Part 7

Hugo, Oklahoma
Two days later

Vin swore silently as a bead of sweat trickled down his neck and under his collar. The late afternoon sun beat down on his back; he could feel the warmth of the water tower's metal roof through his jeans and denim shirt. He peered through the telescopic site of his rifle.

One hundred fifty feet below and several hundred yards to the northeast, roughly a dozen men-all dressed casually and holding cans of beer-stood or sat in front of a barn. The faded red paint spoke of long years of exposure to the often-extreme Oklahoma weather, but the roof showed signs of recent repair. The men ranged in age from as red-haired kid of about fifteen, expertly spitting a stream of tobacco juice on the ground; to the apparent leader of the group, a tall, silver haired man with an erect, military posture.

At the first glance it might be mistaken for just a group of friends gathered to drink some brews, shoot the breeze and maybe poach a deer or two. The men dragged lawn chairs around a barbeque pit dug in the dirt; brought in coolers from the back of pickup trucks. The young kid and two others, maybe a few years older, sniggered as they passed a magazine back and forth. From the horny looks on their faces, Vin doubted they were ogling the centerfold of 'Field and Stream'.

But the weapons two or three of the men held casually weren't hunting rifles, but sleek military automatic weapons. The young kid had a belt of grenades cinched around his waist. The same kid clutched an Uzi, caressing it like a lover.

As the minutes ticked into hours and the sun sank lower into the west, the relaxed demeanor of the group changed. The men started going into the barn in twos and threes, returning with more and more lethal instruments. The laughter and jovial conversation died down, to be replaced with ever-grimmer glares as the men looked toward the distant highway; waiting, Vin knew, for the plume of dust announcing a vehicle had turned onto the dirt road.

Vin shook his head. Where were the weapons coming from? The local authorities had assured Team Seven they'd searched the barn, thoroughly and multiple times. Without a warrant, as it turned out. Chris had been furious, although if the truth were told, Team Seven didn't have exactly the best record of waiting on the paperwork before doing a search either.

Chris' voice hissed in Vin's ear through his transmitter. "Where the hell are they?"

Vin cut his eyes to where he knew Larabee and JD were, although he couldn't see the dark green van they'd borrowed from the Dallas office. Then he looked in the other direction, toward the gnarled remnants of a peach orchard where local law enforcement-shepherded by Josiah-hid and waited.

Vin could tell from the tone of his voice that Larabee was worried and on edge. Nothing new there. This whole mission had felt wrong from the very beginning. Chris was too focused, intent, like he was trying to block everything else out. JD was withdrawn and hostile, especially toward Chris. Josiah's eyes had grown more and more worried ever since they'd arrived in the small Oklahoma town.

Ezra had called the night before. Sounding tense and unusually abrupt, the undercover agent had said the meet had been set for four o'clock. He had prevailed on some "friends"-he didn't go into details-in the Shreveport area to provide him with a suitable vehicle. He and Bobby Fewell had picked up the "bait"-crates of weapons seized in an offshore raid and hoarded for just this kind of occasion. Then Ezra had disconnected before Chris could ask for more details.

And now Ezra and Bobby were almost an hour late for the meet.

"Maybe they had car trouble," JD's voice whispered. No one responded. Vin could feel the tension ratcheting up, clenching the muscles in his back and neck. Then something caught his eyes. Swinging the telescopic site toward the south, he tracked a sleek black SUV slowing on the highway. The vehicle almost stopped before turning onto the dirt road. "Company coming," he quietly announced.

"Ezra?" Chris voice crackled with tension and static.

The SUV had tinted windows. Vin studied it through the scope, waiting patiently as it drew close in a cloud of dust, peripherally aware of Chris' impatience and the alert movements of the men below him. He finally identified the two men in the front seat. "It's them."

"'Bout damn time," Chris snapped.

Bobby and Ezra were both wearing short-range mikes but they could only send, not receive. Now Ezra's voice came over the wires, cracking with static. "Gentlemen, we have arrived."

