Dangerous Mine:

Chapter 16: Indecision

A/N: Action scenes are so easy compared to the setups in between! Also, hurting the boys and them coming together is great fun to write.

-/-

Vin shrugged off the dark suit coat the practically the moment he crossed his threshold, leaning both crutches against the wall and balancing on his good leg. He hated funerals. Hated suits too, for what it was worth. It had been a nice service, Lucia had been popular in all walks of her life, and it showed in the number in attendance. The number of people that spoke. The even greater number of people that had unabashedly wept. Though maybe he should call it a memorial, rather than a funeral. They still hadn't recovered her body, and her parents hadn't wanted to bury an empty casket. Still, a nice service.

Casey had spoken, tears making rivers on her face. In the week since Lucia's death she'd lost weight, and her normally full, heart shaped face had sunken. JD looked like her words were ripping his heart right out of his chest. Guilt. His own sadness. His concern for Casey. JD was the youngest of them, but he'd lost as much as most, more than some. Vin already knew JD would be making the trek to Fort Collins more often than usual in the coming weeks. Though he could be occasionally awkward about showing it, he loved Casey fiercely.

Inez had closed down the Saloon for the night, hosting her own commemoration for her friends from the bar. Vin and the rest of Team 7 was planning to attend, he was just thankful the event didn't require more time in that damned itchy suit. He pulled the tie off from around his neck as well. Too much like a damned noose for his comfort.

Sam followed in behind him dressed in a pair of Mary's black dress slacks and blazer over a dark maroon button down. She too, shed the jacket quickly. Tension wound itself in every muscle, every motion. She'd barely said a word all day. She hadn't slept, he knew that much, between the dark circles under her eyes and the few times he'd woken the night before to her puttering around the apartment, watching something on her phone or just staring out the window. Wordlessly, Sam gathered a few clothes out of one of the paper shopping bags she was currently living out of and walked into the bathroom. They'd been up late, rewatching Ashley's murder video and going over the timeline for her abduction. It couldn't have been much after he and Buck had seen her at the ATF offices. Vin had put in a request with the PD late the night before for traffic camera footage around the building the night of her disappearance.

Sam emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, the clothes she'd worn to the funeral folded in a neat stack, which she placed in a different shopping bag. She'd traded the dress clothes for a loose pair of track pants and a blue tank top, long hair gathered up into a pony tail. She moved for the punching bag hanging near the center of the apartment, and began to warm up, moving through a kata slowly. Even hindered by the cast, every move flowed seamlessly into the next. It had been a long time since he'd watched her do forms, and it reminded him of why he'd always liked sparring with her.

She started working the heavy bag next. He had the base anchored to the floor with a 45 pound plate, which kept the swing to a minimum as she moved through a series of kicks and left hand strikes. Front kicks. Side kicks. Then into roundhouse kicks. She'd started to sweat by then, the tank top darkening between her shoulder blades. After that she launched into a series of spin kicks, flashy, and delivered a heavy wallop of force, but not necessarily the most practical in a real fight. Her eyes never wavered from the bag. Vin understood. He'd slain a demon or two of his own with that bag. He imagined that by the time they'd gone over all the video footage from their perps attacks, she'd be slaying a few more.

When she finished, Vin handed her a glass of water without commentary. She drank it quickly and then headed into the bathroom for a shower. At least now she wasn't moving like a bunch of stretched tight rubber bands. He worried about her, but he didn't know what all he could do to help. She'd survived hell, but she wasn't free of it, not when she had to keep wading back into the memories. And he knew better than to suggest she let him handle it alone. She was in it, and was going to stay in it until she knew they'd caught the guy for sure, and she'd deal with the fall out later. In the meantime, if beating up his heavy bag helped, she was welcome to it.

