Part 6

Buck ignored his own limbs shaking, the pounding of his head, as he careened around corners and broke every speed law between his loft and Ezra's condo. He screeched his battered pickup truck to a stop at the curb. Forest Glen Condominiums was built in a crescent pattern, with the units on the inside of the crescent facing the pool and tennis courts, the ones on the outside looking onto wooded grounds and a small, man-made lake with an ornamental bridge and fountains. Ezra lived in 1-F, the last unit on the outside loop, farthest from the road. Buck ignored the tastefully rustic pathway and plunged directly across the velvet grass to Ezra's door. He banged on the door with one fist while punching the doorbell with the index finger of the other hand.

No response. Buck hadn't really expected one, but he was too well-trained in survival to go busting into someone's apartment without warning. Ezra was a damn good shot.

He had a key. Thank God for that. For months after his assignment to Team Seven, Ezra had kept himself separate from his teammates. Slowly the cool, uncaring persona had crumbled slightly as his friends learned more about what had happened to him in Atlanta and about the demons that haunted the suave undercover agent's past. Somehow, at some point, Chris had acquired a key from Ezra and secretly made copies for the others. "Just in case," he'd said. In their line of work such precautions never hurt.

Buck didn't know when Ezra had found out about the spare keys. Hell, maybe he'd known all along. Buck suspected Ezra liked the fact his friends-family-had the access even if he was unable to lower his personal walls enough to give it to them. One night while they were undercover on the Hoyt case Ezra had requested Buck go to his condo to pick something up, saying simply "Use your key." Then he'd grinned at the stunned look on Wilmington's face before writing down the code to disarm the security system.

Now Buck fitted the key into the lock and eased the door open, calling out "Ezra! It's me!" The security system was armed and he quickly neutralized it before speeding past the living room and kitchen toward the bedrooms at the back. A quick glance around the expensively- but sparsely - furnished master bedroom didn't reveal his friend. The bathroom door was closed and he tapped on it before opening it cautiously and reaching for the light switch.

He blinked, his tired eyes at first refusing to interpret what they were seeing. Bright red blood spattered the glistening white tile and the rim of the toilet.

"Oh, God," Buck whispered as he finally realized what that meant. "Ezra!" He turned to search the other rooms. His eyes fell on the antique mahogany four poster bed-with the top of the mattress a good four feet from the floor. Instinct told him where his friend was. He rounded the bed to find Ezra crumpled on the far side, the phone near his limp hand. "Ez!"

He knelt beside his friend. Ezra wore only dark silk pajama bottoms. His face was turned away, but he stirred at Buck's touch and the other man could see the trickle of blood coming from his mouth, the dark splatters on the carpet.

Buck lunged across his friend's body and snatched up the phone, punching in 911. In a voice he barely recognized as his own, he snapped out his ATF identification number to the operator before demanding an ambulance and paramedics to Ezra's address ASAP. Barely hearing her confirmation, he dropped the phone and leaned back over Standish. He gently patted his cheek. "Ezra? You with me?"

Dazed green eyes slid open and then just as quickly closed again. "Come on, Ezra," Buck pleaded. "The ambulance is on the way...you just hang in there, okay?"

He moved his hand to Ezra's bare shoulder. The skin was cold to the touch and Buck frowned, snaking one arm over to pull the quilted emerald satin spread from where it was crumpled at the foot of the bed. He tucked the folds warmly around him. "Everything's going to be okay, Ez," he told the still figure, making his voice as calm as possible given his racing heart.

The eyelashes fluttered again, then the eyes blinked open. Cracked, dry lips tried to form words but there was no air behind them. Buck placed a reassuring hand on Ezra's forehead. "Don't try to talk right now, okay?" He forced a grin. "I know that's not gonna be easy for you."

Buck's head came up as he heard the wail of a siren in the distance. "Sounds like they're almost here, pard-"

Buck didn't exactly know what happened next. Ezra moved-just barely shifting his weight-and then suddenly his body was convulsing, twisting in and on itself. Terrified at seeing fresh blood coat Ezra's lips, Buck rolled him onto his side and dug through the folds of satin to find his hand, which he gripped tightly. "Ride it out, Pard," he coached. "Easy...easy..."

The siren got closer, stopped outside. Buck heard a crash and a voice yelling "Hello? Paramedics!" just as Ezra's body went limp.

"In here!" the agent yelled. "Bedroom. Hurry!"

Two young men in dark-blue uniforms raced in, pulling a gurney laden with equipment behind them. They swarmed over Ezra, yanking away the satin coverlet to take his vitals. Buck quickly explained about the food poisoning and Ezra's symptoms, then reluctantly moved back to allow them room. He clambered shakily to his feet. A wave of dizziness staggered him.

