Empty pupils dilated until the rings of the glittering irises were mere slivers of faded color, and yet the usually observant eyes saw nothing. Slowly, tired lids dropped in futility and shut out the quiet darkness of the external world. Internally, however, the wandering mind was awash in activity. Formless thoughts drifted and puttered aimlessly in random circles, distracting in their itinerancy.
Then one thought met another and found it liked what it saw. Like wisps of smoke, the thoughts bled and twined together until they formed a new whole. A third thought passed too close and was swept up to join the pair. Like a star collapsing in upon itself, the combined thoughts gained weight and strength. Drawn to the gravitational power of that new strength, more and more swirling wisps of thought organized themselves as they streamed down toward it. Circling and gyrating, growing closer to the mental black hole, the wandering thoughts sought purpose and form. Once disjointed and ephemeral, they gradually melded together, warping the original with each addition. Like the pieces of a puzzle, they built upon one another until a new and infinitely more powerful thought came into being. A thought, that when looked at once the puzzle was complete, revealed a fascinating new concept: an idea.
The mind, now occupied by this idea, twisted and turned as it examined it from all sides. It squeezed and bent the idea, manipulated and molded it into better shape as new thoughts were sucked in. The idea grew, altered, and grew some more.
The figure, shrouded in darkness, felt the weathered lines on his face wrinkle as his thin lips pulled back to reveal flattened white teeth. A smile emerged, lost in the darkness, hiding its cruelty.
The idea had become a plan.
The grin widened, shark-like in its wicked pleasure. The mental picture show started up again, clearer than before as this time it was accompanied by a backdrop of the developing plan. New thoughts were born, fed by deeply buried emotions. They fluttered about, straining for recognition, until finally being drawn into the growing maelstrom. There they added new dimensions to the forming plan: disappointment, bitterness, scorn, anger, malice, and lastly anticipation. Beneath it all ran a driving need for vengeance.
It all melded together; fortifying the plan until it grew all consuming.
Soon, thought the displaced General of a fallen army.
Soon, he would have his revenge.
Soon…
Alex stared out through the windshield as Karr drove down the secondary highway. They were now less than an hour outside of Denver, Colorado; thanks to some judicious speeding by the Artificial Intelligence housed under the hood of the specialized sports car. Karr was maintaining a constant surveillance on the position of every law enforcement vehicle in the area, and with total control over his own vehicular body, could easily avoid detection. Both the extreme speed and the extreme caution were warranted.
Shifting in the driver's seat, Dr. Alexandra Christopher settled into the warm comfort of the customized seat with a grimace. Her side was throbbing. A thin trickle of blood leaked out, despite her best attempts to bandage the wound with the Stealth's huge first-aid kit.
Karr, monitoring her even more closely than he was the road, unobtrusively increased the oxygen flow and raised the cabin temperature another few degrees.
Alex smiled in gratitude, choosing to ignore the uncomfortable fact that Karr had needed to do that several times since they'd set out on this mad journey.
This was not how she'd planned her first real vacation in months. Alex had been busy with her research, and had barely heard from her lover of almost a decade beyond the occasional email. Though that was not unusual as far as her relationship with ex-CIA agent Nicholas MacKenzie went, she'd been looking forward to spending some quality downtime with him. Even knowing Karr would be there didn't bother her, for she knew and accepted the AI as an integral part of him. They were partners and she had a deep respect for the sanctity of that relationship.
She just wished one of them could learn how to stay out of trouble for more than five minutes.
"How much longer, Karr?" she asked, disrupting the silence of the soundproofed cabin.
"Our ETA is 48.6 minutes to Denver's city limits. How long it will take to reach our exact destination remains to be determined."
"Hmm…" She straightened her left leg, curling her toes against the strain along her ribs.
"You should remain still. Movement will only aggravate your injury."
Alex smiled at the dashboard, touched as she heard the faint hint of concern tingeing Karr's normally emotionless voice. "Yes, doctor."
