Part 11
Denver:
David Wyerly sat in his car outside Forest Glen Condominiums, waiting patiently for the security patrol to pass. He'd been keeping an eye on Standish's place, learning the routines of his neighbors, the patterns of the security guards. He'd taken to dropping in at the bar near the Federal building around five, when the clerical workers came in for a drink before heading home. The night before, a few drinks, a flirtatious smile, some flattering comments, and he'd found out from a plumpish blonde secretary named Jan that ATF Team Seven was out of Denver on assignment but expected back sometime the next day. Today.
Nina and Monica were still working on their complicated scheme. David shook his head. His uncle had told them all to work together but the girls were just having too much fun playing around, planning. David didn't have the patience for it. He wanted justice. He wanted blood.
Ezra Standish's blood.
His gut clenched tightly with anticipation. Today. Today Ezra Standish would pay the ultimate price for what he'd done to Steven.
Starting his car, David drove slowly around the complex until he neared the covered car park holding the condominium owners' assigned parking spaces. He waited a few minutes, but as usual at this time of night, no one was around. The dead time of night, the dark hours before dawn when most people slumbered in the illusion of safety.
The time when justice walked hand in hand with vengeance and the shadow of death.
Humming under his breath, David got out of his car and reached into the back for the toolbox. His grin broadened as he walked toward the sleek black Jag parked in the spot assigned to Unit 1-F.
Early morning
Nathan rubbed his tired eyes and sipped again at the coffee a friendly nurse had provided him. The burned sludge must have been sitting in the bottom of the pot for hours but that didn't matter. It was hot and he needed the caffeine.
He studied the man in the hospital bed. Buck had been restless all night as his fever mounted, but he'd finally slipped into an uneasy doze about an hour ago. Nathan watched in concern as Buck's head moved fretfully against the pillow and he muttered something through cracked and dry lips before quieting again. Dark circles shadowed his closed eyes and the hectic flush of fever burned his cheeks.
Nathan looked up as the door opened and Orrin Travis stepped in. The Assistant Director looked every minute of his age this morning as he started to speak. Nathan shook his head with a warning glance at Buck. Then he stood and led Travis out the door.
The metal folding chair outside the door was empty. Nathan looked around. Last time he'd seen Hamilton, the sergeant was being grilled by a Denver PD detective and Travis' assistant David Montgomery. Nathan felt bad for the cop. Someone had waltzed right past him to make another attempt on Buck's life, but hell - Nathan had been there too. He'd looked at the man, even spoken with him, and never realized he was looking at an assassin.
"How's Buck doing?" Travis asked.
Nathan rubbed his hand across his tired eyes. "He's been really restless. Just drifted off a while ago."
"I talked to the doctors before I came up here."
Nathan looked up sharply, fatigue momentarily leaving him in the wake of a surge of adrenaline. "They know what was in that solution yet?"
Travis met his eyes briefly before shaking his head. "Something synthetic, that's all they know. They're working on it. They've enlisted the help of every lab in the area; I contacted Washington and some of the best chemists in the country are working on it. One good thing, Dr. Culver doesn't think whatever it is, is affecting Buck yet."
"Great," Nathan said in a tone of unusual bitterness. "Buck's fighting an uphill battle as it against the pneumonia- with his injuries - and now he's got some unknown toxin in his system and we don't have any clue how it's going to affect him." He swung around, staring out the window at the parking lot below. "Didn't we just go through this with Ezra?"
It was a rhetorical question. Travis just sighed. "They should be home this evening," he said comfortingly. "Have you told them...?"
Nathan shook his head. "Buck didn't want me to say anything until they were here. They don't even know about the pneumonia yet."
"We'll know something by the time they get here," Travis said staunchly.
"Where's the police guard?" Nathan asked suddenly. Surely Buck's door shouldn't have been unguarded this long.
Travis sighed again. "Yes, well...that's another problem."
Nathan swung to face him. "What?"
"I would imagine you haven't had much time to listen to the news." The AD's voice was matter of fact. "Marcus Hoyt was killed in the County Jail yesterday. Scuffle in the laundry room...they're investigating it but it seems he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyway, with Hoyt gone the Denver PD doesn't seem to think Buck's in any danger and they say they don't have enough men to keep guarding him."
"But Hoyt's still got people-" And most of them were walking around on the loose thanks to the wonderful world of bail and courthouse politics.
"I know. There's nothing to worry about, Nathan. Teams Three and Eight have already volunteered for protection duty."
Dallas-Fort Worth (DFW) International Airport
Fort Worth, TX
They were lucky. There was one seat available on a flight leaving almost immediately for Denver. Josiah convinced Chris to take it, knowing their leader wouldn't rest until he'd got home and checked on Buck with his own eyes. Chris put up token resistance but he was soon striding down the connection bridge to the plane.
The rest of them stood at the windows until the sleek silver jet nosed its way out onto the runway. Then, as one, they turned away. Vin headed immediately for a seat in the corner but Josiah stopped him. The worn, tense looks on his two younger friends' faces hadn't escaped him. "Breakfast, brothers?" he rumbled. It was not a suggestion.
