Part 22
Craig Baker tumbled heavily into bed and slept like the dead for five hours. But then, just like clicking on a light switch, he was awake again. He sat upright in the bed, exclaiming aloud, "Tee Twenty Seven! How the hell would he manage to get hold of that?"
Denver International Airport:
Vin leaned against the wall and watched the passengers from the incoming Dallas flight emerge into baggage claim. He expected JD to be one of the first people there-having flown with him before. Vin and JD usually knocked each other over trying to get off the plane, Vin because small spaces made him itchy, and JD because sitting still had the same effect on him.
Vin pushed himself away from the wall when he got a glimpse of the slight figure hovering impatiently behind an elderly woman who stopped in the middle of the path to embrace a couple of toddlers who acted as if they weren't too sure who she was. Muttering, "'Scuse me," JD sidled around her, his dark eyes searching the crowd until he spotted Vin. Fear crossed his face and he appeared to be holding his breath as he blurted out, "How is he?"
'He's scared to death,' Vin realized. He pulled the kid close in an uncharacteristic hug. "He's goin' to be okay, JD," he said in the younger man's ear. "Buck won't leave us. Hell, today he even told us who the bomber was."
JD pushed away, his face alight. Vin misunderstood the reason until the kid breathed, "He's off the respirator?"
Vin could have kicked himself. He shook his head, hating the way JD's face fell and the lines of fear and anxiety dropped back into place. "The doc is wantin' to be cautious about that," he said. "Buck hates the thing, but it's givin' his body a rest."
"I know," JD sighed. "Nathan said that, too." He followed a half-step behind Vin, backpack slung over one shoulder, dark circles of fatigue marking his pale face. Suddenly he stopped. "Wait. You said he knew who planted the bomb?"
Vin turned to face him. "Seems like. Spelled out a name."
"Who? What name?" JD's voice was a feral snarl and Vin was suddenly, forcefully reminded that even a young wolf would fight to protect his pack.
Still, he'd never slight JD by lying to him. "He spelled out Bolo. I'm guessin' it's Bolo Orlowski. You ever heard of him?"
JD frowned thoughtfully. "The name's familiar...oh, I know. Some guy was over not too long ago. I don't know his name, Buck just called him Cap'n Nate." In spite of everything JD grinned at the nickname. "Right before Buck and Ezra went under on the Hoyt case, like the Sunday before. I remember 'cause we were gonna go out to Chris' place and ride the horses, and then this guy called that morning and Buck said he had to talk to him. He told me to go on but I hung around for while. But it was really obvious Buck didn't want me to hear too much. They ended up going out for a beer together. I asked Buck later what was so hush-hush and he said it was just something about an old case. I didn't hear too much of what they said but I did hear that name. Bolo Orlowski. I remembered 'cause I had a friend in high school, his last name was Orlow but everybody kidded around and called him Orlowski."
Vin frowned. Something weird was going on. He'd always thought Buck to be the most open of them, the one with no secrets-save maybe some of Chris' he held as a sacred trust. Buck-incorrigible flirt, prankster, class clown, loyal brother, devoted friend. That was Buck. Now lately it seemed Vin was finding out things that Buck hid from him, even from Chris, and now JD too. 'Buck when you can talk again you're going to talk to me.' Vin made a mental note to track down this Cap'n Nate. And hell, why hadn't he thought to ask Ezra what was bothering Buck so much about Hoyt's niece or whatever she was? He'd do that as soon as they got back to the hospital. And then he'd go ten rounds with that stubborn SOB Larabee, until the team leader finally agreed to leave the watching of Buck to JD for a while and go home and get some sleep.
Baggage retrieval at Denver International Airport was never easy. Ezra had once irritably commented that as long as off-loading the luggage took it'd be faster to ship the bags to Salt Lake City and have them bused the rest of the way. (That particular occasion Ezra had been waiting on his mother's bags. Maude Standish Whatever Her Last Name Was This Month always traveled with at least a half dozen bags when she dropped in to visit her son-even though Vin had never known her to stay longer than two days.)
But finally JD's lone duffel appeared and they could get away from the terminal. JD still carried his backpack and Vin hefted the duffel, which was so light he suspected the younger man had left half his clothes in Florida. Probably wouldn't have checked a bag at all had there been any other way to get his weapon on the plane.
JD finally broke his silence when he realized Vin had brought the Jag to the airport. "Ezra let you drive his car?" he said in something like astonishment.
Vin pulled the keys out of his pocket. He thought about handing them to JD, but took a second look at the kid's pale face and exhausted, fearful eyes and thought better of it. Vin actually had slept pretty good on Ezra's couch. The way JD looked, Vin was sure he hadn't closed his eyes since Nathan had told him Buck was hurt.
"We got to make a stop on the way back," he said as JD, without protest, plunked himself into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt.
