probably hadn't. He admired their determination, but even strong men like these had their limits.
"I want you boys to go home and get some rest. Get a decent meal while you're at it, too." He halted their protests with a raised hand. "You aren't going to do any good if you get sloppy and can't think straight. Don't forget, you still might be targets yourselves." He looked each of them in the eye intently. "I'd hate to lose any of you because you're simply too tired to watch your backs."
"He's right, guys," Nathan agreed. "We're running on fumes right now, and I, for one, really need to recharge."
The others nodded reluctantly in agreement.
Travis smiled. "I don't want to see any of you in here until tomorrow morning... *late*, tomorrow morning."
"That won't be a problem, sir," JD said. "I'm so tired I could sleep for a week."
"Good." Travis turned to leave.
"Sir," Josiah called after him. "Is there any word on Ezra?"
Travis looked down at his hands before turning to reply. "He was seen in the building at 2:00 AM. He left his badge and gun on my desk."
Nathan snorted derisively. "I always knew that southern bastard would run out on us again."
"The man don't care about anyone but himself," Buck muttered angrily.
Josiah shook his head sadly. He had hoped the cocky undercover agent would have returned by now, but it seemed unlikely now that he had turned in his badge and gun. He had watched the young man closely during his tenure with the team and had come to realize that the cool exterior that he presented the world protected a fragile soul that had been hurt before. Running away was simply his way of protecting himself from another painful confrontation. Josiah knew, too, that their treatment of him after the explosion hadn't helped matters any. He was still angry with the younger man, but finding the murderers was more important than placing blame, for the time being.
"I've still got people looking for him," Travis stated. "I'll let you know if I hear anything." He turned again to leave. "Oh, and if he happens to contact any of you, make sure you tell him that I want to see him... and that the funeral is on Saturday."
"We will," JD answered solemnly.
Nathan looked around the other three men, who were all staring silently at each other. "You guys want to go get some dinner?"
"Yeah, I'm starved," JD replied.
"Mario's?" Buck suggested. "I could really go for some veal Parmesan right now."
"Sounds good to me," Josiah agreed.
"Let's go," Nathan said as he pushed himself off the edge of Buck's desk. The four men gathered their coats and headed for the elevator.
* * * * * * * * * *
As he sat shivering in the damp room, Chris recalled what had happened after they left the Saloon that fateful evening.
He and Vin were beyond drunk. They sat, unmoving, at the table while Ezra and Nathan half-carried their companions to Nathan's car. When he realized that Ezra was going to drive them home, Vin had grinned mischievously and whispered his plan to Chris. The moment Ezra disappeared into the bathroom, the two of them lurched their way outside, planning to hide behind the dapper man's Jaguar and jump him while he was searching frantically for them. It was a really lame joke, Chris realized once he was sober, but in their drunken state, they had found it hilarious.
Everything had gone wrong, though, the moment they stepped out the door. Strong hands had grabbed them, pressing sweet-smelling cloths over their faces. After that, they were apparently stuffed into a vehicle and driven to this miserable place. Jarvis had been there, a self-satisfied grin on his face, when they had awakened in chains. Chris hadn't recognized him at first, a fact that had irritated Jarvis to no end. The man had finally identified himself, and Chris realized then that they were in very big trouble.
Raymond Jarvis was the older brother of a man Chris had arrested when he was still a rookie with the Police Department, before being partnered with Buck. Reginald Jarvis had been convicted on multiple rape and murder charges. Some of his victims had been children, a fact that earned him a great deal of animosity in prison. Even the most hardened criminals took a dim view of those who molested children, and eventually, Reginald Jarvis's crimes caught up with him. He was dead, killed in a fight in the cafeteria by a fellow inmate who had himself been a victim of child molestation.
Chris remembered Raymond Jarvis from his brother's trial. The man had insisted that his brother was innocent, and had sent more than one threatening glance in Chris's direction during the trial. Reginald's death had occurred more than five years ago, and Chris had long since forgotten Raymond Jarvis... until now. His actions thus far surprised Chris, because his initial impression of Raymond had been that of a wealthy, upstanding businessman. The man owned a very successful textiles business and spent most of his time overseas, and, despite the animosity he had shown at the trial, Chris had not envisioned the vengeful tyrant he appeared to have become.
Jarvis had made great sport of having his hired goons beat on Vin while forcing Chris to watch helplessly. That hadn't been enough to satisfy him, though, and his thugs had spent a great deal of time practicing their art on Chris as well. He and Vin both were suffering from cracked ribs and bruises, and were growing weaker due to lack of food and exposure in the unheated room where they were imprisoned. Jarvis had only fed them once, two days ago, and that meal had been meager at best.
Vin began to stir, rousing Chris from his reverie. "Vin? Can you hear me?"
In response, Vin groaned and tried to roll to his side. "Chris?"
"Don't try to move," Chris warned.
"Damn, my head hurts," Vin complained.
"Yeah, he walloped you good," Chris said with a slight chuckle.
Vin opened his eyes and met Chris' concerned gaze. "Ya look like hell, cowboy," he said hoarsely.
Chris smirked at him. "You ain't lookin' so hot yourself."
Vin gave him a pained smile, his perceptive eyes coming to rest on the large patch of blood soaking through his friend's jeans. "What happened?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
"Jarvis is going away for a few days and he didn't want us getting any ideas," Chris answered coldly. "You have a matching hole in your own leg, in case you haven't noticed." Chris nodded toward Vin's bandage.
"Aw hell. Like stealing our shoes wasn't bad enough," Vin moaned. "I'm really starting to hate that son of a bitch."
"Yeah, well, that's not the worst of it..." Chris related what Jarvis had told him about the rest of their team.
