The floor was eerily deserted. Chris knew there were cameras, but the lights were dim and he was wearing dark clothing. There were no windows in the hallway, just doors on either side. He figured if Ezra were imprisoned on this floor, it would be in one of the small and windowless inner offices, which made sense according to JD’s information. All he had to do was figure out which one of about twenty it was.

He heard the clank of elevator machinery and his heart leapt. Jesus ... no fucking place to hide ... he looked around frantically and saw the door with the universal silhouette for a men’s washroom painted on it. Lord, he hoped it wasn’t locked. Ducking low, he scrambled for the recessed doorway and pulled. It opened and he nearly fell into the darkness. Recovering his balance, he held the door open a crack and heard the elevator glide to a halt. How lucky could he be? Risking a glimpse of the occupants, he

stuck his head out a bit further, grateful that he’d had the presence of mind to grab a dark watch cap from his truck to cover his blond hair.

He caught a glimpse of Ronnie Fazio first. Fazio had a fist full of the back of Vin’s t-shirt and a gun ground into his kidney. Carlo followed, nearly dragging Ezra along. Standish was cradling his arm protectively and Chris was pretty sure that shoulder had popped. Didn’t look good. He leaned out as far as he dared. Fazio opened a door near the end of the corridor, shoved Vin inside and moved aside for Carlo and Ezra. The door closed. Fazio said something to Carlo and left.

Chris flattened himself against the wall, leaving the door slightly ajar. Carlo remained stationed outside the office; a square bulk of muscle armed to the teeth. Chris closed his eyes and slumped down to the floor. Seemed like he was going to have to wait out Carlo. A slight grin touched his mouth.

It might take a while, but he was willing to bet he could outlast Carlo’s bladder.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

It wasn’t until after he had taken care of Ezra that Vin was able to take stock of his surroundings. He didn’t like what he was seeing. They were in a small, vacant inner room, no windows. The only illumination came from low intensity fluorescent fixtures and the only furnishing was the mattress on the floor. The air was stuffy, no ducts in the room since it was probably meant as storage, not for work space. No ducts, no windows, dark grey walls, industrial carpeting. Soundless.

A slow crawl of fear began working its way from Vin’s stomach to his throat. His skin tingled and he rubbed his forearms, trying to dispel the disquieting sensation. It was all too recognizable. Ezra’s weakness was his shoulder. Vin’s was his latent claustrophobia. A fancy name for fear.

He paced, hoping the activity would distract him from his awareness of the walls, the silence, the still air. Too many memories crowded in on him ... Of small, dark closets, of locks, of hard voices and harder hands. And if he closed his eyes, he could smell the institutional disinfectant they had used at the home, the mildewed carpeting, the sour scent of wet rags ... He gasped, halting his pacing as the room began to slowly spin.

Ezra was on his feet, fast. Tanner was pale, sweating, trying to suck air. In about ten seconds, he’d be clawing at the walls. Ezra set his hand on Vin’s shoulder. "You’re hyperventilating, Mr. Tanner ..." he said softly. "And I am in no condition to pick you up and carry you should Mr. Larabee deign to come to our rescue."

Vin blinked, saw Ezra’s sympathetic expression. He raised a shaky hand and wiped the sweat off his upper lip. "What?"

"Your rate of respiration ... You were about to pass out," he finally said plainly.

Vin looked away, rested his hands on his hips, and made a conscious effort to breathe more slowly. After a few minutes he felt his heartbeat return to a more normal pace and his nerves settled to a quiet hum. He still didn’t like the situation, but at least panic had been staved off. He drew in a deep breath and turned back to Ezra. "Thanks, Ez. Reckon we’re even."

Standish laughed. "Anythin’ to avoid playin’ poker with me, Mr. Tanner?"

"Gotta play the hand yer dealt," Vin smiled.

"Then I hope that Fate has dealt Mr. Larabee a royal flush," Ezra sighed. He hugged his arm to his side, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder. Someday, he’d have surgery to tighten the ligaments, but the idea of going under the knife for a reason less than dire was unappealing. It seemed he was already spending way too much time in hospitals of late.

Vin crossed his arms. "Might as well sit down, Ez. Could be a while before Chris gets here." Unspoken, but lingering in the air like smoke were the words, "if he gets here ..."

Vin didn’t sit, but he leaned against the wall, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets to keep them still. He closed his eyes and tried to reach out to Chris with his mind. Times were he swore he could; it seemed Chris could hear his very thoughts, and he could read Larabee’s. Didn’t think it was possible, but if it were, he knew Chris would hear him loud and clear, so he thought: *Take yer time, cowboy. We ain’t goin’ anywhere without you. Don’t take risks ya can’t afford. Me n’ Ez’ll keep. Be safe, Chris. Be safe.*

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

It took the better part of an hour, but eventually Chris’s patience was rewarded. He’d been keeping an eye on Carlo, watching as he shifted from one foot to another, bent his head from side to side, yawned, adjusted his crotch. Finally, discomfort won over his less than determined devotion to duty. He set the automatic rifle he’d been cradling in his arms on the floor and turned towards the washroom.