"Will it take long?" JD wanted to get to the hospital.
"You eat recently?"
JD just stared at him.
"Yeah, well, neither's Ez. And Chris took maybe two bites of a sandwich in the cafeteria. I was thinkin' we could go by that deli Ez likes and get some real food. Only, I'm not real sure where it is."
After a minute, JD nodded. "Meyers," he said softly. "It's in the Stone Gate."
University Medical Center
Denver:
He woke with a sore head, throbbing jaw, and a bandage around skinned and bruised knuckles. He looked around, recognizing his own room. Sarah's room. He'd changed it around-put her wicker rocker on the sunporch, packed away the periwinkle blue and white afghan she'd crocheted when she was pregnant, given away her clothes and makeup and her antique crystal perfume bottles; a plain blue brown spread now covered the bed instead of her prized antique double wedding ring quilt-but it was still Sarah's room. Even after all these months of missing her, he couldn't be in this room and not see her, not hear her laughing voice.
He staggered out of the room, unconscious of the reek of his unwashed body, the sour liquor taste on his breath. His head pounded. He needed whiskey. There was a half-full bottle on the coffee table in the living room. He grabbed it and put it to his lips, welcoming the burn of the harsh liquor.
Music.
The country/western music Sarah loved. Coming from her kitchen.
"Sarah?"
Unsteadily he walked toward the music. He heard other things now, the clink of silverware as a drawer was pulled out, the opening and closing of the refrigerator door. Eggs being cracked into a bowl. He could smell frying bacon.
Sarah was fixing him breakfast.
His step lighter even as the whiskey rose up and clouded his vision, Chris rushed forward and flung open the swinging door.
For just a moment he could see them. Sarah standing at the stove and Adam sitting at the table devouring a bowl of the high-sugar cereal Buck had introduced him to one weekend when Sarah and Chris were on a "romantic" getaway, and Buck was playing Uncle Buck.
He blinked.
And they were gone. Gone the way they were gone, forever.
Alcohol-fueled rage rose up as reality crashed in on Larabee and the ache of being alone, being without them, shredded the last bit of his heart. Unable to think, he grabbed something-one of Sarah's good knives from the wooden block-and rushed against the person who was left. He snatched Buck away from the stove, whirled him around and slammed him up against the wall, holding the sharp edge of the knife to his vulnerable throat. Buck dropped the phone he'd been holding between his shoulder and ear and grabbed Chris' hand, not trying to force the knife away but just keeping it in place. His face was swollen with ugly black bruises. "Chris-"
"Shut up!" Chris roared. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I'm fixin' breakfast," Buck said calmly. "You wanna put that knife down now before the bacon burns?"
'SOB thinks I won't do it...' suddenly Buck's face vanished, replaced by the dark faceless unknown evil that had taken away all that made Chris' life good. He tightened his grip, paying no attention to the warm sticky blood that oozed over his hands. "You bastard! You killed my wife and son..."
Chris woke suddenly and as cold as if doused with ice water. 'Oh, God-'
The hospital. ICU. Buck's room. Buck in the bed, monitors and wires and tubes. The hated horribly rhythmic pumping of the respirator-hated because it was needed, but valued for the same reason-it meant Buck was alive...
Buck...
The dream... Oh God, it was a dream, right? A nightmare. He couldn't...he wouldn't have done that to Buck. Couldn't have.
He stared at the still figure in the bed. Stepped forward, not wanting to know, but having to know. Gentle fingers touched Buck's throat, pulling down the hospital gown to reveal that thin white scar. He'd asked Buck once, What the hell did you do? and Buck just laughed it off. Laughed but there was something in his eyes...
The thin white scar across one side of his neck.
~~He tightened his grip. Warm sticky blood on his fingers~~
Buck's blood. Not some unknown mystery man, not a nightmare.
Buck.
His friend.
Chris Larabee had held a knife to the throat of his oldest and dearest friend.
More than that. Chris Larabee had used the knife on his oldest and dearest friend.
"Oh, God, Buck..."
Panic chewed Chris' guts. He had to get away. He had to think. This couldn't be true. It had to be a dream. Just a dream.
But the sick feeling in his gut knew it was more.
Ava Ortiz took another nervous glance at the big clock over the nurse's station. Less than an hour left of her shift and she hadn't yet been able to do her assigned job. This was her only chance. She'd had to do quite a bit of finagling to get herself assigned to ICU today. The next two days were her regular days off and after that the nurse she was covering for would be back from vacation and Ava would be sent back to the outpatient clinic. She couldn't offer to work her days off; she never had before and it might cause too much suspicion to do so now.
This was the third time in two years she'd received a middle-of-the-night phone call. Never any greeting, never a threat, just a name, a room number, and the crisp instruction, "Take care of it."
