Part 3

Buck parked his battered old Chevy pickup in between Vin's equally battered old Jeep and Ezra's glittering Jag. As usual, the Jag was parked in the corner spot, as close to the wall as possible in an attempt to avoid dings.

He sat quietly in the driver's seat, summoning up his energy for the trip upstairs. His mind kept frantically searching for an excuse—as it had all day, with no luck. Oh, he could think of plenty of reasons not to go on this trip to Wyoming with Chris and Vin, but none that were likely to satisfy either one of his friends, for various reasons.

The cabin was half his-shared with Chris-a legacy of a more lighthearted time in their lives. A time before Chris was married, before he was a father-before he'd lost both wife and son to an assassin. Before he'd turned into a bitter man, bent on destroying himself or anyone in his path.

And Buck had been in his path. Not once, not twice but dozens of times. Keeping Chris alive and sane when everything in Larabee prayed for death, or at least oblivion.

Those days were over, for the most part. Chris had an interest in life again. More than one, actually. The six other men that made up his hand-picked team, and Mary Travis and her young son Billy. Not to say the demons of Chris Larabee's soul were completely exorcised, but Buck no longer said good-bye to him at the end of an evening wondering if he'd still be alive the next morning.

And Chris had Vin Tanner now, too. Theirs had been an instant kinship, an instant friendship. Vin could reach the part of Chris that Buck no longer could. And instead of regretting that, Buck thanked God every day for it.

For a few minutes he was content to sit, eyes closed, letting his mind empty of thoughts. Gradually the sharp little spikes of tension circling his forehead eased their relentless throbbing.

He felt himself drifting off, remembering...

Buck sat at the picnic table, staring ahead of him at the slow-rolling creek, the grassy meadow studded with early spring wildflowers, the snow capped mountains rising above. He rubbed one hand aimlessly on the picnic basket. The hotel kitchen had selected the food and wine, but he'd provided the picnic basket, sneaking out to Chris' tack room late the night before. Chris hadn't used the thing since Sarah's death. Buck seriously doubted he even remembered where it was. It had been important to Buck to use something that in some way connected to the person he really was.

Buck Wilmington, not Brian Jakes.

'Damn Wilmington, get out of here. Now. Before she gets here. This is a bad idea...'

He heard a car in the distance and looked up to see her little red sports car crossing the bridge. She pulled up next to the borrowed Jag and slipped out, waving her hand enthusiastically. "Brian!" She ran up to him and he caught her in his arms.

Her mouth was warm and spicy under his, her perfume, that light fruity scent filling his nostrils, his senses.

She pulled back, her eyes shining as she looked at him. "I'm not late, am I? I kinda got lost," she confessed, giggling. "Can you believe that? I spent last summer hiking in the Alps and never got lost once, then I can't find a place twenty miles from my home?" She whirled around. "Oh Brian, it's so beautiful!"

"Only the best for my favorite lady." He could barely recognize his own voice. He coughed. "Had to celebrate our last day in style!"

She put her arms around his neck, nestled her cheek against his chest. "I don't want to go back to Paris," she said softly. "I don't want to leave you."

Buck closed his eyes in pain. "Sarah-"

She reached up to place two fingers on his lips. "Don't Brian, don't say anything. I know I have to go back. I'm so close to finishing now...I just-you'll be here when I get back in June, won't you? Uncle Marc is so impressed with Edward, I know he's going to keep him on when this deal is over. So you'll stay too, right? You'll still have a job with Edward-"

Buck had to say something. Hating himself, he answered, "Can't see myself leavin' Eddie-that's a fact."

Her eyes were burning into his, staring into his soul. He imagined she could see the truth. "Sarah-"

She cut him off again, pressing those fingers against his lips. "No, Brian, don't say anything. Not today. Let's just...have this day together. Let me believe it will be forever..."

Her lips closed over his again. Buck felt himself responding. 'One more day of pretense, you bastard,' he thought bitterly.

