I just want to say a quick thank you to all of you who have reviewed this story.  It has been really encouraging!  Even after I finished writing the rough draft with rave reviews from my betas, I was still leery of posting it because of the prominent position that my OC plays in the story.  It's a great relief to know that the readers are enjoying it!

The next few chapters are much slower in comparison to chapter 2 but are vital for the plot, so don't give up on me—I promise to have much more angst, plenty of action, and a nice, neat plot twist coming up in the near future!  The other guys will be coming into play much more clearly as well, and of course, there's going to be plenty more of our favorite gambler on the way, so stay tuned!

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CHAPTER 4

Ezra followed Alex along the wooded path, alternately rubbing his arms and blowing on his hands, trying to warm them.  Though a warm front was moving in, bringing the rain and slowly cutting the bitter temperatures that had enveloped the region earlier in the week, the night air was still freezing, and as he was without his coat and soaking wet at the moment, he felt the cold even more keenly than usual.  'Whatever possessed me to take up residence in a place called the 'mile high city'?' he wondered unhappily even as another shiver raced through him. 

He could hear the traffic of the interstate in the distance and the noise of a river closer by though he couldn't actually see either one.  They had left the city streets for the more open areas of the suburbs west of Denver and had followed a railroad track for the last two miles before splitting off onto the path they were presently traversing.  He took a moment to appraise his surroundings, but all he saw were droopy conifers and gloomy, leafless aspens, with water dripping intermittently from their silver limbs.  There didn't seem to be any semblance of available shelter anywhere close by.  "You are sure you know our present location?" he called ahead dubiously.

Ally nodded without looking back.  "I'm sure.  We're almost there."  She never broke her stride as she confidently made her way up the slippery path. 

He glanced around once more, not quite sure that he believed her, but he followed behind anyway.  He really had no place else he could go, and right now, all he wanted was to get out of the cold.  He tried to find a bright side to his current situation.

He was still alive, which, considering the events of the evening, was a small miracle.

And at least it had stopped raining.

'And now I'm starting to sound like JD!' he chastised himself with a sarcastic laugh and quickly turned his attention back to the path and his efforts to keep himself aright despite the slick mud and his treadles loafers.

A few minutes later, he spied a long chain link fence looming out of the fog up ahead, separating the forest from what looked to be an open field.  The path ended at the fence where two large trees stood with their branches shadowing a padlocked back gate.  Ally reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled a small file out before reaching for the lock.  In seconds, she had it off and was pushing the gate open.  "After you," she smiled and motioned him through the gap.

He raised an eyebrow at her.  "Should I take it that you come here often?" he quipped as he stepped through the opening and waited while she shut and locked the gate after them.

"Occasionally," she shrugged, placing the file into its pocket then slinging her bag over her shoulder once again before leading the way across the grassy expanse.

He followed closely behind her, his instincts still on high alert as he surveyed the surrounding area for any signs of danger, trying to see past the fog that shrouded everything beyond a few feet.  The poor visibility had his nerves on edge, and the muffled, lonely sound of the wind blowing through the trees, the rustle of the long grass that they were walking through, and the clacking of the tree limbs weren't helping him relax. 

With all of this working against him, it was no wonder then that he didn't see the low stone hidden by the grass directly in front of him until he tripped over it and fell to the ground with a muffled grunt. 

He pushed himself to a sitting position and gingerly rubbed the knee he had landed on while looking around for the offending rock in irritation as Alex came back to check on him. He pushed the grass away from the rectangular shape and leaned in to take a closer look.  Rain water glistened on the smooth, shiny obsidian surface, marred only by what looked to be….praying hands?!  He suddenly registered what he was seeing and quickly scrambled to his feet. "A tombstone?" he muttered, looking across at the girl in disbelief as he brushed himself off. 

Alex readjusted the pack on her shoulder and snickered at the surprised and suddenly wary expression on his face.  "Well, yeah.  They're a given in a cemetery." Seeing that he was none the worse for wear, she turned to continue on her way.