A subvocal growl was the only response to her teasing. Mindful of her wound, she chuckled lightly at the feel of that soft rumbling vibrating through the seat beneath her. Few would have sensed it, fewer still would know what it meant.
Unfortunately for Karr, she was one of the few.
"I would not be insulting the person responsible for your continued well-being if I were you, Dr. Christopher." Karr snarled, his voice modulator deepening in tone to add weight to the threat.
"Oh, posh!" she scoffed. "Try it on someone who doesn't know you, Karr. You might be able to fool everyone else into thinking you're this big bad AI, but underneath the indestructible exterior, you're just a big pussy cat."
"Pussy cat?!"
"Yes, a pussy cat. Oh, a big cat to be sure -- like a panther or something. But tamed to kitten ferocity."
"Tamed…!" The AI seemed at a loss for words, and Alex grinned at her apparent victory. But the reprieve was short lived. With a boost of speed, Karr was back in the game.
"A cat I may be, but don't ever think I'm tamed. Even weakened and gentled by years of exposure to humans, a cat does not lose its claws. A panther can and will strike and is fully capable of killing without hesitation. Even domesticated," he sneered, making the word into a curse, "cats are still lethal predators, far closer to their wild instincts than most. I could do worse than to be compared to a feline."
"Only you could turn an insult into a compliment," she laughed. "All right, all right! You win -- you're deadly and dangerous and people should tremble in fear at the mere sight of you."
"Exactly."
Despite herself, Alex shivered at the dark satisfaction that ran through the AI's voice. She trusted Karr completely, knew he'd kill himself before he'd allow harm to come to her, but contrary to her previous teasing, she really did know just how dangerous the dark AI truly was.
"Still no luck contacting Vin?" she finally asked, bringing the banter to an end and their minds back onto the business at hand. She patted the steering wheel in thanks, appreciative of Karr's efforts to distract her. He really was a big softie, she thought, smiling, but had the intelligence not to say aloud.
"Mr. Tanner, while a capable ally and formidable opponent, is notoriously irresponsible with anything more sophisticated than his rifle. Assuming he even has his cell phone with him, it may not even be in working condition -- let alone charged."
They'd tried his home number for the first few hours, getting the answering machine each time. As it was far too dangerous to actually leave a message someone might easily trace, Karr had switched to trying the ATF agent's cell phone. So far, they hadn't had any more luck. Getting a hold of him through the ATF Main Office was completely out of the question.
Alex sighed. "I just hope he's not out on a case. If we can't reach him…"
"I have already checked the mainframe database of the Denver Federal Building. His team is listed as having just completed their last assignment. Government agencies are not remotely efficient. If nothing else, they should have the weekend free to fill out the excessive amounts of paperwork required, in triplicate, by the ATF bureaucracy. No, what concerns me most is, Tanner may have decided to choose this weekend to return to his home in the wild."
"Karr!" Alex scolded, her stern tone belied by the reluctant smile she couldn't quite suppress, "I’m sure he isn't that bad! You make him sound like some kind of uncivilized barbarian."
Karr's silent response was pointed in its smugness.
With an entirely unladylike snort, the geologist reached out and slapped the steering wheel. "Oh, you're just biased because between you and Kitt, there's nothing more sophisticated in existence."
Karr rumbled softy, but didn't argue. Inside the darkness of his CPU, the AI gently brushed a tendril over the block barring him from his brother, Kitt. The strong mental shield was a match to the one keeping him from his partner, Nick. Neither was so impenetrable as to induce separation sickness, but he knew better than to try pushing through them. They were necessary, though he hated them.
For the first time in ages, Karr was alone inside his own mind.
In Denver's shadow, the sprawling ranch house was anything but empty. Or, for that matter, all that quiet…
"Shit, Ez! I dang near thought Torero was gonna strangle ya with yer own silk tie!"