Ezra argued anyway. "We already ate breakfast, Mr. Sanchez," he pointed out.
Vin came out of his sullen silence to back Josiah. "Hell, Ezra, even you can't consider a McDonald's sausage biscuit a real breakfast."
"Unlike you and our compatriot young Mr. Dunne, I don't consider McDonald's cuisine a desired meal at any time."
"Now, brothers," Josiah said, slinging an arm around each of them and guiding them along. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
Ezra snorted. "So Mr. Jackson has been trying - and failing - to convince me of for years."
"You ought to listen to him, Ez. You get much skinnier and you'll just blow away in the next big wind."
There was some truth to Vin's observations. Ezra was never a hearty eater when he was under stress and he'd lost weight after being poisoned by the experimental cardiac drug. Nathan had been fussing about it even before Ezra left for his undercover mission. Ezra - as usual - had ignored his worries.
They skipped the fast-food places in the food court in favor of a restaurant near the security checkpoint. "The Branding Iron" boasted "The best breakfast in Big D!" They found a table and a waitress immediately appeared with coffee and menus. Vin and Josiah both ordered hearty meals and Ezra, in a "God help me" voice requested a bagel with cream cheese and hot tea. Actually, he specified Earl Gray but the waitress looked so puzzled he gave up and just nodded when she brought him a small pot of hot water and a Lipton's teabag.
So far, nothing different than a hundred meals they'd shared over the last three years.
But there was something different. Josiah could sense it. Vin, in spite of his enthusiastic order, didn't eat much more than a few mouthfuls, just pushing the food around on his plate. Ezra nibbled on his bagel and pretended to read the USA Today someone had left on a nearby chair, but Josiah noted his eyes just darted from side to side and he never actually turned a page. Josiah tried a few conversational salvos but neither one responded. Well, they did respond in a fashion: Vin grunted and Ezra launched into long monologues full of polysyllabic words that said absolutely nothing relevant.
The profiler sighed. He knew them both too well. Vin was worrying over the way the bust had come out-no matter how justified, the sharpshooter was never going to feel easy about killing a kid. As for Ezra, he'd crawled back behind the emotional walls they'd worked so hard to break down. And damned if Josiah could figure out why? True, the man had to be hurting physically - in the past few weeks he'd been hospitalized three times, poisoned, suffered a heart attack and been hit by a car. Plus he knew Chris was concerned he was a target of the same man who'd gone after Buck. And he'd gone undercover without his usual back-up. But Bobby Fewell had been with him-
Bobby Fewell.
Josiah's thoughts stuttered to a slamming halt. He suddenly saw, in the crystal eye of memory, the last several weeks with Ezra's too-poker face set in completely neutral lines when Bobby had joined Team Seven for some social event. Saw too the quickly concealed hurt in those green eyes in response to some seemingly-innocent remark Bobby had made.
Innocent to Josiah's ears.
But to Ezra's?
What was Ezra's problem with Bobby Fewell? And what had happened when the two of them were undercover that had caused Bobby to blow the mission in Hugo?
Denver
Nathan slipped quietly into Buck's room, letting the door fall softly closed behind him. His caution was for naught, however: Buck shifted restlessly against the pillows and after a few seconds, his eyes fluttered open.
"Hey, Nate." Buck's voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.
"Didn't mean to wake you," Nathan replied, studying his friend. His heart sank as he noted the cheeks flushed with fever, the glazed eyes, and the increasingly labored breathing.
Buck shook his head, just a slight movement against the pillows. "Wasn't really asleep. More like...drifting." He brought up one hand dangling IV lines to rub against his chest. "Feels like I've got a mountain sitting on me."
Nathan reached one hand out to briefly touch Buck's. "I know. I'm sorry. Just try to breathe evenly. Don't struggle so hard." He looked away. "They still don't know what was in the breathing treatment," he confessed.
Buck managed a smile. "Knew that. You'd have told me if they'd found out something."
"They'll figure it out," Nathan vowed.
"Any word from the guys?"
Nathan shook his head. "Guess they're all still on schedule." He glanced at his watch. "Figure they should show up early this afternoon."
Buck nodded. He blinked sleepily. "Nathan, can you do me a favor?" He asked suddenly.
"Sure thing. Name it."
Buck motioned toward the bedside table. "There's one of those accordion file things in there." He waited until Nathan had opened the drawer and pulled it out. "Take it with you. Nathan, I don't want Chris to see it. Ever. If I, well if something happens to me-" he held up a hand to stop Nathan's instinctive protest. "Give it to Vin. Tell him there's a letter in there, for him. And tell JD-"
"Stop!" Nathan ordered. "You're going to be fine, Buck. Fine. You going to let all the ladies of Denver down?"
"Hell, Nathan...I'm not plannin' on going anywhere. This is just-" Buck broke off breathlessly. After a few seconds, he went on, his voice noticeably weaker. "Tell JD to look in the cigar box. He'll know what you're talkin' about." A sudden look of shock crossed Buck's face, followed by profound sadness. "I don't know if it was destroyed in the bombing, but-"
The door banged open. Nathan whirled around, hand automatically going to his weapon and then dropping away as he recognized Dani, one of the day shift nurses.