He grimaced at the mud that now caked his fingers and stained his jeans, and he tried to clean some of it off of his hands on the wet grass before skirting the headstone and quickening his pace to catch up with her while casting another uneasy glance at his surroundings.  "And what," he asked as he stepped around another, taller monument, "pray tell, are we doing here at night?"

"You're not afraid of ghosts, are you?" She glanced up at him with a twinkle in her eyes, her smirk growing larger at his obvious discomfort.

"Of course not," he declared firmly, "But I do not believe it to be the custom of normal people to go traipsing through necropolises in the middle of the night."

Her smirk blossomed into a full grin and her eyes sparkled with humor.  "Then it's a good thing I'm not normal."

"Indeed. It does, however, give rise to the question as to just what kind of person I find myself in the company of," he remarked dryly.

She shrugged as they started up a small incline dotted with white aspens and stately spruces.  "It's quiet and peaceful.  No one to disturb me." 

"Just you, the tombstones, and the bats, zombies, and occasional chainsaw murderer," Ezra quipped with a shake of his head. The whole scenario he found himself currently in brought to mind the movie fest Buck and JD had forced the team to endure the last Friday the thirteenth, and he shuddered involuntarily from revulsion of the memory of the tacky, gory, and just plain outright horrible films.

It was the last time he agreed to let them pick out the entertainment.

She eyed him oddly at the comment. "Chainsaw murderers?  And you wonder if I'm normal."

He didn't get a chance to answer as they topped the knoll to find a small building looming in front of them out of the fog.  She led him around the side to the narrow door in the front and again pulled her file out to unlock the door before leading the way inside into what looked like a small foyer. 

As the door shut softly behind them, she finally withdrew her flashlight and flicked it on, training it on the dust-covered wooden floor as she pushed her way through a set of double doors into a much larger room.  Ezra followed her into the building but paused in the doorway as he took a good look at his surroundings.  Two rows of wooden pews lined the walls, and large stained glass windows rose from waist level to nearly twenty feet above his head.  The cathedral ceiling was artfully painted with scenes of clouds and angels, and a prayer bench lined the front of the room. A large wooden cross adorned the white wall behind the bench, and a long table filled with unlit candles of all sizes stood beneath the carving. 'A chapel,' he realized.

She led the way down the center aisle, heading for a little door off to the side of the bench.  He followed her through the door and entered into what appeared to be a small, windowless store room.  The floor in here was concrete and covered in a thick layer of dust.  Another door stood in one corner of the adjacent wall to their left.  Boxes and crates were stacked haphazardly around while a few broken pews lined the back wall.  She worked her way through some of the rubble, pushing her way into the corner diagonal to the entrance underneath a rickety ladder leading to what must have been an attic.  She stooped down for a moment, disappearing in the darkness, before standing back up and throwing something at him. 

He caught it out of reflex then glanced down to notice that he was holding a rolled up sleeping bag.  She grunted as she pulled a long box back out into the middle of the room and pried the lid off.  She lifted an old lantern out and shook it to check it contents before setting it on the floor beside her and reaching into her pocket for her book of matches.  Soon, the room was lit with a soft glow.

She next pulled a thin towel out of the box and handed it to him, then rummaged around in the backpack for a small pouch which she gave to him as well.  She nodded to the door in the corner.  "That's a bathroom.  Has a sink, a toilet, and a mirror.  You can dry off in there."  She handed him a large, worn blanket from the depths of the crate as well as the flashlight.  "I don't have anything for you to change into, so you can wrap up in this until your clothes dry."  He hesitated a moment, and she gently pushed him toward the room.  "Go on.  I want to change clothes myself, and I'm sure not doing it with you out here."