Ezra's gold tooth flashed. "My dear Mr. Tanner, I can't possibly begin to speculate why Mr. Torero should have been so incensed by my penitent offer for the regrettable damages he incurred during your excellently timed intervention."
Vin snorted, almost choking on his beer as he laughed. "Coulda been 'cause ya jist put a letter opener through his thigh, pard. Reckon that'd make anyone a mite pissed."
The immaculate undercover agent looked insulted. "Surely not!" He exclaimed. "I would believe the two bullets you put through his expensive European-imported stain glass window were far more influential on his disposition than the mere scratch I delivered in fully justified self-defense."
"Coulda just let him and his boys beat ya, I suppose. That woulda saved both his window and my bullets." The sharpshooter mused.
"Hell, no!" Chris Larabee growled, leaning forward in his chair to glare at the pair with a malicious glint in his green eyes. "If anyone gets to pound either of you sorry sonuvabitches into the ground, it's gonna be me! I deserve it after the hassle you two caused." He shook his head. "Just once I'd like to be able to finish a case without having to go up before a board of inquisition. Can't you boys do anything quietly?"
On the other side of the coffee table, Ezra Standish lounged in a plush leather recliner while Vin Tanner slouched in the wooden rocker he'd all but claimed as his. The unparalleled ATF team's undercover agent and sharpshooter looked at each other for a long moment, smiled identical mischievous grins, and in silent consort threw two handfuls of popcorn at their smirking boss.
Six of the ATF's most hard and dangerous men looked at the fiercest, meanest and deadliest SAC in the federal government… and laughed with the free abandon of little children.
Now covered in fluffy yellow confection, Team Seven's infamous leader casually reached into his blonde hair and plucked a single piece of popcorn free. Glancing at it briefly, the man dressed all in black shrugged and tossed it in his mouth.
With laughter, alcohol, and food flowing freely, the seven worn members of the ATF's most effective team settled happily into the comfort of a weekend off. They'd struggled hard for the past several months to bring down an arms dealer with a penchant for violence. Ezra had used his exceptional acting skills to ingratiate himself deep into Carlos Torero's organization, while his teammates built the case from the outside. It had all culminated in a short but deadly battle just that morning when Torero, sensing betrayal among his ranks, had turned on the undercover agent. Even all the smooth Southern charm of Mr. 'Edward Stummings' hadn't been enough to allay the arms dealer's anger.
For the team members watching and waiting from a surveillance van down the street, Torero's unexpected reaction had instilled fear for their vulnerable teammate. The arms dealer had, without warning, ordered two of his hulking goons to grab the undercover agent. Chris and the boys acting as back-up had been just as surprised as the Southerner.
Deciding to hold off for the moment, trusting the smooth-talking Standish to talk himself out of danger, they'd all been shocked when Torero had suddenly lunged forward and driven his brass-knuckle encased fist straight into Ezra's unprotected gut. The force of the blow had doubled the agent, causing him to sag in his captor's grips. But rather than support his weight, they had just let him drop. That laziness had been their undoing, for racked by pain or not, Ezra Standish was a cunning survivor. He'd used the opportunity to slip a sharp steel letter-opener up his sleeve, concealing it carefully as he was hauled to his feet.
Watching from an opposing rooftop, Vin Tanner had smiled at the ingenuity of the resourceful fashion-plate. The smile grew as he watched Torero's lunge for Ezra's face be stopped mid-motion. The arms dealer had fallen backwards with an audible cry to show the improvised weapon still quivering in his thigh where the threatened agent had plunged it.
It had taken only minutes to end the confrontation thereafter. With their boss down, the two brainless goons had reacted as they'd been trained. They drew their guns and aimed at the traitor's skull. Ezra had remained calm and collected, not the least bit intimidated as he coolly informed them of their arrest. Too stupid to know better, the brutes had sneered and tightened their fingers on the triggers.