-/-

Arms crossed over his chest, he looked down at the men standing in front of his makeshift pulpit and smiled. Acolytes. His videos, however shortly they'd been allowed to remain online, had gathered him plenty of scorn. But it also brought him true believers, those that agreed with him that the government and it's agencies were corrupt, godless and extolling the virtues of sin, rather than seeking to eradicate them. He'd already sacrificed one for his holy purpose. A sad, beaten man looking for redemption, and he'd been only too happy to give it to him. He needed Larabee to relax his guard, so he could prepare his people for the final confrontation. The six remaining before him he'd handpicked from the throng. With him they made seven. A biblical number, and counterpoint to Larabee's Team of abomination.

His compatriot wasn't happy about the new additions. Liabilities, they called them. But their single minded focus on Agent Standish had lost sight of the bigger picture. Denver would be cleansed. And it would just be the first. He intended to see both Larabee and Travis on their knees, begging. Not that it would be of any use. There would be no salvation for them. They were too far gone. Too corrupt.

He lifted his hands, and the low murmur of the men below subsided, as they looked to hear his revelations. "Welcome brothers," he began. "The time draws closer to the end of days. And you will help hasten it's coming." There were a few cheers at that and a few whistles. "In just 6 days, this nation will celebrate it's freedom. And we will honor that by freeing our city from the tyranny of a government that lauds the acts of sinners as heroes. We will cleanse this city, and set Denver on a new path." Fist pumps. More whistling.

"On July 4th, our esteemed governor is hosting a fundraiser in honor of the services provided by law enforcement, federal agencies and the military on the evening of our nation's commemoration of independence. And we will remind them that their duty is to the people. If you're with me, are you prepared to act upon your convictions?" The roar that followed made his smile grow from ear to ear.

-/-

Vin replayed the video from Home Depot for what felt like the twentieth time. The guy comes in, buys the security outlet, obviously swipes a card and leaves. It hadn't changed. It wasn't going to. But still, Vin felt like he was missing something. Hunter had confirmed it was their guy half a dozen times before her temper began to obviously fray, and Vin had shooed her away. Photos from every crime scene were tacked to his walls and windows with scotch tape. It was a wonder Sam hadn't gotten a hole in her lower lip, considering how much she gnashed on it with her teeth.

In the days following Lucia's memorial, and the death of Jonathan Siegrest, life had reverted more or less to normal. JD and Buck had been released from their suspensions and were back in the office, the brass upstairs satisfied there would be no more bad press. Vin had gone in once himself, but strictly speaking, he was still on medical leave, and would be for several weeks more. It meant he had plenty of time to rehash every single small detail from the Siegrest case. It was an arduous, slow process for one man, for two even. Though Sam couldn't sit down and watch footage or comb throughs crime scene photos for more than an hour without becoming downright feral. Not that he blamed her. His heavy bag had gotten worked more in the past few days than it had the last 6 months. She needed to talk to someone, but he didn't offer and she didn't ask. He liked his head right where it was, thank you very much.

And as of yet, absolutely nothing tied Vanessa Navarro to Jonathan Siegrest. No phone records, or emails, acquaintances or past employment. Every path he took ran him into a dead end. And it irked him. Because after his lone trip into the office, and acquiring photos from the SIegrest scene as well as his autopsy images, Vin was more convinced than ever that Sam was right. The guy had been wearing a wife beater and skinny jeans. There was nowhere to stash a piece, even a snub nosed revolver, that Ezra wouldn't have seen. And according to the official report he hadn't. So that was good as tying a bow around her guilt, as far as Vin was concerned.

Frustrated, Vin pulled up the video from Inez's security camera the night of Lucia's abduction in an adjoining window to the one from Home Depot. He played them back together. Same build, same height, same mannerism while paying. Right hand delivers the form of tender, left hand takes the product. Sam was right. It was definitely the same guy. He ran both videos back. Played them again. Hit pause as the guy handed Lucia some cash and inserted the chip card at Home Depot. Sighing, Vin ran a hand over his face. His eyes hurt. He rose and crutched over to the kitchen. His eyes flicked over the clock on the microwave. 4:57 PM. Close enough. He pulled open the fridge. They were going to need to make a beer run soon. "Sammy?" He twisted, holding up a bottle in question.