He entered the small room and shut the door behind himself, resting the light him on the back of the ancient toilet.  He dubiously tried the faucet on the old porcelain sink and was pleasantly surprised to find running water, even if it was ice cold.  He opened the pouch and pulled out a clean-looking rag and a ziplock bag containing half of a bar of soap and quickly began to clean himself up.  When he finished, he wrapped the blanket snuggly around himself and reached for the door handle, but then hesitated.   He rapped loudly on the door.  "Are you finished dressing?" he called through the wood.

"Yes.  You can come out now," was the muffled reply. 

He opened the door and found her stretching a line across the room, dressed in another old pair of jeans and a faded navy sweatshirt with her hair hanging long and straight down her back.  When she had the line secure, she proceeded to hang her wet clothing on it.  She reached for his and hung them beside hers.  "There, now," she said, satisfied with her work.  "These will hopefully be dry by morning."

She again rummaged under the ladder to return with a battered, old fashioned washtub filled with odd scraps of wood and cardboard.  She emptied the tub in the middle of the floor then set up the smaller pieces of wood in the center of the basin, along with some scrap newspaper she pulled from a pouch in the backpack.  Soon, she had a cheery little blaze going, and motioned Ezra near it.  "It's not much, but it should take some of the bite out of the air," she explained nonchalantly.

"It's quite adequate," Ezra assured her as he held a hand over the heat while firmly keeping the blanket together with the other.  He watched as she set their wet shoes by the fire, then pulled a small grate out of the box and placed in over the tub.  A saucepan soon followed, as well as an old teapot without its lid.  She went to the bathroom and rinse them out, then returned with the teapot filled with water.  She set this on the grate and reached into the box for a can opener and a can of generic chicken noodle soup.  She emptied the contents into the sauce pan, added water from the kettle, and set it on the grate as well.  "I was never as thankful as I was the day the dollar store started carrying foodstuff," she grinned at him.  "Hope you don't mind.  It's the best I have to offer."

"It's fine," he reassured her with a smile.  "Just don't tell my associates.  My reputation would be severely tarnished if word of this got out." 

She laughed as she stood up and climbed the decrepit ladder.  He watched her curiously and a little fearfully, for the old rungs didn't look steady enough to hold a bird, much less a person.  A moment later, he felt a slight breeze as she propped the trapdoor leading to the attic open slightly.  She returned to the floor safely and wiped her hands on her jeans before reaching for the sleeping bag and spreading it out on one of the steadier looking pews.  "Don't want the smoke to build up in here," she answered his unspoken question.  "The attic is vented to the outside, so opening the trap door gives me a sort of chimney."

"Ingenious," Ezra remarked as he watched her movements with interest.  After she had the sleeping bag situated the way she wanted, she began to piddle around the room a bit—rearranging some of the boxes, dusting off a larger area of the floor, checking the contents of the pot—flitting from one corner to the other in constant, restless motion.  It was obvious to him that she was nervous having him in what appeared to be her home and he sought to reassure her.  "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.

She looked up at him from where she was stirring her soup and smiled shyly with a slightly guilty expression.  "I didn't think you would, or I wouldn't have brought you here in the first place," she answered.  "It's just that I don't get much company.  I'm used to being alone."

"Perfectly understandable," he nodded, adjusting the blanket more securely.  "So," he began casually, "You have made this house of prayer your humble abode?"

"For now," she answered over her shoulder as she checked the water in the kettle.  "It's only temporary, though.  I'll be moving on in the spring."  She nodded, satisfied at the temperature, and turned back to lift a chipped coffee mug, a plastic bowl, and a disposable plastic spoon out of the box. She quickly rinsed them out in the bathroom before returning to her makeshift kitchen and setting the bowl and spoon down on another crate.  She dug into her box once again, this time emerging with a tea bag which she set into the cup and poured hot water from the kettle over.  "No sugar," she shrugged in apology as she handed the cup to him.

He took it gratefully, savoring the heat coming from the porcelain, and smiled.  "Quite alright," he assured her as he took a small sip.  The warm tea felt delightful going down to his stomach and served to warm him up from the inside, calming the chills that were still occasionally racking through him once and for all.