"Shit!" Vin said heatedly. "If I ever get my hands on him..."
"You'll have to get in line behind me," Chris said in a voice that promised retribution.
"We have to get out of here."
"Yeah," Chris agreed. "Any ideas?"
"One," Vin replied, flashing him a mischievous smile. "Help me get my belt off."
Chris raised an eyebrow curiously, but did as he was asked. It took a few minutes to remove the heavy leather belt, since his hands were cuffed behind his back, as were Vin's. He handed it to Vin, who had managed to raise himself to a seated position, leaning against the wall. "What now?"
"Gimme a minute," he said, concentrating on his task. A triumphant smile crossed his face and Vin then rolled to the side to show Chris what he had retrieved from the hidden pocket in his belt.
"Lockpick?" Chris said appreciatively, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. "You know what to do with that?"
"'Course," Vin said as he began working on the heavy cuffs on his wrists.
Chris snorted. "You've been spending too much time with Ezra."
"Hey, I knew how to pick locks long 'fore I met Ezra," Vin said with mock indignation. "He's just helpin' me to 'hone mah skills'."
Chris chuckled at Vin's impression of the cocky southerner. "So why didn't you use your *skills* earlier?"
"Hell, Chris. There was always at least one of 'em out there all the time. Even if I let us loose, they woulda been on us 'fore we got too far."
"Good point," Chris agreed.
With a grunt, Vin released one of his wrists and slowly brought his arms around to the front. "Damn that feels good." He shook his arms out for a moment then moved behind Chris and began working on his shackles. Within minutes, Chris was free and stretching his arms carefully.
"Are you going to get that other one off?" Chris pointed to the shackle that still encircled Vin's right wrist.
"Nah, I can't do it left-handed," he said with a sheepish shrug. "I can get it off later, once we're outta this hell hole."
"Here," Chris tossed him some of the junk food Jarvis had left. "Jarvis was being 'generous'."
"Great, I'm starved," Vin said as he tore into the packages.
"It's a 'poor excuse for sustenance', as Ezra would say," Chris grumbled as he bit into the sugary cakes. "I'd much rather have a big, juicy steak."
"Shut up, Chris," Vin complained. "You're just makin' me hungrier."
"Yeah, well, dinner's on me when we get back home."
"You're on," Vin agreed. "So what're we waiting for?"
Anxious to leave himself, Chris nodded in agreement. "Any ideas on how we're going to get out of here?"
"I've been thinkin' on it, an' I only see one option." He grimaced and looked Chris in the eye. "You ain't gonna like it -- hell, I don't even like it."
"What?" Chris demanded.
Vin gave him an apologetic look and pointed upward.
Chris looked to where he indicated and snorted incredulously. "You've got to be kidding."
Vin lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "I'm open to suggestions, cowboy."
Chris sighed and scanned the room hopefully. It was small, about ten foot square, with no windows and four walls of solid concrete, interrupted only by the entry door, which was locked from the outside, and the door to the tiny, windowless bathroom that was attached to it. He looked up once again and groaned at the thought of trying to squeeze their way out through the ventilation ducts. The opening appeared large enough, but it was going to be exceedingly painful to utilize it with cracked ribs and bullet wounds.
"You want to go first?" Chris asked.
"Be easier for you to boost me up, seein's how I'm lighter than you," Vin reasoned. "Gotta get that cover off first, though."
Chris pursed his lips in thought then reluctantly agreed. "Why don't you get up on my shoulders?"
"'Kay."
Chris lowered himself gingerly to one knee, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs and leg. Moving stiffly, Vin eased his way onto Chris's shoulders. Taking a deep breath, Chris slowly stood, allowing Vin to reach the ventilation grille. "Ya might wanna hurry, Vin," Chris urged, breathing shallowly.
"Almost got it," Vin said, working the screws furiously with the flat end of his lockpick. "Watch your head," he said as the grille dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter.
Chris grunted as the weight on his shoulders shifted and then blessedly disappeared. He raised his head in time to see Vin's legs disappearing into the narrow hole. There was some noisy shuffling as Vin inched his way backward in the shaft, and finally his head and arms appeared in the opening.
"Care to join me, cowboy?" Vin grinned down at his scowling friend.
"You sure you can pull me up?" Chris asked doubtfully.
"Got no choice," he said firmly. "Don't know if I can get the door open on the other side, and I sure as hell ain't leaving you here." He reached both of his arms down, grasping his blond friend's forearms tightly.
Chris reciprocated the gesture, feeling the trembling of Vin's muscles as he slowly hauled him upward. When he was close enough, he gripped the edge of the opening and pulled himself into the dark shaft. With a powerful and painful lunge, Chris drew his legs the rest of the way into the passage and inched his way forward to allow Vin some room to move.
"Y'okay up there, Chris?" Vin asked.
"Ow."
Vin chortled. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Vin?"
"Yeah?"
"Let's not do this again."
"Ya get no argument from me," Vin answered. "How's about we get out of here now?" He hated enclosed spaces, and this was about as enclosed as it got.
Chris didn't reply, but began crawling along the dusty ductwork as quickly as he could, knowing Vin's phobia of small spaces. Progress was slow, though, since there wasn't much room to move and they were forced to rely on the smaller movements of their hands and feet to propel themselves forward.
Vin sneezed at the dust being stirred up in Chris' wake. "Shit, I feel like a goddamn snake slitherin' through the dirt," Vin muttered, then sneezed again violently.
"Cheer up, we're almost out." Then, with obvious mirth in his voice, "I see light at the end of the tunnel."