Chris ducked back inside. He bent and took the pistol from his ankle holster before he flicked off the light and hid in the single stall across from the urinal, holding the door partially closed and angling his body into the narrow space. Thankfully, the bathroom was on the inner hall and there were no windows to add ambient light. The single fixture was a failing fluorescent tube in the ceiling. Chris grinned to himself. Sometimes the smoking gun was a smoking gun. D’Amico’s *business* empire consisted of a floor of empty offices and a lot of dirty dealings in the underworld.

The washroom door opened. Carlo uttered a curse and flicked on the light. He stood in front of the urinal, opened his fly and as soon as Chris heard the splash of urine on porcelain, he was out of the stall, the butt of his gun sweeping down on Carlo’s skull with a hard crack. The bodyguard crumpled, hit his head on the edge of the urinal, and was still. Chris winced. Sympathy only went so far; he jerked Carlo’s tie from around his beefy neck and tied his hands to the pipes, pulling the knot tight. He patted Carlo down, took out a ring of keys and his guns.

Keeping close to the walls, he made his way down the hall. He wasn’t gambling on the security cameras being inactive even if reason made him wonder why D’Amico would need security cameras to protect the dummy offices on this floor. Paranoia required no reason, he figured. He paused in front of the door Carlo had been guarding. He fumbled through the keys, fit a likely one into the lock ... Thank God, D’Amico’s paranoia hadn’t extended to key cards and codes ...

And the lock turned. He knew better than to walk unannounced into a room with Vin Tanner on the loose. Tanner could break a man’s neck six different ways if he was so inclined. "Vin! Ezra!" he hissed.

The door pushed against him and he slipped inside. Ezra was sitting on an inflatable mattress, his arm cradled against his chest. Vin was already reaching for the one of the guns Chris was carrying tucked against his side.

He gave Chris a wide, white smile. "Knew ya’d come, cowboy."

"Sorry it couldn’t have been sooner," Chris apologized to Ezra. "Will you be able to make it out of here?"

"If I had to crawl after you, Mr. Larabee." Ezra got unsteadily to his feet. "I take it you have a plan to extricate us from this den of pain?"

Chris grinned. "Ain’t much of a plan, Ezra. It’s called let’s get the hell outta here." He handed Ezra one of Carlo’s pistols.

Standish grinned. "How considerate of our hosts to provide us with the necessities." He stuck the gun is his waistband. "Now, your plan?"

"According to JD, the displays on the elevator panels indicate the status of the cars, so I’m afraid it’s the stairs, at least until we get down to other floors where there are legitimate offices."

"Fine with me," Vin said. He was ready to take point, his eyes glittering with blue fire even in the dim light. Chris restrained him with a touch on his arm. "My operation," he said quietly. "Need you at the back." Vin nodded, reason overcoming his need to escape not only this place, but the lingering tang of fear in his mouth. "Let’s ride."

Chris led the way, hugging the wall to the stairwell. There was no indication that the door was set with an alarm. Again, no reason; unlike the stairwells at the Federal building where the ATF was headquartered. Still, he cautiously opened the door, relieved that it did open. There was a camera set high on the wall, a red light indicating it was active. Chris dropped to his knee. He reached back, tapped Ezra and pointed to the camera. Ezra nodded and passed the word on to Vin. The camera was installed to give a sweeping view of the landing and stairwell. There was no way they could evade its eye.

Vin touched him on the shoulder. "Give me yer hat."

Chris gave him a look that clearly indicated that he thought Vin was on the verge of insanity, but when Vin curled his fingers in an insistent gesture, Chris pulled the watch cap off and passed it over.

Vin looped it over his fingers, stretching it out. He looked at the camera, and like a basketball player taking the game winning foul shot, lobbed the cap at the camera. Chris held his breath, and Ezra was so still that Chris swore he could hear his heart beating. The dark knit cap sailed through the air and landed with a soft plop over the camera lens. Ezra gasped with laughter and Chris just gave Vin a brief smile. "Nice shot, partner."

"Jist livin’ up t’my reputation."

They moved onto the landing and descended to the next floor. There was no camera installed. When they got to the ninth floor, they exited the stairwell and caught an elevator down to the ground floor. From there, they left the building. Chris went to get the Ram, while Vin and Ezra waited in the lobby. Then they were in Chris’s truck, driving away from D’Amico’s offices, safe.

For the moment. Vin couldn’t imagine they would remain that way indefinitely. He’d spit in the face of Troy D’Amico, and there was still the devil to pay. That he didn’t doubt. Meanwhile, he looked at Ezra’s strained, pale face and nursed his own aching ribs, grateful that Larabee had arrived in time to save them; not wanting to imagine what would have happened if Chris hadn’t come.

He looked over at Larabee. "Where do we go from here?" he asked.

"Back to the office. You’re out of this undercover shit, both of you."

"I will not argue with that, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said from the back seat. "I find my enthusiasm for this assignment is definitely on the wane."

Vin rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. "We jist stirred up a real big nest a’ hornets, Chris. There’s gonna be Hell to pay."