The SUV halted in a cloud of dust about thirty feet from the ring of men. Bobby Fewell got out first. He was wearing a light cotton jacket and carrying his gun. Ezra stepped out of the vehicle. Even through the scope Vin could see he looked tired, strained. He was unarmed-or at least appeared that way. Summing up the men facing him, Ezra unerringly picked out the leader and started to walk towards him. Two of the other men stepped into his path. They were holding weapons but made no move to aim them at Ezra. Still, Bobby Fewell reacted, yelling, "Drop 'em!" and pointing his pistol at the man closest to him.

The men all looked surprised but reacted in kind, with half focusing their attention on Bobby and the others on Ezra. Standish extended both hands in a gesture of peace. "Wait, wait...there's no reason for this display of force. My companion overreacted, that's all." Without looking over his shoulder, he snapped, "Robert, put that gun away."

Bobby made no move to comply. "Now!" Ezra snapped, his voice carrying the crack of a whip. Chris Larabee couldn't have done any better. Bobby hesitated, then lowered his weapon.

Ezra went on smoothly, addressing his comments toward the white haired gentleman with the erect posture that he'd picked out as the leader. "Please pardon my young friend. He is a trifle hasty, I know...but he's young and inexperienced." Ezra looked pointedly at the various weapons pointed at him. After a few seconds, the white-haired man nodded and the weapons were lowered, although Vin noted more than one of the country boys kept their eye on Bobby. Ezra went on, "I am Brody Carter."

There was something different about Ezra's accent. Vin frowned for a minute, then shook his head.

Ezra was imitating Buck's speech patterns.

For a few minutes everyone stood in an awkward silence. Bobby Fewell was obviously on edge, nervous, trying to watch everyone at once. He kept his gun pointing down but his fingers tense and ready.

Ezra appeared calm and relaxed. Not so the men he was there to meet. Vin could tell Bobby's behavior was bothering them. Two or three of the men started looking around suspiciously. Vin flattened himself against the roof of the water tower, knowing the setting sun should blind him from the men.

"Gentlemen, I thought we were here to do business?" Ezra drawled. He shot a quelling look at Bobby, which accomplished absolutely nothing.

"Calm down, Bobby..." Chris breathed. "He's going to blow this..."

"He's doing the best he can!" JD's voice was sharp in Vin's ear.

"Easy, brothers." Josiah was soothing. Shifting slightly, Vin could spot the profiler, hidden in the underbrush with the local cops. Some of them were moving nervously as well, as if Bobby's anxiety was communicating to them.

"You're late," the silver-haired man finally said. "Don't like a man who's late for meetings."

"Yes, well, we were unavoidably detained." Ezra shot another look at Bobby. "There was a roadblock near the state line. Given our cargo, we thought it best to avoid any encounter with law enforcement."

Most of the men seemed to remember just what that cargo was then, and looked toward the SUV with naked greed on their faces. The young kid started forward, to be stopped by an abrupt motion of the leader's hand. "Haven't heard tell of any roadblocks."

Ezra raised elegant eyebrows. "Tied in with the local law, are you?"

He nodded. "Kin to most of the law 'round these parts."

Vin could hear Chris cussing through the earphones. He heard Josiah demand, "That true?"

Muffled voices in the background, then Josiah's voice, heavy with concern. "Sheriff Rogers says the tall man is his cousin. Daniel Travers."

Travers was also the last name of the Hugo Chief of Police. In spite of everything, Vin had to grin a little at Chris' colorful vocabulary to describe just what he thought of this case, the local law enforcement, and for that matter, the State of Oklahoma.

Travers' attention was on Ezra although most of his friends were watching Bobby again. The young ATF agent was practically vibrating with excitement.

"The roadblock was on the other side of the state line. Texas Rangers," Ezra said easily. He shrugged. "As I said, not a good idea to give them the opportunity to look at our...merchandise."

There was charged silence. Travers studied Ezra closely. The undercover agent met his eyes calmly.

Finally Travers nodded his head. "Let's look at what you've got."

Tension eased among the group. The men lost no time opening the doors of the SUV and passing out the weapons. They looked less like pot-growing gun-toting survivalists than they did eager children on Christmas morning. Ezra moved among them easily, asking questions, showing off features of the weapons. Bobby held aloof, still tightly gripping his firearm and glancing from side to side. Most of the men had stopped paying any attention to him but two or three of the older ones, as well as the young kid, shadowed him.