Vin groaned. "Fuckin' smartass. Thinks he's a comedian," he grumbled sarcastically. Chris's forward progress halted abruptly and Vin suddenly found his nose pressed against the bottom of his foot. "Damn, Larabee. Ya gotta change your socks more often."
"You ain't exactly Mr. Sunshine Fresh yourself," Chris retorted.
"What'cha doin' up there, anyway?" Vin groused. "Ain't no time to be taking a nap."
"I have to get these screws out," Chris said with a grunt. "Not easy doing it from this side."
Vin mumbled a reply and laid his head on his outstretched arms while he waited. A few minutes later, a clanging noise announced Chris's success and he wasted no time in continuing forward. Vin followed, stopping when his fingers encountered open space. He waited with barely-concealed impatience as his lanky friend squirmed his way quickly through the hole, landing with a muffled thump on the floor below.
"All yours, Vin," Chris called in a pained voice. "Watch that first step, though. It's a doozy."
Peering through the rectangular hole, Vin grimaced at the sight of his friend sprawled on the floor, clutching his injured leg. "Y'best move 'fore I land on you."
Chris rolled out of the way and Vin quickly wriggled his way out of the ductwork, landing in a heap next to him.
* * * * * * * * * *
While he waited for his laptop computer to start up, Ezra picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Mr. Morrison? It's Ezra Standish."
"Ezra! How good to hear from you," the other man returned his greeting amiably. "How is that lovely mother of yours?"
"Maude is... Maude, as you well know," Ezra replied noncommittally.
"Yes, I remember," Morrison said with a laugh. "So what have you been doing with yourself? I heard you transferred to the ATF?"
"Bruce, I wish this were a social call," Ezra said with a sigh. "... but I really need some information."
"Ah yes, the unpleasant incident with your fellow agents, I assume?" Bruce asked. "I read about it in the paper. I didn't know you were close to them."
"I'm afraid so. No one has made any progress in locating the miscreants who perpetrated this atrocity, and I was hoping you might ask a few discreet questions."
"For you, my friend, I'll do this," Bruce said sincerely.
"You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important," Ezra explained.
"Yes, I know," Bruce answered with a chuckle. "I'm glad you called me. I would do the same if someone had done this to my friends."
"I believe you would do much worse," Ezra said slyly.
Bruce laughed. "You know me too well, especially for a federal agent." Then, on a more serious note, "I will do what I can."
"Call my cell phone," Ezra replied, reciting the number. "Again, I thank you for your assistance."
"You take care, my friend."
Ezra clicked off his phone, feeling a small ember of hope sparking in his weary soul. Bruce Morrison, a.k.a. Bruno Morelli, had dated his mother years earlier. He was one of a very few of Maude's paramours that he had actually liked, especially after Bruce had revealed his real name upon discovering that Ezra was an FBI agent. His father was Pasquale Morelli, a noted member of a New York organized crime family, and Bruce had not wanted Ezra to get into any trouble via association with him.
Bruce had changed his name and moved to California, determined to make his own way in the legitimate business world. His father had given him his blessing, since he had three other sons to take up the 'family business', and though he was no longer a part of that world, Bruce remained under their protection. Maude's relationship with the man hadn't lasted very long, but Ezra had kept in touch, admiring Bruce's determination to have his own life.
Bruce had occasionally called him with information regarding other crime family activities, though never his own. They were still his relatives after all. Ezra had only requested his help once, when his cover had been blown on an important assignment and the FBI had accused him of blowing the bust on purpose. Bruce's information had saved his career... that time. Now, though, Ezra hoped that he might be able to get a lead on this case. Bruce still knew who all the players were, and if there was any information to be had, he would have a better chance of finding it than anyone else Ezra knew.
* * * * * * * * * *
Vin scanned the room in which they had landed. "Didn't leave us much, did they?"
Chris looked around, finding nothing but empty beer cans and food wrappers. The room was as barren as their former prison. "Damn! I was hoping they might have left some food. I'm hungry enough to consider eating more of that plastic-wrapped shit you like so much."
"Hey!" Vin said, pretending to be insulted. "That stuff hasn't hurt me none."
Chris grinned at him and painfully crawled to his feet. "Give it time."
Still grumbling, Vin pushed himself up, balancing carefully on his uninjured leg. "A first aid kit would be nice right now."
"Sit down," Chris gestured to the three metal folding chairs that sat next to a folded card table that was leaning against the wall. "Drop your pants first."
Vin smirked at him. "Hell, I don't like ya that much."
Chris swatted him in the arm. "Shut up and park it, cowboy."
Vin stuck out his tongue at Chris, but did as he was directed. Chris pulled one of the other chairs closer and sat down, inspecting the new hole in Vin's leg. The wound was still bleeding and Vin grimaced as he pressed the bandage against it. Chris stood and went to the sink that was located on one side of the room. He washed out an empty plastic cup and filled it with water, then returned to Vin's side. He cleaned the injury as best he could, then checked for an exit wound.
"Damn, would you look at that!" Chris exclaimed.
"What?" Vin asked, craning his head for a look.
"That." Chris pointed to the side of Vin's thigh, where a small rounded piece of metal protruded from his skin.
"That what I think it is?"
"Yep," Chris replied. "The bullet almost went all the way through."
"Ain't never seen that before," Vin commented.
"Me neither."
"Ya just gonna look at it?" Vin growled impatiently.
"Nope." Chris reached down and grabbed the bullet firmly with his fingers, yanking it the rest of the way out of Vin's leg.
"Ow!"
"Sorry," Chris said sympathetically, tossing the bullet aside as he put the makeshift bandage back in place.
"Okay, cowboy. Your turn." Vin stood slowly and pulled his pants back on.
