Part 18
JD stared down at the tops of his running shoes, loath to meet Josiah's knowing eyes. Silence stretched between them.
"I figure it must have something to do with Buck," the big man said calmly.
That surprised JD. His head jerked up before he could stop it. "How'd you know that?" he blurted.
"You're not an angry person, JD," Josiah said gently. "But you're full of anger right now."
"Don't I have the right to be mad?" JD flared.
"You always have the right to your feelings, JD," Josiah said patiently. "You've lost your home, most of your belongings." He was quiet for a moment. "You're afraid you're going to lose your best friend."
JD bowed his head, staring at the floor.
"But you don't hold grudges. Not unless someone you love has been hurt, or is threatened. Chris is your friend. He's your family, son, we all are. But you've been angry with him since before we left for Hugo. I understand your feelings. I think everyone does. You're angry and you're scared and you have to blame someone. You're blaming Chris."
JD shook his head, still staring at the floor. "I don't blame Chris for Buck getting hurt," he said softly. "He didn't plant that bomb."
"No. He didn't. But you're still pissed off at him, aren't you?"
Startled, JD looked up to meet Josiah's kind eyes. He hesitated, then it came tumbling out. How he and Vin had walked into Buck's hospital room the evening before Team Seven had departed for Oklahoma and found Chris lambasting a helpless Buck. "Buck just looked like he'd been kicked, Josiah. And Chris just kept on-" Thinking about it now, he got mad all over again. "Chris was out of line and-"
"JD-do you know why Chris was upset with Buck?"
That set JD back a bit. After a minute he shrugged. "Chris found out-I guess from that Captain Natoli, you remember, the one that came to the office that day?-that Buck had been doing research and trying to find out more information on Bolo Orlowski."
Josiah just looked puzzled.
JD belatedly remembered Josiah had been in Mexico when Buck had been injured. He explained, "When he was on the respirator-" his voice broke,"-the first time, I mean...before I got back from Florida...he was trying to tell Chris something. They didn't have him sedated then-I guess 'cause of the head injury-and he was real restless, kept trying to say something, tried to pull out the tube. Ez came up with the idea of having him point to letters. He spelled out B-O-L-O. Vin figured that was Bolo Orlowski." He started to explain who Bolo was but Josiah held up a hand to stop him.
"I've heard of Bolo Orlowski. So I gather you all assumed Buck was saying that Bolo Orlowski had set the bomb?" Josiah frowned. "How would he know? Far as I can remember, they've never been able to come up with a good description of the man."
JD shook his head. "I'm not real sure. I know Buck was on the Denver Bomb Squad for a while. After Chris left the force, I think. He never talks about it much. But supposedly Bolo has a 'signature', something about the way he twists the wires to the fuse. Vin figures Buck saw that just before the bomb detonated. But the deal is, after...when Buck was...better, he denied-well, not that he'd said it 'cause there were too many witnesses, but said he didn't remember and that he had no idea what he meant."
Josiah nodded very slowly. "And then, thanks to Captain Natoli, Chris found out that was a lie. And he lost his temper."
"Don't try to say Buck deserved it! Damn it! I knew you'd be on Chris' side. Everyone is always-"
"Calm down, JD." Josiah's voice was quiet but firm. JD shut up. The big man went on, "Did you talk to Chris about this?"
JD shook his head. "I don't want to talk to Chris Larabee about anything, ever."
Josiah let that go. "Then did you talk to Buck?"
Unable to meet Josiah's gaze, JD stared at the floor again, memorizing the pattern of the linoleum. He nodded.
"What did Buck say about it?" When JD just continued to stare at the floor and refused to answer, Josiah prodded, "JD?"
JD sighed. "He said...he said that there was a lot of stuff I didn't know. Stuff 'tween him and Chris. And then he told me to mind my own business." He looked up to see Josiah shaking his head, a tolerant smile on his face.
"Son, I don't think Buck would put it that way-not to you-even if that was what he was thinking."
JD felt his face grow hot. "OK, actually he said to stay out of the middle of it. Then, today...just before..." his voice trailed off. He heaved a large sigh. "He told me he didn't want me fighting with Chris; wanted me to make up with him."
