Thanks for the reviews. Keep em coming! This chapter goes to the end of Spree, and the next one will start a little before the very beginning of Two Daughters. The conflict between Don and Ian isn't quite over yet; they will both discover some things about each other and themselves, and Ian's tragic past plays a part in that.
Speaking of which, I have gone back and reworked the first flashback Ian has of his mysterious lover (in the third chapter). If you don't want to re-read that part, there is an explanation of the added info at the bottom of this chapter.
Agent Edgerton lovingly removed his second-favorite rifle from its case, holding it in his arms like a mother with a newborn baby, and inspected the weapon to make sure it was in proper working order. Not that the sniper didn't care for all of his weapons meticulously. He'd been accused of doting on them many times, in fact. A good soldier always respects his equipment.
This particular weapon was a mid-range sniper rifle affixed with a state of the art night vision scope, which made it the perfect choice for tonight's stake out. After triple checking the status of the weapon, he laid it carefully on the hotel bed and headed into the bathroom to finish getting dressed.
As he grabbed his black turtleneck off the counter, Ian looked himself over in the mirror. He'd noticed more than a few women giving him appraising looks since he'd joined the FBI. Before then he'd been in the Army since he was seventeen, and admittedly had had little opportunity for contact with the opposite sex.
Well... that's not entirely true. Dammit, stop! Ian usually thought of her more often than he probably should, but for some reason those memories had been haunting him excessively the last few days.
He had been surprised at how readily he had made that admission to Eppes earlier that night. "It was true for us." It was quite possibly the first time he had ever spoken of their relationship out loud. To anyone. To most people, talking about someone they had lost was therapeutic; it helped them heal.
But Ian didn't want to heal. He didn't want to feel the joy that had long ago been buried by grief at the thought of her. Of them. He had loved her, more than life itself. And after nearly ten years, it still hurt like hell.
Lost in his painful thoughts, Ian's fingers unconsciously rose to brush lightly against the pale scar on the left side of his ribcage. It had only been a graze; he'd been lucky. A hell of a lot luckier than most of the men who'd fallen victim to that ambush. A hell of a lot luckier than she would have been if he hadn't tackled her to the ground when he saw the bastard who'd somehow flanked them preparing to unload his magazine right into her back.
He felt a sharp jolt of pain as his mind was assaulted by the memories of her tending to the injury after they'd gotten back to base.
He refused to go to the hospital; he was the type to hide away and lick his wounds. She found him in his bunk, holding a blood-soaked rag to his side, and smirked at him as she shook her head.
She didn't say a word as she went over to him, stubbornly moving his hand away to get a look at the wound. She helped him sit up, pulled his shirt slowly over his head, and then laid him carefully on his right side. He failed to bite back the soft moan when she placed a comforting hand on his back and dabbed a cold cloth at the bloody tear; though he had never decided whether it was from the pain of the injury or the pleasure of her touch against his skin. He remembered thinking that she had incredibly soft hands considering what they did for a living.
When she finished her ministrations, he rolled over onto his back to rest his head against the pillow, if you could call it that. Army bunks were more comfortable than the rocky desert ground he often found himself sleeping on, but not by much. His heart probably skipped about a dozen beats when she came back to sit on the edge of his bed, laying one hand flat on his bare chest and running the other through his short-cropped black hair.
He swallowed thickly as her eyes locked with his. They were a deep sapphire blue, with a brilliance that matched her gifted mind. But what Ian found most hypnotizing was the perpetual calmness in them. No matter what demeaning remark someone threw at her, no matter how dire the situation they were in, nothing ever seemed to rattle her.
If she were a man, he'd say she had balls of steel. Still, he knew she had seen a lot. Hell, probably as much as he had in one way or another. And that was reflected in her gaze too; he'd long ago decided that the most fitting analogy for her eyes would be the tranquil center of an ocean storm.
Her voice was unnaturally calm too, one of many traits they shared. "You could have been killed."
"You would have been killed."
"Ian," she whispered, making his heart ache for her. He didn't know how he was holding himself back from pulling her into his arms. "It's not your job to protect me."
"I would have done the same for anyone." It was an honest statement, but he couldn't quite call it the truth. If any other fellow soldier had been in the line of fire, his actions would have been the same. But his motivations wouldn't have been. And he could see in her eyes that she knew it. She probably knew everything he had never told her. Damn mind-reading voodoo.
"I know I don't have to lecture you about not letting... personal attachments... affect your judgment. If it ever comes down to it, don't you dare hesitate to do whatever needs to be done. Understood?"
He smirked. "Yes, Ma'am."
She stared him down for a full minute, and then laughed, that rare and beautiful laugh of hers, and his smirk turned into a genuine smile. The two of them were so much alike in so many ways. Neither of them was the type to open up to others. Which was convenient since so few people ever tried to get them to, with him being a sniper and her being a spook. But with each other, it seemed, they had each found a kindred spirit. And every time she smiled at him, Ian could feel her presence filling a void in his heart that he had never known was there.
