I do again thank you so much for the great reviews! I hit a bit of writer's block when it came to updating this chapter, and your kind words were the ticket to getting me going again!
WARNING: This chapter contains a few paragraphs concerning religious beliefs. They are the only such references of the story and don't have anything at all to do with the plot, being used, instead, to fill out my OFC a little more, but if such things offend you, then you might want to just skim the first part of this chapter until you get to the part about the rest of the boys.
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CHAPTER 5Ezra awoke the next morning to soft, multicolored light filtering in through the partially-open door to the chapel. He sat up and stretched, wincing at the pull of bruises and a stiff back, and rubbed at his arm that had grown sore from the night spent laying on it before taking a quick look at his surroundings as he tried to push the sleep from his lethargic brain.
The fire had been rebuilt and blazed cheerily in front of him with the full tea kettle sitting close enough to keep its contents warm. The mug he had used last night rested on top of a box right at hand with the white string of a tea bag hanging over the brim, waiting to be filled with the warm water. He looked across the fire to see that the blankets had already been picked up and replaced in the box, along with the dishes they used last night. The clothes line had been taken down, and the clothes that she had worn yesterday had disappeared, presumably packed away, while his lay neatly folded on the bench beside him. Ally was no where to be seen and this he found to be disconcerting as he realized that he had slept through her ministrations.
He frowned. In his line of work, such an action could prove to be lethal, and he never slept deeply while undercover, even when paired with a partner—in fact, he slept even less with someone familiar with him, as the weight of responsibility for their lives as well as his wore heavily on him. He had to have been much more exhausted than he had thought.
He shivered at the cold nip in the air and quickly pulled on his socks, t-shirt and pants, having left his wet boxers on last night.
After all, a gentleman had to have some modesty, especially in the presence of a lady—unless, of course, money was involved.
He found his watch and wallet lying on the bench underneath the clothing, and on impulse, he reached for the wallet. He hesitated a moment, then opened it anyway, checking its contents. Everything was there, including the two hundred dollars he had in cash. He felt a flash of guilt for suspecting the girl, but, as he reasoned with himself, she was an orphan living on the streets for who knows how long, and, though she seemed to be surprisingly honest and upright for someone in that position, he really didn't know much about her beyond their initial meeting. She could be involved in all kinds of things. However, his estimation of her rose a little higher at his find.
He flipped the leather billfold closed and slipped it into his pocket before sliding the watch onto his wrist. He slipped the shirt over his shoulders and began to button it up, but paused as he realized that the ones that had been torn off by Randolph's goon the night before had been replaced with new ones. 'When did she have time to do this?' he wondered and checked his watch. He was shocked to find that it was twenty minutes after two.
The day was half gone!
He quickly buttoned the shirt up and pulled on his shoes, relishing the warmth in them from the fire, before filling the mug with the waiting water and going in search of the girl. He found her sitting cross legged on the prayer bench in the main room, a book spread out in front of her. She was still wearing the clothes she had changed into the previous night, but now had her hair pulled back into a nice, tight French braid. She looked up as he entered the room, and put her finger in the book to mark her place. "Good morning," she smiled shyly.
He glanced back down at his watch and chuckled ruefully. "I do believe you mean good afternoon." He sat down on the front pew and looked up at her as he tentatively sipped at his tea. "You could have wakened me," he casually observed.
She shrugged as she slipped a marker into her book before closing it and turning around to face him. "I figured you needed the sleep."
He nodded with an appreciative smile. "And for that, you have my sincerest gratitude." He pulled at his shirt and looked up at her questioningly. "And it seems that I owe you some thanks for repairing my shirt and cleaning the rest of my haberdashery as well, but it does leave me wondering if you got any rest yourself last night at all."
She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand and a small laugh. "I got some. More than usual, actually."
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the remark, wondering just how much she usually got, but didn't ask the question out loud. Instead, he sat back against the hard wooden surface behind him and rested his arm across the back while motioning toward the book she had in her hand. "What are you reading?" he asked as he took another sip from his mug.
A slightly guarded looked entered her eyes, but she smiled softly at him anyway as she lifted it to show him the cover. "Psalms," she answered.
He caught sight of the cracked and frayed black leather and realized that she held an old, worn Bible in her hand. "You are religious, then?" he asked, a bit surprised.
"No," she answered with a shake of her head. "I'm a Christian. There is a difference."
"Indeed," he commented and raised an eyebrow in amusement as he crossed his ankles and rested the mug on his knee.