Chris glared at him, but complied silently.
Vin checked over the wound, cleaning it as Chris had done for his. "Bad news, Chris. The bullet's still in there."
"I figured as much," Chris said with a sigh.
"Ain't much we can do about it now," Vin said. "We'd best get the hell outta here, 'case they decide to come back early."
Chris limped toward the window by the front door. "It's almost dark. You up for this?"
"Hell yeah!" Vin hobbled over to join him, eagerly pushing his way out the door.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ezra rubbed his tired eyes, staring at the information that scrolled across the screen of his laptop computer. It was just past midnight on Wednesday -- Thursday morning now. After speaking with his friend Bruce, he had hacked into the ATF computer system to find out what information the rest of his team had gathered, unsurprised at finding that his teammates were offline at this time of night. He discovered, though, that they had been very busy, and it was taking him some time to sort through the large volume of information. Their investigations had been very thorough, but most of the leads they had turned up had not amounted to anything. "They must be exceedingly frustrated," he muttered to himself. Ezra hoped he would have better luck.
His cell phone rang, startling him momentarily. Hoping that it was Bruce, he picked up the phone and answered. "Standish."
"Ezra?" Josiah's voice came over the line.
Ezra cursed himself inwardly for not checking the calling number before answering. He didn't want to speak with any of his teammates right now. With a sigh, he said, "Yes, Mr. Sanchez."
"Where are you, son?" Josiah said evenly, surprised that he had reached the other man.
"Somewhere else," Ezra replied quietly.
"You've had us all worried."
"I highly doubt that," Ezra said with a sarcastic snort.
"Look, Ezra, I know this is difficult for you -- hell, it's been difficult for all of us," Josiah reasoned. "Running away isn't going to make it better."
"At least I don't have any more fists aiming for my face," Ezra said bitterly.
"I know how you feel, brother," Josiah said soothingly, hoping to placate the undercover agent. "We all do..."
"No!" Ezra interrupted hotly. "You *don't* know. You haven't the slightest idea how I feel. You weren't there. You didn't see them..." Ezra trailed off, unable to continue.
"Ezra..." Josiah intoned softly.
"I'm sorry, Josiah," said Ezra as he ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I have to go now."
He clicked off the phone, unsurprised when it rang again momentarily. It was Josiah's number, so he ignored it and went back to his computer. He was more determined than ever to solve this case. If he could bring the person responsible for Chris and Vin's deaths to justice, the others might just find it in their hearts to forgive him. It was the only thing that was keeping him going.
* * * * * * * * * *
Josiah hung up the phone with a sigh. After his calls had gone unanswered for an hour, he realized that Ezra was not going to talk to him anymore -- not yet, anyway. His anger with the younger man had abated somewhat the instant he heard the degree of anguish in his voice. Ezra was hurting, maybe even more than the rest of them. Josiah could tell from the tone of his voice that the missing agent was blaming himself for the tragedy.
He and the others at least had each other for support during this difficult time. Ezra had nobody, and Josiah was afraid that the aloof undercover agent wasn't dealing with situation, pushing it aside as he usually did with such feelings. With his continued isolation from the rest of the team, there was a real danger that he would have an emotional breakdown and there would be no one there to help him. Josiah shook his head sadly. It was bad enough that they had already lost two members of the team; now they were at risk of losing another. "Hell of a week," Josiah muttered to himself.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Hold up, Chris," Vin said breathlessly. "I gotta rest for a minute."
Chris nodded, trying to catch his own breath. Upon exiting the structure in which they had been held captive, he and Vin had discovered that they were perched high on the side of a mountain. The air was thin and frigid, and in the fading daylight, Vin had seen the gathering clouds that signified an approaching storm. They had decided to make as much progress as possible before the storm hit, picking their way slowly along the dirt road that was cut into the dense forest on the side of the mountain.
It had started to snow an hour after they left, slowing their progress substantially. Jarvis had taken their shoes and their coats, so they had little protection against the rough ground or the weather. Now, wet and shivering, they plodded their way along the edge of the forest in the dark, stumbling frequently and aggravating their already-painful injuries.
"How much longer do you think it'll take us to get to the bottom?" Chris asked hoarsely.
"Don't know," Vin answered. "Hard to tell at night."
"Damn, I can't wait to get out of this shit and into a nice warm bed," Chris complained.
"Me too," Vin agreed. "Just don't tell Ez. It'll ruin my image."
Chris chuckled. "Don't worry."
Vin sighed and pushed himself away from the tree upon which he had been leaning. "We'd better keep moving before we freeze our asses off."
"Lead on." The two tired men leaned against each other as they limped along the road, hoping this ordeal would end soon.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was 10:00 AM when Josiah entered the bullpen. The others were already there, hard at work their desks. "Good morning, brothers," Josiah greeted them. "You all look rested."
"Wish I could say the same for you," Nathan said, indicating the dark circles under his big friend's eyes.
Josiah sighed. "I'm afraid my thoughts would not allow me much sleep." He looked up at all of the others. "I spoke with Brother Ezra last night."
"What? Where is he?" JD asked.
"I don't know," Josiah replied. "I called his cell phone. Frankly, I'm surprised he answered."
"Is he going to get his ass back here?" Buck asked frostily.
"I don't think so... not yet, anyhow," Josiah answered. "He's not doing well with all of this."
"And we are?" Nathan asked sarcastically.
"No," Josiah said sadly. "But I think we're dealing with it much better than he is. I'm worried about him."
Buck snorted and shook his head. "I'm not."
"Did you tell him about the funeral?" asked JD.
"No, I didn't get the chance," Josiah replied softly. "He got upset and hung up on me."
