Yes, I have finally updated again! Thanks to all of you who have so graciously taken the time to review. Every time I have just about convinced myself that this story is really not any good at all, that Ally is just too MarySueish, and that the whole plot, dialogue, characterizations, etc, are way too amateurish and childish-sounding, I get a wonderful review from you guys, which gives me the encouragement I need to keep plodding along. So thank you so very much!
Cole1: **waves back with a grin**: You don't bug me at all! I practically live for reviews! And I'm so glad you like Ally. I was really afraid people wouldn't. And you think of her as part of the seven?! I'm flattered! As for her fate, to be honest, it took me two months to write the final chapter to this story simply because I couldn't make up my mind where to go with her at the end. So keep tuned in to see what I finally decided!
PinkPanther: I'm so glad you're enjoying this. And that the last chapter cleared a few things up. It took me forever to write this story because I'm such a stickler for details, but sometimes things can get past a person, even if they've checked and rechecked at least 5 times! Anyway, I'm glad that there are people out there reading this and even happier that it seems to be an enjoyable story. Again, thank you for your reviews!
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CHAPTER 15Johnson bundled his coat closer around him and hitched his carry on bag further up onto his shoulder as he and Edward Thomas, Sanders's old partner, followed the large man who had introduced himself as Josiah Sanchez through the crowded airport toward the parking lot outside. Their 8 p.m. flight into Denver had arrived promptly at twenty minutes after, and they had exited the plane to find Sanchez waiting for them in the terminal, explaining that he had been sent by Larabee to escort them to their temporary headquarters.
A cold wind whipped by them, causing them to shiver, and they were very happy to reach the warmth of the jeep Cherokee with Nathan Jackson inside waiting for them, having come out earlier when the flight arrival had been announced to warm up the vehicle. They quickly loaded their luggage and managed to get ahead of the rest of the crowd and out onto the highway before the main rush. Nathan navigated the congested streets easily, and soon they were on the less-crowded interstate westward bound. "Do you mind if I ask where we're going?" Johnson asked from where he sat in the back, watching the darkened scenery pass by as they climbed up into the mountains.
"No, not at all," Josiah answered pleasantly as he glanced over his shoulder at the man from the front passenger seat. "We're going to Chris Larabee's ranch. Chris and the judge decided to set up our base of operations there."
"Larabee's ranch? How secure can that be?" Thomas spoke up doubtfully from behind Nathan. "Shouldn't you have taken the witnesses to a safe house?"
"Chris's ranch is as secure as any safe house," Josiah reassured him. "It's at the head of a little valley up in the mountains, and secluded. It's in a pretty defensible position as well, and hard to find unless you know where you're going."
Thomas glanced over at his friend, who shrugged slightly, and turned his gaze back out his own window, not convinced.
"So what case are you working on and how, exactly, did you find Alex?" Johnson continued, turning his attention back to the preacher.
"Oh, we didn't find her. It was more of a case of her finding us," Nathan glanced in the rearview mirror at his passengers, amusement glinting in his chocolate eyes.
"Her finding you? What does that mean?" Thomas asked gruffly.
"Just what it says, brother," Josiah chuckled. "We'll let Chris and the judge explain it when we get there."
Forty-five minutes later, they pulled up the gravel drive and parked in front of the long, dimly lit ranch house. Josiah nodded in approval at the young agent who was standing sentry at the edge of the trees, his black clothing barely discernable against the dark backdrop of the forest. He quickened his step to follow the others inside.
Chris looked up from his place bent over the pool table where he and the judge had several papers spread out to see Nathan enter the front door followed by two men he didn't recognize. The older one had gray-streaked brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes that spoke of experience and authority as he looked around the room, taking in the men in attendance in a glance. The other man was shorter, younger, with pale blond hair and hazel eyes that roamed the room untrustingly. Chris stepped forward and held out his hand in greeting to the first man. "Timothy Johnson?" he said. "I'm Chris Larabee. This is Judge Orrin Travis, JD Dunne, Buck Wilmington, and Ezra Standish from my team, Ryan Kelly, leader for team eight, Mark Pauley, leader for team three, and Captain Jason Reed, from the State Police Department." He motioned to each man as he introduced them. "You've already met Josiah Sanchez and Nathan Jackson."
Johnson shook each of their hands before stepping further into the room and nodding to his companion. "This is Edward Thomas of the FBI and former partner of Allen Sanders." Thomas acknowledged the men with a tilt of his head.