Neither one got a shot off. With two quick pops and the shattering of rainbow-colored glass, both bodyguards had collapsed to the floor. Standish, flicking small shards of glass from his three thousand-dollar suit, smirked and tipped an imaginary hat towards the distant sharpshooter. Then, the insufferable Southerner had turned to the stunned Torero and, with honest regret in his wide jade eyes, offered his apologies for the desecrated antique window. The arms dealer had been so overcome with rage it had taken the three heftiest members of Team Seven to subdue him.
Larabee hadn't been too pleased either, for that matter. Vin's eyes twinkled in remembrance.
"Why you haven't been killed yet is a mystery to me," said Nathan Jackson, bringing the sharpshooter's thoughts back to the present. The medic's dark eyes swept over him and the Southerner at his side, then down to the floor to include the youngest of their number in his assessment. Vin fought not to squirm under that steely gaze, one which intimidated him far more than Larabee's famous Green Glare. Chris Larabee would merely shoot you if The Glare failed, Jackson carried a big needle and wasn't afraid to use it.
"None of you uses the brains God gave ya. I can't keep patching ya up forever," the medic continued. Everyone knew to what he was referring. The high-frequency injury-rate of the threesome was legendary. All of the team seemed to get hurt more often than any other law enforcement officers, but the Seven's three youngest members excelled at it. There was a running bet on who would total up with the most injuries by year's end -- Vin Tanner, Ezra Standish, or JD Dunne.
Nathan had money on all three.
"The good Lord watches over fools and children, Brother Jackson." Sanchez boomed, his voice deeper than normal with good-humor and fine liquor.
Buck laughed, reaching out to tousle the shaggy head of his roommate as the kid sat on the floor by his feet. "Heck, Josiah, these boys are both!"
JD slapped at Wilmington's hand, his youthful countenance marred by a scowl almost as fierce as Chris Larabee's. "Knock it off, Buck. Save the pettin' for one of your lady friends," he advised scathingly, sparking a round of laughter.
The jovial lady's man laughed harder, joyously ignoring Ezra's affronted glare and Vin's narrowed eyes.
"You jist wait, Bucklin, you'll get yers," Tanner promised darkly, sending the others into fresh chuckles as Buck unconsciously fingered his beloved mustache. The dark hairs were only just beginning to fill out from the wily Texan's last act of retribution.
"Whatever you do, Vin," the youngest added, still scowling at his unrepentant big 'brother', "I wanna help."
The Team's resident prankster nodded, knowing without asking that Ezra would also willingly offer his assistance. The three of them, often picked on by their older and larger teammates, had banded together many a time to pull off some truly ingenious pranks. Vin's creativity, Ezra's deviousness, and JD's technical skills had proven to be a killer combination. Together, they could accomplish almost anything -- in fact, they'd pulled off some tricks so good no one could prove they were responsible.
"Oh, great!" Nathan threw his hands in the air. "Now I don't just gotta worry about you getting hurt on the streets, I gotta worry about what y'all are gonna do to yourselves at the office too!"
"Not us, Mr. Jackson. We will be exceedingly meticulous in our stratagem. Mr. Wilmington, however… well, I daresay, anything can happen. Nothing too permanent, one should hope." Ezra added ominously, directing a sly look at his perspective victim.
Vin nodded, backing his strategist. "Yup. We wouldn't do nothing too bad, you know that, Nate. It's all in good fun, right boys? Only Buck'll need to be watching his back. We'll be right careful, won't we, JD?" he prompted.
The technical expert nodded enthusiastically, a practiced look of innocence dancing on his youthful face.
"Yeah, right." Chris sighed, already resigned to having his bullpen turned into a kindergarten playground. "Some days, I'm more convinced than ever that I'm not running a team of highly qualified federal agents, but a group of delinquent children!"
"So what does that make you, Stud?" Buck asked, grinning. "The principal?"
