Prologue

No one was coming.

The gnawing certainty had been growing, fueled by the sharp smell of copper, the warm stickiness coating his hands, and the uneven rasp of labored breathing. Chris tipped his head back, squeezed his eyes shut against the flickering light, and struggled to contain an almost overpowering wave of despair. The single light bulb, their only source of illumination, was dying.

So was Vin.

Despair turned to rage, a more acceptable outlet. "Damn it, Buck! Where the hell are you?"

"No use. Not even... the Larabee bellow... carry... that far."

The words were little more than a breathy whisper, as pale as the man cradled against his chest, yet the words stabbed like a knife in Chris's gut. Vin's skin was nearly translucent except for the dusky shadows under his eyes. Carefully schooling his features, he gave his friend what he hoped would pass for an irritated glare.

"Shouldn't you be saving your breath?"

Vin's gaze, hazy with pain, locked onto Chris for a long moment before sliding away. Recognizing but not calling him on his deception. "Nah. More entertainin'...pissin' ya off."

"Is that so?" Chris played along, dropping his voice to the low growl that never failed to set rookies quaking in their boots. "You might just want to rethink that strategy."

"Ya don't...scare me...Larabee. Ya never--"

The words caught in his throat, throwing Vin into a series of jagged coughs. Chris shifted his friend upright, wincing when Vin gripped his arms hard enough to leave bruises. The coughing spell seemed to last for hours before Vin's eyes fluttered shut and he slumped backward, gasping raggedly.

"Easy. Slow it down." Chris used the already crimson-splattered towel to wipe a fresh trickle of blood from the corner of Vin's mouth. He pressed the water bottle to Vin's lips, his heart thudding when there was no response. "Vin?"

"Yeah."

Relief left him lightheaded--or was that the lump on his skull? He jiggled the water bottle and was rewarded when Vin took two anemic pulls. "You have to stay with me. Vin?" He sharpened his voice. "Vin!"

"'M tired, Chris."

"I don't give a damn how tired you are; don't even think about quitting on me or I'll kick your ass." Not much of a threat when his voice cracked.

Vin open his eyelids just enough to reveal a sliver of blue. "Not...not yer fault. Don't want ya...blamin'...self."

He curled his lips in a weak smile. "I'll make you a deal. I promise not to beat myself up about any of this--as long as you promise to stick around."

"Been hangin'...'round Ezra...too long." Vin's weak chuckle turned into more hacking, then a low groan. "Hurts, Chris," he choked. "Hurts so damn bad."

"I know, Cowboy. Just lean on me. I'm right here."

Chris dampened the last clean towel, gently wiping tears and blood from Vin's flushed face. He tensed when Vin's eyes drifted shut and his body went limp, but didn't attempt to rouse him. Instead he concentrated on the broken rhythm of Vin's respiration and prayed to a God he wasn't sure he believed in anymore.

"They'll get here in time," he said aloud. "They will."

But he wasn't so sure he believed in himself either.

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Chapter 1

15 hours earlier...

Chris cut the engine and looked over at his friend. Vin was folded into the corner of the seat, arms laced across his chest and lips pressed together as he stared at the two-story farmhouse. Every line of his body language communicated clearly his displeasure--as if he hadn't made it plain enough before they'd left the office and throughout the hour-long drive.

Chris sighed and pulled the keys from the ignition. "Fifteen minutes, tops. It'll be painless, I promise."

Vin huffed. "We're missin' the Friday two fer one special and Inez's loaded nachos. Hell, I'm already in pain."

"Yeah, but you're spared watching Buck hit on everything in a skirt."

The corners of Vin's mouth turned up. "An' J.D. runnin' off at the mouth."

"Josiah pontificating on the social and psychological significance of the happy hour ritual."

"Ez tryin' to sucker someone into a card game."

"And Nathan grumbling that we're all gonna be sick as dogs if we don't slow down."

They grinned at each other for a moment before Vin sighed. "All right, let's get the show on the road. The sooner we're done, the sooner you can get to barbecuing that steak ya promised me."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "I said I'd cook you dinner; I don't seem to recall mentioning steaks."

"You think I'd let you drag me to the godforsaken middle of nowhere on a day so damn hot you could fry an egg on the sidewalk just to ask a guy why he's swimmin' in shit--all for that Hamburger Helper crap you're so fond of? How cheap do ya think I am?"

"I keep telling you, this liquid fertilizer is not sh--"

"If it smells like a duck..."

Chris opened his mouth to retort, then shook his head. "Okay. Steaks."

"An' baked potatoes."

"Fine."

"With lotsa butter an' sour cream."

"You're pushing it, Tanner." Chris got out of the car into what felt like a sauna, sweat immediately beading his forehead and trickling between his shoulder blades. He waited for Vin to join him, glaring sideways as they walked toward the house. "Smart-mouthed, pain-in-the-ass Texan."