"Yeah, for the hornets," Chris said tersely. "I’ve had it with this case." He wheeled the Ram around the corner of the parking garage, shoved his ID card into the slot, and yanked it back out when the gate lifted. His tires screeched on the smooth concrete as he tore up the ramps to their parking level, leaving several wide-eyed office workers looking both ways like they expected Satan on his heels.

Vin climbed out of the Ram. Larabee on a tear was a sight to behold, and one that he normally enjoyed. But not this time. The last thing the team needed was for Chris to lose his cold, clear-sighted logic. He touched Chris’s arm lightly as they headed towards the elevator.

"Thanks, cowboy."

Chris’s eyes darkened. "I wasn’t about to lose either of you to that bastard. I shouldn’t have let you go there in the first place."

"Wasn’t like ya had a choice. B’sides, when have ya ever been able t’stop me from doin’ something my mind’s set on?"

Chris snorted. "Yeah. One of these days we’re gonna have a little talk about that, Agent Tanner."

"Sure we will, Chief Larabee." Vin winked, but even in jest, he wasn’t sure Chris didn’t mean it. He’d been cut a lot of slack, been shielded by Chris from a lot of repercussions for actions that the folks who wrote the books considered reckless endangerment. But then, Chris wasn’t exactly innocent, the way he’d charged into D’Amico’s territory. They were renegades and outlaws every one of them. But they got the job done.

But the job they had been doing was substantially different than the one they had set out on the night of Tosca. It had gone from routine – at least as much as this job could ever be considered routine – to a place where there were no rules, just survival. Where would they go from here?

"Vin?"

He looked up sharply. He’d been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed that he had followed Chris into the elevator and up twelve floors. He gave Chris an apologetic shrug, ignoring the scowl of concern on Larabee’s face. He was fine, and they’d figure something out. Right now, the idea of seeing Troy D’Amico in the crosshairs of his scope seemed real appealing.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

As Orrin Travis looked around at the members of Team Seven gathered in his office, he realized that it had been weeks since he had seen them all in the same room at the same time. He had forgotten how alike they were despite their outward differences. At first glance anyone would wonder what Vin Tanner could possibly have in common with Ezra Standish, or JD Dunne with Buck Wilmington, or the volatile Chris Larabee with Nathan Jackson and Josiah Sanchez. But beneath those differences, they were a team ... no, not a team ... A family.

This case should never have been allowed to drag on, but it had; first due to the difficulty of establishing Standish in D’Amico’s sphere, then the disruption caused by the shooting at the opera and Ed Williams’ deliberate sabotage of the investigation. A deep sadness struck at Orrin’s heart. He would never know why Ed had gone bad, but to be gunned down in an alley in Purgatorio ...

He cleared his throat and looked up, aware that the others were waiting for him to speak. His grave gaze drifted around the table, lingering briefly on the members of the team. Vin Tanner was pale, clearly exhausted, his face showing the bruises left by Troy D’Amico’s hands. Ezra Standish’s arm was in a proper sling since Nathan had insisted he go to the ER for x-rays, but the painkillers he had been given had silenced his usually voluble tongue. And Larabee looked about ready to drop, though clearly determined to hang on to whatever was holding him up. The others were arrayed around them like an honor guard for fallen heroes.

They were the best, and they had been through Hell with the case. Travis wished he could tell them it was over, but it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. His fingers moved over the file in front of him. It had been delivered via special messenger just two hours earlier and had been followed by an hour’s briefing via teleconference with the heads of the ATF and FBI in Washington. If he had known about this sooner, they could have all been spared a great deal of grief and pain, but it was pointless to dwell on his anger over being kept in the dark for so long by his superiors. He only hoped he could explain it to his agents without sounding like a bureaucrat making lame excuses.

"I am glad to see you all here and safe, no matter the circumstances." He shot a glare at Chris. "However, you would do well to remember that you are members of a team, and that haring off on your own impulses is not encouraged. It is dangerous and irresponsible. But I’ll overlook that this once." He softened the words with a slight smile. "Vin, Ezra, I’m sorry this case took the turn it did."

"I reckon we knew the risks," Vin said quietly. "But D’Amico wanted me t’kill somebody, and until we git that figured out, my life ain’t worth a plug nickel."

Travis opened the file. "I think I may finally have the answer. I spent the last two hours in conference with the brass in Washington, the governor, and our legislators. In two days time, they will be unveiling a sweeping program to attack illegal trafficking in arms, explosives, and money laundering. This will be a blueprint for an international task force, and it will be announced by the governor on the steps of the state capitol at noon the day after tomorrow. The informal title of the address is ‘High Noon for Organized Crime.’"

"Seems like D’Amico is aimin’ to delare his own war before the get-go." Vin slid his body into a deeper slouch. He ached, he was tired, and now this ... Lord, he wanted to sleep for the next ten years.

Chris looked from Vin to Travis. "How much did Ed Williams know about this task force?" Chris asked. His voice was as hard and cold as his eyes. Travis didn’t have to reply; the answer was written in every line in his face, in the way his shoulders slumped slightly in acknowledgment and defeat. "Did you know?" he asked Travis.