"And I'm Special Agent Martin Lewis, also of the FBI. I can definitely say that it is nice to have other agents who know how to properly run an investigation present for this case," Lewis shoved his way to the front of the group, glaring at Larabee, knowing that the other man had purposely left his introduction out.
"Agent," Johnson took one look at the man and dismissed him, to Larabee's amusement and Lewis's annoyance. The Interpol agent instead scanned the room, searching for one face in particular. "Where's Alex?" he asked with furrowed brows.
"Right here, Mr. Johnson." He turned to see the girl in question step into the room from a darkened hallway leading to the back of the house.
The group backed away respectfully as Johnson rushed to the girl and enveloped her in a tight hug, relief shining on his face at finally seeing her alive and well for himself. "It really is you," he whispered as he hugged her again, his eyes glistening with unshed tears of happiness. He framed her face with his hands then rested them on her shoulders as he stepped back a bit to take a good look at her. "And look at you! You've grown up into a beautiful young woman. You look just like your father. Doesn't she, Eddie?"
The other agent came forward with a wide grin, his eyes brightening for the first time since entering the room. "Now, don't go insulting the girl, Tim," he chastised the older man as he reached out to ruffle her hair. "It's good to see you, kid. I can tell ya, I didn't believe Tim when he told me what was going on."
Alex sidestepped out of his reach and smiled back softly. "I think I'd've enjoyed the looks on your and Mr. Johnson's faces," she said teasingly.
Johnson stood back and fixed her with a mock glare. "Now what's this Mr. Johnson stuff? I was there the day you were born, girl. It's Uncle Tim, to you!" he said sternly.
"Uncle Tim," Alex repeated with a shy smile.
"That's better," he nodded in approval. "Now," he continued, crossing his arms and giving her his best authoritarian look, "Mind telling us just where the h**l you've been for the last six years and what possessed you to run off in the first place?"
She leaned back against the wall and shrugged lightly. "Here and there. Wasn't in any one particular place for very long," she answered. "As for why, well, it seemed to be the best choice at the time."
"The best choice," Johnson snorted and shook his head. "Do you realized you scared the h**l out of me? We believed you were dead! When you disappeared, I thought Bartinol had gotten to you! And the more time that passed, the more sure I was. Why didn't you trust us, trust me, to protect you?" he asked quietly.
Alex wrapped her arms around herself and focused on the floor for a moment before looking back up at him directly, her eyes begging for him to understand. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Uncle Tim," she said softly with a tilt of her head, "it's just that I realized that something a lot bigger than you was at work there. I was scared."
"Didn't you know that we would have died before we let that monster get his hands on you?" Thomas asked her, placing his hand on her shoulder.
Alex backed out from under his hand and looked up at him with a serious expression. "That's exactly what I was afraid would happen."
The judge stepped forward, coughing lightly to break the moment. "What happened six years ago doesn't really matter right now," he pointed out to them all. "What we need to be doing is working out a plan of action to capture Bartinol instead of rehashing the past."
Johnson turned to face him and nodded in agreement. "You're right. Why don't you show us what you've got and what you need."
They all congregated around the pool table as Chris motioned for Ezra to proceed with the explanation.
* * * * * * *
Chris watched the Interpol agent and his FBI friend discretely as Ezra recounted his experience in the hangar and told of the evidence they had regarding Randolph. He was pleased to see that they seemed to be giving him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't know if that meant they weren't aware of his past experience with their agency, which was highly unlikely, or that they were simply ignoring the rumors and innuendoes and making their own minds up about the man.
If that was the case, then he'd have to say that they were definitely better men then most of the other pricks from the Federal Bureau of Idiots that he was forced to routinely deal with.
He also watched his undercover agent. It was one of the few times that he had a chance to just observe the man, his actions, his responses to the different people in the room, to just listen to him, to the inflections in his voice and to watch his delivery without being on the receiving end, trying to decipher what he was and wasn't saying and trying to hold his own temper in check.
No one infuriated him faster than Standish.