"Nah, that'd be AD Travis." Vin corrected, his lips twitching. "Chris is just the Hall Monitor."
"Larabee, you dog! Tellin' on the other kids!"
As the others tsked in mock outrage, the aforementioned 'hall monitor' scowled and reached for his weapon. Glaring, he whipped the throw pillow as hard as he could at the smirking 'delinquents'. "That's it! Everybody's got detention!"
Laughing, the day's tension drained out of the overworked group. The seven men, more relaxed than they'd been in weeks, loudly settled down to watch the football game that had served as the pretense to drag their tired asses out to Chris's remote ranch. Most, if not all of them, would end up staying the night simply because they were too exhausted to drive home. No one really cared. They were together and, for the moment, safe. In their world, that was all they needed to make them happy.
As half-time came around, the men began to move around for the first time in hours. Most of them zipped off to fight for the bathrooms, or to replenish their drinks and snacks. Chris stood, stretched his spine, and went outside to lean against the porch railing. Breathing in the cool evening air, he briefly considered lighting a cheroot then dismissed the thought almost as soon as it appeared. He tipped his head back, studying the darkening sky that would soon glimmer with a blanket of stars.
Though there was no sound, Larabee knew the instant Tanner stepped out to join him. Silently, the two men leaned side by side looking up at the endless frontier of blue dotted only by a few fluffy white clouds. They said nothing, words meaningless between them at moments like these when they were just two friends instead of boss and subordinate.
The moment was soon broken by a quick but loud ruckus from the stables. Both men smiled as they heard Pony's angry nicker, followed almost immediately by Chaucer's whinny of pain. Ezra's purebred quarterhorse was a beautiful animal who normally had impeccable manners, just like his rider. But if he got bored, heaven help anyone or anything near him, because the sleek chestnut would pester them to hell and back just to amuse himself. Unfortunately, it was usually another one of the Seven's horses who bore the brunt of the intelligent chestnut's boredom. It depended on the other horse whether Chaucer would get away with it.
Chris's big black, inexplicably named Pony, wasn't likely to let anyone get away with anything.
"Least it's not Peso kickin' up a storm, Cowboy." Vin offered generously.
Chris snorted. "Give 'im time, Vin. That mule of yours will be in the middle of any action before long. I just hope he doesn't decide to team up with Chaucer again. Pony still ain't forgiven me for last time."
Vin grinned, watching as the tough blonde ATF leader rubbed his backside in remembrance. "Ain't Peso's fault you can't stay in the saddle, pard."
"The hell it isn't! My horse only bucked liked that 'cause your devil-spawned mount bit him in the ass!"
"It was an accident! Ez' and Chaucer bumped into us, Peso was just trying to keep his footing." Vin defended, the amusement he felt at the memory showing only in his eyes.
Larabee scowled. "And what? His teeth just happened to sink into Pony's rump? And don't try to tell me Chaucer tripped into you guys by 'accident' either! I wouldn't be surprised if Standish and his damned fool horse hadn't set that up together."
"You accusin' Ez' of conspirin' against ya with his horse? Dang, Larabee, you gotta get out more. Paranoia's startin' to set in..."
Chris growled, swiping at the giggling man. He smiled even as Vin ducked, glad to see his usually contained friend acting so carefree, even if it was at his dignity's expense.
"Gettin' old, pard. Paranoia, failin' memory, slowed reflexes... Tsk, tsk. It's a shame."
Larabee narrowed his eyes, squinting at the damnable Texan, and prepared to lunge at the slightly smaller man. A series of very distinct sounds coming from the barn halted his action mid-motion, and he smirked triumphantly at Vin as Tanner scowled with resignation.
They both paused to listen, hearing Pony's snorts and Chaucer's whickers interspersed frequently with Peso's neighs of vindictive pleasure as the gelding made a nuisance of himself.
"Ah, shut up, Larabee."