It was full night when he parked the Jag in the parking lot underneath the hotel. He left the picnic basket where it was and took the elevator directly up to the penthouse. Walking into the living room, he spotted Ezra immediately out on the balcony. The Southerner was cradling a snifter of brandy in his hand as he stared out over the lights of Denver. Buck grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the wet-bar and joined him.

Silence stretched between the two of them. "How did it go?" Ezra asked finally.

"Don't make any difference how it went," Buck answered roughly. "Twelve hours and she'll be on a plane back to Paris. Two more days and 'Brian Jakes' won't exist anymore." Uncapping the whiskey, he took a long drink straight from the bottle.

Ezra's eyes studied him. There was sympathy there. "I'm sorry, Buck."

"Nothin' for you to be sorry 'bout. You warned me about gettin' 'personally involved'." He laughed bitterly. Another long swig. "Shoulda listened to you."

"You obtained valuable information-"

"I used a beautiful, sweet, innocent girl for my own purposes, you mean."

Ezra sighed. "I don't believe that for one minute, Buck. You aren't a user."

"Hell I'm not." Buck stared out over the city in turn, feeling the warmth of the whiskey hit his gut. "Damn, Ezra, I don't know how you do this, time after time."

"I don't fall in love with the niece of the miscreant I'm attemptin' to take down."

Silence stretched between them. Finally, Ezra broke it. "Chris called. We've got enough information. We're taking down Hoyt's operation."

Buck's heart stopped. "When?" His throat was tight.

Ezra reached out for the bottle Buck held and poured a healthy amount into his empty snifter. "Tomorrow night." His eyes met Buck's. "She'll be out of the country, Buck. She'll be safe. There's no evidence against her, no charges pending." His voice softened. "You did the best you could for her, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck stared at the bottle. He snatched it up suddenly and whipped around to send it flying to shatter against the flagstone. "Yeah. I'm a really great guy. Bet that'll be some comfort to her when she finds out her only relative is goin' to prison for life, and that the man she thinks she loves doesn't even exist. Yeah, Ezra-I'm one damn fine guy."

The quiet in the truck was shattered by a shrill ringing. Buck's eyes snapped open; he stared unseeingly into the gloom of the parking garage before fumbling for his cell phone. "Wilmington."

"JD's plane was supposed to take off hours ago. Where the hell are you?"

"Hey, Chris. I'm downstairs in the garage." Buck made a face. "Guess I kinda dozed off."

Silence. Finally, Larabee's voice, equal parts concern and irritation. "You fell asleep? Are you all right?" Buck heard Chris sigh over the phone. "Never mind. You'll feel better after we get out of town."

Buck took a deep breath, let it out, then took another. "Chris, I'm not going."

There. He'd said it.

Chris' voice was icily calm. "Yes, you are. Just come upstairs and we'll talk about it."

Without answering, Buck clicked off the phone.

Chris Larabee leafed through Buck's report on the recently-concluded undercover mission, then slammed it down on his desk. "Damn it, Buck," he growled out loud, "I know something happened while you were under that's eatin' at you..."

His best friend sat on the leather sofa along one wall. Vin Tanner had heard enough of Chris' side of the phone conversation with Buck to draw his own conclusions. "Chris," he started.

Larabee held up his hand to stop anything Vin might have said. "No. You aren't skipping this trip either. Because you going is not the reason Buck's not wanting to go."

After all this time, Vin should no longer be surprised that Chris could seemingly read his mind. He hesitated. "You sure 'bout that? Because-"

"I'm sure," Chris interrupted. He tossed the file aside. "Somethin's been botherin' him about this last assignment; it doesn't have anything to do with you." He touched the spur on his desk, reminding Vin when Buck had given one to each of them. The last few months had reminded Chris of what he should have known all along-Buck Wilmington wasn't a bitter man...his mind just didn't work that way.

Anything Vin might have said was halted as they both heard the corridor door open. "In here, Buck," Chris called.

In a few seconds the tall man appeared in the doorway.

'Shit you look terrible,' Chris mentally chastised his friend. 'What the devil happened to you out there? And why won't you tell me?'

tbc..