"Well, I hope he comes back in time for it," JD said. "It would really suck if he didn't show up to pay his respects."
"I know, son," Josiah said reassuringly.
The ringing of Nathan's phone interrupted their discussion. Nathan answered and spoke a few words before hanging up. With a grim look on his face, he turned to the others, who were watching him with trepidation. "The results of the dental records check came back." He paused and took a breath. "It's Chris's tooth. The match was definite."
"They sure?" JD asked hesitantly.
Nathan sighed. "Yeah. Chris had a filling replaced in that tooth last year. That, along with a very distinctive chip on one side, gave them a positive match."
Though they knew in their hearts that their friends were dead, having the evidence confirm it made it seemed far more final. JD turned away, tears stinging his eyes as his gaze fell upon the closed door to Chris's office. Buck watched him, fighting his own tears. Josiah squeezed Nathan's shoulder in support, then squared his shoulders to face the day ahead.
"Well, brothers," Josiah began. "We still have plenty of work to do."
The others nodded and gradually collected themselves, settling down to work in earnest.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ezra awoke suddenly to the sound of his cell phone chirping merrily. Yawning, he pushed his head up from the table and checked the number, wincing at the renewed pain in his back. He answered, as it was an unfamiliar number. Bruce always called him from a pay phone so his own number could not be traced to Ezra in any way. "Standish."
"Ezra? It's Bruce."
"That was quick," Ezra commented, noticing that it was only 11:30 AM. "I didn't expect to hear anything for another day or two."
"Yes, well it appears that I got lucky," Bruce said with a chuckle.
"What have you got?"
"I contacted a friend of the family in the Denver area and he remembered an incident that occurred about two months ago. One of his associates was looking to purchase some explosives -- I didn't ask why, of course -- and his usual supplier made him wait several extra days because someone had bought out his entire stock. The associate was quite put out, and 'requested' the name of the purchaser, in case it was a competitor." Bruce paused. "He was a bit nervous since the man had purchased enough to take out an entire building."
"Or turn a jeep into metal filings." Knowing how persuasive members of Bruce's family could be, Ezra said wryly, "I assume he got his answer."
"Does the name Jarvis ring any bells?"
"Not yet," Ezra replied thoughtfully. "Is there a first name?"
"The man never gave one to the supplier," Bruce replied. "The other buyer didn't recognize it either, so he didn't pursue it and waited, impatiently, for his delivery." Bruce chuckled. "Family members don't like it when they don't get their way."
"I can imagine," Ezra chuckled.
"I hope this helps," Bruce said sincerely. "I'll let you know if I find anything else."
"Thank you, my friend," Ezra said earnestly. "I truly appreciate it."
"That's what friends are for," Bruce replied before he ended the call.
"I wouldn't know," Ezra said softly to himself as he listened to the rain pattering on the window. Though he could count Bruce as a friend, he was still someone with whom Ezra couldn't openly associate, due to his notorious genealogy. All the others he had ever entrusted with friendship had eventually turned on him at some point, despite their proclamations of loyalty. He had begun to think that things might just be different this time, that his teammates might actually *want* to associate with him. Before this tragedy, they had certainly behaved differently than to what he was accustomed.
When he had awakened in the hospital after having been shot during a bust three months earlier, he was stunned to find all of them in his hospital room, keeping vigil over him, even though they had only known him for two months. The only time that had ever happened in the past was when his fellow FBI agents were waiting for him to wake up so that they could get a statement, usually to determine how much of a reprimand to give him. The blame for any injuries or mishaps always seemed to land back in his own lap, no matter what had actually happened. Ezra had expected the same of his new teammates, but had been shocked into speechlessness when all they had shown him was concern. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did, leaving him with an unfamiliar, warm feeling inside. It also confused the hell out of him.
Until he joined Larabee's team, no one had ever shown up to visit him out of concern, not even his mother. Ezra snorted disgustedly. Maude never visited unless she wanted something from him. She was too ashamed of his 'pathetic little government job'. He could be on his deathbed and his mother would find some excuse to stay away. She might show up just to find out where he kept all of his money, but she would be disappointed in that, Ezra thought with a wicked grin. He had made sure that his will was ironclad. No money would make its way into her grasping fingers. Instead, he left her all of his commendations, just to show her that he had been a success at his chosen profession, despite her embarrassment at his career choices.
Ezra sighed and shook his head to chase away the gloomy thoughts. He knew where he stood now. What he had thought was friendship was, again, just a pretense. They were good, he had to admit. Almost as good as he was himself. Maybe even better. He had, after all, begun to fall for it. "Another lesson learned," he said quietly to himself as he reached for his painkillers.
* * * * * * * * * *
Something wet landed on his face, landing with a cold splat. Vin brushed the offending matter off of his nose and opened his eyes. It was daytime, but the clouds still hung heavy and gray in the sky, the snow falling more heavily than it had during the night. He and Chris had finally succumbed to their exhaustion and had taken shelter in the woods next to a large overhanging rock. They had covered themselves with branches and leaves, but their clothes were soaked through and the shelter had done little to warm them.
"Chris?" Vin called hoarsely, nudging his friend, who lay next to him.
"Mmph," Chris mumbled, snuggling closer to him as he searched for more warmth.
"Come on, pard," Vin said, shaking his shoulder.
"What?" Chris asked blearily.
"We gotta get going," Vin urged.
Chris rolled over, blinking at him sluggishly. "Oh, right," he muttered.
Vin frowned, noticing the glassy-eyed look Chris had given him. He placed his hand on his friend's forehead. "Damn," he cursed. Chris was burning up.
"What?" Chris asked, detecting the note of concern in Vin's face.