"Nice to know I'm appreciated fer more than my good looks."

As they neared the front porch, Vin stopped and groaned softly.

"What?" Chris asked.

He gestured to the open windows. "No AC. Gonna be hotter 'n hell in there."

Chris barely hid a grimace. "Ten minutes." He stepped up to the door and pressed the bell.

Vin hesitated a moment longer, then followed. "Damn well better be sour cream."

"Looks like maybe no one's home," Chris said after they'd waited several minutes.

"Or just not answerin'."

Chris saw his teammate staring at one of the windows. "You see something?"

"Curtain moved, and there ain't exactly a breeze."

Pressing the bell again, Chris then rapped briskly on the door. "Raymond Sinclair? Federal agents."

Another long pause before they heard the click of a deadbolt being released. The door opened a crack to reveal a dark-haired boy barely into his teens hovering in the shadows.

"My dad's not home."

Chris stepped closer. "Any idea when he'll be back?"

The boy hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was soft and uncertain. "Should be any time. He just went into town for a few things. Said he'd be home before dinner."

Sensing the kid's apprehension, Chris deliberately gentled his tone. "What's your name, son?"

"Jonah."

"Well, Jonah, I'm Agent Larabee and this is Agent Tanner. It's really important that we talk to your dad. Would you mind if we came in and waited for him?"

Even in the dim lighting, he could see the boy's eyes widen.
"W-well, I'm n-not supposed to let strangers into the house when he's g-gone."

Chris nodded. "I can understand that. But I'm thinkin' that your dad would probably make an exception in our case. Being federal agents, and all."

"Chris. Don't."

Chris snapped his head around at the gruff warning in Vin's voice. His friend was staring intently at Jonah with wary eyes.

"We drove all the way out here, Vin. I'm not itchin' to drive back Monday or--God forbid--tomorrow."

"I got no problem seein' this thing through, just... let's sit in the car."

Chris screwed up his face. "You were just bellyaching about how hot it is. The car'll be unbearable."

"Then here on the porch. I just don't think--"

"No, it's okay." Jonah nudged the screen door, backing away quickly when Chris pulled it open. "You can wait in the living room."

Chris took a step over the threshold, but Vin clamped a hand onto his arm, restraining him. "You sure 'bout this, kid? Ain't no reason we can't bide our time out here."

"Yeah. Y-you're like the police, right?" Jonah glanced from Chris to Vin for confirmation. "Always supposed to c-cooperate w-with the police. 'Sides, my mom always said we should make guests feel at home."

"Your mom sounds like a real nice lady," Chris said, blotting an errant drop of sweat from his temple. The house, though far from cool, provided a welcome relief from the blistering sun. He and Vin trailed Jonah into a room with a scuffed hardwood floor and well-worn furniture. "Is she in town with your dad?"

Jonah ducked his head. "No, she, uh... she died three years ago."

Chris felt Vin tense, though the man didn't move a muscle. "I'm sorry," he said to the boy. "So it's just you and your dad?"

"Yeah." Jonah watched as Chris and Vin sat on the threadbare couch. He shuffled his feet, darting an anxious look out the front window.

As the silence stretched, Chris glanced at Vin, who was watching the boy through narrowed eyes. Realizing he was going to get no help from his even more reticent than usual friend, he leaned forward, his clasped hands dangling between his knees. "School starts soon, doesn't it? What grade will you be in?"

Jonah perched on the edge of a chair, picking at a hole in his faded jeans. "Eighth."

More silence. Evidently Vin wasn't the only man of few words in the room. "So... do you have a favorite subject?"

"Not really."

Chris was searching for something to say when Vin's soft question took him by surprise. "How'd ya get that?" His friend pointed at a livid bruise covering the boy's right cheekbone.

Jonah flushed, his gaze snapping to Vin, then sliding away. "I can be a real k-klutz. I t-tripped. Hit it on a ch-chair." He popped to his feet. "You're p-probably thirsty. I'll get you a glass of water." He'd disappeared before either of them could reply.

"Mind telling me what that was all about?" Chris asked.

Vin responded with a level stare. "Just makin' conversation."

"I think you embarrassed him."

"Weren't embarrassment."

What the hell...? "Vin--"

"Awful hot day fer long sleeves, don't ya think?"

Chris frowned, struggling to understand. Something was off, his normally easy rapport with Vin strained. It almost felt as if his friend were speaking another language.

He shrugged. "Kids can be funny. Adam had a pair of shorts he'd insist on wearing even in the dead of winter. Drove Sarah nuts."

Vin clenched his jaw but didn't respond. Chris was still puzzling over the sharpshooter's odd behavior when Jonah reappeared, a glass of ice water in each hand.

"Thanks." Chris accepted his and took a long draught.