Ally next poured a bit of the soup into the bowl which she handed to him as well before settling back against a pew with a plastic spoon, the saucepan, and her own mug of hot tea.  Ezra gingerly sat down on a sturdier looking crate and tentatively tested the soup, finding it surprisingly tasteful for a generic brand.  It certainly wasn't a gourmet meal, but right now he was just happy to have something hot to eat period and wasn't about to complain.

They fell into silence for a few moments, content to consume their meager meal while listening to the crackle of their small fire and the mournful moan of the wind outside.  Ezra finally broke the stillness with another question. "What made you decide to take up residence outside the city and in a cemetery, of all places?  Why not take shelter in one of the missions?" he asked with a wave of his spoon.

Ally just shrugged without looking up.  "I'm not a big fan of cities."

The face of a certain sharpshooter flashed across his memory, and Ezra smiled.  "I know someone else who is of the same mind," he commented.

She glanced up at him and returned his smile.  "It's safer out here," she explained after she swallowed a spoonful of soup.  "I try to stay off the street whenever I can.  And some of the missions and shelters aren't much better than the streets.  Besides, they ask too many questions.  And I don't like the company I'm forced to keep at those places."

He raised an eyebrow at her as he took another sip of his fare.  "And just what kind of questions would you prefer not to answer?" he asked inquisitively.

"Ones like that one," she grinned.  "Let's just say I'm a private person and have my reasons for keeping to myself."

He raised his spoon in acknowledgement.  "I believe I can relate to that sentiment.  But why the cemetery?"

She shrugged again.  "It's peaceful here. It's small enough that it doesn't have a night watchman, and this chapel is rarely used, as most prefer the newer building up front.  And it's secluded.  It's far enough back in the trees that no one will notice movement around it.  Of course, running water is always a plus."

"I was wondering about that," Ezra noted as he took a sip of his tea.  "If the chapel is never used, why is the water on?"

She took a bite of soup before answering his question.  "I think it comes from a well out back.  There's an old septic tank out there, too."

He nodded and changed the subject.  "So, if you live here, what were you doing in the city tonight?"

"I have to get supplies somewhere," she answered as she finished her remaining meal and set the pan on the floor beside the tub before reaching for her own mug.  "And I don't stay here all the time.  Sometimes, when it's really cold, like last month, I have to hunt for someplace warmer, like one of the shelters.  And besides, it's safer to keep moving around, not to stay in one place too long.  I really don't want anyone finding out where I'm sleeping at."

He took another drink and frowned at the second reference to her safety, wondering just what it was she was running from.  It then struck him that she had said she didn't want anyone knowing where she lived, and yet, she had brought him here.  He again marveled at the amount of trust she was showing him after only a few hours when it was obvious she didn't trust anyone easily.  He didn't ask her about it, though.  "You said this was temporary.  Where are you headed, if you don't mind my asking?" he questioned as he took another bite of the broth.

She sipped her tea before answering.  "East," she said with a mischievous grin.

He snorted and shook his head as he set his now empty bowl down on the floor beside the pan and resettled himself on the box closer to the fire.  "Okay," he drawled out, "and where are you coming from?"

"West," she replied cheekily.

He rolled his eyes as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself.  "Your answers are not the most informative," he complained lightly.

"Sure they are," she answered.  "I could be going south to north, north to south, northwest to southeast, or a variety of directions."

He shook his head but smiled at her reasoning.  "I'll concede your point.  Why Denver?"

"Why not?" she shrugged.  "I've never been here before, thought it would be a nice place to visit.  Besides, it's not the best idea to be traveling in winter."

"A valid assumption, but why not stay in one place, preferably some place warmer, such as, oh, Palm Springs?" he asked dryly.  As if in agreement, a strong gust of wind chose that moment to hit the building, causing it to creak under the force.

Alex smirked as she lifted her mug to her lips.  "I like the snow.  And I prefer to keep moving."