Orrin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I didn’t know the details," he said. He was angry that Chris believed he was lying, angry that he had been placed in the awkward position of having to defend himself to a subordinate – though that word applied to Chris Larabee was laughable. "I knew there was a task force being assembled and that I would be asked to serve on it. I suspect Ed Williams knew a great deal more than he should have."

Even Josiah looked angry at that, his big hands clenched on the edge of the table. "May God have mercy, ‘cause I’m not feeling exactly charitable," he growled.

"You should have told us," Chris said. "Given us some warning before I sent Ezra and Vin in so deep that it nearly killed them." His voice was calm, but the skin over his cheekbones was taut and pale, and his mouth was grim.

Maybe he should have. But they were so close to getting the big fish. D’Amico’s organization had ties all over the southwest, and he was expanding his territory into California. Travis had been as guilty as the next man of wanting the bust for his team ... his trophy team. He’d been under pressure from the higher ups, and no one had gotten closer to D’Amico than Ezra and Vin. "It wasn’t my call, Agent Larabee."

Chris’s gaze didn’t waver, but eventually he must have seen how difficult this was for Travis, and the tension holding his shoulders high relaxed. "So, what happens now?" he asked. "I suppose we’re expected to clean up the mess Williams left."

"Just because Vin is no longer in D’Amico’s plans doesn’t mean we can assume that he will not attempt some sort of disruption at the press conference."

"Call off the press conference," Vin said. "Take the opportunity away from D’Amico. Shouldn’t be so hard to do these days."

"Don’t you think I’ve tried?" Travis flashed back at him. "However, the governor’s press secretary has convinced him that to do so will be a sign of weakness. It will defeat the whole purpose of the task force if we run for cover at the first threat from the very people we are trying to contain."

"We?" Buck spoke for the first time. "Seems like there’s no we involved. We are the guys riskin’ our lives for a bunch of stiff-necked bureaucrats who ‘re too proud to

admit to havin’ been compromised, not you."

"Buck!" JD hissed, and Josiah coughed softly in warning.

Travis raised his hand. "Why don’t we call this a draw? I was wrong, you were right. But apportioning blame is not the priority here. We are facing a very difficult and dangerous situation and we have only twenty-four hours to formulate a plan."

Chris stood up. "With all respect, sir. We need to come at this with clear heads. Right now, we’re operating on about four hours sleep in the last twenty-four," he glanced around at Vin and Ezra, "and some of us, considerably less."

"Sleep might be a luxury we can’t afford," Orrin said.

"Might be a luxury you can’t not afford." This time it was the usually silent Nathan who spoke up. "Lookin’ around this table I see too many tired faces. And tired means mistakes. You think you can afford those?"

Travis sighed. He couldn’t argue with medical opinion. Hell, he was tired, and in truth there was not much that could be done until the security teams were available to coordinate their positioning. He closed the file in front of him decisively. "Very well. I’ll expect you all back here at 9am. No later."

It was very nearly a collective sigh that rose from the seven men around the table. Chris looked at his watch. It was nearly seven. "Well, you heard the man. Go home, get some rest. Buck, you take Ezra home with you and JD. Vin, you’re with me."

"Chris, I –"

"No arguments, Tanner. You either, Ezra. You’re both too damn vulnerable to be left alone tonight. Keep in touch. Be alert. Anything doesn’t seem right, call for back-up. Be back here at 8:30, ready for business." No one was inclined to voice any further objections. They returned to their office in near silence, picked up their belongings and went down to the garage together.

Buck touched Chris’s arm before he climbed up into the cab of the Ram. "You watch your back, pard. Don’t think Vin’s up to the job right now."

"Take your own advice, Buck. Don’t let Ezra talk you into taking him to his place. At least you’ve got decent security. That condo of his is an ambush waiting to happen."

Buck’s brow rose. "You takin' Junior out to the ranch?"

"I ain’t letting him stay in Purgatorio." He smiled slightly. "We’ll be all right."

"Sure. See ya in the morning. Call when you’re back home, okay?"

"I will." Before he got into the Ram, he took his usual walk around and only when he was sure nothing was out of place, he climbed in and started the engine. Vin was settled in the angle formed by the seat and the door. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed. When the engine roared to life, he opened his eyes.

"I hear ya say we’re goin’ out to the ranch?"

"Yeah."

"Ya don’t have to --"

"You know me better than to think I’d let you spend the night within easy reach of Troy D’Amico. At least the ranch is inconvenient."

Vin gave a soft, weary chuff of laughter. "Inconvenient ... nice word, Chris." He closed his eyes again. "Hell, I’m too damn tired t’argue with ya."

"Good. Because if you did, I’d have to shoot you. I’m too tired to take any of your lip." He swung the Ram around the last corner of the garage and turned into traffic. Driving an hour to the ranch wasn’t exactly what he needed, either. His stomach was burning again, reminding him that he it was time to take his medicine and get something to eat.

By the time they were on the freeway, Vin was asleep and Chris was struggling to keep his eyes open. He cracked the window and turned the radio on, knowing that as long as Vin sensed he was safe, he’d sleep through World War Three. He finally settled on a sports talk station because it wouldn’t get his dander up or lull him into a doze. Still, he was hard pressed to remember a time when he’d been more relieved to turn into his own driveway.