Denver

Reluctantly, Sarah Bryant let the two college girls who worked part time at the art gallery drag her out for happy hour. She'd initially refused, but then let them talk her into it. One reason was her loneliness. In the weeks since she'd assumed the Tina Barrows identity, she'd had no contact with anyone from her previous life. She had very few friends in Denver anyway; since her parents had died when she was a child her life had consisted of boarding schools in the East, summer camp in Canada, then later college and "finishing" in Europe. Up until this year, she'd never spent more than a few weeks at a time in Denver.

She'd cut off all contact with her uncle or his people, staying mostly in the small studio apartment she'd managed to rent. After returning from Europe, she'd gained access to the safe deposit box where the fraudulent identification papers Marcus Hoyt had obtained for her were stored, but she hadn't touched any of the money in the bank accounts under each name. Her feelings about her uncle were all mixed up-anger, grief, guilt and fear. She wasn't stupid and if Marcus Hoyt was guilty of even half the things he'd been accused of, her life could be in danger if he even suspected she might turn against him.

Cut off from everything she knew, her only distractions her job during the day and the small television in her apartment at night, she was adrift. Scared.

And so very alone.

Still, she'd declined when Amber and Afton extended the invitation. It wasn't until they mentioned that several employees from the nearby Federal Building usually attended "Ladies Night" that she changed her mind. She couldn't admit, even to herself, that she was going for the slim chance she'd hear something about Buck Wilmington.

The man she'd known - and fallen in love with - as Brian Jakes.

She knew he was hurt, that his home had been blown up, that her uncle had been charged with arranging it. It had been big news in Denver, the newspapers and television talking of little else the first few days. Now, though, with the exception of a one-paragraph "filler" the day before, she hadn't heard anything about him. A call to the hospital had gleaned only the information that his condition was "stable". On impulse, she'd bought him an elaborate flower arrangement and actually taken it to the hospital a few days ago. At the last minute, her good sense - or fear, or anger, or all three - had taken over, as it had the previous time she'd gone to visit him, and she'd fled, leaving the flowers at the nurses' station.

She hadn't signed the card.

What could she have said? 'I love you'? She didn't even know him. She should hate him. He'd been playing a part, conning her, using her to get information on her uncle. Probably everything he'd told her had been a lie.

When he said he loved her...

Had he ever actually said it? She frowned. 'He must have,' she decided. He must have said it. That night...

She called him early in the afternoon. She knew Uncle Marcus had invited Brian's boss, Edward, to be his guest at his private gentleman's club that night. A few artful questions yielded the information that her uncle's chauffer would be picking up the Southern gentleman and delivering him back to his hotel. Brian Jakes hadn't been invited.

He answered on the second ring. "Hi, Darlin'," he said warmly once he knew who was calling.

"A little bird told me you have the night off," she said, smiling in secret excitement. "Free for dinner?"

"With you, Darlin'? Can't think of anythin' I'd like more," he assured her. "Pick you up at seven?"

She shook her head, even though of course he couldn't see her. "No, no," she said hastily. "I'll pick you up. About four-thirty?" She held her breath.

"That's kind of early for dinner." His voice was lazily curious.

"It's out of town...special place." She could feel herself blushing as she added, "I want to share it with you."

The silence that followed her comment was so long, it scared her. "Brian?"

"I'm here." He coughed. "Sounds wonderful. So what should I wear?" His voice sounded oddly strangled.

They talked for a few minutes and when they'd hung up Sarah rushed upstairs to her room. She tossed a few things into her overnight bag-she'd hide it in the car later-and eagerly pulled the plastic bag off the dress she'd bought a few days ago. White crepe, a slightly rounded neckline in front, plunging radically in back to a point at the base of her spine. Demure and innocent but at the same time provocative as hell.

She hoped.

Brian was waiting just inside the heavy plate glass doors of his hotel when she pulled up in front. Before the parking attendant could greet her, he'd stepped out and reached the passenger side. Settling his long frame into the seat, he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "You are one fine-looking lady tonight, Darlin'!"

She leaned over to accept his kiss, pressing her lips against his just a little longer than she normally did. "You're not bad yourself, Cowboy."

