Part 7

Once the paperwork was more or less completed Buck alternated between staring at the curtain shielding Ezra's cubicle and gazing unseeingly at the organized chaos of the rest of the emergency room. He drank half a cup of coffee from the machine, but dumped the rest when his uneasy stomach warned him off. A glance at his bare wrist belatedly reminded him he'd forgotten both his watch and his cell phone in his mad dash to get to Ezra's condo. The clock above the nursing station indicated the time was four-thirty. Over three hours since they'd arrived at the hospital. 'I should call Chris,' Buck thought, but there were no pay phones in the ER and he didn't want to leave to go out to the waiting room. 'I'll call when I know something,' he decided. Finally, his body aching with fatigue from his own three-day bout with illness, he leaned his head against the wall, tried to find some way to stretch his legs out comfortably without tripping anyone, and closed his eyes.

"Good Lord," Ezra groaned as the car came to a stop in the long driveway. "What a perfectly awful example of abhorrent architecture and extravagant expenditure our host resides in."

Buck laughed as he took in the modernistic white villa. "Looks like an overgrown igloo," he quipped as he got out of the car. Playing his part, he went around and opened the back passenger door for his "boss." Ezra got out and straightened the seams of his Armani jacket. Ever mindful of unseen eyes watching, Buck casually parted his own jacket so that his sidearm could be seen, before shadowing the smaller man up the walkway and to the glass front doors. The left-hand one opened before they'd reached the first step. A balding, slightly overweight man stood there. "Ah, Mr. Steen, you're here. And right on time." He extended a hand on which were several garish rings.

"Mr. Hoyt," Ezra purred back. "I've been lookin' forward to our meeting. And might I compliment you on your charming home?"

Buck kept a straight face as he smoothly stepped in front of Ezra to enter the door first. Hoyt stood aside for him. Buck checked the entry hall and walked the few steps to a balcony overlooking a sunken living room. Late afternoon sunlight flooded the room from one whole wall of glass. Waiting until his eyes adjusted, Buck surveyed the room and its occupants-two women and a half dozen men-before stepping back and nodding to Ezra. Taking up his position at Ezra's back, he followed the other two men down a glass staircase into the living room. Hoyt was introducing the others in the room to "Edward Steen" and Ezra was murmuring vague pleasantries.

Buck stiffened, his eyes fixed on the younger of the two women in the room. Young...JD's age or maybe even younger. Her slender figure moved with unconscious grace as she approached, one hand going up to push back the light brown, curly hair that framed her oval face.

Buck couldn't breathe. He felt, rather than saw, Ezra's concerned glance as Hoyt stepped forward to take the young woman's hand. "Edward, I'd like you to meet my niece. She's here on a short break from school in France."

'Niece?' Buck thought dizzily. 'I don't remember Hoyt having a niece...' Hoyt must have said her name at some point, for Ezra took her extended hand and bowed over it. "Miss Bryant, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."

Buck could have cried as her rosebud lips curved into a perfect smile that lit up her eyes. "Please, Mr. Steen...call me Sarah."

The world rocked crazily around Buck.

"Buck!"

Buck blinked, realizing he'd been paying no attention as he drove toward the hotel. Fortunately traffic was light at this hour.

He met Ezra's concerned gaze in the rear-view mirror. "Did you say somethin', Pard?"

"I would say so. I have been attempting to attract your attention for at least five minutes," the younger man responded huffily. Studying his friend's face, he said, "Would you care to elucidate what is occupying your mind this evening?"

"Since when does Hoyt have a niece? I don't remember anything about a niece in the background stuff we got." 'And I should know,' Buck added silently. He had done most of the background check personally.

Ezra's brow furrowed. "Miss Bryant? She's his wife's niece actually. His first wife, that is."

Buck nodded, remembering Hoyt's first wife had been killed ten years before in a light-plane crash. Ezra went on, "Miss Bryant was educated in Europe...she's attending the Sorbonne now." His concerned look deepened. Dropping his polished persona like a drape, he said gently, "What's wrong, Buck?"

"Her name's Sarah-"

Ezra frowned, then his face lightened with understanding. "She has the same name as Mr. Larabee's wife-"

Buck laughed without humor. "Oh, it's more than her name, Pard. She's the spittin' image of Sarah. She could be her twin!"

"Mr. Wilmington?"