That void was now agonizingly empty. Ian knew that in losing her, he had forever lost a piece of his soul. A piece that could never hope to be replaced. She always told me not be a hero. Why couldn't she ever take her own advice? He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to force that train of thought from his mind before it got too far down the tracks.
Nothing could change the past, and she wouldn't want him thinking that way. She had always been especially concerned about him being distracted by thoughts of her during a mission. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but I'm sure she'd give me the same lecture anyway. And God, what I wouldn't give to hear it.
He looked over his reflection again. Ian had many scars, and he was proud of all of them. They were his story, his experiences, everything he had fought for and survived. But that one held a special significance. It was the physical manifestation of the mark she had permanently left on him.
On his life. On his soul. No, Ian Edgerton did not want to heal.
An hour later, Ian found himself making his way stealthily into the unoccupied house across the street from the residence of Billy Rivers's cousin. According to the Professor's voodoo, this was the most likely place Hoyle and Winters would look for information regarding her ex-boyfriend's whereabouts.
Upstairs, Ian silently leaned against the doorframe of the room they had chosen for their stake out, rifle slung comfortably over one shoulder and cup of coffee in hand. Reeves was already there, on the phone with Don by the sound of things, but had yet to notice him.
The sniper gave an incredulous look to her appearance. What the hell is the point of wearing black if you're gonna show that much skin? He entered the room and took a seat on the floor behind her, laying his rifle across his lap and continuing to drink his coffee.
"Yeah, SWAT's set up and we've got LAPD standing by to cordon off the area," she said into the phone, still completely unaware of the other agent behind her. She raised a set of binoculars to get a close-up view of the house. "No luck. Light's on in the hallway and one of the back rooms. Okay. I'll tell them to clear it out."
"Take it the house isn't empty?" Ian clarified. As a sniper, it was necessary for him to know who was on the scene and where they were positioned. If Hoyle should show up right now, he couldn't afford to take any shots that would put civilians at risk.
Reeves jumped, turning around and laying a hand over her heart. "God! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." She was more on edge than she should be, but not because of him. He'd seen this case getting to her as soon as they'd started to piece together Hoyle's motives. He was also sure it didn't escape her notice that he offered no apology for startling her. "How long have you been there?"
Ian took a slow sip of his coffee. "Couple minutes."
She gave him a slightly perturbed look, turning back to the scene and shaking her head slightly. He could tell she was much less comfortable around him than the guys were, which he actually found reassuring since that was closer to the norm.
He moved up to the window. Across the street, Colby and David were taking up a position in the main room. After receiving his confirmation that the scene was clear, the SWAT team exited the house with the two occupants in tow, who Ian noted were still hastily throwing on clothes. That's one way to spoil the mood. Better than the alternative though.
Ian imagined himself being called to the scene in a few hours to investigate the double homicide. Two more victims of a madwoman on a killing rampage. If you really want to call her that. He had collected an extensive amount of information on Crystal Hoyle's life, even interviewing her parents back in Austin, and he had found no explanation for what had brought her to this point. What is it that makes people fight against the conditions life throws at them? Struggling to be better than what you've been handed in life, I can definitely understand. But Crystal...
Ian snorted softly, which earned him an inquisitive look from the profiler. "It's amazing. How someone who starts with all the advantages - good home, good parents - ends up here."
"I don't think she wanted advantages," Reeves answered a little too assuredly for his comfort. "I think she just wanted to see what was out there."
Ian gave her a knowing look, with a hint of uncharacteristic compassion in it as well. "A little advice: When you get into heads like theirs, make sure they don't get into yours, too."
"You're probably right," she said with a self-conscious laugh.
A moment later, they saw Winters pull up to a house down the street. Without Crystal, which disturbed Edgerton greatly. Why the hell would she send him alone? He kneeled down and hugged his rifle securely against his shoulder, keeping Buck firmly in his sights. The kid wasn't stupid; he stayed in the shadows. But it didn't make any difference with the sniper's night vision scope.
As Buck approached the back door to the house, Ian was vaguely aware of Reeves on the radio with David, quickly coming to the conclusion that they couldn't wait for Hoyle to show up to take the target. As much as he hated to admit it, they were right.
After two weeks of avoiding law enforcement and the FBI's best fugitive hunter through dozens of robberies and murders, Buck Winters found himself under arrest in the blink of an eye. Granger and Sinclair forced the target back. Winters pulled his weapon. Edgerton fired. The shot pierced the night with a sharp, resounding crack, finding its mark in the target's forearm. He dropped the gun, and in seconds David had him in handcuffs.
Ian heard Colby's voice over the radio. "That was a hell of a shot."
