Rope Enough

by Brandgwen

Disclaimer: Profiler is the property of NBC and Sander/Moses. The Magnificent Seven is the property of Watson/Densham and CBS. The ATF universe belongs to Mog. I'm not making any money, I'm not worth suing.

Author's Note: This is an ATF/Profiler cross-over, inspired by the challenge put forward by Michelle Naylor. Background is gleaned from a number of ATF fics, in particular "How DID He Get That Car?", by Mog and "Your True Family", by Ruby. Thanks to to everyone who helped me with the background information.

A Small Pool of Blood

The agents donned bullet proof jackets and split into pairs. The security guard roster had placed Louis in the biomedical sciences area, but that was a large place. Aware that they might run into Larabee, Wilmington and Jackson, the ATF agents moved off toward the biochemistry building, accompanied by Malone and Grant. Bailey and JD went to look inside the facility, while John and Vin searched the grounds.

Floor after floor the agents searched. Most of the rooms were locked, the corridors silent. JD was surprised the place was deserted. He had expected to see Chris there, somewhere. Why would he and Buck go to the uni, if not to look around?

They reached the top floor, where the lecturers had their offices. The doors to the offices were closed and locked. All except two at the western end of the building, which had apparently been flung open. Bailey briefly checked inside the two rooms, while motioning JD to move further up the corridor. They stood empty, if somewhat disordered. No security guard, so Bailey moved on.

As they reached the eastern end of the building, Bailey had resigned himself to the fact that no one was there. It had been a long shot. All they could do was hope that someone else had better luck.

"Uh, Agent Malone?"

"Yeah?" Bailey caught up to the young agent, who had scouted ahead down the corridor.

"I think we have something."

The something JD referred to was a small pool of blood, drying on the tiled floor. More importantly, next to it lay a bloodied truncheon.

Larabee and Jackson sat, side by side, in the hospital waiting room. As he looked around, Nathan found he missed the old, familiar room they had left in Denver. The staff there knew who they were. The nurses didn't try and chase them away from their fallen companions and the doctors didn't trifle them when it came to bad news. Most important to Jackson, they didn't patronise him by simplifying medical jargon. They played it straight with the team and he made a mental note to appreciate that, next time one of them was injured.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but could someone please tell me the status of the patient who just came through here?" Nate was willing to talk to anyone, but was having little success.

"Are you immediate family?" the triage nurse enquired. Nathan blinked at her. Stupid question.

"I'm a friend, that, there," he indicated Chris, "is his boss."

"I'm afraid we can't give that kind of information out to anyone but immediate family," she turned and stalked off, pleased in the knowledge she had upheld the rule.

Jackson shook his head and returned to his friend. "Do you think we should call someone?"

Larabee shrugged. "We should probably leave Josiah and Ez alone, let them get some rest," he paused, "but JD should know."

As he removed his mobile from his pocket, he remembered the message he had neglected to retrieve. He knew he was deliberately putting off his original 'phone call, even as he dialled the message bank number. No one liked giving the kid bad news.

This is not a social call, Cowboy. Get back to me. in his message, Vin sounded agitated. Larabee dialled the agent's number from memory and waited for him to answer. The 'phone rang a few times, then was replaced by a pleasant voice informing him that Vin's mobile was turned off.

Odd, thought Larabee, who then tried dialling JD's number. No response there, either. Larabee tapped his mobile a few times, on the coffee table in front of him. He hated not knowing what everyone was doing, especially those two. Oh, well. Malone can handle it.

Tanner and Grant circled the building, moving slowly and deftly through the trees. Tanner was acutely aware of just how many bushes there were behind which a murderer could hide. Why did he have to be a security guard? Why not a librarian? They don't get given guns.

"Hey," John kept his voice low, just above a whisper, "he look familiar?" The man he indicated walked brusquely down the path beside the biochemistry building. He wore an air of authority to match his sharply pressed uniform.

"He's the right height, right build," Tanner agreed. "We can most likely take him before he even draws his gun."

John grinned. "Yeah, but maybe we'd better wait until he gets closer. We want to know it's him before we go announcing ourselves."

Tanner nodded and the two slipped back into the shadows of the trees.

Louis was kicking himself. How could he have forgotten his truncheon? If someone found it he was done for. Not only was the weapon covered in his fingerprints and the dead man's blood, it had been signed out from the security office under his name. Damn.

Chrip, chirp. The sound cut through the still night. It came from the stand of trees beside the biochemistry building. It almost sounded like a cricket, but it was too cold for crickets and the noise sounded too artificial.

Chrip, chirp. There is was again. Louis looked into the trees, but could see no one. A tiny movement was all. Hypersensitised as the security guard was, that was enough.

Chirp, chirp. For a moment Tanner didn't know what the sound was. All he knew was that is was coming from him. Then it struck him and he cursed himself for an idiot. Leaving you mobile 'phone turned on was a rookie mistake of the worst kind. Chrip, chirp. Tanner fumbled with the on/off switch, finally turning it off.

He looked up to see John turn and glance at him. That small movement set up a slightly larger one in the leaves of the tree John hid behind. Michael Louis drew is gun and aimed it at Grant. To Tanner, it felt like an eternity before he, himself, drew, but, in reality, he and Louis fired almost simultaneously.

Bang, bang, bang. Tanner's gun sounded three times. Head, throat, heart. His bullets found their marks. As the fire of his own bullet wound filled his shoulder, Grant couldn't help thinking, Wow. He really is a good shot.

Wilmington and Grant were both out of hospital and recuperating within the week. The blow to Wilmington's head had missed the most vulnerable part of the skull by a centimetre. The bone had been fractured, but there was little internal damage. John had sustained only a flesh wound and was thus quite capable of harassing Tanner over the mobile 'phone incident the whole week.

Ezra had gone after the Booker lead with little success. The telephone numbers may well have been connected with the gun runners, but, by the time the ATF took a good look at them, the lines had been disconnected. Larabee, being somewhat fed up with the whole mess, decided to leave the uni to the local police.

Malone, at least, was pleased with events.

"Ah, Chris. It's been nice to have some intelligent assistance the past few days," he said, grinning at the scowls directed at him by his own team.

Larabee half smiled. "Yeah, well, next time one our targets can come after your agents with a club."

"Done. By the way, if you ever want to get rid of the kid, we'll take him."

"Nice try, but I don't think so."

Malone chuckled. "Well, I had to ask."