Chapter 7

I'm glad people are still reading this! I know my updates are a bit sporadic. To the person who asked, yes I know the difference between Mine and Mind. Also, I'm glad you're liking it, but VIn was never in a relationship with Sam, though it had crossed my mind a time or two.

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The dust was so thick he could hardly breathe. He choked on it, like some invading parasite, into his nose and mouth, until it coated his tongue and teeth. He felt the grit of it on his skin. His ears rang. Ezra shifted, sending chunk of debris sliding off his back and legs. He drew himself up onto his knees and drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth. The knees of his slacks were in tatters and his right side stung crazily, but otherwise everything seemed to be in working order. He'd been lucky.

The steady buzz in his ears was interrupted by staccato coughing. Ezra groped around in the dark till his fingers found the smooth handle of his flashlight. He slapped it against his palm a few times. The light sputtered and then flickered on.

Light refracted off the dust that hung in the air like a thick gray cloud. Sam lay just behind and to the right of him. A large beam had fallen from the ceiling, imbedding itself in the floor just next to Sam's right shoulder. She'd been lucky too. Her hair and face were shellacked the same deathly gray color, and he imagined he looked much the same. On her left temple a gash oozed blood, mixing with the layer of dust and congealing into dark cement. One arm pressed over her ribs she sat up, slowly, and gave him a wobbly thumbs up.

"Vin," Ezra choked out. He drew himself onto his knees, lurched to his feet and then helped Sam up. She kept a hand on his back as they stumbled through the ruined passage toward where the doorway had once stood. Closer to the source of the explosion the damage to the building was far more extensive. Large chunks from the ceiling had fallen in and pipes spewing water hung down out of space. Soon they were having to scramble over piles over debris. Ezra started to feel numb. Vin... The beam from the flashlight flickered. They were running out of time. Soon they would be left in complete darkness. His stomach twisted, and an acidic bite worked its way to the back of his throat.

Ezra first saw his hand, palm up, lifeless fingers hanging slack. Behind him, Sam sucked in a quick breath. Ezra panned the light over his friend, quickly assessing the situation. What had once been a large hunk of the heavy door obscured the better part of Vin's torso. His legs had been pinned by two sizable hunks of concrete. The sharpshooter lay eerily still, his eyes shut tight. The entirety of the left side of his face was awash in bright red blood, the wound flowing freely enough that even the thick caking of dirt could not stem it. Ezra knelt, fingers quaking as he reached out to check for a pulse. He couldn't begin to describe his relief when he felt the slow, steady thump of Vin's heart beneath his fingertips. "He's alive," he told Sam, surprised by the heavy catch in his voice. "My guess is that the door shielded him from the worst of the blast."

"Small miracles," she murmured.

Passing the flashlight to Samantha, Ezra grasped the edge of the door with both hands, struggling as he shifted its weight off Vin's chest. "Here, help me move this off his legs," Ezra motioned to a large chunk of roof that had fallen in. Clasping the small light between her teeth, Sam moved to stand next to the undercover agent. The slab that pinned Vin's legs was at least two inches thick and the size of a small end table. Together they crouched, grasped the concrete, and lifted.

Beneath the slab, Vin's left leg lay at an impossible angle below his knee. Broken, Ezra thought, probably in a couple of places. Then, from beneath a gaping tear in the sharpshooter's jeans, blood burgeoned. It quickly soaked his pant leg and began to ooze on the floor. "Shit." The southerner pulled speedily at his silk tie, tearing it from around his neck. As gently as he could manage, Ezra slipped the tie around Vin's leg and tied it tight. It wasn't much of a tourniquet, but it would do.

"Good reason to wear a tie," Samantha remarked.

Overhead, Ezra heard something groan, then give a soft crack."We need to get out of here, now."

Sam glanced upward nervously. "Yeah, I'll second that. But can we move him? What if he hurt his neck? Or spine?"