He chuckled quietly to himself, watching the perplexed look pass across Lewis's face as the dimwit tried to follow the conversion, and mentally applauded his agent. He glanced across the room and caught the judge's eye from the recliner opposite his. They exchanged rueful glances and the judge just shook his head. He too had been on the receiving end of more than one of Standish's explanations, but tonight, the man was in rare form. Chris propped his elbow on his left hand and tapped his lips with the knuckle of his finger as he leaned back in his chair. Ezra had his features schooled firmly, but Chris was able to catch the slightest smile hinting at the man's lips, one that only someone who knew him would be able to detect. He chuckled to himself again. The man certainly was a master of the English language and had manipulation down to an art form.
That thought caused Chris to pause, and he took a closer look at the man in question, taking note of his posture, of the carefully selected facial expressions and words, of the very air in which the man held himself. It was a familiar stance and demeanor, one that he saw every time Standish had to report to him or every time he had to give the man a reprimand, but now that he was able to pay attention to the man instead of the words (or maybe now that he was actually taking the time to do so) he could pick up on the small, tell-tell signs of stress and tension. Again, it wasn't anything noticeable—a tightening of the lips, the ever so slight clenching of the jaw whenever Lewis made a snide remark, the hard light that entered his eyes—but for the first time, Chris noticed them, and they had him wondering.
Chris studied the smaller man, took a good look at him. They all teased JD about being the smallest of the group, but he realized that in actuality, Ezra could almost fit that bill. The difference was that what Ezra lacked in size he made up for in presence. The man's confident, brazen, and sometimes highly irritating personality could practically fill a room as fast as Buck's charming and raucous one. But at other times, he had seen the man be as quiet and unassuming as the tracker and, if Chris were to admit it, as opaque and protective of his past as he himself was.
No, Standish may not have Josiah's giant frame, Nathan's height, or his own intimidating presence, but the man had learned long ago other skills that were just as valuable and how to wield those skills with amazing accuracy and precision. Add in the fact that he accepted his size and used his stature to his own advantage, something that JD should take note of and learn (of course, with the way the kid used those puppy dog eyes of his, maybe he had already learned that lesson), and you came up with one excellent agent, something that most people overlooked until they learned otherwise the hard way. The man was full of contradictions, smoke and mirrors, talk and class, but those characteristics were what made Standish so good in his field.
And just because the man was small in comparison to others on the team, definitely did not mean that he was puny. Seeing him dressed now in what Ezra deemed casual clothing without the designer suits, Chris could easily tell that his conman kept himself in top shape. Which brought up another question—when did the man take the time to work out, which he obviously had to do to be in that kind of shape? Did he jog? Did he lift weights? Chris shook his head, having a hard time picturing the man who claimed to never engage in menial labor ever doing anything of his own free will that would cause him to work up a sweat. But then again, he had seen the seemingly lazy man use martial arts to take down an opponent before, and that kind of skillful grace demanded a strict practice regimen.
It made him realize just how little about the man he really knew. Oh, he had seen his file, knew some of the basic details, little as there was, knew about the agent—but what did he know of the man? Not much, Chris was forced to acknowledge, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. How many times had he allowed Ezra to manipulate him, fire his temper, and direct him away from whatever truth, whatever weakness that the man was trying to hide? How many times had he tore into the other man in a fit of rage and maybe even a little fear at some foolish stunt or perceived callous and selfish action without taking the time to cool down and listen to his reasons?
Maybe Vin was right—maybe he did need to quit letting Ezra get under his skin, quit listening to his words, and start listening to the man himself. He glanced over to the corner where the tracker was leaning against the wall after coming in from surveillance outside.
Of course, it would be a cold day in hell before he ever admitted that out loud.
He turned his attention from his introspection, which he filed away for later thought when things weren't quite so hectic, and back to the conversation at hand. Johnson flipped through the ledger and nodded in approval as Ezra finished speaking. "You've done a good job here, agent," he said, setting the book back down with the rest of the papers scattered across the pool table and giving the other man a brief smile. "Your whole team has. This is some of the most thorough and complete work I've seen in a long time."
"Then I don't know what kind of work you've been seeing coming out of Washington," Lewis declared snidely, tossing the stack of photographs down beside the ledger as he stepped into the center of the room. "Because personally, I can see all kinds of holes in this 'evidence'."
"Oh come on, Lewis," Buck spoke up angrily, "that's a bunch of bull s**t and you know it."
"On the contrary, Mr. Wilmington," Lewis went on, an oily smile on his face. "What do we really have here? A company with poor bookkeeping skills? A foreman who may be a wanted man in Phoenix or who may just happen to look like him? A banker with a gambling problem? And a tape supposedly of the mastermind behind this whole thing? Come now, Mr. Standish, you can't possibly expect us to believe that Paul Randolph had anything to do with this?" he scoffed.
