Epilogue 1:
Monday afternoon
"Good God, Monica. You're supposed to be the intelligent one! To use your own drug to poison the man..."
"It should have been foolproof," Monica Hastings protested. "What are the odds that the physician treating him once worked in my lab!"
"You'd never make a gambler, Cuz," David Wyerly retorted. "Because, obviously, the odds were pretty good. Or bad, as it turned out."
Monica paced around her uncle's tastefully-decorated library. "This is not good." She was more animated-and agitated-than either of her cousins had ever seen her. "I had FDA inspectors and those auditors in the lab all weekend. And what if those ATF people start looking into my background? If they find out I'm related to Uncle Arthur..."
"Stop worrying," Nina counseled. "There is no reason for them to look into your background. We gave them a suspect. As far as the Feds are concerned, Kevin Murine stole the T-27 and poisoned Standish, acting on orders from Marcus Hoyt. Riverside Pharmaceuticals will probably get a slap on the wrist from the FDA for lax security, but that won't amount to anything. We covered your tracks." She paused. "And by the way, good acting job when the Feds were there. Those fake tears even impressed me."
"She has a point, though," David mused. "It wouldn't take much to link her to Uncle Arthur. Or Steven. Hell, Riverside was started with Uncle's money."
Nina raised her eyebrows. "So? She's related to Arthur Curran. She can hardly help that. No one is convicted of a crime just because of whom they happen to be related to. Monica is lily-white...at least to the uneducated eye."
"But what if they find Murine?" Monica finally sat down in one of the soft velvet wing chairs in front of the fireplace.
"They won't," David grinned. "And if by some miracle they ever do, they'll be lucky if they can identify him."
Monica dropped her hands into her lap and stared at him. "You didn't kill him?"
"Well, shit, Monica, of course I killed him. What did you expect me to do with him?" David shook his head.
"I thought we were going to pay him off-"
"That's enough," Nina broke in. "Monica, I don't think you-or I-really need to know any more about what David did. Just suffice to say he adequately covered your tracks." She leaned forward in her chair. "Next time there won't have to be a cover-up. We'll anticipate problems and plan accordingly."
"Not if Monica is around," David muttered. "Of all the stupid-"
"That's enough!" His sister's voice snapped like a whip. "You and I are just as much to blame for this contretemps as Monica is. We sent her out there on her own. We all need to get it into our heads that we aren't competitors in Uncle's little 'game'-we're allies. A team. It's not as if the one who kills Standish scoops the pot-we all share equally. The risks as well as the benefits." She regarded them both through cool green eyes. "Make no mistake-if one of us falls, we will all go down. And Uncle's entire enterprise will go down with us."
There was silence in the room except for the crackling of the fire.
Finally, Monica spoke. "So, what's our next move in the game?"
Nina smiled. "I have a few ideas. Monica-you work too hard, darling Cousin. You need a social life. A dating life."
Monica had regained some of her self-possession. She lifted her eyebrows and tilted her head on the side. "Surely you're not going to suggest I make a play for Ezra Standish, Nina. That's so...cliche."
"Well, it's better than me making a play for him," David grinned.
Nina shook her head as she regarded the other two fondly. "Ordinary minds. That's what's wrong with the two of you. Monica, I couldn't help but notice that one of the two ATF gentlemen who visited us appeared somewhat taken by you. Especially," she added, her tone changing from honey-sweet to waspish, "when you started crying those fake tears. I think you and Agent Tanner would make quite the lovely couple."
Epilogue 2
Tuesday morning
Sarah Bryant wrestled her car into a parking space on a side street. Needing money-her uncle's accounts were all frozen as Federal auditors worked their way through his business dealings-she'd sold her sports car and bought a ten year old Ford. Perfectly acceptable form of transportation, even if the stubborn steering did make her arms ache.
She glanced at herself in the rear-view mirror, finger-combing a few strands of her newly short, newly blonde hair. Bad luck that that picture of her with her uncle had appeared in the paper, but she was satisfied she'd changed her appearance enough. Uncle had always insisted she keep fake ID just in case. This would be the first time she'd ever had to use it.
She was early for her appointment but that was all right. She had deliberately parked a few blocks away. She wanted to walk by the Federal Building.
She slowed her pace as she approached it. She'd read in a magazine that since the Oklahoma City bombing, there was heightened security around federal office buildings. If so, there wasn't much sign of it here. She looked through the doors. A bored security guard was checking ID before allowing people on the elevators. She made herself keep moving before anyone noticed her. She couldn't resist, though, taking one last look over her shoulder at the tall building.