The first time she'd sat in bed, stunned, for hours until the sun came up. She couldn't believe it. It had to be a crank. No matter what he'd said, surely he couldn't think...
Her junior year in college, Ava needed money. Badly. She'd cut herself off from her family years before but that didn't mean they didn't come back to haunt her. Desperate, she fell back on a remembered way to make money.
And her first trick turned out to be an undercover vice cop. Once her fingerprints were taken she knew the charade was up. It wouldn't take too long to find out that Ava Ortiz was actually Yvette Morales. When the sweaty, middle-aged cop came into the interrogation room she braced herself for the worst.
Instead he let her go. Said, "You've got a friend, Ava. You'll be hearing from him," escorted her to the door and hailed her a cab. The next day she found her problems had literally disappeared. Her tuition was paid. Her rent was paid. Creditors no longer hounded her. Three weeks later she was notified she'd won a Hoyt Scholarship for her senior year.
Ava went on to finish nursing school with flying colors. Two weeks before graduation she went to the annual luncheon Marcus Hoyt hosted for his scholarship recipients. It was held in the private dining room on the top floor of the First National Bank of Denver. Three walls of floor to ceiling windows gave a stunning view over the city. The tables were covered with Irish linen, Waterford crystal, Lenox china and heavy, ornate silverware from Hoyt's own collection. Hoyt had been wonderful to talk to. But, as she was leaving, as he shook her hand, she thanked him fervently for what he had done for her. His eyes had a peculiar light in them as he bent over her hand, his lips barely touching the skin, then stood up and said quietly, "I am a big believer in helping people. I'm sure you will help me when you can." He paused, then smiled. "Miss Morales."
It wasn't a nice smile.
But still, she hadn't realized the truth until the first of the phone calls. Hoyt had done more than just get her out of a jam (for she was sure he was the "friend" the vice cop had referred to) or pay for her education.
He had bought and paid for her soul.
Ava looked up as the door to Mr. Wilmington's room banged open and the intense, dark-clad man who'd been there all day strode out. His eyes flicked over her without seeing, then he quickly raced down the hall to the double doors leading out of the unit.
His face looked as if all the demons in Hell were behind him. It was a feeling Ava knew well.
'He left him alone.'
The other two men who had been in and out of the room had been absent for a couple of hours. Lucy, the nurse assigned to Wilmington, was on her break. It was the short quiet period that preceded the organized chaos of shift change.
The perfect time.
She stepped into the treatment room and took a large syringe from one of the drawers. She'd spent most of the morning trying to think of the best way to do it and finally decided an air embolism would be best. It was quick. Essentially indiscernible. No one would be surprised if a patient with such severe injuries suffered an embolism.
Slipping the syringe into her jacket pocket, she started toward the door.
"Nurse!"
Ava jumped. She whirled around to see a middle aged woman beckoning her from the door of cubicle. "Something's wrong with Mother," the woman said nervously.
Ava hesitated, but she had no choice. She moved down the hall toward the woman.
Chris stormed down the hall, not even noticing the way people scrambled to get out of his way. He had to get out, he had to get some air...he had to think.
'I cut him. My best friend for years and I cut him. Slashed his throat.'
There was no doubt in his mind his dream had actually been a memory. From when? Right after Sarah and Adam died? Later? That nine days after the PD closed the investigation?
When had he first noticed that scar on Buck's neck?
'Damnit Buck...why didn't you...' What? Tell him? Kill him? Leave?
Leave...
Buck had transferred to the bomb squad. Away from Chris.
'Guess I know why...'
The elevator door opened and he let the crowd push him out. The open lobby and the doors outside beckoned like manna from heaven. Chris needed to get out. He needed to get away. He couldn't breathe-
Damn.
He stopped. He was on the second floor, not the ground floor. A skybridge led from the second floor to the enclosed parking garage. The crowd of people all moved in that direction. Chris turned around, to go back to the elevators. Where the Hell were stairs around here...an elevator door was closing as he came up. He caught the eyes of a woman just as the door slid closed.
Sarah!
Chris stood stock still, then turned and jumped into the next elevator. He was the first person out on the lobby floor, running a few steps and looking around. There! He could see the back of her head as she disappeared down a hall. Chris ran after her, then skidded to a stop. The corridor ended in a plate glass door. Fire exit? He pushed it open and found himself in a little garden. Three wings of the hospital touched, forming a small, enclosed area. There were flowering plants and a few benches and a tinkling fountain. Doors led into the other two wings of the hospital.
Sarah would have liked this garden.
Chris shook his head. What the hell was he doing? Chasing a woman...it couldn't be Sarah. Couldn't be.
Sarah was dead. Sarah was...
Dead.
Oh God.
Buck!
He jerked the door open and barreled back inside.
