"Now, Darla," Sheriff Roy Morrison spoke. "Are you feeling a little better?"

The young girl nodded as she wiped at her cheek with a tissue.

"Good," the gray haired man smiled. "Can you try telling me what happened? Just start at the beginning and take it slow."

"I was working my shift today," Darla whispered. "Two men, not locals, came into the store. Father and son, I think." She paused as she tried to remember. "Yeah, they were father and son. The older guy was talking to me. He was really friendly." The young girl sniffled and quickly dabbed at her eyes. "Then another guy dressed like a hunter came in. He started talking really nice to me and giving me a big smile. No one's done that in a long time. Not since..." Darla trailed off as she dropped her gaze to her swollen belly.

"It's okay, Darla," the sheriff soothed.

"Here, sweetheart," Martha said as she brought a cup of tea into the living room. After the girl took it from her, Martha sat next to her on the couch and gently squeezed her knee. "You're doing good, Darla. Isn't that right, Roy?"

"You sure are," he nodded. "Keep going."

"Then the old guy's son came in and..." She trailed off as tears threatened again. "When he was getting his wallet out, I saw a gun on his belt."

The sheriff inquired, "He was armed?"

"Yes, but he showed me his badge and told me he was an FBI agent. Said not to worry." She smiled faintly. "He had a really warm smile, and friendly eyes. I trusted him right away. Then the other guy – the hunter – started asking him questions about what he was doing there." She sipped the tea and let the warm liquid calm her nerves. "Then when the FBI agent told him that he was never... never off d-duty..." Darla let out a sob and leaned her head on Martha's shoulder. "He just shot him."

"The hunter shot the agent?" Morrison pressed her.

"Yes," Darla was crying freely now. "In the leg. He made... He made me take the guy's gun and cell phone. His father's, too. I felt so bad for him. He was just lying there in pain. There w-was blood everywhere. So much blood."

Martha wrapped her arms around the young girl and held her close as her body shook with sobs. "Shh, you've done very well, Darla. It's okay. Sheriff Morrison will get the guy." Martha glanced at the man over the top of Darla's head. "Right, Sheriff?"

"You better believe it, Mrs. Bell."

--

"Reeves," Megan answered her cell. She listened to the voice on the other end for a few minutes and then frowned.

"What?" David mouthed to her as he and Colby ate their lunch.

"Okay, we'll check that out," Megan spoke. "Thanks." She flipped the phone shut and gave her fellow agents a funny look. "That was the operator at the office. She says a man called a little while ago claiming to be with Don and that they were in trouble, but the phone cut out before she could get any more information."

"Did they get the number that called?" David asked.

Megan shook her head. "The call was so short it barely registered in the operator's system. They're going to see if they can pull all of the incoming calls for today, but that's a long list. It may be a day or two before they can give us any info."

"I thought Don was on vacation," Colby said.

"He is," David nodded. "Charlie had a conference, so Don and Alan decided to have a little father-son time. They were going fishing somewhere north of here."

"You think that was Alan?" Colby queried. "Maybe they ran into some kind of trouble?"

"I hope not," Megan frowned. "Do you know where they were going, David?"

"No," he told her. "All Don said was somewhere north of here. Far away from the city."

"Well I guess we ought to try to track him down," Megan said as she flagged down their waitress.

"I kind of hope something is wrong," Colby grumbled.

"What?" the other two agents exclaimed in disbelief.

"Because if there isn't," Colby stated around the last bite of his steak. "Don's going to be very upset that we disturbed his vacation."

--

"You could have killed him," Alan whispered accusingly.

"You're right," Barry growled back as he held the other man pinned against the door to the office. "Now do you fully understand the seriousness of your situation?"

Alan forced the his voice to sound submissive, terrified that he might set off the gunman's temper again. "Yes." He forced himself to hold Barry's gaze – to ignore the groans of pain and restless movements coming from inside the office.

