Gage sat at his kitchen table toying with the platinum wedding band he would have slid on Sydney's finger that afternoon. Every so often sunlight from the window caught one of the diamonds that encircled the band and shot rainbows onto the kitchen wall, not that he noticed. The days since the explosion at Syd's house had been a complete blur. He felt almost robotic, accepting phone calls and visits yielding condolences and hugs from friends and co-workers. Alex had suggested waiting a little while to before having a memorial service and that was fine with him. Anything that final right now was too much; he was too raw inside to deal with the church and the priest and a formal service and the permanence of goodbye.
His sister Julie set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Francis, why don't you come back to California with me for awhile, just to get away from all this?"
Gage ignored her.
"It might make you feel better," Julie added, trying to soothe, rubbing her hand over Gage's.
"Jules, I don't want to get away. I don't want to feel better. I want Sydney." Gage picked up the coffee cup in front of him and threw it across the kitchen. Julie flinched as it smashed against the wall, the dark liquid dripping and pooling on the floor below; shards of ceramic spraying across the room like confetti.
"I'll clean that up," Julie said quietly.
Gage grabbed Julie's wrist as she walked by him on the way to the sink to get a towel. "I'm sorry, Jules. It's just that everyone thinks I should do this thing or that thing and everything will be okay. Things won't be any more okay in California than here. Nothing is ever going to be okay again. I was supposed to get married today, for Christ sake. I should be dancing with Syd at our reception right now and we should be getting on a plane to Hawaii in a few hours to celebrate our honeymoon. I can't be okay. I'm. Not. Okay," Gage ended through gritted teeth, on the verge of breaking down for what felt like the thousandth time since the day Sydney's house exploded.
"I'm so sorry, Francis. I wish I could take all this hurt away. Sydney was such a special person."
"I can't do this anymore, Jules. I can't keep losing people I love. First mom and dad. Now Syd. How can this keep happening?"
"I don't know, Francis. I don't know." Julie cradled her brother's head to her chest, letting him break down one more time, wondering to herself just how much pain and grief a person could handle.
Monday at Ranger Headquarters, Captain Briscoe walked into the bullpen and straight to Walker's office with two federal agents in tow. Trivette had been sitting with Walker going over a case and stood to leave. Walker motioned him to stay.
"Walker, Jimmy, this is Agent Stants with the ATF, and Agent Westbrook with – "
"I remember who you are," snarled Walker, recalling the FBI agent that caused all the problems that led to him, Trivette, and Gage trekking across Mexico to rescue Alex and Sydney and clean up the whole Casa Diablo mess. "What do you want?" Walker had no love for federal agents, particularly this one, and the sooner he could get him out of his office, the better.
Agent Stants spoke up, "We finished our investigation at the site of Ranger Cooke's house over the weekend. The explosion was not just caused by a gas leak as the fire inspector first thought."
"He said they thought there was some type of an accelerant?" Walker questioned.
"Not an accelerant, an explosive." Stants replied.
"And not just any explosive," Westbrook interjected smartly. "The ATF team found traces of a highly volatile explosive most commonly used by Iraqi insurgent groups."
Briscoe looked puzzled. "How would an explosive used by Iraqi insurgents end up in Ranger Cooke's house? What kind of cases has she been working on, Walker, that somebody with those kind of contacts might have been targeting her?"
"Nothing that has a connection to Iraqi insurgents," Walker answered. "All of her recent cases have been wrapped up because she was supposed to get married Saturday and she was supposed to be off this week and next for her honeymoon."
Trivette looked thoughtful for a moment. "Didn't the FBI help bust up a drug cartel that was buying explosives from the Iraqis not too long ago?"
"What happened with that?" Walker asked Westbrook pointedly. "Or did you let them negotiate their way out of that one, too?"
"Based on our agents' good work, there are a lot of dealers and cartel members on both sides of the border sitting in jail right now. We had an agent embedded within the cartel who was able to get us records of weapons sales the cartel made to some rogue groups. We're going over those records to see if any of those sales may have included explosives, as well as trying to find out who they were buying the explosives from," Westbrook sounded pleased with himself that the operation had apparently gone smoothly.
"I want a copy of those records," Walker growled.
"Now, that is classified information, Ranger Walker." Westbrook gloated.
Walker slammed both hands down on his desk. "One of my rangers was targeted in a blast that was caused by an explosive that very few people have access to. You have information on who might have had that access and I have a right to investigate who might have targeted Ranger Cooke. You will get me that list of names or I'll get it myself, and trust me when I say you do not want me to do that. Am I clear?" Walker seldom raised his voice to anyone, but Westbrook was testing his patience.
"Yes, of course," Westbrook tugged at his collar. "I'll send it to you as soon as I get back to my desk. Gentlemen, I'm sorry for your loss," Westbrook motioned to Agent Stants, and left.
The next morning, Trivette was still poring over Westbrook's list of names of gang members, cartel leaders, and drug dealers, trying to cross-reference them in the system to see if any of them were tied to any of the cases the rangers had in recent history. So far, he had come up empty and he was getting frustrated.
"I don't know, Walker, I doubt we'll find anything on this list. Maybe Westbrook just sent us a list of crap just to be smart."