His eyes narrowed at the comment as he tried to decipher the hidden meaning buried in her jesting.  "Because it's safer?" he asked softly.

She stared back guardedly at him over the rim of her cup, studying him intently for a moment before she smoothed her features back out into a neutral expression that was quite admirable in his estimation.  "Yes," she answered carefully, "the streets aren't the safest places to live."

He frowned as he took another sip from his own mug and considered her words.  She was clearly wary of something more dangerous than just street thugs and gangs.  He again got the feeling that she was running from something but let the subject drop as it was obvious he wasn't going to get a straight answer.  "So where are you from originally?" he asked, changing the subject.

The canniness in her eyes gave way to a mischievous twinkle and she crossed her ankles in an effort to find a more comfortable position.  "East."

He lowered the mug that he had been about to take a drink from and groaned.  "Don't start that again!"

She laughed at his expression before turning his question back onto himself.  "And where are you from originally?  It's obvious you're not from around here."

He snorted and took a sip from the cup.  "And whatever gave you that idea?" he deadpanned.

She favored him with a merry smile and a cock of her head. "Oh, I don't know," she commented dryly, "maybe it was your aversion to the cold.  Probably the thick southern accent.  Georgia, I'm guessing?  South Carolina?  Alabama?"

He shook her head at her efforts and smiled in amusement. "I've spent time all over the east coast and south," he offered in answer to her question.  "I would bore you with the tedious list.  Suffice it to say, I've been around."

"Military?" she asked casually as she flipped a loose lock of hair back across her shoulder.

He smirked at her with raised eyebrows.  "Now who is being intrusive?"  She shrugged an apology but smiled at him unrepentantly.  "No," he answered her question anyway.  "My mother and I moved around often in the pursuit of, shall we say, financial gain." 

His words were light, but she picked up on something that rang a bit off in his tone and her smile faltered a bit.  "Sounds lonely," she observed sympathetically.

He averted his gaze to the fire and wrapped his hands around the cooling porcelain mug.  "It had it moments," he admitted, wondering why he was being that honest.  He decided to get off of that topic as quick as he could.  "Now that I've answered your questions, perhaps you'd be kind enough to answer mine.  Your voice has the faint undertones of a southern accent, and yet it is not as thick as my own, as you pointed out.  Am I correct in surmising it to be an Appalachian lilt?" he raised a questioning eyebrow.  "North Carolina, perhaps, or maybe eastern Tennessee or Kentucky?"

"Close enough," she laughed.  "No one else ever picked up on the accent, though.  You're either a pretty good linguist or a bad influence."

He laughed and favored her with a gold-toothed smile.  "I'd much prefer to be considered a suitable linguist than an ill influence, if you don't mind," he asserted.  "So how does a southern lady find herself so far from home?" he questioned, letting the fact that she didn't completely answer his question go.

The grin faded from her lips to be replaced with a small frown and a pained expression as she looked away from him.  Grief haunted her eyes, and she turned her gaze into the fire with a sad little smile.  "Life's funny that way, I guess," she answered a bit flippantly.

"Your parents?" he asked, suddenly wondering if they were what she was running from.

The sad look deepened into a wistful melancholy.  "Dead," she whispered.

He felt a wave of compassion for her after seeing the old pain settle on her features.  "And you have no other family?" he asked quietly.

"An uncle.  And my grandfather," she smiled a little as the words brought to mind a few of her favorite memories. 

"What happened?"

"They're gone too." She answered vaguely, her gaze never leaving the flames.

He glanced over at her and then ducked his head, realizing that he had unwittingly trod upon something quite painful for the girl.  However, though he was truly penitent at the intrusion, he felt a little satisfaction at the insight he had just gained into his companion, no matter how slight.  He finished his tea and set the mug beside his bowl before shifting on his box into a more comfortable position.  He too turned his gaze to the fire and licked his lips before delivering his next comment. "I have a fri—a teammate that found himself in much the same situation as yourself.  He too decided that it was 'safer' to take to the streets," he remarked casually.