He reached over and gave Vin a gentle shake. "Hey, partner. We’re home."

Vin opened bleary eyes. "Seems like ya flew here."

Chris grimaced. "I wish. Stay here while I check things out."

"Hell, Chris, I ain’t so bad that I cain’t walk point with ya." He spoiled the effect with a yawn, but opened the door, swung his legs over and reached to pull his service revolver from his ankle holster.

Together he and Chris made a walk around the house, checked doors, windows and the foundation before they risked the front door. The security system was armed, the house quiet and warm with that sense of undisturbed peace that meant more than any little green light on a display. Chris locked the door and re-armed the system. Both men headed towards the den.

Vin drew the drapes as Larabee switched on the lights. Chris went to the bar and took out two glasses. "You drinkin’, Vin?"

Vin grinned crookedly. "Long’s ya don’t tell Doc Stone. I figure my liver’s either gonna heal or it ain’t. Hasn’t hurt fer a few days."

Chris dropped two ice cubes into the glass and added a splash of water. "This should blunt the impact." However, he left his own straight. He dug into his pocket and took out one of his antacid pills. He downed it with a shot of water before he carried the glasses over to the sofa where Tanner had dropped in a boneless slump.

He sank down beside Vin and took a deep swallow of the liquor. The slow drain of tension from his body was palpable. He took out his cell phone and called Buck to tell him that they were safe at the ranch. Vin sipped his drink in silence, but found he had lost his taste for it and set it down on the coffee table. He tipped his head back against the deep cushions, toed off his boots and turned sideways, his feet up on couch. His gaze fell on Chris and he smiled when he saw Larabee’s head drooping on his chest, the tumbler of whiskey tilting dangerously in his lax fingers. Vin took the glass from his hands, set it beside his own on the table, and, with a sigh, settled into the couch. About time Larabee surrendered to what his body was screaming for. Vin felt his own eyes growing heavy and he did not fight the comforting blanket of sleep that came upon him as softly as a drift of snow.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The aroma of coffee woke Vin. Lethargic and feeling slightly stupid with exhaustion, he stretched out his legs and sat up, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. The clock on the mantel read 9pm. He had slept for two solid hours as soundly as he could ever recall sleeping. He made his way to the kitchen where Chris had put a pot of coffee on to brew. There was a pot of soup on the stove, bread and sandwich fixings on the counter. The sound of water running through the pipes suggested that Larabee was taking a shower.

Vin poured coffee and made a ham sandwich with lettuce and tomato. He sat at the table and ate slowly, waiting for Chris. He finally came into the kitchen. His hair was damp, he had shaved, but his face was still too drawn for Vin’s liking.

"You sleep at all?" he asked Chris.

"Some. Not enough, but my stomach was clamoring for food, so I figured I’d better feed it." He put a sandwich together, ladled soup into a mug, and joined Vin. "Think you can stay awake long enough to eat?" he asked.

"I ate." He stood up. "Think I’ll use the shower. I Feel like I’ve run ten miles in the desert. Sort of dried up and sweaty at the same time." He grinned at Chris. "Hell, we both look like we’s rid hard and put away wet."

"I reckon we do." He grinned back. "You know where everything is. Help yourself."

Vin paused at the doorway to the hall and looked back at him. "Thanks, Chris. Didn’t have much time to say it before."

Chris shook his head. "You don’t have to say it, not to me. I know."

"Sometimes I need t’say it. And you need t’hear it." He ducked his head, color rising in his cheeks, and vanished into the dark hall.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Buck woke from a fitful sleep around 3am. He kept dreaming about Chris, vague worry running like a thread through confused images from their past. He sat up in bed and saw a light showing beneath his door. He reached for the sweatpants at the foot of his bed and pulled them on. Somebody else wasn’t sleeping too well, either.

He went down the spiral staircase. The light was coming from the kitchen. "JD?" he queried.

"Our young friend is deep in the arms of Morpheus," Ezra drawled. He was sitting at the table, a tumbler of milk and three cookies on a napkin in front of him. "An embrace that seems to be eluding us. Join me?"

"I think I might." He poured himself a glass of milk. "Your shoulder botherin’ you?"

"Not enough to keep me awake. The pills they gave me at the ER do a fine job of pain relief, but leave something to be desired as sleep aids."

"I don’t suppose bein’ locked up by that bastard has anything to do with it?"

Ezra gave him a sour look. "Only every time I close my eyes."

Buck’s expression was compassionate enough to make Ezra look away. "We’ll get him, Ez. Ya know we will."

"Of course. But ... " Ezra’s voice trailed off and his hand shook slightly as he lifted his glass.

"When was the last time you took one of them pain pills?" Buck asked

"I could take another," Ezra admitted.

"You want one of them or something slightly more liquid?"

Ezra weighed the decision. "An ibuprofen would work as well with some encouragement. What are you offering?"

"Got some of that single malt scotch with the unpronounceable name."

"Laphroig," Ezra said, a chuckle in his voice. "Or ‘leapfrog’ as Vin has christened it. It wasn’t to your liking?"