"Why not?" She walked over, slapping down the file folder on the counter. "My being stone cold sober isn't helping me make the connection between Vanessa and Siegrest, so maybe a buzz will help. Can't hurt at this point."

A knock at the door drew both their attention. Vin looked at Sam, who merely shrugged. "Who is it?" Vin called.

"It's Ezra," the undercover agent said from the other side of the door. Sam's eyes went wide as her mouth puckered around the mouth of the beer bottle. She pulled the bottle from her lips with a cough and slapped the file folder shut. She gestured wildly behind her to the giant case board they'd turned the better part of Vin's apartment into.

"What exactly do you expect me to do?" Vin hissed. "He knows we're here."

"Sure," she whispered back, sarcastic, "maybe we can hope he won't notice."

"Well it's not like we can hide it now," Vin said, practical.

"Uh, Mr. Tanner? Are you presently indisposed?" Ezra queried.

"Just a sec Ez." Sam grimaced and sighed, then stood to go open the door.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Ms. Hunter." He stepped past her over the threshold, case of beer clinking as he moved. "Figured I'd restock your supply," he told them, "thought you might be running low."

Vin grinned. "Won't say no to that. You got great timing Ezra, these were my last two. Join us?"

Ezra grinned, the sly smile lighting his eyes. "How kind of you to offer Mr. Tanner." He opened the case and withdrew a bottle for himself. Sam circled back around to the far side of the counter, taking her beer in both hands and leaning her forearms over the closed file folder. It was as he drew his first pull off the bottle that he noticed the papers taped to the windows and walls. Not hard to do considering a few of the sheets were fluttering in the breeze of one cracked window. "This your lofty attempt to redecorate Vin?" He joked lightly. "Or to just block your view of the blight that is this neighborhood?" He watched as Hunter and Vin exchanged a quick glance. Terrible poker faces, the both of them. His eyes narrowed slightly, he set down his beer and walked out of the kitchen toward the couch.

"Why, pray tell, do you have crime scene photos of the Siegrest abductions mounted on your wall? The case being closed and all."

Vin swung his way out of the kitchen. He stopped beside Ezra. "Cuz pard, I don't think Siegrest is the guy."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't make sense Ez. After everything this guy has run us through, you really think he got tripped up by a credit card purchase?"

Ezra crossed his arms over his chest. "Smarter criminals have been taken down for less," he pointed out.

"Maybe," Vin contended with a dip of his chin. He reached out, placed a hand on the other man's shoulder. "But I don't buy it. And heres the part I can't get over. You didn't see the gun Ezra."

Vin felt the undercover agent stiffen under his hand. "I made a mistake," Ezra said lowly.

"You don't make those kinds of mistakes," Vin argued gently. "I've been undercover with you Ezra. And in a room with ten people six hours later I've heard you rattle off every weapon make and model they carried, every piece of jewelry or distinguishing mark, hell, every single car they drove and most of the license plates. And you're really telling me you honestly believe you missed a gun on one guy wearing a tank top and skinny jeans?"

Ezra shifted, uncomfortable. In truth, he'd run the scene back in his head so many times he'd given himself a headache. And no matter how many times he did, he didn't remember a gun. Ezra was proud of his skills as an agent, his observational talents being one of those at the forefront. So to have missed something so vital, something that could have gotten him or one of his teammates killed, ate at him. He would not, could not, let Atlanta happen again.

"Much as I appreciate your confidence Mr. Tanner, the gun on the ground next to Siegrest would bely that."

"Unless it doesn't." Vin was pushing now, and he knew it.

Ezra shrugged off Vin's hand, face hardening. "This isn't about Siegrest," he accused. "Do you really mean to imply that the woman that just saved my life and brought down our killer is somehow involved?"

"It's about both pard," Vin said. "And I'm not implying anything Ez, I'm downright saying it," Vin told him. "You didn't see a gun means it wasn't there. Full stop. Which means she didn't save you from anything, she killed a man I don't think had a thing to do with any of this, and planted it there."