"We'll have to risk it," Ezra said. He pulled his gun from his waistband and handed it to her. "You lead with the light." Grim faced, Samantha nodded and took the weapon. With the cast still on her right hand, there was no way for her to hold the gun, so she held it in her left, hoping it didn't look as unsteady as it felt. If anyone tried to get the drop on them, they'd have to be awfully close for her to find her mark. The thought did not give her comfort. Then Ezra knelt, and with a soft grunt, heaved Vin up onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry.

The walk out of the warehouse seemed to take forever, even after they made it out of the ruined corridor. It was tense, and Ezra strained beneath the weight of the lanky sharpshooter. By the time they'd reached the top of the metal staircase, Ezra was in a dead sweat. The dead air in the building became stifling. Stepping outside into clean air was a gift, and the sounds of approaching sirens a bigger one. Samantha helped Ezra ease Vin onto the pavement several yards from the building. In the clear light of day the sharpshooter looked unnaturally pale. The blood from his head wound had begun to clot, and it lacquered his face.

The Denver police cars were the first to speed into the lot. Sam quirked an eyebrow at Ezra. He shrugged. "You've got to admit, blowing up the better part of a building wasn't exactly an exercise in subtlety. I'm not surprised it got called in so quickly."

"I could care less, just so long as there's an ambulance attached to their little entourage."

"That," he cast a worried glance down at his injured friend, "is a sentiment I sincerely share."

Three police units formed up around them in a rough semi-circle. "You may wish to relinquish your hold on my weapon Hunter," he said calmly. "These gentlemen look a bit jumpy." Samantha set the gun on the ground at her feet and held up her hands. Ezra stood from where he knelt beside Vin. He kept one arm raised while he reached slowly around for the badge clipped on his belt by his hip. "Federal agent," he called out, his voice ringing with the kind of authority people didn't tend to question. Gun still drawn, one of the officers stepped out from behind the protection of his vehicle. He approached warily, until he got a good look at Ezra's identification. He holstered his weapon, and the rest of the officers followed suit.

"I've got an agent requiring immediate medical attention," Ezra barked. "And I am going to need you gentlemen to put out an APB on a suspect fleeing from this location."

After that, things happened quickly. The paramedics arrived on scene, having been waiting just down the block for the all clear. Immediately, they immobilized Vin with a C collar to a backboard. One man inserted an IV while the other began to apply bandages and pressure to his leg. Ezra waved off any offers to get checked out. His side was littered with bruises and small abrasions, but it wasn't anything he couldn't live with. He did, however, usher Samantha into the ambulance beside Vin's stretcher. When she attempted to protest the undercover agent quickly silenced her.

"There's nothing else for you to do here. Go with him. Keep an eye on him, and get that looked after," he said, pointing to her head.

"Ezra I'm fine..."

"Because I haven't heard that before," Ezra said mockingly. "Go. Now." Grudgingly, Sam clambered into the back of the ambulance. She couldn't do anything there, Ezra was right, but she couldn't do anything here either. And Vin was so pale and still. She slipped her hand around the Texan's, careful to stay out of the paramedics way as he worked. Another EMT slammed the back doors shut and the ambulance took off, sirens wailing.

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Several hours later, Chris, Buck, and Ezra arrived at the hospital. Nathan immediately descended upon Ezra, scrutinizing every inch of the recalcitrant southerner. Ezra let him fuss for a moment, knowing it made Nathan feel better, but it wasn't long before he began trying to shoo the other man away. He chewed on the inside of his lip and the acidic tang returned to his mouth.

"What do we know?" Chris asked.

Nathan peeled himself away from his ministrations. "He's still unconscious at this point. He suffered a pretty severe blow to the head and the doctor's worried about internal hemorrhaging." Ezra's stomach dropped. He should have stopped him, should have been faster with his warning. Hell, the guy never should have gotten the drop on him in the first place. He tore himself from his thoughts. Nathan was still talking. "... The break isn't pretty, but it could have been worse. They've stopped the bleeding, but he's going to need surgery when he stabilizes to place a couple of screws in his tibia. He's got some 2nd and 3rd degree burns, but those will heal. Josiah's with him now."