She ran a gentle hand over the book resting in her lap before meeting his gaze square on. "Yes," she continued. "Many people claim to be religious, but few are actually sincere in what they say they believe. My faith is a lifestyle, not merely a set of rules and regulations I live by to make myself feel better, nor is it something that I pull out whenever it's convenient or I want to impress someone."
He raised a hand in surrender. "I'm not going to mock you, my dear," he said soothingly. "You have every right to your own faith. I know several people who hold belief in a higher power than themselves and have nothing but the utmost respect for them."
She eyed him for a moment then nodded her thanks and gave him a small smile in return. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound so contrary, but I've met a few people who think any kind of religion is just superstitious hogwash and are sure to let me know it, especially when I try to abide by the statutes outlined in here," she glanced back down at the cover, a slight blush filling her features. "I'm not a fanatic and I'm not trying to force my faith on anyone—you can't really make someone believe in something they don't want to anyway, and my God doesn't want it that way, as it is. I respect other people's rights to believe in what they want or in nothing at all, if they so choose; all I'm asking for in return is that people respect my right to my beliefs as well and not treat me like I'm an idiot for choosing to believe."
Ezra nodded and smiled at her disarmingly. "I promise you, I'm not going to look down on you. I agree that I have no use for the hypocrites of various faiths who try to force others into their molds, but I do have respect for those who are honest with their religious values, even though I may not hold such faith myself. In fact, I have an associate who holds your God, as well as many others, in high regard, and I greatly admire and respect this man, though I would kindly appreciate it if you didn't let him know that. I do have a reputation to maintain, after all." His eyes twinkled in merriment as he took another sip from the mug in his hand.
Alex returned his smile with an appreciative one of her own and ducked her head, a bit embarrassed at her defensive reaction. "Thank you," she said softly.
His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, and they looked up at each other and grinned. "Hungry?" she asked dryly and raised her eyebrow in amusement.
He sat up straight and patted his protesting stomach. "It would seem so," he answered ruefully. "I do believe I could go for a hot meal right now. My treat." He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a fifty dollar bill, holding it up for her to see. He watched her eyes widen in surprise and he smiled. She honestly had no idea what was in the wallet, indicating that she hadn't even opened it.
'Whatever else she is,' he mused, 'she is certainly no thief.'
He slipped the bill into his shirt pocket and finished off the contents of his mug. "Is there anything nearby?"
"Well," she said shyly as she slid from the bench, "there's one of those family places not too far from here."
He nodded and stood to his feet. "That will be satisfactory," he approved.
She smiled as she put the bible back into the bag at her feet before heading for the storeroom. "Let me clean up in the back, then we'll go."
He followed her inside and folded the sleeping bag while she doused the fire and emptied the washtub contents outside before placing everything back where it belonged. A few minutes later, they were ready to go, and she pulled the storeroom door shut tight and led him back down the aisle to the front entrance. "My dear, you are a bad influence on me," he commented as he paused while she tested the door to ensure that it was locked and that they had left no sign of their presence.
"Oh?" she asked as, satisfied with her work, she turned to lead the way down the path to the paved road that wound through the cemetery.
"First you have me eating generic food, then actually performing manual labor, and now you have me ready to brave the cuisine of a chain restaurant." He signed dramatically, but his smile indicated that he was teasing her. "My teammates would simply die of shock if they were to find out." His gold tooth glinted in the light, and his eyes twinkled in merriment.
"Just how many of these associates do you have?" she asked as they neared the front gates.
He laughed at the curious look she gave him. "Six. Six of the oddest, craziest, uncouth, barbarous individuals one would ever have the displeasure to meet. And six men that I consider it a great honor to have known."
They stepped through the front gates of the cemetery onto the sidewalk and he gallantly offered his arm to her. She hesitated for a moment and glanced up at his eyes in confusion before smiling shyly and tentatively taking it. "Let me tell you about them," Ezra smiled in assurance and they continued their way down the sunlit street. "First, there is Mr. Wilmington…."
* * * * * * *
Chris pulled his Ram up behind the row of official vehicles of various agencies and departments outside the remains of the hangar, shut the engine off, and sat for a moment, looking at what once was a rather large building. 'G**, it looks worse in the daylight than it did last night!' he thought grimly.
He and the others had arrive the night before to a scene of total chaos as the airport emergency personnel and various fire departments from around the city joined together to try and contain the blaze. They had been directed to the man in charge of the scene who tried to give them the run around until Chris turned his deadly glare onto him.