"HIs fingerprints were on it Vin!" Ezra's temper rose. He didn't believe it. He couldn't. Though he might not be in love with Vanessa, he did cared for her. As a friend, a colleague.

"What about the bullets?" Sam asked softly from behind the two men. She didn't want to say it, didn't want to enter the fray of what was building into an argument. Not when she and Ezra had just gotten back to good, but he needed to hear it, he needed to see the truth, however difficult. Ezra craned his neck to look at her. "Easy enough to get fingerprints on the gun, but what about the bullets?"

"Oh wonderful, so you've thrown your belief into this atrocity of logic as well I take it?"

"Kinda have to, seeing as it was my idea in the first place." She met his eyes levelly. "There's no video footage of anyone else but you, me, and her going near your apartment for the three days before the fire. We looked. And I'm pretty sure you didn't spike your own bourbon with ketamine. I know I didn't." She wasn't yelling. That wasn't going to get them anywhere. They needed him to take a beat and really hear what they were saying.

"That proves nothing and you both know it," Ezra said. "And will not stand here and listen to this conspiracy theory and the hellacious defamation of someone I have only seen act as an exemplary agent. I'd have thought better of both of you." With a shake of his head he strode out of the apartment, the door banging shut behind him.

Vin groaned, "that went poorly."

"Yep."

The sharpshooter looked down pointedly at his leg. "Sammy you mind?"

"Yeah yeah, I'll go catch him. Try and talk to him." She grimaced, "hell, if he ain't peeved at me for something is it even Tuesday?" Vin shot her a grateful smile as she trotted out after Ezra.

Still without a vehicle, Ezra was standing outside the rundown apartment building waiting for an Uber when Hunter came out of the building. "I'm done talking about this." His voice brooked no room for argument.

"But you haven't talked about it," Hunter countered. "You won't even consider it."

"Because it doesn't require consideration!"

"Why not? Just because you and she are a thing? You're not responsible for your partner Ezra. Don't take that on."

"We're not a 'thing' as you call it," he muttered, "Despite what you saw in the apartment the other night, Vanessa and I have not rekindled our affair." His eyes flicked in her direction. He needed her to know that, for whatever reason. "But I have known her now for months, and I don't believe it."

Hunter sighed and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with the undercover agent. "That's your fatal flaw right there Ez. You believe all the best things about the people you surround yourself with, and at the same time, you're so quick to believe the worst in yourself. You know you're solid Ezra, and that everything Vin said up there about your is true. You wouldn't have missed that gun. So why are you so intent on insisting that you somehow screwed up? Why is it harder for you to trust yourself than it is to question her motives?"

He was quiet a long moment. But it wasn't lashing out, which was something. Hunter waited.

"Because of Atlanta," he finally said. The lead weight settled in his chest. The decisions he'd made there still hung around his neck like an anchor. It had been a long time since he'd questioned his competency, but the situation with Siegrest gave old demons new wings.

"Your time with the FBI?" Hunter shook her head, confused. "What on earth does that have to do with anything?"

A car pulled up, a dark, four door model sedan. Ezra's face was somber as he answered. "Everything." He pulled open the door to the backseat and climbed in.

Hunter wrapped her good hand around the frame before he could close it. "You trust her Ezra, I get it. You feel like she's earned it. But so has Vin." She didn't mentioned herself, mostly because she didn't think she had. "He wouldn't say what he said lightly, and you know that." Her lips thinned and face tightened. "Check the bullets Ez. If we're wrong, we drop it, and Siegrest is the guy. But if we're not, he's still out there, and this isn't done." Green eyes bore into her as she shut the car door. The sedan drove quickly off.

Back upstairs, Vin was once again seated in front of the computer. Sam came in, walked into the kitchen, and took a long pull from her beer. The man was exhausting. "Think he's going to look?" Vin asked from his position on the couch.