Chris smiled, raising an innocent eyebrow as if to say 'who? me?'. "Didn't say a thing, pard."
Chuckling, Vin and Chris left the horses to work it out themselves and headed back inside. Vin paused by his coat to riffle through his pockets. If he remembered right, he had half a chocolate bar left over. He found it stuffed in with his cell phone.
He pulled both out, separated the half-melted chocolate from the plastic case of the cell, and was just about to put the phone back when he noticed he'd left it turned off. Guiltily, sneaking a quick glance around him to make sure Chris hadn't seen, he thumbed the power on. He was just putting it back when he jumped, startled by its sudden ringing.
Vin grimaced, beginning to wish he'd left it off even if it would have gotten him in trouble. His friends all watched, unashamedly waiting for him to answer his insistently ringing phone. He glared at them, getting only blank looks in return. Sighing, he reluctantly answered it.
"Tanner."
"Vin?" The voice was female, but not one he recognized. Vin frowned, but responded in the affirmative.
"It's Alex Christopher; Nick MacKenzie's lover?” she prompted. “Karr and I are on our way to Denver. We need your help. Nick has been kidnapped."
The words were so unexpected, it took him a moment for the full import to sink in. When it did, Tanner snapped to full attention. The look in his eyes became hard. Old habits flared instinctively, and he turned his back on his teammates to step outside.
This was not a conversation meant for an audience.
In the quiet of privacy, he could easily hear the strain in the woman's voice. He remembered Dr. Alexandra Christopher, or Lexi as he'd taken to calling her at their first and only meeting. He'd been impressed with her strength, not just physically (though she handled herself admirably in the wilderness) but emotionally. It took a formidable woman to love a man as difficult as the mysterious character that was Nicholas MacKenzie, and Lexi had done it for over seven years.
Then the rest of her statement clued in. Nick? Kidnapped? How the hell could that be? Nicholas MacKenzie was no ordinary man. For one thing, the espionage expert prided himself on his ability to go unnoticed; to be a Ghost drifting silently through the world, thought of as no more than a figment of the imagination if he was thought of at all. Those who were prey would not even know of his existence. Only another predator would even consider his possible presence. But, like Vin himself, Nick's early years in that dark world of predators had established him with a reputation as a dangerous man few dared challenge. These days, with his AI partner always watching his back, Vin knew Nick was almost indomitable. But now Alex was telling him that not only was she on her way, but so was Karr.
Which meant, that wherever the elusive Ghost had been taken, he was on his own.
The normally taciturn Texan closed his eyes and let loose an impressive, if colorful string of curses.
"I'll second that," Alex muttered.
Vin blushed when he realized she heard him. "'Scuse ma language, Lexi," he said, "ain't right to cuss in front of a lady. But it outta figure that anything involving the boy a yers gets me to ferget ma manners." He shook his head ruefully. "Ya said you were on your way? How long you reckon it'll take you to get here? Where are you exactly?"
"I don't know… Wait, Karr says we're about a half-hour out. He's taking the back roads so he can make up the time."
By speeding, Vin knew. And knowing the limits of the AI, probably at dangerously fast speeds at that. The law enforcement officer in him wondered if he should be upset by it, but the rest of him didn't care. Desperate times; desperate measures. Tanner knew that all too well.
"Good," he nodded. "What about you, girl? You weren't with MacKenzie, were ya? Ya didn't get hurt none?"
"… not seriously."
The pause before Alex responded was enough to sound Vin's mental alarms. He frowned. "*How* seriously," he asked pointedly.
Alex sighed. "I have a small tear in my side. It's already bandaged."
Which could mean anything from a paper cut to being all but split in two. Vin rolled his eyes. Woman had been hanging around MacKenzie too damn long. He considered the alternatives.
"Okay," he finally decided. "I'm with my team at my boss's place. It's a ranch in the foothills. Ain't nobody else around or miles. Why don't ya come out here?"
"Your team? In the ATF?"