Ezra gritted his teeth in the face of the obvious slight at his character, but kept his features neutral. "I do believe that the evidence speaks for itself, Agent Lewis," he said coolly.
"Ah, yes. The evidence that you compiled. You found the link between this Banning and this Vitalis, the supposed foreman for said company and gun smuggling operation, you dug up the dirt on the construction company and the link between it and Vitalis, you performed the initial surveillance work that produced this tape and those pictures. So what this all boils down to is that we have your word to take for all this. But we all know how much that is worth, don't we Standish?" Lewis sneered.
"What?" JD squeaked indignantly, understanding exactly what the other man was implying. "Ezra wouldn't do that!" he stood his feet angrily, pushing his hair out of his face, ready to defend his friend.
"What, did Mr. Randolph somehow find out about your dirty hands, so you concocted this elaborate mess to implicate him and get yourself off? Or maybe the banker discovered it, and you set him up to take your fall? Maybe you and this Vitalis planned the whole thing. You have spent the last month in his company."
Buck jumped up, fury clearly all over his face. "Now that's going too far!" he roared, heading for the senior agent with the intent of tearing his head from his shoulders. Josiah grabbed his arms and held him back.
"I had thought that even you had enough intelligence to know better than to be making allegations such as that without evidence to back up your claims," Chris said quietly, ripping a page from Ezra's own dictionary as he unfolded himself from the chair and stood to his full height to the FBI man. Though his words were calm, his stance screamed his anger and his glare, if possible, would have melted the polar ice cap. "I told you this once, and I will only say it once more, so get it through that thick slab of concrete that you call a head—Ezra Standish is one h**l of an agent, and I would take his word alone on this over the whole d**n FBI's any day of the week. And the next time I hear you accuse him of being dirty, I will personally rip out your tongue through your a** and shove it back down your throat! Do you understand me?"
Though the dark leader remained in one place and never even made a move for him, Lewis stumbled backwards as though he had been shot. Chris inwardly smirked in amusement at the open fear on Lewis's face and the absolute shock in Ezra's eyes. He didn't know if Ezra's surprise was because he had defended him, or because he couldn't believe that his boss had used more than three words to get his point across, let alone knew what half those words meant, but whatever the reasons, Chris was enjoying the fact that he had for once managed to catch his irritating undercover agent off-guard while making Lewis look like a complete idiot. He thought he could understand now why Ezra liked using his flowery speech so much.
Using words to make your opponent look like a total moron was just as fun as scaring the living s**t out of them!
"You-you heard him!" Lewis stammered to the others in the room. "He threatened me!"
Ryan Kelly raised an eyebrow in the direction of the state trooper leaning against the kitchen doorway beside him as they both stayed out of the way and enjoyed the show. "Did you hear Chris threatening anyone, Captain?" he asked mildly.
Jason Reed took another swig of his beer and shook his head. "Nope, I didn't hear a thing." He knew better than to cross Larabee.
Besides, Lewis was being a jerk.
"Agent Lewis, I suggest that you sit down and shut up before you find yourself slapped with a lawsuit, as Agent Standish would be well within his rights to sue you for slander," the judge said coolly from the recliner. "And considering the number of witnesses in this room at the moment, I can assure you from experience that he would easily win the case."
"But sir—"
Johnson stepped forward and firmly grasped the protesting man's shoulder. "Agent Lewis, may I remind you that I am the ranking FBI agent as well as the representative for Interpol, and that you are here simply as a liaison between myself and the local branch? Therefore, if you persist in making a fool of yourself and the agency, I will set you out," he interrupted firmly.
"But come on, everyone knows that Standish can't be trusted! Surely you know about what happened in Atlanta!" Lewis whined.
"Yes, I have heard. The inter-agency grapevine extends to DC just was well as out here," Johnson looked at Ezra keenly. "And I also heard that they had no proof to their charges."
Lewis pulled his arm out of the senior agent's grasp and straightened his jacket. "That's just because he knows how to play the system," he sneered at the man in question, who simply crossed his arms and smiled his most infuriating smile back.