"No idea, maybe. Hopefully."

"Hey Sammy, come here," Vin waved at her. She obliged. He had the footage from Home Depot pulled up again. She sighed. How many times was he going to have her identify him? She dropped into a squat next to his knees. Vin had paused the video, then clicked to enlarge the image frame. The sharpshooter pointed at the screen. The man's arm was in the center of the frame, inserting the card into the chip reader, sleeve rolled up to nearly his elbow. "What does that look like to you?" He questioned. "Shadow? Or tattoo?"

Sam leaned closer to the screen. There, obscured by his shirtsleeve, was an area darker than the rest around it. She reached over and increased the magnification again. "Tattoo, I think, but I can't tell of what."

"Siegrest doesn't have a tattoo." Vin lifted a photo of Siegrest, post autopsy, on a slab at the coroner's. His forearm was blank.

"This is starting to feel more legitimate theory and less wild stab in the dark," Sam observed. "So what now?"

Vin was already reaching for his phone. "We call JD. See if he can't clean up that image for us. Tattoos are near as good as a signature. Figure out that, we may find our guy."

-/-

That night brought with it the commemoration for Lucia at the Saloon. While Lucia's family had been reluctant to begin the Novenarios, the traditional nine days of prayer after the passing of a loved one, Inez had no such reservations. The Saloon was officially closed for the next week and two days, though it would be open for any of Lucia's friends and family to come to pray, leave flowers or light a candle. That night, Inez had baked up a batch of Pan de Muertos, serving the small, personal sized breads with coffee.

Buck and the rest of the Team had already arrived by the time Vin and Sam showed. JD gave them a wave. He hadn't had the focus to talk to the sharpshooter earlier. Casey had been in crisis, so JD had only managed a few 'uh huh's' and a rather blanket promise to swing by the Purgatorio apartment the next day. Vin had said something about a tattoo, which didn't make much sense to JD. Vin didn't have any tattoos.

Inez had cleared half her floor space to house the live band. Every conceivable surface was covered in white candles, flickering cheerfully despite the somber note in the air. Inez carried a large tray of Pan de Muertos to milling groups of people. Buck clung near her elbow. The ladies man had a particular fondness for the bar owner they could all see.

"Señor Buck, you are hovering," Inez said.

"Just want to be around to lend you a hand Inez, or an arm, or any other part you need." His dark eyes twinkled, but the flirtatious words belied the gentleness of his tone.

Balancing the tray of bread in one hand, she squeezed his arm with the other. Buck had been around a lot in the days following Lucia's death. And though they still bantered back and forth as she thwarted his advances, she also knew he didn't really mean them. They were his way of giving her some normalcy. And much as he flirted and joked, he'd also been a solid shoulder to cry on, a thing she hadn't had for a very long time. Her affection for the tall, lanky man swelled. Buck put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "I mean it," he said quietly, "anything you need."

"Gracias Buck, but the thing I want most you cannot give me. No one can." Tears filled Inez's eyes.

"It ain't your fault, you know that right?"

"I asked her to work that night," Inez's voice was strained. "So who else's fault is it? It should have been me."

"No. Uh uh." Buck shook his head emphatically. He grasped both the smaller woman's shoulders, turning her gently to face him. "You don't ever think that. It should have been neither of you, and that's the truth. Men like him, they're broken in a way that can't be fixed, and it ain't anyone's fault." He reached out, forefinger crooked beneath her chin, and lifted it. "Lucia wouldn't want that." He said it with absolute conviction, and Inez was grateful. She nodded once, then reached up to grasp his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

Across the bar, Chris leaned back against a support pillar, one foot propped against it. "You look awfully pensive for a man that just put Denver's Seven Sins killer in the ground." Mary's voice floated to him over his shoulder. Blue eyes slid sideways as she approached.