"But you can't do that."
"No!" JD exploded. "Cause it's more than just what I heard that day. It's the way Chris always acts to Buck. Buck's my best friend-he stuck with Chris all those years after his family was killed-and Chris treats him like...like...hell, I think Chris hates him!" JD sat back, his eyes widening in surprise at his own words. Then he nodded, as if something was suddenly clear to him. "Chris hates him," he repeated, all the fire of his youth and loyalty in his voice and eyes.
"You're wrong."
JD stared at Josiah, seeing the quiet assurance.
"No one's going to deny Chris Larabee can be one mean SOB, son. And yes, Buck is often on the receiving end of his temper- more than anyone else. But Chris doesn't hate Buck. As Buck told you, they have a lot between them. History. More than maybe we'll ever know. But I do know...I'm willing to stake my life on one thing: Chris cares about Buck. No matter what has ever happened between them, their friendship remains intact."
"How do you know that? 'Cause of the way Chris is acting now?" JD almost sneered. He didn't even know why he was mad at Josiah, didn't know why he was saying the words he could hear spilling out of his mouth. "That's guilt."
Josiah sighed. "No, JD. Not because of Chris. Because of Buck."
"Josiah!" Nathan entered the waiting room, Chris following him, his face tight and tired.
JD felt a sick churning in his stomach. He stood up, eyes on Chris. Surprisingly, the leader's eyes met his. "Buck's the same," he said reassuringly.
"Then what's wrong?" Josiah asked the question of Nathan.
"Just got a call from Vin." Nathan wiped a hand across his forehead. "We have another problem."
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Vin walked slowly along the side of the road, shining a powerful flashlight around him, looking for something-anything-that might indicate where Ezra had gone. He'd found Ezra's cell phone under the passenger seat in the wrecked Jag. It was turned off. Vin turned it on-as he'd expected, there were several messages but as he didn't know Ezra's security code he couldn't access them. JD probably could, but the kid wasn't around.
He swung the light around; he was more than a hundred yards past the crash site now and a thick stand of trees encroached on the road. Another few hundred yards in this direction and the road dead-ended. Vin's flashlight made little impression in the dense undergrowth. 'Ez could be lyin, hurt, few yards back in there and I wouldn't see him.' The thought had plagued him several times in the last few minutes. He crossed the road. Here guardrails stood sentinel. A few feet beyond the ground dropped steeply away. Some places the drop was over a hundred feet. Vin shuddered, a mental image of Ezra lying down there, alone and badly hurt, flashing through his mind.
He looked back toward his Jeep. With the aid of another flashlight, and the Denver phone directory he always kept stuffed under the seat, Monica Hastings was calling every hospital and minor emergency clinic in the area on her cell phone. Vin had called the police and the highway patrol before calling Nathan. Even as he looked down the road, he saw the red and blue flashing lights coming closer, reflecting off the guardrail as a police cruiser pulled up behind his Jeep. He started to jog toward them. Something rolled under his foot with a clatter. It was too smooth to be a rock. Vin pointed the flashlight down, moving it around.
The light reflected off a hypodermic syringe lying by the side of the road. As Vin bent to pick it up, he noticed fresh depressions in the damp shoulder of the road. Tire impressions. Recent and clear. This road didn't get much travel, especially past the last turnoff which led to Chris', but still, Vin didn't think the tracks could be more than a few hours old.
"You Agent Tanner? What'd you find?"
Two uniformed officers approached him, carrying powerful flashlights.
"Get a Forensics team up here," Vin snapped. He looked up as another vehicle approached, recognizing it as Nathan's. He sighed in relief.
'Just hang on, Ez. Wherever you are. We'll find you.'
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He hurt.
Ezra tried to open his eyes. The lids seemed gummed together. There was a roaring in his ears and the world was moving around him, making him sick.
He was face down and there was something hot and stifling over his head. He tried to move his arms, to order his hands to pull it away, but his hands were clasped together behind his back. Pain tore along his shoulder, sending a shrieking message to his brain. Ezra gasped, trying to wrench away from the agony his own body had become.
It was too much. He slid back into the blackness.