"I know the administration in Atlanta, and while I wholly agree that they couldn't find evidence against a criminal if he walked up and handed it to them on a silver platter," Ezra grinned at the other man's words, remembering his tenure in said city and agreeing completely with the man, "in this instance they found nothing because there was nothing to find." Thomas smiled at the dumbfounded look on the undercover operative's face at his words of support. "Not everyone in the agency believes those rumors, son," he said softly.
"And everyone in the ATF knows that too, even if he is one huge pain-in-the-a** on a whole team full of jack-a***s," Mark Pauley smirked from the couch.
"Who're you calling a jack-a**, Pauley?" Buck spoke up good-naturedly, having quickly calmed back down. "Shoot, that bunch of hyenas you call a team are so full of s**t that it takes us a case-load of air fresheners just to hold down the smell coming up from your offices!"
Chris exchanged an amused glance with the sharpshooter, listening to the good-humored argument that broke out, watching in satisfaction as Lewis slunk to the background, his face bright red with embarrassment. He allowed the argument to continue for a few minutes to give Ezra time to gain his composure back. The poor man looked as though he could have been knocked over with a feather at the moment, and Chris grimaced.
Hadn't anyone ever stood up for him before?
Probably not, he mused to himself, remembering the mess he had seen and read about concerning the charges in Atlanta.
"Alright, get back to the topic at hand," he ordered sternly, effectively ending the discussion. He walked back to the pool table and fixed the men present with a calculating stare. "We have three locations and three teams. The way I see it, we set up three simultaneous raids—at the warehouse, at the mansion, and at the company's offices. We wait until Bartinol and Randolph are both present and looking over the goods before opening the party. Once the bust gets going down at the warehouse, signals are sent to the other teams at the other locations." Johnson cleared his throat, and Chris focused a piercing glare up at him.
The man raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not challenging your plans," he pointed out. "As far as I'm concerned, you know the area, you know the criminals. This is your case. I'm just asking what kind of support are you thinking of having?"
Chris nodded once before turning back to the map laying on the table. He put his finger on the location of the warehouse. "The warehouse is going to be the largest operation. Team seven, along with back-up from the state police and team eight," he looked up at the state trooper and team leader, who nodded their agreement, "will handle that. A small force of FBI agents will launch the raid on the company offices, while team three and their back-up handle the mansion."
"What about the witnesses?" agent Thomas asked from the back in concern.
"We'll leave a small force here for protection," Chris affirmed.
Johnson rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and nodded in approval. "Looks good. I can have at least a good two dozen trustworthy agents available to you by that morning, and more if you need them."
"And I can have as many troopers as you need on standby," Reed agreed. "I'll give them the game plan that morning, to help with the security issue."
Chris looked up at the two team leaders. "H**l, Chris, you know you got our help," Mark Pauley declared. "Things've been entirely too quiet around here lately. My boys are just itching for a good bust."
Ryan Kelly tapped his right index finger to his head in a lazy salute, indicating that he could count on team eight's help as well.
Chris nodded once before turning back to the map. "Alright, boys, let's get the details hammered out. I want no ****ups on this one."
"I just have one request before we get started, Mr. Larabee," Johnson spoke up, and everyone turned their attention to him.
"That would be…" Chris looked up at the man coolly, his whole demeanor indicating that he was in full alpha mode and would not be relinquishing command of this operation to anyone.
Johnson met his steely gaze with one of his own, his eyes hard as granite. "I want another man to lead the FBI at the offices, not myself."
"And where do you plan on being?" Chris asked with a raised brow.
The man's features became cold and almost feral, his eyes glittering with calculating intent. "I want to be there at the warehouse when Bartinol gets taken down. I want to personally put the cuffs on him, shove him into the nearest squad car, deliver him to the nearest prison, and throw away the key." He paused a moment, as though he needed to gather himself before making his next statement. "I owe it to Allen to finish this."
Chris glanced at the others in the room before coming back to the man's gaze. He understood all too well the need behind the request, the unspoken and barely acknowledged desire for justice and revenge.
It was something that he lived with everyday.
The faintest of smiles crossed his lips and he tilted his head slightly. "I think something can be arranged."
Johnson nodded once and turned back to the table with the others, intent on formulating the plans for the bust.
* * * * * * *
Ezra bent over the pool table, carefully lining up his next shot. "Six ball in the left side pocket," he muttered before expertly sending the cue ball across the table, banking it off the left side just shy of the corner pocket and off the back wall into the small huddle of brightly colored balls where it knocked the correct ball into the called pocket, a hair's breath behind the eight, which had been precariously balanced on the edge of said pocket. The eight ball moved out of jeopardy as the cue ball lined itself up perfectly to send the seven into the corner pocket at his elbow. He circled the table to take his next shot.