But it hadn't mattered, really, because it was simply too soon to learn anything. All they had to go on was the jag (thankfully parked far enough away to remain undamaged), what looked to be the remains of several high powered automatic rifles, and a large burning pile of ruins that used to be a hangar. The police impounded the jag as evidence, refusing to let the team take it back home even though there was little chance of them finding anything on it. They had finally gone home, discouraged, fearing the worst, and hoping for a miracle—a hope that all but died in the harsh light of day.
Buck's truck pulled up beside him to the left, followed moments later by Josiah's suburban to the right. Chris sighed, opened his door, and slid out to the wet ground, steeling himself to face the worst. A chorus of slamming doors echoed across the empty lot as his men joined him on the pavement, and he nodded a good morning to them before leading the way through the barricade, heading for the nearest official they could find. Buck strode beside him, JD trailing close behind, followed by Josiah and Nathan. "Where's Junior?" Buck asked as they neared the rubble.
"Went down to the DPD lab to see if they've found anything yet." Chris answered.
"H**l, Chris, it happened less than eight hours ago. They ain't gonna have nothin' yet!"
"I know. But I figure Vin can light a fire under their tails, get the ball rolling," Chris allowed a feral smile to shade his features for a moment before his face fell back into its dark, brooding expression as he scanned the crowd, looking for someone familiar.
Firefighters still lingered about, keeping an eye out for flare-ups and trying to cool the mess down. The team came across a young man sitting on the side lines, taking a breather, and surrounded him. Chris flashed his badge. "I'm looking for Wade Dawson," he growled shortly.
The young man glanced up when their large forms shaded him from the morning sun, and he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down noticeably. "The fire marshal? He's over there with the FBI guy who's in charge," he pointed across the lot where a group of federal agents and other law representatives were mingling about.
Chris didn't reply—he just turned his determined stride in the right direction. Buck offered the boy a quick smile and a "Thanks, kid," before following his long time friend.
"Buck? JD? Go talk to the guys who were here to put the blaze out last night, see what you can find. Josiah? Head to the flight tower. See if you can find out who was renting this hangar. Nathan? You're with me."
Nathan hung his head in unhappiness for a moment in a classic why me? pose while Buck grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Better you than me, Doc," he smirked before turning toward a temporary shelter across the lot with JD close behind. JD tossed him a sympathetic look over his shoulder while Josiah offered him an understanding pat on the back before he jogged back to his vehicle.
Nathan's stomach plummeted even further when they made it to the group and saw who was running the show. Wade Dawson, a tall, slightly portly man with dark hair now salt and pepper and gray eyes the color of hard steel, had been fire Marshal for the City of Denver for twelve years and had worked with Chris in the past. He had proven himself to be a hard but fair man and one who respected the same qualities in those around him. He and Chris had learned early on how to work with each other, and each held mutual respect for the other. Dawson knew what Larabee wanted and when, and Chris knew to stay out of Dawson's way and under no circumstances tell him how to do his job. Nathan wasn't worried about Dawson. The older man knew about the infamous Larabee temper, knew how to circumvent it, and how to face it down, when necessary.
The special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations standing beside him, however, did not.
Chris and Martin Lewis also had history, none of which was good. Lewis, in Jackson's professional opinion, was a horse's a**, first rate. The man could teach the class at Quantico. He made Ezra look as meek and humble as a Sunday school teacher—which was no small feat. How the man managed to survive twenty years in the business without someone doing the world a favor by popping him, Nathan couldn't figure out. Lewis played politics like a well-strung violin, and had no problems whatsoever with stepping on the little people to get what he wanted. He was the epitome of bureaucratic ineptitude. He could completely screw up the easiest of cases, and he had stealing credit from those around him down to an art form. He was blatantly and loudly against team seven and was constantly on the look out for any excuse to cut them down.
And the addition of Ezra Standish to the team a few months early had been the biggest excuse and one that he expounded on frequently. He was firmly in the anti-Ezra club in Denver—shoot, he was president! As far as he was concerned, Ezra was a dirty cop. End of story. He didn't care that there had been no concrete evidence, he didn't care that Ezra had consistent alibis and explanations for every charge brought against him, he didn't care that Atlanta had been forced to drop the case on grounds of insufficient evidence. He, like many others both in Atlanta and Denver, played prosecutor, judge, and jury, and hung Ezra out to dry. If he had his way, the undercover agent would be drawn and quartered, tarred and feathered, and hung from the tallest tree in Colorado. And the rest of team seven would be right behind him, starting with Chris Larabee himself.