"That's cuz it don't feel done," he grunted. And it didn't. They had yet to link anything in Siegrest's house with any of the victims. Serial killers tended to keep tokens of their victims, Siegrest had none. There were no weapons, no knives, and no bomb making paraphernalia. Which either made him an incredibly smart killer, which, given the utter lack of leads they'd had for weeks, was believable, or it meant something didn't quite add up. Chris couldn't quite let go of the latter. The feeling had settled in his gut, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"Oh?" Mary said as she stepped up beside him, intrigued.

"Seven Sins Killer huh? Catchy."

"Don't deflect Chris," Mary scolded.

Chris shot her a look. "Off the record," Mary sighed, resigned. No quotes for her.

"Might be nothing," Larabee told her.

"Might be something though," Mary countered.

Chris smirked a little. Mary, ever inquisitive. "Yep," he nodded, "might be."

Mary had to roll her eyes. Even if the conversation had been on record, it was hard to make much of a quote from a man that seemed to think more than eight words strung together in a sentence was verbose. "I noticed you hadn't called off the protective detail."

"Not quite yet," he admitted.

"Well the thought's appreciated, but it is a bit of a hindrance for my work," Mary said. "People already get jumpy talking to reporters, let alone when they come with a police escort."

"Soon," Chris assured gruffly.

Mary sensed that was the best answer she was likely to get, so she changed the subject. "Orrin said that you and the Team are being awarded a commendation at the Governors Fourth of July fundraiser?"

"So I've been told." The blonde man sounded less than thrilled.

"Your tone is telling me you haven't found a good excuse to avoid it yet," Mary teased.

"Why? You got one?" Mary laughed, a light, pleasant sound that Chris found himself thinking he didn't hear enough.

"Even if I did, I wouldn't offer it to you. Not much of a story to write if the guests of honor don't show." Mary shrugged, "except a negative one, which I don't want."

"So you're going to be there?" Chris asked, curious despite himself.

Mary nodded, smiling shyly. "I am. And looking forward to seeing you in your Sunday best." The words came before she gave them any consideration on how flirtatious they were. Realizing how it sounded, her cheeks pinked. Though to her relief, Chris didn't seem at all put off.

"Well maybe I'll find you for a spell." Chris didn't smile often, but one flitted across his face then. Mary didn't think she saw it enough.

"Maybe you should," She didn't look over at Chris, but she grinned all the same.

Ezra sat alone in the middle of the bar, both hands cupped around the glass of amber colored liquor. He wasn't in the mood for socializing. The self doubt that had so long plagued him in his career was back. It sat heavy on his chest, and spun the wheels in his brain too fast for him to process. Chair legs scraping the ground next to him drew his attention but not his gaze. "Not in the mood Hunter," he warned.

"Just getting a drink," she told him as she held up a finger to grab the bartenders attention. "Gin and tonic, thanks." She didn't sit, just leaned her elbows up on the bar. Ezra rolled the liquid around the glass, then lifted it to his lips. He took a drink rather than a sip, and it burned a bit. He wasn't sure if this was drink two, or three, or four, or if it even mattered. The bartender set the drink down in front of Hunter. She took it and started to move off, but Ezra caught her cast in his hand before she could. She turned back, and he released her. Ezra unlocked his phone and pushed it toward her wordlessly and still without looking at her. Setting her drink aside, she picked it up. It was a police report. As she read it her eyebrows lifted skyward.

"I pulled a favor, got them to do it quick," he explained. "There were no fingerprints on the bullets of Siegrest's gun, not even a partial." He nodded to himself and downed the rest of the whiskey in one go. He swiveled on his stool, looking at her for the first time since she'd come up. "It's not proof."

"No," Hunter handed him back the phone, "but it's a pretty far cry from absolution."

Ezra turned away again and motioned for another drink, and kept rolling his now empty glass around in his hand. How many times had he been wrong on this case? Reading people is what he did, rolling along with any and every eventuality that might come up. But he hadn't on this case, not with Vin, and now this… And if he couldn't trust his gut, the one thing that kept him alive so many times, what could he trust? And what good was he to the others, if the thing that had been his greatest strength was now a liability? When it came down to it, only one thing in his life had changed to throw him off his game.