"You got a fever," Vin stated grimly.
"So do you," Chris said, pointing at Vin's flushed cheeks and brighter-than-usual gaze.
Vin was about to argue, but then realized that he was experiencing the same fuzzy, disconnected feeling that usually came with a fever. "All the more reason to get our asses back to civilization."
Chris grinned at him. "I should have taken a bet with Ezra. Never thought there would ever be a time that you'd be sick of the wilderness."
"Fuck you, Larabee," Vin grumbled. "Help me up."
The two men struggled to their feet, which were now numb with the cold, and staggered back to the edge of the road. They didn't dare walk in the middle for fear of leaving footprints that would alert Jarvis to their escape, so they instead trudged through the woods along the rough edge of the road, keeping the smooth pathway in sight. It wouldn't do to get lost in the trees in this weather.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ezra logged into the ATF computer system again, noticing immediately that his teammates were all online. Hoping that he wouldn't be detected right away, he began scanning the data they had compiled, looking for the name 'Jarvis'. He found it in one of the earliest files, one that contained a list of possible suspects that had been later whittled down. The others had apparently discounted this one for some reason. Ezra pondered on it for a moment before deciding that a direct route would be best in this case. Speed was more important than his pride. Or his fear. He still wasn't ready to speak with them, so instead, he quickly composed an email.
* * * * * * * * * *
"What the hell!" JD yelled, breaking the silence of the room. "Ezra's online!"
"What?!" Buck said incredulously. "What's he doing?"
"I'm not sure," JD answered as he typed frantically. "I just noticed that his account was active."
"Well, shut him off!" Buck demanded hotly.
"No, wait," Josiah interceded. "Maybe he's trying to help."
"Don't want *his* help," Buck growled.
"No, Buck," Nathan said slowly. "As much as I hate to admit it, we need all the help we can get."
"He *does* have a different way of looking at things," JD admitted. "I'd rather find out who killed Chris and Vin and worry about kicking his ass later."
"He's no slouch on the computer, either," Josiah added. "He has to know that we would notice his account being active eventually. If he's willing to risk pissing us off even further, his perspective on the situation might just be worth it."
Buck looked up at the others and finally nodded in defeat. "I ain't talkin' to him, though," he said stubbornly.
A beep sounded from JD's workstation, and he abruptly turned his attention back to his screen. "Hey, he sent me an email." JD opened the email and quickly scanned it as the others crowded around him.
'Mr. Dunne,Can you illuminate me as to why the name "Jarvis" was eliminated from your list of suspects in the file PD.doc?Ezra P. Standish'"Jarvis?" JD said, scratching his head curiously. "I don't remember that one."
"I think I do," Buck said as he returned to his desk and scanned through some of his faxes. "Here it is: Reginald Jarvis, died in prison."
"Wonder why he's askin' about him," JD said as he composed a reply. He sent the email off, then waited for a further response from Ezra. He didn't have to wait too long. Five minutes later, another email arrived.
'Mr. Dunne,I have received information from a very reliable source indicating that a man by the name of Jarvis purchased a substantial quantity of plastic explosives approximately two months ago. Might this deceased miscreant have a vengeful relation?Ezra P. Standish'"Angry relative?" Nathan asked.
"It's possible," Josiah agreed. "That was to be my next step once we eliminated all of the direct threats."
"I'll check it out," Buck said as he picked up the phone. After speaking for a few minutes, he hung up the phone with a sigh. "Hawthorne said he'd get back to me. Their computers are down, so it may take awhile."
"I'll let Ezra know," JD said.
"What do you think of this lead, Josiah?" Nathan asked.
"I don't know," the big man replied. "Ezra does have some unusual sources. He's come through for us in the past."
"I ain't gonna forgive him just 'cause he knows more lowlifes than the rest of us," Nathan grumbled.
"Neither am I," Josiah said. "But I am glad to see that he's doing his part. It's something, at least."
Nathan shrugged and went back to his desk. They still had other information to follow up, and he wasn't about to put all his money on a lead that came from Ezra Standish.
* * * * * * * * * *
Tapping his fingers nervously on the table, Ezra waited, hoping that JD had been able to get more information. Finally, a beep indicated a new message, and he quickly opened it up.
Ezra,We don't know about any relatives yet. Lt. Hawthorne at the PD is checking, but it might take a while, since their computers are down. Thanks for the info.JDp.s. AD Travis wants to see you ASAP (he's really pissed), and he said to tell you that the funeral is on Saturday.Ezra sighed. It couldn't be easy, could it. As for JD's postscript, Ezra already knew that Travis wanted to see him; he had made it plain enough in his phone message. But there was no way he was going to face the man until the murderers had been apprehended. Maybe not even then. He was trying not to think beyond the present, since his future was just too depressing to contemplate at the moment. Ezra figured he had enough on his plate already and didn't want to lose his focus. His future, if he indeed had any, would have to wait.
Since the police department was going to be delayed in providing information, Ezra decided to do some more searching on his own. He checked the time and discovered that it was past noon, and though he still wasn't hungry, he decided to go get a light lunch, since the painkillers tended to make him nauseous when he took them on an empty stomach. The work would still be waiting for him upon his return.
* * * * * * * * * *
"I c-can't f-f-feel my legs," Chris mumbled, teeth chattering violently.
"Me n-neither," Vin replied, his breath clouding the air in front of his face.
"'m tired," Chris said, slowing his pace.
"Gotta k-keep goin', c-cowboy." Vin urged his friend forward, though he, too, wanted nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep. He had lost track of the hours as they had tramped through the falling snow, which had since given way to sleet and icy rain as the altitude decreased. Now, instead of snow, they were slogging their way through mud and ice. Vin had seen small patches of frostbite beginning to form on their hands and faces, and fought to keep them warm.