Chris nodded slowly. "I'll go take over," he said, quiet. The lean Team leader moved off, and no one tried to stop him. Close as he was to all the members of his team, he and Vin shared an especially tight bond.

"You find anything at the warehouse Ezra?" JD queried as Buck took up the seat beside him.

"It took a while for the bomb squad to give an all clear on the premises," Ezra sighed. "And unfortunately our quarry managed to repeat his stellar vanishing routine. The room we first encountered him had a trap door, hidden behind a stack of pallets. We procured a number of his tools, a hacksaw, some other implements, but nothing we can use to track him. And aside from some blood, which for all we know could be Ms. Hunter's, no sign of the girl either."

"Four hours," Buck put in miserably. "She's running out of time."

The four of them exchanged knowing looks. "So we don't allow such an atrocity to occur," Ezra said with more certainty than he felt. "Mr. Tanner is in eminently capable hands, and there is nothing to be accomplished by waiting here for more ill news."

They all nodded, though not one moved. The words, true as they were, didn't help much. They were torn, between searching for Ashley and remaining with Vin. Finally, Nathan spoke up. "You know, if he was awake he'd tell us all to stop fussing and to get back to work."

"But he's not awake," Ezra snapped in return. All eyes in the room turned on him, surprised by the uncharacteristic outburst. Ezra sighed. "Apologies."

"Look," Nathan reasoned, "I'll stay. The rest of you should get back, try and find this bastard. I'll call if anything changes."

"Good," Ezra nodded, "Let me collect Hunter, take her home and I'll meet you back at the office." The others nodded, and Buck rose after JD stirred from his chair. It was easier this way, being told what needed to be done, rather than getting lost in their own heads, Buck's pain, Ezra's guilt.

"And ah, where is Ms. Hunter?" Ezra questioned, making one sweeping look around the waiting room, currently devoid of smart mouthed female occupants.

JD scratched his head. "I, uh, think she went to get coffee." He looked at his watch. "Like, half an hour ago."

Ezra sighed, "Not a worry. I'll meet you all back at the office within the hour." It wouldn't take him long to find her. He had a pretty good idea of where she'd gone.

He found her outside. Sam had managed to clean up a little, but her hair was still more gray than copper, and there was a distinct line on her neck separating clean skin from filth. She leaned her forearms against the railing of the second story patio, staring outward towards the mountains as the day crept closer to twilight. "So much for coffee," he said by way of greeting.

"No," she answered softly, glancing briefly down at the paper cup sitting by her left foot. "Yours if you want it. Pretend it's meant to be cold." She went back to staring at the mountains. "How'd you know I'd be out here?"

"You only drink coffee in the morning," he shrugged. "And you're not much for crowds when something's bothering you." Samantha twisted in his direction to get a better look at him, shooting him a thin half smile. He knew her too well. A stark white butterfly bandage adorned her brow just above her right eyebrow.

"I'm fine."

"Uh huh."

Sam chewed on her lip for a long time. "What if he's not okay?" she finally asked, fighting back the sting of tears.

"Mr. Tanner will be fine."

"But what if he's not? Ez, I screwed up so much, and I haven't made it right with him yet."

"He will be," Ezra insisted. He squeezed her arm, reaching up to absently touch the bandage on her head. He offered a wry smile. "I dare say his head is even harder than yours." She couldn't help herself, she laughed.

"I heard what happened," a third voice came from the doorway. Ezra turned smartly away from Hunter, hands dropping to his sides. "I came to make sure you were all right," Vanessa went on. "I see you're doing just fine." The dark haired agent held her neck stiffly, her jaw locked down tight as she glowered between Ezra and Sam.

Ezra felt himself trapped somewhere between guilt and annoyance. "Vanessa!" The dark haired agent simply wheeled away. "Vanessa! " But she was gone, and Sam had pulled away from him once again, into silence and distance. Ezra sighed. "Come on," he muttered, "I'm taking you home."