Startled, Buck opened his eyes. A man stood in front of him, thick blond hair damp with sweat. "I'm Dr. Baker. I'm taking care of your friend."

~+~+~+~

Chris shifted in the passenger seat of his Dodge Ram and made a conscious effort to ease muscles too tight with tension. The rain had started just as they reached the main road and in a matter of minutes the fat, gentle raindrops had escalated into a deluge as the skies seemingly opened and cascaded water onto the land. What Buck would call a "toad-strangler".

Chris's half smile vanished. Buck...

The digital clock on the dash said five fifty-seven, yet it was as black as midnight outside the truck. Vin fought to keep the big vehicle on the road. He had forestalled Chris driving by simply grabbing the keys and swinging up into the driver's seat. Chris didn't argue. His foot pressed to the floorboard as if he could make the truck go faster, but logically he knew Vin was driving as fast as he could, probably even faster than he should given the weather conditions. It would help no one if they ended up in a ditch.

Still...

A six-hour drive back to Denver. Six hours in good weather conditions. More like seven or eight with this rain.

Anything could happen in eight hours. Anything could happen in six hours.

Something could have happened already.

'Please let them be okay. Both of them.'

Staring out into the inky blackness, his thoughts were inevitably drawn back to another night years before.

It had rained all the way to Colorado Springs that morning. Buck kept complaining he couldn't see. The truck really did need new windshield wipers. After the all-day training session finally let out around four-thirty, they found an auto-parts store and got a new set. There was a Mexican restaurant nearby-brightly lit and cheerful against the gloom of early evening.

Buck grinned as a couple of young women-office workers from the looks of them-giggled coyly at the big agent as they sashayed into the cantina. "Hey, Pard," he grinned. "How 'bout an early dinner?"

"Ought to be gettin' back," Chris drawled. He barely managed to restrain his grin at the downcast look on his friend's face. Poor Buck looked so forlorn standing in the rain. Chris turned the screws a little deeper. "Ya know Sarah will be keepin' dinner warm. Think she was goin' to make liver and onions, just for you."

Buck looked horrified. The very first time Sarah'd made dinner for him- before she and Chris were married-she'd made liver and onions. Buck hated liver. But he didn't know Sarah all that well yet and he didn't want to hurt her feelings, so he'd extravagantly praised the meal. That sealed his fate. Convinced that Buck loved liver and onions, Sarah "treated" him to the meal on special occasions. Buck didn't realize how much of a sacrifice it really was because Sarah hated the smell of cooking liver. Chris loved liver and onions so he never told either of them the truth about how the other one felt. Sarah doggedly continued to make liver and onions for Buck, and Buck continued to choke it down and come up with compliments about it.

"Oh, Chris," Buck almost yodeled. "It's a long drive back in the rain and a man needs somethin' under his belt..." Buck's eyes lost focus as another bevy of beauties trotted into the restaurant.

"Yeah, you're thinkin' about under your belt all right," Chris returned. He clapped his partner on the back. "Come on, Cowboy...can't have you wasting away, can I?"

The food was great, the atmosphere cheerful. The specialty of the bar was a sangria punch. Buck-the designated driver-only drank one (it was never a good idea for a cop to get caught DUI in another town) but he had a good time flirting and dancing with the ladies. Chris enjoyed the food and wine but was more than ready to drag Buck out of there about seven-thirty. The smoke and noise-on top of the fluorescent lighting in the conference room all day-was giving him a headache.

He dozed off on the way back to Denver. Half-aware, he vaguely realized when Buck made the turn off the highway to the ranch. A few minutes later he was yanked rudely from sleep when Buck stomped on the brakes. "Jesus, Buck, what the hell-"

It was the look on his friend's face that stopped him. Buck's eyes were huge and he looked like a man who'd just seen his worst nightmare come true. "God no, God, no," he kept whispering, staring ahead.

Chris didn't want to see. He didn't want to know what could make his friend look like that. Buck turned to him. "Chris-" he said brokenly.

Chris looked out the window. Flashing lights, police cars. An ambulance. Fire truck, the firemen attending to a burned-out vehicle.

Oh, God, no...

A tiny body on a stretcher, being raced to the waiting ambulance.

A sealed black body bag awaiting transport into the Coroner's wagon...

Chris' eyes traveled back to the smoking ruined truck. His truck.

Sarah! Adam!

"Chris?"

tbc...