Buck laughed. "I was supposed to *drink* it?" When he saw the slightly offended look on Ezra’s face, he amended, "I figured if I saved some for ya, one a’ these days it’d come in handy." He went to the cupboard he and JD used as a liquor cabinet and poured a stiff shot into a glass.

Ezra sipped like it was a religious experience. "Thank you, my friend."

Buck finished his milk. "I’m gonna try to catch a few winks. You help yourself if you need more medication." He winked and vanished into the dark apartment.

Ezra drank a bit more of the smooth, smoky-tasting scotch. It did more to calm his nerves than the pain pills had done, but it couldn’t chase the worries that crowded in the back of his mind or the taint of fear that lingered like dust in his throat. This case was haunting him as few others had. It wasn’t the danger; he’d survived worse than a beating and a dislocated shoulder. It was the dark veil of betrayal and death that no amount of whiskey could chase. Troy D’Amico wasn’t finished yet, and that was what kept Ezra from sleeping.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A warm wind swept across the plaza in front of the capitol building, scattering leaves and dust. Barricades were being erected for crowd control, though Chris suspected they were more to block off cars than an influx of pedestrians. The vast majority of Denver’s citizens would be oblivious to the announcement of the task force. They wouldn’t recognize the importance, know how much of an impact D’Amico’s crimes had on their lives. And that was how it should be. That’s why Chris and the others went to work every morning with guns strapped to their bodies, armed for the fight that was constantly waged to protect the rights of ordinary people.

Vin stood next to him, a dark ATF cap on his head, his hair secured back with a length of rawhide shoelace, his eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. His shoulder rig was hidden by a faded denim shirt. High-powered binoculars on a leather strap were looped around his neck.

The tails of his shirt fluttered in the wind as he raised the binoculars and surveyed the buildings around the capitol. The sun dancing off the gold dome was dazzling even with the polarized sunglasses. That could be a problem tomorrow if the weather held. He half-wished that a weather front would move in and force the ceremony inside where there was a better chance of controlling the environment and keeping D’Amico at bay.

Chris tried to follow the line of Vin’s visual sweep, to see what his partner was seeing. The sun glare from the dome, the angle of sight from the rooftops, the way the streets were cordoned off. He often wondered how Vin could calculate angles, wind-speed, light and shadow to a millimeter with unerring instinct. It wasn’t anything they’d taught him in sniper school. It was muscle memory to Vin, not mathematics, almost as if he remembered every shot he’d ever taken; the conditions, the feel of his gun, even the way he breathed. He was a natural hunter, but not a natural killer, and Chris often

wondered how deep Vin had buried the memory of his kills when every time he peered through a scope he had to recall them.

"Well, what do you think?" Chris asked quietly.

"Hell of a place to secure," Vin sighed and lowered the binoculars. "There’s about a hundred places D’Amico could put a sniper ... if he sticks to that plan. Hell, Chris, we don’t know what he’s plannin’ now that we’ve gone and spoiled his little plot."

Chris nodded. "I was wondering about that."

"You bring it up to Travis?"

"He knows."

Vin shook his head. "Tell me again why they ain’t canceling this shindig?"

"Stupidity."

"They got their heads up their assholes for sure. And I ain’t so sure we ought ta be the ones to pull ‘em out."

"That’s what they pay us to do, whether we like it or not."

"I don’t like it. Not this time." He scuffed the sole of his boot across the pavement. "Got a bad feeling about this, Chris."

Before Chris could reply, his cell phone rang. He listened, made an affirmative comment and closed it. "We’ve got to get back to the office for a briefing with the FBI and the governor’s security team."

Vin gave the area a final visual sweep. He wasn’t happy with the logistics, and he intended to make his dissatisfaction known. "Let’s git movin’, then." He paused, frowning. "Chris, they got security cameras on the capitol, right?"

"Yes ..." Chris gave him a curious look.

"We need t’see any tapes they have from dawn ‘til we got here." He lifted his sunglasses and squinted at the capitol facade. It was a gamble, but it might have a big pay-off if D’Amico had been scoping out the area. Or it might be a big waste of time.

Chris didn’t hesitate. He called Travis, asked if they could have access to the tapes, and have them messengered over to the Federal Building ASAP. "They’ll be there in an hour." He touched Vin’s shoulder. "C’mon. We might as well get this over with."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Later, in a small, dark room, Vin sat hunched in front of a TV-VCR. Under conditions that would normally have sent his nerves into overdrive, he was so intently focused on the monitor that he scarcely moved lest he miss something.

Chris came in quietly, set a mug of coffee on the table at Vin’s elbow and pulled a chair up to sit next to him. The images on the screen were grainy, and Chris wondered how many times the tape had been played and re-used. "Anything?" he asked.

Vin shook his head, not taking his eyes from the screen. "Nothin’ out of place. Don’t think we –" His hand jerked on the remote, freezing the image. "Look," a soft breath of a command. He picked up a pencil. "See anything?"

Chris squinted. "What am I looking for?"

"This is the plaza, right?" Vin traced a line across the screen. "Up here, on this building ..." He backed up a few frames. "No shadow, no shadow, no shadow ... but here, a shadow."