She seemed to realize his alarm. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. The cop wasn't out there," she apologized. She shifted her attention to Buck. "Hey, there, Gorgeous, how're you doing today? Ready for me to take your vitals?"
"Darlin', you can take anything of mine you want," Buck replied with a flash of his usual spirit.
"Bet you say that to all the nurses. Matter of fact, I know you do." She laughed at him, pulling out the thermometer and inserting it into its little plastic sleeve.
Buck caught Nathan's eye and made a face. "Not what I was hoping to have stuck in my mouth."
"You're so bad," Nathan replied, forcing a smile. He was trying to watch the nurse without being obvious about it. She pumped up the blood pressure cuff, listening through the stethoscope. She let it deflate all the way before repeating the action. She took Buck's pulse and then reached for the thermometer.
She frowned. It was a quick change of expression but Nathan caught it and so did Buck. The woman excused herself and hastily left the room.
"Guess it wasn't too good," Buck commented.
Nathan opened his mouth, couldn't think of anything to say and closed it again. He reached over and rested the back of his hand on Buck's forehead. The skin under his fingers felt hotter than it had just a few minutes ago. 'Damn,' he thought to himself. He met Buck's understanding eyes. "Your temperature is up a bit," he said, having to say something. He changed the subject, or tried to. "What's this, anyway?" he asked, hefting the accordion file.
Buck's blue eyes rested on the folder. "Too much," he whispered.
"Huh?" Nathan was confused.
Buck just shook his head. "Long story." He frowned, wincing, trying to shift in the bed. He coughed, one hand going up instinctively to protect his ribs. Nathan hastily poured some water into the cup and held it for Buck to drink.
After a few sips, Buck leaned back against his pillows. "Where's the guard?" he asked suddenly.
"What?" Then Nathan followed Buck's thoughts. He hesitated, but finally said, reluctantly, "The Denver PD pulled the guard off today. But Travis is sending over someone to cover-"
Buck shook his head, slipping lower into the bed. His eyes fluttered sleepily. "Why'd they pull the guard?" he asked. Nathan knew he was fighting sleep. He hesitated again, but couldn't see any harm in telling him.
"Marcus Hoyt was killed at the jail yesterday."
For a minute he didn't think Buck had heard him; thought he'd already surrendered to sleep. But then Buck's midnight-blue eyes snapped open. "What did you say?" he breathed.
Nathan frowned, not understanding Buck's reaction. "Hoyt was killed. Looks like just a jailhouse skirmish. The Denver PD thinks with him gone you're out of danger but-Buck! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
What Buck was doing was trying to get up. Nathan caught him by the shoulders and just in time. Not that Buck would actually have been able to get out of bed but God alone knew the damage he could do just trying. Buck struggled against Nathan's gentle hold, his breathing growing harsh in his throat. "Let go," he muttered, eyes unfocused. "I gotta find Sarah..."
"Sarah?" Nathan repeated, at a loss. "Sarah who?" He didn't remember Buck dating anyone by that name recently. He frowned. A stray thought niggled the back of his mind-Chris' wife had been named Sarah, but why would Buck be thinking about her? His temperature wasn't high enough for him to be delirious. "Buck you just need to relax a bit-"
"Let me up!" Buck forced out. He started to say something else but broke off as violent coughing tore through his battered body. Again and again the violent spasms wracked him, crushing his body with the pain, robbing his lungs of life-giving oxygen. Panic roared through him, sending his heart racing and stealing what little air he had left.
"Easy, Buck," Nathan soothed. His own pulse pounded in his ears as he risked a glance up at the monitor to see the readings approaching the alarm levels.
"Just try to relax," he coached, gripping the other man's shoulder tightly.
Buck seemed to hear him and tried to obey, curling his body around his aching ribs as much as his injured leg would allow. Sweat soaked his dark hair and dampened the hospital gown.
Gradually, slowly, the coughing eased, tapering off. Buck's shoulders heaved with the effort of taking in oxygen. The cords in his throat stood out, but the bluish tinge around his mouth started to fade. Nathan eased his grip, still talking soothingly. He could feel Buck's trembling muscles relax slightly under his hand.
Buck sighed, then took in a deeper breath.
"Buck?" Nathan felt cold chills shiver down his back as Wilmington's eyes widened in panic. "Buck!"
Buck's free hand flew to his chest, clawing at the skin as if he could force in air. The blue around his mouth deepened. A choking, high-pitched rattle was torn from his throat.
"Oh, God," Nathan breathed, knowing the sound for what it was. Strider. Blocked airway. An alarm shrieked a shrill warning. Buck started to shake.
"Hang on, Buck," Nathan ordered, feeling panic churning his stomach but knowing he had to be calm, try to keep Buck calm. He lunged for the call button. The door opened and he whirled around.
"What the hell-" Chris Larabee stood in the doorway.
"Chris, get help!" Nathan ordered. "Now! He's in respiratory distress." Then, as Chris hesitated, his eyes glued to Buck's face, he roared, "Now! Damn it, move!"
Chris took off as if all the hounds of Hell were at his heels.
tbc...