A slight frown crossed his face, to be immediately replaced by his usual brilliant smile. "So now that we're agreed we're just the two finest looking folks around, where is this special place we're going?"

She giggled as she put the car into gear. "You'll find out."

They'd chatted easily about trivial things initially, but the farther she drove into the mountains, the quieter Brian was. When she turned off the twisting, two-lane road onto the rough asphalt drive leading to their destination, his expressive face went still. "The Crystal Palace?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Sarah couldn't believe the sharp thrust of disappointment that stabbed her. "You've been here before?" she asked, keeping her voice steady with an effort.

"Once. Long time ago." He was staring straight ahead.

The road narrowed, then turned into a sweeping semi-circular drive in front of a graceful white Victorian mansion looking over the darkening waters of Crystal Lake.

Sarah glanced over at the man she was quickly coming to love. She felt chilled suddenly at the lost, vacant look on his face. It hit her, again, how little she knew about this man. "I didn't know you'd ever been to Denver before." She struggled to keep her voice even.

Brian tore his eyes away from the water. He turned to face her, something almost like panic crossing his face before the easy grin covered it. "It was a long time ago," he repeated. He reached out for her hand, kissing the back of it gently. His deep blue eyes met hers. "It's a beautiful place," he breathed quietly. "But not near as beautiful as you."

7777777

In some ways, the evening went very much as Sarah had visualized in her daydreams. The food was wonderful, the wine perfect, the view from the floor to ceiling windows in the dining room spectacular. Brian seemed much as he usually did, attentive and loving and funny.

But something was wrong. Several times she looked up to see the man staring out of the windows, at the balcony overhanging the lake, the railings twined with thousands of sparkling little white lights reflecting off the calm surface of the water. The look on his face-lost, sad, and something deeper, something she couldn't identify; something dark and terrible-caught at her heart. But she was jealous too-this, the spot she had so wanted to share with the man she loved-somehow reminded him of another woman...she knew it was another woman.

Finally, realizing he hadn't heard the last few things she said, she put down her spoon, leaving her Baked Alaska untouched. "Who was she?" she asked quietly, fearing the answer, but needing to know. "Did you love her?"

"What?" Brian tore his eyes away from the windows to stare at her, face astonished.

"The woman that you were here with...did you love her?"

Brian stared at her for a long moment, then slowly shook his head, a gentle smile playing about his lips. "Yeah, I did...but not the way you're thinkin'." He gestured out at the balcony. "I was here for a wedding," he said softly. "My best friend's wedding...I stood up for him. She-his wife, that is-she'd read about this place, or maybe she'd been here once, can't really remember now. Anyway this was where she wanted to get married. At sunset." His eyes slid away to look at the darkened balcony. "So they did," he finished, almost in a whisper.

"Oh," Sarah was embarrassed that he'd read her so easily. But at least he was talking about his past. She knew

nothing about his past. He never mentioned it and when she asked he changed the subject so skillfully she never even realized it until later. She hesitated, she could tell by the sad look on his face he was thinking of something unhappy, but she had to know more. "So...where are they now? Your friend and his wife?"

Brian's eyes dropped to the tablecloth; he picked up his wineglass and took a large drink. "She's dead," he said finally. His eyes lost focus.

"Oh," Sarah said again, feeling like an idiot. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to remind you."

Now he smiled again. "It's okay. You didn't know. And like I said, it was a long time ago." He shook his head when the waiter appeared to refill the wine glasses. "Better not. Long drive back to Denver on those mountain roads."

This was what Sarah had been waiting for. She gestured for the waiter to go ahead, which he did, filling both glasses before taking himself off with silken-footed perfection. Sarah picked up her glass, holding it out toward Brian. "I want to make a toast," she said softly.

Brian hesitated, then picked up his own glass. "What toast?" he asked, his blue eyes so intent on hers.

"To new memories." She clinked her glass against his, smiling as he sipped. Leaning forward, she said very quietly, "We don't have to drive home tonight, Brian."

He looked at her sharply, understanding crossing his face. "Sarah-" he started.

She didn't let him finish. "I reserved a room when I made the reservations." She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her throat. "I want to spend the night here, Brian. I want to spend the night...with you."

