Part 18
DFW International Airport
Terminal C
JD Dunne walked up and down the long hallways of the airport. His body sagged with fatigue but he couldn't rest. Couldn't even sit down. Nervous energy forced him to keep moving.
The airport was a mess; crowded with people even at two in the morning. When the flight from Miami had landed JD and Nathan had learned that high winds in the Dallas area had grounded planes throughout the afternoon and evening. Hundreds of people were stranded at the airport; their flights cancelled, desperate to get to wherever they were supposed to be going.
Some people had been transported by courtesy vans to nearby hotels. The majority, though, stuck it out at the airport, in busy Terminal C, the "hub" for American Airlines. The winds had died down, flights were taking off again, but the entire schedule was in disarray. Bad weather in other parts of the country wasn't helping anything.
The first flight out for Denver, originally scheduled to depart at 4:20 a.m., had already been postponed until 4:59. Rumor had it the flight was going to be delayed taking off in Philadelphia, which was suffering through a heavy snowfall. Nathan and JD were "standby" on that flight, but the ticketing agent didn't hold out much hope. The last four flights out of Dallas to Denver had been scrubbed. JD and Nathan were so far down on the standby list they weren't even showing up on the computer.
JD passed the waiting area for Gate 35 again. He spotted Nathan, dozing restlessly, one foot on JD's carry-on bag, his own bag in the seat next to him. The woman on the other side jiggled her screaming baby. JD winced-the woman and baby had been on the flight from Miami and the infant had yelled the whole way. At least four other people were juggling crying babies too; several older children played a game of tag around the filled seats.
JD kept on walking. Most of the shops were closed for the night with iron-mesh grills pulled to the floor. The "Alamo"-a bar-remained open as well as a coffee kiosk and an ice cream stand. JD bought a bottle of water at the coffee place-any more caffeine and his head would explode-and kept walking.
He was alone in the crowded airport.
He passed a bank of phones and hesitated, fingering his cell phone in his pocket. 'No use calling again,' he thought. 'They would have called if anything-'
His phone rang.
JD shakily punched the button. "Yeah?" 'Should have answered with my name-but nobody else would be calling-'
"It's me." Vin sounded bad-exhausted, maybe hurting. "He's out of surgery."
A wave of reaction swept over JD; he leaned against a pillar to keep his trembling legs from folding underneath him. "Is he-"
"He's still hangin' in there," Vin said. JD got the distinct feeling Vin wasn't telling him the whole truth about Buck's condition. "Any idea when you're gettin' home?"
"No." JD sucked in a deep breath. "Vin...be straight with me...how is he?"
There was a long pause. 'JD, he's not breathin' on his own," Vin finally said, reluctantly. "They've got him on a respirator right now. But he'll be okay, JD. You know Bucklin. He ain't goin' to quit fighting."
JD's hand clenched tight on the phone. 'Respirator. Oh, God...' He remembered something and managed to force out "What about Ezra? How's he doing?"
There was a distinct snort over the phone. "Hell, he's right here...or he was. He went to get somethin' to drink. He discharged himself from the hospital a couple of hours ago." There was a murmur of voices in the background, then Vin's voice came back on again, sounding rushed. "JD, I've got t' go. Call when you know somethin' about what plane you'll be on."
"Vin-" JD started, but he was talking to empty air. He closed the phone and leaned back against the pillar.
Alone in a crowded airport, JD Dunne wiped the tears from his face.
University Medical Center
Denver:
The nurse stopped at the entrance to the ICU cubicle and turned to look at the three men following her.
The long night had taken a toll on all of them. Mr. Larabee-the tall one in black-was obviously wound way too tightly. He was practically vibrating with pent-up tension, just looking for something to detonate him. His face was set in harsh lines. His ice-green eyes looked at her, then flickered to the closed door behind her.
She didn't know the names of the other two men. The long-haired one immediately behind Mr. Larabee must have been the other man caught in the explosion that had critically injured her patient. The news bulletins and hospital gossip had said there were two ATF agents in the apartment when the blast went off. Mr. Wilmington had been directly in front of it. She'd heard one of the surgeons commenting he must have realized what was about to happen and tried to take cover-those few feet he'd gained had made the difference between critical injury and immediate death.
Although death might still be the result.
The long-haired man had a wide bandage across his forehead. Vicious black bruises marred his handsome face and dried blood stiffened his hair and clothing.
She had no idea who the third man was. Another team member, she assumed. He didn't look very healthy either-if he got through the next ten minutes without passing out, she'd be amazed. Even now he was leaning on the wall like that was the only thing keeping him vertical. She couldn't help herself, she had to ask, "Sir, are you all right? Do you need to sit down?"
Wrong move. The man straightened his spine. He snapped, "I'm quite well, thank you." He had a distinct southern accent.
The man with all the bruises had turned to look at him; Mr. Larabee seemed oblivious. Bruised Man said, "Go easy, Ez. She don't mean nothin'."