"You screw things up for me," he said, quiet. Hunter stiffened beside him. There was no malice behind the words. It wasn't an accusation, just a plain statement of fact. That was the part that made it hurt.

Hunter straightened up from the bar, hand flexed tightly around her glass. "Yeah," she said, wistful, "I screw things up for me too." She wished, and not for the first time, that someone else had been the voice backing Vin about Vanessa. But there hadn't been anyone else, so she'd had to. And in doing so she'd managed to hurt Ezra, again. Staying, pressing him, wasn't going to make it better. Shoulders slumped, she walked away.

-/-

"I mean, it's maybe a tattoo?" JD said into his phone as he squinted and cocked his head, looking at the image Vin had sent him from his computer. "Could just be a shadow."

"Think you could do something to clean up the image, so we could answer that with a solid yes or no?" Vin asked. "Even better if you can tell me what it's a tattoo of."

"I mean sure, I can clean it up some, but it's not gonna be perfect." JD swapped the phone from his right ear to his left, cradling it against his shoulder as he started to type. "Though we do have a new program going through beta testing that allows the computer to make a best guess extrapolation of the image that…"

"Not at the office," Vin interrupted sharply.

"Uh, okay? And why do we care about that?" JD stopped typing, sitting more upright.

"Just, could you do it please and I can fill ya in later in person, okay pard?" Vin asked. JD might have dug deeper, if not for the note of anxiety in Vin's voice. "And just, don't tell anybody what you're doing, at least for the moment."

Suspicion furrowed the younger man's brow. "Yeah, sure. I'm wrapping up here soon anyway."

"How long do you think?"

"I mean, I don't have the processing power at home I do here," JD told him. "Maybe a day? On the other end of the line JD heard Vin curse softly. "I could try to get it done sooner, like tonight, if I just lock myself in my room, and it might not be perfect."

"Don't need perfect JD, just need it done. I'll make it worth your while," the sharpshooter goaded, "buy you dinner. And by that I mean Sam's cooking." JD's mouth watered. Sam's food was almost as good as Inez's.

"Dinner and an explanation and you may have just convinced me," JD told him.

"Deal."

"Won't be early though, still gonna take me a few hours."

"Do what you need to do," Vin said, "we'll be up."

-/-

Despite being the height of summer, it was still late enough to be dark when JD arrived at Vin's building. He was glad Buck hadn't been around the apartment to grill him about where he was headed at nearly eleven at night. He'd gone straight from work to the Saloon again, and wasn't back yet by the time JD had headed out. Parking his bike in the lot across from Vin's building, JD wasted no time walking to the front door. Only his hand on his sidearm kept him from a jog.

He trotted up the three flights of stairs and was welcomed by a door left slightly ajar. JD shook his head. In this neighborhood, no way he'd leave his door cracked. Bu then again, Vin was the best shot in the entirety of the Denver ATF. It would be a foolish person breaking into Vin's. With that in mind, he still knocked before he entered.

Vin was seated on his couch across the room. Sam glanced at him over her shoulder from her puttering in the kitchen. "Hungry?" she asked.

"Starved."

"Sweet potato hash with a cheddar jack cheese sauce," she announced. "Fried egg?"

"Uh, yes please." He left her to it, and went over to Vin. He dug the thumb drive out of his pocket and handed it over. "Figured with all the hush hush around this we'd keep it off email."

"Smart," Vin grunted. He plugged in the thumb drive. "So what was the verdict, tattoo or shadow?"

"Oh its definitely a tattoo. Not sure of what exactly. You gonna tell me what this is all about now?" JD queried.

Sam appeared at the younger man's shoulder, plate of food in hand. JD didn't miss the look that passed between her and Vin as he took the plate. Vin sighed. "That image capture I sent you was of the guy Sammy IDed at Home Depot."

JD scowled around a mouthful of food. "Of Siegrest? Vin why are you having me enhance an image on a guy from a closed case?"