Laughter pulled her from her reverie. Sarah looked around, startled to realize they had entered the friendly welcoming warmth of the bar. The place was crowded with people, most of them women, the air heavy with the smells of good Mexican food.

Amber led the way through the crush to a long table near the back where several women were already seated, most of them with tall glasses of wine punch in front of them. Welcoming voices greeted them, calling Amber and Afton by name. Amber introduced Sarah quickly. She rattled off names so quickly Sarah couldn't catch all of them, but she paid special attention to the slender blonde woman wearing a Federal ID badge, and the two women on either side that Amber mentioned also worked in the Federal Building.

The women all seemed friendly enough. Afton disappeared to get drinks and Jan, the slender blonde, gestured for Sarah to take the seat opposite her. "Nice to meet you," she said, the faintest hint of a southern accent in her speech. "Welcome to the party."

"You don't look much in a party mood," one of the others said, pointing at Jan. "What's wrong? Your boss loan you out to Team Seven again?"

"She wishes," the girl to the left of Jan said teasingly. "Those guys are hot! And all single!"

"Team Seven's not even around right now," Jan said. "They're out of state on an assignment."

A woman with freckles and frizzy red hair reached for the plate of Mexican egg rolls. "Hey, speaking of them...how's Buck Wilmington doing, anyone know? I read what happened in the paper."

The three federal workers exchanged quick looks. "He's...recovering," Jan said finally. A little frown crossed her brow. "I went over to the hospital yesterday. He's kind of...I don't know, down, I think. He's really quiet."

Another woman frowned, obvious concern on her face. "That doesn't sound like him."

Sarah's heart started pounding loudly again. She took a drink of the sangria Afton had just placed in front of her. "Buck Wilmington?" she asked, desperately trying to keep her voice level and casual. "I seem to remember that name...wasn't he the ATF agent injured in that explosion a few weeks ago?" It had been big news in Denver; no one should be surprised that she knew about it.

"You mean there's a woman in this neighborhood that doesn't know Buck?" The voice came from farther down the table; Sarah couldn't see the speaker.

"She started working here after Buck got hurt." Oddly enough, this was from Afton. Sarah glanced at her.

"You know this man, too, Afton?" She forced her frozen lips into a smile. To her surprise, the college girl blushed to the roots of her pale pink hair.

"You ought to go see him, Afton," Jan said quietly. "He asked me about you. He's really feeling low now with the rest of the team out of town."

The other woman from the Federal Building, who had been steadily munching her way through a platter of cheese sticks, wiped her greasy fingers on a napkin. "Poor Buck," she sighed. "It's hard seeing him so hurt." She giggled suddenly. "Not that there's anything wrong with seeing him in bed!"

"Or unusual!" Someone else chimed in with an evil giggle of her own.

"Welcome, ladies...it is so good to see you all tonight!"

Sarah looked up at the voice, seeing a beautiful Hispanic woman standing at the head of the table. The women greeted her cheerfully. Amber-again remembering her duties as hostess-said "Inez, hi! This is the new manager at the gallery, Tina Barrows. Tina, Inez. Inez owns this place."

"Manages, not owns," Inez corrected gently. She smiled at Sarah. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Barrows. I am glad you joined us tonight."

"We were just talking about Buck, Inez. Did you go see him today?"

A look of sadness crossed the woman's face. "Si...si. I took him some lunch." She looked up as the door opened and another group of women came in. "I must go find them a table...enjoy the evening, ladies."

"Poor Inez," Someone said.

"What?" Amber asked.

"Buck and Inez have a thing going," Jan said.

Incredulous laughter from around the table. "You mean she finally slowed down and let him catch her?" One woman caroled.

"Well, what's so funny about that? At one time or another, most of us at this table have had a 'thing' with Buck!"

"Most of the women in this room, probably!" A hefty blonde laughed.

"There's plenty of that charmer to go around." This was from a new arrival.

Amber held up her glass. "How about a toast to Buck? May he get better fast!"

All the women raised their glasses. "And get back to loving the women of Denver," the woman at the far end of the table said. The warm smile on her face belied her slightly sarcastic tone.

"Hear hear!" Several women chimed in.

Sarah sat still, ice slowly creeping over and shrouding her broken heart.

tbc...