"Better than he deserves," he responded. The callous comment earned him a slightly horrified look from Reeves, which he pointedly ignored. He picked up his coffee from where he'd set it, took a nice large gulp, and left the room without a word.
He was back at his vehicle, packing up his rifle, when David came over to him. "Hey, nice shot, man."
"Figured it was better than letting you guys get into a close-quarters gunfight," the sniper replied casually.
"Sounds good to me," he chuckled. He paused for a few seconds, turning more serious. "I just got off the phone with Don. He wants to handle the interrogation."
Obviously David had been warned to expect a forceful objection from him. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Eppes. "Okay."
"Okay?" David repeated cautiously.
Ian smirked. "Buck is young, crazy, and in love. You really think you're gonna get anything out of him about where to find Hoyle? No, David. I'm perfectly happy letting him be a pain in Don's ass instead of mine. Because if I went in there, I'd be tempted to cross the line."
Edgerton didn't specify which line he was referring to, and David wisely chose not to ask. He would head back to the FBI office to watch the interrogation, because he wasn't at all willing to just walk away and let Eppes solve his case, but after that he intended to go back to his hotel and rest so that he'd be in peak condition tomorrow to begin a new hunt for Crystal Hoyle.
Ian sat on the bed, wiping an oil-soaked rag over his rifle, contemplating what his next move should be. It had been completely unexpected for Buck to fall into their trap alone. And, as predicted, Eppes and Reeves had gotten nothing out of him, except the admission that he had been the one to murder his father. Ian doubted the truth of that, but he had no proof that the kid was lying.
In the end, he was glad he had let Eppes handle it. They were all extremely frustrated with the case by this point, but he had been frustrated far longer than the rest of the team. Every time they got close to apprehending the two killers, some wild card would knock them right back to square one. She'd even somehow managed, probably through sheer dumb luck, to stay ahead of the Professor's voodoo.
As he finished cleaning his weapon, Ian realized that the only way they were going to catch her was for the hunter and both the Eppes brothers to be working together, drawing on each other's talents and making up for each other's weaknesses. Same way we got the L.A. Sniper. Same way we found McHugh. When he thought about it, he acknowledged that perhaps he had made a mistake in treating this case any differently than the ones they had worked together before.
This time, Ian did strip off his shirt and pants before climbing into the bed. It felt unusually cold and empty, even to a man who was used to spending his life alone in hotel rooms. He felt a dull ache in his chest as he was reminded of the warm comfort of falling asleep with the woman he loved wrapped tightly in his arms.
He'd felt protective of her from the moment they'd met, when he'd come across her pinning an obstinate young Butter Bar who'd gotten too aggressive in his advances against the ground and delivering some very creative threats of what would happen should he ever lay a hand on her again. They'd become friends after he had conveniently forgotten to report witnessing an NCO assaulting an officer.
Everyone knew that the unofficial policy of the U.S. Military's leaders regarding sexual assault was that the women who signed up to serve should also expect to have to "serve" the men, and trying to fight that policy entailed so many risks that most women either acquiesced or got the hell out by whatever means necessary.
Ian knew by her stubborn refusal to bow to that heinous attitude that she was a fighter, and he respected her immensely for that. And the more he came to understand her, the more he realized that his feelings went far beyond respect. Though the thing he respected most about her was her wisdom.
She had always had a knack for telling him exactly what he needed to hear. He knew her so well that he could picture exactly what she would say about this case: "It's difficult to change the way you work with people, Ian. Especially if you're not willing to change yourself. But when you're on a mission, you have to go at each problem as it comes up. My favorite General put it best when he said, 'Plans are useless. Planning is indispensable.' You have to be flexible enough to adapt to the needs of the moment, even if that means doing something you wouldn't normally be willing to. Your detachment protects you, but you need to learn to let it go when it becomes a weakness."
Despite the tinge of grief he always felt when he thought of her, just imagining her words gave him a measure of comfort. It eased his mind enough to allow him to finally get a few hours' sleep. And as he drifted further into unconsciousness, he could almost feel her fingers gently stroking through his hair and her tender voice whispering his name.
"Sleep, Ian. This will all be over soon. Don't worry."
Spook: A nickname given to US military (or government) personnel who specialize in Intelligence.
Butter Bar: What enlisted NCO's sometimes call freshly commissioned 2nd Lieutenants (or Ensigns in the Navy) who are just out of training and inexperienced. I've known a few who were quite arrogant. The term comes from their rank insignia, which consists of a single gold bar. Like a stick of butter.
Considering current events, I hope that last part wasn't too... political. The necessary background on Ian's lover: She is an NCO (a few ranks below Ian), in her mid-twenties (quite a bit younger than Ian, which is part of his protectiveness and hesitation to admit his feelings), and she has the same abilities with patterns as Charlie (cryptography and linguistics instead of math). Hopefully that clears up anything on that topic that may have been confusing.