"Cuz Siegrest don't have a tattoo JD," Vin answered.

The computer specialist's eyes went wide. "Oh damn."

"Yeah, exactly."

JD sat heavily on the edge of the couch, food still in his hand but mostly forgotten. "We gotta tell the Team right? We gotta get back on this!" Then, just as fast as his energy had risen, it fell. "Even if it means I go back on suspension. We can't let this guy go, not after what he did to…" His eyes shifted upward to Sam, who had stiffened, "…everyone."

"And we will JD. I'm already plannin' on gettin' Chris over here tomorrow," Vin held up a staying hand. "But you gotta keep it quiet till I do okay?" Another look passed between Vin and Sam. The sharpshooter sighed. The cat had clearly escaped this particular bag. "We can't let everyone on the Team know, not just yet."

"What the hell are you talking about? Why not?" To JD, tomorrow seemed like a long way off. Not when that left hours and hours for whoever was still out there to make another move.

"That JD," Sam said, arms crossed over her chest, "leads us to the second part of this problem."

The youthful agent looked between his two friends. "There's a second part? I don't like that there's a second part."

"Trust us JD, neither do we," Vin said. From there, Vin and Sam told JD their suspicions about Vanessa, doing their best to avoid outing Ezra's personal connection. That she'd shown up at the hospital even though no one they talked to could remember calling her. Her access to Ezra's liquor cabinet after dropping him off after his car exploded. The missing fingerprints on Siegest's bullets, as well as Vin's assertion that Ezra wouldn't have missed the gun in the first place.

"Wow," JD said when they finished. "That's a lot to unpack." He shook his head. "But seriously Vanessa? Our Vanessa? What's the reason?"

"That's the thing we ain't flushed out yet. And why you need to keep this under your hat for a spell. Let me get Chris's take on it tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, makes sense."

"Okay, good," Vin nodded. "Now, what you come up with as far as this mystery tattoo?"

JD set the plate down on the coffee table next to Vin's laptop, licking the remnant of some cheese sauce off his thumb before scooting the computer closer. He opened the file folder with the enhanced image. "Even enhanced there's barely any part of it showing." He tilted the computer back in Vin's direction. "Maybe a third? Looks like the bottom half of some kind of seal. There's even some writing, not that I could tell you what it means."

Vin frowned. Chin in his hands and elbows resting on his knee he leaned forward as he stared. The tattoo wasn't colored. A narrow black arch with white lettering swooped down onto the man's forearm from underneath his sleeve. He still couldn't make out some of the letters. "PRESSO LIB," he muttered at the letters he could read. He blinked, read them again. And then again. Blue eyes found hazel. "That's what it says right?" he asked Sam. Damn but there were moments his dyslexia was a real pain in the ass.

"Yeah," Sam affirmed, drawing the word out. "Not that that helps?" Vin's brain raced. There was something about it, something familiar that he knew, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Is that a knife hilt?" Sam asked, pointing at a dark section right in the crook of the man's elbow.

Vin shifted his gaze to where she pointed. She was right, pointing down into the middle of the arch was what appeared to be the hilt of a blade. Realization struck, and Vin reared back away from the screen. "It's a dagger," he stated.

"You know what the tattoo is?" JD asked, excited.

"Yep." Vin leaned against the backrest of the couch and whistled. "I wouldn't feel too bad about getting your butt handed to you by this guy Sam. Shit, I'm impressed you went toe to toe at all."

"Yeah, why's that?" Sam asked. Because frankly, she did feel bad. She could have stopped all this before it started. If only he hadn't pulled that damned knife.

"I'm about 99% sure the rest of this tattoo is a dagger with two arrows passing through the blade, surrounded by a crest. And the words, De Oppresso Liber? To Free the Oppressed. It's the official motto of Army Special forces. Sammy," he breathed, serious blue eyes fixed her in their gaze, "you got yourself in a tussle with a green beret."

/

Chapter 16

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