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"Nothing!" Buck threw his pen down on his desk a few hours later. "This guy's better at hidin' his footprints than a rattlesnake on asphalt! Ez, you sure you didn't find something useful at that warehouse? I know there was a lot goin on but..."

"I assure you Buck," Ezra drawled, "had there been some obvious sign such as 'violent perpetrator this way' i would have followed it."

"You think this is some kinda joke?" Buck bristled.

"Are you doubting my ability to do my job?" Ezra threw back, temper running short. It had already been a long day. "So what? You're blaming this incident on me? This is my fault?" Ezra's eyes sparked.

"No," Buck snapped. "I'm sayin that ever since you walked in on Sam in that hospital room you've been off your game. And maybe you should try to focus a little more here." The accusation burned in Ezra's chest. "Don't go thinkin I don't understand what seein somethin like that done to a girl can do to a man, but the stakes are too high right now."

"Are you suggesting..."

"I am suggesting," Buck made himself take a breath, "that you care about her, like we all do, and maybe then some." He saw the self doubt ripple across the southerner's face, just for a moment. "And I know part of you wants to still be mad at her for leavin in the first place, and you two are right good at bitchin like some kind of old married couple. But that's coupled right along with that part of you that wants to apologize for not bein there when all of it happened. And it's throwin you sideways."

"That's preposterous!" Ezra snorted.

"Is it?" Buck asked. "You're tellin me you don't care?"

Ezra didn't answer, the words giving him more pause than he cared to consider. "You want to apologize to Ashley?" he asked.

"Damn right I do. And it don't make a damn bit of sense at all, but I do."

Ezra nodded softly, clasping a hand to the other man's shoulder. "I really hope you get that chance."

But at 10:20 PM they were no closer to finding Ashley Miller. The office had fallen strangely silent. And then Buck's phone rang. The entire bullpen froze at once. Buck took the cell off his desk, his breath coming short and shallow. "Hello?" he answered, his voice thick.

"Your time has expired Mr. Wilmington," the voice at the other end of the line said. "And as of twenty minutes ago, so has your little friend. I have said a prayer to God for him to take mercy on her sinner's soul."

"Mercy?" Rage seethed past his teeth. "You asked God to grant her mercy? It wasn't God that did this you sick son of a bitch, it was you!"

"And I am an instrument of our Lord."

"What gives you the right to judge?" Buck's voice swelled and broke with emotion. Gone. Ashley was gone and he'd been unable to stop it. "You should ask for mercy for yourself, because when I find you, I'm going to rip you apart!"

The voice at the end of the line laughed and clucked his tongue. "Now, now Mr. Wilmington, that is very close to another serious sin. I had hoped you would learn from this. But even if you don't, the world will know."

Even the tips of Buck's ears had turned scarlet. "I am going to kill you. I am going to hunt you down..." The line went dead. Buck stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, his shoulders heaving as he breathed. Then he spun, flinging the phone away from himself with a cry. It shattered against the wall. No one spoke. No one moved.

"Guys..." JD's voice was paper thin, and hollow, but in the quiet of the room it resonated like a gunshot. "I think we have a problem."

"And what would that be JD?" Chris asked stonily. "I'd say we already have a problem."

"Yeah well," JD's head tilted as he stared at his screen, his lips twisted in a grimace. "This could be quantified as a second problem, a BIG problem."

Josiah asked, "What?"

"I just got an email, pretty sure we all got it actually." The youngest member of Team 7 turned the screen so Buck and Ezra, who had come up behind the taller man, could see. The body of the email contained a single link, and the subject line read 'Time's Up.'

Buck's stomach dropped into his boots. "No." His fist struck the top of the desk with a bang. "Tell me he didn't."

JD clicked his cursor onto the link. A second window popped up. The image was dark, but the three men found Ashleys form amongst the gray haze of the picture. She was bound, he good arm strung above her head. She sagged against her bond, her other arm dangling lifelessly at her side, the end wrapped in a dripping, bloody bandage. She looked directly into the camera, her mouth moving in what could only be a plea for mercy, but her attacker had cut the sound.