The ATF offices, she'd learned, were on the fourth, seventh and eighth floors.
She continued down the street, around the corner. Here were small shops, restaurants. A bar called "The Saloon" was across the street from her destination. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door of Hansen's Art Gallery.
"Hello," she said to the college-age girl that came bustling over to her. "I have a ten o'clock appointment with Ms. Hansen?"
"Can I tell her your name?"
"Christina Barrows," Sarah said, smoothly trying out her new name. She smiled. "I'm here about the job."
Epilogue 3
University Medical Center Room 2206
Tuesday night
Buck shifted in his bed, relieving one group of pains as another set to complaining.
He glanced around the room he'd been moved into earlier that day. The room that would be his "home" for the next few weeks at least. At least it was larger and lighter than that ICU cubicle and had a window looking over the street. Well, Vin said it overlooked the street. Chris had cackled it had enough floor space to house Buck's rapidly growing collection of flowers, plants, and stuffed animals-more of which arrived daily.
He glanced over at the cot in the corner. Vin slumbered peacefully, his back to Buck. It had taken Vin, Nathan and Ezra all teaming with Buck to get Chris and JD both to leave and get a decent night's sleep at the ranch. Ezra had actually offered to spend the night in Buck's room-which was kind of ironic when you thought about how he'd fought staying in the hospital when he was the patient. Nathan had nixed that idea and sent Ezra home with the newly-arrived Josiah, who still felt guilty because they'd been unable to reach him in Mexico. Nobody had listened to Buck saying he didn't need anybody to stay, and so Vin ended up occupying the cot.
Satisfied Vin was truly asleep, Buck reached over with his good arm and pulled the accordion folder from the bedside table. True to his word, Vin had smuggled it in with no one being the wiser. Tanner hadn't asked what it contained although it was obvious he was curious. Buck wasn't worried. Vin was an intensely private person, he wouldn't violate Buck's privacy either because of his curiosity, or in the guise of it being for Buck's own good.
He steeled himself for what was to come and opened the folder.
Every section was tightly packed full of file folders, manila envelopes, cassette tapes,computer disks, photographs. With clumsy fingers he sorted through until he found the folder he was looking for. Held together with a rubber band, it was crammed full of newspaper articles, faxes, and more photographs. The label on the folder read simply "Bolo".
It was written in smudgy blue. Buck smiled a little, remembering the night he labeled the folder and couldn't find a pen anywhere that had ink, so he'd ended up using an eyeliner pencil a date had left in the bathroom.
He looked at the photographs. They were pictures of detonators, or pieces of detonators, all with a common factor. Red, black and yellow wire to the fuse, the strands twisted around each other into a loop. "Bolo's signature" Cap'n Nate had called it.
The same "signature" he'd seen the instant before his bedroom blew up around him.
The same as he'd seen years before...
Shooting another glance at Vin, who had turned over so he was facing Buck but still seemed to be asleep, Buck pulled the top layer of files out. These were all labeled the same. "Larabee, Sarah. Larabee, Adam." Then followed the word Buck had longed to erase for all these years.
"Unsolved."
He opened one of the files. He knew these files so well. So many nights he poured over them, desperately looking for a clue, something he'd missed.
He pulled out a glossy photograph. A close-up, of the detonator that had been rigged to Chris' truck that fatal night. The detonator that had miraculously survived the explosion and had been found the next day by an exhausted Buck Wilmington, who couldn't make himself leave the scene.
Red, black and yellow wire. Twisted around each other into a loop.
Bolo's signature.
Buck closed the file. He leaned back into the pillows. God, he was tired. And he hurt.
Hurt like hell.
But he was alive. Sarah and Adam weren't.
Because he'd wanted to stop for dinner that night, they'd died.
He reached up to touch the scar on his neck. Chris kept trying to talk about it, Buck kept changing the subject. No reason to talk. Chris might have been out of his mind that day, but a scar on the neck was nothing compared to the scars on Chris' soul.
On Buck's too.
He whispered it, again. "This will never be over."
7777777
Across the room, Vin Tanner watched his friend through wide-awake blue eyes.
To be continued in Trinity Book 2: Flames
A/N: So here ends Book I. Tomorrow, weather permitting (I'm staying with my mom right now as she recovers and her internet is very dependent on good weather, which we are NOT having right now!) I'll start posting Book II. Thank you for the continued encouragement!