Part 9

Denver:

The chatter of voices hummed around her, sounding like nothing so much as a hive of bees. Head swimming, nausea churning her stomach, Sarah excused herself and slipped away to the ladies' room. Once there she hurled herself into a cubicle, falling to her knees on the cold tile, pressing her head against the smooth surface as she violently vomited the scant contents of her stomach into the bowl.

Even after there was nothing left to expel she huddled there, vaguely aware of icy tears streaking down her face, biting her lip, wanting to scream, to rage, to wail her betrayal to the world.

'He used me.'

'It was never true, never...none of it.'

She'd given him the most precious gift she could. The most valuable gift any woman could give a man.

And he'd taken it from her, used her for his own selfish purposes. And it hadn't meant anything to him. She was just another in a long line of faceless women.

She couldn't move, just knelt there, shivering and crying, alone.

7777777

It was late when she got home. Finally gathering her composure, she'd slipped out of The Saloon by the rear door, not wanting to have to explain her tear-stained face to anyone. Reaching her car at the art gallery, she'd impulsively given in to the thought of driving up to the Crystal Palace. Once there she sat in the car, staring at the graceful Victorian mansion, staring over the dark, serene waters of the lake.

The spring night had grown damp and chill. Finally reaching her small apartment, she flicked on the television set automatically as she passed it, headed for the pocket-sized kitchen to make a cup of tea. The cold seemed to have settled into her bones and her hands trembled as she filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove.

The droning voice of the local ABC anchor greeted her as she came back into the living room. "And recapping tonight's top story...Denver businessman Marcus Hoyt was killed tonight in what police are describing as a prisoner scuffle at the County Jail. Hoyt was arrested last month on federal gunrunning charges and was also implicated in the bombing of a local condominium unit, which left ATF Agent Buck Wilmington hospitalized with critical injuries. Neither the Denver office of the ATF or the District Attorney had any comment."

Hot tea splattered Sarah as her cup smashed to the ground.

~+~+~+~

Hugo, OK:

The Choctaw County Sheriff pursed his lips in a soundless whistle as he looked around the area. "So this is the way you do it in the big city, huh?"

Chris glared at him. "Might have been helpful if you'd mentioned half the suspects were related to all of you!"

The Sheriff shrugged. "Yeah, I'm sorry 'bout that. We shoulda told you. It's just that no one really wanted to believe it." Surprising Chris, he stuck out his hand to shake. "You guys did good. Coulda been a lot worse. You tell your man Tanner he's a damn fine shot."

Chris watched, somewhat stunned, as the overweight Sheriff trudged back to his car and took off with a spray of gravel and dirt. The leader of Team Seven swung in a slow circle, taking in the damage.

Floodlights illuminated the clearing, vehicles and the barn. The force of the explosion had blown in the front wall of the wooden structure but, thank God, the hidden weapons had remained safe in their lead-lined closets. 'If those had blown up, there would be a lot more than just two people dead,' Chris thought.

One man in the barn had died when a foot-long splinter of the wall had pierced him through the eye. Everyone else in there was cut, bruised and shaken up. Ezra had dislocated his shoulder again and probably had another concussion. The paramedics had wanted to take him into the little community hospital for observation but Ezra had refused. And Chris hadn't pushed it. Ezra was close to the edge, he could tell that. He was hiding behind his cool, sarcastic façade - the same shell he'd hidden behind during his first months with Team Seven. Chris let his eyes drift over to where the undercover agent sat just outside of the pool of light, talking quietly to Vin. Tanner was staring straight ahead but he nodded his head every once in a while. Still his eyes never left the bloody smear in the center of the clearing.

Chris winced as he thought about the other fatality. That kid. Looked like a kid, anyway. Techs from the Medical Examiner's office in Tulsa had just arrived, one or two looking a bit queasy as they worked the area with tweezers and small plastic evidence bags for the remains.

There was no way to tell now, of course, but it seemed doubtful that Vin's shot had killed him. His body had fallen on the live grenade, the resulting blast detonating the other grenades in the webbing belt. There wasn't anything anybody could have done to have saved him after that.

No one seemed to know much about the kid. Travers had said sullenly he'd just turned up one day a few months ago. Never talked about himself, hell, never talked about much at all. The local police would check missing person reports - kid was probably a runaway - but the chances of ever finding any family were pretty small.

'Maybe that's for the best,' Chris thought.

His eyes fell on Bobby Fewell. The young man still sat in the back of a patrol car, even though the on-site investigation team had finished with him. He was sipping at a Styrofoam cup of coffee and watching the activity in the clearing with a slightly amused air that didn't set well with Chris at all. He strode purposefully over.

Blue eyes met his, concern clouding his young features, so quickly and thoroughly that Chris almost believed he'd imagined the amused look there before.

Almost, but not quite.

"What happened, Fewell?" he snapped.

"I've already made a statement..."

"That was to them. Now, you answer to me. Why did you draw your weapon?"

The younger man's eyes widened. "Why? Why don't you ask Tanner?" he asked. "Or Standish...it was because of him..."

"I'm asking you," Chris snarled, what little patience he had exhausted.

Bobby looked away, then back up at Chris. "I don't know what happened. The guy...the one with the grenades...he was watching Standish while I counted the money. Then all of a sudden he went off. Started yelling that it was a set up, a bust. He was going to kill me. I pulled my weapon to defend myself."

Chris sat back and looked at him. "Okay...so what set him off?"

"I don't know!" Bobby practically yelled. "I told you it was Standish! Maybe he blew his cover, I don't know. Maybe the kid knew him - But ask him! I did my job!"

Chris glowered. Finally, he said, "We'll talk more about this later. Someone has to take the stuff back to Shreveport. Do you feel up to it?"

Bobby just looked at him. "Yeah. I'll do it."

"Josiah will go-"

"I'll go with him." JD had come up to the car. Chris wondered how much he'd heard.

"You sure?" He asked.

"I'm sure."

JD's tone was carefully neutral but his eyes were hostile. Damn. The kid had been all business since they'd left Denver, but his silence toward Chris had expressed his feelings clearer than words. JD was more than pissed; he was coldly furious. Those eyes told Chris he wasn't yet forgiven for lashing out at a vulnerable Buck.

And right now, with his mind whirling with the knowledge that Bolo Orlowski had probably killed Sarah and Adam; his concern about Buck and his fury over this screwed-up mission, Chris didn't have the time or the mental energy to deal with his youngest teammate. Maybe it was for the best to send JD with Bobby. JD was really the only one Bobby was close to and maybe JD would feel better if he could talk out his concerns with someone neutral. Surely JD understood Chris had lambasted Buck just because of his concern. If not, Buck could explain it to him when JD got back to Denver.

JD would get over it. Chris just hoped he did so quickly.

tbc...