"Good," Barry said as he gave Alan a hard shove before releasing his grip. "You might just make it out of here alive." He glanced into the room where Don lay in a crumpled heap and chuckled. "Might not want to waste your time on him, though. He looks to be in bad shape."

"I'm not giving up on him," Alan stated firmly.

"Why not?" Barry asked sarcastically. "Because he's your son?"

"Yes," the older man sadly nodded. "That's a father's job – to be there for his children."

"Yeah?" Barry spat. "I guess not every father gets that memo." Alan was about to respond but Barry waved the gun in his face. "I don't want to hear it. You want to waste your time on some dying Fed, you go right ahead and be my guest." He pushed Alan into the room and slammed the door shut, stalking to the front of the store and trying to ignore the memories of his own father as they bubbled to the surface.

--

Alan dropped to his knees by his son's side and eased him into a seated position. He gently cupped his cheek, guiding Don to look at him. The younger man's brown eyes were clouded with pain as he struggled to catch his breath. "In and out, Donny. Nice and slow."

Don blinked in response as he tried to follow his father's instructions. After an eternity, he finally managed a nice, deep breath that eased the burning in his lungs. "Thanks," he whispered, the one word barely audible.

Alan didn't speak, just graced Don with a loving smile. His expression faltered a bit as he moved his hand to trace the angry bullet graze that now marred his son's right cheek and temple. Having used all of the shirt scraps on Don's leg, Alan settled for using the hem of his shirt to gently clean the blood from his son's face. "That was too close," the older Eppes whispered to himself. Much to his surprise, Don's hand reached up and lightly covered his.

"I'm okay," he assured him. At his father's doubtful look, Don managed a small smile. "Not one hundred percent, but not dead either."

"Thank God for that."

"Got an idea, too," Don informed him.

"Go ahead," Alan prompted him as he continued cleaning his son's face.

"Seems like a good father figure might influence him." Don paused and studied his father's dubious expression. "You're the best father a guy could have – I know that for a fact. If you get a chance… you should talk to him. See what's in his head."

"What if I make him mad?" Alan demanded. "I'm not going to be responsible for getting you hurt again."

"It's the only thing we've got to work with," Don insisted. "Do you have a better idea?"

"You mean besides never stopping at a small town gas station again?"

"Dad…" Don groaned in frustration.

"No, I don't have a better idea." The older man sighed as he sat next to the wall and pulled his son's head down to again rest on his shoulder. "I'm just not sure that yours is all that great either."

Don closed his eyes and drew comfort from his father's fingers as they ran through his hair. "Didn't say mine was great," Don whispered sleepily. "But it is the only thing we have to work with."

--

Chris looked up from the floor as he heard three vehicles pulling into the gas station. A wide smile crossed his face as he recognized the county sheriff's and deputy's cars, and realized his plan was going to work after all. He stood in front of the large glass window and watched as three law enforcement officers climbed out of the vehicles. In no time, Chris had singled out his person of interest and locked gazes with him. He felt the fire of pure, intense hatred burning through his veins. Time to face your demons, you worthless old man.

--

Sheriff Morrison had left Darla in Martha's capable hands and summoned his two deputies, radioing them to meet him just down the street from Turner's. He'd led the mini-caravan of three into the lot, making sure they parked far enough from the store to be safe, but close enough to see what was going on. His gut had been tingling non-stop ever since hearing Darla's story because he was certain the hunter wanted law enforcement officers to come – which couldn't possibly be a good thing.

Morrison saw a figure standing in the storefront window and realized the man was looking directly at him. He returned the stare and squinted as the hunter's likeness started to stir up an old memory. As the sheriff climbed out of the car, the image slammed into him at full force. "Oh no," he whispered, leaning against the squad car as his knees suddenly went weak.

His two deputies were immediately at his side. "What's wrong, Sheriff?" the taller of the two deputies asked.

"If that's who I think it is..." Morrison trailed off as he removed his hat and bowed his head. "May God have mercy on us all."

TBC