"I wouldn't doubt it, but keep looking," Walker told him. "There might be something there."
When Gage walked in, everyone was surprised.
"Welcome back, man," Trivette stood and hugged his friend warmly.
"You're supposed to be on leave," Walker reminded Gage.
"I know, but I couldn't sit in that apartment any longer. Julie had to get back to California for an assignment and it was just too quiet. I had to come back."
"I wish you'd take more time off, Gage, but okay. You're on desk duty, though." Walker clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome back."
Trivette gave Gage half of the list of names he was working on and explained what they were looking for in the database. He hoped with Gage's help they'd be able to make some headway, but quite a few times throughout the morning, he noticed Gage staring at Sydney's empty desk, lost in thought. Midway through the morning, Gage got up and went to the coffee pot. There was one lonely cup sitting next to it - Sydney's favorite cup. Gage picked it up and took it back to his desk. He saw Trivette watching him.
"It was her favorite, and nobody needs to be using it, that's all." Gage explained.
"It's okay, man, I get it."
"I just don't think anyone needs to be using it," Gage repeated.
"Gage, are you sure you're ready to be back here?" Trivette asked.
"I'm sure. I'm fine."
"Just checking, man, just checking.
Both rangers went back to work on their lists. Finally, a name on Trivette's list struck a note of recognition. "Walker! I think I found something! Does the name Victor Ortega ring a bell to you?"
"Could he be related to Cruz and Ramón Ortega?" Walker asked. Suddenly, what Sydney had told him about the men in the alley made sense. "See what you can find on him and see if there's any connection."
After a few minutes of searching databases, Trivette found what he was looking for. "Guys, check this out." Gage and Walker crossed the room to see what was on Trivette's screen. "Victor Ortega is Ramón Ortega's son. He's been floating around Texas trying to build up a drug smuggling operation. Been arrested a few times but there's never been enough evidence to hold him for trial." Trivette paged down the screen.
"Oh, and this is really interesting. Two of the major witnesses against him? Killed in explosions that were never really explained. One of those witnesses was an undercover FBI agent."
"Call Westbrook and get him in here," Walker growled. "Tell him I want everything they have on Victor Ortega. Tell him I want to know where he is these days and what he has for breakfast and what his shoe size is," Walker stormed back to his office and slammed the door.
Agent Westbrook was furious. How dare Walker demand information from him again. It was Walker's fault he was in the spot he was in, demoted from assistant director to agent, even though he was in charge of the Dallas office, probably the worst office the FBI had. If Walker would have just let him try to negotiate with the Ortegas, he would have gotten Alex Cahill and Ranger Cooke back, but no. Walker and his rangers had to go running across the border, guns blazing like it was the wild west. Sure, they got the women back, but they left behind a couple dead drug dealers and no way for the FBI to get any information out of them about their connections. All that hard work, and a bunch of gung-ho cowboys got the credit and he got demoted. He thought he fixed Walker when he sent him that list of names. He made sure to include the names of every small-time drug dealer and gangbanger that had so much as popped a Tylenol in the last three years. If they had made the FBI raise an eyebrow, they made the list. Let the damn rangers sort them out.
But somehow, they made the connection to Victor Ortega and now Walker wanted everything they had on him. He even went so far as to demand a meeting. Westbrook had been keeping an eye on Victor ever since the whole Casa Diablo disaster. Victor Ortega was his ticket to getting his old job back and damn if he was letting those cowboys take it from him. That's why he made sure to leave one name off the list. Marco Mendoza. Victor Ortega might be the one running the show, but Mendoza was the one with the connections, at least that's what the FBI's undercover agent had determined. Mendoza was the one they suspected of dealing directly with the Iraqis. Walker may have taken down Cruz and Ramón Ortega, but Westbrook and the FBI were calling dibs on Victor Ortega and Marco Mendoza.
So now Walker wanted information. Well, two could play that game, Westbrook thought. He'd give Walker some information. Some. He didn't have to show his whole hand. He called Walker and told him he'd drop by at the end of the day with a file on Victor Ortega.
Everyone had left the Company B Headquarters when Westbrook got there a little after five. Walker's door was slightly ajar and as he lifted his hand to knock, he heard Walker and his wife talking. He dropped his hand and listened.
"A care package?"
"Well, I feel so bad, Walker. I know she has to be bored out of her mind up there. No TV, no internet access, no contact with her friends. I put a few of her favorite books in there, some magazines, chocolate, and this."
"Don't you think a picture of her and Gage will make Sydney feel worse right now?"
"Walker, she's got to be missing him. If I were missing you, I'd like a picture. Trust me. It's a girl thing."
That caught Westbrook's attention. Did he say Sydney? Did he mean Ranger Cooke? Wasn't she supposed to be dead? He listened extra-carefully.
"I'll take this up to the reservation when I leave here after my meeting.I'll be home as soon as I can.Kiss Angela for me."
The reservation. Westbrook quickly left Company B headquarters and headed down the hall. He stepped into the men's room, made sure he was alone, and made a quick phone call.
"Yeah, it's Westbrook. Listen, I need you to do something. Head out to the Cherokee reservation. Ranger Walker is going out there tonight. Tail him. Find out what he's doing out there and where he goes and get back to me."