She finally looked back up at him in curiosity.  "What's he doing now?"

He glanced over at her and smiled fondly.  "He is the resident sharpshooter of my team.  He lives in Purgatorio, and gives much of his free time to helping the other less fortunates around him."

"Sounds like a good man to know," she commented with a slight smile.

"That he is," Ezra agreed, "that he is."

They lapsed into silence, both staring into the fire, deep in their own private reflections.  "What do you plan to do tomorrow?" she asked, finally breaking the quiet.

"I'll find a way to research Fieldman Construction, and pay them a visit, after hours, if need be.  I also need to further examine Mr. Banning's private records.  The ledgers are quite extensive, but I do believe he must have more somewhere else, possibly at work," he answered.

"And how do you plan to get in?"

He gave her a sly grin.  "You're not the only person who can pick locks."  That comment brought to mind something else he had been meaning to ask her about and he looked at her curiously.  "Just how did you learn to pick locks?"

She laughed at the question and met his look with twinkling eyes and a bright smile of her own.  "My grandfather was a remarkable man."

He raised an eyebrow at the mysterious comment but received no further explanation and made a mental note to further inquire into the topic at a future date.  "Indeed," he remarked. "He does sound like a gentleman that I would have enjoyed meeting."  He ended his observation in a yawn that he couldn't quite suppress.

Alex noticed this and stood to her feet in decision.  "Well, you won't be doing much tomorrow if you don't get some rest."  She motion toward the sleeping bag as she gathered up the used dishes to take to the bathroom.  "You can sleep there tonight," she tossed over her shoulder.  "It's not very soft, but it is warm."

He glanced at the pew and furrowed his eyebrows in dismay.  "I can't take your bed," he protested.

"It's no big deal," she answered as she re-entered the room and used the towel to dry the utensils before returning them to the box.  She pulled another blanket from the box and tossed it across another pew across the fire from him.  "I can make do with this."

"It is most certainly a 'big deal.'  I can sleep with the blankets," he argued.

"Look," she declared firmly, "I'm not the one who took a line drive into a wall, and I'm not the one who was beat up on tonight.  That sleeping bag isn't the best, but it is softer than these benches.  If you want to be moving tomorrow, you need something halfway comfortable."  He made to protest again, and she held up her hand to cut him off.  "Now, I'm not going to argue this.  I told you before, I can be very stubborn when I want to be, and I'm putting my foot down on this.  Besides, I've got a few things I want to do before I go to bed, and you'll just be underfoot over here."

Ezra opened his mouth to try another tactic, but shut it at the resolve shining in her eyes.  He shook his head with a sigh, realizing that he was not going to win this battle.  He waved a hand in acknowledgement of his defeat, too weary to argue with her.  "Alright, alright, I'll sleep here.  For tonight," he stated determinedly.  "But we will argue this point further tomorrow."

She laughed.  "Agreed.  Good night, then," she offered good-naturedly and handed him a rolled up shirt.  "To use as a pillow," she explained when he raised an eyebrow in question.

He took the shirt and settled himself, blanket and all, into the sleeping bag, turning his back to the seat, facing out into the room and leaving the zipper down for easy exit if needed and to ease the feeling of confinement that the bags usually resulted in.  He situated the shirt so that he was comfortable and finally settled down.  "Good night," he returned genially. 

He watched her moving about for a while but soon closed his eyes as his exhaustion finally caught up with him, only opening them again briefly when he heard her begin to hum softly to herself.  He recognized the melody to be an old hymn that his Aunt Faith had sung to him a lifetime ago, and a small smile graced his face as he settled more deeply into the bag.  He soon drifted off to sleep without realizing it, dreaming of a small cottage deep in the heart of Georgia, and of peach pie, bed time stories, and his time spent with his beloved Aunt Faith and Uncle Henry.