"Jesus, Vin. That could be anything."

"What? It’s too small t’be a bird. There ain’t anything near to cast a shadow that

shape and besides, the sun was behind that building, not in front of it."

Chris rubbed his eyes. "Okay. Say you’re right. There could be any number of reasons why somebody was up on that roof. Maintenance, out for a smoke, curiosity. It might even have been another cop."

"Could be, but I’d be willin’ to bet it wasn’t." He stopped the tape and stood up, stretching and grimacing as his back muscles cramped. "You want ta come on a recon with me, partner?"

Chris was tired, his head hurt, and standing around on a rooftop with the sun beating down mercilessly was not his idea of a good time, but he wouldn’t let Tanner go alone. He called Travis on the office phone and told him that they wanted a crime scene tech with them, and why.

He hung up the phone and frowned at Vin. "We might be wasting a lot of valuable time."

Vin nodded. "Your call, Larabee."

"Let’s ride," he said crisply. Indecisiveness had never been one of his personality traits.

Twenty minutes later they were standing on the flat rooftop where Vin had spotted the shadow on the videotape. He stood at the doorway leading from the stairwell to the roof, Chris and the tech behind him. He looked back at them. "Let me do a walk around first. If I need ya, I’ll let ya know."

He looked around. The smell of dust and asphalt rose in waves from the surface and the surrounding buildings shimmered in the heat like desert mirages. The gold dome of the capitol was veiled by heat and smog, looking vaguely foreign and yet familiar. The vision sent Vin back to the Middle East where he had spent time as a Ranger. He half expected to hear the call of the muezzin rising in the hot, still air. He closed his eyes and heard the sounds of Denver traffic, instead.

"Vin! You all right?"

He opened his eyes and waved Chris forward. He began a slow pace of the perimeter. There were small piles of debris in corners; the usual detritus of urban life chased by the wind. His eyes picked out remnants of cellophane packaging and cigarette butts, candy wrappers, a red pencil. How the hell did a red pencil get up here?

A red pencil.

He motioned to the tech. "Kerry, bag that. And any cigarette butts that look less than a week old." He walked up to the ledge running around the edge of the rooftop. It was a good height to support a sniper’s arms. A good angle down to the plaza. He narrowed the focus of his gaze. A small, red *X* had been scratched on the rough concrete ledge. Vin drew in a breath. He stood at the exact spot and measured visually.

He looked at Chris, his blue eyes wide and a bit dilated even in the bright light. "We got at least one shooter up here, Chris."

"You want a photo of that, Agent Tanner?" Kerry asked.

He nodded at her. "Thanks, Kerry." The camera shutter clicked. He moved aside. "Stand right here and take a few shots of the plaza." He set his hands gently on her shoulders and placed her where he had been standing.

"One shooter?" Chris raised a brow. "You think there’s more?" "Maybe." Vin started walking. "Though that’s the best angle to the steps."

They paced the length of the wall, but Vin didn’t find anything that indicated another position for a gunman. He stopped, sighed. Looked up at the sky overhead. "Shit. We cain’t comb every rooftop in the city. And knowin’ Troy like I do, he ain’t gonna take the chance with one sniper."

"He was willing to take that chance with you," Chris reminded him.

"But I never got to hear his plan clear through! Yeah, maybe I’m better than this guy, or maybe I’s jist a sideshow t’the main event. There’s more ‘n one way to skin a cat." The sun suddenly seemed unbearably bright and perilous. Perspiration scrawled down his spine and beaded on his skin. He took his cap off and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I’m hot. Let’s git off this roof b’fore m’brain gits fried."

Chris wasn’t about to argue with that, not with the way his eyes were beginning to fire a pre-migraine aura. "Let’s go, Kerry." He looked at Tanner, visibly pale now. He touched his arm lightly. "We got at least one of the bastards, Vin."

"It ain’t enough," he said. "There’s more, and I’m the hell out of ideas."

"Then it’s time for somebody else to step in. We’ll take what we’ve got to Travis and go from there. No use killing yourself over this. There’s plenty of others out there aiming to do just that."

A smile twitched at Vin’s mouth. "That’s *real* comforting, Larabee."

Chris smirked. "Just trying to keep things in perspective."

"Smart ass."

Kerry stifled a giggle and followed the two men into the stairwell. She didn’t know how smart Larabee’s ass was, but the view was mighty fine.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Where did you go when you didn’t know where to turn next? That was the dilemma facing Orrin Travis as he considered his options. With the task force announcement being scheduled for a weekend, that left hundreds of vacant offices as possibilities. The streets would be free of weekday traffic and the immediate access routes to the capitol would be blockaded with security checkpoints. They were doing everything *right,* but right wasn’t always enough.

His head throbbed. He studied the logistical plan the FBI had drawn up and knew that it was riddled with holes like a piece of Swiss cheese. Disgusted and weary, he closed the report and rubbed his eyes.

A soft knock on the door and his secretary peered in. "Sir, Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner are here."

"Send ‘em in." He straightened as the two agents entered.