"No," Buck said softly, sinking bonelessly into a chair, head sagging into his hands. "No, no, no."

The camera panned downward, to a large pile of rocks, approximately the size of baseballs. A gloved hand reached out for one. "Dear God," Ezra muttered behind him breathlessly.

"It gets worse," JD announced to them both. His tongue felt heavy and his mouth dry.

"Praytell, how exactly could it be worse?" Ezra queried.

"It's not live, it's a video. He linked it through DU's Facebook page," JD shook his head miserably. "It's been sent to every student, faculty member and graduate that has DU sourced on their profile. It's gone viral."

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It took eighteen minutes and twenty-three seconds for Ashley Miller to stop moving. And when she did, a voice had played over the speakers. "We are all sinners in this world. But in these modern times we have ceased to repent for our actions, and instead begin to worship false idols, embodiments of our sin. And is that so far from letting the Devil himself into our hearts?"

The video image shifted momentarily, then refocused on Ashley's sagging body. "This woman took one such man into her bed. Look closely at your heros Denver, and see them for what they are. Buck Wilmington of the Denver ATF, you share in this."

"Ah shit," Chris muttered.

The voice went on, and a figure clad head to toe in black stepped in front of the lens. A long hunting blade dangled in his hand. "Jesus once spared the life of a whore sentenced to stoning, and forgave her. I cannot forgive this woman, but I can take mercy on her soul and send her on to the one who can."

Grasping Ashley's hair in one hand, he took position behind her and lifted her chin, til her broken, bloodied face was presented to the camera. Buck's stomach rolled. He was going to be sick. There was a slight flare of Ashley's nostrils. She was still alive. Then, with a hard jerk, the man on the video slid the blade across Ashley's throat. Blood cascaded outward. Her body spasmed. Buck lost his dinner in the waste bin.

"I challenge you Denver, to cast down these false idols and turn again to your God. This is the first sin. Not the last." The screen clip ended.

Within the hour, every local Denver/Front Range channel had interrupted it's regular programming. The video raced through the virtual world, across DU, to Boulder, to Colorado State and then across the country. By morning, Ashley Miller's very public murder was National news. Ashley's picture was plastered on every TV news screen, newspaper and web site. More than a few of them had Buck's picture as well. Chris had been locked in his office for nearly twelve hours, but not till he'd sent Buck home, and JD along with him.

"Take him to sit with Vin, get him some pills to make him sleep, hell, get him drunk," he'd instructed his youngest agent. "But he doesn't talk to anyone, got it JD?"

More than a little grim, JD had ushered his nearly catatonic friend out of the office. They'd taken the stairwell. Almost immediately thereafter the phone had started to ring. The brass upstairs wanted answers, yesterday. Chris stonewalled their advances to get to Buck. No way was he going to let his oldest friend be the fall guy for the motivations of a psychotic. No way in hell.

It went on in much that manner for a day and a half. Chris was fried, his temper stretched tighter than a drum. Vin was still unconscious and according to JD, Buck hadn't seen sobriety in nearly 36 hours. Reporters had congregated outside their CDC apartment, but JD had the blinds shut and the doors locked. They were running three men down, with virtually no clues.

So when Chris' office door swung inward at 9 AM two days after Ashley's death, Chris was ready to rip the head off the person who stepped through the door. He needed to unleash on someone. The fight rolled up in his chest. A familiar blonde head slipped inside. "Mary," he breathed, some of the anger slipping away, though he still had to muster more patience than he felt at the moment. "You know I can't discuss any possible, ongoing investigations," he said gruffly.

"So you are investigating Ashley Miller's death then?" Mary questioned, her voice innocent and probing, all at once.

Chris bit down on his lip. Sleep deprivation must be kicking in, he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or growl. Tenacity was one of Mary's more endearing characteristics, one that made her an excellent reporter. It was also one of her most frustrating. "That's not at all what I said and you know it."

"Does the Ashley Miller case have any connection to Sam's attack?"