"Hey, man, are you all right?" One of the paramedics looked like he was going to transfer his ministrations to Buck. Wilmington waved him off and perched heavily on the carved oak chest in the corner, his eyes on Ezra's white face. His friend didn't move or make a sound as the two paramedics worked on him. Buck took a deep breath. He felt strangely lightheaded and closed his eyes.

"We got a problem, Derry."

Buck opened his eyes. The younger and heavier-set of the paramedics held an IV set-up in one hand and with the other was pinching a fold of skin at Ezra's wrist. The other paramedic-whom Buck assumed was Derry-made a face. "Damn."

"What's wrong?" Buck snapped.

"Looks like your friend is pretty dehydrated." The older man reached for the radio.

"Well, yeah, he's dehydrated," Buck pointed out. "He's been throwing up for three days."

The younger paramedic nodded at him. "Yeah...but the problem is, I can't get a vein for the IV."

Derry put down the radio. "Hospital says to transport STAT."

In a short time the two paramedics had Ezra packaged up and loaded into the gurney. Buck stood up to follow them from the room, only to sway under another wave of dizziness. He had to sit back down.

"Hey, I think you'd better come with us." The younger paramedic-his name tag read "E. Griffiths" had seen Buck's weakness

Buck nodded; that had been his intention all along. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He'll be better once the hospital can get some fluid into him." The paramedic took a quick step into the bathroom to look around. "Bright red blood," he said, almost to himself.

"What about it?" Buck asked sharply.

The paramedic took one end of the gurney. "Hospital will want to know. Did he throw up anything that looked like coffee grounds?"

Confused, Buck shook his head. "Not since I've been here. Why? Is that important?"

"We've got to get going," the other paramedic broke in. "Can you make it on your own, or do we need to come back for you?"

Buck shook his head again and motioned for them to move. "I'll make it on my own."

~+~+~+~
Wyoming:

Vin stood over the stove frying fish. They had hauled in a good catch again that morning. Vin was starting to believe no one ever fished the lake when Chris or Buck wasn't using the cabin. He hadn't seen another human being besides Larabee in the three days they'd been here.

Chris came in bearing another armload of wood. A cold front was moving in. Heavy clouds-streaked with angry lightning-blocked the sun.

Vin watched his best friend out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't believe how relaxed Chris looked. Buck had finally managed to convince him the day before that he and Ezra were going to survive their bouts with food poisoning, and with that last worry eased Larabee seemed to have dropped ten years. He'd even stopped worrying about what had happened to Buck during his time undercover.

Vin still wondered if Buck had chosen not to come along on the trip because Vin himself had. That bothered him, but not as much as it had before the trip. The peace and relaxation of the cabin was helping him, too. Chris insisted Buck had some other-unknown-reason, and Chris knew Buck-

"Smells good," Chris said suddenly, coming into the kitchen area with his cell phone in his hand.

"Thanks." Vin nodded at the phone. "You check in with the sickies?"

Chris tossed the phone on the counter. "Tried. Got both of their machines."

Vin raised his eyebrows and glanced at his watch. "Little early for Ez to be out and about...'specially when he don't have to work today."

"Yeah. On the other hand his machine picked up right away-if he's sleeping he might not even have heard the ring. And Buck must be feeling better if he's not at home."

Vin nodded. Chris started to say something else, only to be cut off by the ringing of the phone. He took the two steps needed to snatch it off the counter. "Larabee," he barked.

Vin, watching, knew the exact second that Chris realized the call was bad news. Larabee's eyes widened and his jaw set. He said "uh-huh" and "no" a few times, and then exploded "What kind of an idiot did that!" More silence. Then "Okay, Judge, thanks for calling. We're on our way back. You'll let me know if-ok, thanks."

He clicked off the phone and looked at Vin worriedly. "We've got a problem."

"What?" Vin asked quietly, removing the skillet from the fire.

"Some idiot judge released Hoyt ROR." Larabee spat out the words. "Hoyt promptly bailed out all of his scumbag associates."

"Shit!" Tanner swore. "ROR? The DA said it'd be at least a million if they granted bail at all!"

"Yeah, well, Travis is looking into it-sounds like something funny is going on at the courthouse. But in the meantime Travis wants Buck and Ezra in protective custody. Hoyt knows who they are, made some pretty strong threats against them after he was released. Strong enough to scare a reporter who overheard and tipped off the office..."

Somehow Vin knew the worst was yet to come. "Did Travis find Buck and Ezra?"