The other man closed his eyes. "My apologies, Miss-" he opened his eyes and shot a look at her nametag-"Miss Schuller."
"Can we go in?" Mr. Larabee suddenly demanded.
Lisa Schuller had the distinct impression if she didn't get out of the way the black-clad man was simply going to go around her-or through her. She held up her hand, praying that whatever was restraining the rage she could sense in the man continued to work. "Dr. Culver left instructions to allow all three of you to visit Mr. Wilmington for a short period. But only one of you can stay with him." Shivering a little bit at the look on Larabee's face, she was suddenly very glad that Culver had decided to override the usual restricted visitation in ICU. 'I wouldn't want to be the one to tell this man he had to leave.'
She stepped aside. "Fifteen minutes, gentlemen. Then two of you need to go back out to the waiting room." 'Or down to ER and get yourselves admitted,' she thought.
Chris' world narrowed to focus only on the still form in the bed. He stepped to his friend's side, sinking down into the one straight chair beside the bed and gripping Buck's hand gently, careful not to disturb the IV feeding into it. The hand was cold as ice.
Chris stared at Buck's white face, absorbing the shock of the respirator keeping him alive. The face was so pale and still-marked with livid bruises-there seemed to be nothing of the laughing, vital Buck Wilmington left. In spite of the monitors telling him differently, Chris was flooded with the irrational fear his friend was gone. Panic seized him; his heart pounded in his throat. He gripped Buck's hand tighter, the desperate reflex of a man seeking a life rope.
"You okay, Cowboy?" The soft drawl broke the spell, drawing Chris back from the abyss he faced.
Chris tore his eyes away from Buck to look at his other two men. His eyes widened in surprise. He really hadn't looked at either of them in hours-it hadn't registered how bad they both looked.
He'd been focused on the thought of Buck for so long; now-his hand physically holding Buck with him-he realized he had others to care for as well. The anger keeping him sane tinged his voice as he growled, "You two look like shit. Get the hell out of here before you both fall down."
Two pairs of eyes-one set washed-out green, the other tired blue-swung to look at him. Two faces-one bruised, one pale as milk-set in stubborn lines. Two heads started to shake negatively.
"Git going," he ordered. He tightened his grip on Buck's lax hand. "I'll stay here with Buck. Go get some sleep and something to eat." He frowned, considering places. "Go to Ezra's. There's still a DPD guard on it."
7777777
Both Vin and Ezra recognized the look and knew there was No Room For Discussion. That didn't mean they didn't try. "I-" Ezra managed to say before he was cut off.
"That's an order." Larabee's voice was soft, silky-filled with true menace. As the two men watched, he turned away, his whole attention focusing again on Buck.
Josiah would have uttered something proverbial-such as "There is a time and a place to argue, a time and a place to acquiesce." Vin and Ezra exchanged looks. Neither of them wanted to leave Buck or Chris, but they both knew their leader too well. His whole energy needed to be centered on Buck now-they were distracting him from the Task he had set himself-to drag Buck away from dark place his spirit now resided and bring him back into the world of the living.
And at least Ezra recognized he was fading fast. 'And Mr. Tanner looks worse than I feel.' He nodded at Chris and stepped out.
"Chris, you need some sleep-." Even as Vin said it he knew it was a useless attempt
"Go, Vin." Chris didn't look at him. "Take care of Ezra. You can come back after you've had some rest."
Vin hesitated. "You'll call if-" he faltered before the piercing green gaze that swung to impale him. "-when he wakes up," he finished.
Chris stared at him, then his face softened just a bit. He nodded.
It was a measure of how exhausted they both were that it didn't dawn on either Ezra or Vin until they got to the main lobby that they didn't have a vehicle at the hospital. Vin's Jeep was at Chris' place; Ezra's Jag and Buck's pickup were still at Ezra's; and Chris' truck had either been impounded or was still sitting in front of Buck's blown-out apartment. Vin shivered, remembering his last look at the Ram: the windows had all been shattered by the force of the blast.
Ezra dropped into a chair in the waiting area. "Well, Mr. Tanner, do you have any brilliant resolutions on how to solve our current transportation dilemma?" His southern accent was deeper than usual and the words sagged under a load of exhaustion.
"Guess we call a cab," Vin returned tiredly. He plopped into the seat next to Ezra, stretched his legs out in front of him, and reached for his cell phone. He froze. "Shit."
Ezra had closed his eyes. He didn't open them but he moved his head a bit as he said, "Elucidate, sir."
When Vin didn't say anything, Ezra's eyes snapped open and he looked at Tanner worriedly. "Vin?" He followed the other man's gaze and took in the huge irregular patches of dried blood that covered the knees and lower legs of his jeans. "I take it that's not your blood?" he asked quietly.
Vin shook his head slowly. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. "I didn't think-" He remembered kneeling next to Buck's body in the aftermath of the explosion-it seemed like a lifetime ago instead of just scant hours-feeling the blood soak into his jeans, but he hadn't thought about it since getting to the hospital. 'Shit, Chris has been lookin' at that all this time...'