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When he woke again the world was no longer moving. His mouth was dry and he could taste blood. But still his head was a little clearer-clear enough that he could register the separate pains: the throbbing in his skull; the dull ache of his ribs; and the shrieking and so-familiar burning in his shoulder.
'Dislocated again. Nathan will be so displeased...'
He was aware of a door opening nearby-a car door, he thought-then the smothering cover was removed from his head. Fresh air rushed in, cooling his sweaty face. Ezra gulped at the fresh air greedily.
"End of the line," a male voice stated from somewhere above him.
Ezra was still on his stomach. He tried to twist his head around to see who was speaking but the movement reawakened the agony in his dislocated shoulder. Ezra choked back a scream, his head dropping, face rubbing against the leather upholstery. Over the roaring in his ears, he could hear the unknown man laughing.
"You can go ahead and scream. No one around here to hear you. Except me. And I can't wait to hear you scream."
Something grabbed his foot, started pulling. Ezra kicked out, only then realizing his feet were bound together as well. Gathering his feeble energy, he lashed out with both feet, punching into his abductor. A "whoof!" of exploded air from his captor's lungs told him he'd hit too high to do crippling damage, but he was sure he'd inflicted some pain.
"Bastard!" The man's voice gasped. "See how you like this-!"
Ezra felt fire along his thigh as a knife tore through his slacks and bit deep into his flesh. Trying to roll away from the torture, he jarred his shoulder.
The world exploded in a white-hot flash of agony.
Then darkness again.
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By eleven there were so many cars, trucks, and rescue vehicles parked alongside the highway the road was barely passable. It was a foggy night; red and blue lights flashed eerily against the whitish mist. Men, women, even a few dogs from the Rocky Mountain SAR team ranged deep into the fields and woods; down the steep cliffs. Bobbing flashlights and the sounds of their yelling voices marked their search.
Investigators from the Crime Scene Units of five law enforcement agencies carefully scoured the wrecked Jag, took pictures of the skid marks, made casts of the impressions in the mud. More and more men arrived as word spread. A fellow officer was missing. Maybe injured. Possibly abducted. Inter-agency rivalries disappeared at times like this. Even off duty personnel showed up to assist in the search.
Sitting in the passenger seat of Vin's Jeep, Monica Hastings shivered so hard her teeth rattled. She was wearing Vin's jacket and wrapped in a blanket someone had produced from somewhere, but she was still cold.
A figure appeared out of the mist, jogging towards her. She stiffened, then relaxed as she recognized Vin. He came around to her door.
"Anything?" she asked as he opened it. She knew the answer but she felt she had to ask.
He shook his head. He looked tired, strained in the faint light. "One of the Denver PD guys is going to take you home."
She nodded, sliding out of the seat. "I'll give you your jacket." He was wearing a thin blue windbreaker with the letters ATF in gold on the back.
He took her arm, guiding her down the road past all the vehicles steaming into the frosty night. Her feet were numb from sitting so long in the cold Jeep and she leaned against him for support. He moved his hand, sliding his arm around her waist. "Damn, I'm sorry, Monica," he muttered contritely. "Should have got someone to take you home hours ago."
She stopped, forcing him to stop as well, and looked up into his face intently. "Your mind is on finding your friend. That's where it should be. Besides...I wanted to stay. I know I'm just in the way, but...I want to be here for you."
His eyes locked with hers for a long second. Suddenly he bent his head down and kissed her on the lips. She slipped both arms around his narrow waist and held on tightly.
They broke apart seconds later as a petite Asian female wearing the uniform of the Denver PD approached. "Agent Tanner?" she inquired in a low, musical voice. "Officer Chang, 53rd Precinct. My sergeant told me a civilian needed an escort?"
Their eyes met again. He managed a smile. "A special civilian, Officer. Take good care of her, you hear?"
"Of course, Agent."
Monica tugged on Vin's sleeve. "You'll call me when you find him?"
Surprisingly, he smoothed back her hair with both hands and kissed her again, once on the forehead, then on the lips. "Thanks for saying 'when'," he whispered. "You'll be okay?"
She hugged him hard, then released him. "I'll be fine, Vin. You just go find your friend."