It had grown dark a few hours earlier, and with no moon, they could hardly see where their feet were taking them. The footing became more slippery and treacherous until Chris stepped on a rock that moved under his foot.
"Shit!" Chris cried as his foot went out from under him and his knee buckled.
Vin reached for him, frantically trying to stop his fall, but he was only successful in losing his own purchase. With loud curses, he and Chris fell to the ground and began tumbling down the steep incline, bouncing off of rocks and trees along the way. Vin's descent ended abruptly when he collided with a tree, his left arm breaking with an audible snap, along with several of his ribs. His head met a similar fate, connecting with a small rock that rested at the base of the tree.
Chris's fall ended several yards beyond Vin's. He, too, suffered a painful collision with a tree, breaking several of his already-cracked ribs and bashing his knee against a fallen log. The impact knocked the wind out of him and it was a few moments before he could move.
"Vin?" he gasped as soon as he could get enough air to speak. "Where are you? Vin?" He grew more concerned when he received no answer. "Dammit, don't do this to me, cowboy," he ranted as he attempted to stand.
"Ah shit!" he cried out as the pain in his knee made itself known. Bad enough that he already had a bullet in that leg; now his knee was wrecked as well. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he used the cursed tree that had halted his journey so abruptly for support, slowly pulling himself upright.
His pace was agonizingly slow as Chris hobbled painfully up the hill. He knew Vin had hit something. He had heard the familiar sound of cracking bone shortly before his own fall had ended so abruptly. "God, don't let it be his neck," he prayed silently as he groped through the darkness in search of his friend.
He finally located Vin when he tripped over his outstretched legs and landed on top of him. "Vin? Christ Vin, answer me!" Chris searched anxiously for his neck or wrist so he could check for a pulse, nearly crying with relief when he found the steady beat under his fingers on Vin's neck. "Thank God!"
Chris ran his hands along Vin's motionless body, wincing in sympathy when he encountered the broken arm. The lump he found on the back of his friend's head accounted for his silence and Chris hoped that he didn't have more than a mild concussion. Even so, he knew Vin wouldn't wake for at least a few minutes, so he used the time to perform some first aid.
Nathan had trained all of the team members in some fairly advanced first-aid techniques, in case he was unable to help them. Ezra had teased Nathan, claiming that he merely wanted to be sure that the rest of them wouldn't inadvertently hurt him with their ham-fisted attempts to help in the event that he himself became injured. Chris was now grateful for the extra training as he expertly set Vin's arm. He didn't have much to work with for splints, so he fumbled around until he found a few relatively straight sticks and stuffed them into the sleeve of Vin's shirt. Tearing a couple of strips off of his own shirt, he tied them around the arm, then undid one of the buttons on Vin's shirt and placed his hand inside to give it some support.
Vin had groaned when Chris straightened his arm, and had begun to show further signs of waking. While Chris waited for him to regain consciousness, he leaned against a tree and listened to the sounds of the rain tapping out its soft rhythm as it fell. The sound was soothing and Chris found himself drifting off until a sound that didn't belong suddenly intruded upon his senses. The echo of squealing brakes reverberated faintly in the relative quiet of the night, and Chris found himself grinning despite the gravity of the situation.
With some prodding, Vin finally returned to consciousness, groaning loudly as his awareness returned. "Chris?" he called out tentatively.
"Right here, Vin," Chris answered.
"Christ, what h-happened?" Vin said, shivering as he felt the new pains shooting through his body.
"You ran into an oncoming tree," Chris said. "So did I."
"No wonder I h-hurt s-so much," he muttered.
"Think you can walk?" Chris asked hopefully.
"Th-Think so," Vin mumbled. "Gotta g-get m-movin' s-s-so's I c-can warm up."
"Me too," Chris agreed, shuddering in the cold now that the panic-induced adrenaline had worn off. "The good news is, I think I heard some traffic."
"H-hope you're right," Vin said through clenched teeth. "I f-feel like sh-shit."
"Join the club," Chris said. "I'm gonna need your help too. I smashed my knee on s-somethin' and ain't walkin' too good."
Vin chuckled. "We're a c-coupla wrecks."
"Come on, let's git." Chris put his arm across his friend's shoulder, and with Vin's good arm wrapped around his waist, the two injured men struggled gamely to their feet and began a slow, lurching trek down the mountain.
It took them nearly two hours, but they finally reached the two-lane highway that had been the source of the sound Chris had heard. As they rested against a tree, Chris scanned the road for any signs of life. It was unlit, but Chris could see a faint glow in the distance that he hoped was an indication of civilization. Tightening his hold on Vin, he started in that direction, urging his half-aware companion to follow suit.
They were both on the verge of collapse when they reached the source of the light. Tucked away in the corner of a small rest area, was a single, lighted pay phone. Salvation in blue and white.
"Vin, look." Chris pointed to the phone as he slid to the ground next to it, his knee no longer able to support his weight.
"Cool," Vin said with a goofy grin. "We sh-should call B-Buck. H-he won't yell at us like N-Nathan."
Chris laughed through chattering teeth. "No, he'd p-probably belt us for s-scarin' the shit out of him."
Vin chuckled. "I think I g-got a quarter in my p-pocket. Want me to c-call 'im?"
Chris shook his head. "W-we better c-call Ezra," he said. "J-Jarvis s-said he didn't know wh-where he was. H-he m-might still be w-watchin' th-the others."
"'Kay," Vin said, grabbing the phone and holding it in the crook of his neck. He deposited his quarter, then dialed Ezra's cell phone number, cursing as the operator's voice told him he needed more money. "Wh-where the f-f-fuck are we, anyway? Says I n-need more m-money."