Suddenly everything swept over him, making his head swim. He closed his eyes against a surge of nausea and felt cold sweat break out on his face and the back of his neck.
"Vin!" Ezra sounded really alarmed now. 'Good going, you're supposed to be takin' care of him, not scarin' him half to death.' Somehow he couldn't seem to open his eyes. "I'm okay," he slurred out.
"That is highly debatable," Ezra snapped. Vin felt him take the phone from his hand, heard the tones as a number was pressed into the keypad, then heard Ezra's voice requesting a cab to the hospital. "You can shower at my home; I'm sure you can find something in my wardrobe you can tolerate to wear." Rueful amusement suddenly tinged Ezra's voice. "Although, I am quite aware our taste in wearin' apparel differs."
Vin was gripped by a sudden fierce longing for his own place. Going home wasn't possible though. He'd never find a cab driver willing to drive into the Purgatorio at this time of the night. 'Besides, I got to stay with Ezra.' He was too tired to even think why that was so important.
7777777
By the time the cab-driven by an elderly man who was quite amazingly verbal for four-thirty in the morning-pulled up in front of Ezra's condominium complex, both agents were on their last legs and fading fast. Ezra fumbled some bills out of his wallet and turned to the paved walkway. His hands went in a reflexive gesture to the pockets of the overlarge jacket he wore. His arms dropped to his side. "Mr. Tanner, I hope you have a key, otherwise the esteemed officer there will have the opportunity to arrest me for breakin' into my own home."
Vin fumbled in his pocket for his keys, clumsily sorting out the correct key. At least, he thought it was. His eyes followed Ezra's to see the patrol car, lights off, parked in front of a familiar battered blue and white pickup. The sight of Buck's vehicle affected him strongly. Shaking his head, he handed the keys to Ezra. "Go on ahead. I better tell 'em who we are."
Vin slowed as he approached the vehicle, knowing he was being watched through the mirrors. He carefully pulled out his identification, making it obvious it wasn't a weapon. The young female officer had her window down and a flashlight ready to check the badge. The light flickered to Vin's face, briefly blinding him, then switched off. "Agent Tanner."
"Any problems?" he asked, remembering like an echo asking the same question of the patrol officer outside Buck's place, hours ago.
"It's been quiet," she said, not meeting his eyes. She reached for her radio. "HQ has tightened the security since...I'll call in that you're here. How long will you be staying?"
"Couple of hours." Vin struggled with his bitterness. 'Helluva lot a good having the Denver PD on guard did Buck.' Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strode up the walkway to Ezra's open doorway. His friend was standing in the entranceway reading what appeared to be a note. Vin carefully closed and locked the door behind him. "What's that?" he asked.
Ezra folded the piece of paper in neat quarters. "A note from the cleaning woman. She took my bedspread to the cleaners." A high-pitched laugh spilled from the southerner's lips. "Poor Mrs. Seburn. She deserves extra for dealing with the mess my abode was no doubt in."
Tired as he was, Vin knew hysteria when he heard in. He grabbed Ezra's arm. "Ezra...go to bed."
The other man swayed. "I need to make up the bed in the guest room," he muttered faintly, protestingly.
"I know where stuff is," Vin assured him. "Goin' to take a shower first, anyway." He guided the other man down the hall toward the master bedroom. With the exception of the missing spread on the bed, the room looked as spotless as it had the other times Vin had seen it. There was a faint smell of furniture polish and carpet cleaner in the air. "I'm goin' to borrow somethin' to wear, okay?"
Ezra nodded, dropping on the bed. He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the triple dresser. "There should be..." his voice trailed off and he put his head down on the pillow. He was asleep before Vin found a pair of sweats in the bottom drawer. Like all of Ezra's clothes, they looked brand-new. Throwing them over one shoulder, Vin went to the side of the bed. His muscles protesting, he pulled the other man upright and managed to wrestle him out of the Denver PD jacket. Ezra never flickered an eyelid. Shaking his head ruefully, Vin pulled off the too-large shoes and swung Ezra's feet up on the bed. Reaching across, he pulled the blanket loose and tucked half of it over Ezra. He switched off the light and left the door open a few inches.
Exhaustion dogging his steps, he padded down the hall to the entranceway. Double-checking the lock and dead bolt, he had reached for the light switch when something caught his eye.
There had been an addition to the hall since the last time Vin had visited. Now, on the marble-topped table, in addition to the prim floral arrangement in a Chinese bowl, there was a framed picture. Vin picked it up with an unsteady hand. He recognized the scene. The members of Team Seven were gathered around the grill, behind Chris' house, each holding his beverage of choice in hand. The occasion had been Chris' last birthday.
Vin cautiously touched Buck's face. The ladies' man had one arm thrown around JD's shoulders and the other elbow leaning on Chris.
Carefully, almost reverently, Vin replaced the photo. Trembling fingers reached to click off the light switch.
tbc...