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Officer Chang insisted on accompanying her to the door of her condo. She reminded Monica to lock her door and then stood on the brick stoop until Monica was safely inside and had slapped the dead bolt into place.
As soon as the lights of the patrol car had disappeared up the road, Monica hurried into her living room. Snatching up the phone, she punched in her cousin's number with shaking fingers. "Come on, Nina, be there," she muttered as the phone rang two, three times.
On the fifth ring, just as she was about to give up, Nina answered. She sounded sleepy and cross. "This better not be a crank call."
"Nina, it's me."
"Monica?" She heard a yawn, then a rustle of covers. "Good God, it's past midnight. I have a deposition at seven a.m." She giggled. "You just getting home? Awfully late for a week night." Monica could hear the gloating tone in her cousin's voice. "So how goes it with Agent Tanner?"
"Forget that. We've got a problem. Do you know where David is?"
"David?" Nina's voice sounded puzzled. "No. At home, I guess. Or his apartment. I haven't talked to him since day before yesterday. Why?"
Monica took a deep breath. "Ezra Standish is missing. Vin and I found his car tonight, up on the road leading to Chris Larabee's ranch." She took a another breath. "They're still looking up there for him but they're thinking he was kidnapped. Or maybe even murdered."
There was a long silence.
"Damn him!" Nina Wyerly swore.
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Nina couldn't get back to sleep that night. She curled up on her king size canopied bed, watching the blue digital numbers of her alarm clock tick away the minutes, then the hours. Her mind was whirling.
'David, damn you, I knew you'd screw this up.'
Her brother was the wild card in her carefully plotted plan. The one element she couldn't predict. He was so filled with rage since Steven had died...
Her brother.
Odd she felt no sibling love for him. She knew he didn't care that much about her, either. David had only cared about Steven. Sometimes she wondered if they were lovers as well as cousins.
And not only was he blinded by thoughts of revenge, he had a lust for power.
That was one of the few things the siblings had in common.
But David couldn't handle the power. She knew that. She was fairly certain her uncle knew it too. But would he pass over David...who after all was a man, in her favor?
Monica was no rival. Even though Monica had made the first, unsuccessful attempt to kill Standish, she had no desire for control of her uncle's empire. Give her the laboratory and she was happy. She was easily led. Always had been; even though Nina was younger, she'd always been able to manipulate Monica into doing what she wanted. Monica hadn't even questioned Nina's orders to get close to Vin Tanner.
David was different. He was in the way. An obstacle.
She arose at five and dressed with her usual care, making sure make-up covered the shadows under her eyes. Still, she was almost late to the deposition. Forcing herself by a sheer effort of will, she got through it then told her secretary she was taking the rest of the day off. While driving home she called her uncle's home. Arthur Curran wasn't in and neither was David. The butler told her David had rushed out of the house the afternoon before, carrying a small suitcase and saying only that he would be gone for a few days.
She called his cell phone, leaving a message on his voice mail even though she didn't expect him to answer. Then she went to his apartment, charming the landlord into unlocking the door. The place was clean-the building had a weekly housekeeping service-but the air felt stale. No cigarette butts littered the ashtrays-a dead giveaway David hadn't been here recently.
By noon she'd called every place she could think of-the beach house in San Diego, the apartment in LA, the penthouse in New York, his favorite casino in Vegas. She'd called several of her uncle's business associates, a couple of women she knew David slept with, and the few friends he had. No one had seen or heard from him.
Frowning, she walked out onto her balcony and stared out over the city. David hadn't killed Standish outright-she had enough sources in law enforcement to know they hadn't found the body and there would have been no reason for David to remove it for disposal elsewhere. Besides, that wasn't David's way. Uncle Arthur might just want Standish dead, but David wanted him to suffer first.
So where would he go?
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10:00 AM
Federal Building, Denver
Eight men gathered in the conference room adjoining Team Seven's suite of offices: Chris sat at the head of the table and AD Travis at the foot. Around the circumference were Nathan, Josiah, Vin, JD, Assistant AD Montgomery, and Bobby Fewell.