JD stared out the windshield of the Jag as Vin cruised up and down the parking lot looking for a spot. JD knew Vin wouldn't drive into the enclosed garage unless he had to, no matter how much Ezra might have preferred his "baby" be under a roof. Apparently Ezra wasn't so picky about Buck's vehicle though; JD saw the familiar pickup through a sudden sparkle of tears as they drove past it and exited the parking lot. Vin made a left turn and pulled into the overflow lot across the street.
'Dear God, please let him be okay...'
Now that he was here, almost to his best friend's side, JD was gripped with an irrational terror. What if Buck had died while Vin was picking him up from the airport? What if he never got off the respirator? How long would Chris let him stay on life support? JD knew how Buck felt about that. He had always been so grateful that he was not Buck's POA. He'd made that decision once, for his mother. He couldn't do it again.
Not for the man he thought of as his brother.
Vin parked the Jag and killed the engine. He touched JD's arm. "You okay?"
JD knew he could see the tears. He wiped them away impatiently. "Yeah." He reached down to gather the fragrant deli bags. Knowing how finicky Ezra was when he didn't feel well, and with the memory of how little any of them had eaten lately, Vin had purchased several sandwiches, a couple of containers of Meyer's famous chicken soup, and a Caesar salad.
JD thought of Buck calling Ezra's ever-present salads "rabbit food" and the tears stung his eyes again. 'Get it together!' he yelled at himself. "Buck needs you to be strong, not a sniveling kid."
"You are strong, JD," Vin said quietly.
Startled, JD looked up at his friend. He hadn't realized he'd said the words aloud. Vin's clear blue eyes met his evenly. "There's no shame in caring enough to cry."
"You don't cry." It was the first thing JD could think to say and he winced as the words came from his lips.
Vin smiled sadly. "Just 'cause you don't see it, don't mean I don't do it." He ruffled JD's hair fondly, much as Buck would have done. "Come on. Let's go deal with some stubborn mules."
"Mules?" JD repeated as he scrambled out of the car.
"Yeah." Vin shot him a grin. "Not-sleepin' mule Chris, not-eatin' mule Ezra, not-breathin' mule Buck. I got plenty to say to all of 'em!"
7777777
Ava slipped inside the door and closed it quietly behind her. It had taken precious minutes to calm down anxious relatives sure their mother was having another coronary. But the man in black hadn't returned. Wilmington still slept, alone, in his room.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped close to the bed. She didn't look at the man. She'd learned not to look the first time. She pulled the syringe from her pocket and pulled back the plunger.
Her left hand reached for the IV line. A few seconds more...
7777777
Chris slammed through the double doors. His boots pounding on the tile floor, he raced down the hall and flung open the door.
A nurse whirled from the bedside. She had a syringe inserted into the IV line and her thumb was on the plunger, ready to depress the contents into the line.
One look at the terrified, guilty expression on her face and Chris' eyes raced to the syringe.
Empty.
"No!"
He made a flying leap and caught her hand, jerking the syringe free. He shoved her back with his elbow. "Did any air get in the line?" He roared at her.
Tears spilled down her face. She buried her head in her hands.
He couldn't take the risk. Grabbing Buck's wrist, Chris yanked the IV needle free from his flesh, closing his fingers over the puncture to stop the bleeding.
Buck's midnight blue eyes flickered and opened. He looked at Chris in puzzled recognition.
"What the hell?"
Chris looked up at the familiar voice. Vin was standing in the doorway, a brown paper bag in his hand. JD hovered at his elbow, his eyes glued on Buck.
The letdown of adrenaline hit then and Chris' knees trembled at how close it had been. He sank down in the chair, keeping his fingers clamped tightly to Buck's wrist. "Get a doctor in here," he said tiredly. He jerked his head in the direction of the cowering nurse on the floor. "And arrest her."
Vin started forward. "Arrest her for what? What's goin' on?"
Chris looked into Buck's eyes. "Arrest her for attempted murder of a federal agent." He swung around to look at Vin. "And do it by the book." His gimlet gaze moved to the woman. "I just bet she has a story to tell us, and I want every word to be admissible as evidence."
"Attempted murder?" JD broke from his paralysis and stepped forward, taking the steps to Buck's side, his eyes glued on Buck's face. The older man looked at him and his eyes lit up. JD grabbed Buck's free hand. "Damn, Buck..." His voice failed.
"It's okay, JD," Chris said quietly, his fingers tightening around Buck's wrist. "He's okay." He closed his eyes in weariness and blessed relief.
'Thank you, Sarah. I was too late for you...but thanks to you I made it in time for Buck.'
Sarah Bryant sat behind the wheel of her car in the hospital parking garage for a long time before she could start it. Tears streamed down her face. 'Coward coward coward...' she jeered at her reflection in the mirror. 'Too cowardly to go in there and look at the man who betrayed you. Too cowardly to tell him what you think of him.'
What do I think of him?
Do I hate him?
Or… do I love him?
tbc...