"Nice one, Pard."
He paused in mid-bend, looking up to see Vin standing in the kitchen doorway, holding three bottles. Vin took a swig of one and offered another to the conman, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. "Can I assume all is quiet on the western front?" Ezra asked before taking a drink himself.
"If you mean is there no sign of Randolph's men, then yeah, everything's fine." Vin stepped into the dimly lit room and sat a hip on the corner of the table, handing the third bottle to JD who stood off to the side as Ezra knocked the seven ball into the pocket.
"Who's on watch now?" JD asked, grimacing as Ezra sent two more balls to rest.
He had yet to have a turn in the game.
Vin shifted out of Ezra's way as he lined up another ball. "Buck," Vin answered, shaking his head.
You'd have thought the kid would have learned by now not to play Ezra.
Though the judge and Johnson had provided men for surveillance all around the ranch, Chris had still made sure that at least one of his own men was on guard at all times as well. When it came to the safety of his team, he trusted no one else to the job and had thus left the rotation that he had set up on Monday in place. Vin had relieved JD that afternoon and had been patrolling the property quietly, looking for any sign of intruders and taking note of the positions and rotations of the other four guards. He had returned to the main house right at dusk, entering through the kitchen and raiding the refrigerator before heading to the living room to find his other teammates.
"Is that female detective still out there?" JD asked, watching as the cue ball barreled into the two, knocking it toward a corner pocket. The two hit the edge of the pocket and careened off to the side, and he blinked for a moment in confusion. He had seen Ezra make many much more difficult shots than that one in the past. He eyed the conman suspiciously, wondering if he had missed the shot on purpose, but Ezra just looked back at him lazily, an expression of boredom on his face.
JD shrugged and leaned over the table to finally take his first shot of the game. Maybe he would be able to make Ezra regret that mistake. He grimaced. And maybe Buck would take a vow of chastity, Vin would take up karaoke, the cow would jump over the moon, and the sun would start orbiting the earth.
It wasn't going to happen.
Vin smirked, directing a raised eyebrow in the undercover agent's direction as he took another drink from the bottle in his hand. You going soft on us? his expression seemed to say.
Ezra met his smile with a feigned look of innocence. Hardly, Mr. Tanner.
"Yeah, she's still out there," Vin leaned back against the wall and finally answered JD's question. "And yeah, Buck was makin' a beeline for her the last I saw him."
JD cursed under his breath as he missed his next shot. "Buck just ain't gonna learn, is he? Agent Fox has done everything short of pointing her gun at him to make it plain she ain't interested," he said, shaking his head, partly because of the persistence of his roommate and partly because Ezra had just sunk the last three of his solid balls.
There goes that ten dollars.
Vin chuckled and crossed his arms, dangling his nearly empty bottle over his elbow as he watched Ezra round the table for his last shot. "H**l, kid, Ol' Buck would probably just see that as some kind of foreplay."
"Yes, well, I do believe that our Mr. Wilmington has taken to heart the old maxim energy and persistence conquer all things1. Eight ball, right corner pocket," Ezra commented, pointing toward the ball with his cue stick.
JD groaned as the ball sunk home and Ezra straightened and set the bottom of his cue on the floor, holding the top loosely in hand with a smirk on face. "I do believe that is a game, Mr. Dunne."
Vin shook his head, a wide grin on his own face as he watched JD reluctantly dig into his back pocket for his wallet. "That's the last time I volunteer to play you a game," he grumbled. "Next time, you can just stay bored."
Ezra neatly folded the bill that the young man handed him and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "But Mr. Dunne, I am hardly to blame for your own lack of skill in regards to billiards."
JD just snorted as he put his cue stick back on the rack lining the wall. Ezra turned to the tracker. "Care for a game, Mr. Tanner?"
Vin shook his head no and finished off his beer. He glanced toward the sofa and the figure slouched there in the shadows, lit only by the glow of the television, and his eyes narrowed. "She been there all evening?" he asked quietly with a nod toward the couch.
Ezra put his own cue away and reached for his bottle as he followed the tracker's line of sight. "I'm afraid so," he answered, a frown on his lips. "She's been rather quiet all day, actually." A hint of concern colored his words.