Chris shook his head. Vin could see the anxiety clouding his eyes. "He thought Buck was with us...but he's been trying to call Ezra since last night-at home and on his cell. No answer."

Vin stared at him. "I'll start packing the gear."

Denver:

Buck pulled his long legs in closer to his body, flashing an apologetic smile at the nurse he'd almost tripped up. He took another swig from the paper cup of orange juice a pink-smocked hospital volunteer had handed him earlier. For some reason it hadn't seemed to occur to anyone to separate him from Ezra and send him off to a remote waiting room. He'd followed the gurney right into the ER and into a small cubicle where Ezra-still unconscious-was transferred to an exam bed. A doctor and two nurses had come in almost immediately. 'Must be pretty bad if he gets seen right away,' Buck worried silently, being more acquainted than he would like to be with modern health care methodology.

Buck had answered questions about the food poisoning, his symptoms, Ezra's symptoms, and Ezra's overall health, while the hospital staff tried fruitlessly to find an adequate vein to start the IV. Finally the doctor-a tanned blond young man who looked like an extra on the latest CW teen show-announced they needed to do a "cut down". He'd nicely suggested Buck wait outside. An orderly directed him to a tiny corner set up as a waiting area-a couple of chairs, an ice machine-and left him there. The curtain around Ezra's bed was pulled but Buck could hear what was going on, heard when Ezra regained consciousness and almost immediately suffered another one of those agonizing seizures. Buck stood up to go to him. The room did a sickening 180-degree turn and for a second he felt sure he was going to end up on his butt. Someone grabbed his arm and guided him back to his seat. "Hey, Mr. Wilmington, easy there."

Buck looked up to see Derry, one of the paramedics who had treated Ezra. He had a paper bag in one hand and he held onto Buck's arm with the other. "Hey, why don't I get a doctor to take a look at you while you're here?"

Buck shook his head, wishing he didn't feel so much like a day-old pup. "Nah...I'm okay. Just tired an' worried." He pointed at the closed curtain. "What's goin' on in there?"

"Dr. Baker did a cut-down to get an IV established in his foot," the paramedic replied. Buck winced. He wasn't sure exactly what all that entailed, but it sounded painful. "I'm sure he'll start doing much better when they can get some fluid into him." The paramedic studied Buck's face. "Bet some fluids would help you too...I'll get one of the volunteers to bring you something."

That had been over half an hour ago. The volunteer had turned up with the orange juice and a little later, another woman-in a suit this time-came to give him a clipboard full of forms. Buck flashed her a modified version of the Wilmington Lady Killer Smile-too modified apparently, because she didn't give him a second glance-merely told him in a bored voice to give the clipboard to one of the ER staff when he was done. Then she turned on her heel and swished away, leaving Buck with the paperwork. He glanced at them with distaste and then pulled the pen free from the clip and started filling them out. He'd done this plenty of times in the past-for Chris, when they were partners in the Denver PD, and more recently for JD-but never for Ezra before. Offhand he didn't know who might have completed them in Ezra's case. Now, looking down at the familiar questions, Buck was struck by just how little he knew about his friend's past. For so long Ezra had floated at the edges of the tightly-knit little group that was Team Seven. He seemed content to be there; happy to keep his teammates at a distance. It was only within the last year or so that the walls around the aloof southerner had started to crumble. Buck and the others now knew the truth about what had happened to Ezra in Atlanta; the truth about the vicious rumors of him being on the take that had almost destroyed the younger man. Ezra had been set up as a scapegoat by one of the few people he trusted-a man who later tried to kill him. 'Hell, no wonder Ez wanted to keep us all at arm's length.'

Buck stared at the blank next to the question, "Birthplace". He didn't have a clue. Somewhere in the South, he imagined. He knew, from things Ezra had let slip, that he'd moved around a lot as a child, lived with various family members interspersed with short, traumatic times with his mother. Later he'd gone to a series of high-dollar boarding schools, mostly in Europe, financed by one or the other of Maude's rich ex-husbands.

He skipped the birthplace question. How important could that be? He knew Ezra's birth date and he printed it carefully in the space provided. Some flicker of intelligence had led him to grab Ezra's wallet off the bedside table just before following the paramedics out of the bedroom, and fortunately Ezra's ATF ID, drivers license and insurance card were all in it. On the medical history page he glanced down the long list of "Has the patient ever had _?" questions, shrugged, and wrote neatly in the margin "Contact Dr. Murray at Four Corners General". Lauren Murray was an old friend of Chris' and also head of ER at the hospital where various members of Team Seven seemed to end up periodically. Buck figured she had a medical file on each of them tucked in her desk somewhere.

tbc...