Chris had no use for departmental bureaucrats, especially the ones who sat in the safety of their offices and criticize and nit-picked every decision he made, every action taken, every case result. Chris despised the hot air bags who tried to tell him how to do his job; those who couldn't run a field team if their lives depended on it and who wouldn't last three seconds in a real bust. And Martin Lewis was one of the worst.
Chris and Lewis went together about as well as oil and water—no, that was being kind.
Chris and Ezra mixed like oil and water.
Chris and Lewis mixed like nitroglycerin and a good strong earthquake.
It was not a pretty picture.
Which was why Nathan was really wishing he were anywhere but there right at that moment, including visiting Rain's old aunt Melba. Just the thought of the old hag made him shudder. Well, maybe he wouldn't go that far. Maybe playing mediator between Lewis and Chris really was the better choice.
He'd have to think about that one.
"Larabee," Dawson acknowledged the men gruffly as they reached him, holding out his hand in greeting.
"Dawson," Chris returned, shaking the hand. "So what do you have here?" He completely ignored the other man who was standing to his right, sputtering in indignation.
"It's only been eight hours, Chris. The place is still too hot to begin investigating anything."
Chris nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but you're the best, Wade. And knowing you like I do, you've got a theory."
The old man eyed him up and down for a minute then nodded. "I've got some ideas. But what do you know about it, first?"
Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I think it's tied in with our current case. My agent was undercover in one of the local crime rings. He called yesterday around noon saying an exchange had been set up for today at a warehouse downtown, then called back around seven and said the time had been moved up to last night and the place changed, but he didn't know where. That was the last I heard from him."
"He the owner of the jag we found near here?" Dawson asked.
Chris nodded.
"He give you any idea as to what was being exchanged?"
"Not entirely, but he did know that they were bringing in a shipment of assault rifles and some grenades among other things."
Dawson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, that would fit in with my theory." He started walking around the remains of the building, explaining as he went, the others following close behind. "My initial thoughts are that the fire started here," he pointed to what had been the western side of the building. "From what I found in the building blueprints, a gas line runs above ground along this wall. The evidence I found so far is consistent with a gas explosion. The guys in the repair shop say that they heard two explosions—the first one around midnight last night, the second about ten minutes later. This building wasn't used anymore. Matters of fact, it was schedule to be demolished this summer. The pipes were old and brittle. I think either something punctured a pipe or one was leaking, something else caused a spark, and boom!"
"Something like a bullet?" Chris asked grimly.
"Possibly. Probably. The second explosion was much more intense. It's the one that left the crater in the pavement. The ignition source for that was something much more volatile, more explosive and more powerful. A couple crates of grenades and gunpowder would definitely fall in the realm of possibility."
"So the exchange happened here, proved by the presence of the jag, and something happened, either a double cross or a falling out of some sort. They got into a fire fight and in all the shooting, accidentally set off a gas explosion. The resulting fire then ignited the grenades to cause the second explosion."
Dawson nodded again. "Like I said, I won't have anything concrete for you until tomorrow evening at the earliest, but that theory holds about as well as anything else I can think of right now."
Chris looked out over the vast expanse of the lot, watching the fire crews douse a small hot spot. "Anyone come across any bodies yet?" He hated to ask the question, dreading the answer, but needing to know.
"No one's come across anything yet. We'll know for sure once we get it cooled down enough to start cleaning up. I'll let you know what I find."
"Thanks, Wade. I appreciate it."
"Now wait a d**n minute, here! I'm in charge of this investigation, Larabee!" Nathan winced as Lewis finally made his presence known. "This is not your case! Any reports that are filed come to me!"
Chris turned to the man with a glare that could punch through solid steel. "Listen here, Lewis," he said icily, "this fire involved one of my men. That makes it my case. Me and the boys are not sitting this one out until Standish is found. You here me?" he challenged, pointing his finger in the older man's face.
"You don't know that Standish was here for sure. All you have is circumstantial evidence at best. So what if his car was here? Knowing your man, he caught a private jet with your crime lord and is living it up in Tahiti right now on all that dirty money he's got stashed somewhere. Standish isn't worth the effort it would take to bury him. Everyone knows he's a worthless turncoat. He's a detriment to the agency. And even if he was here and in that," Lewis, the idiot that he was, sneered in the blond agent's face, "then he just got what was coming to him anyhow."