Nathan looked at his teammates and mentally evaluated each one. No denying they could all use sleep, food-hell, just some downtime. They'd been going full throttle open for so long now-sooner or later someone was simply going to fall down on his face. By all rights it should be Chris. The team leader was exhausted, strained to the point of breaking. His face was parchment-white, his blond hair rumpled and sticking up from his head in clumps. He was still wearing the clothes he'd put on in Hugo - seemingly a lifetime ago. The medic in Nathan couldn't see how Chris was still functioning; the friend in him knew. Chris simply wouldn't let himself collapse. No now. Not with Buck in critical condition.
Not when he had a man-a brother-missing.
In his usual position in the seat to the right of Chris, Vin Tanner sat, tall Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand, leafing through a pile of photos just delivered from the CSI unit. Harsh shadows muted his blue eyes and the hand that held the coffee cup shook ever so slightly.
The seat at Chris' left hand-Buck's usual place-was empty. Bobby Fewell had started to sit there, but five perfectly matched glares stopped him. Bobby sat near the foot of the table, next to Travis. Montgomery sat across from him.
JD sat in his usual position, next to the empty chair where his big brother usually sat. JD had been the only one not up all night searching for Ezra. But he hadn't gotten any sleep either, spending the long hours either next to Buck's bedside or prowling the corridor outside ICU. Chris had spared him a potentially heartbreaking decision by ordering him to remain at Buck's side while Chris took charge of the search for their missing friend. But JD had come in to the office two hours before the meeting, searching through Ezra's files and on his computer for anything that might give them a lead.
Security had been tightened to a stranglehold around the hospital with volunteers from the Denver PD-many of them Chris and Buck's old comrades-as well as neighboring towns arriving to lend a hand. Sergeant Hamilton-still smarting over the fact the phony respiratory therapist had got to Buck on his watch-was stationed at the doors of ICU. ATF Team Eight leader Ryan Kelly was in Buck's room until someone from Team Seven could get back there.
Josiah had his hands crossed in front of him on the table as if he were praying for Divine Guidance. 'Well, we could use some of that,' Nathan thought with unwarranted bitterness. 'We sure aren't getting anywhere on our own.'
Nathan's eyes slowly swung to the other three men-the outsiders-sitting at the foot of the table. Even though Orrin Travis was a friend and responsible for the formation of Team Seven, he wasn't a part of Team Seven. He'd place all the resources of the ATF at their disposal, along with any other help he could beg, borrow, or steal, but he wasn't part of their brotherhood; didn't share the bond that tied them together. As for Montgomery-Nathan knew the crippled agent had been highly thought of when he was in the field but he'd always struck him as a glorified paper pusher. And Bobby Fewell...
Nathan had liked the kid well enough, until that trip to Hugo. Bobby's attitude toward Ezra and the allegations he'd made since their return pissed Nathan off, to put it bluntly. He and Ezra had their problems—they'd definitely started off on the wrong foot, and there'd been times during the first months of Team Seven that Nathan had advocated for the con man's removal from the team. He'd probably held on to the idea Ezra was dirty longer than any of the others. But that was in the past. He and Ezra still didn't see eye to eye much of the time-hell, half the time he wanted to kill Ezra himself!-but deep down the bond was there. Friendship. Loyalty. Possibly even love.
Ezra was one of his brothers. And heaven help anyone who hurt him.
"So, what do we know?" Chris asked, stress making his voice lower than usual. His shoulders were tight with tension.
"There was blood on the needle. Not enough for a DNA match but the same type as Ezra's." Nathan spoke quietly but everyone's attention was on him. "And there were trace amounts of Haloperidol in the syringe."
Everyone looked blank.
"Haldol," Nathan clarified. "Major tranquilizer."
JD's eyes widened with dread. "Could that-" his voice trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
"No body," Josiah pointed out, his voice breaking slightly on the word, "body". "We combed that area. Helicopter search, too, as soon as the sun came up. If he'd been in the area, someone would have spotted him."
"He's not dead," Vin said flatly, leaving no room for argument. "Wouldn't've been no reason t' kill him and then take the body."
Of course, there could be reasons to do just that, but no one was willing to consider Ezra dead, so no one voiced them.
"It could kill him-if it was a big enough dose-but I'm with Vin."
"So what would a non-lethal dose do to him?" This question came from Travis.
"Knock him out, probably within one to five minutes, but-" Nathan hesitated.