From the corner of his eye he saw Jonah hand Vin the othe glass and then jerk his arm back, tugging nervously at his shirtsleeve. He sat in the chair and fidgeted, only to spring up a moment later like a soldier snapping to attention.

"Dad's home."

The slap of the screen door punctuated his announcement. Heavy footfalls thumped down the hallway and a deep voice rumbled. "Jonah! Whose fucking car is that in the driveway? You'd damn well better not have let anyone into this house."

Chris and Vin set down their glasses and stood as a huge man, easily as large as Josiah, loomed in the doorway. His piercing eyes, dark, curly hair and full beard gave the impression of a grizzly bear poised to attack. From Jonah's reaction, that image was not far off the mark.

"I-it's not like that, Dad, I d-didn't--they--they're f-federal agents." Jonah slid quickly out of the way when his father strode into the room.

"Raymond Sinclair?" Chris showed his badge. "Agent Larabee and Agent Tanner from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms."

Sinclair shot Jonah a hard look before scrutinizing first the badge and then Chris and Vin. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, for starters, you can easy off on your boy," Vin said. "He's just bein' polite."

When Sinclair drew his brows together, Chris laid a hand on Jonah's shoulder. "Your son was kind enough to let us wait in here, out of the sun. Even got us a drink of water. You should be proud of him."

"Is that right? Guess I'll have to reward him later."

Though it was said with a smile, Jonah paled. "I was j-just cooperating," he said. "No big deal."

"I'm guessing this means you haven't done your chores." Sinclair mimicked Chris, gripping Jonah's other shoulder with his large hand.

Jonah flinched, then shied away. "Sorry. I'm g-going now." He stole a quick look at Vin and Chris. "Nice m-meeting you." Then he was gone.

"Damn kid is always looking for an excuse to slack off," Sinclair said. "Now, what exactly do you ATF boys need with me?"

"We've had a rash of homemade bombs turning up in the Denver area," Chris explained. "Made of, among other things, nitrogen fertilizer."

Sinclair curled his lip. "You planning on checking every farmer in the state who uses nitrogen fertilizer?"

"Just the ones who purchase way more than their little spread could possibly need," Vin drawled.

"You gotta be kidding. Do I look like a terrorist to you?" Sinclair sneered.

"Can't say for sure. They come in all shapes an' sizes," Vin replied with a shrug.

The farmer made a move toward Vin, curling his hand into a fist, but Chris stepped between them. "We just need to see records of the purchase, receipt, and distribution of the large order you placed on April 10. You do have paperwork, don't you?"

Sinclair glared for a moment, then backed off. "Wait here." He left the room and they heard him stomp down the hall.

Chris turned to Vin. "What is going on with you? Are you deliberately trying to piss him off?" he hissed.

Vin glared back. "Don't seem like it takes much."

Chris heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Vin, you gotta help me out here. Every since we walked in the door, you've been acting--" He broke off when Sinclair returned with a packet of papers.

"Here." He thrust them at Chris. "As you can see there, a neighbor and I pooled our orders. We got a discount." He folded his arms as Chris scanned the papers. "Satisfied?"

"Everything looks on the up and up." Chris handed back the packet. "Appreciate your cooperation."

"Not like I had much of a choice. Now, if that's all, I've got plenty of work to do." Sinclair gestured toward the door.

Chris gritted his teeth but held onto his temper. "Then we'll leave you to it."

Vin didn't say a word as they walked to the truck--but then, he didn't have to. He stripped off his tie, unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves with short, jerky movements. Yanking open the passenger door, he lobbed the tie into the back of the truck and slouched into his seat.

Chris rid himself of his own tie and started the engine, cranking the AC to full blast. Vin was staring through the windshield at the house. His expression darkened when Sinclair came out the front door and stalked across the yard toward the barn.

Chris dropped his hands from the wheel and turned to face his friend. "What just happened in there?"

Vin scowled at him, but his gaze quickly drifted back to the barn. "I dunno what yer talkin' about."

"You were deliberately provoking that guy, trying to get a rise out of him."

"So?"

"So? Damn it, Vin, it was completely unprofessional! That's the kind of shit Buck pulls, not you."

"Now yer hittin' below the belt."

"So why'd you do it?"

"He's a jackass."

"Of course he is. But we deal with jackasses every day and you don't make it your job to call 'em out. Vin?" Seeing his teammate was paying far more attention to the scenery than to his reprimand turned Chris's irritation to anger. "Will you stop staring at the damn barn and talk to me? What the hell is wrong with you?

Vin turned on him, blue eyes afire with fury. "Fine, Larabee. You really want to know? Then listen up: Mr. Raymond Sinclair might not be our terrorist, but I can tell ya one thing for damn sure. That lousy son of a bitch beats his kid."

Continued in Chapter 2