"You son of a b***h!" Chris growled deeply in his throat, grabbed Lewis by the lapels of his designer jacket, and shook him hard. "You listen to me, Lewis. Standish is not dirty. You got that? He is a d**n fine agent, and has more talent in his little finger than you could ever hope to have in a lifetime!"
Lewis's eyes widened in fright as he tried to pull out of the other man's grip. "Someone get him off me! He's gone crazy!" he yelped frantically.
Dawson and Jackson grabbed Chris's arms and pulled him away, while Lewis shrank back behind his aide and straightened his jacket nervously.
"Come on Chris, calm down now, ya hear?" Nathan commanded as he stepped in front of the angry agent and pushed him backwards. "This isn't doing Ezra any good right now. You getting yourself locked up for hitting the jack a** is not going to help things."
Lewis popped up from behind his aide's shoulder and shook his finger toward the furious blond. "I'm still the agent in charge of this investigation, Larabee!" he yelled from his safe distance. "And if I catch you so much as thinking about interfering, I'll have you're a** in a sling so fast your head will spin. You got that?"
Chris growled again and struggled to get free, his face red with fury and a murderous intent.
"Get out of here, Lewis!" Dawson barked with a glare at the other man as he struggled with Nathan to hold Chris back. "You may be the agent in charge of the investigation, but this is my crime scene until the reports have been filed, and I want you off of it. Now!"
Lewis's jaw opened and closed a few times as he sputtered his indignation. "Now!" Dawson roared, and the smaller man reluctantly stepped away.
After he was out of sight, Chris jerked his arms out of Nathan's grasp. "That b*****d could care less if we find Ezra or not. All he wants is another d**n feather in his cap!" he snarled. "And he's perfectly willing to sacrifice Ezra to get it!"
"We won't let that happen," Nathan assured his boss with a pat on his shoulder. "We'll get Ezra back safe and sound and solve Lewis's case for him."
"I'll make sure you get copies of all the reports, and if I find anything, you'll be the first to know," Dawson promised.
Chris sighed as he took one more look around the fire site, his anger draining from him to be replaced with a growing despair. 'How could anyone survive this?' he wondered to himself. He shoved the thought back to the far corner of his mind and glanced back at the older man with a nod. "Thanks, Wade."
"Anytime, boys. Anytime." He clamped the younger man on the shoulder. "Now. This is a crime scene, and you are in my way, so get out of here and let me do my job."
Chris smiled at him ruefully and nodded to Nathan, indicating that it was time to leave. They both threw up their hands in a wave goodbye and headed back, swinging a wide berth around Lewis and the flock of newspaper and television reporters gathered beyond the police tape.
They met the others back at the truck. "Well?" Chris growled, crossing his arms as he impatiently waited for their reports.
"The guys who were here last night say they didn't see anything. They did say that the fire was pretty intense, a real b***h to get under control. If someone was in there—" Buck didn't finish his sentence, but they all knew what the implications were.
"Ez wasn't in there. I don't know where he is now, but I know he wasn't in that," JD stated firmly.
Buck grinned and put an arm around the kid's shoulders. "We know that, kid. Ol' Ez is like an annoying itch that you can't get rid of. H**l, he's probably at the office now, waiting for us to get to work."
"And if he is, I'm going to wring his ****ing neck!" Chris growled. He turned to Josiah. "What did you find out?"
"The hangar itself wasn't in use, and was going to be tore down later this year," Josiah began.
Nathan nodded. "Yeah, that's what Dawson said."
"Anyway, they had no idea someone was using it. As far as they knew, the place was empty," Josiah continued as he leaned back against the side of his suburban.
Buck snorted. "How do you miss guys with machine guns unloading crates in a hangar as out in the open as that?"
Josiah shrugged. "Don't ask me. However, the hangar closest to it was scheduled to have a shipment come in around eight last night, but called to let security know that it would be late."
Chris narrowed his eyes. "What time did they make delivery?"
"ten-thirty."
"That could have put them in the general area around the time of the explosion," JD commented thoughtfully.
"Coincidence?" Nathan suggested.
"I don't believe in coincidences. Did you get a name?" Chris asked.
Josiah crossed his arms and nodded sagely. "Fieldman Contracting and Construction."
Chris's eyes hardened to flint and a cold smile spread across his features as he pulled the door of the Ram open roughly. "Well then, boys, let's go pay them a visit."