"Sh-shit," Chris cursed. "Use m-my calling c-card." He gave Vin the number and watched as the younger man redialed as quickly as his frozen fingers would allow.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ezra's head jerked up from the pillow abruptly when he heard his phone ringing again. His computer searches had revealed no new information on the mysterious Jarvis, and he had received no further emails from the others that day, so he had finally given in to his body's fatigue and crawled into bed. Stifling a yawn, he switched on the light and answered the phone before the fact that the unfamiliar number had a Colorado area code registered in his brain.
"Standish," he answered sleepily, hoping it was not one of his other teammates wanting to harass him at the ridiculous hour of 1:13 AM.
"E-Ezra? It's V-Vin," the voice said.
Ezra clenched the phone tightly and hissed, "This is not amusing, you cruel bastard, whoever you are."
"I-it's r-really me, Ez," the voice, sounding much like Vin's, pleaded. "We n-need your h-help."
"This is not funny, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra raged. "I know you are all angry with me, but this is contemptible, even for you!"
There was a shuffling noise and some mumbling, then a voice barked, "Ezra, g-get your f-fuckin' lazy ass out here and h-help us!"
Ezra paled and gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Only one person used that particular tone with him: Chris Larabee. "Good lord," he whispered. "Mr. Larabee?"
"Yeah, it-it's us, Ez," Larabee sighed. "Ya g-gotta c-come get us. We're f-f-freezin' our asses off out h-here."
"Where are you?" Ezra asked, hardly believing he was really talking to Larabee.
"D-don't know," Chris said. "P-pay phone in a r-r-rest area. T-trace the ph-phone number."
"I'll be there as soon as possible," Ezra said as he scribbled the number on some hotel stationery.
"H-hurry, Ez." Ezra could hear Chris's teeth chattering over the phone. "W-we ain't d-doin' so g-good."
"Just hold on," Ezra said encouragingly. "I'll call the others on the way."
"N-no!" Chris said vehemently. "Th-they're bein' w-w-watched."
"I understand." Ezra forced himself to remain calm, despite the fact that his heart was racing. "I'll get there."
"Th-thanks," Chris stuttered as he hung up the phone.
Ezra clicked off his phone and stared at it for a moment before he threw off the blankets and jumped out of bed, hurrying to his computer. Rummaging quickly through his computer case, he retrieved the CD containing the reverse telephone directory and quickly loaded it into the computer. He liked to have that information on separate media in the event that he couldn't get an online connection anywhere.
The address came up, indicating a location near mile marker 347 on Route 119, a small, two-lane road in the northern part of the state. With that address in hand, Ezra pulled out his mapping software and plotted the location, noting that it was approximately one hundred and ten miles from his present location. The software claimed it would take him two hours to get there, but Ezra intended to complete the journey in far less time. Pulling the spare blankets out of the closet, he put his coat on and raced out of his room.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ezra drove as fast as he could in the wet weather, reaching the rest area in an hour and fifteen minutes. He slowed as he approached the pay phone, his headlights showing him nothing but trees. Keeping the engine running, he drew his gun out of the glove box and slowly exited the vehicle. "Chris? Vin?" he called out as he approached the telephone.
"H-here," a weak voice answered him.
He moved toward the voice, then saw the pale, mud-covered hand waving from behind a bush. With trepidation, Ezra stepped behind the bush, lowering his gun when he saw the two crumpled forms lying behind it. "Jesus," he said, pocketing his weapon as he rushed to their side. "Chris?"
The blond turned to him, attempting to smile. "Knew I-I c-could c-count on ya, Ez."
"Mr. Larabee, you look like hell," Ezra answered with a jubilant grin, sending a silent 'thank you' to whatever deities had seen fit to restore his friends to him.
"N-no sh-shit," Chris gasped.
"Hold on, I'll get the blankets." Ezra turned and hurried back to his car, retrieving the blankets from the passenger seat.
"Here," he said as he wrapped one of the blankets around Chris's shoulders.
"G-get V-Vin f-first," Chris said, pointing to the unconscious man next to him.
"Okay," Ezra nodded, wrapping the other man in a blanket. "I'll get him to the car. Can you walk?"
"N-not t-too well," Chris replied.
"Sit tight, and I'll be back to help you," Ezra said as he gently hauled Vin to his feet. Ignoring the pain in his back and ribs, he dragged Vin to the truck, laying him carefully across the back seat before returning to help Chris.
Chris was struggling to his feet when Ezra arrived at his side. Settling Chris's arm over his shoulder, he half-carried the other man to the car, easing him into the passenger seat. After buckling the seat belt, he hurried to the driver's side and was soon back on the road with his charges.
"You'd better have a good explanation for this, Mr. Larabee," Ezra warned teasingly as he turned the heat on full blast to warm the two shivering men.
"L-long s-story," Chris said wearily, slumping against the door.
"You'll have plenty of time to tell me after you are safely ensconced in the hospital," Ezra replied.
"No hospital!" Chris said, panic in his voice. "T-too p-public. He'll f-find us again."
"Mr. Larabee, you are in need of medical attention," Ezra argued.
"No hospital," Chris repeated. "You'll j-just have t-to do the b-best you can."
Ezra opened his mouth to protest, then closed it when he realized that Chris had a much better handle on the situation than he did at the moment, and if he said it was dangerous, it probably was.
"As you wish," Ezra capitulated. "We'll go to my hotel."
Chris looked at him, wondering why he was in a hotel, but was too exhausted to pursue it just then. He leaned against the door and promptly fell asleep.
To be continued