Lord, they looked beyond exhaustion. Hollow-eyed, thin, pale. Tanner’s slim strength was played out and Larabee’s steel core was eroded to a gossamer thread. If Travis ever got his hands on Troy D’Amico, he’d kill him for that alone.

"Sit down, the both of you," Travis barked. He pressed his intercom. "Gloria, bring coffee and have some sandwiches sent up."

Vin slouched, drained of energy. Chris leaned forward, elbows on knees. "We found one sniper’s emplacement."

"One?"

"There could be more," Chris sighed. "Or an alternate plan. Orrin, I ... we ... can’t do this alone."

"You’re not alone." Travis objected.

Vin gave a quiet laugh. "No? Sure as hell feels like it." He was skating on the edge of insubordination, but he was too tired to care. "Sure felt like it when me and Ezra were locked up in that room jist waitin’ fer Chris and not knowin’ whether or not he’s gonna make it there alive. You ever put a man’s shoulder back in place?" he asked almost casually.

Travis’s expression turned stony. Chris saw the warning signs of a reprimand and knew Vin was in no shape to hear it. "He’s right," he interjected quietly. "We’ve been walking this road alone for too long, Orrin. Shouldn’t be that way, and I don’t understand why I get the feeling that we’re being staked out like a Judas Goat so you can get D’Amico."

"For Christ’s sake, Chris!" Larabee just raised a golden brow, his simmering anger barely disguised by skepticism. Travis sighed and went to the window. "I’m sorry you feel that way."

"Nice apology, Orrin. But I need more than that." He uncoiled from the chair, and Travis saw that he was lethal still, despite his exhaustion. Vin pulled himself up, ready to follow Chris.

"Wait."

Chris paused, turned. "Truth?"

"At least hear me out. If after I tell you, you want out, I will pass this on to Treasury."

Chris returned to his seat. Vin just leaned against the wall, waiting and watchful in the semi-shadows. Travis drew a breath and was about to begin speaking when Gloria knocked at the door and came in with a tray of sandwiches and mugs of coffee. She looked at their three tense faces. "Sorry, sir," she apologized.

"No, not at all. Thank you, Gloria." He would have insisted that Chris and Vin eat, but judging from their stony expressions that would have been seen as a delaying tactic on his part. The sandwiches would keep and the coffee could be reheated.

He went to his desk, opened his security drawer and took out a file. "This has the details. However, what I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Chris replied.

Travis smiled grimly at the formality. "I am sorry that you’ve borne the brunt of this horror. You know how I feel about you, about your team. I trust you with more than my life ... Ultimately, you are the only ones I do trust, can trust. This mess with Williams goes deeper than any of us realized at first. He was the first outward sign of infection, but not the only one. I was asked by the Director himself to conduct this investigation, not only to stop D’Amico, but to find the source of the internal corruption." He pushed the file over the desk. "I may be screwing my career all to hell by telling you this, but maybe I’ll be able to sleep again. And maybe you will, too."

"You could have told us, Orrin," Chris sighed.

"No, I couldn’t. And even now, I’ve probably violated sixty security protocols by passing this on."

Chris looked at Vin. "Might as well sit down and have a sandwich while I read this." He opened the file, started reading.

Vin unwrapped one of the sandwiches and nudged Chris. "You c’n eat and read at the same time, Larabee."

Chris took the sandwich absently and chewed on it even though his eyes never left the report. It didn’t take long. He returned the file to Travis. "They traced this all the way back to Waco," he said. "That’s a long time to keep something like this under wraps."

"They traced it, they didn’t know about it. Not until Williams showed up in Phoenix and that business with the gun licenses got out of hand. That evidence disappeared before we could jump on it and it seemed the trail was cold until D’Amico started coordinating his business dealings here in Denver with the dealers in Phoenix."

"Coordinating?" Chris queried, one brow aslant.

"Coordinatin’ us t’death," Vin added acidly. "Don’t suppose anybody thought t’tell us about this ‘coordinatin" that was goin’ on b’fore me and Ezra damn near got killed?"

"I didn’t know you had been compromised, I swear it. I admit I wanted this case. Probably more than I should have at the beginning. Maybe ambition blinded me, maybe I was just so sure that you would be the team who could pull this off that I played out the line farther than caution would normally dictate –"

Vin laughed softly. "Hell, I reckon caution ain’t exactly what comes t’mind when ya look at us." For the first time since he had entered Travis’s office, he smiled. "Cain’t blame ya fer that."

Travis echoed the smile. "Not exactly. I meant what I said. I will pull you off this case if that’s what you want me to do."

Chris stood. "I have to take this to the others. I owe that much to Ezra at the very least." Faint alarm showed on Orrin’s face. "I won’t compromise security, sir. I think I have that much discretion."

"I can’t give you much time."

"Half an hour?" Chris suggested.

"No more." Grey eyes met green, and the resolve Travis saw in Chris Larabee was both reassuring and shaming. Guilt was not something Travis bore easily; he could neither dismiss it, nor bow to it. "Thank you." He would have held out his hand but were he in Chris Larabee’s place, he wasn’t sure that he would have accepted it.

"It won’t take that long," Chris said. Vin nodded to Travis and followed Larabee from the office, leaving him to his worries and guilt.