When he thought about, he realized that Alex had become rather subdued the evening before, right after the arrival of Messieurs Johnson and Thomas. While the rest of the group had been pounding out their plans for the arrests on Friday, the girl had remained in the background, making no comments or suggestions and taking no part in the activity around her. She had become very reserved and guarded, tense. After a while, she had left the room altogether, mumbling something about being tired and wanting to catch up on her sleep, but when he had finally been able to retire himself several hours later, he had noticed a light on under the door and had heard movement within the room she was staying in. Something's wrong, he realized.
"Yeah," JD agreed, leaning against the table beside them. "And have you noticed how she's been avoiding Johnson and Thomas all day? I mean, I thought she would have been happy to see them, them being close friends of her family and all, and not having seen them in six years."
Ezra caught Vin's eye and realized he felt it too. Something wasn't right. Vin glanced back at the girl. "No one else is around," he said slowly. "Chris and the others are still in town."
"You think she'd talk to us?" JD asked, understanding where Vin was leading.
Ezra set his empty bottle down on the edge of the cue cabinet. "It wouldn't hurt to ask," he said, heading for the couch.
The room had darkened considerably as the evening shadows gave way to the dark of night, the only light available that coming from the light above the pool table and the television set. Alex sat curled up in the corner of the large couch, her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around them as she stared at the screen. While she wasn't particularly interested in the movie playing, she had found nothing else to do.
She looked up warily as Ezra sat down on the coffee table in front of her, a hint of concern on his face as he reached for the remote and turned the television off. Vin glanced out the curtain window before settling against the fireplace mantel, while JD turned on a lamp and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. "You finish your game?" she asked cautiously.
"Yes, we have. Young Mr. Dunne here has become rather bored with billiards and had thought that we could find some other form of entertainment. Perhaps you would like to join us?" Ezra inquired as he crossed one knee over the other and rested his folded hands on them.
Ally smiled softly and shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm a little tired tonight and just feel like lounging around a while."
Ezra frowned. "Are you feeling ill, my dear?"
"Oh, no, I'm alright," she quickly assured him. "I just think the last couple late nights and early mornings are catching up with me."
"Yes, such hours can be quite taxing," Ezra agreed, shifting to make himself more comfortable. "So we can assume that the arrival of Agents Johnson and Thomas have had nothing to do with your present apathy?" he asked nonchalantly as he brushed at an imaginary spot of lint on the sleeve of his shirt.
"Oh, of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?" she laughed quietly, but Ezra caught the glimpse of fear and the slight widening of the eyes before she hid them behind a smile.
"I don't know, kid. Maybe it's the way you tense up whenever they're around, or maybe it's that look you got like a rabbit caught up in a brier bush with a hungry coyote nearby," Vin spoke up, his expression clearly saying he wasn't buying her claim.
"What's wrong, Ally?" JD asked.
"Nothing's wrong!" she stated firmly, climbing to her feet. "Really, I'm just tired."
She moved to round the couch, but Ezra caught her arm, stopping her in mid-stride, and looked her directly in the eye. "We only want to help," he said quietly.
She studied his concerned features intently for a moment then glanced up to see the ones mirrored on the faces of Vin and JD. "I told ya that if'n you ever needed help, I would be there for ya," Vin said softly. JD nodded in agreement.
Ezra reached up and gently turned her face toward him. "You once trusted me with your life," he said quietly. "Can you not trust me with this?"
She pulled out of his grasp and crossed the room to stand by the entertainment center with her back toward them, wrapping her arms around herself as though she were suddenly cold. Silence filled the room, broken only by the quiet tic-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she finally answered, keeping her attention on the photos lining the shelves in front of her instead of turning to face them.
The men looked at each other, confusion on their faces. "Sure we will," JD answered her encouragingly.
She snorted and shook her head. "No one else did," she said, a hint of bitterness coloring her words.
"Try us," Vin responded.
"What is it that we won't believe?" Ezra asked, standing to his feet.
Alex finally turned to face them, angering warring with despair in her stormy blue eyes. "That it's my father's partner, Edward Thomas's fault that my parents died."
"What?" JD exclaimed.
She nodded. "He betrayed us," she said. "He sold us out to Bartinol."
1quoted by Benjamin Franklin
I know what you're thinking—what? Another plot twist?! But I couldn't help myself! Besides, I couldn't let this become predictable, now could I? **grins cheekily**