Chris shot the pretty blonde reporter a sharp look. Sometimes she was too intuitive for her own good. "You been talking to Hunter?" he asked stiffly.

"Not about this," Mary said truthfully. Not that she hadn't attempted to press the matter, but Samantha had clammed up immediately. "I went with her to see Vin yesterday," she explained. "It was pretty obvious something was bugging her."

"Vin's unconscious in the hospital. Of course she's upset. They were real close, once."

"It's more than that," Mary countered. "And while we're on the subject, what happened there?"

Team Seven's leaded laced his arms across his chest and lifted an eyebrow. "You asking as a reporter, or Vin's friend?"

Mary flushed, suddenly embarrassed. "Off the record," she said softly, "as a friend."

Relaxing his stance, Chris ran a hand over his face, which Mary suddenly realized looked more than a little ragged. Worry fleeted briefly across his eyes. "He hasn't woken up yet. Docs have him on anticoagulants and blood thinners. They're worried about a clot."

Mary waited, patient. He had more to say, but she knew better than to press. "Sam's with him most of the time. It's good..." he shrugged. "Makes her feel useful. Keeps her out of trouble..."

"But you wish you could be there too," Mary finished for him.

"We all want to be there, we ought to be. But we've got to find this guy before anyone else gets hurt."

"So it is the same guy," Mary said. She couldn't help herself.

"Mary," Chris growled a little. He took two steps closer, and Mary felt the familiar little thrill of being so near to him. Then he reached out, clasping her shoulders in his hands. "Stay clear of this Mary, please. This guy is dangerous."

"Chris, it's my job to investigate and present facts to the public..."

"Oh don't feed me that damned line about journalistic ethics," Chris snapped. "I've already got one person in the hospital that I ca..." he stopped himself. "Please," he repeated.

"I can't promise you that Chris," Mary shook her head, "but I'll try."

-/-

He smiled warmly to the sister behind the gate. Eyes narrowed, she looked him over carefully. He resisted the urge to shake his head. Such suspicion from a lady of God. This was the problem. The world had forgotten.

Eventually his patience and smile won out, and the nun reached into the pocket of her habit to remove the gate key. "Thank you sister," he said with a voice rich and smooth. "I know that Josiah would want Hannah to receive this gift."

The sister was young, pretty enough to bring a man to sinful thoughts and deeds. A trial for a pure woman. He felt for her burden, and for a moment considered helping relieve her of some of that weight. He could feel the switchblade in his pocket. But he didn't retrieve it. That was not God's mission for him now. Perhaps later, when this was over, he could help ease her of some of that responsibility.

Hannah herself was a soul in torment, that much was clear. He wondered how much of that was contrition for her brother. Hannah stayed by herself in a small room in one wing of the abby. Light flooded into the room from large windows. It was cooler here than in the city, though still quite warm, and Hannah wore an old, long sweater. It engulfed her diminutive frame as she stood in front of an easel, paintbrush in hand. Long, disheveled hair fell down her back, tufts of premature gray coloring the dirty blonde locks.

"Hannah?" The sister spoke quietly. "Hannah you have a visitor."

She turned, something like life flickering through her eyes before she sighted him and realized that he was not Josiah. He thanked the sister for her time and waited till she departed before he approached Hannah.

"I have a gift for you," he said lowly. "A gift from Josiah." He pulled a small, drawstring bag from his pocket and dangled it in front of her. She eyes him warily, but held out her hand. He smiled, drawing the bag just out of reach. "It is meant as a surprise. You must wait for me to leave, or it will very much ruin it. You should count to one hundred and then see. Do you understand?"

Hannah did not respond verbally, but merely gave one quick jerk of her head and snatched the parcel from his hand like a starving beggar ,might grab at a heel of bread. She held the pouch jealously against her chest and backed away from him. "It will bring Josiah to see you child," he told her, his voice smooth. "You will see." He smiled, coldly, and turned on his heel, retreating through the abby the way he'd entered. He had just slipped inside his waiting car when the screams erupted from the walls.

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Chapter 7

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! "