Vin wasn't surprised she knew. "Yup. One of 'em's a medic."
"Fine. What about Nick?"
"Now, Lexi, don't be frettin' none. Ya know I'll do whatever I gotta t' get Nick back. 'At's why you done come'd to me," Vin assured. "I'm sure he's fine, girl. Boy knows how ta take care of himself. You know that."
"Doesn't mean I don't worry," Alex snapped.
Tanner huffed a laugh. What'd MacKenzie ever do to deserve a woman like her? Lucky boy.
"Tell ya what… You get out here and get your wound taken care of, and I'll find 'im and drag his sorry ass back to ya fer a good reamin'. Right, see ya then." He passed on directions before hanging up, then turned to reenter the house. Larabee and the boys would be waiting on an explanation for why he'd walked out on them.
And he wondered why he sometimes felt like Daniel braving the lion's den? Huh. Can't imagine.
He found his teammates right where he expected to and had to shake his head at their predictability. But he couldn't deny to himself the warm feeling he got from their obvious display of interest in his life.
Didn't mean he had to make it easy on them though.
"So?" Buck asked for the group.
Vin shrugged, unwilling to get into it right then and not sure where to start if he did.
"Got a friend needs some help. Alex'll be here in 'bout twenty minutes," he said instead. "She's been a bit hurt," he added, looking to the large black medic on his right. He was gratified when Nathan Jackson didn't hesitate and went to get the well-stocked first-aid kit from Chris's bathroom.
Vin's eyes closed for a heartbeat as he gathered his composure, but all too soon he was back in control. His stance straightened from a weary slouch to a hunter's readiness, and his breathing slowed and deepened as his muscles reflexively tightened and relaxed. He went from a tired federal agent unwinding from a tough case, to some wild and dangerous predator barely restrained in old worn jeans and a ripped plaid shirt.
The transformation confused and worried his teammates even more, because they knew what it meant. The six men had seen just how dangerous Vin Tanner, expert tracker and professional sharpshooter, really was when he cast off the thin veneer of civilization he wore like a cloak. The tension level in the room rose.
A black-clad blonde stepped forward, his entire body tensed for as yet unknown action. Chris Larabee, the only man mean enough and crazy enough to take on the task of commanding the pack of mule-stubborn rebels he'd brought together into a team.
"What's up?" He asked, ready and willing to do whatever it took to protect his friend.
Vin appreciated that expression of trust, but had no intention of calling on it if he could avoid it. Friend or not, Larabee was an honorable man and a dedicated law enforcement officer. He probably wouldn't agree with Vin's way of handling this situation, however it turned out -- but if Nicholas MacKenzie was involved, then Vin knew whatever it was could never become official.
"Ain't sure, Cowboy." He said softly, staring unseeing at the cell phone in his hand. "But I intend to find out."
"Trouble?" Larabee persisted, alarmed by the usually rock-steady sharpshooter's demeanor.
"Maybe. Probably." Vin answered absently, distracted by his thoughts. His voice dropped to a whisper, his feelings partially vocalized by the sigh that followed. "When ain't it?"
"Vin?"
He shook his head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. "Nothin'."
"Stubborn mule."
A grin briefly broke over the closemouthed Texan's lips at the surly mutter, but it fell again, dying before it could take hold.
Larabee noticed, but said nothing.
The others, observing the exchange, chose a different response. Putting to use their impressive combined skills, they set about trying to interrogate the sharpshooter. He put them off by the simple expedient of ignoring their questions, freely exercising the stubbornness Larabee had just accused him of. Grumbling, disappointed at their failure to crack the tough Texan, his teammates eventually accepted the inevitable and gave up. They settled back down to continue watching the rest of the football game, with considerably less interest than before. No one spoke.
Vin, oblivious, sat quietly in his rocking chair. Thinking. Waiting.
For the gates of Hell to open up and swallow him whole.
Again.
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