"What?" Chris snapped.
"Well, there was a lot of blood on that needle. Hard to see how that much could have got on there, even if the guy gave a really sloppy injection. Unless he hit a big vein or artery. I'm figuring the carotid. That would have knocked Ez out almost immediately."
Silence as they all digested that.
Vin broke it. "Crime scene boys got a clear cast of the tire impressions in the mud. Firestone. New, not much wear. They're figuring an American-made car, something smallish but powerful. They narrowed it down to four or five makes. Head lab guy couldn't prove it, but he had a hunch it was a Mustang." He passed around the photos. "There were skid marks leading into the impressions and coming out of them. And a one-eighty where the road dead-ends."
"So whoever it was slammed on his brakes when he saw Ezra, pulled over, then took off fast and turned around at the dead end, going back down the mountain." Chris looked frustrated. "That doesn't tell us much."
"Tells us he didn't know the area," Vin pointed out quietly. "Didn't know the road was going to dead end."
Chris nodded. "So we've got to assume that whoever took Ezra, wants him alive. At least for awhile."
"I'm thinkin' that lets out Bolo Orlowski," Vin commented. He hesitated, but before he could say anything more Bobby Fewell interrupted.
"Oh for God's sake! Aren't you all overlooking the obvious?"
Six pairs of eyes-Team Seven and Travis-glared at him. Montgomery looked like he wanted to kick Bobby under the table but couldn't since Travis in the way.
"What's so obvious?" Chris hissed, his voice cold and deadly.
If Bobby had been paying attention, he would have shut up and got as far away from Larabee and his men as possible. But instead he said, "The obvious is that Standish rigged his 'disappearance', of course. Have you all forgotten he was due in AAD Montgomery's office at eight this morning to answer for the Hugo mess? God I can't believe you all are so fooled by him! Standish is dirty-he was dirty in Atlanta, and he's dirty here-"
Chris rose from his seat in menacing silence, with Vin, Josiah and Nathan not even a half second behind him. Before they could do anything, though, JD Dunne snapped.
"You filthy-" he snarled, lunging across the table at his former friend.
Bobby, startled, shoved his chair backwards just in time, falling to the floor. Before JD could go after him again, Nathan had caught him by the shoulders. Not that he cared what happened to Bobby Fewell, but he'd be damned if he let JD ruin his career by punching the son of a bitch.
Chris strode across to the room and towered over the downed agent. "Get out of here," he ordered. He swung around to fix his gimlet eyes on Travis. "I want him off this investigation and away from my team."
Travis nodded. He looked at Montgomery and signaled him to get Bobby out of there.
Just as the conference room door was closing behind the AAD and the hapless agent, the phone rang. Vin was closest-Chris was still on the other side of the room and Josiah and Nathan were talking to JD in quiet tones-and he snatched it up. "Tanner."
Something about his intense silence brought every eye in the room to bear on him. He said, "What kind?" and then frowned as he heard the answer. "Send up the report." Hanging up, he turned to look at his teammates.
"What?" Chris asked.
"Might want to rethink the Bolo Orlowski thing. There was an incendiary device under the hood of the Jag. Remote control detonation. Ezra didn't just crash the car. Someone blew up his engine!"
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David Montgomery and Bobby Fewell didn't exchange any words until they were in the elevator going up. Bobby groused, "What is with those guys, anyway? Can't they see-"
Montgomery stabbed the "Stop" button with his cane, turning to fix Bobby with a steely look. "That's enough," he hissed. "You are going to withdraw your accusations against Standish. I don't care if you say you were dreaming, hallucinating, mistaken or having a religious vision-you retract your statement and you do it now."
"The hell I will!"
Montgomery grabbed the suddenly quaking younger man by the collar, hauling him up to his tiptoes. "You'll do it. Don't forget, I own you, boy. I have an agenda that's a hell of a lot more important than your petty vengeance against Ezra Standish. And to accomplish it, I need you close to Team Seven. So get your ass in gear, Fewell. Retract your accusations, and make nice with the Team Seven boys. I don't care how you do it, just do it. I've come too far to lose it all now just because some little snot nosed bastard like you gets uppity."
tbc...